Judah Grunstein
With French President Emmanuel Macron and German Chancellor Angela Merkel staging back-to-back visits to Washington this week, many observers have commented on the stark contrast in the two European leaders’ respective relationship with Donald Trump. But the visits also highlight an emerging intra-European dynamic: A strong France and a weak Germany at the heart of the European Union. Coverage of the two visits has been dominated by close attention to the interpersonal dynamics between each leader and Trump, and the major policy differences that both Macron and Merkel will try to bridge with the U.S. president. Through a deft blend of bluntness and charm, Macron has managed to forge a personal bond with Trump. By contrast, in her previous meetings with him, Merkel has seemed like a lightning rod for his pent-up frustrations.
So far, the contrasting interpersonal dynamics have not made a difference when it comes to changing Trump’s mind on policy debates. Both Macron and Merkel tried on the Paris climate change agreement, to no avail. They will do the same this week regarding the Iran nuclear deal, with the chances for success seeming slim.
But Trump’s respective reaction to the two leaders is in part a reflection of a new reality in European politics. Trump is notoriously drawn to leaders he perceives as “strong.” Macron apparently passed muster in Trump’s eyes due to his overwhelming victory in last year’s French presidential and parliamentary elections. His willingness to participate in the recent punitive strikes on Syria likely only reinforced Trump’s impression of him.
Meanwhile, Merkel emerged dramatically weakened from Germany’s inconclusive September elections and the lengthy coalition negotiations that followed them. The government she heads in partnership with the Social Democrats is unwieldy at best and vulnerable to collapse at worst, putting Merkel’s survival at the head of her Christian Democratic Union at risk. In the eyes of Trump, but also many European observers, the longtime anchor of stability in Berlin—and Brussels—is now damaged goods.
Macron’s strength is in some ways illusory. He is busy pushing through structural reforms to France’s economy that have eroded his popularity and public support. His ambitious agenda for EU reforms seems increasingly threatened not only by Merkel’s political setbacks but also by a lack of broad support among other member states.
But the contrast between Macron and Merkel, and between Macron and his predecessors, remains stark. Since the 1990s, France tried on several occasions to begin the painful process of structural reforms, only to quickly abort them in the face of widespread popular opposition. As a result, ever since Germany implemented its labor market reforms in the first half of the 2000s, the balance of power between Paris and Berlin within the EU has shifted in Berlin’s favor. In the space of several years, Germany went from being the “sick man of Europe” to being an economic powerhouse, all at the height of the boom preceding the global financial crisis.
Though many Eastern European member states are wary and at times resentful of Germany, they often bristle at perceived French arrogance and condescension.
In all fairness, the argument that pins France’s stagnant economy over the past decade exclusively on its onerous labor market regulations is often exaggerated. French productivity remains high, in part due to its highly educated and trained workforce. And Germany’s wage devaluation, which allowed it to gain competitive advantage in a common currency zone, resulted in enormous trade surpluses with its European partners, one of the primary causes of the European debt crisis that almost exploded the eurozone from 2010 to 2015.
But until Macron—who already engineered limited labor market reforms in 2015 as economy minister, as well as deeper reforms last year as president—the dominant narrative in EU politics over the past decade and a half had been one of a stagnant France unable to put its house in order and a dynamic Germany that had done the hard work of structural reform.
When the debt crisis hit, the Franco-German partnership that has historically anchored the EU underwent a significant transformation. The two had long seen the mutual benefits of pairing expansive French ambition with practical German moderation. France often took the lead, using Germany’s political backing to advance its vision of European integration. More recently, Germany began to leverage its economic weight to achieve policy aims, particularly with regard to tightening member states’ fiscal discipline. But a coordinated Franco-German position was advantageous for both—for France, to overcome suspicion of its intentions in London and Northern Europe; for Germany, to avoid alarming its European partners still wary of an assertive Berlin.
That changed with the debt crisis, however, when Berlin’s dominant role became increasingly visible. At the risk of exploding the eurozone, Germany blocked any great leap forward to a federal Europe, insisting instead on austerity cures and bailout loans for at-risk member states. France’s preference for collective redistributive mechanisms lacked credibility because its own profligate ways at home left it dependent on Germany’s cash and rock-solid credit rating to fund them. As the debt crisis progressed from one ineffective intervention to another, then-Polish Foreign Minister Radek Sikorski famously declared in a speech in Berlin, “I will probably be the first Polish foreign minister in history to say so, but here it is: I fear German power less than I am beginning to fear German inactivity.”
Merkel never quite overcame her reticence to using that German power more boldly, in part due to her cautious nature, but also because of rising resistance within Germany to deeper European integration. (It was European Central Bank chief Mario Draghi’s decision to backstop European sovereign debt that saved the euro.) Now she is no longer in a position to do so.
If Macron has not quite reversed the power differential in the Franco-German partnership, he at least makes it conceivable that such a reversal might be underway. His labor market reforms, fiscal discipline and emphasis on nurturing a culture of entrepreneurship—particularly in the tech sector, where France excels—have already made for a more attractive destinationfor foreign investment. Meanwhile, Merkel stumbles along, a shadow of her former self, and Germany’s economy, already nearing peak capacity, is at growing risk of a recession. If all that weren’t enough, the U.K.’s impending withdrawal from the union will remove a historical counterweight to French influence within the EU.
Combined, that may seem to clear the path for Macron’s EU agenda. But the implications are actually vague, especially given the limits Merkel faces in backing him up. Though many Eastern European member states are wary and at times resentful of Germany, they often bristle at perceived French arrogance and condescension. Other member states are under no illusions about the guiding logic of France’s EU ambitions, which remain centered on providing the necessary ballast to advance French interests globally.
The relationship at the core of Europe’s internal politics is once again entering a period of flux, even as the EU seems adrift amid questions of national sovereignty, identity and values. That shift will be on display this week in Washington, but its full impact will only be felt in Brussels in the years to come.
Judah Grunstein is the editor-in-chief of World Politics Review. His WPR column appears every Wednesday.
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