When Olaf Scholz delivered his Zeitenwende (watershed) speech last February, three days after Russia invaded Ukraine, the chancellor told his nation – and the world – that Germany “accept[s] the challenge that now faces us, with clear-headed resolve”.
Almost a year on, a loud chorus of critics – many gathered in the Ramstein airbase on Friday – insist that Germany’s war response is anything but clear-headed or resolute.
Berlin officials disagree, pointing to league tables that place Germany third in supplying arms, behind the US and UK.
Ukrainian soldiers are now using German guns, ammunition, troop transport vehicles, anti-tank missiles and two missile defence systems. But Kyiv says each welcome delivery from Germany has been a time-consuming ritual of no, then maybe and finally: yes.
Alongside his just-in-time approach towards Ukraine, Scholz is struggling to flesh out what his “Zeitenwende” – watershed – term actually means.
In the last year, Berlin has seized no initiatives. Instead of offering a coherent narrative of what it will do on Ukraine, Berlin is focused on what it doesn’t want to do: no military solo runs.
The deep, lingering trauma of the last century’s World Wars, particularly among older people, still colours everything here in Germany – for good and ill.
It colours the generous response by ordinary Germans to a million Ukrainian refugees now living here. Trauma from the past also colours the strange absence of empathy for Ukrainians’ plight in many public debates and official circles.
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Nazi atrocities in the Soviet Union and 20 million war dead have left a deep feeling of moral debt to Russia, despite everything in the last year. What is rarely discussed is the Nazi bloodbath in today’s Ukraine and the moral obligations that leaves today.
Among younger, pacifist generations, previous wartime atrocities are a convenient moral alibi to avoid involvement in today’s conflicts. Like many Irish, Germans prefer to see their soldiers as peacekeepers rather than actors in messy conflicts with uncertain outcomes.
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There was little public outcry a decade ago when Germany cut a third from its military budget, nor was there much euphoria last February when the chancellor’s “Zeitenwende” speech promised an extra €100 billion for defence.
Senior politicians here insist that what others denounce as German hesitancy over Ukraine is, for them, sensible caution. After years of denial, Germany may see itself now as a “leadership power”, but the country struggles to define – for itself and others – what this actually means.
As Ukraine fights Russia, Germany is fighting with itself. Being forced beyond its postwar comfort zone is an open-ended experiment. As Scholz remarked a year ago: “Whether we have it in us to keep warmongers like Putin in check requires strength of our own.”