Europa-Universität Viadrina Frankfurt/Oder (Deutschland)
Adam Mickiewicz Uniwersytet Poznań (Polska)
The EU's border with Russia – from
'frontier' to 'boundary'
Imperial metaphor, the Baltic Sea Region and the external borders of the
European Union
Master's Thesis in European Studies (EUV)
Master's Thesis in Political Science (AMU)
Winter Semester 2009/2010
Submitted by:
Submitted to:
Tuomas Iso-Markku
***** *** **
***** ******
Prof. Dr. Jürgen Neyer (EUV)
Dr. Jarosław Jańczak (AMU)
[email protected]
Berlin, November 26th, 2009
Abstract
This paper first presents the three most important metaphors for the EU, the Westphalian, the neomedieval and the imperial metaphors. It is then argued that the imperial metaphor is the one that
best describes the EU of today. One of the key characteristics of the EU empire is that, unlike a
modern nation-state, it does not have fixed borders producing a clear distinction between the inside
and the outside. Instead, the borders of the Union are ‘fuzzy’. One region, where this has been
especially visible is the Baltic Sea Region (BSR). The region first emerged after the Cold War as the
result of conscious region-building efforts, to which the EU has contributed through its own policies
since the mid-1990s. Increasingly EU-led regional co-operation under the ‘Baltic’ (and later
‘Northern’) umbrella has brought together EU members, future members as well as non-members,
thus effectively blurring the borders of the Union. However, since the EU’s Eastern Enlargement in
2004, the ‘Baltic’ regionalism in its earlier form has lost momentum and the borders of the Union
no longer appear fuzzy, but rather fixed. However, this observation does not have to mean that the
imperial metaphor should be abandoned. Drawing from border theory, this paper argues that in
interaction with its neighbours, the EU empire is likely to produce two kinds of borders: either a
‘frontier’ or a ‘boundary’. The emergence of both kind of borders imply a certain type of othering
on the part of both the EU and its neighbours. The ‘frontier’ is a fuzzy border and is likely to come
about, when the EU empire treats a non-member state as a ‘learner’ and that state is, in effect,
willing to play this role. The ‘boundary’, on the other hand, is of fixed nature and develops, when
the EU and a state on its outside see one another as fundamentally different. In the last part of the
paper, the theoretical model is applied to the EU–Russian border, which is, so the argument, turning
from a ‘frontier’ into a ‘boundary’.
2
Tiivistelmä
Tässä työssä tutkitaan Euroopan unionin (EU) muodon, rajojen ja identiteetin välisiä yhteyksiä. Työ
esittelee kolme vertauskuvallista mallia, joilla Euroopan unionia useimmiten kuvataan. Nämä
kolme mallia ovat 1.) westfalenilainen, 2.) uuskeskiaikainen ja 3.) imperialistinen. Työssä todetaan
imperialistisen mallin parhaiten kuvaavan tämän päivän unionia. Toisin kuin keskitetyllä,
modernilla valtiolla, EU:lla ei ole selkeitä rajoja, jotka yksiselitteisesti määrittäisivät, missä unionin
hallintoalue ja toimivalta loppuvat, vaan EU:n rajat ovat sumeat (fuzzy). Tämä piirre on korostunut
erityisesti nk. Itämeren alueella, joka on syntynyt kylmän sodan jälkeen eri toimijoiden vetämän
tietoisen region-building -prosessin seurauksena. EU on myös osallistunut Itämeren alueen
rakentamiseen 1990-luvun puolivälistä asti ja Itämeren alue onkin pitkään ollut alue, jossa EUvetoinen yhteistyö on luonut kontakteja jäsenvaltioiden, ehdokasmaiden sekä unioniin
kuulumattomien kolmansien maiden välille. EU:n vuonna 2004 tapahtuneen laajentumisen jälkeen
Itämeren alueelle on sen sijaan muodostumassa selvä raja jäsemaiden ja kolmansien maiden
(erityisesti Venäjän) välille. Tämä ei kuitenkaan tarkoita, että EU olisi muuttumassa keskitetyn
valtion kaltaiseksi hallintoyksiköksi. Tässä työssä esitetään, että EU-imperiumi voi tuottaa
kahdenlaisia rajoja – boundaries ja frontiers. Se, millaisen muodon yksittäinen raja saa, riippuu
siitä, millaisen identiteetin EU tuottaa niille, jotka ovat rajojen ulkpuolella ja miten ulkopuoli näkee
itsensä suhteessa unioniin. Mikäli “toiseus” rakennetaan itsen kaltaiseksi, EU:n rajat pysyvät
sumeina ja EU:n ulkopuolesta tulee EU-käytäntöjen oppija. Jos toiseuden eroavat piirteet sen sijaan
korostuvat EU:n ja “toisen” välisessä kanssakäymisessä, rajasta unionin sisä- ja ulkopuolen välillä
tulee selkeä. Yksi työn pääteeseistä onkin, että Itämeren alueelle muodostumassa oleva raja on
seurausta siitä, että EU ja Venäjä ovat viime aikoina korostaneet toistensa erilaisuutta.
3
Inhaltsverzeichnis
1. Introduction......................................................................................................................................5
2. EU as Empire....................................................................................................................................8
2.1. Metaphors for the European Union: Westphalian or neo-medieval?.........................................9
2.2. The imperial metaphor.............................................................................................................13
2.3. The borders of the EU empire.................................................................................................16
2.4. The constitutional process: the EU on the Westphalian track?................................................19
2.5. The enlargement and the borders of the EU............................................................................21
3. The Baltic Sea Region and the borders of the European Union.....................................................25
3.1. The emergence of the Baltic Sea Region.................................................................................26
3.2. The Baltic Sea Region and the EU..........................................................................................29
3.3. The Baltic Sea Region and the fuzzy borders of the EU empire.............................................31
3.4. The Baltic Sea Region after the EU enlargement....................................................................35
4. Imperial metaphor, geostrategies and the nature of the EU's external borders..............................40
4.1. The EU’s different geostrategies: the colonial frontier and limes...........................................41
4.2. The borders between the ‘self’ and the ‘other’........................................................................44
4.3. Geostrategies and forms of othering........................................................................................48
4.4. 'Frontiers' and 'boundaries'......................................................................................................52
5. The EU's border with Russia – from 'frontier' to 'boundary'..........................................................52
5.1. The EU’s policy towards Russia: Russia as a learner..............................................................53
5.2. Russia: from a learner to a drop-out of the EU school............................................................55
5.3. From 'frontier' to 'boundary'....................................................................................................58
5.4. Russia and the ‘new’ member states of the EU.......................................................................60
6. Conclusions....................................................................................................................................64
7. Bibliography...................................................................................................................................68
4
1. Introduction
The turn of the millennium witnessed the beginning of an intensive debate over the future form,
final external borders as well as the identity of the European Union (EU). Politicians, scholars and
even the general public – often deemed passive and uninterested in questions concerning the EU –
have participated in the debate, which was stimulated above all by the EU’s decisions to start
accession negotiations with altogether twelve applicant states1 and thus commit itself to large-scale
enlargement. The enlargement process culminated in May 2004, as ten of the twelve candidates
(Cyprus, the Czech Republic, Estonia, Hungary, Latvia, Lithuania, Malta, Poland, the Slovak
Republic and Slovenia) simultaneously entered the EU, making it the biggest enlargement in the
history of the Union with regard to the number of states joining. With Bulgaria and Romania
following suit in January 2007, the EU evolved in less than three years from a Union of 15 member
states into one of 27. In between, in October 2005, the EU started accession negotiations with two
further candidates, namely Croatia and Turkey. Against this backdrop, it comes as no surprise that
questions have surfaced as to where the European project is heading to 2, where, if anywhere, should
the borders of the EU be redrawn3 and where does ‘Europe’ – as embodied by the Union –
ultimately end4.
Questions regarding the EU’s form, final borders and identity are closely interlinked. To set an
example, federalists, who would like to see the EU develop into a state, insist that the Union should
clearly define its external borders, as this is in their opinion the only way to guarantee that the
European political project continues to advance towards the desired outcome.5 One could turn the
argument also the other way around: should the EU take a more state-like form, attaining fixed
external borders is bound to become an important objective. After all, “[t]he distinction between
internal and external security, between shared taxation and redistribution and ‘external’ programmes
of economic assistance, between citizens and aliens, between domestic law and international law,
are all intrinsic to the modern state”6 and it is possible to make such distinctions only if there is a
line of demarcation between the ‘inside’ and the ‘outside’.7 A positive connection between fixed
external borders and a common identity is also commonly made. Identity stands for sameness and
“[...] only make[s] sense as a belief, a myth, or an identification with something, that is, as a
Accession negotiations with Cyprus, the Czech Republic, Estonia, Hungary, Poland and Slovenia began in October
1998 and a year later the European Commission recommended that the member states of the EU would start
negotiations also with Bulgaria, Latvia, Lithuania, Malta, Romania and the Slovak Republic.
2 Fischer 2000.
3 Smith 1996, 21.
4 Wallace 2002.
5 Comelli/Greco/Tocci 2007, 206.
6 Wallace 2002, 83
7 Hill 2002, 95
1
5
projection of the ego onto something else and the symbolic representation of this ‘something
else’”8, of the ‘other’. Many conservatives, e.g. from Austria, France and Germany, argue that the
EU should define its final borders, as continuous enlargement, especially the eventual accession of
Turkey, would pose a serious threat to Europe’s religious or culturally-defined identity.9 They thus
support drawing a clear border, both physical and mental, between the ‘self’ and the ‘other’.
However, also the opposite demand is often heard: the EU should, by all means, avoid the
development of dividing lines separating ‘us’ from ‘them’, the Union from its neighbours, as such a
situation would be likely to lead to conflicts.10
This paper analyses the complex connections between the form of the EU polity, the nature and
location of its borders as well as – albeit to a lesser extent – the ‘European’ identity. The main focus
of interest is the EU's external border in the East and, more specifically, the one in the Baltic Sea
Region (BSR), or the 'North', as it is also commonly called. The paper is an attempt to grasp some
recent developments in Europe in general and in the Baltic Sea Region in particular and then place
them into a larger theoretical context. In the process, that theoretical framework will be further
developed and some lose ends of previous scholarly approaches are, hopefully, tied together in an
interesting, or at least thought-provoking, manner. This paper is structured as follows: Chapter 2
deals with the connection between the form of the EU polity – the ‘nature of the beast’ 11 – and the
form and functions of its external borders. The chapter first presents three metaphors for the
European Union, the Westphalian, the neo-medieval and the imperial metaphors, each of which
implies a certain type of external borders around the Union. It is then argued that the imperial
metaphor is the one best suited to describe the EU. The EU is not like a modern state, but like a
neo-medieval empire and such an empire does not – and is not likely to – have fixed external
borders. Instead, its external borders are ‘fuzzy’. Chapter 3 takes a closer look at the developments
around the EU’s north-eastern border, as it is there, in the Baltic Sea Region that the EU empire’s
borders are perceived to be especially fuzzy forming a zone of contact between EU members,
candidate countries and non-members, above all Russia (itself also sometimes perceived to be an
empire). While the external border of the EU in the BSR may have been fuzzy until very recently,
especially the time after the ‘big bang’ enlargement of 2004 seems to question this view. Chapter 3
thus constructs the ‘puzzle’ of this paper: while the EU resembles a neo-medieval empire, at least
one of its borders appears, contrary to the expectations of the imperial model, rather fixed. Instead
of abandoning the imperial metaphor, Chapter 4 tries to develop it further. A closer look at different
approaches to border- and identity-building, especially those highlighting a ‘self’/’other’
Stråth 2000, 13-14.
Comelli/Greco/Tocci 2007, 206-207.
10 Ibid., 209.
11 This expression was coined by Thomas Risse-Kappen. See Risse-Kappen, T. (1996), 'Exploring the Nature of the
Beast: International Relations Theory and Comparative Policy Analysis Meet the European Union', in Journal of
Common Market Studies 34:1, pp. 53-80.
8
9
6
distinction, is taken in order to find out what kind of borders the EU empire can have and how they
are produced. A new theoretical framework is developed, which is then, in Chapter 5, applied to the
EU–Russian relations. The EU’s external border with Russia, so the conclusion, is turning from an
open and inclusive border to a closed and exclusive one, from ‘frontier’ to ‘boundary’. Chapter 6
offers a short summary of the main findings of the paper and suggests some areas to be covered by
future studies.
Before advancing further, some of the key concepts used in the paper need to be defined. First of
all, there are three words commonly used for outer limits of political entities. These are 'border',
'boundary' and 'frontier'. 'Frontier' is the one with the widest meaning. It can refer to a “precise line
at which jurisdictions meet, usually demarcated and controlled by customs, police and military
personnel”.12 On the other hand, 'frontier' can also be a region, a zone with unclear lines of
demarcation13, sometimes described as a 'borderland' or a ‘border region'. Instead of “[...] being a
line of division between the ‘inside’ and the ‘outside’, between the self and the other [...], such a
frontier is “[...] an area of exchange, interaction and integration.”14 It also tends to be geographically
wider and politically inclusive, “[...] an area whose real and imagined character is intrinsically
open”.15 This is the meaning given to the word 'frontier' in this paper. The term 'boundary', in
contrast, has a very narrow definition. It is only used to refer to lines of delimitation or demarcation.
Finally, the word 'border' can usually describe both a narrow zone and a line of demarcation.16 In
this paper, 'border' is used as a general concept, a neutral term, which can refer to a 'frontier' as well
as to a 'boundary'. What, then, are borders? Malcolm Anderson notes that borders have four
dimensions. First, they are instruments of state policy, as governments try to change both their
location and their function to their own advantage. Second, “[...] the policies and practices of
governments are constrained by the degree of de facto control [...] ” over the borders of their
respective states.17 Third, borders are markers of political identities (regional, national, continental
or hemispheric). And fourth, borders are terms of discourse, given different meanings at different
points of time.18 Even though Anderson's four dimensions seem to have been written above all with
a nation-state in mind, all four also apply to the borders of the EU and will be dealt with in this
paper.
The paper draws, apart from official EU documents, mainly on writings that can be placed in the
realm of European integration theory, international relations theory, (critical) geopolitics and
12Anderson
1996, 9.
9; Lynch 2005, 15.
14 Comelli/Greco/Tocci 2007, 206.
15 Ibid., 206.
16 Anderson 1996, 9.
17 Ibid., 2.
18 Ibid., 2.
13Ibid.,
7
political geography. A common link between many of the authors cited in this paper is their
emphasis on the importance of discourse. Discourse, as defined by Wæver, is “[...] a system that
regulates the formation of statements”.19 ‘Discursive approaches’ in social sciences are generally
based on the notion that things themselves do not have a meaning, they first become meaningful in
discourse.20 Discourse is not separate from ‘reality’, but instead it forms “[...] the layer of reality
where meaning is produced and distributed”.21 It is, however, not the aim of this paper to engage in
any meta-theoretical discussions. Instead, it is possible to single out two some concrete ‘discursive’
arguments that are of great importance in view of the approach chosen in this paper. First of all, it
has become common among those associated with the discursive approaches to argue that the EU
should not be seen in strictly state-centric terms, that is, solely as a battleground of national
governments and their interests (like intergovernmentalists tend to present the Union) or as an
emerging state of its own.22 This notion lies also at the heart of this paper and will be discussed
more in detail in Chapter 2. The second argument coming from the field of the discursive
approaches and to be dealt with here is the – already mentioned – notion that ‘European’ identity,
like any identity, is constructed against an ‘other’/’others’.23 This will be one of the topics of
Chapter 4. Besides that, also the region-building approach presented in Chapter 3 is clearly a
discursive model, although it only plays a rather small role here.
2. EU as Empire
Since the very beginning of the European integration process, questions regarding the EC/EU’s
final form have arisen.24 Over the years, various answers to these questions have been given, but no
consensus exists among either policy-makers or scholars. The fact that the goal of the integration
process remains obscure means that it is also difficult to define the state of European integration,
that is, what the EU is today.25 If the EU is heading towards a goal, which is unknown to us (not
least, because those steering the integration process are unable to agree on it), should the Union then
be defined as ‘not-yet-something’ or ‘something-to-be’? Or is the EU already ‘something’ despite
the fact that it might become something more (or something less) in the future? This chapter
presents the three most important metaphors for the European Union. Emphasis is placed especially
on the imperial metaphor, as it is, so the argument, the most suited to describe the EU.
Wæver 2004, 199.
Ibid., 198.
21 Wæver 2004, 199.
22 see Wæver 2004, 202.
23 see Ibid., 210.
24 Browning 2005, 85.
25 Zielonka 2007, 4-7.
19
20
8
2.1. Metaphors for the European Union: Westphalian or neo-medieval?
Whilst Jacques Delors spoke of the European construction simply as ‘an unidentified political
object’26, many authors have tried to solve the difficult task of defining the character of the EU by
using metaphors. Metaphors for the EU have varied from Donald J. Puchala’s elephant which
‘blind’ academics tried to imagine by touching its different parts to Helen Wallace’s and William
Wallace’s group of geese that fly in different formations depending on if they know their goal or
not.27 However, the dominant paradigm among those writing about the EU has, for a long time,
been the statist one.28 According to the policy-makers or scholars, who subscribe to the statist
approach, the EU is either on its way to become a (European super-)state or should become one.
Thus, they place “[...] an idealized model of the Westphalian state [...]” 29 as the ultimate goal of the
European integration process. The statist paradigm has, however, not achieved its strong position
because the number of those hoping for the EU to become a state or those believing that the Union
is going to become one would be significantly bigger than the number of those preferring some
other scenario. Rather, it can be derived from the fact that even those who reject the statist model
tend to use it as their point of reference.30 As Zielonka recently formulated it, “[...] it is difficult, if
not impossible to discuss the future shape of the enlarged EU without referring to the notion of a
state”.31 That is why it makes sense to start by presenting the Westphalian metaphor for the EU.
The term ‘Westphalian state’ (from which the name of the Westphalian metaphor is, of course,
derived) points to the Peace of Westphalia, which was concluded in Münster and Osnabrück in
1648. The treaty of Westphalia ended the Thirty Years’ War between “two bodies of divided
Christianity[,] corpus catholicorum and corpus evangelicorum”32, and codified “[...] the coexistence
of Catholicism and Protestantism in strict terms of state borders [...]”, thus legitimising the principle
of territorial sovereignty.33 For this reason, the Peace of Westphalia is nowadays generally seen as
having, symbolically, laid the basis of the modern state system, sometimes also called the
Westphalian system.34 The distinctive feature of the modern system of rule is, as John Gerard
Ruggie puts it, “[...] that it has differentiated its subject collectivity into territorially defined, fixed
and mutually exclusive enclaves of legitimate dominion”35, modern/Westphalian states.
cited in: Hassner 1997, 48.
both metaphors described in Zielonka 2007, 6.
28 Zielonka 2007, 7.
29 Caporaso 1996, 34.
30 see Ibid., 34.
31 Zielonka 2007, 7.
32 Medvedev 1999, 46.
33 Ibid., 47.
34 Ibid., 47. In reality, the modern state system evolved more gradually. See Diez 2004, 322; Ruggie 1993.
35 Ruggie 1993, 151.
26
27
9
Ruggie’s definition of the modern state system already gives us an idea of what the ideal-typical
Westphalian state is like. Its most important characteristics could be listed as follows: “[t]he
Westphalian state formally has absolute sovereignty36 over its territory”. In order to keep unwanted
external influences, that is, possible challenges to its sovereignty, out, the Westphalian state also has
fixed external borders.37 Furthermore, it has a homogeneous socio-economic system and “[...] a
clear hierarchical governmental structure with one centre of authority. There is a high degree of
overlap between the legal, administrative, economic, and military regimes within it”. The legal
justice system as well as the financial redistribution system are unified and there is both a
centralised police force and a centralised army.38 From the 19th century onwards, a strong link has
also been made between territorial states and nations with “[...] political beliefs and myths about the
'natural' unity of a territory”39 becoming increasingly important. As a result, the concept of the
Westphalian state is now almost inseparable from the concept of the nation-state.40
Turning now to the European Union, the idea that European integration would lead to the
emergence of a European state has been cherished above all by federalists. However, to use the
adjective ‘Westphalian’ to refer to the kind of state the federalists dream about is not unproblematic.
A federal union integrates different entities into a new political whole41, in which these entities “[...]
merge part of their autonomous selves while retaining certain powers, functions, and competences
fundamental to the preservation and promotion of their particular cultures, interests, identities, and
sense of self-definition”.42 For this reason, the federal ideas initially challenged one of the core
assumptions, upon which the modern territorial state was based – that “[...] the state
was
‘sovereign’ in the sense that it admitted no rival or competing authority within its own territorially
demarcated boundaries”.43 On the other hand, Preston King has defined a federation as “[...] an
institutional arrangement, taking the form of a sovereign state, and distinguished from other such
states solely by the fact that its central government incorporates regional units in its decision
procedure on some constitutionally entrenched basis”.44 This definition, so the argument here,
justifies placing the federalist project of a European state into the ‘Westphalian’ paradigm.
Zielonka does not offer any definition of sovereignty in this context. Sovereignty as defined by Caporaso is “[...] a
right, a socially recognized capacity to decide on matters within a state’s domestic jurisdiction”. Internally it “[...]
implies non-intervention by ‘outside’ powers, non-interference in domestic affairs. Externally the interactions of
multiple sovereignties imply anarchy”. (Caporaso 1996, 35.)
37Anderson 1996, 2.
38 Zielonka 2007, 10; for another definition of the Westphalian state, see for example Caporaso 1996, 34-35.
39Anderson 1996, 2.
40 The term ‘Westphalian state’ is often used interchangeably with the term ‘nation-state’ (Zielonka, for example, tends
to do this), but the nation-state emerged later. For the nineteenth and twentieth century, the hay-day of the nation-state,
the two were, however, almost inseparable concepts. See Wæver/Buzan/Kelstrup/Lemaitre 1993, 68-69.
41 In principle, a federalist union does not need to become a federation, a composite state constituting a single people.
Instead, it can also take the form of a confederation, a union of states. (Burgess 2004, 29-30.) The former option is,
however, usually preferred by and most commonly associated with the federalist movement in Europe, which is why it
is the one dealt with here.
42 Burgess 2004, 29. Emphasis added.
43 Ibid., 29.
44 King, cited in Ibid., 29-30. Emphasis added.
36
10
In the 1950s, federalist ideas inspired the pioneering projects for a European Defence Community
(EDC) as well as a European Political Community (EPC), both of which, however, collapsed. 45 The
destiny of the EDC and the EPC made it evident for federalists “[...] that ambitious and
straightforward cooperation projects have a fairly good chance of being shot down”, which is why
“[t]he language of the successive cooperative arrangements had to be vague at times, and no
specific destination point for the European project could ever be officially proclaimed”.46 Instead,
the dominant federalist strategy became that based on the views of Jean Monnet, the first President
of the European Coal and Steel Community, who believed that, eventually, “[...] small, concrete,
economic steps would culminate in a federal Europe”.47
Jean Monnet’s assumptions about the way European integration would advance were, in fact, very
similar to those, upon which neofunctionalism, one of the most influential regional integration
theories, is built.48 At the heart of neofuntionalism lies the idea that once a group of states has
created a supra-national, regional organisation “[...] for accomplishing a limited task [...]”, the states
will soon “[...] discover that satisfying that function has external effects upon other of their
independent activities” as well.49 Such “unintended consequences” are further exploited by the
supra-national organisation(s), to which states end up conceding more and more authority. 50 This
way, integration is predicted to “spill-over” into more and more important policy areas.
Furthermore, as a result of this process, the citizens of the integrating states are expected to slowly
shift their expectations and loyalties to the regional level and start to demand further integration. 51
Even though neofunctionalists seemed to announce the “overcoming of the nation state”52, their
views on the EC/EU were, on the other hand, firmly anchored in the Westphalian paradigm. After
all, they saw European integration as an ever-advancing process and what else could await at the
end of that process if not a (federal) European state as envisioned by Monnet?
Whilst the creator of the neofunctionalist theory, Haas, declared it obsolete already in the mid1970s53, some advocates of a federal Europe might, in contrast, have taken the gradual evolution of
the European Community into the European Union as “[...] a firm vindication of the continuing
Ibid., 31.
Zielonka 2007, 5.
47 Burgess 2004, 32. Emphasis in original.
48 Consequently, Monnet can be said to have been not only a federalist, but also a “’political’ neofunctionalist”.
(Diez/Wiener 2004, 8.)
49 Schmitter 2004, 46.
50 Ibid., 46.
51 Diez/Wiener 2004, 8; Schmitter 2004, 46.
52 Diez/Wiener 2004, 8.
53 Schmitter 2004, 45.
45
46
11
strength and vitality of the federal idea”54. Others have, however, pointed out that after the end of
the Cold War, the EC/EU formed “[...] a complexity that still did not look much like a new nationstate, but seemed to abandon Europeans in a messy situation without any sovereign authority”55,
thus putting the whole “modern conception of political territoriality”56 into question. As Ruggie
pointed out in 1993, there was no indication that the EC would become a federal state and thus “[...]
replicate on a larger scale the typical modern political form”.57 Instead, the Community seemed to
be “[...] the first ‘multiperspectival polity’ to emerge since the advent of the modern era”. 58 Europe,
then, so Ruggie’s conclusion, was leaving the era of modernity in international politics behind and
becoming increasingly post-modern. However, instead of interpreting the post-modern order of
Europe as something entirely novel, many authors looked back into the European history for a
suitable point of reference. They came up with the idea that after the Cold War Europe had entered a
period of ‘neo-medievalism’ or the ‘New Middle Ages’.59 It was explained that the Middle Ages,
unlike the modern/Westphalian state system, had been characterized by overlapping authorities and
a high degree of complexity.60 To again borrow the words of Ruggie, “[...] the spatial extension of
the medieval system of rule was structured by a non-exclusive form of territoriality, in which
authority was both personalized and parcelized within and across territorial formations [...]” 61. For
this reason, until the thirteenth century, there were also no firm boundary lines between the most
important territorial formations, “[...] only ‘frontiers’, or large zones of transition.”62
The ‘neo-medievalists’ identified similar63 features in post-Cold War Europe. Wæver and
Joenniemi, for example, argued as early as in 1992 that since the German re-unification, Europe had
witnessed a process of “Europeanization” which was gradually leading to a dissolution of the
modern state system. This Europeanisation process was very complex in nature, as there were
actually three different Europes, all of which were developing simultaneously. First of all, there was
the Europe of classical inter-state co-operation, which unfolded especially in the field of security
and involved the United States and Russia as well as such intergovernmental institutions as NATO
and the Commission on Security and Cooperation in Europe (CSCE). Secondly, there was the
Europe of the EC, which was slowly acquiring some state-like qualities without becoming a state.
Burgess 2004, 25. Officially, the EC turned into the EU as a result of the Maastricht Treaty, which is also called
Treaty on European Union (TEU). The treaty was signed in February 1992 and entered into force in November 1993.
55 Wæver 1997a, 61.
56 Hassner 1997, 48.
57 Ruggie 1993, 171-172.
58 Ibid., 172.
59 That is why the terms ‘post-modern’ and ‘neo-medieval’ are, in this context, frequently used interchangeably,
although there are also those, who make a distinction between them. Furthermore, some authors also utilise the word
‘post-Westphalian’ instead of ‘post-modern’. Also a closely related term, ‘post-sovereign’, is sometimes used. (See
Gebhard 2009, 44.).
60 Wæver 1997a, 61.
61 Ruggie 1993, 150.
62 Ibid., 150.
63 It is important to underline that the reference made to the Middle Ages was always meant to be a metaphor.
54
12
And thirdly, there was the ‘Europe of Regions’, resulting from “the emergence of sub-state and
around-state structures [...]”, which had built business and other kinds of networks between them.
As a consequence of the development of the three Europes, Wæver and Joenniemi argued, political
authority got “[...] dispersed on more and more levels [...]” and there was no longer one level which
would have been “[...] clearly the most important to refer to [...]”.64 That is why “[...] even those
nations most closely approaching the ideal type of nation-state, los[t] the option of always referring
to ‘their’ state”.65 The ‘neo-medievalists’ did not, however, predict the demise of the nations as
such. Instead, they pointed out that major changes were happening at the level of the state and that
the link between nation and state was breaking.66
Although the neo-medieval metaphor did point out that the intensification of the European
integration process since the end of the Cold War together with other, related, developments had led
to a significant change in Europe, it still said very little about the nature of the European Union. The
EU was not a state nor did it seem to become one, so much was clear for the neo-medievalists. But
what was the Union then like?
2.2. The imperial metaphor
The neo-medieval metaphor was soon followed by another influential metaphor, which sought to
better explain not only what post-Cold War Europe looked like, but also what kind of an entity the
EU actually was. This metaphor has become to be known as the imperial metaphor. Already in the
early 1990’s, Farago compared the newborn European Union with the Austro-Hungarian Empire,
whereas Brague and Mourier looked for similarities between the Union and the Roman Empire. 67
However, it was the Danish scholar Ole Wæver, one of the ‘neo-medievalists’, who can be credited
for laying the foundations for the imperial approach in his article “Imperial Metaphors: Emerging
European Analogies to Pre-Nation-State Imperial Systems” in 1997.68 Wæver noted that although
the European state system had for centuries been characterized by a rivalry between several Great
Powers (he listed France, Germany, England, Russia, Turkey and Austria), this scenario did not
return after the bipolar Cold War order had crumbled: Instead of various competing centres, Wæver
argued, Europe has since then had only one centre, that formed by the European Union with its
capital in Brussels. Around this ‘imperial’ centre there are several concentric circles, with the power
Wæver/Joenniemi 1992, 28-30. Emphasis in original. See also Wæver/Buzan/Kelstrup/Lemaitre 1993, especially 6869.
65 Wæver/Buzan/Kelstrup/Lemaitre 1993, especially 69.
66 Ibid., especially 69.
67 see Wæver 1997a, 65.
68 This is not to say that the imperial metaphor was fully based on Wæver’s ideas. Instead, his model is inspired above
all by the writings of Adam Watson. See for example Wæver 2000, 255-257.
64
13
of the Union slowly fading out the further away one gets from its core.69 The main concern of the
states in this imperial order has to do with their position in relation to the the EU’s centre: those in
the periphery, that is, in the outer concentric circles, seek to move closer to the core, whereas some
in the inner circles might be afraid of coming too close to the centre.70
Whilst the imperial model is different from the neo-medieval metaphor, Wæver did not discredit the
latter either. He argued that the neo-medievalists (he himself among others) had been right in
pointing out that Europe was moving away from “territorial sovereignty and exclusivity”: neither
the member states nor the EU itself are fully sovereign.71 Instead, “[...] both layers are politically
real and cannot be reduced to the other”.72 On the other hand, Wæver noted that the neo-medieval
metaphor was unable to catch the centredness of the European structure. Thus, one could say that
the difference between the neo-medieval and the empire metaphors is that the first underlines “the
alternative to sovereignty” as well as the “presence of overlapping authorities” (both of which can
be attributed to the imperial metaphor as well), whereas the second highlights the “[...] centredness,
a centredness which is not that of a sovereign state [...]”.73 Wæver’s attitude towards the
Westphalian metaphor, in contrast, was very dismissive: “[i]t can even be argued that European
unification is impossible if attempted in the format of the sovereign state”. 74 Wæver substantiated
this claim by arguing that nations are likely to oppose any movement towards a European
(nation-)state, as such a construction would threaten their identity. For this reason, the EU has to
content oneself with forming “[...] a unit with a more limited political identity”.75
In Wæver’s imperial model, the EU is of great importance for European security as a whole 76 and
the Union’s three most important security functions are in accord with the geographical form of the
concentric circles. The first security function of the EU is keeping its “[...] core intact, ensuring
there is one centre rather than several in Western Europe”.77 The second security function is derived
from the attractiveness or “magnetism” of the EU core: because many states in the European
Union’s ‘near abroad’78 wish to join the Union, the EU has a “stabilizing leverage” over them. The
Wæver 1997a, 66-68.
Wæver 2000, 258-259.
71 Wæver 1997a, 86.
72 Wæver 2000, 257.
73 Wæver 1997a, 61.
74 Ibid., 86.
75 Ibid., 86.
76 The EU is, according to Wæver, “probably the most important” security organisation in Europe. See Wæver 2000,
264.
77 Ibid., 68. Emphasis in original.
78 The concept of a ‘near abroad’ emerged in the early 1990s in Russia and was used to refer to neighbouring regions
that had formally been part of the Soviet Union and, after its demise, formed the Commonwealth of Independent States
(CIS). These regions were seen “[...] as important areas of Russian national interest” and Russia, consequently, claimed
itself the right to play a leading role in the ‘near abroad’ (See for example Christiansen/Petito/Tonra 2000, 390-391;
Haukkala 2003, 280). By applying the concept of ‘near abroad’ to the states around the EU, Wæver highlights the
Union’s ‘imperial’ nature. The EU’s ‘near abroad’, as he understands it, consists of the countries of Central Eastern
Europe which applied for EU membership during the 1990s. An interesting case is that of the Baltic states (Estonia,
69
70
14
Union can influence these states and, if needed, also discipline them, thus ensuring their political
elites know what is expected from them in terms of democracy and privatisation or with regard to
policies concerning national minorities.79 Thirdly, Wæver argued that the EU has a potential role in
intervening in conflicts that occur in the European periphery, although he added that it might take
some time before the EU becomes equipped enough to deal with conflicts of military character, if it
ever will.80 In order to play its pivotal role for European security, Wæver noted that the EU must
find a balance between “deepening, widening and promises about widening”: “[i]f the EU expands
too fast and/or is watered down internally, it will lose the very value that in the first place made it
attractive and kept the Western core together, while, on the other hand, if widening slows down,
countries might start to fall off the magnet”.81
Although Wæver outlined a Europe having only one centre around which everything revolves, he
admitted that this “unipolar, EU-based security order” might not apply to the whole of Europe with
Russia posing the most obvious challenge to a unicentric Europe. As to possible future scenarios
with regard to Russia’s place in Europe, Wæver proposed three options. First, Russia might content
itself with a position in the EU’s outer periphery, thus allowing a unipolar Europe to form. Second,
Russia might insist on playing an equal role. This would, however, require that Europe would move
away from the imperial order and, once again, turn into the playground of several Great Powers (as
it was in the centuries preceding the Cold War), because Russia could only dream of equality when
facing individual Great Powers, not when facing the entire EU. Third, Russia might try to recover
the Soviet sphere of influence, now forming the Commonwealth of Independent States (CIS), thus
becoming an empire itself. This would lead to a new division of Europe between these two
empires.82
Wæver argued that, by the time of writing, Russia already had some characteristics of an empire:
Moscow formed the core around which there were concentric centres with the centre’s power
gradually fading out but still spreading beyond the borders of the Russian Federation into its own
‘near abroad’.83 Wæver also identified a third potential ‘empire’, the Turkish empire, centred around
Ankara and stretching its sphere of influence all the way to the ‘Turkish Republics’ in Central Asia,
that is, to Russia’s ‘near abroad’. The Turkish empire would, however, be smaller than the EU
empire or the Russian empire and also rotate, to some extent, around the EU core as Turkey
Latvia, Lithuania), which were part of the Soviet Union, but did not join the CIS after gaining their independence.
Instead, they applied for membership in the EU, thus placing themselves in the EU’s near abroad. Still, some in the
Baltic states have suspected that the three have been viewed as part of the Russian ‘near abroad’, too (See Aalto 2003,
255).
79 Wæver 1997, 68-71.
80 Ibid., 71-72.
81 Wæver 2000, 262-263.
82 Wæver 1997a, 72-73.
83 Ibid., 73.
15
promotes itself as European or Western and is also interested in becoming a member of the EU.84
The most important thing would, however, not be the size of the respective empires, “[...] but
whether they each succeed in forming a centre of gravity, a self-conception as a centre, which pulls
other states into their orbit and, not least, whether they begin to behave differently from what would
be the case if they were just peripheral to the one ‘European’ society”.85
Even though the division of Europe to the three empires as envisioned by Wæver follows religious
lines separating the Catholic-Protestant EU empire from the Orthodox Russian empire and the
Muslim Turkish empire, he himself played down the conflict potential of the constellation.86
Nation-states, he argued, “[...] have a ‘constant energy’ across their territory [...]” leading to a
situation, where “[...] states stand with full force at their borders” and “[...] rub against each other
[...]”.87 In empires, in contrast, the power of the centre slowly fades out the further one goes from
the core and is thus very low at the periphery, where “[...] one zone shades into the next” and
borders are both “blurred” and “under-energized”.88 Although some of the grey zones between
empires, like the Baltic states, might be conflictual, they are still very different from the borders
between nation states. Whilst Wæver predicted that Europe would soon be divided again, he
underlined the difference between the over-energised Iron Curtain which separated the two
ideological blocs during the Cold War and the “iron veil” of the post-Cold War Europe marking the
line between the EU empire and the Russian empire, both of which have pulled back into their own
separate spheres.89
2.3. The borders of the EU empire
Although Wæver’s 1997 article made only a rather short reference to the issue of borders, the nature
of the EU’s borders has, since then, become one of the most important themes for ‘empire
writers’90. After all, by arguing that the EU’s borders are blurred, the ‘imperialists’ (like the ‘neomedievalists’) deny the EU one of the most central characteristics of a modern state, fixed and
Ibid., 76-78.
Ibid., 77.
86 The conflictual nature of such “civilizational fault lines” had some years earlier been emphasised by Samuel P.
Huntington, who predicted that one of the most important dividing lines in post-Cold War Europe would be the 16th
century border between the Western (Catholic) and Eastern (Orthodox) Christianity which runs along what is today the
Finnish-Russian border and also separates the Baltic states and Russia from one another. See Huntington, S. P. (1993),
'The Clash of Civilizations?', in Foreign Affairs 72:3, pp. 22-43.
87 Wæver 1997a, 78.
88 Ibid., 78-79.
89 Wæver 1997a, 79.
90 The terms ’empire writer’ and ‘imperialist’ are used here to refer to scholars, who have applied the imperial metaphor
to the EU just as the word ‘neo-medievalist’ is used to refer to those, who have looked at Europe or the EU through the
framework of the neo-medieval metaphor. To avoid any unintended associations, the words ‘empire writer’,
‘imperialist’ and ‘neo-medievalist’, when used in this meaning, are always put between single quotation marks.
84
85
16
clearly demarcated borders. Furthermore, they contradict a very influential and persistent image of
the EU as a ‘fortress’. The idea that the European integration process would lead to the creation of a
‘fortress Europe’, a European Union with “recognizable, even impregnable, borders”, first emerged
with the idea of creating the Single Market.91 It was feared that the EU’s plans to increase
competitiveness and trade within the Single Market would turn the Union increasingly protectionist.
Such fears have, however, proved largely exaggerated. The fortress metaphor has, nevertheless,
survived. Nowadays it is most often used in connection with the EU’s immigration policy and visa
regulations, which are considered increasingly restrictive. This has to do above all with the
Schengen Agreement, which was incorporated into the EU’s legal framework in Amsterdam in
1999. The creation of the Schengen zone meant that national borders inside the EU’s territory were
opened, whereas the external borders were subjected to a common visa policy, leading, in effect, to
higher entry requirements for the EU as a whole.92
Christiansen, Petito and Tonra93 are among those scholars, who have focused on analysing the
nature of the EU’s external borders and pointed out that there are strong counter trends to
constructing a ‘fortress Europe’; the EU’s borders are not becoming fixed, they argue, but
increasingly ‘fuzzy’. There are several reasons for this development. First of all, the EU tends to
export its policies outside its territory, that is, beyond its member states. This is most visible in the
Union’s enlargement policy. The pre-accession strategy is based on a clear bargain: those states that
have been accepted as candidates receive both economic and technical aid from the EU, but in
exchange they are expected to make economic as well as political reforms – on conditions set by the
Union. As a consequence, the candidates pursue various EU policies already during the accession
process; some, because the EU considers that letting the candidates participate in those policies
helps them fulfil the conditions of membership, and others, because the Union implies that the
candidates have to “[...] develop mechanisms for effective regulation and enforcement before they
can be permitted to join the EU”.94 This way, the Single Market95, for example, soon extended
beyond the EU’s borders. Secondly, the EU is interested in stabilising regions outside its territorial
limits in order to fulfil the security interests of its member states. This is proven by the Union’s
involvement in Bosnia and Kosovo as well as in the wider Balkans region, for which it planned the
so called Stability Pact for South Eastern Europe96. Thirdly, as a result of various ‘opt-outs’ and
Christiansen/Petito/Tonra 2000, 389-390.
Ibid., 389-390. For a Westphalian reading of the problematique connected to the Schengen Agreement, see Grabbe,
H. (2000), ‘The Sharp Edges of Europe: Extending Schengen Eastwards, in International Affairs 76:3, pp. 481-514.
93 Christiansen/Petito/Tonra 2000.
94 Christiansen/Petito/Tonra 2000.
95 Also Iceland, Liechtenstein and Norway participate in the Single Market, although none of them are EU member
states. They attained this right through the Agreement creating the European Economic Area (available at
http://www.efta.int/content/legal-texts/eea/EEAtext/EEAagreement/view) which entered into force in January 1994. As
a consequence of their participation, the three non-members have to apply the relevant legislation. (see Vahl 2006, 60.)
96 The constituent document of the Stability Pact, signed in Cologne in June 1999, states that the Pact “[...] aims at
strengthening countries in South Eastern Europe in their efforts to foster peace, democracy, respect for human rights and
91
92
17
flexible integration, not all EU states participate fully in all of its policies.97 Furthermore,
Christiansen et al. point out that the Union has the tendency to simultaneously engage in both
territorial and institutional expansion, which makes it impossible for the EU polity to acquire
clearly defined borders. This leads them to argue that “[i]n contrast to the politics of the modern
state system, recent developments in the EU fail to provide a binary division that is traditionally
expected from borders”.98
Instead of fixed external borders, Christiansen et al. Argue, “[...] the EU has spawned novel policyregimes that are designed for “intermediate spaces”, areas that are neither properly ‘inside’ nor
properly ‘outside’ the polity”.99 Another feature which differentiates the EU from a modern state,
Christiansen et al. argue, is that whilst the institutional density of a state is equally high across its
territory, in the EU it is much higher at the centre than at the outer circles. 100 In sum, as Christiansen
later put it, integration, unlike membership, is not a question of everything or nothing, of ‘in’ and
‘out’, but rather of “[...] more or less involvement in EU policy-making, institutional adaptation and
social and economic orientation towards the EU centre”.101 Referring to Wæver’s above mentioned
article, Christiansen et al. come to the conclusion that the EU, then, is not like a state, but very
much like a neo-medieval empire. The usage of the term neo-medieval empire seems to highlight
the connection between the imperial metaphor and the ‘neo-medievalist’ notion of overlapping
authorities. As noted earlier in this paper, this connection was mentioned by Wæver as well. Thus,
Christiansen et al.’s definition of the EU empire is not different from Wæver’s empire, even though
Wæver himself never used the term ‘neo-medieval empire’.
Another scholar, who has put the emphasis on the nature of the EU’s borders, is Jan Zielonka.
Before the Eastern enlargement of the EU in 2004, Zielonka posed the question, how new enlarged
borders would shape the EU.102 He argued that the EU had no choice with regard to its future form,
which would, instead, be determined by the enlargement and, above all, by the effect of the
enlargement on the Union’s borders. Zielonka stressed that “[...] the entire process of state-building
has been largely about securing an overlap between functional and geographic borders”.103 The
European Union, however, would be unlikely to succeed in providing an overlap between its
functional and geographic borders, Zielonka argued, as the enlargement would make the EU very
economic prosperity, in order to achieve stability in the whole region”. The text also reads that “[t]he EU will draw the
region closer to the perspective of full integration of these countries into its structures”. (See the constituent document
of the Stability Pact for South Eastern Europe, http://www.stabilitypact.org/constituent/990610-cologne.asp)
97 Christiansen/Petito/Tonra 2000, 391. Ireland and the United Kingdom have, for example, opted-out from the
implementation of the Schengen legislation. For further opt-outs, see Chapter 3 on the Baltic Sea Region.
98 Ibid., 392.
99 Ibid., 392.
100 Ibid., 392-393.
101 Christiansen 2005, 77. Emphasis added.
102 Zielonka 2001.
103 Ibid., 508.
18
divergent with the new member states being very different from the old ones in terms of economics,
democracy as well as culture.104
Furthermore, Zielonka insisted that the whole idea of constructing a ‘hard’ (read: impermeable)
external EU border, inherent in both the Single Market as well as the Schengen border regime
mentioned above, was “flawed”.105 Such a border would be difficult to install in Europe, as the EU
has no definite borders. A hard border would also probably not be hard in all possible functional
fields, but rather apply to only some of them, whereas the rest would remain fuzzy. Zielonka also
questioned the utility of hard border. First of all, problems connected to cross-border crime and
illegal migration, the main argument for constructing such a border, have in his opinion been
exaggerated.106 Furthermore, a hard border would be a bad solution in view of EU enlargement, as
enlargement is about inclusion, whereas hard border aims at exclusion. A hard border would, above
all, endanger the “Europeanization” of potential member states, as it would limit cross-border cooperation between EU members and candidate countries that is both a prerequisite for further
integration and a way to turn dividing lines into something more positive.107
This led also Zielonka to draw the conclusion that despite some trends pointing towards the EU
becoming a Westphalian super-state, this was unlikely to happen. Instead, like Christiansen et al, he
argued that the EU increasingly resembled a neo-medieval empire. Characteristics of the neomedieval empire according to Zielonka are inter alia soft border zones in flux, socio-economic
discrepancies, multiple identities, disassociation between different types of regimes, multiplicity of
military and police institutions as well as divided sovereignty. Furthermore, the most crucial
distinction in the neo-medieval model is not that between EU members and non-members (which
would be the case should the EU be like a Westphalian super-state), but that between European
centre and periphery, although even this distinction is somewhat blurred.108
2.4. The constitutional process: the EU on the Westphalian track?
The idea of constructing a European Union along the lines of the Westphalian model seemed to gain
new momentum in the early 2000s. In May 2000 the then German foreign minister, Joschka Fischer,
gave an influential, although highly controversial, speech at the Humboldt University in Berlin
presenting his vision of the future of the European Union. Fischer argued that the Union should
Ibid.
Ibid., 508.
106 Ibid., 518-523.
107 Ibid., 524-526.
108 Ibid., 510.
104
105
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become a federal European state. This step, he said, would be necessary in order to meet the two
most important and closely connected challenges facing the Union: the enlargement, which Fischer
considered indispensable, and, consequently, the need to reform the institutions of the Union which
were originally planned for 6 member states, not for 15, 27 or more.109
Fischer’s speech launched a new discourse of constitutionalising the European Union and this idea
came to define the work of the so called Convention on the Future of Europe, which had been called
together to deal with the ‘left-overs’ of the Nice European Council of December 2000, that is, with
issues as complicated as “[...] institutional reform, simplification of the treat[ies] and democratising
the Union [...]”110 In the summer of 2003 the Convention agreed on a draft constitutional treaty,
which was then sent to the President of the European Council.111 The official Treaty establishing a
Constitution for Europe112 was signed by the governments of the member states at their summit in
June 2004. Christiansen argues that although the Constitutional Treaty itself represented rather a
step forward on the “already existing path of integration, not a departure in a radically different
direction”, it was “not the substance of the [...] treaty, but the language [...]” used in it, which
illustrated that something had changed.113 Apart from the fact the the treaty was called constitution,
also such new posts as President of the European Council and European Union Minister for
Foreign Affairs were mentioned in the text and a diplomatic service, much like those of the nation
states, was planned for the Union.114 Christiansen argues that while the EU lacks many key features
of a modern state, the decision to use “language of statehood” in the treaty did signal that the EU
was willing to find its final “geopolitical form”, its “finalité politique”.115
If the signing of the Treaty establishing a Constitution for Europe seemed to put the European
project on the Westphalian track (even if this had more to do with the language used in the treaty
than its content), the ratification process had an unpleasant surprise waiting for anyone dreaming of
a European state. At the end of May 2005, the constitutional treaty was rejected by the French
electorate in a referendum and only three days later the majority of the Dutch voters also said nee to
the treaty. There were various different reasons for the negative results in the two referenda, but one
basic motive behind the Dutch ‘no’ votes was clearly the fear that the constitutional treaty would
turn the EU into a (Brussels- or German-led) superstate, the emergence of which would, in turn,
Fischer 2000.
Christiansen 2005, 70-72.
111 European Convention: Draft Treaty establishing a Constitution for Europe, available at http://eurlex.europa.eu/smartapi/cgi/sga_doc?smartapi!celexapi!prod!
CELEXnumdoc&lg=en&numdoc=52003XX0718(01)&model=guichett
112 The full text of the treaty is available at http://eur-lex.europa.eu/JOHtml.do?uri=OJ:C:2004:310:SOM:EN:HTML
113 Christiansen 2005, 73.
114 Ibid., 73.
115 Ibid., 74.
109
110
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pose a serious threat to both the national identity and the national sovereignty of the Dutch. 116 The
constitutional treaty raised similar fears also in other member states of the EU and these fears were,
of course, eagerly nurtured by the opponents of the treaty. In the Czech Republic, for example,
president Václav Klaus warned that the ratification of the treaty would mean a further step on the
road to a totally unified Europe and thus present a threat to the young sovereignty of the Czechs.117
The rejection of the constitutional treaty in France and the Netherlands led the heads of states and
governments call for a ‘period of reflection’. In the end it was agreed that the constitutional treaty
would be replaced by another treaty, which would, nevertheless, be widely based on the former. The
Dutch government, however, insisted that any analogies between the EU and a nation-state would
have to be avoided in the new treaty in order to dispel the fears of the Dutch electorate. The Dutch
position was, not surprisingly, supported also by the governments of the Czech Republic and Great
Britain. As a result, the symbols and names borrowed from national constitutions were removed
from the text of the new treaty, which was signed by the heads of states and governments in
December 2007 in Lisbon and hence became to be known as the Treaty of Lisbon.118 Even the new
treaty has experienced considerable difficulties, as the Irish electorate initially rejected it in a
referendum organised in 2008 only to accept it a year later. In Germany, for its part, the treaty had
to be first approved by the Constitutional Court, which, in its verdict, set clear limits as to just how
much sovereignty can be transferred from Berlin to Brussels. Becker and Maurer note that, in
principle, the Court did not rule out the possibility that the EU would one day become a state, but it
did, on the other hand, connect such a step to strict conditions, the fulfilling of which seems, at the
moment, almost impossible.119 All in all, the debates surrounding the constitutional treaty seem to
strengthen Wæver’s afore mentioned argument that the nations of Europe are unlikely to accept the
emergence of a Westphalian EU state, which is perceived as threatening to their identity.
2.5. The enlargement and the borders of the EU
The ‘big bang’ enlargement of 2004 and the constitutional process got, as indicated in the
introduction, many also into thinking about the Union’s finalité territoriale120, the ultimate borders
of the European polity. Christiansen argued in 2005 that “[w]ith the achievement of Eastern
enlargement and the landmark decision to open accession negotiations with Turkey, the culmination
of the process of territorial expansion can be envisaged – the EU may then be reaching the point at
Maurer 2007, 60; 143.
Ibid., 104-105.
118 Maurer 2007, 143.
119 Becker/Maurer 2009, 7.
120 The term is borrowed from Christiansen 2005.
116
117
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which a definite border will (have to) be drawn”.121 Tassinari also notes that “[t]he 2004 expansion
revealed that the enlargement strategy is bound, sooner or later, to exhaust its durability. It
suggested that the project of building an integrated and secure Europe cannot be carried out only
through enlargement, for the straightforward reason that the Union cannot continue to enlarge
indefinitely.”122 As a result of the failure of the constitutional process, calls for fixing the EU’s
external borders became even louder.123
The capacity of the EU to actually attain fixed borders has, however, been questioned by Zielonka,
who set out to reinforce his 'imperial' arguments in a book titled ‘Europe as Empire’ which was
published in 2006. He once again reminds of the fact that as a consequence of the enlargement, the
EU has seen an enormous increase in cultural, economic and political diversity and this will have a
long-term impact on the way the Union can, and should, be governed: a Westphalian-type EU is
simply not on the cards any time soon. Instead of defining its final borders, the EU is in Zielonka’s
opinion likely to “import” even more diversity in the form of further enlargements. After all, the
2004 enlargement challenged “[...] the principle that membership can only be offered to relatively
rich, politically stable, and culturally postmodern (Western) European countries”.124 In contrast, it
was driven by “crude geostrategic considerations”, the EU’s will to fill the power vacuum left by
the collapse of the Soviet empire and persuade “[...] states in Eastern Europe to adopt EU laws and
regulations, to open markets for EU goods and services, and to settle internal and external disputes
in a peaceful manner”.125 In Zielonka’s opinion, geostrategic concerns are likely to motivate also
further EU enlargements: after the end of the Cold War, Europe’s “geostrategic environment” has
been radically altered by such events as the Balkan wars and the 2001 terrorist attack on New York
and Washington, and “[t]he Union has to respond to the mounting security, political, and economic
threats resulting from persistent instability and conflict on the EU’s borders and beyond”.126
By accepting Turkey and Croatia as candidates and giving, in principle, green light to the eventual
accession of the other former republics of Yugoslavia, the EU has already committed itself to
further enlargement. However, Zielonka’s vision goes far beyond the official enlargement scheme.
Apart from the ‘usual suspects’, Ukraine and Georgia, both of which have expressed their wish of
joining the Union after their respective colourful revolutions and subsequent regime change, he also
mentions Belarus, Moldova, Russia, Israel, Palestine, Jordan, and Lebanon as possible candidates
and asks at the end, if not also the North African countries might advance faster, if they were given
Christiansen 2005, 74-75.
Tassinari 2006, 14.
123 Comelli/Greco/Tocci 2007, 218.
124 Zielonka 2007, 171-172.
125 Ibid., 54-55, see also 172. Zielonka argues that the EU’s way of dealing with the applicant states, using the policy of
conditionality as its main tool, represents “the European style of power politics”.
126 Ibid., 173.
121
122
22
the prospect of membership in the EU club. Zielonka’s statement is obviously meant to be
provocative, but he is of the opinion that the EU has no alternative strategy to deal with its
neighbourhood that would provide the Union with the same amount of leverage as the enlargement
policy does. Zielonka regards strategic partnerships as well as the European Neighbourhood Policy
(ENP) as inadequate tools to cope with the economic and political problems of the EU’s eastern and
southern neighbourhood at the same time praising the achievements of the Union’s policy of
conditional accession.127 The EU’s external borders are, he predicts, likely to remain fuzzy also in
the future because fixing them would mean that the EU would lose its attraction to (and,
consequently, leverage over) those that remain permanently outside. In addition, Zielonka argues
that the nature of future EU enlargements is likely to further blur the distinction between the
‘inside’ and the ‘outside’ of the EU polity, as there will be different “transitional agreements and
open-ended ‘safeguard’ clauses”.128
One does not, however, need to go as far as Zielonka does to point out that the EU’s borders do, at
least for the time being, look more like those of an empire than those of a Westphalian state. Even
though Zielonka does not hold the European Neighbourhood Policy in very high regard, the ENP
does, in fact, continue the Union’s ‘tradition’ of managing its borders in ways that would, from the
perspective of a nation-state, seem highly innovative129 – or simply completely foreign. The ENP
was outlined in a 2003 Communication of the Commission titled “Wider Europe – Neighbourhood:
A New Framework for Relations with our Eastern and Southern Neighbours”. Two frequently cited
passages of the Communication state that the EU is determined “[...] to avoid drawing new dividing
lines in Europe and to promote stability and prosperity within and beyond the new borders of the
Union” and that to achieve this goal the Union “[...] should aim to develop a zone of prosperity and
a friendly neighbourhood – a ‘ring of friends’ – [...]” around it.130 Even though the ENP was
initially designed as an answer to calls for fixing the final borders of the Union and as a credible
alternative to the enlargement policy131, it is, in effect, largely based on the latter. Like the
enlargement strategy, the ENP relies on the magnetism of the EU core: as Bonvicini argues, “[...]
there is still great pressure on the Union to act beyond its borders. Europe [the EU] is openly
requested to act by countries in the East, from Ukraine to the Caucasus countries, and in the South,
from countries of the Greater Middle East to those of the Southern shore of the Mediterranean.”132
This still provides the EU with a considerable amount of leverage and allows it to make claims as
bold as: “[t]he European Neighbourhood Policy’s vision involves a ring of countries, sharing the
Ibid., 172-174.
Ibid., 176.
129 Christiansen 2005, 82-83.
130 European Commission 2003, 4. Emphasis added.
131 The Commission’s Wider Europe document reads that “[t]his Communication considers how to strengthen the
framework for the Union’s relations with those neighbouring countries that do not currently have the perspective of
membership of the EU”. (European Commission 2003, 4. Emphasis added.)
132 Bonvicini 2006, 22.
127
128
23
EU’s fundamental values and objectives, drawn into an increasingly close relationship, going
beyond co-operation to involve a significant measure of economic and political integration”. 133 The
ENP, similarly to the enlargement policy, is also built on conditionality: “[t]he ambition and the
pace of development of the EU’s relationship with each partner country will depend on its degree of
commitment to common values, as well as its will and capacity to implement agreed priorities. 134
The ENP, then, is simply a further example of the EU empire’s tendency to export its norms,
policies and values135 outside its territory and this way blur the distinction between the polity’s
‘inside’ and ‘outside’. Comelli et al. are, of course, right in pointing out that the ENP’s success
depends a great deal on the EU’s capacity to solve its internal problems 136, to maintain the
magnetism of its core. However, with the Treaty of Lisbon now ratified in all member states, this
seems to be the case.
A recent addition to the EU empire’s policies towards its ‘near abroad’ is the so called Eastern
Partnership. Placed under the umbrella of the European Neighbourhood Policy, the Eastern
Partnership aims to bring the relationship between the EU and its ‘Eastern partners’ (Armenia,
Azerbaijan, Belarus, Moldova and Ukraine) “to a new level”.137 As the “Joint Declaration of the
Prague Eastern Partnership Summit reads, “[t]he main goal of the Eastern Partnership is to create
the necessary conditions to accelerate political association and further economic integration
between the European Union and interested partner countries. [...] With this aim, the Eastern
Partnership will seek to support political and socio-economic reforms of the partner countries,
facilitating approximation towards the European Union.”138 Principles of international law and
“fundamental values” are at the core of the partnership, which is, like the enlargement policy and
the ENP, based on conditionality.139 The Eastern Partnership “[...] will be developed without
prejudice to individual partner countries’ aspirations for their future relationship [...]” with the EU,
but “[...] membership is also not completely ruled out for the future”, as noted, with some
satisfaction, by the deputy prime minister of Ukraine, Hryhoriy Nemyria,140 This signals that the
EU prefers vague promises about future enlargements instead of closing its doors for good. For
now, the main appeal of the Eastern Partnership consists of the EU’s promises to aim at establishing
European Commission 2004, 5. Emphasis added. Elsewhere the document usually speaks about “common values”.
Ibid., 8.
135 Norms, as defined by Haukkala, are “[...] a set of fairly technical standards that relate mainly to the realm of
economic activities” and are derived from the EU’s acquis communautaire, whereas values are “[...] higher order
principles related to the conduct of both international and domestic politics in Europe [...]”. Together norms and values
form a normative framework. (Haukkala 2007, 135-136.)
136 Comelli/Greco/Tocci 2007, 218.
137 Council of the European Union 2009, 5.
138 Ibid., 6.
139 Ibid., 5.
140 Cited in Pop 2009.
133
134
24
bilateral free trade areas with the partners as well as to support mobility by means of visa
facilitation and, eventually, even visa liberalisation.141
So the picture we get of the EU of today is not one portraying a Westphalian state, but one showing
a neo-medieval empire. The outcome of the constitutional process makes it clear that the nationstates are still an important layer in the European political space and that the nations of Europe are
willing to guard their identity as well as the sovereignty they still have. They stand, if needed, on
the way in order to stop the EU from turning into a European super-state. On the other hand,
Brussels is already Europe's powerhouse, a force not to be underestimated and not easy to
circumvent. And the EU's power is felt far beyond its official territorial borders. As the enlargement
policy, the ENP, and the Eastern Partnership demonstrate, the Union does, indeed, fulfil Wæver's
most important criterion for an empire: it is part of the EU's self-understanding that it forms the
centre of gravity in Europe and has a mission to maintain peace and stability throughout the
continent by exporting its values, norms and policies.142 This way, the EU draws new states into its
orbit and the distinction between the imperial centre and the periphery becomes far more
pronounced than the one between the 'ins' and the 'outs'. Finally, differentiated integration further
contributes to the EU's concentric, imperial structure, as different functional borders do not
necessarily overlap with one another – or with the EU's external borders.143
3. The Baltic Sea Region and the borders of the European Union
Particularly one part of Europe has been of great interest to advocates of fuzzy borders, be they
‘imperialists’ or ‘neo-medievalists’. Christiansen and Joenniemi, for example, call it “[...] a
veritable laboratory of innovative ways of dealing with the divisive nature of borders”.144 The area
in question is the so called Baltic Sea Region (BSR), which sometimes also goes by the names of
Baltic Sea Area (BSA) or, more generally, (European/New) ‘North’. Despite the references to
geographical (read: ‘natural’) denominators (the Baltic Sea, northerness) in the names commonly
used for the area, the Baltic Sea Region can be understood as a political construct, the result of a
conscious region-building process. The concept of region-building goes back to the ideas of the
Norwegian scholar Iver Neumann, who argues that regions, just like nations, should be treated as
“imagined communities”145. Regions thus emerge only if there are region-builders, political actors,
“[...] who, as part of some political project, see it in their interest to imagine a certain spatial or
Council of the European Union 2009, 7.
Browning/Joenniemi 2008, 524.
143 Comelli/Greco/Tocci 2007, 205.
144 Christiansen/Joenniemi 1999, 89.
145 The idea that nations are “imagined communities” was developed by Benedict Anderson in his book “Imagined
Communities” which was first published in 1983.
141
142
25
chronological identity for a region, and to disseminate this imagination to a maximum number of
people”.146 In order to explain, what the Baltic Sea Region is and how it has developed, the first part
of this chapter first gives a broad outline of the region-building process around the Baltic Sea. In the
second part, the European Union’s role in that process will shortly be dealt with. The third part of
the chapter shows, why the BSR has been considered as the ‘fuzzy borders’ of the EU empire. In the
very last part of the chapter, the fuzziness of the borders in the Baltic Sea Region of today will be
questioned.
3.1. The emergence of the Baltic Sea Region
The Baltic Sea Region is quite a recent construct. During the Cold War, the Iron Curtain ran straight
through the Baltic Sea and contacts across this divide separating two opposing systems were very
limited.147 Modest co-operation was made only in the field of environmental protection: in 1974 the
representatives of the riparian states of the Baltic Sea (at that time Denmark, Finland, the German
Democratic Republic, the Federal Republic of Germany, Poland, the Soviet Union and Sweden) got
together to sign the Convention on the Protection of the Marine Environment of the Baltic Sea 148,
which was then ratified in 1980.149 Apart from that, however, co-operation took place only among
states that were on the same side of the East–West divide. The most sophisticated and “[...] complex
web of social, political and economic contacts [...]” in northern Europe developed between the
Nordic states (Denmark, Finland, Iceland, Norway and Sweden)150, which institutionalised their cooperation network in the form of the inter-parliamentary Nordic Council as early as in 1952 and
also established a common labour market (1954), a common social security provision (1954), a
passports union (1957) as well as an intergovernmental cooperation forum, the Nordic Council of
Ministers (1971).151
Neumann 1992a; Neumann 1992b. Recently the social constructivist approach towards the BSR has been criticised
by Carmen Gebhard, who claims that 28 out of 30 regional organisations from the BSR she has studied “[...] have never
in the course of their existence seen the employment of any sort of ‘constructed’ or ‘constructive’ element in political or
social discourse”, but have instead based their activities on “[...] conceivable challenges, apparent threats and
environmental concerns” (See Gebhard 2009, 228-229). This paper, however, maintains that the region-building
approach helps to grasp some essential aspects of the BSR. After all, to claim that a region has been ‘talked into
existence’ does not mean that there have been no underlying interests (like “conceivable challenges, apparent threats
and environmental concerns”) to do so. Even Gebhard argues that “[...] regions should not be thought to be
(exclusively) ‘spoken into existence’”, which does, in effect, seem to mean that also she admits that regions are, to some
extent, socially constructed.
147 Christiansen/Joenniemi 1991, 92.
148 The original convention including later amendments can be downloaded at
http://www.helcom.fi/stc/files/Convention/convention1974.pdf
149 Williams 2001, 21; see also Lehti 2003, 21.
150 Williams 2001, 7-8.
151 Aalto 2004a, 173. The co-operative network of the Nordic states is usually called Norden (see for example
Christiansen/Joenniemi 1999) or, at times, ‘Old North’ to distinguish it from the post-Cold War ‘New North’ with its
centre of gravity around the Baltic Sea (see Gebhard, 13).
146
26
It was only after the end of the Cold War that opportunities for regional co-operation across the
East-West divide emerged. As Williams152 shows, the first actor to take advantage of the situation
was the Social Democratic Government of the German Bundesland Schleswig-Holstein around
Björn Engholm. In the end of the 1980’s, Engholm started to support the idea of forming a ‘New
Hanse’153, using the Hanseatic League as a historical model for intensive political and economic cooperation around the Baltic Sea. This gave the decisive impulse for a region-building process,
which was then carried on by sub-state actors, NGOS and and academics alike.154 Several reasons
have been given for the positive response, with which the idea of intensified Baltic co-operation
met. First of all, there were growing fears in the Nordic states that northern Europe was turning into
European periphery. These fears were nurtured above all by the advancing European integration
process, in which only one of them, Denmark, was taking part, as well as by predictions about the
emergence of the so called ‘hot banana’, a Western-European economic boom region reaching from
the south of the United Kingdom over French-German borderlands to northern Italy. Through
intensified co-operation, it was hoped, the Baltic Sea might also turn into a boom region, the ‘blue
banana’.155 Secondly, Baltic co-operation naturally also served as a way to overcome the Cold War
era ideological divide156 and manage the economic and political change that took place in the East
and above all in the newly independent Baltic states (Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania), towards which the
Nordic states felt they had a moral responsibility157. Thirdly, the ever advancing environmental
deterioration of the Baltic Sea also required attention.158 In fact, as Wæver points out, different
actors engaged in the region-building process for very different reasons and aimed at different
things, but this did not matter, as they all found the idea of ‘Baltic’ co-operation useful for
furthering their interests.159
Although the region-building process was first driven by sub- and non-state actors, participating in
‘Baltic’ activities soon became attractive for national governments as well.160 At a meeting between
the foreign ministers of all the littoral states around the Baltic Sea in 1992 in Copenhagen, and with
the Commissioner for Foreign Affairs of the European Commission also invited, the single most
prominent institution of the Baltic Sea Region, the Council of the Baltic Sea States (CBSS), was
Williams 2007.
Also such terms as Baltic Europe, Mare Balticum, Region North and Ostseeraum often surfaced. See
Christiansen/Joenniemi 1999, 92.
154 Lehti 2009, p. 13. Especially the researchers of the so called Copenhagen School saw themselves “[...] not only as
observers of the region-building process unfolding in the 1990s but also as active actors in this process [...]” (see Reuter
2007, 274). To this group belonged among others Ole Wæver and Pertti Joenniemi (see Lehti 2003, 29), who are often
cited also in this paper.
155 see Wæver 1997b, 303-304; Williams 2001, 19; see also Lehti 2003, 22.
156 Scott 2002b, 141.
157 Lehti 2003, 24-28.
158 Scott 2002b, 141.
159 Wæver 1997b, 305.
160 see Williams 2007.
152
153
27
founded.161 It counts as its members all the littoral states of the Baltic Sea (Denmark, Estonia,
Finland, Germany, Latvia, Lithuania, Poland, Russia and Sweden), the European Commission as
well as Iceland and Norway162. Although initially of lower visibility, the status of the CBSS was
lifted in 1996, when the co-operation within the Council was, for the first time, taken to the level of
heads of states and governments.163
Wæver has argued that ”[a]s soon as an inter-state institution is designed for a region, there is a
tendency that it becomes the metonymic representation for the region in the wider sense”. 164
Although this applies, to some extent, also to the Baltic Sea Region,
the BSR should not be
understood as identical to the CBSS. Instead, the region has, from the very start, been characterised
also by decentralised and horizontal co-operation.165 Important Baltic institutions founded in the
early 1990s include the Baltic Chambers of Commerce Association (BCCA, 1992), the Baltic Sea
Parliamentary Conference (BSPC, 1991), the Baltic Sea States Sub-regional Co-operation (BSSSC,
1993), the Union of Baltic Cities (UBC, 1992) as well as Visions and Strategies around the Baltic
Sea (VASAB 2010, 1992).166 According to one estimation made in the early 2000s, there were
altogether some 600 Baltic Sea organisations capable of operating across borders.167 In addition, in
the early 1990s, similar developments started to take place also further north. A Norwegian
initiative to connect the northernmost parts of Finland, Norway, Russia and Sweden was first
presented in 1992 and led to the birth of the Barents Euro-Arctic Region (BEAR).168 This region
also has its own institutions, the intergovernmental Barents Euro-Arctic Council (BEAC) and the
sub-governmental Regional Council169. The year 1996, on its part, saw the founding of the Arctic
Council, the members of which are Canada, Denmark, Finland, Iceland, Norway, Russia, Sweden
and the United States.170 The emergence of these bodies further contributed to the multitude of
cross-border organisations in the North of Europe.
Its multi-dimensionality made the Baltic Sea Region the prime example of so-called 'new
regionalism'. Unlike earlier region-building projects, the BSR was not simply state-led, but
Ibid., pp. 198-206.
The membership of Iceland and Norway highlights the political character of the Baltic Sea Region, as the two
countries are not situated on the Baltic rim. Norway’s coast faces the North Sea and Iceland is situated in the North
Atlantic.
163 Christiansen/Joenniemi 1999, 92-93.
164 Wæver 1997b, 308.
165 Williams 2001, 24.
166 Gebhard 2009, 231-260. Gebhard has listed the most important Baltic organisations with information on
membership, nature of the organisations as well as the organisational links between the different organisations.
167 Scott 2002b, 142. Due to the fact that the Baltic Sea Region consists of state, sub-state and non-state actors, the
region has been dubbed a “cross-border trans-region”. This definition differentiates the BSR from (sub-state) microregions, such as Catalonia, Bavaria or Wales, various forms of inter-state regional co-operation, like the CIS, or quasicontinental regions such as the Middle East or South-east Asia. (Wæver 1997b, 297-298.)
168 Christiansen/Joenniemi 1999, 93-95.
169 See http://www.beac.st/.
170 Etzold 2007, 12.
161
162
28
developed as a result of various bottom-up activities and was open for new actors to step in. 171 This
meant that it was also not easy to say, who belonged to the BSR and who did not. To use Wæver’s
words, the BSR could be met “[...] in extremely many different forms” and the region did “[...] not
necessarily end anywhere in any dramatic sense”.172 On a similar note, Lehti has argued that the
BSR could “[...] be purported to be a region without boundaries or a region with varying
boundaries”.173 It should, then, come as no surprise that it served as a source of inspiration for 'neomedievalists'. From the neo-medievalist point of view, the BSR could perhaps best be described as a
region, where “[t]he (at least presumed) inner cultural coherency of modern nation-states [was]
‘stirred’ by increasing hybridity and multiplicity and the clear mosaic-like international system of
territorially-delineated states [was] ‘covered’ by new overlapping, incongruent spaces”.174 Some
even argued that the Baltic Sea Region itself would form a level of governance of its own. In the
mid-1990s a model of regionalised European order, a Europe of Olympic Rings, was envisioned by
many. This model consisted of various partly overlapping autonomous regions (forming, at least
metaphorically, a picture resembling the Olympic Rings, hence the name), with regional integration
between both state and sub-state level actors surpassing the European integration in importance.175
However, the EU’s increased role in the region slowly challenged such a perception of the BSR.
3.2. The Baltic Sea Region and the EU
Although co-operation under the ‘Baltic’ umbrella got off to a flying start, it never became the ‘only
game in town’: after their peaceful revolutions, Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania and Poland started to
seek also a ‘return to Europe’, most often identified with the EU/EC, with which they were willing
to establish closer economic and political ties176. Also the Nordic states reformulated their positions
towards European integration after the Cold War. Sweden handed in its application for membership
in the EC as early as in June 1991, followed by Finland in March 1992 and Norway in November of
the same year.177 Although the EC/EU had not shown much interest towards the developments
171Lehti
2009, 12-14.
Wæver 1997b, 309.
173 Lehti 2003, 30.
174 Jukarainen 1999, 57.
175 Aalto 2004a, 169. Such views of the BSR might also have been, to some extent, visions rather than descriptions of
reality. After all, the scholars that took part in the region-building process were first and foremost inspired by postmodern/neo-medievalist ideas. See Williams 2007, 133-135.
176 Scott 2002b, 143; Wallace 2002, 78-82. The EU recognised the independence of the Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania in
August 1991. In the following spring, Agreements on Trade and Commercial Economic Cooperation between the Union
and the Baltic states were concluded, followed by a free trade agreement in July 1994. Between October and December
1995, all three Baltics applied for EU membership. The EU started accession negotiations with Estonia in 1998 and
with Latvia and Lithuania in 2000. All three became full members in May 2004. (See Gebhard 2009, 93.) Apart from
the EU, NATO was also identified as an important ‘European’ institution. The Baltic states joined NATO in March
2004. Poland applied for membership in 1994 and started its accession negotiations in 1998.
177 see Mahnert/Putensen 2002; for the motivations of the Nordic states to apply for membership, see for example
Ingebritsen, C. (1998), The Nordic States and European Unity. Ithace/London: Cornell University Press.
172
29
around the Baltic Sea during the Cold War and was also initially reluctant to become a member of
the CBSS, the accession negotiations with the three Nordic states as well as its deepening
relationship with the Baltic states and Poland persuaded the Union to acquire a more active role in
the Baltic Sea Region.178 In fact, the BSR started to become “[...] a central geopolitical focus of the
EU” and the Union began to participate in the region-building process by promoting “[...] economic
interdependence and political stability in the BSR as a basic strategic objective”.179
The first official EU document exclusively dedicated to the Baltic Sea Region as a whole was a
1994 communication from the European Commission titled “Orientations for a Union Approach
towards the Baltic Sea Region”. It was followed by another Communication dealing with the state
and perspectives of co-operation around the Baltic Rim that was presented to the European Council
of Madrid in December 1995. The heads of states and governments then requested the Commission
to prepare a document which would form the framework for co-operation in the Baltic Sea Region.
This document was published in 1996 and bore the title Baltic Sea Region Initiative.180 The Baltic
Sea Region Initiative shortly listed some of the main issues to be dealt with in the region, which
were enhancing democracy and stability, economic development, transport systems, energy
infrastructure, nuclear safety, environmental protection as well as cross-border co-operation. The
Commission also highlighted the role of the Union’s own policy tools developed for the different
groups of countries in the region, that is, of INTERREG, PHARE (originally short for “Poland and
Hungary, Aid for the Reconstruction of Economies”) and TACIS (an abbreviation standing for the
“Technical Assistance for the Commonwealth of Independent States”).181 INTERREG, created
already in 1988, is a programme for financing and enhancing cross-border cooperation between
different regions in two or more member states of the EU and has, due to this, been an important
tool for furthering the region-building efforts in northern Europe. PHARE, on the other hand, is an
assistance programme designed for the applicant states from Central East Europe and TACIS a
similar programme for the countries of the former Soviet Union. Despite the different goals and
target groups of these programmes, the Commission enabled joint cross-border projects between
INTERREG and PHARE recipients in 1992 and between INTERREG and TACIS recipients in
1995.182 The EU, then, both took advantage of the regional cooperation network that had developed
in the BSR since the early 1990s and, through its policies, further contributed to that
development.183
Aalto 2004a, 172-174; Scott 2002a, 141-142; Scott 2002b, 143-144.
Scott 2002b, 143-144.
180 Ryba 2008, 5.
181European Commission 1996.
182 Christiansnen/Joenniemi 1999, 104-105.
183 One could say that the EU has contributed to the emergence of the BSR also in more general terms, as European
integration has led to the recognition of regions as units that matter. See Gebhard 2009, 94-100; Lehti 2009, 13.
178
179
30
In 1998, a further important step followed, as the EU established the Northern Dimension
(abbreviated ND, NDI or, at times, EU ND), an initiative developed for both the Baltic Sea Region
and the Barents Euro-Arctic region184, thus covering a geographical area reaching from Iceland in
the west to North-West Russia in the east and from the Barents and Kara Seas in the north to the
southern coast of the Baltic Sea.185. The ND was based on the Finnish Northern Dimension
Initiative, which had circulated since 1996, but was not officially launched until 1997.186 The
Northern Dimension is not merely a policy, but rather a framework for international, inter-state and
regional (sub-state) co-operation in northern Europe.187 As stated in the Council’s first Action Plan
for the Northern Dimension from the year 2000, the initial idea behind the ND was to contribute to
reinforcing positive interdependence between the European Union and its partners (Estonia,
Iceland, Latvia, Lithuania, Norway, Poland and the Russian Federation) in the North “[...] thereby
enhancing security, stability, democratic reforms and sustainable development in the region”.188
The list of specific challenges to be addressed within the ND framework included questions related
to environment, energy, human and scientific resources as well as health. It was also mentioned that
co-operation in the fight against crime should be intensified, barriers to cross-border trade removed
and the Kaliningrad region as a future EU enclave given special attention.189 It was pointed out that
the Action Plan aimed at better co-ordination and complementarity between the EU’s existing
external and cross-border policy instruments as well as those of the member states. The ND was
then based above all on the Association Agreements the Union had with the candidate countries (the
Baltic states and Poland), on the Partnership and Cooperation Agreement (PCA) with Russia and on
the EEA Agreements concluded with Iceland and Norway as well as on the budgetary instruments
that had been designed during the 1990s such as the above mentioned TACIS, PHARE and
INTERREG.190 The Action Plan also outlined a role for the most important inter-governmental
institutions of northern Europe by stating that the CBSS, the Barents Euro-Arctic Council (BEAC)
and the Arctic Council (AC) “[...] may assume a significant role in consultation with the Council of
the EU in identifying common interests of the Northern Dimension region”. In addition, also
regional bodies and subregional organisations could be consulted.191
3.3. The Baltic Sea Region and the fuzzy borders of the EU empire
Gebhard 2009, 105.
Council of the European Union 2000, 2.
186 Gebhard 2009, 105.
187 Archer 2007, 7; Heininen 2001, 20-21.
188 Council of the European Union 2000, 4.
189 Council of the European Union 2000, 4-5.
190 Ibid., 5-7.
191 Ibid., 5-7.
184
185
31
While most of the ‘imperialists’ would, as argued earlier in the paper, agree with the ‘neomedievalists’ about the existence of overlapping authorities in Europe in general and in the Baltic
Sea Region in particular, they do not take this to be the most defining feature of either Europe or the
BSR. Instead, as was shown in Chapter 2, they argue that post-Cold War Europe is, in fact, largely
centred around one core. The Baltic Sea Region is no exception to the rule, but has become a place,
where one can clearly see, how the centred order of Europe unfolds. As Aalto noted in 2004,
‘indigenous’ region-building activity in the BSR was in decline, whereas the EU had become more
and more involved in the region.192 This led him to conclude that “[...] EU integration ha[d] in fact
gradually ‘hijacked’ the region-building efforts that were started in the late 1980s and early 1990s
and [...] this ha[d] for its part contributed to the emergence of a concentric EU order and the
incorporation of the BSR as part of it”.193 Rather than forming a region of its own, the BSR had
become a ‘sub-region’ of the EU.194
The Baltic Sea Region does not form a single circle in the concentric system of Europe. Instead, one
can identify various concentric circles of the EU empire there. Aalto distinguishes between three
different circles that surround the institutional core situated in Brussels. The first circle consists of
insiders, well-integrated member states of the EU that participate in all common policies. In the
second circle one finds the so called semi-insiders, states that remain outside of some sectors of
common policy. This is either because they have voluntarily decided to opt-out or because they are
just entering the Union and thus “[...] obliged to accept transition periods before fully participating
in such areas as the free movement of their workforce in other member countries, the single
currency, and full financial support for agricultural production”.195 The third circle is that of semioutsiders or close outsiders, states that are not likely to become semi-insiders soon, but are,
nevertheless, affected by the EU empire’s magnetic pull and also associated to the centre through
different assistance programmes, partnership agreements and trade relations.196
In the Baltic Sea Region, Finland and Germany can be counted to the group of insiders, whereas
Denmark and Sweden belong to the group of semi-insiders due to opt-outs.197 Poland and the Baltic
Aalto 2004a, 167-168.
Aalto 2004a, 170.
194 see Gebhard 2009, 40.
195 Aalto 2004a, 168.
196 Ibid., 168-169.
197 Denmark’s opt-outs concern four areas: 1) Economic and Monetary Union: Denmark is not obliged to take part in
the third phase of the EMU, that is, to introduce the euro; 2) Union citizenship: Denmark maintains that the Union
citizenship is a supplement to the national one, not a replacement (which is, nowadays also the view of the EU); 3)
Common defence: Denmark does not participate in any activities with defence implications; 4) Justice and home affairs:
Denmark only participates in judicial cooperation when it takes place on intergovernmental level. (See Ministry of
Foreign Affairs of Denmark: The Danish opt-outs, http://www.um.dk/en/menu/EU/TheDanishOptouts/.)
Sweden has de facto opted-out of the EMU, as the country did not participate in the European Exchange Rate
Mechanism and thus failed to fulfil the requirements for the introduction of the Euro. Swedish parliamentary parties
decided that in order for Sweden to take part in the third phase of the EMU, the introduction of the common currency
should have the support of the Swedish electorate. In a referendum organised in 2003 the majority, however, voted
192
193
32
states have also been in the group of semi-insiders ever since becoming candidates for EU
membership and continue in that group because of different transition periods. 198 Russia, on the
other hand, is, according to Aalto, situated in the third group of semi-outsiders/close outsiders.199
Placing the two remaining members of the CBSS, Iceland and Norway, in one of the concentric
circles is more challenging. After all, both have ‘opted-in’ to some common policies, but have, at
the same time, not become full members of the Union. Consequently, the two states would be
situated somewhere between the semi-insiders and the semi-outsiders. Their status well exemplifies
the fact that the borders between the different circles, and thus also between the ‘inside’ and the
‘outside’ of the EU, are blurred. Consequently, as Christiansen et al. argued in 2000, the Baltic Sea
Region could “[...] be envisaged as the fuzzy borders of the EU empire that is producing interfaces
or intermediate spaces between the inside and the outside of the polity [...]”.200 Aalto correctly notes
that the concentric model does not always strictly correspond to actual geography201. To set two
telling examples, in the Baltic Sea Region one insider (Finland) has a shared border with a close
outsider (Russia), whereas one of the semi-outsiders (Denmark) is geographically much closer to
the centre than one of the insiders (Finland). This does, however, not undermine the value of the
model.
The Baltic Sea Region has obviously also been of special interest to imperial writers because of the
fact that it is the only place, where the EU empire directly borders the Russian empire.202 To use the
words of Christiansen et al., the BSR is a good example of “[...] an EU border where cooperation is
possible under the condition of peaceful co-existence between the ‘Russian empire’ and the
‘European empire’. In this context, the EU, through the fuzziness of its borders, is acquiring an
increasingly relevant role in shaping the dynamics and future of the area.” 203 In addition,
Christiansen et al. highlight the role of the Baltic Sea Region as “[...] a convenient cover for the
distinction that the EU has to make between member-states, future members and countries which
will remain outside the Union”.204 For the EU, the BSR thus serves as a means to facilitate
against the Euro and no new referendum is currently planned. (See The Government Offices of Sweden: Sweden and
the EMU, http://www.regeringen.se/sb/d/3470/a/20684.)
198 Most of the new member states do not yet fulfil the criteria to participate in the common currency. Furthermore, the
nationals of the new member states face restrictions on working in other EU member states. These restrictions can be
imposed on them for a maximum of 7 years after their respective countries joined the Union. (See European
Commission (Employment, Social Affairs and Equal Opportunities): Free movement – EU nationals,
http://europa.eu/pol/emu/index_en.htm.)
199 c. f. Aalto 2004a, 169.
200 Christiansen/Petito/Tonra 2000, 410-411.
201 Aalto 2004a, 169.
202 With regard to the question of Russia’s nature and place in Europe, some differences between individual ’empire
writers’ can be noted. Aalto, for example, sees Russia as a state in the European periphery, in the circle of semioutsiders, whereas Christiansen, Petito and Tonra as well as Wæver tend to refer to Russia as another empire. Zielonka,
although not directly addressing the question , seems to share Aalto’s view, as he (as shown in Chapter 2) suggests that
Russia is a potential future candidate for membership Despite these differences, all nevertheless agree on the fuzziness
of the borders between the EU and Russia. The question will be further dealt with in Chapter 4.
203 Christiansen/Petito/Tonra 2000, 411.
204 Ibid., 412.
33
enlargement and at the same time as a way to include Russia, which would otherwise be left outside
the Union. This strategy seems to be based on the belief in the strength of the 'Baltic' (or 'Northern')
identity marker. After all, the Baltic Sea Region has been one of the areas, “[...] where the preexisting geopolitical categories of West, East and Norden [had] been blurred by a new overarching
notion of regionality”.205
In their article on the fuzzy borders of the Union, Christiansen et al. only shortly mention the
Northern Dimension, as the ND had by the time of writing only just emerged on the EU agenda.
However, since then the ND has received considerable attention in the literature. Even some of the
more cautious analysts, like the Finnish scholar Hiski Haukkala, has argued that the ND “[...] can be
seen as an attempt to create an entirely new logic in EU external relations and thereby help to solve
or at least alleviate the inclusion-exclusion paradox. Instead of exacerbating the exclusionary
aspects of the European project, the NDI is built on the assumption of growing positive
interdependence in Northern Europe, especially between the European Union and Russia. [...]”.206
Haukkala also praises the ND for having “[...] actively sought to accommodate the outsiders’ view
as well as that of the EU and its member states”. 207 The ND is thus seen as a clear continuation of
the EU empire’s earlier activities in the region, through which the Union peacefully expands its
order beyond its territorial borders.
Filtenborg et al. have sought to show in more concrete terms, how the ND blurs the borders
between the EU and its outside. They use a categorisation made by Michael Smith, who has argued
that four different types of boundaries can be constructed between the EU and its outside:
geopolitical, institutional/legal, transactional and cultural.208 First of all, Filtenborg et al. point out,
it is obvious that the ND further blurs the Cold War era geopolitical boundary between the ‘East’
and the ‘West’ by creating an inclusive political framework for Northern European states from both
sides of that divide. Second, one of the ND’s priorities are the different ‘soft’ security issues of
Northern Europe. In order to more effectively deal with them, the Union aims at aligning the legal
frameworks of its partners with its own. Furthermore, the ND “[...] supports a comprehensive
approach to the management of borders in Europe’s North, to ensure that similar criteria are applied
on each side of an EU external border relating to customs, migration, phytosanitary and veterinary
controls, the private sectors (banks, customs agents) and border infrastructure.”209 Thus, the legal
boundary is also moved by the ND. The institutional boundary, in contrast, remains untouched, as
inclusion within this boundary would equal full membership in the Union, which makes moving
Lehti/Smith 2003, 2.
Haukkala 2003, 290
207 Ibid., 290.
208 Smith 1996, 14-17.
209 Filtenborg/Gänzle/Johansson 2002, 400.
205
206
34
this boundary a very sensitive issue among the member states.210 The third boundary to be modified
is the transactional boundary. This border is created and maintained by such policies as the customs
union and the common external tariff. The ND, however, blurs the transactional boundary, as it
seeks to foster economic integration in Northern Europe “[...] through the harmonization of
economic conditions and practices across borders, which often entails a de facto adjustment of
candidate and partner countries’ business norms and regimes to fit those of the Union”.211 The last
boundary to be modified in the context of the ND is the cultural one with the EU keen on promoting
such ‘European’ values as democracy, rule of law and human rights. 212 As a result, the different
boundaries do not overlap or clearly separate the EU’s ‘inside’ from its ‘outside’, but create an
image of northern Europe as a ‘frontier’, where the EU's power slowly fades out still reaching far
beyond its external borders.
3.4. The Baltic Sea Region after the EU enlargement
While the Baltic Sea Region can, indeed, be said to have constituted one of the fuzzy borders of the
EU empire, the 2004 enlargement – and also the last years preceding it – have considerably changed
the picture. With the enlargement coming closer, Baltic co-operation was generally seen to have
fulfilled one of its main tasks, as it had provided an adequate framework for guiding Poland and the
Baltic states into the Union. This, as Williams notes, led to a certain legitimacy crisis and many
were rather pessimistic about the future of the BSR. Above all the CBSS, so it was feared, might
become obsolete with the EU institutions fully taking over.213 On the other hand, there were also
those, who argued that binding Russia, the only non-member situated around what is now often
described as an EU ‘inland sea’214, into EU-Europe would still provide a motive for further Baltic
co-operation.215 This has, however, not been the case, as will be argued below.
As shown in Chapter 2, the EU reacted to “[...] the geopolitical challenges that the ‘Big Bang’ EU
enlargement was expected to entail [...]”216 by drafting the ENP, which was planned to avoid the
emergence of ‘new dividing lines’ in Europe. This move had an impact also on the Baltic Sea
Region, as Russia was originally to be included in the ENP framework. Russia, however, declined
the offer. Sergouning has identified several reasons for Russia’s sceptical attitude towards the ENP.
From the Russian point of view, the policy seemed too universalistic, thus failing to recognise how
Ibid., 400.
Ibid., 401.
212 Ibid., 401.
213 Williams 2007, 13-15.
214 See for example Gebhard 2009, 14.
215 Williams 2007, 13-15.
216 Gebhard 2009, 101.
210
211
35
important a role Russia has (read: wants to have) in Europe. Furthermore, as opposed to the ND, the
ENP did not provide Russia with room for setting the cooperative agenda, with this being instead
dictated by the EU.217 The ENP would, however, have been a way to further maintain the fuzziness
of the borders in the Baltic Sea Region, albeit it would have replaced the principle of regionality by
a greater emphasis on bilateral relations between the EU and Russia.218
Because of Russia’s unwillingness to participate in the ENP, the EU and Russia agreed at their
summit in May 2003 to put forward the four EU-Russia Common Spaces, for each of which there is
a specific ‘roadmap’ setting the priorities of co-operation in that area.219 The Common Spaces are:
1.) the Common Economic Space, 2.) the Common Space of Freedom, Security and Justice, 3.) the
Common Space of External Security and 4.) the Common Space of Research and Education.
Despite the fact that the concept of common spaces does, indeed, sound like a very inclusive one,
creating them is a long-term project.220 Reaching that goal thus requires long negotiations.221
Furthermore, as Emerson argues, the four common spaces seem like a weaker version of the ENP
without a clear indication as to where the EU and Russia are heading. The emphasis is not as clearly
on placing Russia within the legal and cultural (or normative) boundaries of the Union as would
have been the case with the ENP.222
Despite the emergence of the ENP and, later, the Four Common Spaces, the Northern Dimension
has also not disappeared, at least not completely. However, as noted by Joenniemi in 2006
“[p]rojects such as the Northern Dimension [...] have not progressed in any straight-forward manner
[and] regional endeavours in Europe’s North seem to have slowed down [...].223 The ND has,
indeed, been hampered by various problems, one of the most grave of which has been the lack of a
budget line of its own in the EU's budget as well as the fact that mainly northern European member
states have shown interest towards the policy. Russia has also contributed to the its demise, as the
centralisation of Russian governance system started under President Putin has limited the
possibilities of Russian sub-state actors (regions) to engage in the kind of regional cross-border
cooperation envisaged by the ND.224 In 2003, the ND was already in danger to disappear
completely, as the candidate states concentrated on the upcoming accession, Russia did not show
much interest in the policy and even Sweden left it out of its Presidency priorities.225 Archer notes
Sergounin 2006, 123-124.
See also Del Sarto/Schumacher 2005, 5.
219 Sergounin 2006, 124.
220 Emerson 2005, 1.
221 The European Commission regularly reports about progress made with regard to the four common spaces. The
progress reports of the Commission can be found under
http://ec.europa.eu/external_relations/russia/common_spaces/index_en.htm.
222 See Emerson 2005, 3.
223 Joenniemi 2006, 134.
224 White/Light 2007, 50.
225 Archer 2007, 7.
217
218
36
that the ND did experience a “modest renaissance” in 2005, as several voices in favour of
continuing the policy were heard226 and, in the end, the EU, Iceland, Norway and Russia also
published a “Political Declaration on the Northern Dimension Policy”. In this document, the
partners declared their commitment to cooperate in the framework of the ND, but also confirmed
“[...] their desire to make the Northern Dimension policy a regional expression of the four EU–
Russia common spaces with the full participation of Iceland and Norway [...]”.227 This widely
confirms the argument of Gebhard, who notes that “[t]he establishment of the ENP [...], as well as
the conclusion of the Fours Spaces agreement reached in 2003, with the central aim of
strengthening the bilateral relations with Russia, have led to a certain marginalisation of the EU ND
as a stand-alone policy”228, even challenged its whole existence on the working agenda of the
EU229.
As White and Light argue, the ND’s potential to coordinate cross-border cooperation has also
remained largely unfulfilled.230 A good example of the rather modest results of EU-Russian cooperation in the Baltic Sea Region is provided by the situation of the Kaliningrad oblast, the
Russian exclave in the south-eastern corner of the Baltic Sea fully surrounded by EU territory. The
need to deal with the Kaliningrad region’s situation was mentioned already in the first ND action
plan and the framework document of the ‘new ND’ also states that the policy should increasingly
focus on North West Russia with the Kaliningrad oblast constituting one of the three priority
areas.231 Kaliningrad first emerged as a policy issue at the turn of the millennium, as the
enlargement edged closer and even the EU became increasingly aware of the fact that the oblast
would, in the very near future, be a part of Russia within the EU’s territorial limits. While the
European Commission was above all worried about organised crime, extensive drug use, health
issues such as a high number of HIV infections, mounting environmental problems, and the poor
state of governance in the Kaliningrad region, Russia, on the other hand, focused on the restrictions
the expansion of the Schengen zone would, after the enlargement, cause for Russians travelling
from ‘big Russia’ to Kaliningrad or vice versa.232 More positive views of the oblast’s role as an EU
enclave/Russian exclave were, however, also expressed in the debate. Already in October 1999
Russia proposed that Kaliningrad could be a ‘pilot region’ for co-operation between the EU and
Russia and in the early 2000s the region was on several occasions presented as a bridge between the
two.233 Taking both the challenges and the possibilities connected to the Kaliningrad region
together, it seemed, as Haukkala put it in 2003, that the oblast was “[...] becoming the test case in
Ibid., 8.
Political declaration on the Northern Dimension Policy, p. 1.
228 Gebhard 2009, 112.
229 Ibid., 113. Emphasis added.
230 White/Light 2007, 50.
231 Northern Dimension Policy Framework Document, p. 1.
232 White/Light 2007, 48-49; Fairlie/Sergounin 2001, 94.
233 Browning/Joenniemi 2004, 718-723.
226
227
37
terms of gauging both the extent of mutual trust between the European Union and Russia and the
NDI’s potential for practical problem solving”, a kind of ‘litmus test’ for both Russia and the EU to
come up with innovative solutions.234
Instead of the possibilities offered by the region’s position, the discussions on the oblast’s future
have, however, mainly been dominated by the problems connected to it and the solutions have, at
least so far, also not been especially innovative. Russian concerns with regard to the Schengen rules
and their implication on Russian citizens were at the centre of the EU-Russian negotiations in the
years preceding the EU’s enlargement. The EU insisted that the Schengen regime could not be
modified, which led to the suggestion by Russian president Putin that the Union and Russia would
conclude a reciprocal visa-free agreement. This was countered by the EU with the demand that
Russia would first have to make all of its external borders work more effectively and sign a
readmission treaty, thus allowing the Union to return illegal migrants entering EU territory through
Russia. For Russia, such conditions were, however, very difficult to fulfil.235 In the dispute, Russia
was keen to present itself as a firm supporter of human rights and free movement, while the EU was
portrayed as willing to set limitations and clearly separate the EU ‘ins’ and ‘outs’. “Instead of using
openness in order to spread its peaceful norms and practices, the EU was accused of aspiring for
firm borders in order to be protected from external risks and ills.”236
In the end, the EU and Russia could, at least, reach a compromise which solved some of the specific
problems connected to the Kaliningrad region’s situation as a Schengen enclave. The two agreed
that Russians travelling to and from Kaliningrad could transit Lithuania using a Facilitated Rail
Transit Document or, if travelling by car, a Facilitated Transit Document.237 At the Sotchi Summit
in 2006, a further agreement on visa-facilitation and readmission could finally be concluded.238
However, the visions of the oblast as an intermediary zone between the EU and Russia have not
materialised. Instead of forming a bridge between the East and the West, Kaliningrad has remained
merely a Russian exclave trapped inside EU territory. The Schengen regime has also, more
generally, formed an obstacle to stimulating further cross-border cooperation between the EU and
Russia.239
In an attempt to breath new life into Baltic co-operation, several members of the European
Parliament (MEPs) from the Baltic Sea Region sought to place the region back on the EU’s agenda
and contribute to “[...] the reappraisal of the scope and activities of the Northern Dimension to
Haukkala 2003, 290-291.
White/Light 2007, 47-48.
236 Diez/Pace/Rumelili/Viktorova 2006, 75.
237 White/Light 2007, 49.
238 Mankoff 2009, 161.
239 Prozorov 2005, 5.
234
235
38
reflect the changes since the enlargement of the EU”.240 As a result, in 2006 the European
Parliament published a report which called for an EU strategy for the Baltic Sea Region.241 The
EP’s request was discussed by the European Council in December 2007 and the Council invited the
Commission to prepare such a strategy for the BSR by June 2009. On 10 June 2009, the
Commission published a Communication concerning the European Union Strategy for the Baltic
Sea Region as well as an action plan which goes together with the strategy.242
The European Parliament’s report proposed that the Baltic Sea Region Strategy would “reinforce
the internal pillar of the Northern Dimension” and include both “[...] measures to be implemented
by the European Union and its Member States alone and measures to be implemented in
cooperation with the Russian Federation”. The European Council, however, noted in its mandate
that “[t]he Northern Dimension framework provides the basis for the external aspects of
cooperation in the Baltic Sea region”. While the Parliament seemed to suggest that the BSR
Strategy should be placed under the umbrella of the ND, the Council rather saw it “[...] as an
autonomous internal strategy and the Northern Dimension as its external dimension”.243 The
Commission’s official Baltic Sea Region Strategy follows the European Council’s line and states
that “[t]he strategy is an internal one addressed to the European Union and its Member States”. 244
Thus the EP’s renewed urges that the Kaliningrad oblast’s situation would be addressed in the
strategy and that the oblast would be made into “[...] a more open and less militarised pilot region
with improved access to the internal market [...]”245 were not taken into consideration. The
Commission’s strategy merely reads that “[t]he effectiveness of some of the proposed actions will
be enhanced by continuing constructive cooperation with interested third countries in the region”.246
Like Schymik and Krumrey correctly note, the EU Baltic Sea Region Strategy thus makes a clear
distinction between internal and external Baltic Sea co-operation and raises the question, how, or if,
non-members are still to take part in Baltic cooperation.247 It is, furthermore, clear that the focus is
now above all on the internal aspects, as the Baltic Sea Region Strategy has not been accompanied
by any document clarifying the ND’s novel role as the external pillar of Baltic Sea co-operation.
Whilst the pre-enlargement Baltic Sea Region was perceived as an overarching regional
constellation bringing EU members (Denmark, Finland, Germany, Sweden), candidates (the Baltic
states, Poland) as well as non-members (Iceland, Norway and, most importantly, Russia) to the
Beazley et al. 2005, 6.
European Parliament 2006
242 European Commission 2009a, 2.
243 Antola 2009, 6.
244 European Commission 2009a, 4.
245 European Parliament 2006.
246 European Commission 2009a, 4.
247 Schymik/Krumrey 2009, 12-13.
240
241
39
same negotiation table, the post-enlargement Baltic Sea Region, as outlined in the strategy, is, then,
first and foremost a region consisting of EU member states.
The Baltic Sea Strategy is still very recent and it is difficult to say what impact it will have on the
Baltic Sea Region as a whole. In view of the subject of this paper, it suffices to say that it seems the
EU has, at least for now, abandoned the idea of the Baltic Sea Region as a space including Russia248
and blurring the border between the ‘inside’ and the ‘outside’ of the Union. While Russia is thus
effectively moved outside the Baltic Sea Region, the country does not figure in the EU’s new
Eastern Partnership either, although original Commission drafts stated that the partnership “[...]
should be pursued ‘in parallel’ with EU–Russia relations, or even ‘complementary’ to the Russia
relationship”.249 Of course, due to the Eastern Partnership’s close association with the ENP, one
could assume that Russia would not have been to eager to participate in it even if it had been invited
to do so. Nevertheless, Russia’s omission from the policy seems to be a further indication of a larger
trend: with the EU–Russian border now forming the outer limit of both the EU and the Schengen
zone, the ND sidelined by the rather ambiguous and long-term four common spaces and
marginalised as a vehicle for external Baltic cooperation, one can hardly describe the EU’s external
border with Russia as ‘soft’, ‘fuzzy’, ‘blurred’ or ‘open’ like the ‘empire writers’ tend to. While it
was argued in Chapter 2 that the EU is best described applying the imperial metaphor, there is
clearly a need to revise its assumptions about the nature of the EU empire’s borders.
4. Imperial metaphor, geostrategies and the nature of the EU's external borders
It is clear that the imperial model, like any theoretical model, oversimplifies the reality somewhat in
order to gain explanatory strength. However, in view of what was said in the last chapter about the
nature of the border between the EU empire and Russia, the claims made by the model do not seem
to fit the situation in the BSR. There are no (longer) ‘intermediary’ zones between inclusion and
exclusion ‘blurring’ the border between the EU and Russia. Rather, since the EU accession of
Poland and the Baltic states, the border seems increasingly settled with Russia placed in the
‘outside’. This chapter thus looks at how the imperial metaphor could be developed further in order
to better grasp the situation in the Baltic Sea Region. The most important questions to be asked are:
what kind of borders does the EU empire produce and in what kind of situations?
248
249
See Christiansen/Petito/Tonra 2000, 412.
Rettman 2009.
40
4.1. The EU’s different geostrategies: the colonial frontier and limes
The main finding of Chapter 3 was that not all of the EU’s borders are fuzzy. Instead, the EU–
Russian border was shown to be increasingly fixed in many ways. The empire model thus presents
too simplistic a view on the Union’s borders. A similar observation has been made by William
Walters. Analysing different bodies of literature that explore the connection between European
integration and the borders of the EU250, he laments the fact that many studies seem to highlight
some tendencies with regard to borders while eclipsing others. He himself, in contrast, presents an
approach which “[...] seeks to capture the multiplicity and plurality of borders”251 offering “[...] a
much more nuanced and topographical account of the production of geopolitical space in Europe
than do concepts like ‘fuzzy borders’ or Fortress Europe”252. At the core of Walters’ approach are
different ‘geostrategies’. The concept of geostrategy stems from Michael Foucher, a French scholar
and geopolitician, who used it to refer to geographically motivated ways of waging war and
organising defence. Walters, however, defines the word ‘geostrategy’ differently. He points out that
problems related to the EU’s borders seldom have anything to do with traditional military threats.
Rather, the issues that now surface in all debates concerning the borders of the EU are of sociopolitical nature and include phenomena such as arms dealing, smuggling, human trafficking,
terrorism, arms and asylum seeking, often lumped together and labelled ‘new’ security issues.253
Walters understanding of geostrategy is “[...] the instrumentalisation of territory for the purposes of
governing one or more of these new security issues”.254
Walters presents altogether four geostrategies, although he notes that it would be possible to
identify others as well. The four are: networked (non)borders, march, colonial frontiers and limes.
Each strategy, in Walters’ own words, “corresponds with a particular way of organising the space of
the border. It presupposes many things, including particular definitions of the ‘inside’ and ‘outside’
of the polity, the types of threat or problem which the border is to address, and specific accounts of
the time and the space of the border.255 Furthermore, the geostrategies “[...] also presuppose
particular definitions as to the identity and political rationality of Europe.” 256 While all of Walters’
Walters identifies three different bodies of literature dealing with the connection between European integration and
the borders of the EU. First of all, there are studies that can be placed “[...] at the intersection of migration studies,
refugee and asylum law, citizenship study, security theory [...]” and concentrate on the Europeanisation of justice and
home affairs. Secondly, there is the group of scholars that looks at the EU’s borders “[...] from the perspective of the EU
as an emerging polity”, whether it be a Westphalian state, a postmodern polity, a neo-medieval construction or an
empire. Thirdly, there are political geographers, who place “[...] the transformation of EU borders within a larger history
of borders”. (Walters 2004, 675-677.)
251 Walters 2004, 674.
252 Ibid., 693.
253 The concept of ‘new’ security threats is identical to the concept of ‘soft’ security threats, which is also commonly
used in literature as well as in the political discourse.
254 Walters 2004, 677-678.
255 Ibid., 675.
256 Ibid., 675.
250
41
geostrategies provide interesting insights, of most interest in view of this paper are the two last
mentioned, the colonial frontier and limes. Both are inspired by the ‘empire writers’ and, as Walters
notes, “[...] suggest it may be also useful to consider the EU’s borders through such lenses”. 257 That
is why these two geostrategies will be the focus of attention of this chapter.
Walters’ concept of the colonial frontier is inspired by Frederick Jackson Turner and his book “The
Frontier in American History”, which is frequently cited also by other scholars writing on borders.
In the north American context ‘frontier’ has traditionally been a place, where settlement made way
for ‘wilderness’ and ‘civilization’ for ‘nature’. Although frontier marked the end of settlement, this
only meant white settlement; the lands beyond could still be populated by indigenous people. 258 The
frontier could also be penetrated by individual white explorers259, who were then slowly followed
by settlers. As a result, the North American frontier was actually a moving zone of settlement 260
making its way ever further, until in 1890 the Bureau of the Interior could announce that white
settlers had filled up the continental space of the United States and the frontier, in its former
meaning, had ceased to exist261.
Walters uses the notion of the concept of the colonial frontier as a metaphor for the European
Union’s enlargement towards the east. What in his opinion connects the North American frontier
and the EU’s eastern frontier is that both represent a zone “[...] where an organised power meets its
outside in a relationship of transformation and assimilation”. The frontier “[...] is the setting of an
asymmetrical relationship in which the expanding power assumes a right to define what is
appropriate and just. It is an organisation of political space in which the centre is the acknowledged
repository and arbitrator of what is proper”.262 Walters, however, also downplays the similarity
between the North American and the European colonial frontier somewhat: the EU does not spread
civilisation into the wilderness in the sense the North American settlers most likely felt they did.
Rather, the EU’s norms are “[...] the seemingly more neutral, technical and universal norms of
political and economic ‘governance’ – from practices of financial regulation to standards of border
control”.263
Despite the fact that the frontier is more of a (moving) zone, this geostrategy also entails the
existence of a border in the form of a demarcation line. This border is seen as a temporary necessity,
“[...] which can be removed once a greater equilibrium is attained between the inside and the
Ibid., 686.
Maier 2002, 17-18.
259 Ibid., 17-18.
260 Anderson 1996, 9.
261 Maier 2002, 17.
262 Walters 2004, 688.
263 Ibid., 688.
257
258
42
outside”.264 An example of this is provided by the borders between the ‘old’ EU-15 and the ‘new’
member states that joined in 2004 or, in the case of Romania and Bulgaria, 2007: as soon as the new
member states are considered to be sufficiently integrated within the EU system, these borders are
removed – like happened to the German-Polish border, as Poland joined the Schengen zone in
December 2007 – and transferred to the external frontiers of the new member states. 265 The Polish
example brings also another important point about the colonial frontier to the fore. Integration
always implies dis-integration, as new economic and regional ties come at the cost of old ones. The
opening of the German–Polish border has meant the tightening of the Polish–Russian and Polish–
Ukrainian borders. Disintegration is an essential feature of the colonial frontier also in another way.
The countries from the eastern side of the Iron Curtain that entered the EU in 2004 were not fully
‘unintegrated’ before their accession. Rather, their integration into the Union has meant their “[...]
disarticulation from previous regional arrangements – the Warsaw Pact, the eastern bloc, the Soviet
‘Empire’ – and [their] rearticulation into new ones”.266
The last aspect of the colonial frontier concerns its role in European identity building. Walters notes
that whereas Turner considered the American frontier as a place where American political and
cultural identity was produced, making a similar claim with regard to the European colonial frontier
seems impossible, as so far no European identity strong enough to rival national or regional
identities has emerged. There is, nevertheless, a part of Europe, whose identity is, according to
Walters, to some extent produced at the border. This is the so called 'Central Europe', which can not
be defined exactly, but to which many of the Central-East European countries would, nevertheless,
count themselves.267 However, instead of striving to create a distinctive Central European identity,
intellectuals from this region have rather tried to emphasise the region’s belonging to ‘Western
Europe’ (thus distancing itself from the 'East'), which leads Walters to the conclusion that, in a way,
also ‘Western Europe’ is invented at the frontier.268
Walters’ second ‘imperial geostrategy’ is the so called limes. The word was used in the Roman
Empire for a strategy which simultaneously aimed at keeping unwelcome people outside the
imperial territory, organising trade with Romanised peoples as well as creating a zone of sustainable
peace around the Empire. The limes, Walters argues, is like the colonial frontier in that they both are
situated between a power and its outside. However, there are also crucial differences between them:
while the colonial frontier is of provisional nature and always in the move with an aspiration to
Ibid., 688.
Ibid., 688.
266 Ibid., 689. A similar idea has been presented by Aalto, who notes that since the end of the Cold War the EU has
become engaged in erasing elements of ‘post-Soviet space’ [...] and replacing them by supposedly more ‘European’
traits”. See Aalto 2006, 30.
267 For a very good historical overview of the emergence of the concept 'Central Europe', see Neumann 1999, 143-160.
268 Walters 2004, 690-691.
264
265
43
assimilate and colonise those that are outside, the limes is more permanent and its main function is
to draw a line between the order within the Empire and the disorder without. The limes, unlike the
colonial frontier, is also not a zone, but rather an edge or a limit. Those that are left on the ‘wrong’
side of the limes do not face the risk of imperial domination, but instead of exclusion and neglect.269
In Walters’ opinion the most visible limes in contemporary Europe is the Mediterranean, which
separates the highly organised EU in the north from those around the southern rim of the sea who
are destined to remain outside. Walters argues that whereas the strategy of the EU in the east is that
of expansion and assimilation, in the south it is that of containment. However, the Mediterranean,
although the most prominent, is not the only limes in Europe. Furthermore, the way the limes
materialises in the South is, according to Walters, not the only possible form a limes can take. The
Roman empire tended to extend its power beyond its formal territory marked by the limes either by
means of military conquest or through alliances. Walters argues that a similar strategy of reaching
beyond the limes is evident in the EU’s attempts to form alliances and police partnerships with
states like Russia and Ukraine.270
The final point Walters makes about his four geostrategies is that these are not mutually exclusive.
Instead, they are tendencies and one single border may witness more than one geostrategy
simultaneously at work. According to Walters, it should, however, be possible to identify which is
the dominant geostrategy and which are subordinate geostrategies. To set an example, Walters
argues that while the dominant geostrategy in the Mediterranean region seems to be the limes, it is
not the only one. Whereas some see that the regional assistance offered in the framework of the
Euro-Mediterranean Partnership only aims at keeping the region stable and strengthening the limes,
one could also point out that through such measures the limes is slowly taking the shape of a more
integrative, colonial, frontier.
4.2. The borders between the ‘self’ and the ‘other’
Walters’ imperial geostrategies offer a fresh view on the EU’s borders and build a good basis for
developing the empire theory further. Importantly, applying Walters’ framework does also not imply
that all of the ‘imperial’ concepts should be abandoned. Quite to the contrary, the concept of the
colonial frontier is actually very similar to that of fuzzy borders used by ‘empire writers’. After all,
the colonial frontier is clearly about exporting norms, policies and values of the EU empire beyond
the Union’s formal territory, which, in turn, leads into a situation, where the distinction between the
269
270
Ibid., 690-691.
Ibid., 691.
44
‘inside’ and the ‘outside’ of the polity becomes, to a certain degree, blurred. However, Walters’
concept of the colonial frontier is more specific than that of ‘fuzzy borders’ and, more importantly,
he also shows that it is not the only type of border the EU empire is producing.
An important point about Walters’ colonial frontier is that, despite its fuzziness, there still is a
formal border between the ‘inside’ and the ‘outside’. While the colonial frontier implies moving all
of the EU’s boundaries (geopolitical, legal/institutional, transactional, cultural) beyond the Union’s
territorial limits, the institutional boundary is the last one to be moved, because, as Palosaari notes,
the division between members and non-members “[...] is vitally important for EU’s identity and
inner coherence”.271 Furthermore, as the example of the ‘new’ member states show, since the
implementation of the Schengen Agreement, even those states that are in the process of being
‘assimilated’ to the EU are likely to face restrictions with regard to the free movement of their
citizens, possibly also after their accession.
However, Walters’ approach also has its limitations. Even though he himself claims that each
geostrategy presupposes particular definitions of the ‘inside’ and ‘outside’ of the polity as well as of
“ t h e identity and political rationality” of the European project, these issues remain largely
unaddressed. Why does the EU empire, with its mission to bring peace and stability into Europe,
engage in the kind of border-building implied by the geostrategy of the limes? And how does such a
change come about? The answer to this question lies, so it is suggested in this paper, in different
practices of othering. The notion that human collectives form their identities by constructing social
boundaries between a ‘self’ and an ‘other’ (or an ‘inside’ and an ‘outside’) has been popularised in
the discipline of international relations amongst others by Iver Neumann272 and studying the
practice of othering has become a common topic in post-structuralist writing.273 Identities, and thus
also the ‘self’ and the ‘other’, are seen to be constructed in discursive practices, which include, that
is the view taken here, both linguistic and behavioural practices, that is, both language and action.274
The practice of othering has already been discussed by some ‘empire writers’. Christiansen et al.
merely note that recognising the fuzziness of the EU’s borders is not to suggest that borders are
generally losing their meaning. Instead, border lines between civilizations might be gaining
significance and further research should, in their opinion, consider this aspect thus connecting “[...]
to existing studies of European identity-formation in relation to the construction of an Other”. 275
Wæver, in contrast, has reflected more closely on the issue of othering. Europe (by which he means
Palosaari 2001, 212.
See for example Neumann 1996 and Neumann 1999.
273 Diez 2005, 627.
274 Wennerstein 1999, 273-278.
275 Christiansen/Petito/Tonra 2000, 393.
271
272
45
the Europe embodied by the EU), he argues, is not defined against a spatial, non-European, ‘other’,
but a temporal one – Europe’s ‘other’ is its own violent past marked by power balancing, rivalry
and wars.276 References to Europe’s war-torn past are, indeed, common in ceremonial speeches
highlighting the European project’s role in pacifying the Western part of the continent after the
World Wars.277
The practice of temporal othering as outlined by Wæver means that “[...] acquiring full European
credentials [...] also [becomes] a question of time [...]”.278 While the core of the member states is
seen to have left the era of power politics, the 'modern' era with its territorial concerns and disputes,
far behind, the states in the EU’s ‘near abroad’ have to first prove their ‘Europeanness’ by fulfilling
the conditions set for them. Out of this perspective, (almost) no state is completely non-European,
only more or less European. As Wæver formulates it, “[t]owards the East, the EU has wisely
refrained from defining ‘Europe’ and thus says only ‘yes but’ and ‘not yet’ to Eastern applicants –
never ‘no’”.279 Towards the South, Wæver notes, the EU might already have found its final border,
the Mediterranean, and any North African state applying for membership is likely to receive a ‘no’,
(“or a ‘no but’ leading to other programmes”) with the explanation that they do not belong to
Europe geographically, as was the case with Morocco in 1987.280 But what’s the relationship
between the othering practices and the nature of the EU’s borders? Does a ‘no’ or a ‘no but’ mean
that the EU is drawing a limes between that state and the European ‘self’? In this paper it has been
argued that the ENP, which is directed not only towards states in the EU’s eastern, but also towards
states in the Union’s southern neighbourhood, is a tool for producing fuzzy borders. Also
Christiansen et al. have identified the Mediterranean as the second fuzzy border of the EU besides
the Baltic Sea Region. What about the East then? Though the EU’s border towards the East should
be fuzzy, Chapter 3 showed, the EU’s eastern border with Russia is becoming increasingly fixed.
Such contradictory observations call for a new, more coherent approach to explain, what kind of
borders the EU empire is likely to have and how they emerge.
Thomas Diez has summarised four different strategies of constructing the ‘self’ and the ‘other’ in
international politics. First, the ‘other’ can be presented as an existential threat to the ‘self’. This
scenario can be used to legitimise extraordinary measures, such as war, to combat the threat.
Secondly, the ‘other’ can be seen as inferior to the ‘self’. Through such lenses the ‘other’ becomes
exotic and interesting, but is at the same time looked down upon. Thirdly, the ‘other’ can be
presented as violating universal values. In this variant, the values and standards of the ‘self’ are not
Wæver 2000, 263;279.
See for example Fischer 2000.
278 Wæver 2000, 263.
279 Wæver 2000, 264.
280 Ibid., 264; Diez 2004, 329.
276
277
46
only seen as superior to those of the ‘other’, but also as being of universal validity, which is why the
‘other’ should also be convinced to accept these values. Fourthly, the ‘other’ can be seen as merely
different. Such a view, unlike the first three, does not place a value-judgement on the ‘other’ and is,
consequently, not as easy to use to “[...] legitimise harmful interference with the other”.281
An interesting view on the most common othering practices in post-Cold War Europe has been
offered by Tunander. Writing in 1997, he identified two seemingly contradictory tendencies gaining
prominence in Europe. On the one hand, he argued (inspired by Wæver’s imperial model) that
Europe was becoming increasingly unicentric. The Cold War division between Friend and Foe had
given way to “[...] a hierarchic Cosmos–Chaos structure, with an EU centre, a concentric circle of
less integrated EU members, a circle of relatively stable states possibly joining the EU in the near
future, an outer circle of states less able to adapt to EU standards, and a more chaotic periphery that
will not be included in the EU in coming decades”.282 In this unicentric Europe the main concern of
the states is to “[...] have access to capital, information and decision-making bodies – the
political/economic centre”.283 Instead of expanding their territory or extending their military buffers
ever further, states want to be situated close to the EU’s core. 284 This unicentric and universalist
order, Tunander wrote, implies that the periphery, the ‘other’, is not being understood as
fundamentally different from the EU-European ‘self’, but rather as ‘barbarians’ who can and have
to be civilised by the ‘empire’, as ‘learners’ who have to be taught.285 On the other hand, parallel to
the unicentric order, Tunander also saw a Europe of various Cosmoses emerging. One of these
Cosmoses was Russia, which, not being able to approach the core of the Cosmos formed by the EU,
sought to place itself in the centre of a universe of its own, consisting of the states in its own ‘near
abroad’. Tunander argued that between the competing Cosmoses, traditional territorial claims would
still be on the agenda and “military-cultural dividing line[s] between Friend and Foe” would
emerge.286 One such line would be “the Great Cultural Divide” between Russia and Europe.287 In
this multicentric system, the various Cosmoses would see each other as different. Paradoxically, it
would be exactly the recognition of their difference, which would also allow them to engage in a
dialogue.288 In the unicentric Europe, in contrast, there would be no dialogue, only a monologue by
the centre.
Diez 2005, 629.
Tunander 1997, 32.
283 Ibid., 33.
284 Ibid., 33.
285 Ibid., 25.
286 Ibid., 38.
287 Ibid., 18. The concept of the ‘Great Cultural Divide’ is originally from Rudolf Kjellén.
288 Ibid., 25.
281
282
47
4.3. Geostrategies and forms of othering
The universalist and unicentric EU order, as outlined by Tunander, is, in fact, very similar to
Walters’ geostrategy of the colonial frontier; what lies beyond the EU’s borders is, in both cases,
identified by the core as something to assimilate. This also corresponds well with Wæver’s
argument that becoming European is a question of time. The states in the EU’s periphery are not
necessarily presented as non-European, but instead as not-yet-European. In view of Diez’ othering
strategies, both the unicentric model and the geostrategy of the colonial frontier are most closely
connected to the second and third option. In other words, the ‘other’ (as seen from the perspective
of the Cosmos or the centre of the EU empire) is seen as inferior and should, furthermore, be
brought to accept the values and norms of the core, as these are deemed to be universal.
In the discourse surrounding EU (and NATO) enlargement, representations of the applicant states
from the ‘East’ as Europe’s inferior ‘other’ have, indeed, been common. As Kuus289 shows, both
journalistic and academic accounts of the Eastern enlargement (and the EU's own documents, one
needs to add) tend to illustrate it as a learning process with the EU seen in the role of the teacher
and the not-yet-fully European accession countries as the Union’s pupils. This way, the EU becomes
the yardstick, against which the ‘Eastern other’ measures itself. As Thomas Diez correctly notes, the
discourse surrounding the EU’s enlargement has thus in effect added a geographical dimension to
the temporal othering of Europe’s past: “Central and Eastern Europe [...] became the incarnation of
Europe’s past, a past that the West had overcome, and a zone of war and nationalism that was stuck
in history.”290 Furthermore, this form of othering othering also has an impact on the EU's role and
identity. First of all, it reinforces the EU’s power to decide on the future of the CEECs and secondly,
it strengthens the Union’s self-image of “[...] having overcome the dangers of war and acting as a
force for peace”291, as a “normative power”292.
However, Kuus points out that although the CEESs are treated as not-yet European ‘learners’, this
role is not simply imposed on them. Rather, the accession states also actively participate in this
process by promoting an image of themselves as peripheral Europeans, who are, nevertheless, “on
the road to membership” unlike states further east, particularly Russia. This way, the accession
states place themselves within Europe and closer to its core and, at the same time, move the border
between Europe and its ‘Eastern other’ further eastward.293 This is very much in line with what
Kuus 2004.
Diez 2004, 326.
291 Diez 2004, 326.
292 See Diez 2004, 325. The term ‘normative power’ was coined by Ian Manners. See Manners, I. (2002) Normative
Power Europe: A Contradiction in Terms?, in: Journal of Common Market Studies, 40(2), pp. 235-258.
293 Kuus 2004, 479-480.
289
290
48
Walters had argued about the colonial frontier as the place, where ‘Central Europe’ produces its
‘Western European’ identity. It also underlines the fact that despite the asymmetric power
relationship between the EU and its ‘near abroad’, the othering is not a one-way process, in which
the periphery simply internalises the core’s assumptions about it.294 Instead, “[...] the discourses are
reproduced through the reverberation of othering practices between the West and the accession
countries”.295 In other words, it is not enough to simply find out which is the (dominant)
geostrategy chosen by the EU with regard to a certain state in its near abroad. It is also important to
look at how that particular state sees itself in relation to the Union. Consequently, as Kuus states,
”[...] we should examine not only how Europe is framed in power centres, such as Brussels [...], but
also how these framings are used in the power margins such as the accession states”. 296 This brings
an additional, national, layer into the debate, also highlighting the EU empire’s neo-medieval
character.
The logic of the colonial frontier, as outlined above, also applies to the European Neighbourhood
Policy, which is, as argued in Chapter 2, largely based on the EU’s enlargement policy and, like the
latter, also produces ‘fuzzy borders’ – if the EU’s neighbours are willing, like the EU applicants
have been, to play the part written for them by the EU dictating what they are to do (and not to do)
in order to achieve a place closer to the Union’s core. An analysis of the different forms of othering
inherent in the ENP has recently been made by Valentina Kostadinova.297 She argues that the
European Commission’s key documents with regard to the Neighbourhood Policy all contribute to
the emergence of an image of the ENP partner countries as the EU’s ‘other’. Kostadinova points
out, for example, that the ENP identifies the partner countries as the origin of various ‘soft’ security
challenges facing the Union, thus othering the neighbourhood as a security threat. Above all,
however, the Commission’s discourse seems in her opinion to suggest that the ENP partner
countries “[...] should be taught the superior EU values and practices” which these countries do not,
as yet, share. This, she argues, “[...] clearly marks a border between us and them”298. It also implies
“[...] that the EU standards are in fact universal” and that the partner countries should undertake
various measures to bring their political and economic systems in tune with those of the EU.299
However, strangely, Kostadinova also argues that “[...] the fact that Commission documents
construct the neighbours as ‘the Other’ constitutes them as different, which results in continuous
distancing of the EU from its partner-countries”.300 In the light of what was said earlier about the
Ibid., 479.
Ibid., 473.
296 Ibid., 484.
297 Kostadinova 2009.
298 Ibid., 248-249.
299 Ibid., 248-249.
300 Ibid., 249.
294
295
49
different othering strategies – Kostadina uses the very same categorisation –, this does not seem a
very logical conclusion. After all, constituting the ‘other’ as different would mean not placing a
value-judgement on it. However, in the framework of the ENP, as Kostadinova herself points out,
the partner countries are seen as having inferior values. Thus, there is clearly an element of valuejudgement connected to the Neighbourhood Policy. Furthermore, as was argued above, a strong
emphasis on ‘civilising’ the ‘other’ (as seems to be the case with regard to the ENP) stems from the
assumption that deep down the ‘other’ is similar to the ‘self’, not different. Kostadinova’s statement
could, of course, also be interpreted to mean that, as a result of the Commission’s discourse, the
partners start to see themselves as different from the EU. Kostadinova does, however, not present
any evidence to suggest that this would be the case.
Kostadinova also argues that the othering of the ENP partners facilitates the construction of a ‘hard’
border between them and the EU. Whether this is true or not, is, however, not relevant for the
argument made here because, as was noted above, in the case of the colonial frontier, there is
always a formal border between the inside and the outside as long as the inside perceives the
outside as not yet ready to become part of the inside. It might thus be helpful to separate the
concepts of ‘soft’ and ‘fuzzy’ borders on the one hand and ‘hard’ and ‘fixed’ on the other. Whilst the
ENP, through the means of norm-, policy- and value-export from the EU into its ‘near abroad’,
creates and maintains a ‘fuzzy’ border between the EU and the ENP partners, this border can,
simultaneously, be rather ‘hard’ for the citizens of the partner countries to pass. The border is,
however, not fixed, as the EU’s policies contribute to a situation, where the different kinds of
borders (geopolitical, institutional/legal, transactional and cultural) between the EU and its outside
do not overlap. Instead, they are spread, forming a zone, a frontier, rather than a clear boundary.
Eventually, the border is also bound to become soft, when the outside is seen ready for such a step.
This said, the real nature of the border depends, of course, not only on the strategy chosen by the
EU, but also on how the partner states see themselves in relation to the Union, that is, are they
willing to take the role of a ‘learner’ and spend some time on the bench of the metaphorical ‘EU
school’.
What about the limes? If Tunander’s view of a unicentric Europe corresponds well with the
geostrategy of the colonial frontier, the dividing lines between the multiple Cosmoses, in turn, do
share certain elements with Waters’ concept of the limes. There is, however, one crucial difference:
Tunander thought of the different Cosmoses as somewhat equal, whereas Walters’ limes is to be
found only in places, where there is an unequal relationship between the power and its outside.
Furthermore, the limes as understood by Walters, is actually a line between Cosmos and Chaos.
Limes, so it seems, is then rather a feature of a unicentric Europe than of a Europe of multiple
50
Cosmoses. The question now arises, if Europe should be seen as unicentric or multicentric. Wæver,
writing in 1997, hinted at a Europe consisting of three imperial centres, Brussels, Moscow as well
as Ankara, and Tunander also identified Russia as one of the emerging Cosmoses. But is the relation
between the EU and Russia one of equals? Should Russia be seen as an ‘empire’ of its own?301
Haukkala observes that the relationship between the EU and Russia is highly asymmetrical, as the
EU’s share of Russian total trade amounts to more than 50 per cent, whereas Russia’s share of the
EU’s imports is less than 10 and of the Union’s exports less than 5 per cent. On the other hand, this
asymmetry is “[...] ameliorated by the fact that most of Russia’s exports to the EU are hydrocarbons
– oil and gas – strategic commodities on which the EU is highly dependent, currently satisfying
over 20 per cent of its need in imported fuel from Russia”.302 Fact is, nevertheless, that Moscow,
despite its resources, has not become the kind of centre of gravity for the CIS (or a larger area) as
has Brussels for most of Europe. The CIS is not an integrating space, but a loose bundle of states.
Although there have, since 2003, been attempts to develop selected integration projects, even
president Putin stated in 2005 that the CIS has always been about the civilised disintegration of the
Soviet Union, not about integration.303 Russia is naturally interested in the developments in what is
now Europe’s and Russia’s common ‘near abroad’, but it is not advancing there. As Trenin notes,
[t]hroughout its neighbourhood, Moscow has attempted little more than to preserve the status quo in
the face of western-oriented change – and often, to no avail”. 304 The countries in its near abroad
“[...] have not gravitated towards Russia, with the notable exception of Belarus”. 305 Russia, then,
does not fulfil Wæver's most important criterion for an empire and is perhaps best described simply
as a large state in a Europe which seems, at least for the moment, unicentric.
Even if we take Europe to be unicentric, it might be helpful to compare Tunander’s and Walters’
ideas with one another. Tunander underlined that the various Cosmoses emerging in Europe would
see one another as different. They thus engage in the fourth form of othering on Diez’ list of
othering strategies. Walters does not connect the emergence of limes to any form of othering and, in
addition, sees it as a more or less strategic choice made by the core. However, as argued above with
regard to the colonial frontier, the drawing of borders always implies some form of othering. It is
logical to suppose that the othering process behind the limes strategy is one of highlighting the
difference between the 'inside' and the 'outside'. The 'other' is not constructed as inherently similar,
but as simply different. Identifying the 'other' as different is important, as it liberates the EU from its
missionary call to build a 'Europe without dividing lines' and thus gives it the right to engage in
The case of Turkey will not be addressed here.
Haukkala 2007, 139.
303 Schneider-Deters/Schulze/Timmermann 2008, 158-159;169-170.
304 Trenin 2005, 2.
305 Ibid., 2.
301
302
51
constructing a limes. The geostrategy of the limes is then based on a geographical/spatial form of
othering instead of a temporal one. However, here it is also important to note that it is not the power
centre alone, which dictates this process. The emergence of a limes-like ‘boundary’, like the
emergence of a colonial frontier, is thus not simply the result of the EU choosing to follow this
geostrategy in its relations with regard to a particular state. Rather, that state can also play its role in
this process.
4.4. 'Frontiers' and 'boundaries'
To sum up the above discussion, following observations were made: The EU empire follows two
kinds of geostrategies. There is, first of all, the geostrategy of the colonial frontier, the strategy of
assimilation behind both the EU's enlargement policy and the ENP. This strategy implies that the
‘other’, the EU's periphery, is represented as an ‘almost-European’ learner and made part of the
‘self’. However, in order for this strategy to lead to the emergence of a 'frontier', a fuzzy border, the
‘other’ has to be willing to identify itself as ‘not-yet-European’ and start to adopt the norms and
values of the core, as has been the case with the states that joined the EU in 2004. The geostrategy
of the limes, in contrast, is about drawing a clear line between the ‘inside’ and the ‘outside’ of the
EU polity. There is no aspiration to assimilate the ‘other’. Instead, the EU is more interested in
keeping unwelcome migrants out and organising trade with the ‘other’, which is constructed as
different from the ‘self’. A 'boundary' between the EU and its ‘outside’ emerges, when also the
‘other’ identifies itself as different and has no interest in moving closer to the EU polity’s core. In
Chapter 5, the framework laid in this chapter is applied to the EU-Russian relations, in order to
explain the recent developments in the Baltic Sea Region.
5. The EU's border with Russia – from 'frontier' to 'boundary'
In Chapter 4 it was argued that the emergence of different kinds of borders is closely connected to
different practices of othering. This chapter takes a closer look at the EU-Russian relations and tries
to identify the different geostrategies and practices of othering visible in the EU-Russian discourse.
It is argued that the recent developments in the Baltic Sea Region can be explained by the EU's and
Russia's recognition of one another as different. For this reason, the EU's border with Russia is on
its way to turn from a 'frontier' into a 'boundary'.
52
In the first part of the chapter, the EU’s policies towards Russia are analysed in the framework laid
in the previous chapter. This, however, is not enough. As was argued above, the emergence of both
the ‘frontier’ and the ‘boundary’ imply that both the EU and its outside choose to place themselves
in the same othering discourse. That is why it is also important to look at how Russia’s approach
towards the EU has evolved since the fall of the Soviet Union. Furthermore, the role of the power
margins in the othering process is dealt with. That, in this case, means identifying what part Poland
and, above all, the Baltic states (as states counted to the Baltic Sea Region) have played in building
the border between the EU and Russia. This chapter should, by no means, be understood as an
exhaustive analysis of how the EU–Russian relations have developed. Rather, it represents a short
example, a suggestion, of how the theoretical framework outlined in Chapter 4 could be applied in
practice. The chapter is largely based on secondary literature, as analysing all the EU's key
documents concerning Russia and vice versa is beyond the scope of this study.
5.1. The EU’s policy towards Russia: Russia as a learner
After the fall of the Soviet Union, the expectations with regard to the future of the relationship
between Russia on the one hand and the EC/EU, or more generally, the West, on the other hand,
were high. It was generally believed that Russia would, after a phase of systemic transformation and
structural change, soon become a liberal democratic European state306, more like the Western ‘self’
seen to have already attained these qualities. The most optimistic expected Russia to simply follow
the Central Eastern European countries on their road to ever closer integration with and, eventually,
membership in the EU, although it was thought that Russia might need longer to achieve this goal
than the CEECs.307 Russia, like the CEECs, then, became “[...] a learner of European economic and
political practices”.308
Russia’s role as a learner can be easily read in the Partnership and Cooperation Agreement (PCA)
which was concluded between the two parties in 1994 and ratified in 1997.309 The EU insisted on
making both democracy and respect for human rights an ‘essential’ element of the agreement, thus
reserving itself “[...] a legal right to consider a breach of [...] [these] ‘European values’ as sufficient
to warrant the termination or suspension of the agreement.”310 With regard to norms, the PCA sets
Russia the clear task of bringing its legislation in line with that of the Community. Although priority
was given to areas connected to economy, the PCA does, in Haukkala’s opinion, make it clear that
Timmermann 2005, 206.
Ibid., 206.
308 Neumann 1997, 158.
309 Timmermann 2005, 207.
310 Haukkala 2007, 137.
306
307
53
the obligation concerns Russia’s legislation in general.311 After all, Article 55 on legislative
cooperation reads that “Russia shall endeavour to ensure that its legislation will be gradually made
compatible with that of the Community”.312 The PCA, then, actually equalled to the export of
stability, market economy and democracy to Russia.313 It thus clearly placed Russia into the
periphery of the unicentric European order without offering the country a clear perspective of
membership or trying to define the relationship in any detail314. There were only references to “[...]
the gradual integration between Russia and a wider area of cooperation in Europe” as well as to the
creation of “[...] necessary conditions for the future establishment of a free trade area between the
Community and Russia [...]”.315
By the time the PCA came into force, some of the initial, Western optimism with regard to Russia’s
path towards ‘Europe’ had already disappeared. This had to do above all with the (first) war of
Chechnya (1994-1996) and Russia’s alleged human rights violations there.316 As Neumann wrote in
1997, “[t]he explicitly teleological view of Russia as a happy and eager learner which would rapidly
become yet another European country may still be found, but it has lost the pre-eminence which it
enjoyed as late as in 1993. The view of Russia as a reticent and even unwilling learner, one who
grudgingly adopts what he needs and turns his back on the rest, now seems to be in the ascendant.
[...] Crucially, however, the core idea remains that of a learner who lacks insight into his own need
to learn, but who will eventually, after various self-inflicted knocks, see the value of going to school
with Europe.”317 Russia was thus, despite the now visible obstacles on the way, still seen as slowly
becoming more like ‘us’, the West European ‘self’.318
Whilst the EU’s policies towards Russia clearly constructed a border between the superior ‘self’ and
the inferior ‘other’, the developing Baltic Sea Region, in contrast, formed an unconditionally
inclusive framework. As Moisio notes, initially, no ‘others’ were excluded and there were no clear
borders. However, the EU’s increasing involvement in the region-building process changed the face
of the region from the late 1990s onwards.319 In Moisio’s opinion, the Northern Dimension is a
good example of how Russia is constructed as the EU’s ‘other’, treated as an object and,
furthermore, excluded from the official Europe.320 However, as argued in Chapter 4, the decisive
Ibid., 138.
Agreement on partnership and cooperation (PCA)
313 Schneider-Deters/Schulze/Timmermann 2008, 139.
314 Schneider-Deters/Schulze/Timmermann 2008, 139-140.
315 Agreement on partnership and cooperation (PCA)
316 Haukkala 2007, 140.
317 Neumann 1997, 158.
318 Ibid., 159.
319 Moisio 2003, 81.
320 Ibid., 84-85.
311
312
54
question is not, if a border between the ‘self’ and the ‘other’ is built, but instead how the ‘other’ is
constructed, as inherently similar or as different.
Christopher S. Browning has studied the othering practices connected to the region-building
projects in northern Europe in general and the ND initiative in particular. He points out that the
different region-building initiatives, and especially the ND, construct an image of Russia as a
challenge. Russia is “a locus of instability” to be civilised and “[...] drawn into the ‘we’ of EUEurope” through the extension of Western (European) values and the EU’s acquis communautaire
beyond the Union’s borders.321 According to Browning, the ND, just like the EU’s enlargement
policy, is part of the Union’s “peace mission”, its calling to spread liberal democratic values based
on the belief that democracies do not fight with one another.322 In the ND documents, Russia is also,
to some extent, presented as a threat. The Council’s first ND action plan reads that with the
enlargement progressing and the interdependency between the EU and Russia growing, “[...] the
need to fight against illegal economic activities, illegal cross-border trafficking in drugs and human
beings and against money laundering will become increasingly important”.323 However, rather than
calling for a strategy of containment (the limes), the action plan underlines the importance of
intensified co-operation, of engagement beyond the EU's external border. The ND thus also clearly
follows the logic of the colonial frontier, even if Russia had not been given a special status as a
future EU member like the CEECs. However, as was stated before, othering is not a one-way
process. At this point, then, it has to be looked at how Russia positioned itself vis-à-vis the EU.
5.2. Russia: from a learner to a drop-out of the EU school
If the expectations with regard to EU-Russian relations in the early 1990s were high in Brussels and
other European capitals, the same can be said about Moscow. The Russian government counted on
financial support from the EU and hoped that reforming the country from the inside would pave the
way to an equal partnership of mutual interdependence between the two, perhaps even to Russian
membership in the Union.324 In fact, the Russian Federation took, as noted by Neumann, “[...] an
undiluted liberal position, advocating as much integration with Europe as speedily as possible”. 325
Such an approach was most clearly visible during the term of office of Boris Yeltsin’s first foreign
minister, Andrey Kozyrev, whose time in the Kremlin was described by his critics as a phase of
“romantic” West-orientation in Russian foreign policy.326
Browning 2003, 55. See also Browning 2005.
Ibid., 56.
323 Council of the European Union 2000, 5.
324 Timmermann 2005, 206.
325 Neumann 1996, 158.
326 Schneider-Deters/Schulze/Timmermann 2008, 139.
321
322
55
Although dominant already during the last years of the Soviet Union and into the 1990s, Kozyrev’s
position was not the only one in the Russian discourse on Europe. Instead, Neumann has
distinguished between two influential groups leading the debate, these being the “Westernizers” and
the “nationalists”. The group of Westernisers could further be roughly divided into two sub-groups:
“[w]hereas some advocated a “return to civilization” – that is, a relationship with Europe in which
Russia was seen as an apprentice with no clear additional and specific identity – [...]”, others “[...]
evolved the catchword ‘Eurasia’ as a proposed group identity for a Russian-based state that would
secure the electorate’s support for closer relations with Europe”.327 The nationalists, in contrast,
were very sceptical about, even hostile to, anything ‘European’ or ‘Western’ and clearly identified
Russia as different from both.328 The strength of the nationalist representations could, in Neumann’s
opinion, best be seen by the effect it had on the Westernising ones, as the “romantic” notion of the
‘West’ as an entity to be copied by Russia soon disappeared.329
At this point, a word of caution is due. Even if ‘Europe’ was always present in the Russian
discourse and remained central as Russia’s defining ‘other’ (sometimes including Russia,
sometimes excluding it)330, it has to be emphasised that Europe here does not (necessarily) refer to
the European Union as such, as Russia did not, for a long time, regard the EU as a very important
actor. As Lynch correctly notes, for much of the 1990s “[...] neither the EU nor Russia was
particularly concerned about the other, as both were deeply engaged in their own internal reform
processes”.331 This, however, changed towards the end of the decade: as the negotiations between
the parties in the framework of the PCA ran rather slowly, the two decided, in 1999, to exchange
strategy papers outlining their basic views on the future of the relationship.332
The European Council published the so called EU Common Strategy on Russia, which was firmly
based on the PCA and meant to show the way forward in the EU-Russian relationship for at least
the following 4 years. Like the PCA, the Common Strategy also mentioned that “[...] shared values
enshrined in the common heritage of European civilisation” would build the foundation of the
relationship. As its primary objectives the strategy listed the consolidation of democracy, the rule of
law and public institutions in Russia, integration of Russia into a common European economic and
social area (the approximation of Russian legislation to that of the EU was again mentioned) as well
as cooperation in order to strengthen stability and security in Europe and beyond and to respond to
Neumann 1999, 166.
Ibid., 167-168.
329 Ibid., 169.
330 Ibid., 182.
331 Lynch 2005, 15. Emphasis added.
332 Timmermann 2005, 210.
327
328
56
common challenges on the continent.333 Russia’s Middle Term Strategy towards the EU, in contrast,
put the emphasis on the modernisation of Russian economy. Interestingly, one finds no reference to
common values.334 Instead, Russia’s strategy seems to highlight the role of mutual interests. There
is also a clear statement that Russia seeks neither accession to nor association with the EU, but
rather wants to “[...] retain its freedom to determine and implement its domestic and foreign policies
[...]”.335 The document also notes that Russia should try to approximate and harmonise its
legislation with that of the Community “[...] in the areas of most active EU-Russia cooperation”,
while at the same time “[...] preserving the independence of the Russian legislation and legal system
[...]”.336
The differences between the strategies suggested that there was a growing rift between the partners.
The EU’s approach seemed unchanged: it still othered Russia in the same way it othered all the
states from the ‘East’, that is, as states to be slowly disintegrated from their socialist past and
integrated into the European present. (This is, however, not to claim that Russia was treated equally
with the Central and East European states; Russia was, after all, further from the centre in the
concentric European order.) Russia, on the other hand, was starting to see the EU as clearly
different from it. As Timmermann notes, for Russia integration did not, at this point, mean
approximation to the EU or absorption into the Union, but was understood more generally as taking
an active role in the world and becoming an equal partner in different international organisations
(the UN, G8 and the WTO).337
The EU did not, however, modify its strategy towards Russia. The ENP, originally designed first
and foremost with Russia in mind338, does, as argued before, clearly follow the logic of the colonial
frontier. The EU’s acquis forms the non-negotiable basis of the ENP action plans and “[...] it is
largely the Union that sets the parameters for interaction and integration unilaterally”.339 Russia’s
response to the Union’s invitation to become an ENP partner made it even clearer that the two had
diverging perceptions of their relationship. As Mankoff argues, “Russia rejected inclusion in the
ENP because it saw the demand to coordinate its legislation with the principles contained in the
acquis communautaire as interference in its internal affairs and because it objected being given the
same status as the smaller states covered by the ENP”.340 Instead, Russia wanted to be treated as a
great power with political traditions of its own.341
European Council 1999.
Timmermann 1999, 210.
335 Russia’s Middle Term Strategy towards the EU (2000-2010)
336 Ibid.
337 Timmermann 2005, 207.
338Del Sarto/Schumacher 2005, p. 27.
339 Haukkala 2007, 143.
340 Mankoff 2009, 159.
341 Ibid., 160.
333
334
57
An interesting analysis of the recent tendencies in the EU-Russian relationship has been provided
by Prozorov.342 He argues that in the early 2000s Russia became – above all because of the
Schengen regime and its impact on the Russian exclave of Kaliningrad (see Chapter 3) –
increasingly worried about its exclusion from Europe now almost synonymous with the EU.
However, at the same time, the EU’s policies towards Russia started to contribute to a seemingly
contradictory trend, Russia’s “self-exclusion” from Europe. The EU’s policies, Prozorov points out,
are largely based on a clear subject-object relation: they seldom, if ever, recognise Russia “[...] as a
legitimate policy subject with its own interests that need not necessarily coincide with those of the
EU [...]”343. Instead, Russia is offered only the role of a passive policy recipient. This unequal
setting has led to mounting criticism in Russia. Prozorov argues that both liberal and conservative
strands of discourse on Russia’s relationship with the EU have moved “[...] from the initial
endorsement of integration through the problematisation of EU’s exclusionary policies or the
hierarchical nature of the offered inclusion to the disillusioned abandonment of the integrationist
ideal [...]”. With the self-exclusion scenario thus taking over, Russia has started to seek to reassert
its sovereign subjectivity and place itself outside the “European political and normative space”, the
EU.344 This was demonstrated, among others, by Russia’s reaction to the ENP, but also by its
cautious attitude towards the ND.
5.3. From 'frontier' to 'boundary'
In a way, the four common spaces were an attempt to correct some of the problems of the ENP.
After all, they “[...] provided a framework for bringing Russia and the EU closer without the
formalities of integration, allowing Russia to maintain its position that it merited a special status on
account of its size and importance.”345 There is less emphasis on common values and more on
common interests.346 As Emerson notes, the text defining the four common spaces gives “[...] only
token attention to democracy [...]” and compliance with EU norms is also no longer taken to
measure EU-Russian convergence.347 Similarly, the roadmap towards the common economic space
no longer refers to EU law as the basis of economic cooperation as was the case in the PCA, thus
reflecting Russia’s insistence that the two are equal partners.348 On the other hand, the EU still
perceives the common spaces “[...] as growing out of existing European practice (for example, the
Prozorov 2005.
Prozorov 2005, 2.
344 Ibid., 1-2.
345 Mankoff 2009, 160.
346 Ibid., 160.
347 Emerson 2005, 3.
348 Ibid., 2.
342
343
58
Common Economic Space will be founded on the principles governing the EU’s internal market in
fields including customs inspection and standardization)”.349 The common spaces do not, then,
completely break with the EU’s earlier approach towards Russia with an element of the geostrategy
of the colonial frontier still visible.
However, later moves have made clear that Russia’s self-exclusionary attitude and its emphasis on
the importance of sovereign subjectivity have had an impact on the EU’s approach towards its
‘strategic partner’. As was noted in Chapter 3, the Commission’s EU Baltic Sea Strategy is one
solely directed at EU member states. One finds only a short remark that many issues would require
cooperation with the EU’s “external partners”, especially Russia. Interestingly, it is also noted that
“[...] the strategy cannot dictate action to third parties: rather it indicates issues on which
cooperation is desirable and proposes fora where this discussion and cooperation would take
place”.350 Thus the strategy seems to underline the EU’s new position vis-à-vis Russia. The EU
recognises that it can not base its policies towards Russia on a clear subject-object setting, but,
instead of seeking for a more equal basis for cooperation with the country, it simply excludes
Russia, demarcating clearly the line between the inside and the outside of the EU polity.
The EU’s and Russia’s tendency to see each other as fundamentally different is also clearly visible
in their shared ‘near abroad’. Morozov argues that the Ukrainian presidential elections in 2004 were
a good example of the kind of zero-sum logic now dominating the discourse between Russia and
the West. He shows that elites in Ukraine, Russia, Western Europe and the United States all agreed
that Ukrainian electorate faced an either/or choice between Viktor Yushchenko, who was perceived
as a pro-western/pro-EU candidate representing democracy and steering Ukraine away from
Moscow, and Viktor Yanukovych, who was the personification of authoritarian governance and
expected to emphasise Ukraine’s relationship with Russia at the expense of its ties with the West.
This black and white picture, Morozov argues, shows, how “[...] Europe is more and more often
defined as a zone of democracy, which excludes Russia as a (re)emerging authoritarian empire”.351
At the same time, Russia, alienated from Europe, takes democratic, pro-western or pro-EU to
always mean anti-Russian.352 This line of argumentation also explains the critical comments made
by Russian politicians with regard to the EU’s Eastern partnership353, a recent initiative, which also
offers no role for Russia. Lines between the EU and Russia, so it seems, have now clearly been
drawn, while it is the shared neighbourhood, which has emerged as a new frontier 354, even if it is
not a grey zone between two empires, but rather within the reach of the EU's magnet.
Mankoff 2009, 160-161.
European Commission 2009b, 3.
351 Morozov 2004b, 1.
352 Ibid., 2.
353 Pop 2009; Stewart 2009.
354 Lynch 2005, 30.
349
350
59
5.4. Russia and the ‘new’ member states of the EU
The colonial frontier is, so it was argued above, the place, where states willing to learn from the EU
acquire their ‘European’ identity. This also has implications for the nature of the EU’s external
border, as the states in the process of assimilation define their identities making different
‘self’/’other’ distinctions as well. While candidate states from Eastern Europe often portray
themselves as advancing towards the EU-European ‘self’, they also commonly differentiate
themselves from the ‘non-European other(s)’ further east by emphasising that their own eastern
border constitutes the eastern border of Europe. On the other hand, they can also place themselves
closer to the EU’s core by pointing out that further away there are states also aspiring to become
European that have not, however, advanced so fast in their particular learning processes.355
Furthermore, after their accession, these states can, of course, try to influence the way the EU deals
with its particular borders. In the following, the role of the ‘new’ member states with regard to the
EU’s geostrategy towards Russia and the eastern near abroad more generally will be shortly dealt
with. In this respect, the Baltic states, as states directly bordering Russia, are, of course, of special
interest, while some words regarding Poland’s approach are also due.
Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania were all part of the Soviet Union for the major part of the 20 th
century, but, unlike the rest of the post-Soviet states, they were early on offered the possibility of
full membership in the EU, even though they were not originally dealt with as possible candidates.
Due to the Soviet past, their respective borders with Russia carry a very special meaning for the
Baltic states. With regard to Estonia, Ehin and Berg have argued that “[a]fter fifty years of Soviet
occupation and uncontrolled Eastern immigration, control of the Eastern border has become
virtually synonymous with independence, statehood, and ethno-national survival”.356 Latvia and
Lithuania tend to see their eastern borders in the same way. This has made border relations between
Russia and the Baltic countries a sensitive and difficult issue.357 While the Baltic states have been
willing to open up towards the West, the EU, they have not sought to achieve their European
credentials solely by underlining, how good learners of European practices they are. Instead,
especially Estonians and Latvians have been eager to present their respective countries also as
outposts of Europe, thus treating Russia as inherently un-European.358 As Morozov argues, for the
Baltic states, like for many of the candidate states from Central Eastern Europe, Russia tends to be
Kuus 2004, 479-480.
Ehin/Berg 2004, 47.
357 Kononenko 2006, 78.
358 Kuus 2004, 480. See also Moisio 2003.
355
356
60
“[...] the power that had oppressed them in the past and thus embodies a diametrical opposite to
their democratic European future”.359
The Baltic states’ generally negative view of Russia has also had a concrete impact on their border
policies. In case of Estonia, the tightening of the eastern border started right after the country had
attained its independence. Besides physically demarcating the border which had previously been
open, Estonia also introduced a visa regime. These measures were countered by Russia in 1995,
when it decided to erect trade barriers between the two countries. All in all, this led to “[...] a shift
from interaction in an integrated, borderless space to interstate relations; a transformation of
relations from domestic to international”.360 Against this backdrop, it may, then, come as no surprise
that the Baltic states have also not been especially interested in developing the Northern
Dimension361, even though one of the original functions of the ND was “mediating the Baltic states’
EU accession vis-à-vis Russian concerns by means of increased regional co-operation”362. Other
efforts to stimulate cross-border co-operation between Russia and the Baltic states have often
proven rather unsuccessful as well.363 Attention has, on the other hand, been paid to the ease and
efficiency, with which Estonia adopted the Schengen acquis:364 instead of waiting until its
accession, Estonia decided to implement Schengen-standard visa regime already in 2000. This
meant the abolishment of the simplified border-crossing regime, which had been tailored especially
for residents of the Estonian-Russian border areas in order to offset some of the negative effects of
the hard border regime.365 This decision led to accusations from the Russian side that the Estonia
was using the EU as an excuse for introducing exclusionary policies.366
Contrary to the expectations of many observers, the Baltic states’ accession to the EU in 2004 has
not remarkably eased their relationship with Russia.367 In Ehin and Berg’s opinion, this has to do
above all with the post-Soviet national identities of Russia on the one hand and the Baltic states on
the other. These identities, they point out, are incompatible, or, at worst, antagonistic and this
antagonism has increased over time. Furthermore, the European institutions, they add, “[...] have
become an important arena on which the Baltic-Russian identity conflict is played out, as both
Russia and the Baltic states strive for the international recognition of their constitutive historical
narratives and concepts of self, while denying the Europeanness of each other”.368 In Russia, for
Morozov 2004b, 1.
Ehin/Berg 2004, 47.
361 Kononenko 2006, 82.
362 Aalto 2004b, 38.
363 Kononenko 2006, 82.
364 Ehin/Berg 2004, 47.
365 Diez/Pace/Rumelili/Viktorova 2006, 73-74.
366 Ibid., 73-74.
367 Ehin/Berg 2009, 1.
368 Ibid., 1-2.
359
360
61
example, it has become commonplace to make a distinction between ‘true Europe’ and ‘false
Europe’. ‘True Europe’ is the one with which Russia identifies itself, whereas ‘false Europe’, in
contrast, is, from the Russian perspective, in fact non-European.369 What is understood under true
and false depends, of course, on who defines them. However, one of the most prominent and
widespread views of ‘false Europe’ is that it consists of the “Russophobic” states, that is, of the
Baltic states and, at times, also Poland.370 Due to Russia’s mistrust of these states and its increasing
scepticism of the EU as an organisation, it has recently put more emphasis on bilateral relations
with single member states than with the Union as a whole. This approach is also in line with the
Russian belief in the supremacy of states and its new found concern with its subjectivity and
sovereignty.371
Concretely the tensions between Russia on the one hand and some of the new member states on the
other have affected the plans to extend or renegotiate the Partnership and Cooperation Agreement,
which expired in 2007. First the negotiations were held up because of a dispute between Russia and
Poland and then due to one between Russia and Lithuania.372 While the first round of negotiations
finally took place in July 2008, the second had to be postponed because of the war between Russia
and Georgia, which is why no new treaty has so far been agreed on.373 There have been also
diverging views among the EU member states as to what the new treaty should look like. Some of
the old member states support an agreement putting emphasis on the strategic partnership and
economic co-operation between Russia and the EU. Interestingly, the new member states, led by
Poland, have, on the other hand, supported extending the existing PCA and thus further following
the geostrategy of the colonial frontier based on Russia’s gradual approximation to the Union.
However, rather than expecting this to happen, the new member states seem to count on Russia’s
unwillingness to fulfil the conditions and thus it is in this case exactly the strategy of assimilation,
which serves to keep “[...] Russia at arm’s length, outside Europe per se.”374
While the Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania tend to perceive their eastern border with Russia as the
eastern border of Europe, they have, on the other hand, taken a positive view of those eastern
neighbours included in the framework of the ENP. Galbreath and Lamoreaux have taken a closer
look at the foreign policies of the three states and note that they have been especially active in
supporting Georgia’s, Moldova’s and Ukraine’s democratisation, marketisation and de-Sovietisation
efforts as well as their attempts to gradually approach the European Union.375 Among the new EU
For this argument, see Morozov 2004a, Prozorov 2005 and Joenniemi 2005. For the different historical constructions
of ‘true Europe’ and ‘false Europe’, see Neumann 1996.
370 Joenniemi 2005, 230, 237; Morozov 2004a, p. 9.
371 Mankoff 2009, 156.
372 Ibid., 162.
373 Ibid., p. 160.
374 Ibid., 163.
375 Galbreath/Lamoreaux 2007.
369
62
members, Poland has also been very active in questions concerning the EU’s new eastern
neighbours and positioned itself as their firm advocate in the Union.376 In fact, the EU’s Eastern
Partnership grew out of a Polish proposal for an Eastern Dimension of the EU. Kononenko notes
that the Baltic states’ support for the new neighbours is derived from their interest in having a stable
neighbourhood as well as their own successful experience as EU candidates, which “[...] was
critical in shaping their political identities and strategic outlook”.377 However, at the same time it
can also be understood as an attempt to weaken Russia’s influence in the region.378
To sum up the discussion so far, while the logic of the colonial frontier has given the Central East
European countries a possibility to acquire their ‘European’ identity, in case of Russia, the effect has
been the contrary. It has been increasingly difficult for Russia to accept the student/teacher setting
inherent in the EU’s approach towards most of its near abroad. Moreover, as argued by Haukkala,
the vastness of the challenge of learning from and becoming similar to Europe “[...] combined with
the growing speed of deepening integration with Europe make the goal of actually becoming the
same something of a distant horizon, one which is always retreating [...]”.379 This further
contributes to Russia’s alienation. The more Russia is accused of not complying with ‘European’
standards, the further away it drifts from Europe.380
Haukkala has argued that the nature of the EU’s borders with Russia is a crucial issue with regard to
Russia’s future association with Europe: “[t]he more porous and flexible the border, the easier it
will be to integrate Russia into European structures, and vice versa”381, he writes. However, at the
same time he also warns against building the relationship on the foundation of common values,
because using them as a yardstick for measuring Russia’s progress might lead to a situation, where
Russia is “[...] viewed as being too different from the rest of the Europe to begin with, thus making
it ‘unintegratable’”.382 This paper has, however, demonstrated that fuzzy borders only go together
with the geostrategy of the colonial frontier, which, in fact, implies the acceptance of the EU’s
norms and values. Russia’s integration into European structures is thus unlikely to happen, as long
as it is not willing to take the role of a learner. This is not to suggest that Russia alone should be
blamed for the current state of affairs between the partners. Instead, the EU has also failed to find an
alternative approach towards those states not affected by its magnetism or even repelled by it, as
Russia seems to be. Russia, in this respect, is an interesting test case for the future. The EU's and
Russia's recognition of one another as different does also not have to mean anything bad for the
Kononenko 2006, 80; Browning/Joenniemi 2008, 538.
Ibid., 80.
378 Ibid., 80-81.
379 Haukkala 2003, 289.
380 Morozov 2004b, 2.
381 Haukkala 2003, 288.
382 Ibid., 292.
376
377
63
relationship. Instead, as argued by Tunander, the recognition of difference is the prerequisite of a
true dialogue.
6. Conclusions
This paper has analysed the connection between the EU’s character, the nature of the Union’s
borders and its identity. At first, the three most important metaphors for the EU were presented,
each of which is connected to a specific type of external borders. The EU’s decisions to carry out a
major expansion – leading to the ‘Big Bang’ enlargement of 2004 and its 2007 follow-up – as well
as to start accession negotiations with further candidates (Croatia, Turkey) were followed by a
debate over the Union’s future form. The idea of drafting a constitution for EU-Europe and the
attempt to design an alternative approach towards the Union’s neighbourhood not based on the
carrot of membership gave the impression that the European political project was to be shaped
along the lines of the Westphalian model. However, the resistance, with which the constitutional
treaty was met in some member countries showed that the EU is far from becoming a super-state.
Nation states, albeit no longer fully sovereign, remain a political reality, an important layer in a
European empire that is characterised by overlapping authorities. A further proof of the EU’s
‘imperial’ nature is provided by the ENP which is, rather than being a true alternative, in fact,
directly based on the enlargement policy. The EU still identifies itself as having a mission to spread
its values and norms into 'wider Europe' in order to guarantee peace and stability. Far from
demarcating the EU’s borders, the ENP, if successful, is likely to further blur them. With the Eastern
Partnership, the Union has added yet another tool of exporting ‘EUrope’ to adjoining areas into its
kit.
However, turning to the Baltic Sea Region, which first inspired ‘neo-medievalists’ and, then, with
the EU’s growing involvement, ‘empire writers’, the paper has sought to show that (at least) one of
the EU empire’s fuzzy borders has recently taken a more fixed form. Inclusive regional initiatives
have not proven very successful and been replaced by the EU-Russian bilateral strategic partnership
(four Common Spaces) as well as more exclusive forms of EU-led Baltic co-operation (the BSR as
envisioned in the EU Baltic Sea Region Strategy). The EU empire, then, is not only blurring
borders, but also capable of producing them, which was taken to call for a revision of the imperial
metaphor. William Walters has presented two ‘imperial geostrategies’, the colonial frontier and the
limes, which provide a good basis for developing the imperial metaphor further. Each of the
geostrategies, so it has been argued here, goes together with a specific form of othering. The
geostrategy of the colonial frontier is based on the narrative of the ‘other’ as inherently similar, but
64
inferior and, furthermore, in need of the EU’s guiding hand in order to make the leap into the group
of true Europeans, civilised and peaceful. Such a discourse has marked the EU’s enlargement policy
and is also at the core of the ENP as well as the Eastern Partnership. It is also of great significance
to the EU’s self-understanding as a value-based peace project and/or a normative power. The
geostrategy of the limes, on the other hand, is applied to ‘others’, who are seen as different. Rather
than trying to assimilate what is beyond the limes, the EU empire is interested in maintaining
peaceful relations and organising trade with the ‘other’ and/or containing possible threats associated
with it. While the geostrategy of the colonial frontier is above all about temporal othering, it has,
due to the EU’s eastern enlargement, also taken geographic, spatial, characteristics. The ENP seems
like an attempt to undermine such tendencies, although the Eastern Partnership yet again
strengthens the impression that it is above in the East, where most of the not-yet Europeans are to
be found. The limes, on the other hand, is more of geographical or cultural nature, although it might
also have a temporal dimension to it as will be suggested below.
Recently, the metaphors for the EU as well as their links to Walters’ different geostrategies have
been discussed also by Browning and Joenniemi. Their view, however, differs markedly from the
one presented in this paper. Instead of making a connection between one of the metaphors and
Walters’ geostrategies, they argue against such a move, noting that “[...] while particular
geopolitical models/visions may lend themselves to particular geostrategies (and vice versa), there
is also considerable fluidity present, with the EU at times emphasizing one geostrategy over others,
or emphasizing different ones in different geographical contexts”.383 Concentrating on the ENP,
they point out that the imperial vision has been visible in the European Commission’s documents
concerning the policy, but the EU has chosen to pursue different geostrategies in different regional
contexts, sometimes also simultaneously. This paper, in contrast, underlines the EU’s imperial
character, which, in fact, limits the Union’s options with regard to the different geostrategies.
Browning and Joenniemi are, nevertheless, right in arguing that the EU might utilise more than one
geostrategy at a time. This observation was, after all, made already by Walters himself. A case in
point, as Walters has noted, is the Mediterranean region, where the EU’s dominant geostrategy was
long that of the limes, but which has – through the introduction of the Euro-Mediterranean
partnership and, recently, the ENP – also witnessed developments pointing to the direction of the
geostrategy of the colonial frontier.
In the end, the decision on the nature of the EU’s external borders is, however, not solely one of the
EU empire. In this paper it has been argued that despite the fact that the Union forms the strongest
power centre in Europe, the power marginals, that is, the ones in the outer circles of the concentric
383
Browning/Joenniemi 2008, 521.
65
order, can also influence the nature of the Union’s external borders.384 A frontier, a truly fuzzy
border emerges only when the ‘other’ participates in the EU’s geostrategic game. This has been the
case with the Baltic states, for instance, which have been keane to acquire a European identity in
order to cut themselves lose from the Soviet past. As Peter Wennerstein has argued, “[...] EU
discourse has enabled Estonia to change its self-perception as reform progress has been made [,]
[b]ecause, if membership is the yardstick for being European, approaching membership means
coming closer to being European”.385 The case of Russia, on the other hands, provides an example
of the reverse development. While the EU has, until the early 2000s, mainly pursued the geostrategy
of the colonial frontier in its dealings with Russia (even if some elements of the limes strategy have
also always been present), Russia has proven an unwilling player and the EU’s hierarchical
approach has actually contributed to Russia’s sense of exclusion and, as a consequence, also selfexclusion from the EU project. The EU, on its part, has recently geared its approach more towards
the geostrategy of the limes. If this would have happened without Russia taking a negative attitude
towards the EU’s assimilation attempts, is difficult to say. It has, nevertheless, been suggested that
also the ‘new’ member states of the EU, above all the Baltic states and Poland, might have
contributed to the EU’s change of strategies towards Russia. Interestingly, these ‘new’ member
states are willing to keep Russia out of Europe, but do, at the same time, support the hierarchical
normative approach towards Russia, as this means, in their opinion, taking a tougher stance towards
Russia than the more interest-driven geostrategy of the limes. After all, Russia is not expected to
play along. Instead, so it seems, choosing the geostrategy of the colonial frontier would serve to
underline the difference between the EU and Russia, with Russia becoming the state eternally stuck
in its authoritarian past. It is, however, not clear, how single (or a group of) member states can
contribute to the EU’s geostrategies and the discourses behind them, as the imperial metaphor does
not offer a good tool for making sense of the inner dynamics of the neo-medieval European empire.
Taking into account the role of the ‘other(s)’ in shaping the form of the EU’s borders by taking
advantage of or opposing the particular discourses connected to the different geostrategies opens up
new possibilities for further research on the subject. Interesting cases in this respect are for example
Belarus, Morocco, Turkey and Ukraine. Belarus, for one, is a country, towards which the EU has so
far clearly applied the geostrategy of the limes386, whereas the country’s recent inclusion in the
Eastern Partnership signals a change of tactics. But is Belarus willing to play the European card
handed for it and take advantage of the opportunities provided by it? Morocco was already once
denied the right to become a candidate country due to geography. The ENP, on the other hand, could
open a new window of opportunity for it to approach the Union, even if full membership seems to
Browning and Joenniemi also make a similar observation. See Browning/Joenniemi 2008, 544. For a similar
argument, although from a somewhat different perspective, see also Bosse/Korosteleva-Polglase 2009.
385 Wennerstein 1999, 286-287.
386 For a recent analysis of the relationship between the EU and Belarus, see Bosse/Korosteleva-Polglase 2009.
384
66
be out of the question. Turkey, in contrast, is officially a candidate country, but its full membership
is still a sensitive issue for many member states. With the accession negotiations expected to take a
long while, Turkey, then, might eventually feel excluded and, like Russia, opt for a (European)
identity of its own kind.387 Ukraine, on the other hand, presses hard for its inclusion in EU-Europe
and, as the launch of the Eastern Partnership shows, such efforts might bear fruit.
As integration to the EU runs slowly, Turkey has recently taken a more active approach towards its own southern and
eastern neighbourhoods in order to underline its ambition to play the leading role in the region. See Steinvorth 2009.
387
67
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