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Martin Lodge and Nick Sitter

On December 20th, 2017, the European Commission formally posed the Polish Question: Can the EU tolerate that a member state breaches the Union’s fundamental laws and values? At some point in 2018, under the procedure laid down in Article 7 of the Treaty of the European Union, the other 27 member states might well be called upon to answer this question; first by a four-fifth majority vote on whether Poland is indeed in ‘clear breach’, and later – if applicable – by unanimity on whether to impose sanctions.

The Polish Question is about much more than the Polish government’s effort to limit the independence and power of its own judiciary. Ever since Vladimir Mečiar’s efforts to centralise political power in Slovakia in the mid-1990s (which the EU dealt with by relegating the country to the membership slow lane, until Mečiar lost power in 1998) and the right wing populist FPÖ joining the Austrian government after the 1999 election (when the other EU states responded by ‘monitoring’ the coalition), the EU has reluctantly prepared to deal with the possibility that a less than fully liberal democratic party might one day come to power in one of its member states. Article 7 provided the means for censuring such a government; Article 50 was designed to give an authoritarian state an exit option.

Since the Hungarian right-populist Fidesz won absolute power (including the two-thirds majority needed to rewrite the constitution) in 2010, that country has introduced a number of laws and measures that push at the boundaries of EU law. Journalists, politicians and academics have introduced the term ‘backsliding’ to capture the state’s gradual going back on its commitments to the fundamental values of the EU, and indeed to (constitutional) liberal democracy. Prime minister Viktor Orbán chose the term ‘illiberal democracy’ to sum up his idea of an alternative political system.

So why has it become a Polish Question, and why has the Hungarian question remained lower-case? Part of the answer is that Hungary could be dismissed as an accident or a coincidence (a long time after the Slovak and Austrian false alarms), and that in any case it was a small country. When the new Polish government took action against its own judiciary in late 2015, backsliding began to look like a pattern. And perhaps as importantly, Fidesz enjoyed the protection that its membership of the European People’s Party offered, whereas PiS’ main domestic rival is an EPP-member. But the Commission’s taking action against Poland also puts the pressure on Hungary. The question is whether other EPP members will continue to back Fidesz if Orbán lives up to his promise to veto any action against Poland. If the Hungarian prime minister’s close relationship with Bavaria’s Christian Democrats (the CSU) and Austria’s Sebastian Kurz is anything to go by, this issue could divide European conservatives (and the German government) right down the middle.

In the wider European context, it is perhaps fortunate for the EU that the Commission targeted Poland rather than Hungary. The Hungarian prime minister has made no secret of his admiration for the Russian president, and hinted that there is always the danger that if the EU is not nice to Fidesz then the more extreme right wing Jobbik lurks in the wings. Poland lacks the obvious (more) extreme-right challenge, and for historical reasons can hardly look to Vladimir Putin for help.

The EU faces a unique challenge from the right-wing populist governments in Hungary and Poland, and their ‘illiberal democracy’ project. The Hungarian strategy can be described as one of disloyalty – an effort to creatively comply with the letter of the EU law (see here). This pattern of creative compliance has increasingly centralised political power to an extent that is ultimately incompatible with the EU’s legal and political system. The big dilemma for the EU is that inaction undermines the credibility of the Union (and timid action against Fidesz emboldened not only the Polish government, but also its Slovak and Romanian counterparts); whereas invoking Article 7 is unlikely to lead to sanctions and might well backfire.

This dilemma is particularly serious because the Polish and Hungarian crisis involves not only regular right-wing populism, but also Euro-scepticism and illiberal ideology. This is not a classic anti-elite revolt by alternative groups that want access to the political power and exaggerate their rhetoric on the campaign trail; it is direct onslaught on the very rules of the liberal democratic game.

It is far too easy to dismiss Fidesz and PiS as part of a broader new populist wave. Although Hungary and Poland are part of a broader anti-elite backslash against consensus politics, they are a far cry from the Nordic and Dutch Protest parties of the 1970s and 1990s and Silvio Berlusconi’s Forza Italia, or even the hard right of Le Pen and Wilders. Fidesz and PiS fit this broader pattern at first sight, but present a bigger problem for the EU. The Nordic, Dutch and French populists’ rejection of the Social Democrat-Christian Democrat consensus on the welfare state, the social market economy and immigration is a policy challenge. The Greek, Italian, British populist Eurosceptics added political challenges as well. But Fidesz and PiS represent a challenge to the very integrity of the EU system.

To be sure, Fidesz and PiS draw on the three elements of populism found elsewhere in Europe: the Nordic, Dutch and Berlusconian populists’ claim to represent the ‘real’ people; the Euroscepticism of the Cinque Stelle and Greek populists on both flanks; and the nativism of Marine Le Pen, Geert Wilders and Matteo Salvini. But they base this on a (self-declared ‘Christian’) nationalist ideology – established in opposition not only to the centre-left but also presented as an effort to define the post-communist right against more pro-EU and market-liberal rivals – and they derive from it an open distrust of the institutions of liberal democracy.

The most important dimension of the Polish and Hungarian populism is that it is a challenge to understandings about what constitutional democracy is about – and that this has brought the two parties to power. Fidesz and PiS go further than most West European populists in their open distrust of liberal democracy, most notably the idea that governments should be constrained by the rule of law. Like other populist parties they claim a unique insight into what the genuine ‘general will’ of the people is; but unlike their counterparts elsewhere in Europe they have both the will and the means to translate this into a power-centralising project designed to diminish the chances of them ever losing another election. Populist parties in Norway, Italy, Austria and Denmark moderated their rhetoric when they entered the corridors of power; Viktor Orbán and Jarosław Kaczyński amplified it – and matched it with action.

It is this challenge to the rule of law and liberal democracy, not the ideological challenge or policies that jar with existing EU policies, that is the big problem for the EU. Protectionism and unorthodox economic policy might be a challenge, but the EU is robust enough to weather that. The problem is when it comes with centralization of political power in a way that undermines the basics principles the EU was established to defend – democracy, freedom and the rule of law.

So where is the dilemma for the EU? The problem is that Poland has so far ignored the Commission’s measures under the EU’s Rule of Law Framework, secure in the knowledge that Hungary can veto any Article 7 sanctions. Inaction encourages further backsliding, but action might simply expose the limits of the EU’s capacity. This probably explains the Commission’s reluctance even to use its ordinary infringement powers against Hungary to their full extent, and its slow and wary road to confrontation with Poland.

But the dilemma is even worse than that. Even a degree of success in the Commission’s confrontation with Poland – such as the German government taking the lead and mobilising a four-fifths majority censure vote in the Council – could end up exacerbating relations between most of the EU and its more populist governments. If this emboldens states such as Sweden in their quest to link EU funding to compliance with EU rules in the next Multiannual Financial Framework, it could tip the balance between the costs and benefits of EU membership for illiberal governments. When Norway confronted the Fidesz government over is abuse of power and suspended the European Economic Area funds, this had the desired effect of reversing Hungarian policy. But a wider confrontation over EU funds could also end up pushing Poland and Hungary out of the Union.

In a real policy dilemma, the only way out is to choose one of the two possible courses of action. Inaction rarely solves the problem. The EU has already lost the opportunity to deal with backsliding when it was a minor challenge. It must now address it before it becomes a systemic crisis. Is it worth taking the risk that the EU loses two or more member states, or is it better to risk that the EU’s legal system is undermined? The Commission has now played the ball over to the member states. Let’s hope it is not too late!

The authors are writing in a personal capacity and their views do not represent the TransCrisis consortium as a whole.

Martin Lodge, Nick Sitter and Kai Wegrich

Back in the post-First World War era, the field of public administration was established to respond to the social upheaval of demilitarization, economic turmoil, expanding electorates, new political parties and labour movements. Similarly, the rise of ‘policy analysis’ was a response to the devastating experiences of the Second World War, and a belief in technocratic solutions and analytical skills provided by ‘wiz kids’. Concern with policy was also at the heart of the expansion of policy-related research and teaching in view of the expansion of the welfare state in the late 1960s and 1970s.

A century since the end of the First World War, national and international politics and economics are again in turmoil. National politics are shaped by new cleavages surrounding identity and the rise of populist parties; European integration is being challenged by referenda (‘Brexit’) and nationalist governments adopting policies hostile to basic principles of the rule of law, in some cases going as far as sanctioning extreme-right movements and anti-semitism. Multilateral organisations are said to face existential threats. Traditional sources of policy expertise are criticised and dismissed; ‘fake news’ have become a defining characteristic of populist leaders with authoritarian ambitions. In short, what has been identified as an age of identity politics is perceived as a threat to many certainties of late 20th century politics.

What role can contemporary public policy schools play in this changing and demanding context? Do they have anything to contribute? Or are they stuck in a world of elite hobnobbing across international conference venues, airport lounges and intercontinental conference calls? At first sight such questions may seem surprising. After all, hardly a month goes by during which one university or another does not announce a new public policy-related initiative. However, a closer look reveals more deep-seated problems. Public policy schools need to seriously reconsider their role in this ‘identity’ politics age of the 21st century.

The rise of public policy schools was about bringing knowledge, expertise and analytical skills to executive government and the design of public service. They were supposed to ‘train’ and ‘network’ leaders and directly contribute to the better design and delivery of policy programmes to address major global, national and local policy problems. Success is measured in terms of contribution to solving specific policy problems, for example, climate change, derelict housing estates or energy self -sufficient bus shelters. Instead of ‘theory’, there is faith in ‘what works’ when designing individual policy interventions. The technocratic economic-managerial problem-solving bias of this undertaking is partly complemented by an emphasis on ‘governance’ that is supposed to signal the importance of hybrid forms of governing (across local, national and international levels) involving collaboration and negotiation among state and non-state actors.

This broad orientation in public policy schools has traditionally been delivered in three different (sometimes overlapping) flavours. One is the particular economics-based flavour. Accordingly, ‘rigorous’ analysis using latest quantitative methodologies is the basis on which all decisions should be taken. A second flavour is more oriented towards the need to address ‘global’ policy problems; accordingly, the search here is for understanding and supporting international actor networks, organisations and transnational regulation. A third, more managerial flavour focuses on questions of measuring performance and supporting collaboration and leadership so as to identify public value.

We observe three responses to the underlying societal, political and institutional dynamics that shape the contemporary context of identity politics. These can be characterised to be of the unreflective ‘must try harder’ kind.

One response, building on the first (economics-based) flavour is to add to the methodological fire-power. Adding a few field and ‘laboratory’ experiments to the tool-set and giving a nod or two to ‘behavioural insights’ is supposed to address questions of great societal relevance (‘usable knowledge’). If evidence gets contested, we need to produce ‘harder’ evidence. Big data is said to come to the rescue. However, whether such a ‘factual knowledge’ approach, based on a continued commitment towards methodological individualism, is going to support organisational decision-making by executive governments in an age of ‘post-factual’ politics is questionable, especially when all ‘facts’ are part of the conflict between highly polarised societal cleavages.

The second response is to increasingly ‘go global’. Transboundary policy challenges are proliferating, and therefore there has to be growing awareness about transboundary governance at the international level. The problem here, however, is that policies are ultimately also local: the ‘go global’ orientation is interested in overcoming horizontal boundaries between states and business and NGOs, but ignores the (vertical) organisational boundaries  and administrative limitations that occur at the national and sub-national levels.

The third ‘must try harder’ response is to rely on ‘better management’ to understand a world full of ‘(mega-) wicked issues’. Hybridity and mediation are said to be defining features of contemporary governance, and so is performance management. Post-financial crisis, a growing concern has also been paid to ‘ethics’. By offering the latest interpretation of how to achieve ‘public value’, social innovation or collaborative ‘leadership’, underpinned by some case study or another, international elites are prepared to respond to critical policy challenges. The problem here is unfortunately that these case-story materials are highly context-dependent. More fundamentally, there is an emphasis on charismatic leadership in which everyone is supposed to be a ‘leader’, setting up and leading their own unit, agency or NGO. Such an emphasis on change-makers reinforces contemporary managerial fashions that have missed the importance of the mid-level in any organisation.

Is this really all that public policy schools can offer? If we take seriously the view that all expertise is part of societal conflict, that elites are part of a cleavage between ‘somewheres’ and ‘anywheres’, and that these somewheres and anywheres communicate in their own exclusive (social media) echo chambers, then can public policy schools move outside their own little echo chambers? Can public policy schools be more than just an amplifier of their own social movement?

We are of course exaggerating the problem. There is plenty of activity among public policy schools to engage with this new age of identity politics, whether it is by hosting conferences, arranging public events or by embarking on new avenues, such as by focusing on digitalisation and democracy. Students need to be exposed to latest scholarship. However, if programmes and curricula are the central aspect of a public policy school’s mission, then some fundamental elements need to be addressed. This means that populism, polarisation and new cleavages have to be taken seriously so as to understand better the context of actual public policy making. This context does not occur in the confines of ‘laboratories’.

Instead, what is required is a greater emphasis on the substantive understanding of policy. While we all know about the importance of ‘analytical’ and boundary-spanning competencies so as to allow for cross-sectoral application of policy-analysis skills, this cannot come at the expense of understanding how organisations in a political context actually ‘work’, how legal and constitutional boundaries need navigating and what the particular technical challenges in certain policy domains are. We also need a growing emphasis on fairness and acceptability of public policies in order to seriously engage with the (usually voiceless) vulnerable.

What is also required is a more direct exposure to the real world at the coalface of public policy. This is the world of the social housing estate, the nursing home, the meat and drinking water inspector, the banking supervisor, prison warden, the data analyst and cyber-security official as well as the tax and welfare office; it is the world of dealing with socio-economic and ethnic difference. It is at this level where the world of great expectations meets complex reality. It is at this level where austerity becomes real, where abstract conflicts become real fights and the coping strategies of the street level bureaucrat become the actual policy that not only decides about the kind of services people need and receive – but also the way the state is experienced and perceived by those that are said to be estranged from politics and institutions.

Such an ambition is far from new. UC Berkeley in the 1960s ran a multi-year Oakland project (under then dean Aaron Wildavsky). One of these research projects eventually fed into the seminal book on ‘Implementation’ (by Pressman and Wildavsky). Students, researchers and faculty were exposed to the coalface of policy making and public administration in a truly unruly context. Such a theory-informed programme is difficult to deliver – it requires trust between the different parties. It is also difficult to deliver in the context of ever-shorter and intensive executive programmes that involve time-poor students with highly demanding jobs. It is also difficult to deliver such courses which are potentially disruptive to a well-healed clientele used to getting their ways in terms of demanding ‘content’.

However, if public policy schools want to be part of the solution rather than remain part of the problem of the contemporary age of identity politics, then they need to transpose an Oakland spirit into their contemporary offerings. This might, at first, prove demanding, given financial business models, donor and student expectations and academic career incentives. However, such considerations should ultimately not trump the ultimate purpose of public policy schools, namely to offer the springboard for an advanced ‘speaking truth to power’, even in an age in which power is dispersed and sources of truth are contested.

The authors are writing in a personal capacity and their views do not represent the TransCrisis consortium as a whole.

By Jacint Jordana, IBEI

Over the past few weeks, the Catalan dispute with the Spanish government has attracted international attention. While the non-negotiated referendum on self-determination held in Catalonia on 1 October (1-O), which was forbidden, persecuted and partially blocked by the Spanish executive and judiciary, made the global headlines, this case has been incubating for at least the last five years as tension between these two levels of government in Spain has grown.

This is a very complex territorial dispute that we do not aim to interpret or disentangle here. The dispute has increasingly hardened and we still do not know if it will escalate even further. The conflict has diversified into many battlefields; it involves the legal and constitutional dispute, the political legitimation argument, economic struggles to influence firms to move their location, frenetic foreign policy pressure, and competing journalistic narratives on the logic and justification of the dispute.

This is an extraordinary territorial dispute, an (almost) non-violent war in Europe, that also involves two global cities (Barcelona and Madrid) sharing the same state, where the former perceives there to be a lack of state support to compete globally. The dispute has not ended and currently we are witnessing a peak in political tension between these territories. It is therefore very difficult to predict what will happen after the crisis.

Our purpose here is to discuss whether this conflict can be considered a European transboundary crisis. In addition, we consider the potential implications, in the short and long term, of these developments from a European-wide perspective. First, we should establish the preferences of the Spanish and Catalan actors as to the role of European institutions. On the one side, the Spanish government frames the dispute as an internal territorial issue, one of misbehaviour by a subnational government that has to be addressed according to existing constitutional tools. On the other side, the Catalan government aims to Europeanise the conflict, expecting EU institutions to act as mediators in the dispute between the two levels of government.

We can identify some clear evidence of the involvement of EU institutions during the weeks after the referendum. For example, the European Parliament had a debate on the Catalan referendum a few days after the referendum, on 4 October. Also, some EU Commission officials made declarations about the importance of respecting the constitution, but also asked for dialogue and negotiation between the two sides. Possibly more significant was the direct intervention of the President of the European Council, Donald Tusk. On the same day (10 October) the Catalan President was expected to declare Catalonia’s independence, Tusk declared on Twitter: ‘I appeal to @KRLS not to announce a decision that would make dialogue impossible.’ This apparently deterred the declaration of independence that day. Thus, it is clear that different EU institutions were directly involved during the two weeks after the Catalan referendum, not taking sides, but advising on two main issues: respecting the Spanish constitutional rules, but also starting a dialogue between the two parties.

Many reasons exist for EU institutions to be involved in this politico-territorial crisis, but two are most evident. First, there are the European-wide financial risks this crisis could trigger, considering the heavily indebted Spanish state and the weakness of the Spanish economy. A sudden paralysis in Catalonia could have direct effects in many European economies. Existing connections and interdependencies could attract risk-takers from the entire world to bid against the Spanish treasury. Second, a massive violation of citizen rights in Europe, if it happened, could seriously undermine European soft-power worldwide. This is not a minor issue as European soft-power is the most powerful weapon European countries have. Police attacks on voters, even for a non-legal referendum, are not easy to digest and raises concerns about the ability of European countries to manage their territorial conflicts.

Apparently, the EU’s involvement in dealing with this crisis was quite effective as political tensions de-escalated and independence was not declared. However, since then, the expected dialogue has not materialised. The Catalan and Spanish governments did not establish any form of conversation. There was only a letter from the Spanish government to request the Catalan government’s obedience to Spanish law. This letter prompted a critical reply by the Catalan government, which conceded, however, that independence had not been declared. In any case, it appears that this exchange took more account of the respective electoral constituencies than anything else. At the same time, a request made by the Catalan government to look for a conflict mediator, either appointed by EU institutions or jointly nominated, was rejected out of hand by the Spanish government.

This episode illustrates a more profound disagreement: the Spanish government considers a hierarchical logic in its relationship with Catalonia, derived from the unitary nature of the Spanish state and its administrative culture. In contrast, the Catalan government intends to establish a horizontal relationship with the Spanish government, arguing that sovereignty also emerges from the Catalan parliament and the Catalan citizens, as expressed in the 1–O referendum and previous regional elections. Arguing this, the Catalan government would easily concede that, due to the plebiscite’s unclear procedures, there is always the possibility to convene a new, mutually accepted self-determination referendum. However, the Spanish government is not open to this option, insisting on the subordinate character of Catalan institutions to the Spanish-wide ones.

A new episode of EU involvement occurred during the European Council on 19 and 20 October. This was a turning point regarding the role of EU institutions in dealing with this politico-territorial crisis. Despite several attempts by EU officials to include the Catalan case on the Council agenda, the Spanish government successfully resisted, arguing that this was an internal matter. According to some press reports, a final attempt was made during the Council meeting when Angela Merkel asked Mariano Rajoy if he had anything to say regarding the Catalan case. Rajoy did not answer. After that meeting, some politicians recognised the limits of EU institutions in playing a major role in the conflict when the member state concerned is not interested. Tusk said at the time: ‘All of us have our own emotions, opinions, assessments, but formally speaking there is no space for an EU intervention.’

However, the positions of member states were far from homogeneous. While large and centralist countries like France were the most supportive of Rajoy, some small countries with a history of self-determination struggles, or with highly decentralised structures, sympathised with the Catalan position. In the end, a sort of political realism prevailed and an informal consensus emerged in the sense that any reaction against the Madrid government might create problems for future EU decision-making processes.

Backed by the non-discussion of the Catalan case at the European Council, the Spanish government reacted quickly to prepare its intervention on the Catalan semi-autonomous government, taking over the Catalan key institutions and firing top Catalan government officials, including its president. This was consistent with the hierarchical power logic declared by the Spanish government. It discarded any type of external mediation between the two governments that might have opened up a political dialogue as to the restructuring of territorial politics in Spain or any other possible outcome. To this end, Rajoy accepted a vague promise to reform the Spanish constitution soon, aiming to maximise support among Madrid’s political and economic elites, while ignoring or dividing Catalan ones.

The Catalan crisis is still far from being resolved, or even stabilised. The millions of Catalan citizens that did participate in the referendum cannot be disregarded completely. In other words, the elephant is still in the room. EU institutions have stepped back and have not encouraged any dialogue or mediation, despite their claims immediately after the referendum. Thus, is the Catalan case actually a transboundary European crisis? Despite there being no formal involvement of EU institutions, it is evident that it is a crisis that is debated intensively by the European media, closely scrutinised by European institutions, and that might be having potential economic and social consequences for all European countries.  In fact, it is a crisis Europe cannot evade.

Salient transboundary crises emerge in Europe quite often. Those kind of crises relate to the environment, public health, financial markets or other issues that arise from the interdependencies of integrated and integrating markets, entrenched multi-level public policy and the emerging European citizenship. Whatever is creating a big shock in one corner of the EU might have consequences for the entire Union, either in terms of reputation, public health or material welfare. Multiple mechanisms and institutions have been created at the EU level to cope with transboundary crises of this type and, most importantly, to prevent them in the future. The newly created banking crisis schemes are a case in point.

However, Europe lacks effective mechanisms to cope with political crises, despite the complexities of the emerging European polity. Whether it is a threat to the constitutional division of powers, the presence of a salient territorial dispute, or the restriction on constitutional rights, such dynamics at the member state level are currently dealt with through inter-governmental procedures, basically at the European Council. Member state governments are naturally very reluctant to have other member states meddle in their domestic affairs. The existing procedures, as already illustrated in the case of Poland and Hungary, are very slow, they are very modest in their impact, and, what is much worse, they do not provide credibility-enhancing mechanisms to ensure that democratic institutions work, or that political compromises are respected.

The author of this blog writes in a personal capacity and does not represent the TransCrisis project team as a whole.

By Martin Lodge, carr

The 2017 federal elections in Germany highlight the fragmented nature of German society. Beneath the appearance of stability under Chancellor Merkel, the tectonics of electoral politics seem to have shifted under the challenges of the Euro and refugee crises. While the vote shares for the two main parties, the Christian Democrats (CDU/CSU) and the Social Democrats (SPD) are at historically low levels, another major source of concern is the rise of the right-extreme ‘Alternative für Deutschland’ (AfD). Germany – internationally regarded as the exceptional island of electoral and economic stability only a few days ago – seems not that different from other countries anymore.

But what does the result mean for the forthcoming years, for German and for wider European politics?

Turning to German politics first, few major developments can be any time soon. As the different parties digest the election results of the regional election in Lower Saxony, initial coalition talks will be announced. In the meantime, parties will seek to mark their territory in public, while leaving sufficient room for manoeuvre for the inevitable compromises in the coalition agreement and over cabinet portfolios.

The SPD has indicated that it will not consider joining any government and will therefore lead the opposition in the Bundestag. Whether this position will be sustainable over time remains to be seen, should the other coalition option fall by the wayside. For the moment, this leaves Angela Merkel’s Christian Democrats with the sole option to form a coalition with the Liberal FDP and the Greens in a so-called ‘Jamaica’ coalition (signifying the different political parties’ colours). Outside local government, ‘Jamaica’ type coalition arrangements have been trialled only twice before, coming undone in the Saarland (‘Saarmaica’) after two years, but functioning relatively smoothly in Schleswig Holstein. However, that arrangement is only of very recent origin.

For some, it is very difficult to see how economic liberals, green environmentalist and conservatives can easily work together at the federal level, especially after a campaign in which the Greens and the FDP directly attacked each other. Attempts at joint working will become even more difficult given the position of the Bavarian CSU which suffered disproportionate losses and faces its own Land election next year. Any agreement at the federal level is therefore likely to be most affected by an election-nervy Bavarian coalition partner with a keen eye on outmuscling the AfD on issues relating to migration and highlighting that it managed to impose its imprint on the coalition agreement. The regional elections in Lower Saxony are likely to cause further concern. Some will argue that they suggest insufficient understanding by the CDU politicians in power of the need to take the federal election results seriously. FDP and Green politicians will look with some concern at their electoral prospects. Under such conditions, it is difficult to see how a coalition can function for more than a few years before it will come crushing down on internal disagreements, whether it is due to declining electoral popularity in forthcoming Land elections, divided party memberships (especially in the case of the Greens), concern about leadership succession (especially in the cases of the CDU and the CSU) or dissent over key electoral promises.

At the same time, a Jamaica coalition might work if it calibrates its priorities carefully around the different parties’ core interests. There are areas of overlap among these parties, whether it is about tax reform, environmental and agricultural policies, and the need to enhance digital (and other) infrastructures. Agreement on a points-based immigration system is likely to pitch Liberals and Greens against a divided larger CDU/CSU coalition partner. Coalition conflicts are most likely to emerge over the means to achieve certain goals than the goals themselves. In other words, Jamaica may just work if it can overcome squabbling and the various anxieties, for example, that the smaller coalition parties will be dominated by the Christian Democrats on the one side, or the fear that the Christian Democrats will be held at ransom by their coalition parties on the other.

But what about Europe? Anyone hoping that the final months of 2017 would be defined by major EU initiatives is likely to be disappointed, especially if coalition negotiations will take until late December, if not longer. Stabilising the European Union will remain at the heart of German policy, especially, in the context of external challenges, (Ukraine, Brexit, Trump, increasing backsliding on EU commitments by fellow member states, such as Hungary and Poland, Turkey). None of the Jamaica coalition partners disagrees with the view that the European Union and its stability remains at the heart of Germany’s interests.

Despite this broad agreement, the disagreements about the appropriate way forward point to some major tensions in the future. Plans to launch major initiatives to advance European integration at large (as reflected in Juncker’s recent speech at the European Parliament) or deepening the Eurozone by advocating redistributive mechanisms will face resistance by German Liberals and conservative Christian Democrats. They will also be attacked by the AfD. However, there is agreement on the importance of deepening European-level solutions, especially in the areas of migration, in defence or civil protection. And whether resistance to a ‘transfer union’ cannot be circumvented by carefully linking tight financial control with more redistribution in the Eurozone is also an open question.

German politics is moving into uncharted waters with a potential Jamaica coalition in federal government and with a party of the extreme right, the AfD, in the federal parliament. That party is most likely to make headlines for infighting between its ‘moderate’ and radical wings and attempts at scandalising political debate. For some, therefore, new coalition politics and rise of right-extreme parties in parliament highlight a substantial weakening of the ingredients that have ensured that Germany played the role as stabiliser in European affairs in the past (i.e. stable coalitions at the centre, widespread resistance to right-extreme discourse).

There is however also another view that points to broad stability in outlook even when party systems seem to be fragmenting: The inbuilt constitutional mechanisms that emphasise stability and compromise as well as the commitment to seek European solutions means that the broad trajectories in German policy, especially European policy will continue. This stability on the one hand and more complex politics at the national level on the other might encourage continued ‘muddling through’ rather than grand visions at the EU-level, but it nevertheless involves a pragmatic approach to European-wide challenges.

An earlier version of this blog was published here . The author of this blog writes in a personal capacity and does not represent the TransCrisis project team as a whole.

By Femke van Esch, University of Utrecht

The multiple crises the European Union (EU) has faced over the past decade have triggered repeated calls for more strong and visionary EU leadership. Recently, such calls have been replaced by structural plans to fortify the EU’s internal leadership. In his recent State of the Union, for instance, Commission President Juncker proposed to merge the presidencies of the European Commission and European Council for the EU. According to Juncker, the EU would function better with one captain at the helm. In addition, French President Macron has been touring European capitals, advocating the creation of a European minister of finance for the Eurozone to help weather future crises. Irrespective of the details of these plans, both proposals aim to provide the EU with stronger and more centralised leadership.

The emergence of such plans should not come as a surprise. They fit a general pattern that occurs during times of crisis: When faced with an urgent threat and faltering decision making power, calls for strong visionary leadership are never far away. In the EU context, they are usually directed at the political leader of the most powerful state (‘Empress Merkel’), the Franco-German axis, or the President of the European Commission. Moreover, such calls are often accompanied by nostalgic reminiscing about particular historic European leaders who – according to legend – did have the resolve, personality and vision to provide ‘true’ leadership. According to such claims the EU would not be in such disarray, if only Chancellor Merkel had the European commitment of Helmut Kohl, if only Jacques Delors had still been at the helm, if only the current Franco-German axis was rooted in a personal bond as strong as that between Adenauer and De Gaulle.

Though somewhat naive, there is a certain logic to this perspective: when the institutions, the directives and the inter-institutional agreements fail, when political negotiations appear hopelessly deadlocked, agency and power are the only factors left to turn to. The idea that an institutional perspective explains stability, but a combination of agency, ideas and power is needed to understand change is well-rooted in the theoretical state of the art on (European) policy change. So, when faced with large-scale crises it is only logical that all eyes turn on the transformative potential embodied in key European leaders.

However, as a diagnosis of, and solution to the EU’s problems this view is one-sided, unrealistic and morally flawed. First, accounts of the leadership and achievements of supposedly great historical leaders are often simplified and a-historical. Critical in-depth analyses reveal that the French-German motor often faltered and that the successes of Jacques Delors and Helmut Kohl were highly dependent on the broader political context.

Moreover, academic studies suggest that capable leadership only accounts for a fraction of a successful outcome. It is evident that the opportunity to learn from historical successes is limited for the simple reason that both the European political arena as well as the European electorate has undergone dramatic change. The enlargement of the EU to 28 (soon to be 27) states not only makes reliance on leadership by one (or a tandem of) member state(s) politically unlikely, it also severely limits the room for pan-European agreement.

In addition, recent years have seen a trend towards the polarisation of European politics and the euro crisis has shown that the EU has significant distributive consequences for its member states and people. This has not only led to a divergence of interests amongst the member states, but also contributed to the rise of the so-called ‘dismissive dissensus’ among the ever more critical and better-informed European people. In such an environment even the heroes of Europe’s past would be hard pressed to offer a solution to multiple crises the EU had to face in recent years.

More fundamentally, however, is the normative question of whether we truly want strong, visionary European leaders? I suspect not. In fact, many people would argue that there have been far too many strong visionaries in the history of the European Union. Moreover, when people talk about ‘vision’ in the European context, they often mean ever-closer union, but grand plans for federalisation or political unification of the EU no longer appeal to large sections of the European population.

Finally, strong visionary leadership often implies top-down leadership. The advantages of this type of leadership are clear as it promises determinate and effective action. However, top-down leadership is at odds with the democratic ideals of the EU as well as the sovereignty of its member states and their national parliaments. Moreover, if one takes the idea seriously that leadership is a relation between leader and follower, involving hierarchy and power, the question arises on what grounds is it legitimate for the leader(s) of the EU’s most powerful states, a Commission president or a pan-European minister of finance to exert leadership over the European people(s)?

It is precisely because of these reasons that the EU decision making structure was designed to prevent decision making dominated by a single strong leader, be it a person or a state. Division of power and democracy may hamper swift and efficient decision-making, but leadership is and should be inseparable from follower’s needs and goals and never be left unchecked. There are ample examples in history or even at the EU’s current borders that illustrate the vital importance of this point. So, as Europe struggles to find a way out of its economic, refugee, rule of law, Brexit and legitimacy crises, its first imperative is not to deepen the latter in name of the former.

For a more elaborate discussion of issues related to legitimate EU leadership, see: Van Esch, F.A.W.J. (2017), The nature of the European leadership crisis and how to solve it. European Political Science, 16(1): 34-47.

The author of this blog writes in a personal capacity and does not represent the TransCrisis project team as a whole.

By Jacint Jordana, Institut Barcelona d’Estudis Internacionals (IBEI)

The pro-independence movement in Catalonia has created a singular coalition that includes the beneficiaries of globalization, the elites of a global city, and those left behind by globalization.

There are two large metropolitan areas in Spain: Barcelona and Madrid. While Madrid, with a population of 6.5 million, sits in third place in Europe, after London and Paris, Barcelona is in sixth place, with nearly 5 million. The two are global capitals and compete primarily in a European and international arena, although the tensions between them can be seen as drivers of the current political-territorial dispute in Spain.

Both are members of a small group of cities – not more than a dozen in Europe – where resources and information flow at high speed, in a game of planetary dimensions. In this sense there is no direct competition between Madrid and Barcelona; it is only that they compete in the same league, each with its own strengths and weaknesses.

However, the current conflict between Catalonia and Spain cannot be fully comprehended without understanding that, in the context of globalization, both cities, and the large metropolitan areas in which are embedded, are trying to concentrate the prominence and accumulate most of the resources linked to growth and power. For this reason, any analysis of the territorial conflict in Spain should incorporate this dimension if it is to avoid falling into an outdated understanding of the current political conflict.

Asymmetric competition 

It must be understood that a metropolitan area is a top-level node in this globalized world, drawing resources from its surroundings while it distributes them. So, it requires a political articulation that normally implies the recycling of traditional state models that emerged in the 19th century, albeit with some significant changes.

Obviously, if this state recycling does not take place smoothly, adopting new functions that permit develop intense relations with other areas and territories, the development of the metropolitan area and its global position can suffer, even though (of course) it all depends on its competitive advantages. Global cities need states; in fact, they certainly need to make them theirs. A state can serve a single metropolitan area converted into a global city, as in the cases of Paris and London, or it can serve more than one, as we see in Italy and Germany. Logically, if such support is distributed, the capacity and projection of global cities does not reach the same proportions, as shown in the cases of Milan and Rome, or Berlin and Frankfurt; but note that these are cities belonging to two relatively new states, both formed in the second half of the 19th century.

Without digging into historical revisions, tensions between Barcelona and Madrid in recent decades, and especially since the start of the great economic crisis initiated in 2008, contain an element of dispute over the role of the state in supporting the construction of global cities. Barcelona’s economic, cultural and social elites perceive that they do not receive enough support from the Spanish state, since it directs its support towards turning Madrid into a global city. They complain that Spain’s model is a state with a single global city, having the largest possible projection and heaviest possible economic weight.

Madrid’s political and economic elites perceive Barcelona as something alien to their state model, and consider that in any case its global positioning should be subordinated to the objectives of promoting a single great global city in Spain. Unlike Italy or Germany, the Spanish state has bet on a single global city. Or, to put it in other way round, Madrid elites have mainly captured the state.

It is obvious that this is a conflict between the elites of two European global cities which share a state, where one of them has captured the state, to propel its own development in the global arena. Therefore, it is unsurprising that the elites of the other global city in Spain are considering the idea of building a state of their own. The awareness of such a need is a fundamental difference in the political positions in recent years of much of the Catalan elites, compared to their positions over the previous two centuries, when there were no major claims for a state of their own.

This ambition is often formulated through nationalist speech, but also with cosmopolitan arguments, and discussion of investment and the distribution of fiscal resources. In many cases, this involves a similar tension, based on the absence of a state capable of backing and assisting the position of Barcelona and its surroundings as a global city.

Without going more deeply into Spain’s current political configuration, it should be noted Spanish state’s significant weaknesses in knowledge and specialized skills. Outdated and widely inefficient recruitment procedures, an old-fashioned organizational model, and its numerous bodies of civil servants undergoing constant internal struggles and heavily corporate, have together generated a weak state when it comes to acting in a globalized environment. It is unable to autonomous leadership as to territorial matters and depends heavily on the large business corporations that have contributed to made Madrid its global capital. This interpenetration among a few national champions –that benefited from state support, and very much so, in their global expansion – and within the state itself as an organization, has been consolidated in the age of globalization, contributing to the upholding and projecting of its global city.

Will the state evolve into a model of two global cities?

It is difficult to imagine how this model can be reversed, and how Spain could adopt a state model with a number of global cities, or at least two, and evolve into a format of neutrality. There are examples in Europe, but the difficulties of such a transformation would be extreme, given the existing historical and social conditioning.

In fact, one could view the efforts to reform the Catalan Statute in 2006, and the claims for a fiscal pact for Catalonia at the beginning of the 2010s, as a bid by its political and economic elites to establish a model that would permit the absorption of additional resources and capabilities from the Spanish state, yet which would still be compatible with the state’s commitment to support Madrid as a global city.

Divergent perceptions and other commitments – all in the middle of a harsh Spanish fiscal and financial crisis – prevented the completion of such agreements, triggering higher-risk alternatives that had been discarded until that moment by the Catalan elites. Besides, EU single market and globalization also helped to consider alternative scenarios.

There’s something else

A struggle between elites of two global cities favoured very asymmetrically by a state can become bloody, but this would be a limited explanation of the aggravated social and political conflict between Spain and Catalonia over the last few years. As much as one cannot look upon the role of the state in the territory as if we were at the beginning of the 20th century, this alone is not enough to explain the mobilization capacity and the intensity of the feelings aroused. There is something else.

Globalization has not only generated the phenomenon of global cities, it has also produced profound changes in the distribution of income between different social sectors, as well as access to well-paying jobs. Following the studies of Branko Milanovic and other analysts, we know for a fact that among those left behind by globalization there are numerous segments of the middle class and skilled workers from the developed countries.

The reasons for this relative impoverishment are related to global competition that led to open trade agreements and promoted new technologies; its political consequences have become apparent in recent years. Events such as the recent election of Trump in the United States, or the UK voting in 2016 to leave the EU, are in a way related to this process of relative impoverishment of some social groups in the developed countries, to the extent that speeches calling for a reversal of globalization and a return to models of markets protected by states can now be perceived increasingly as a political option.

These developments are also present in Spain and in Catalonia – not in the form of a rise of the extreme right, fortunately, as in France or just recently in Germany, but in forms buried in numerous political behaviours, conditioned political strategies or multiple social mobilizations. We cannot analyse in detail the political implications of these social changes in Spain, but we can highlight some very visible aspects.

One central element is the challenge to the maintenance of the classical benefits of the welfare state, focused on the distribution of resources in a passive way to many social groups affected by economic changes, direct or indirect, as a result of globalization, that are especially intense in some areas of the country. To some extent, strong state support to launch a global city was legitimized by keeping such policies for large social groups across the entire Spanish territory.

To oversimplify, we could point out two large groups. There are several generations of workers who have experienced relatively stable employment and the welfare state benefits established in the 1980s by socialist governments. There are also professional sectors and large groups of young people who have enjoyed hardly any welfare safety nets, and whose prospects of stability and professional advancement are slim. Both groups share expectations and frustrations about the political-economic model, betting on different policy options to avoid welfare dismantling.

Although Catalonia benefited also from the afore mentioned territorial pact, the weight and the visibility of its global city destabilized the equation, as well as its particular social and cultural integration with different legitimate discourses. Yet in Catalonia it has generated an additional alternative, which attracts a broad segment of the second group and, possibly, some members of the first group. That alternative is the option of an independent state of Catalonia.

Setting aside its eventual plausibility, these perceptions encourage the mobilization of broad sectors of losers – or potential losers – due to globalization in Catalonia, and those who in recent years have experienced wage reductions, lack of opportunities, professional stagnation, or even exclusion from the labour market.

Among the attractions of this additional alternative are the expectations of better social benefits, because the new state will have, predictably, a greater income. There may also be higher expectations of growth, with the perception of a more sustainable economic model, as well as diffuse expectations about state-building opportunities and further potential support for professional careers.

A singular coalition

The pro-independence movement in Catalonia has created a singular coalition that includes: beneficiaries of globalization, the elites of a global city, those left behind by globalization, and the popular sectors that are losing opportunities in comparison to previous generations and are witnessing shortages or are being left out of the welfare state.

This alliance, not so conspicuous in daily politics in Catalonia, but very effective, is held together by three very important conditions. First, there is the common perception that it is a non-zero sum game bigger that zero, where everyone will benefit. Secondly, there is the shared perception of belonging to a political community, a well-defined territory with elements of cultural identity, widely recognized; and third, the balance between rural territory and a global city that does not generate major tensions.

Thus, the independence movement in Catalonia is not only a nationalist movement, although there is a strong nationalist component within it; nor is it a movement based on irrational feelings, mired in a glorious past. It is also a political response, with a strong strategic component of territorial base, to the challenges that globalisation is creating in all developed countries, particularly in its current multi-polar phase.

The struggle for survival and well-being of political communities in the developed north has just started. Global cities and regional integration mechanisms have much more capacity to adapt to these changes than European states established many centuries ago -unless they actively transform and innovate themselves. However, cities still need states.

This blog was originally published here (9 October 2017). The author of this blog writes in a personal capacity and does not represent the TransCrisis project team as a whole.

By Maja Kluger Dionigi, Think Tank Europa

The EU’s response to the European debt crisis has given rise to executive-dominated politics and a weakening of directly elected institutions, such as national parliaments and the European Parliament (EP). The increase in executive powers has led scholars to criticise the EU for moving towards executive federalism and a state of exception, undermining representative democracy.

The EP has largely been absent in key decision-making moments during the crisis, not least because the EU’s crisis response represents a patchwork of intergovernmental agreements adopted outside the EU’s legal framework, coordination efforts, and secondary EU legislation. Even on crisis legislation where the EP has enjoyed co-decision powers, its role has been constrained to agreeing to increase the discretion of executive bodies instead of playing a central role in the execution of that authority. For instance, within the strengthened excessive deficit procedure of the Six-Pack, the EP cannot determine the area of national competence to be controlled by the EU or the requirements and conditions under which they could be enforced. The EP has however not been an idle bystander to its limited role in economic governance.

The EP has gained formal oversight powers…

Some scholars argue that the EP’s limited role in influencing the substance of crisis legislation has partly been compensated by giving it more oversight powers. One example often pointed to is the introduction of the economic dialogue in the Six-Pack and Two-Pack, despite initial reluctance from the Council. The economic dialogue allows the EP to invite the President of the Council, the Commission, the President of the European Council, or the President of the Eurogroup to report on, and explain their decisions taken in the context of the reinforced Stability and Growth Pact and the European Semester. It also makes it possible to invite individual member states, breaching EU rules, to explain themselves.

These new oversight provisions – albeit voluntary in nature –indicate a greater emphasis on input legitimacy in Economic and Monetary Union (EMU), than before the crisis.

Research shows that the EP was successful in gaining more oversight powers because it used a wide repertoire of negotiating strategies. Among others, these include: (1) exerting public/normative pressure on other institutions (by arguing that deepened integration requires representation); (2) creating issue linkages between files negotiated at the same time (using its veto powers on one file to exert influence on another file for which its formal consent is not needed), and (3) playing on the urgency of solving the crisis and the difference in time horizons between the EP and the Council to threaten to delay decisions if its views are not accommodated.

…But how are the oversight powers used in practice?

One thing is to acquire new formal oversight powers in the legal text, another matter is how actively and diligently these provisions are used in practice.

My research on the economic dialogue with member states shows that only a fraction of member states qualifying for a hearing (i.e. in breach with reinforced Stability and Growth Pact) actually appear before Parliament’s economic and monetary committee (ECON). For instance in 2016, 10 countries were ‘eligible’ for being invited to a hearing, but only 3 hearings actually took place. Since the economic dialogue came into being in 2012, the ECON committee has held 15 hearings with finance ministers. This relatively low number may reflect both a low acceptance rate of invitations to hearings and/or limited resources and interests of the EP to hold more hearings.

Once appearing before the ECON committee, there is a clear pattern in the engagement levels of MEPs, in terms of the number of MEPs taking the floor. An analysis of 12 of the hearings with finance ministers that have taken place between 2012 and 2016 shows that MEPs are more active in taking the floor when the minister under scrutiny comes from a large member state and his/her country has received financial assistance from the EU.

Furthermore, MEPs from Eurozone countries proportionally asks more questions than MEPs from outside the Eurozone. There is also a clear national dimension to the engagement-levels. MEPs from the same country as the finance minister ask more questions than MEPs from other countries. On average, 61% of MEPs asked questions when they were from the same country but only 33 % of MEPs asked a question that are from a different country to the one being scrutinized. However, there is no significant difference between national MEPs from opposition parties versus those from governing parties. This suggests that there are differences in engagement levels depending on key characteristics of the country under scrutiny and the MEPs taking the floor.

The relatively low level of member states appearing before ECON compared with the number of ‘eligible’ countries brings to the conclusion that there is scope for making a more active use of the economic dialogue with member states to serve the purpose of a more democratically accountable European Union.

The author of this blog writes in a personal capacity and does not represent the TransCrisis project team as a whole.

Nick Sitter and Ulf Sverdrup

One year after the referendum, after losing its majority in the general election, the UK government is revising what Foreign Secretary Boris Johnson famously labelled the ‘Cake-and-Eat-It’ approach to Brexit. In this context, it might be worth asking if there is anything the UK can learn from Norway’s quarter of a century experience as a ‘quasi-member’ of the European Union.

The first lesson is that no lessons apply. Tolstoy wrote that all happy families are alike, but each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way. Much the same can be said about European countries that opt out of the EU. Each has its own reason, and its own challenges. But with the exception of Greenland, all experience builds on states that have negotiated closer relations with the EU – not a departure. And back in 1982 it took Greenland three years to negotiate a deal with the far simpler pre-Single Market EEC. Having said that, Norway’s experience might still suggest some valuable lessons.

The second lessons is that there is life outside the EU, and it can be quite good. But, non-membership should not be confused with non-integration and non-cooperation with the EU: Norway, Iceland and Liechtenstein are members of the Single Market through the European Economic Area; Switzerland take part by way of some 100 or so interlinked bilateral deals. If there is political will in the UK, access to the Single Market is feasible.

Lesson three is a warning: The fact that both the UK and the EU are interested in free trade does not mean that this will be easy to achieve. Norway’s approach to participation in European integration without EU membership shows that it is easier to agree on policy than on politics and institutions.

A stable and well-functioning relationship between the EU and the UK needs to be based on trust. In political life, trust is first and foremost guaranteed through institutions. The EU and its member states (including the UK) have always insisted that market access should be based on common rules, and that there must be some form of monitoring and dispute settlement mechanisms. It is inconceivable that the EU will accept agreements that dilute the role of the Commission in terms of oversight and the Court in terms of adjudication. The EEA system initially envisaged a joint court, but ended up with a regime that gives the EU institutions jurisdiction over joint cases.

For Norway and Switzerland, institutional issues have caused delays and frictions. This is not surprising, as it goes right at the heart of the trade-off between market access, on the one hand, and national autonomy and self-determination, on the other. The UK should prepare itself for this delicate balancing act, and it should know where to look, as only the EEA-model, or some modifications thereof, meets the EU requirements. The Swiss model is by many seen as an ‘accident’, not to be replicated.

The fourth lesson is therefore about the importance of implementation and adjudication. The EFTA Court and Surveillance Authority have jurisdiction in cases that only involve the EFTA states. Both institutions were purpose built for the EEA regime.

The fifth lesson is about the fact that negotiating with the EU is not a one-off event, but a series of negotiations. Any sensible Brexit agreement will have to involve a mechanism for ensuring that rules and standards are regularly updated. If not, the agreement will be outdated as soon as it enters force. The EEA agreement started in 1994 with around 1800 legal acts. 8000 new acts have since been added. In addition, as the EU expands into new fields, there will be a need for additional agreements between the EU and UK. Norway and Switzerland had just a few agreements in the 1990s, both have now close to hundred agreements with the EU. A sustainable Brexit agreement therefore has to solve the problem of dynamic development, and the parties must prepare for repeated, if not continuous, negotiations, not a one-off. Long term success will therefore depend on the ability to create a spirit of trust and sustainable cooperation, not on whether one of the parties ‘win’ in the first round.

The sixth lesson concerns the importance of formal sovereignty. Even if policy issues such as agriculture and fisheries were important in the 1972 and 1994 referendums, national sovereignty was the heart of the matter in Norway. The EEA deal allowed Norway to maintain formal sovereignty, even if it delegated actual sovereignty, hooked itself up to a steady flow of EU rules, and found practical arrangements about the application of EEA law in Norway and the role of the EFTA Court and the EU Court of Justice in adjudicating this. In spite of the democratic deficit, most would agree that Norway is still a good and healthy democracy. The Norwegian model is integration without representation, and for many voters, keeping formal sovereignty seems to matter more than delegating actual sovereignty.

The seventh lesson is about political leadership. Put simply, the prime minister must acknowledge ownership of the problems and the solutions. A succession of Norwegian prime ministers and coalition partners have defended the EEA staunchly, whether they saw it as the best or second-best solution. From day one, the assumption was that a deal would be worth defending. No PM ever suggested that ‘no deal’ was ‘better than a bad deal’.

Indeed, political leadership on EU issues means taking the long-term view, eschewing short-term party politics, and broadening support for a deal. The compromise must have cross-party support, at least from the mainstream parties, as well as from business and labour organizations. In Norway, the EEA was the best solution for the divided Labour Party and the soft Eurosceptic Christian People’s Party. It was a second-best option for the pro-EU Conservatives, as well as the divided (populist) Progress Party and the Liberals. Opposition to the EEA from the hard Eurosceptic (agrarian) Centre Party and Socialist Left was therefore largely inconsequential. In fact, these parties have been in government, respecting the platform, and even promoting closer cooperation with the EU. For the UK the eight lesson is therefore that this is not just about the final vote in the Commons; it is about the domestic process. Involving the opposition in formal negotiations could help ensure that the deal survives a future change of government.

The ninth lesson came slower to Norway. The EU is remarkably united when dealing with third countries, in particular when it comes to financial issues. After Sweden and Finland joined the EU in 1995, Norwegians learnt that having a fellow Scandinavian chairing the Council was no guarantee of favourable treatment. For a UK government tempted to explore opportunities to divide and rule in the EU, the warning signs are legion.

Tenth, the need for a non-EU state to establish clear priorities and to pick its fights cannot be overstated. A non-member can have an impact in a policy area if it prioritizes, and explains its domestic constraints. But going for the ‘select all’ option on the conflict menu is not wise. Norway has managed to keep fisheries, agriculture as well as oil and gas out of the EEA. The UK government is well advised to decide – and to signal clearly and openly – what its real red lines are.

In the light of recent reports about civil service confusion over the different departments’ roles in Brexit, the eleventh lesson from Norway is about the need for expertise and coordination across departments both during negotiations and after a deal is in place. As an outsider, the UK will need a lot of expertise on EU affairs, in order to influence effectively and adapt swiftly. At least as much as an EU member. Already five years after the EEA deal took effect, the Norwegians found that the EU expertise built up during negotiations had begun to fade. Consequently, a new effort was made to strengthen Europe competence and to enhance the foreign office’s role in cross-departmental coordination.

The final lesson concerns life outside the EU. Non-members are in effect relegated to the role of a lobbyist – albeit sometimes very important lobbyists. This is a new role, in which expertise, policy competence and the wisdom to gather information, advocate solutions, and intervene at the right time counts for more than formal power. As a lobbyist on the outside, the UK will compete with many governments, organizations and firms. Norway’s experience shows that outsiders can have influence on the EU system, particularly in policy sectors where it is a ‘super power’ – such as oil and gas, but most often such influence depends on successfully aligning with the interests of key member states, and arguing in line with what is best for Europe and the EU, not on the need for special exceptions.

Indeed, Norway’s experience with non-membership of the EU shows that it is perfectly possible for non-members to work closely with the EU in new policy areas – at a price. Norway is more closely integrated into Schengen than Denmark and the UK. It joins in on EU research and higher education policy initiatives. It works with the EU on foreign operations and sanctions. Pragmatic participation in a range of new EU initiatives is part and parcel of Norway’s relationship with the EU, well beyond the EEA deal. The trick is to frame this as pragmatic cooperation in low politics, not the high politics of sovereignty. Pragmatic compromises might often be good and stable, but they are neither simple nor elegant. When searching for solutions, it is often not about maximising one’s own interests, but rather about finding solutions that are acceptable.

Nick Sitter is Professor of Public Policy at the Central European University. Ulf Sverdrup is Director of the Norwegian Institute of International Affairs (NUPI).

Daniela Irrera

For the third consecutive year, growing numbers of migrants have been crossing the central Mediterranean to reach the shores of Europe. The European Union (EU) has remained without an effective policy or a common solidarity approach to address this challenge. In the meantime, national coastguards have returned to patrol and monitor at sea in order to rescue people in need. They do so with the (not always indispensable) support of Frontex.

One central pre-requisite for managing transboundary crises is coordination across different types of actors, including non-governmental organisations (NGOs). Search and rescue operations (SARs) by NGOs have complemented existing EU and member state operations and have significantly mitigated the effects of the humanitarian emergency: since 2015 a growing number of people have been rescued every year. Nevertheless, there have been continued and aggressive attacks against NGOs. For example, according to Frontex and a public prosecutor from Catania (Italy), NGOs are alleged to have colluded with people smugglers in illicit activities. They are also accused of contributing to destabilising the wider area because of their ill-managed SAR operations.

What explains such criticisms? The relationships between NGOs, member states and the EU regarding the humanitarian crisis in the Mediterranean has gone through four different phases, each responding to particular aspects of the wider crisis.

Initially, non-governmental SAR represented a new phenomenon in the Mediterranean. NGOs have been regarded as controversial actors, particularly within the wider humanitarian sector. Ranging considerably in their size and resources, they have been extremely active across almost all areas at issue. Their presence is essential for intergovernmental organisations and national states. They are closely involved in the international system. The first SAR in the Mediterranean in Spring 2015 challenged the popular perception of NGOs: traditionally, NGOs were involved in humanitarian efforts following man-made and natural disasters. Despite the novel environment of the refugee crisis, the NGOs’ SAR actions were nevertheless consistent with their earlier activities in protecting human lives.

Subsequently, NGO activities turned into a convenient phenomenon. In Spring 2016, their operations intensified and also became more specialised. Well-established NGOs, such as the MSF and Save the Children, and newly created ones, such as MOAS and SOS Méditerranée, provided examples of (sometimes uneasy) cooperation among organisations. They offered well-equipped vessels, rescue facilities and medical services that complied with international maritime law and were supervised by competent authorities. In doing so, NGO SARs proved extremely useful in addressing the worst effects of the refugee crisis, by reducing the number of fatalities, and, more importantly, by mitigating the lack of serious EU commitment and the failure of the solidarity approach.

More recently, especially following the agreement with Turkey, the intention to replicate this agreement with other countries, and the launch of a resettlement plan, non-governmental SARs represent a troublesome phenomenon. Unable to cope with new arrivals and constrained by populist campaigns, political elites would prefer approaches that, without violating their international humanitarian duties, would prevent people from travelling by sea and would support their electoral needs.

In the absence of any major change, it is likely that NGOs’ SARs will become an ‘uncontainable’ phenomenon. NGOs are becoming increasingly efficient and professionalised in their activities. They could extend their activities into states that are close to collapse. NGOs could be deployed in any rescue operation, as the example of the MOAS operation in the Adaman Sea in the Indian Ocean demonstrates.

This trajectory of increasing NGO prominence also reflects on the different phases of EU performance throughout the refugee crisis. The refugee crisis produces transboundary implications which require the involvement of different actors, instruments and procedures. The management of the humanitarian dimension of the refugee crisis requires the adoption of a comprehensive and collective approach.

If member states wish to preserve the moral high ground by prosecuting NGOs alleged of colluding with smugglers, then this requires the adoption of an effective and comprehensive set of transboundary policies and measures that set aside state-centred perspectives regarding asylum requests. NGOs would then no longer be required to continue their rescue missions at sea and could return to their more traditional fields of activity.

The question therefore is whether EU member state governments are ready to change their present approach. If they are not, then migration will continue and humanitarian emergencies will require responses. In that case, regardless of whether one considers their activities as legitimate or not, the NGOs’ activities will be essential in mitigating the well-organised, but, as yet, ineffective actions by states, and supplementing the lack of a collective response by the EU.

The author of this blog writes in a personal capacity and does not represent the TransCrisis project team as a whole.

Nick Sitter

The European Union is fundamentally about power-sharing. The original six member states built a political system based on consensus. It allowed a supranational executive to manage day-to-day policy, but legislation required the consent of most of its members. In practice, this meant unanimity. As the EU grew, member state governments accepted that participation in the EU came at the price of having to accept some policy measures with which they did not agree.

In general, EU’s member states have been able to live with the resulting set of compromises. Broadly speaking, their options were – as Albert Hirschman memorably put it half a century ago: Exit, Voice, and Loyalty. If governments could not loyally implement EU policy (or get away with creative forms of transposition), they could voice opposition and attempt to change it. This resulted in a range of opt-ins and opt-out – or differentiated integration.

Ultimately, a dissatisfied state could leave the EU. Greenland did so in 1985, and now the UK is on its way out. But, in the meantime, others have explored a new option – disloyalty. Since 2010, the Fidesz government in Hungary has confronted the EU openly, demanding substantial changes to EU policy and circumventing EU law by way of creative compliance. Since December 2015, the newly elected Polish Law and Justice (PiS) government has embarked on a similar strategy.

Voice has proven to be the easiest and most effective option by far. When the Danish government failed to secure a positive vote in the referendum on the Maastricht Treaty, it negotiated a series of opt-outs with its EU partners, secured the approval of almost all Danish parties, and won a second referendum. Sweden held a referendum on the common currency, and when the government’s effort to secure a ‘yes’ failed, it argued (successfully) that it was not legally obliged to join EMU. In similar vein, the UK opted out of the Schengen arrangements, but ‘opted in’ to a number of specific policies. In all three cases, the governments worked from a relatively weak domestic position, inasmuch as internal party dissent or opposition in parliament made it essential to accommodate Euro-scepticism. The EU’s history shows that voice actually works well. The danger comes when a prime minister too obviously uses the threat of a referendum to press for concessions that no other member state is prepared to accept – as David Cameron learnt in February 2016.

Disloyalty has been the most creative approach to European integration, and it seems to have served the Hungarian government well. Despite criticism from the Commission for its persistent effort to centralise political and economic power and limit the rule of law, Hungary has so far avoided anything more serious than ordinary infringement procedures. What Viktor Orbán proudly calls his ‘illiberal democracy’ thrives in the EU, has been supported by EU funding and has been, at the time of writing, protected by his fellow members of the European People’s Party. The danger for Fidesz is not so much that the disloyalty strategy might not deliver the goods, but rather that their Warsaw-based ideological bed-fellows’ more open and assertive confrontation might provoke a more resolute response from the EU.

All three options – voice, disloyalty and exit – involved their own false promises and pitfalls. A governing party that voices too much protest about its being outvoted in Brussels, might find itself outflanked by genuine Eurosceptics. A government that bends the laws too far might find itself on the receiving end of ever sharper criticism from its fellow member states. And the Eurosceptic government of a state on the way out runs the danger of overestimating the importance of its own power.

Brexit has taken the question of differentiated integration to a completely new level. The Brexit process is fraught with far more uncertainty than any other of the EU’s relationships with its other ‘quasi-members’ – Norway, Iceland and Liechtenstein. The Norwegians opted to join the Single Market, including free movement, supranational courts and all. For more than two decades, the European Economic Area agreement has worked due to goodwill on both sides. Most Norwegian governments have been more pro-EU than their parliaments (and, arguably, their voters), and carefully balanced their quest to take part in the Single Market against the constraints imposed by Eurosceptic electorates. The result may not be that pretty, but it has proven remarkably durable.

Theresa May has made it clear that she believes beating ‘saboteurs’ (as the Daily Mail put it) with an enhanced Conservative majority in the June election will make it easier for her to confront ‘Brussels’. This might go down well among those celebrating the achievements of the colonial ‘perfidious Albion’, but half a century of Scandinavian experience suggests that she might well be wrong.

A big lesson from the Scandinavian experience is that an outsider’s most important task is to exert influence on EU decision-making. The danger that Theresa May will face if her party wins a big Commons majority in June is that she will not be able to point to domestic constraints when trying to work out compromises with her EU partners. In zero-sum negotiations it might be useful to have strong backing at home and room for manoeuvre – but when negotiating complex institutional arrangements with the EU, the Scandinavian lesson is that it may be far more productive to emphasise the need for broad consensus at home and a willingness to accommodate both Eurosceptics and the EU’s legal system. In other words, modesty and being in tight domestic spots enhance negotiation positions with EU member states, not sabre-rattling hubris.

The author of this blog writes in a personal capacity and does not represent the TransCrisis project team as a whole.