Their leaders disagree on what and how much they will send to help.
The leaders of the three pivotal European powers informally known as the Weimar Triangle gathered to show strength and unity in the face of Russia’s war against Ukraine. Such was the intent, at least, of a hastily called summit that brought Emmanuel Macron, the French president, Olaf Scholz, the German chancellor, and Donald Tusk, Poland’s prime minister, together in the German capital for an afternoon of talks on March 15th.
The leaders partially succeeded in projecting a happy face. They took no questions after the meeting, but announced a list of agreements to boost support for Ukraine that suggested minor concessions on all sides. These included a pledge to procure vitally needed ammunition on world markets, rather than insisting, as France has in the past, on European sources only, though Mr Macron had already given ground on this in February. Germany and France also both appeared to have lessened some of their previous objections to using at least the interest from some €300bn ($327bn) of frozen Russian deposits in Europe to support Ukraine.
Yet the closed-door meeting looked less like a cheery homecoming than a belated attempt at damage control. Recent weeks have seen sharp public disagreements between the three countries, which rank among Ukraine’s most important European allies. The fractures—particularly between Germany and France—have yet to create dangerous polarisation. But the failure to paper over the cracks has cheered Russia and dismayed an increasingly beleaguered Ukraine, at a time when Russian advances on the ground and a looming threat of American isolationism should be pushing NATO allies to close ranks.
Ironically, part of the trouble between France and Germany, whose tight friendship has long underpinned the European Union, is that their leaders equally recognise present challenges. It is simply that they have drawn starkly different conclusions. The difference of approach between the brilliant, attention-seeking Mr Macron and the dour, cerebral Mr Scholz has added to tensions, which have in recent months broken into something close to open acrimony.
Both countries are committed to supporting Ukraine. But whereas Germany has often appeared to drag its feet, the fact is that it has done far more for the war-ravaged nation, generously hosting over a million refugees, pumping in financial aid and pledging some €17.7bn in military aid. France, meanwhile, has won glory for supplying prestige military gear, such as Caesar long-range howitzers and Scalp cruise missiles. But the scale of its aid amounts to a tiny fraction of Germany’s.
Yet while Mr Macron has in recent weeks grown increasingly bold and passionate about the need to rally efforts to back Ukraine, even if his actions have yet to match his words, Mr Scholz has appeared an increasingly reluctant partner. In particular the chancellor has resisted intense pressure to supply German-made Taurus cruise missiles to Ukraine, a stand that has won support for his politically flagging Social Democrats among war-shy Germans (an opinion poll suggests that 61% of Germans oppose such transfers). But it has frustrated allies as well as many German policy experts and the opposition Christian Democrats.
Recent declarations by Mr Macron have sparked equal consternation, infuriating not only Mr Scholz, but other more cautious European leaders. The French president’s most provocative move has been to float the possibility that NATO forces might undertake non-combat roles in Ukraine. This suggestion, first aired at a summit in Paris last month, provoked a cold rebuff from Mr Scholz. He said flatly that there was no way German troops would go to Ukraine. As with the Taurus issue, he insisted that Germany would not become “a party to the war”.
Rather than muting his comments, however, Mr Macron has doubled down on his calls for “strategic ambiguity” about NATO’s intentions. The French president’s apparent conversion to a harder stand against Russia has been slow in coming, but appears to be heartfelt and is certainly appreciated by eastern Europeans who feel most threatened by their giant neighbour. He has also won backing from German strategic thinkers, who sigh that Mr Macron may be right in hinting that Mr Scholz’s caution and “red lines” have the effect of ceding the initiative to Vladimir Putin, Russia’s president.
Poland’s differences with its allies have less to do with its current leader than with longer legacies. For a decade before Mr Tusk’s election victory in September, the then-ruling nationalist PiS party had made political hay out of attacking Germany, and demanding €1.3trn in compensation for the massive destruction caused by German aggression in the second world war. Mr Tusk’s party has lowered the volume on this issue. But Poland’s NATO allies have been disturbed by his government’s slowness to defuse renewed protests by Polish farmers against alleged dumping of Ukrainian produce.
In the end, the three leaders in Berlin emerged from their meeting linking hands and showing no signs of aggravation. They have promised to meet again in a few months. The Weimar Triangle, a grouping created just after the cold war with the notion of adding Poland as a third big link of stability at Europe’s centre, has often looked moribund. But if Messrs Macron, Scholz and Tusk really do begin to see eye to eye across a range of issues, the bonds between Europe’s strongest strategic power, France, its biggest economy, Germany, and its most dynamic economy and most important bulwark against Russia, Poland, would be cause for celebration.■
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