After years of dithering and interminable discussions, Europe is about to embark on a new grand project: that of creating a continental defence identity. The process is guaranteed to be long, and is bound to remain incoherent. But it will redefine relations between the Europeans and the Americans for decades to come. The long-standing partners across the Atlantic are unlikely to be transformed into rivals overnight. Nevertheless, the trans-Atlantic relationship is being redefined.
The Europeans and the Americans always had different views on most international issues; the idea that during the Cold War the Western bloc was a united monolith belongs to a myopic view of history. Nevertheless, the Cold War period was unique in three key aspects.
First, the danger from the Soviet Union was so overwhelming and appeared so immediate that no Western European country could conceive of fighting on its own; even President de Gaulle's France tacitly accepted this proposition.
Secondly, although disputes inside NATO erupted periodically (and actually intensified as East-West relations grew warmer during the late 1970s), everyone knew that they had their limits: the danger of decoupling Europe from North America was the ultimate nightmare of the Cold War decades. The Europeans and the Americans frequently clashed over trade. But such clashes were never allowed to spill over to NATO.
Finally, for much of the period of confrontation with the Soviet Union the Western European countries were economically inferior to the US.
Although Western Europe registered an impressive growth in its cumulative wealth, the idea that its societies were still "developing" encouraged a paternalistic attitude in Washington. Successive US administrations from the 1960s asked the Europeans to contribute more to their own defences. They always failed, but the US invariably continued to offer more.
America's commitment to Europe's defences was not an exercise in charity. But it was governed by the assumption that Western Europe remained a fragile growing child, someone who naturally must expect to get more than to give.
In many respects, this remained true as long as Germany, Western Europe's economic powerhouse, was a divided country under the residual legal shackles of occupation; Britain was a loyal ally in apparent terminal decline; France grew into an increasingly resentful and frustrated partner; Italy was constantly threatened with a communist take-over; and the Iberian peninsula remained controlled by military dictatorships.
The end of the Cold War not only removed the Soviet threat, but also coincided with more fundamental shifts inside Europe and North America. In one of the unique episodes in its history, the entire European continent was free; theoretically at least, the Europeans could mould their own future. Furthermore, the disappearance of the Soviet Union's mortal threat removed the self-imposed limitations on the trans-Atlantic relationship.
And Europe was drawing closer together: a single market was followed by the creation of coherent and powerful European institutions and even the introduction of a single currency. The Europeans no longer had much reason to bite their tongue when speaking to the Americans. And Washington made it clear that it expected the fragile child, now grown into a mature person, to start looking for its own provision, even in security matters.
As is often the case, the fundamental nature of the change was not immediately obvious. Despite its spectacular character, the demise of the Soviet Union was a relatively prolonged affair, consisting of seemingly disparate events throughout the 19891991 period. Since no government could have predicted the outcome, the security situation in Europe initially appeared even more dangerous than during the long decades of serious but predictable East-West confrontation.
Germany's unification and the delicate handling of a new Russia also required heavy US involvement.
Paradoxically, therefore, the first years of the post-Cold War period began with the Americans and the Europeans drawing closer together. But the signs that the relationship was changing also began to multiply.
Most of the crises which erupted immediately after the end of communism were serious. Yet they did not threaten the West directly: from President Milosevic of Yugoslavia to the various tribal leaders in the former Soviet Union or Africa nobody sought to conquer the West or impose a particular political system on Western industrial countries.
The threat was much more indirect, in the form of refugees, crime, pollution and the discrediting of the existing system of international law and order. One conclusion was, however, clear: the focus of military planners had to shift away from classic defence to a newer style of crisis-management, in which political and economic measures were just as important as hard-core military action. This meant that, even if the European Union did not acquire any new defence functions, it remained an important actor in any crisis.
Bureaucrats hitherto accustomed to assessing hidden trade tariffs on textiles were suddenly required to think in terms of global strategy, while army generals who counted the number of warheads on a missile were forced to acquire instant knowledge in civil administration and ethnic relations.
A good part of the 1990s was spent in this unreal atmosphere, when everything was theoretically possible, everyone was theoretically able, but ultimately little was done. A decade which began with the prediction that NATO had outlived its usefulness ended in Kosovo, with the Alliance undertaking the biggest military action in its history.
And yet, despite the fact that the 1990s concluded as they began with the United States still exercising overwhelming military influence on the continent and the Europeans still bickering about what they may do in the future, much has changed.
Those who advocated that Europe should establish its own defence structure were usually driven by the feeling that the European Union will never be a "complete superpower" (as they invariably wanted it to be) without military muscle. Opponents of such structures retorted that the easiest way of decoupling the US from Europe and actually hastening America's isolationist tendencies is by creating hasty European defence structures.
This debate was resolved at the latest EU summit in Helsinki for a simple reason: all the Europeans - and particularly Britain - ultimately realised that the archaic debate was becoming intolerable and that, without some action, Europe and America would end up drifting apart anyway. Europe's security arrangements are in their infancy, and remain hobbled by a variety of bureaucratic compromises.
Yet, sooner or later, they will gain coherence; that is the story of most previous European projects. Does this mean that Europe is bound to become a superpower, a true rival to the US? The answer is almost certainly negative, but the relationship between the two blocks will change.
For years to come, Europe will lack the heavy air-lift capacity required to transport large numbers of troops to battle grounds; the satellite intelligence and communication capabilities necessary in modern warfare; the staying power of large numbers of troops; and navies required in order to prevail on an enemy.
In purely military terms, therefore, Europe will remain dependent on the US. But there are other, more subtle shifts which will affect the relationship. The first is Europe's monetary union.
If the project fails, the mayhem which will be created on international markets will open up vast trade disputes with the US. But if, as seems much more likely, the euro ultimately establishes itself, the US dollar would not only lose its pre-eminent status - America would also forfeit its currently unique position of being able to borrow in its own currency according to terms which Washington dictates.
The Americans are unlikely to accept this with equanimity, and it is a fallacy to believe that economic disputes would be kept away from security issues.
The main questions facing the trans-Atlantic allies in the decade to come is not whether they will have difficulties but, rather, whether they will be able to adapt to their changed circumstances.
The American political system was never designed to sustain a coherent foreign policy. The country spends vast resources on defence, but only a mere one percent of its budget on foreign aid, and even this goes to some pet projects. Congress is still reluctant to increase support for the International Monetary Fund or eliminate the debt which the US owes to the United Nations. And the US public is instinctively opposed to multilateral co-operation.
For a superpower like the US, international institutions are often a necessary evil rather than a necessity; swallowing one's national pride and accepting compromises does not come easily for Washington. But these are the qualities and instincts with which the Europeans are familiar, and which future American leaders will have to acquire.
A good case can therefore be made that, far from drifting apart, the Europeans and the Americans may end up co-operating more effectively. But only if the next American president realises that Washington's dream of a "uni-polar world", a universe in which the US reigns supreme, is unlikely to come about.
Jonathan Eyal is Director of Studies at the Royal United Services Institute in London. He may be contacted on: joeyal@ibm.net