Official Brussels is paralysed with fear. All potentially controversial actions are on hold until after the French referendum: the services directive is being "re-examined"; plans for tougher rules on state aid have been deferred.
The official explanation for this latest (in)action—that the commission has too crowded an agenda—is a joke. The reality is that the commission now barely dares to breathe, lest the sound somehow enrage the voters of France. The prospect of the French rejecting the constitution on 29th May seems too awful to contemplate. It is inexplicable, too—how could anyone turn down such a splendid document, the product of years of deliberation by the finest and noblest minds in Europe, the fruit of an unprecedented exercise of public consultation at the European convention? Yes, there are people who think like this in Brussels. For them, the only possible explanations for a French rejection of the constitution are that the document has been badly explained, or that the French are rejecting something else—Chirac, or high unemployment. The idea that people might consider the document and reject it because they disagree with it is just too difficult to believe.
Still, the traditional Brussels lament—that the vulgar herd have oversimplified the niceties of European debate—has, as ever, a certain amount of truth to it. Much of the French "no" campaign has focused on the "Bolkestein directive" on free trade in services, which, strictly speaking, has nothing to do with the constitution. Indeed, the idea of free trade in services is meant to be one of the fundamental freedoms of the EU. If the French really do reject it, they are rejecting the logic of the single market itself. The position of French farmers also seems pretty inexplicable. Despite being stuffed with European cash like a foie gras goose, polls show that 65 per cent of them intend to vote "no"—a revelation that prompted a magnificent headline in Le Monde: "Ingratitude paysanne."
What is fuelling much French fury, however, seems to be a delayed reaction to the enlargement of the EU. In a country with 10 per cent unemployment, the idea of trying to compete with a bunch of energetic, poorly paid Poles is deeply unpopular. But if those ungrateful French voters would only listen to us in Brussels, they would realise that voting "no" as a protest against enlargement makes no sense. The constitution reduces Polish voting rights relative to France by moving to a new system, based on population. It was the Poles who were fighting the new constitution to the last, and the French who were among the keenest to push it through. No constitution would mean no new voting system. But the morning after a French "no," the Poles and all those other pesky eastern Europeans will still be members of the EU.
Anglo-American trade disaster
The tone of the French referendum campaign has confirmed some of the favourite prejudices of the British—that the frogs are a bunch of protectionist, anti-American, economic primitives. But British smugness should be punctured by the awkward fact that when it comes to trade—the one topic on which Brussels has regular dealings with Washington—the French seem to have made a much better fist of it than the Brits. When Leon Brittan was trade commissioner, he had a very prickly relationship with Mickey Kantor, the US trade representative. For some inexplicable reason, Kantor regarded Brittan as pompous and arrogant. By contrast, Pascal Lamy, who was trade commissioner until November, had a famously warm relationship with his US counterpart Bob Zoellick. Put another Brit in charge of trade, however, and things quickly go sour—or so it seems. Although Peter Mandelson was determined to avoid clashes with the US, he has got off to a very bad start with Zoellick (who is now deputy secretary of state, but still handles some trade issues). A recent conversation on the Airbus-Boeing subsidy dispute ended with phones being slammed down at both ends (who was first to put down the receiver is a matter of dispute). When Zoellick was next in Brussels, he was quite open about his distaste for Mandelson and his nostalgia for the good old days of Lamy, implying that Mandy was a slippery customer, obsessed by "spin" (an incredible and unfair suggestion, as anyone who knows Mandelson from London would testify). As for the commissioner himself, he has refrained from getting involved in a public slanging match. But his friends say that he regards Zoellick as, how shall we put it, "psychologically flawed." The Americans, for their part, are coming to the conclusion that the EU has made a mistake in giving a Briton the trade portfolio. A senior American diplomat speculates: "The Brits are so keen to prove themselves good Europeans that they feel they have to show how tough they are and bash the Yanks. Lamy didn't have to prove his credentials, so he could cut a deal." It is a neat theory. On the other hand, some of Mandelson's officials seem to think that he is being too nice to the Americans. According to their theory, Mandy is so keen to smooth over transatlantic difficulties that he has shied away from legal confrontation over Airbus—a confrontation that his officials feel could?be as damaging to the US as to the EU.
