At first glance, Berlin’s decision last spring to abstain from the UN vote on the no-fly zone over Libya looked like another example of German pacifism and the country’s well-known reluctance to engage in international military operations. But several factors have made the Libyan decision a toxic one for Chancellor Angela Merkel’s government. The repercussions from its failure to act on that occasion still resonate around the world, with some tough questions being asked about the direction of German foreign policy.
Before the UN vote, Berlin’s energetic campaign to get a (non-permanent) seat on the Security Council raised expectations about a robust new approach to foreign policy, which in the eyes of many it promptly failed to deliver. Instead, the public split over Libya provided commentators with a case study on the failures of joint EU policymaking, and displayed to the world a strategic rift between Berlin and Paris. To compound the problem, news emerged over the summer of a German arms deal with Saudi Arabia, which raised fresh questions about the Merkel government’s real interests in the Middle East.
Another German decision that perplexed and irritated its neighbours was the abolition of the country’s nuclear energy programme in what looked like a panic reaction to the post-tsunami damage to Japan’s Fukushima nuclear plant. Berlin’s handling of the eurozone crisis has also given cause for concern. Foreign observers got the impression that Germany was adopting a cost-benefit approach to European integration, arousing suspicions that Berlin was turning its back on Europe in favour of emerging economies. As events unfolded, commentators began asking whether a “new Germany” was emerging, and tried to make sense of the way Berlin was handling what journalist Hans Kundnani called its “geo-economic power”.
This debate challenges global perceptions of Germany as a predictable nation, rooted in the EU and NATO. To some, the country now looks more like an erratic giant driven largely by economic self-interest and losing its commitment even to longstanding alliances. In fact, many foreign analysts and diplomats still think the Merkel government has an overall strategy, but the big question is whether this amounts to a new phase in the country’s international relations, and an end to what has been branded the “normalisation” of German foreign policy?
The Merkel government has long seemed deaf to this debate, and unaware that its policies were disturbing even its closest allies. The Libya decision, however, brought the whole issue home. While acknowledging the risks inherent in a Western military intervention in Libya, the open split at the UN sent shock-waves through Germany’s political elite. Even German diplomats barely disguised their concerns about the direction of the government’s policy, and when politics returned to normal after the summer, Merkel and foreign minister Guido Westerwelle faced stinging criticism from both opponents and high-ranking political allies, most prominently from former chancellor Helmut Kohl.
So is a “new Germany” emerging? Are deep shifts in German politics and society really changing the nature of the country’s international relations? It is still too early to tell, although we can perhaps see the contours of a new Germany from recent events. The decision to abolish nuclear energy was significant; Germans do doubt the effectiveness of military force in the wake of operations in the Balkans and Afghanistan, and there is new quality of debate about EU affairs.
But what about the Merkel government’s supposed vision for the future? Will tomorrow’s Germany be less EU-focused and less transatlantic than today’s? This is unlikely to happen. In the wake of the public relations debacle over Libya we can certainly expect Berlin to be more careful about the way it presents its foreign policy choices. But it must also make a much better job of explaining the underlying rationale behind its decisions if it is to become a predictable partner once again.