The Politics of German Defence and Security: Policy Leadership and Military Reform in the post-Cold War Era 9780857450234

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The Politics of German Defence and Security

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THE POLITICS OF GERMAN DEFENCE AND SECURITY Policy Leadership and Military Reform in the Post-Cold War Era

d Tom Dyson

Berghahn Books NEW YORK • OXFORD

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First published in 2008 by Berghahn Books www.berghahnbooks.com © 2008 Tom Dyson All rights reserved. Except for the quotation of short passages for the purposes of criticism and review, no part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without written permission of the publisher.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Dyson, Tom. The politics of German defence and security : policy leadership and military reform in the post-Cold war era / Tom Dyson. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references. ISBN 978-1-84545-392-3 (hbk. : alk. paper) 1. Germany--Military policy. 2. Germany--Armed Forces--Reorganisation 3. National security--Germany. 4. Germany--Politics and government--1990I. Title. UA710.D97 2007 355'.033043--dc22 2007025071

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

Printed in the United States on acid-free paper

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CONTENTS

Acknowledgements Figures and Tables List of Abbreviations

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Chapter 1

Explaining the Paradox of German Defence Policy: 1990–2005

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Germany in Context: Military Reform in Britain and France 2 Explaining the Paradox: Leadership and Culture as a Political Resource 4 The Concept of Policy Leadership 7 Leadership and Policy Studies in Germany 12 Chapter 2

The Bundeswehr in its Historical and Structural Context: The Scope for Policy Leadership The Bundeswehr Policy Subsystem

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Interlocking and Nested Policy Subsystems: Defence, Security, Foreign, and Budgetary Policy 23 The Three Coalitions in Defence and Security Policy during the Cold War 30 The Post-Cold War World: Unification, New Security Threats, and Responding to U.S. Power 34 Conclusion 45

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Contents

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Policy Leadership and Bundeswehr Reform during the Kohl Chancellorships: The Art of Varying and Sequencing Roles

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From the Gulf War to Sarajevo: Helmut Kohl as a Policy Leader 51 Developing the Crisis Intervention Role of the Bundeswehr: Volker Rühe as Policy Entrepreneur and Broker 1992–94 58 The Structure of the Bundeswehr and the Politics of Base Closures: Volker Rühe as Policy Broker and Veto Player 1994–98 62 Leadership within the Defence Ministry: ‘Denkverbot’ and the Control of Policy Learning 66 Contenders for the Role of Policy Entrepreneur on Bundeswehr Reform: Klaus Kinkel, the Foreign Ministry, the FDP, and the Greens 68 Adapting to Rühe: The SPD and the Deferral of Bundeswehr Reform 71 Conclusions 79

Chapter 4

Policy Leadership on Bundeswehr Reform during the First Schröder Chancellorship 1998–2002: Managing ‘Government by Commission’ Fanning the Flames of Policy Learning: The Weizsäcker Commission 89 The Strategic Context of Bundeswehr Reform: Base Closures, Social Policy, and the CDU/CSU Opposition 94 Rudolf Scharping as Policy Leader: The Marginalisation of the Weizsäcker Commission and the Control of Policy Learning 101 Policy Leadership and the Unsuccessful Implementation of Reform 105 Conclusions 113

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Contents

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Bundeswehr Reform during the Second Schröder Chancellorship 2002–05: The Art of Combining Leadership Roles

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The Parameters of Reform: Domestic Politics and the ‘Need for New Thinking’ 121 Struck and the Defence Policy Guidelines (VPR): ‘Germany Will Be Defended on the Hindukush’ 122 Combining Leadership Roles to Build Consensus at the Macropolitical Level 127 Struck as Policy Veto Player on Structural Reform: Political Timing and the Control of Policy Learning 134 Conclusions 141 Chapter 6

Military Reform, NATO, and The European Security and Defence Policy: Between Atlanticisation and Europeanisation

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Theories of Europeanisation and German Defence and Security Policy 150 The EU and German Defence and Security Policy during the Kohl Chancellorship 153 Fischer, Scharping, and Europeanisation: The Legacy of Opposition 164 Europeanisation versus Atlanticisation in the Defence Ministry: ESDP and the Problem of Institutional Credibility 171 Conclusion: A Disjointed Discourse 176 Chapter 7

A Laggard in Military Reform: The Arts of Policy Leadership and the Triumph of Domestic Constraints over International Opportunity

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Leadership and the Triumph of Domestic Constraint 186 The Implications for German Leadership Studies 188 The Concept of Strategic Culture: Resource as Well as Constraint 191 Europeanisation: Leadership and the Management of ‘Fit’ 192 Bibliography

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Index

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

In working on the book I have acquired debts of gratitude to a large number of people and organisations I fear are too numerous to recall. Certainly it would not have been possible were it not for the support of those closest to me: my mother, father, and brother, Ann, Kenneth and Charles Dyson, my wife, Denitza, and mother-in-law Dorina Bobeva. Their encouragement and sense of fun have been crucial, notably in helping me keep a healthy sense of perspective about my work. I owe a special debt to my doctoral supervisors, Klaus Goetz and William Wallace, whose patience, intellectual, and personal support was of great value and who took the time to scrutinise my work in great detail. Many colleagues have given me comments both individually and during conferences and seminars. I would like to thank Vesselin Dimitrov and Karen Smith for their particularly helpful and incisive comments on earlier drafts of my research. Graham Timmin’s and Wade Jacoby’s critiques of conference papers related to this project were also of great help in refining my argument. My Ph.D. examiners, Adrian Hyde-Price and Klaus Larres, also deserve special thanks for their comments on my work and support. I would also like to thank the staff of the London School of Economics International Relations Department, Government Department, and Centre for International Studies, in particular John Kent, Muge Kinacioglu, George Lawson, Margot Light, Martin Lodge, Ed Page, and Lawrence Saez, for helping create an enjoyable and stimulating working environment, from which my research benefited greatly. Much of the archival research for this book took place at the SPD Archive at Willy Brandt Haus in Berlin. I am especially grateful to Astrid Stroh and Chris Fröb at the Willy Brandt Archiv, who made me feel very

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welcome and helped me unearth an array of interesting documents and newspaper articles that form the backbone of the book. Over 45 interviews followed this archival research, across the SPD, CDU/CSU, Green Party, Finance and Defence Ministries, Chancellor’s Office and NATO. I would like to thank my interviewees for their openness, frankness and generosity with their time. Special thanks are due to Margit Hellwig-Bötte of the SPD Foreign Policy Parliamentary Working Group, Axel Schneider of the SPD Defence Policy Working Group, Stephan Böckenförde and Alrun Deutschmann at the Stiftung Wissenschaft und Politik, Willi Koll of the Finance Ministry, Michael Alvarez from the Heinrich Böll Stiftung, Thomas Schiller from the CDU’s Parliamentary Working on Foreign Policy, Olaf Göhs at the CDU Bundesgeschäftstelle (Federal Party Office) and Kristian Gaiser of the SPD Parteivorstand (Party Executive) for putting me in contact with many key interview partners. The research was largely funded by the Economic and Social Research Council (ESRC), in the form of a Doctoral Studentship and Post-Doctoral Fellowship at the LSE’s International Relations Department. I also received a short-term research grant from the German Academic Exchange Service (DAAD) allowing me to spend three months at Potsdam University in 2004, undertaking extra archival and interview research for the project. Finally, my thanks to Babken Babajanian, Daniel Brinkwerth, James Cook, Tony Ereira, Lars Houpt, Theodore Konstadinides, Hendrik Krätzschmar, Alex Jäckel, Alexander Spiridonov, Christopher Wollin, Vedat and Evren for their support and friendship during the research and writing of this book.

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FIGURES AND TABLES

3.1 4.1 4.2 4.3 7.1 7.2 7.3

German Defence Spending 1994–2004 The Recommendations of the Weizsäcker Commission Rudolf Scharping’s Reform Concept: ‘The Cornerstones of a Fundamental Renewal’ Basic Positions of German Political Parties and Key Figures on Bundeswehr Reform in 2000 Defence Spending as Percent of GDP 1990-2003 Percentage of Defence Budget Allocated to Investment in Equipment 1990-2003 Main German Contributions to International Operations 1990-2004

81 89 95 99 184 184 195

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LIST OF ABBREVIATIONS

CDU CFSP CJTF CSCE CSU DCI DGAP DM EEC EMU EPC ESDI ESDP EU FDP FCC GEBB

GDP HHG IGC ISAF NATO NVA

German Christian Democratic Union Common Foreign and Security Policy Combined Joint Task Force Conference on Security and Cooperation in Europe Christian Social Union of Bavaria Defence Capabilities Initiative Deutsche Gesellschaft für Auswärtige Politik, (German Council on Foreign Relations) Deutsche Mark European Economic Community European Monetary Union European Political Cooperation European Security and Defence Identity European Security and Defence Policy European Union German Liberal Party Federal Constitutional Court Gesellschaft für Entwicklung, Beschaffung, und Betrieb, (Association for Development, Procurement, and Operations) German Democratic Republic (East Germany) Helsinki Headline Goals Intergovernmental Conference International Security Assistance Force North Atlantic Treaty Organisation Nationale Volksarmee, East German Armed Forces

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OSCE PDS PSC SPD UN UNSCOM UNTAC VPR WEU

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Abbreviations

Organisation for Security and Cooperation in Europe Party of Democratic Socialism Political and Security Committee German Social Democratic Party United Nations United Nations Special Commission United Nations Transitional Authority in Cambodia Defence Policy Guidelines Western European Union

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For ANN With love and gratitude

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Chapter 1

EXPLAINING THE PARADOX OF GERMAN DEFENCE POLICY: 1990–2005

The story of Bundeswehr (German Armed Forces) reform since reunification in 1990 is one of striking paradox. The post–Cold War era has witnessed a dramatic shift in the domestic political consensus about the legitimacy of the use of force. Germany participated in UN, EU, and NATO-led peacekeeping and peace—enforcement operations from Somalia and Bosnia to Kosovo, Macedonia, and Afghanistan. However, while Germany’s European partners, notably France and Great Britain, have responded with far-reaching armed forces reforms, allowing more effective participation in crisismanagement operations, the Bundeswehr has undergone conservative adaptation.1 Reforms passed by Defence Ministers Volker Rühe (1992–98) and Rudolf Scharping (1998–2002) did the minimum to respond to Germany’s new security environment. On the one hand, German policy makers have consistently promoted an increasingly active role for the German military in foreign policy. Hans Maull’s ‘civilian power thesis’, which stressed the use of non military instruments in the pursuit of German interests and the authority of international organisations, particularly the UN, has been challenged as an inaccurate reflection of contemporary German foreign and security policy, notably after the Kosovo conflict of 1999, in which Germany participated in offensive military operations without a UN mandate.2 Policy leaders such as Chancellor Helmut Kohl, Volker Rühe, Rudolf Scharping, Peter Struck, and Joschka Fischer have acted to widen the scope and frequency of German

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participation in crisis-management and peacekeeping operations and attempted to create an EU and a NATO capable of responding to the challenges of the post–Cold War security environment. Yet, on other the hand, while the international security environment and changing domestic political consensus seemingly offered strong incentives for a redefinition of military doctrine and the development of a professional armed force, German Chancellors and Defence Ministers have until recently blocked drawing the consequences of policy entrepreneurship in the use of force for the Bundeswehr’s doctrine and structure. Until Peter Struck’s tenure as Defence Minister (2002–05), the Bundeswehr’s doctrine remained ‘territorial defence’ rather than ‘crisis prevention’. Crucially, Germany retains conscription, better suited to territorial defence, deterrence and the exigencies of the Cold War than to flexible global deployment in the support of peace enforcement and post—conflict reconstruction missions.

Germany in Context: Military Reform in Britain and France The slow pace of German military reform, both doctrinal and structural, is thrown into sharp relief when compared with the changes that have taken place to the armed forces of her closest European partners over the post–Cold War era, the French and the British. Under President Jacques Chirac, the French military was subject to ‘paradigmatic reform’ in 1995–6, involving the abolition of conscription and complete professionalisation. This was accompanied by a persuasive ‘communicative’ public discourse of ‘multinational action’, stressing the need for the ‘Europeanisation’ of the armed forces as part of France’s attempt to remain at the forefront of European integration in the field of defence and security, and replacing the traditional policy narrative of ‘national sanctuary’ that emphasised national independence and strategic autonomy.3 In stark contrast to Germany, where the federal system and frequent regional elections amplify the concerns of Länder (State) politicians about the social and economic implications of base closures, the unitary model of the French state allowed the executive greater room for maneuver. As Irondelle and McKenna highlight, the institutional configuration of the French state, a statist policy style, and the ideological coherence fostered by the Grand Corps allowed President Jacques Chirac to act as a ‘decisive policy entrepreneur’ on the structure and doctrine of the armed forces, largely free from the dictates of the Assembly, pressure groups and societal pressure.4 Elected for seven years (until 2002), President Chirac enjoyed a more prolonged window of opportunity between elections to act entrepreneurially on structural reform of the military than German chancellors/defence

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ministers, and consequently pushed through unpopular cuts to military personnel adversely affecting France’s ‘rust belt’ in the North and East. In short, the politics of base closures were less politically damaging in France. Entrepreneurial political leadership was also facilitated by the relative insulation of those involved in the formulation of defence and security policy from the social policy subsystem. While the downsizing of the armed forces from 577,000 to 434,000 between 1997 and 2002 was associated with significant job losses, adding to France’s growing number of unemployed, the linkages between the budgetary, social, and defence policy subsystems were weaker than in Germany. Critically, the French system of social service was not dependent upon a large pool of conscientious objectors, as was the case in Germany.5 This gave Chirac the ability to point toward the long-term savings (a 20 percent cut in the military budget) associated with a stream-lined, professional military, and to bind reform within a persuasive policy narrative that stressed the need to relaunch economic growth within the fiscal constraints of the Maastricht Convergence Criteria. The abolition of conscription (closely intertwined with French national identity and the notion of the ‘citizen in arms’) was framed as a critical step to ensuring that France would be in a position to defend its long-term interests in the European Security and Defence Policy (ESDP). This was consistent with the long-term policy narrative associated with European integration and the Maastricht Treaty in the post–Cold War era: the ‘mission civilisatrice’ and the ‘Europeanisation of French exceptionalism’.6 Irondelle concludes: ‘the reform of the armed forces in 1995-6 directly originated in budget cuts; they (the Ministry of Defence and Treasury) were confronted with what the senior official of the Budget Division called the ‘principe de réalité’ of the convergence criteria.7 In Britain, the Labour Government’s 1998 Strategic Defence Review (SDR), followed by the 2002 ‘New Chapter’ and 2004 White Paper ‘Delivering Security in a Changing World’, outlined a fundamental and ‘radical’ reform of the British military, with the goal of creating mobile, rapid-reaction expeditionary forces; a move away from the defence of NATO territory to power projection and strategic mobility, prioritising new security risks from non-state actors.8 Despite this ‘radicalism’, key facets of British strategic culture prevailed, most notably the commitment to NATO as the core institution within which British defence and security policy should be embedded. The ‘salami slicing’ of personnel numbers that had already taken place under the Conservative government between 1990 and 1996, streamlining the armed forces from 306,000 to 226,000 troops, meant that the SDR involved only limited cuts in personnel. Indeed, the SDR included an increase in the army’s overall size by 3,300, with the greatest reductions tak-

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ing place in the numbers of reservists in the Territorial Army. The 2004 White Paper reinforced these changes, proposing a reduction of the army and navy each by 1,500 and air force by 7,500, accompanied by a reduction of 10,000 civilian jobs in the Ministry of Defence. 9 Figures within the core executive in Britain encountered a favorable strategic context for policy leadership on military reform. Conscription had been abolished in 1962, easing the adaptation of the British armed forces to the demands of the post–Cold War security environment. In addition, the relatively healthy state of the British economy ameliorated the implications of job losses in the armed services for the Labour government. Additionally, as in France, the unitary nature of the state, weak powers of local authorities, and low salience of local elections reduced the problems associated with base closures encountered by German defence ministers; these factors strengthened the hand of Prime Minister Tony Blair (1997-2007) and Defence Minister George Robertson (1997–99) to engage in bold reform in 1997-8. The examples of France and Britain provide a marked contrast with the gradual, piecemeal, and adaptational change that characterised both structural and doctrinal reform to the Bundeswehr over the post–Cold War era, and they point to the importance of domestic political factors and policy leadership in determining appropriate responses to the changing security environment. The remainder of this chapter will outline a conceptual framework within which this German ‘exceptionalism’ in military reform can be explained.

Explaining the Paradox: Leadership and Culture as a Political Resource Existing work on German security policy and armed forces reform is dominated by accounts sharing a core belief: that policy is driven by ideas rather than material factors, representing a ‘culturally-bounded’, institutionally-embedded pattern persisting over time, and a conception of a national security culture that ‘predispose(s) societies in general and political elites toward certain actions and policies’.10 Berger stresses Germany’s ‘culture of antimilitarism’, rooted in its ‘struggle to draw lessons from its troubled past’; Longhurst identifies a German ‘strategic culture’, analyzing it into foundational elements, highly resistant to change and citing the importance of ‘path dependency’ in the persistence of conscription and territorial defence.11 Whilst such accounts provide an excellent and indispensable analysis of important aspects of the ideational bases of German defence and security

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policy, this book argues that, in order to reach the heart of the paradox underlying Bundeswehr reform, a deeper examination of the role played by material factors emanating from the domestic political context is critical, and that strategic culture is not a sufficient explanation of policy change in and of itself. It will examine, in particular, the crucial influence of electoralstrategic interests, the politics of base closures, the ramifications for social policy and budgetary constraints in determining the nature of Bundeswehr reform between 1998 and 2004. In doing so, it builds upon the incisive work of Mary Sarotte by emphasising the centrality of these domestic factors in informing policy leaders’ choice of leadership role.12 Crucially it demonstrates that, rather than acting just as a constraint, strategic culture was often used selectively by policy leaders to block or stimulate policy learning and change as part of the political management of reform. Additionally, the study contributes to the debate on the role of international structure versus domestic politics in post–Cold War German foreign and security policy.13 As Alison McCartney perceptively notes, the literature on post–Cold War foreign, defence, and security policy is broadly divided into accounts that stress either the importance of German perceptions of her power or position within a changing international order, or the centrality of history, norms, and domestic politics in policy development.14 On the issue of the Bundeswehr’s tasks and doctrine, domestic politics combined with assessments of Germany’s changing power and position within the international order and security environment. However, the role of domestic political factors was more highly pronounced in structural reform of the Bundeswehr. The book builds upon previous accounts by illustrating how policy leaders—especially Defence Ministers Volker Rühe (1992–98), Rudolf Scharping (1998–2002), and Peter Struck (2002–05)—controlled the scope, shape, timing, and pace of policy change in structural reforms, maneuvering within the domestic political context. Whilst this context informed the leadership roles pursued by policy leaders, creating a bias against entrepreneurship on structural reforms, the successful execution of these roles necessitated welldeveloped leadership skills and traits. These were used to control pressure for change to the structure of the Bundeswehr, emanating from the international level and also from policy learning within the Defence Ministry, especially from operational experience and the macropolitical system.15 In the process the study shifts the focus of leadership studies in Germany from the chancellor to ministerial level, emphasising the importance of the Ressortprinzip, ‘departmental’ principle’.16 Chancellors’ assessments of international opportunity and domestic political constraint helped set the strategic direction of policy change in Bundeswehr reform, and their support was important for successful entrepreneurship, brokerage, or stalemate; how-

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ever, ministerial leadership was critical in determining the scope and shape of policy change. Defence Ministers Rühe, Scharping, and Struck emerge as pivotal in the retention of control over the policy process by manipulating processes of policy learning, both by strategically using information and ideas to reframe issues and by selecting professional policy forums and new institutional venues to prevent policy debates. Without their leadership, forces militating for radical change to the tasks and structure of the Bundeswehr—from the international level (NATO, the EU, and Germany’s international partners), from the macropolitical level (including the Weizsäcker Commission), and from within the policy subsystem—would have initiated policy learning, setting off potentially destabilising domestic political conflicts and threatening the SPD and CDU/CSU’s control over the policy process. In its focus on the role played by NATO and the EU in Bundeswehr reform, the book also builds upon work on the Europeanisation of German defence and security policy; it is argued that greater attention must be paid to the role of agency in the process of Europeanisation than previous accounts posit.17 Again, whilst Germany played an important role in seeking to develop the ability of NATO and the EU to respond effectively to international crises, Rühe, Scharping, and Struck played central roles in controlling the level of adaptational pressure that these institutions exerted upon the German military to alter both its doctrine and its structure. These roles have important ramifications for European security and NATO, as Bundeswehr reform has impacts upon the ability of Germany to meet the requirements of the post–Cold War and September 11th security environment and contribute to a functioning and credible Common European Defence and Security Policy (ESDP). As part of the traditional Franco-German ‘motor’ of EU integration, Germany’s commitment to the Helsinki Headline Goals and Capabilities Goals, set out at the Helsinki European Council of December 1999, is vital to the eventual success of ESDP. A focus on the role played by strategic culture does not sufficiently account for the motivations of German defence ministers in blocking this ‘top down’ adaptational pressure. A full explanation demands instead a focus upon policy leaders’ assessment of domestic political constraints. In short, the book will show that Bundeswehr reform was subject to domestic political management. Despite the opportunity presented by events at the international level (a range of EU and NATO initiatives and German deployments to Kosovo, Macedonia, and Afghanistan), and defence ministers’ use of these events to redefine German attitudes towards the legitimacy of the use of force, the lack of corresponding entrepreneurship on the tasks and structure of the Bundeswehr reflected the extent to which reform was driven by policy leaders’ assessments of, and ability to maneuver

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within, domestic political constraints. The book not only offers important new empirical material on post–Cold German Defence and Security Policy but also makes a contribution to German leadership studies, Europeanisation studies, and explanatory frameworks for conceptualising German Defence and Security Policy.

The Concept of Policy Leadership In drawing out the centrality of policy leaders to Bundeswehr reform, the study identifies three distinct policy leadership roles: entrepreneurship, brokerage, and veto-playing. Policy entrepreneurship involves adopting and pushing a particular new policy solution, leading to radical policy change to basic organising principles of policy. Policy brokerage is about seeking consensus among contending ideas, whilst veto-playing seeks to actively block ideas of policy change. These policy leadership roles are linked in turn to different policy leadership styles and strategies. In the case of policy entrepreneurship, leadership takes on a heroic style of policy initiative where the leader acts as animateur of change.18 The characteristic leadership strategy involves creating and sustaining a crisis consciousness, reframing policy issues in a manner that provides an historical legitimisation for bold change. The policy leader develops a new policy narrative, attributing to new proposals political coherence, historical meaning, and significance. The appropriate skills involve the arts of discourse and persuasion, aimed at getting agreement on a particular policy model. In contrast, policy brokerage is associated with a ‘humdrum’ leadership style, pursuing incremental change. Its characteristic leadership policy strategy involves facilitating policy learning and managing it by ‘binding-in’ the potential opposition. Policy veto-playing is associated with an immobiliste leadership style, preventing forces for change from shaping policy. This is reflected in a policy strategy of sidelining change agents and blocking new policy ideas. Broadly, as indicated below, the macropolitical arrangements of Germany create a disposition to opt for policy brokerage or for policy veto-playing roles over policy entrepreneurship. It can be argued that Germany’s high consensus building requirements reinforce the general disposition of policy leaders to weigh losses more heavily than gains, to remember defeats more than victories, and to exaggerate the power of opponents.19 Leadership: Clarifying an Inexact Concept Policy leadership requires greater clarification before it can be usefully employed, for leadership is an inexact concept. When is ‘what a leader

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does’ not leadership? 20 Its ambiguity stems from the difficulties of gaining agreement both about its boundaries and to what it refers, and of measuring its presence and effects. Disagreements exist about such matters as its empirical referents, the bases and forms of leadership (e.g., whether it is coercive or ideational), and how it relates to companion concepts such as power and management. Many of these differences are ultimately not resolvable because they are linked to contrasting ontological starting points about the nature of reality. One source of contest is about whether the term ‘leadership’ refers to a property of one or more agents (and the relationship between them), or to a relationship between one or more agents and a policy subsystem and a macropolitical framework. To the extent that it is agreed that leadership is a relationship between actors and a policy subsystem or macro-political framework, there are disagreements about how this relationship should be conceptualised (notably between the ‘contextualist’ and the ‘interactionist’ approaches outlined below). There are also deep differences of view about what should be included and excluded (e.g., what types of effect, what types of role, which policy skills?) and what prioritised (e.g., personal traits or situational contingencies, like institutional and political context).21 For some, leadership is a transformational activity, involving vision, charisma, and symbolic powers.22 The leader is ‘an individual who creates a story’ and someone to whom others attribute significant symbolic powers.23 From this perspective, leadership is bound up with a process of attribution in which others, seeking to explain policy failure or success, invoke poor or good leadership as the ‘real’ cause. Another perspective, more skeptical of the ‘romance of leadership’ notion, focuses on situational contingencies, such as the institutional and policy environment.24 Their stress on constraints leads them to identify a wider range of roles. Alongside transformational leadership, they identify ‘transactional leadership’, in which policy brokers are involved in negotiating difficult compromises, and laissez-faire leadership (similar to Mintzberg’s ‘quiet’, enabling leadership) that focuses just on broad strategic direction but is ‘hands off’ in relation to policy management.25 A second reason why leadership is an inexact concept is that it cannot be numerically measured, at least not in a way that would avoid the accusation that the procedure and the results were arbitrary. Its use involves an unavoidable exercise of informed judgment, not scientific precision. It is difficult for those who use it to avoid entrapment in the ‘romance of leadership’ notion, in which special powers are attributed to leaders by those trying to explain policy success or failure when it is difficult to determine the ‘real’ causes at work.26 This problem is made all the more difficult to handle because attribution by others is itself an important part of leadership.

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These two problematic aspects of the concept mean that it is destined to remain contested and its application fraught with difficulties. In this context the book settles for the modest, but nonetheless challenging, task of seeking to describe the complex relationships that are associated with policy leadership in as precise a manner as possible, but it cannot hope to avoid the ongoing disputes that derive from different ontological and epistemological positions. A review of the main literature on leadership within political science and organisation theory underlines the definitional problems. Given the endemic nature of these problems in discussing leadership, both bodies of literature tend to offer complex analytical models rather than definitions.27 In both literatures there has been a clear shift over time from an actor-centered emphasis on personal traits to one that gives more attention to contextual variables, from ‘leadership character’ to what might be termed ‘contextualisation of leadership’.28 Beyond that, both literatures are characterised by tensions and unresolved conflicts. Notably there are those who give primacy to context— ’contexts make leaders’—and those who stress the interaction between personal leadership skills and context, that leaders negotiate contexts and the resources, constraints and opportunities that contexts present.29 Political science has great difficulties in disentangling leadership from the concept of power, and moving beyond the dualism of the cognitive and the strategic aspects of leadership. Organisation theory has similar problems of differentiation from the concept of management, and has no settled position about the relationship between the task-oriented and the socioemotional aspects of leadership. Both bodies of literature lack a settled position on contextualist versus interactionist approaches to leadership. Within political science there is a widespread recognition that the concept of leadership overlaps with the concept of power. Thus, just as with the concept of power, definitions of leadership have proved contentious. Jean Blondel noted, ‘power is the key element of political leadership’, and went on to define leadership as the ‘ability to make others do what they would not otherwise do’.30 This emphasis on the ‘powering’ aspect of leadership can be criticised for underplaying the inspirational and cognitive aspects of persuasion, whether through a common vision or through initiating policy learning. Therefore in discussing leadership it is useful to distinguish ‘power over’, which derives from strategic skills in using constitutional position, executive organisation, and party, coalition, and electoral management, from ‘power to’, which rests on cognitive skills of imparting vision, of persuasion through convincing narrative, and of policy learning and lesson drawing.31 Reviewing the complex organisational and management theory literature on leadership, Charles Handy concluded that this concept ‘is a complex one, riddled with ambiguity, incompatibility and conflict’.32 Rather than

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providing a definition, he contents himself with a ‘differentiated trait’ approach that identifies three dimensions of leadership. The leader is in one sense a mobilizer and activator of the policy subsystem, setting a clear and firm direction of change through both vision and a skilful exploitation of windows of opportunity for change. This dimension is consistent with the transformational leadership role of the policy entrepreneur. In the second sense, the leader is an ambassador of the policy subsystem, acting as a ‘linking pin’ or integrator, finding common ground among its different actors, representing the values and interests of the subsystem externally so that it achieves autonomy of operation and finds it easier to acquire necessary resources. This dimension can be seen as a key attribute of the ‘transactional’ leader or policy broker. Finally, the leader is a model to the policy subsystem, incorporating a set of shared values, attitudes, and forms of behaviour that are valued as points of reference for the conduct of others. This dimension is close to the concept of charisma, consistent with the laissez-faire leadership role. Within Handy’s broad summary of literature on organisational leadership is a set of unresolved tensions and conflicts. Most prominent of these is the appropriate relationship between the socio-emotional aspects of leadership and the task-oriented aspects. At the heart of the socio-emotional aspect is how leaders interact with others who are significant for performance. Some stress the importance of building supportive relations, like the policy broker, by allowing others to influence policy and building up trust and respect so that there is commitment to policy. In this view, leaders are important as ‘linking pins’.33 Others emphasise the ‘psychologically distant’ leader who seeks informal acceptance but, like the transformational leader, is strongly task-centered, making leadership about providing clear definitions of activity so that control can be enforceable.34 One common problem that is thrown up by political science and organisation theory is a tendency to identify leadership with a particular type of effect, namely change. The implication seems to be that leadership must have an effect and that effect must be change; also, that change is good and that good leaders produce change. Hence it is to be ‘measured’ in terms of the degree of change that it produces. This implication underpins the emphasis on ‘transformational’ and ‘transactional’ leadership or, in the language of public policy theory, on policy entrepreneurs and policy brokers.35 This viewpoint ignores the possibility, however, that the effect of leadership can be to maintain continuity in the face of growing pressures for ‘undesirable’ or ‘unnecessary’ policy change. In this case, the leader influences policy change by preventing it and acting as a policy veto player on behalf of maintaining a set of cherished and increasingly threatened policy beliefs. Hence this book adds the role of policy veto player to the characterisation of leadership.

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Policy Leadership as Entrepreneurship, Brokerage, and Veto-Playing Consistent with this brief overview of political science and organisation theory this book suggests the following working definition of policy leadership: Policy leadership refers to the dialectical relationship between the cognitive and strategic, personal, and policy skills of those in positions of authority as they negotiate specific contexts at the policy subsystem and macropolitical levels. These skills are used both in adapting to or seeking to shape structural contexts— and the institutional and political resources and constraints that they provide—and in tailoring their roles—as policy entrepreneurs, brokers, and veto players—to these variable contexts. Leadership takes place within contexts that favor certain narratives and strategies over others but, at the same time, has the potential to recast these contexts. However, one of the weaknesses of the existing literature is that its analysis of policy entrepreneurship is confined to agenda setting. Effective policy entrepreneurship requires strategic skills not just in agenda setting but also in translating ideas into policy decisions. A characteristic strategy when faced with powerful opposition is ‘salami-slicing’, in which the policy leader pursues policy change as a ‘nibbling’ or iterative process by a series of opportunistic actions designed to circumvent opposition. This may involve creating faits accomplis. Volker Rühe provided an example of this type of strategic leadership between 1992 and 1994. In a more favorable political context, the policy entrepreneur has stronger incentives to mobilise coordinated action around a proposed policy model by seeking to create a powerful ‘advocacy’ coalition on its behalf. This second type of strategy was visible in Bundeswehr reform during Peter Struck’s tenure as minister between 2002 and 2005, when he acted entrepreneurially on the issue of German military doctrine. In relation to Bundeswehr structure, it also made a fleeting appearance with Klaus Kinkel, Foreign Minister, and Joschka Fischer, political leader of the Green Party, during the Kohl period, but was ineffective in both agenda setting and decision-making. It reappeared during the Struck period when Renate Schmidt took up ideas of radical reform to Bundeswehr structure. In contrast, policy brokerage is associated with a ‘humdrum’ leadership style of pursuing incremental change.36 Its characteristic leadership policy strategy involves the facilitation of policy-oriented learning and the ‘binding in’ of opposition, particularly by the creation of a ‘professional forum’ (like the Weizsäcker Commission). This strategy means gaining the agreement of key actors that a continuation of the status quo is unacceptable, that there are important empirical questions to be addressed, that key interests are to be represented, and that professional norms of policy analysis are to be respected.37 It is close to a mode of power sharing among competing policy

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beliefs. This type of leadership policy role, style, and strategy was characteristic of the Scharping period (1998–2002). Policy veto playing is associated with an immobiliste leadership style of preventing forces for change from shaping policy. The immobiliste style is reflected in a policy strategy of sidelining or excluding change agents in a form of Denkverbot (ban on thinking), of blocking new policy ideas from emerging. It was apparent under Rühe between 1994 and 1998 when much greater weight was attached to the potential losses than to the gains from Bundeswehr structural reform.

Leadership and Policy Studies in Germany The literature on leadership in German politics has been preoccupied with the chancellor and has had much less to say about executive leadership by ministers or administrative leadership by top officials.38 Both federal ministers and state secretaries have been somewhat neglected in studies of the German core executive. Hence this literature is really only of value to studies of public policy to the extent that a policy falls directly within the constitutional sphere of the chancellor or is identified as a Kanzlersache (‘matter for the chancellor’) because of its preeminent political importance for the governing party and coalition. This view of leadership is, however, too restrictive for understanding policy change. By looking at policy leadership at the policy subsystem level, this book hopes to make a contribution to core executive studies in Germany, delving more deeply into the determinants of policy change. Studies of chancellor leadership have mirrored wider features of the political science literature. Analytical modeling has focused on mapping the various political constraints and resources that shape and provide the context for German chancellors in trying to provide leadership, paying particular attention to constitutional, party, coalition, electoral, and policy resources.39 Of importance for this book have been the findings about how Helmut Kohl and Gerhard Schröder defined and practiced leadership. Kohl developed the so-called ‘Kohl system’, which relied on a broad and deep cultivation of a highly personal network of contacts centered around his Christian Democratic Union (CDU). Thus party management was always critical to his chancellor leadership.40 Kohl also nested his political and policy management in the long-term value of the political necessity of the coalition with the Free Democratic Party (FDP). This ‘nesting’ allowed him to use the argument of coalition logic to discipline would-be critics within the CDU, and especially within its sister party the Bavarian Christian Social Union (CSU). Finally, historical vision played an important role in his formula of

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leadership, especially in relation to European unification.41 In this respect Kohl displayed a capacity for ‘transformational leadership’, most notably over Economic and Monetary Union.42 These three elements defined the scope for leadership in the defence and security policy subsystem during Kohl’s governments. During his first term (1998–2002) Schröder’s leadership style was characterised by two main features: the search for consensus across the boundaries of parties and groups (his so-called Räterepublik of commissions preparing major reforms); and his careful attention to media image and to opinion polls and his recognition that jobs and employment were the central concerns of voters.43 The guiding theme was no longer historical vision but economic policy competence and the desire to project a personal image of a ‘modern’ chancellor directly to the German public. His chancellorship rested on a combination of leadership as ‘modern opportunity management’ with the arts of symbolic politics.44 There were clear implications for defence and security policy. For Kohl, defence and security policy mattered to the extent that it was about Germany’s historical obligations: to repay the United States for its support over German unification and, more broadly, over the postwar period, and to unequivocally pursue the process of European political unification and the strengthening of the Franco-German motor in this process. For Schröder, defence and security policy was very much secondary to economic policy when it came to making issues a ‘Kanzlersache’. The result was a very different context for leadership in the defence and security policy subsystem under Schröder from that under Kohl. However, as with political science more generally, the challenge for the literature on chancellor leadership had been how to conceptualise the relationship between its cognitive and strategic aspects. Those of a constructivist inclination have been disposed to stress the ‘vision thing’ or the role of discourse.45 The challenge is to draw out the complex dialectical relationship between the cognitive and the strategic aspects of chancellor leadership, and how these relate to a changing structural context and the resources, constraints and opportunities that this context presents. Most importantly, this study demonstrates that a focus upon the chancellor and Kanzlerprinzip (‘chancellor principle’) is insufficient to explain the policy process in Bundeswehr reform.46 An interesting finding is that, while the chancellor was important in setting the strategic guidelines for policy change, and his support necessary for the development and implementation of reform, actual control over the scope and pace of policy change was very much a consequence of the nature of ‘day-to-day’ management of the policy sector and policy leadership at the ministerial level. Hence the Ressortprinzip and ministerial policy leadership emerge as critical.

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Policy change to the doctrine, and particularly structure, of the armed forces was not a consequence of rather general guidelines ‘setting the strategic direction of change’ or ideational leadership of the Chancellor, but depended on the ability of Rühe, Scharping, and Struck to open up or block processes of policy learning and political debate both within the policy subsystem and at the macropolitical level as part of the management of institutional venues. It also involved close attention to the use of strategic culture as a resource with which to justify their chosen leadership roles and frame policy proposals. The appointment of state secretaries and Generalinspekteuren (chiefs of staff) as ‘gatekeepers’ to policy learning, emerges as particularly important in controlling policy learning.47 In analyzing the role played by ministerial policy leaders as entrepreneurs, brokers, and veto-players, in explaining the paradox of Bundeswehr reform, the book demonstrates that further studies, across a range of policy sectors, are needed to give greater depth to our understanding of the concept of the Ressortprinzip. Hence the value of this book lies not only in the empirical contribution that it makes to solving the puzzle of Bundeswehr reform since the fall of the Berlin Wall, but also in the insights that it brings to German leadership studies, the concept of strategic culture and the process of Europeanisation. It focuses on how defence ministers practiced the arts of policy leadership— varying, combining and sequencing their leadership roles, strategies, and styles over time—so as to reconcile with domestic political constraints, a repositioning of German power in a fast-changing, post–Cold War international environment, shaped by Bosnia, Kosovo, September 11th, Afghanistan and Iraq. In the process they emerge not so much as hostages to these international events and developments or to domestic strategic culture, let alone to a particular leadership role, as selective users of culture and events, and practitioners of the arts of policy leadership.

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Notes 1. M. Hampton and S. Szabo, Reinventing the German Military, (AIGS, 2003), 9. 2. A. Hyde-Price, ‘Foreign and Security Policy’, in Developments in German Politics 3, ed. S. Padgett, W. Paterson, and G. Smith, (Houndmills: Palgrave Macmillan, 2003), 205; Adrian Hyde-Price, ‘Germany and the Kosovo War, Still a Civilian Power?’ in D. Webber, ed. New Europe, New Germany, Old Foreign Policy? (London: Frank Cass, 2001); H. Maull, ‘German Foreign Policy Post-Kosovo: Still a Civilian Power?’ German Politics 9 no. 2 (2000): 1–24; M. Overhaus, ‘In Search of a Post-Hegemonic Order: Germany, NATO and ESDP’, German Politics 14, no. 4 (2005): 551–68. 3. B. Irondelle, ‘Europeanisation without the European Union? French Military Reforms, 1991–1996’, Journal of European Public Policy 10, no. 2 (2003): 208–66. 4. Irondelle, ‘Europeanisation without’ 221; J. McKenna, ‘Towards the Army of the Future: Domestic Politics and the End of Conscription in France’, West European Politics 20, no. 4 (1997): 125–45. 5. McKenna, ‘Towards the Army’, 125–45. 6. M. Marcussen et al. ‘Constructing Europe? The Evolution of British, French and German Nation State Identities’, Journal of European Public Policy 6, no. 4 (1999): 620. 7. Irondelle, ‘Europeanisation without’, 219. 8. C. McInnes ‘Labour’s Strategic Defence Review’, International Affairs, 74, no. 4 (1998): 823–45. 9. K. Hartley, ‘The UK’s White Paper: An Economic Perspective’, Centre for Defence Economics, University of York, (2004): 1. 10. T. Berger, Cultures of Antimilitarism: National Security in Germany and Japan, (Baltimore: John Hopkins University, 1998); J. Duffield, World Power Forsaken: Political Culture, International Institutions, and German Security Policy after Unification, (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1998), 27; K. Longhurst, Germany and the Use of Force: The Evolution of German Security Policy 1990–2003 (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2004). 11. Berger, Cultures of Anti-Militarism; K. Longhurst, ‘Why Aren’t the Germans Debating the Draft? Path Dependency and the Persistence of Conscription’, German Politics 12, no. 2 (2003): 147–65. 12. M. Sarotte, German Military Reform and European Security, Adelphi Paper no. 340 (2001): 27, 47. 13. A. McCartney, ‘International Structure versus Domestic Politics: German Foreign Policy in the Post–Cold War Era’, International Politics 39, no. 1 (2002): 101–110. 14. On ‘international structure’ see M. Otte and J. Greve, German Foreign Policy in Transformation, 1989–1999, A Rising Middle Power? (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 2000). Accounts that emphasise the impact of history norms and domestic politics include: T. Banchoff, The German Problem Transformed: Institutions, Politics and Foreign Policy, 1945–1995 (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1999); C. Bluth, Germany and the Future of European Security, (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 2000); A. Phillips, Power and Influence After the Cold War: Germany in East-Central Europe (Lanham: Rowman and Littlefield, 2000). 15. Policy learning forms an important part of the Advocacy Coalition Framework, which conceptualises policy as the result of competition between coalitions structured by policy beliefs and values. Policy change results from competition amongst interests and learning, within and between coalitions. Initiating or hindering policy learning processes are vital tools in the hands of entrepreneurs, brokers, or veto-players in controlling the scope and direction of policy change. Paul Sabatier and Hank Jenkins-Smith, ‘The Advocacy Coalition Framework: An Assessment’ in Theories of the Policy Process, ed. P. Sabatier, (Boulder: Westview, 1999), 145. 16. The ‘Kanzlerprinzip’ emphasises the centrality of the chancellor in formulating general policy guidelines; the ‘Ressortprinzip’, ministerial autonomy in policy formulation. See

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17.

18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24.

25. 26. 27.

28.

29. 30. 31. 32. 33. 34. 35. 36.

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Renate Mayntz, ‘Executive Leadership in Germany’ in Presidents and Prime Ministers, ed. R. Rose and E. Suleimann, (Washington: AEI, 1980), 142–43. On the ‘Kanzlerprinzip’: Ludger Helms, ‘The Changing Chancellorship: Resources and Constraints Revisited’ in Continuity and Change in German Politics: Beyond the Politics of Centrality? A Festschrift for Gordon Smith, S. Padgett, S. and T. Poguntke (London, Frank Cass, 2001), 155-69; K.R. Korte, ‘Solutions for the Decision Dilemma, Political Styles of Germany’s Chancellors’, German Politics 9, no. 1 (2000):1–22; K.R. Korte, ‘The Effects of German Unification on the Federal Chancellor’s Decision-Making’, German Politics 11, no. 3 (2002): 83–98; K. Nicklauss, Kanzlerdemokratie, (Paderborn: Schöningen UTB, 2004), 362–67; S. Padgett, Adenauer to Kohl: The Development of the German Chancellorship, (London: Hurst and Company, 1994); W. Patzelt, ‘Chancellor Schröder’s Approach to Political and Legislative Leadership’, German Politics 13, no. 2 (2004): 268–99. M. Cowles, J. Caporaso, and T. Risse, Transforming Europe, Europeanisation and Domestic Change, (Ithaca, NY: Cornell, 2001), 1–21; C. Knill, ‘European Politics, The Impact of National Administrative Traditions’, Journal of Public Policy 18, no. 1 (1998): 1–28; Alistair Miskimmon and William Paterson, ‘The Europeanisation of German Foreign and Security Policy’, in Germany, Europe and the Politics of Constraint, ed. K.H. Dyson and K.H. Goetz, (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003), 325–45. Nikolaos Zahariadis, ‘Ambiguity, Time and Multiple Streams’, in Theories of the Policy Process, ed. P. Sabatier, (Boulder: Westview, 1999), 73–97. Sabatier, ‘The Advocacy Coalition Framework’, 117–66. S. Körner, Conceptual Thinking, A Logical Enquiry, (New York: Dover, 1959), 36. Alvin Gouldner, ‘Introduction’ in Studies in Leadership, ed. A. Gouldner, (New York: Russell and Russell, 1965), 21–25. A. Bryman, Charisma and Leadership in Organizations , (London: Sage, 1992). N. Gardner, A Guide to UK and EU Competition Policy, 2nd edn, (London: Macmillan, 1996); J. Hunt, Leadership, A New Handbook, (London: Sage, 1991), 205. B. Bass, and R. Stogdill, Bass and Stogdill’s Handbook of Leadership, Theory, Research and Management Applications, (New York: The Free Press, 1990); F.E. Fielder, A Theory of Leadership Effectiveness, (NY: McGraw-Hill, 1967), 261–65. B. Burns, Leadership, (London: Harper Row, 1978), 257–357; H. Mintzberg, Mintzberg on Management, Inside our Strange World of Organizations, (New York: Free Press, 1989). Hunt, Leadership, 205. On the French presidency see A. Cole, François Mitterrand, A Study in Political Leadership, (London: Routledge, 1994); on the German chancellorship see H.R. Korte, ‘Solutions for the Decision Dilemma’, 9; W. Paterson, ‘Helmut Kohl: “The Vision Thing and Escaping the Semi-Sovereignty Trap”’, German Politics 7, no. 1 (1998): 17–36. In organisation theory see J. Adair, Effective Leadership, (Gower: London, 1983); C.B. Handy, Understanding Organizations, 3rd edn, (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1995). In political science see R.C. Elgie, Political Leadership in Liberal Democracies, (Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1995). Elgie, Political Leadership; E. Hargrove and J. Owens, eds., Leadership in Context, (London: Rowman and Littlefield, 2003). J. Blondel, Political Leadership: Towards a General Analysis, (London: Sage, 1987), 3. D. Stone ‘Causal Stories and the Formation of Policy Stories’, Political Science Quarterly 104, no. 2 (1989): 281–300. Handy, Understanding Organizations, 114. K. Likert, New Patterns of Management, (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1961), 62. Fielder, Leadership Effectiveness, 261–65. On policy brokers see Sabatier, ‘The Advocacy Coalition Framework’, 117–66; on policy entrepreneurs see Zahariadis, ‘Ambiguity’, 73–97. On heroic and humdrum leadership styles, see J. Hayward, ‘Mobilising Private Interests in the Service of Public Ambitions’ in Policy Styles in Western Europe, ed. J. Richardson, (London: Allen and Unwin, 1982), 111.

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37. Sabatier and Jenkins-Smith, ‘The Advocacy Coalition Framework’, 150. 38. See Helms, ‘The Changing Chancellorship’, 155–69; Korte, ‘Solutions for the Decision Dilemma’, 1–22; Korte, ‘The Effects of German Unification’, 83–98; Padgett, ‘Adenauer to Kohl’. 39. Korte, ‘Solutions for the Decision Dilemma’, 1–22; M. Smith, Analyzing Organizational Behaviour, (Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1991). 40. M. Mols, ‘Policy Making and Foreign Policy Advice’, in Germany’s New Foreign Policy, ed. K.D. Eberwein and K. Kaiser, (München: Oldenburg Verlag, 1998), 285. 41. Paterson ‘Helmut Kohl’, 17–36. 42. T. Banchoff, ‘German Policy Towards the European Union: The Effects of Historical Memory’, German Politics 6, no. 1 (1997): 60–76. 43. R. Heinze, Die Berliner Räterpublik: Viel Rat, wenig Tat? (Wiesbaden: Westdeutsche Verlag: 2002). 44. Korte, ‘Solutions for the Decision Dilemma’, 1–22. 45. On Kohl, see Paterson, ‘Helmut Kohl,’ 17–36. On Schröder, see C. Jeffrey and A. HydePrice, ‘Germany and the EU: Constructing Normality’, Journal of Common Market Studies 39, no. 4 (2001): 689–717. 46. Mayntz, ‘Executive Leadership’, 142–3. 47. For leadership and ‘gatekeeping’ see Kurt Lewin, quoted in Gouldner, ‘Introduction’, 19.

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Chapter 2

THE BUNDESWEHR IN ITS HISTORICAL AND STRUCTURAL CONTEXT The Scope for Policy Leadership

This chapter seeks to give more specificity to explanations of policy leadership in military reform by focusing on the domestic parameters of policy leadership in the Bundeswehr, analyzing its distinctive characteristics as a ‘policy subsystem’, and its interactions with related policy subsystems and the wider macropolitical system in which it is nested.1 The chapter emphasises how the institutional organisation of the military, and defence and security policy, foreign policy, and budgetary policy, the relationship to NATO and to the European Union, determines the scope for, and nature of, policy leadership in Bundeswehr reform.

The Bundeswehr Policy Subsystem The Bundeswehr can be characterised as a subsystem both separate from and nested within the larger subsystem of German defence and security policy. Though its boundaries are pervious, it represents a distinct set of actors and organisations that interact regularly to influence policy formulation and implementation within their policy domain.2 This policy domain embraces, in addition to the armed forces, the defence administration, the armaments sector, military pastoral work, and the administration of military justice. The Bundeswehr is a ‘mature’ subsystem in that it has existed for

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decades as a common reference point for action.3 Its properties, notably its ethos of professional consensus and reflective practice, are different from those of the defence and security subsystem in which it is nested. Crucially, the Bundeswehr policy subsystem and the wider defence and security policy subsystem are nested within a framework of constitutional law. Called the Basic Law, it shapes the identity of the policy subsystem and reflects the imprint of the catastrophe of the Nazi period in setting the terms of debate about the Bundeswehr. Article 26 bans preparations for a war of aggression, acts. In this spirit, article 115a-l regulates the definition and declaration of ‘a state of defence’ (rather than a ‘state of war’) and its implications for the functioning of political institutions. 4 Article 115a is also crucial in reinforcing parliamentary control and oversight of a definition and declaration of a state of defence. It requires a two-thirds majority of Bundestag votes and the consent of the second chamber, the Bundesrat. These provisions are to be understood in terms of ‘the determination to promote world peace’ outlined in the Basic Law’s preamble. Taken together, they promote a historically rooted conception of the identity of the Bundeswehr and the expertise that it requires. This conception stresses an orientation to territorial defence (article 115a) and to peace and humanitarian missions (the preamble and article 26).5 A Shared Identity The Bundeswehr has the four key attributes of a policy subsystem.6 Firstly, the relevant actors regard themselves as a semi-autonomous community, sharing a domain of expertise and a policy identity. Key actors include the defence minister, the Ministry’s planning staff, the general inspector of the Bundeswehr (and his deputy and the inspectors of the individual armed forces), the defence commissioner of the Bundestag, members of the Bundestag Defence Committee, and the Bundeswehr universities in Hamburg and Munich, responsible for officer training. According to Article 65a of the Basic Law, the defence minister is the commander of the armed forces during peacetime and the highest military superior over all soldiers.7 Its shared identity as a policy subsystem has three roots. First, it derives from the key constitutional provisions regulating national defence. Secondly, shared identity within the Bundeswehr policy subsystem is influenced by the way in which it is nested exclusively within the NATO command structure. Consequently, and to a greater extent than any other German policy subsystem, it is exposed to a U.S. and NATO preoccupation with threat assessment, deterrence, and war-fighting capacity. This simultaneous nesting within domestic constitutional thinking and NATO/U.S. doctrines creates an ambiguity within Bundeswehr identity that is less noticeable within the Foreign Ministry. It contrasts with the Foreign Ministry’s emphasis on a ‘civilian

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power’ that rests on a symmetry or ‘fit’ of security policy conceptions between the EU and the UN and German constitutional thinking. 8 Over issues like modernisation of short-range nuclear weapons in 1988 to 1989 and NATO eastern enlargement in the 1990s, the Defence Ministry proved willing to mobilise Washington’s support against the Foreign Ministry. Thirdly, the shared identity comes from the notions of the Bundeswehr as ‘citizens in uniform’ and innere Führung (‘inner leadership’), both closely bound up with conscription.9 The strength of embeddedness of these notions in the policy subsystem owed much to the fact that their two main proponents since 1951, General Count Wolf von Baudissin and General Ulrich de Maiziere, served as Bundeswehr Generalinspekteuren.10 It is also reinforced by the work of the defence commissioner of the Bundestag in safeguarding the rights of soldiers. The notions of ‘citizens in uniform’ and of innere Führung are given statutory form in the Law Governing the Legal Status of Soldiers (Soldatengesetz) of March 1956 (amended 1975) and the Military Appeal (Complaints) Act of December 1956. Of particular note are the provisions relating to a soldier’s rights, commitment to the ‘free democratic basic order’, obedience, comradeship, the duties of a superior officer, the right of complaint, and the right to continuing general and professional training. In addition, a Ministry of Defence regulation of 1972 clarified the principles and practice of innere Führung. The shared value system of the Bundeswehr is also regulated by the directive on the problem of traditions in the armed forces, issued by the Defence Ministry in September 1982. Taken together they manifest a concern with a Bundeswehr that, in the words of the 1982 directive, is oriented ‘toward the suffering of the persecuted and the humiliated’, ‘political participation and common responsibility, awareness of democratic values, judgment without prejudice, tolerance, readiness and ability to discuss the ethical aspects of military service, the will for peace’, ‘the active contribution to the shaping of democracy through the role of the soldier as a citizen’, and ‘an open-minded attitude to social change and the readiness for contact with the civilian citizen’.11 These sources of shared identity are important in influencing the dominant ideas about how the Bundeswehr should operate. Notably, these ideas stress the primacy of the experience of members of the Bundeswehr as the source of valid knowledge rather than the primacy of externally generated research findings. This affects the Bundeswehr policy subsystem in two ways. First, the notions of ‘citizens in uniform’ and innere Führung encourage self-criticism by soldiers of their own practice in an open, collegiate manner, supported by the regular reviews of the Bundestag defence commissioner, resulting in ‘reflective practice’ in the Bundeswehr.12 Secondly, the Bundeswehr is strongly oriented around the generation of professional

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consensus.13 The result is an emphasis on bringing together key professionals to agree on common positions, for instance in Bundeswehr conferences. These two models of reflective practice and of professional consensus support a high degree of autonomy and resilience of the Bundeswehr as a professional policy subsystem. The Bundeswehr and Policy Learning The second key attribute of a policy subsystem is that the relevant actors have also sought to influence Bundeswehr policy over a long period of time and engage in policy learning. Policy learning within the subsystem is strongly conditioned by the operational experience of the Bundeswehr. This learning process was stimulated by political decisions during the 1990s to commit more troops to ‘out-of-area’ operations of a peace-making and humanitarian nature. The result was an internal dynamic of learning, leading to pressures for policy change from within the policy subsystem relating to the Bundeswehr’s role and structure. Under Rühe and Scharping political leadership found itself caught up in responding to this ‘bottom up’ learning process. In particular, two operational issues suggested the need for new types of expertise: the problems of protecting civilian populations in a context of aggressors and victims; and the requirements of involvement in civilmilitary cooperation projects aimed at reconstruction. New operational experiences of this nature have generated fresh internal policy narratives about the Bundeswehr. The Bundeswehr at the Federal and Land Levels Thirdly, within the Defence Ministry, Chancellor’s Office, and the Bundestag Defence Committee, there are specialised units dealing with the Bundeswehr. On occasion the Defence Committee constitutes itself as a special Committee of Investigation to probe possible policy failures, such as claims of extreme-right-wing infiltration of the Bundeswehr in 1997.14 However, its investigative activities have had more to do with auditing the reflective practices and professional consensus within the Bundeswehr to ensure that guidelines are effective, than with developing and applying new, externally generated policy ideas to the Bundeswehr. Within the 16 Länder (state) governments key actors are also drawn into Bundeswehr policy, which affects Länder territorial and economic interests, especially through base closures.15 These bases involve close ties between the military and locals and become an important focus of community relations, often sustaining thousands of jobs.16 Hence the local political interests of Länder politicians and Bundestag members are at stake. The politics of base closures has proved especially problematic for Bundeswehr reformers, strongly engaging the interests of Länder Economics Ministries and Chancelleries.

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The development of German participation in peacekeeping missions has also drawn Länder Interior Ministries and the Federal Border Police into closer association with the Bundeswehr. This reflects the increasing involvement of civilian police contingents in peacekeeping. Germany seconded police officers to missions in Cambodia, Namibia, and Western Sahara. More important was the increasing scale of such contributions in Bosnia and Herzegovina, Kosovo, Macedonia, and Afghanistan. This contribution was part of the process by which the Bundeswehr was drawn into civil-military cooperation projects through peacekeeping. The Bundeswehr and Civil Society Finally, interest groups, and specialised subunits within interest groups, regard the Bundeswehr as an important issue. The Bundeswehr has its own professional association to represent its collective interests. Also, the churches, youth organisations, and the trade unions take an interest in Bundeswehr policy. The development of peacekeeping operations has increased the involvement of civil society with the Bundeswehr, especially as the Foreign Ministry, supported by the Bundestag, has led attempts to strengthen the civilian component. Relief organisations, like the Malteser Hilfsdienst and the Johanniter-Unfall-Hilfe, have played a role in providing medical care services and supporting civil-military projects in developing health services. A range of social groups, including the Länder, have an interest in the practice by which conscientious objectors are allowed to do ziviler Ersatzdienst (community service) by working in hospitals and care homes for the elderly and the disabled. This represents a large pool of cheap labor that helps underpin German social services. Bundeswehr reform has financial as well as community-wide implications and links to the social policy subsystem and the concerns of the Ministry for Family, the Elderly, Woman and Youth. These implications were not lost on the SPD and on the social wing of the CDU, for which there was an important social dimension to Bundeswehr policy. Key SPD policy makers feared that a professional volunteer army could lead not just to higher defence spending but to higher social policy spending. This prospect threatened major electoral consequences and set constraints on the capacity of SPD leaders to act as policy entrepreneurs on behalf of a volunteer professional army (see chapters 3, 4 and 5).17 A number of research institutes (such as institutes for peace and conflict research in Frankfurt and Hamburg) and specialised units within institutes (such as the Stiftung Wissenschaft und Politik) deal with Bundeswehr issues. Potentially they are a source of new policy ideas and long-term influence over the context in which Bundeswehr policy is debated. However, compared to the United States, there are relatively few research institutions

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working in this policy subsystem, and ‘think tanks’ have had a minor role in Bundeswehr reform, and wider defence and security policy issues. A powerful structure of business interests also depends on Bundeswehr policy and its implications for armaments’ procurement. The role and the structure of the Bundeswehr has direct bearing on their commercial interests, and Länder in which these armaments companies are heavily represented, notably Bavaria, Lower Saxony and North Rhine Westphalia, are concerned with promoting their interests.18 Hence the Bundeswehr policy subsystem embraces a wide range of economic and social as well as political interests that had to be taken into account by policy leaders. In the German case, compared to that of the United States, a key feature is the absence of a pivotal role for research institutes in developing new thinking, policy narratives, or ‘causal stories’ that can be taken up by policy leaders to make sense of ill-defined, problematic situations.19 To the extent that new policy narratives have emerged, they have done so from the ground upward through the operational experience of the Bundeswehr in peace-keeping operations, notably in Bosnia, Kosovo, and Afghanistan.

Interlocking and Nested Policy Subsystems: Defence, Security, Foreign, and Budgetary Policy The opportunities for, and constraints on, policy leadership over Bundeswehr reform are conditioned by the complex interactions between this policy subsystem and related subsystems. These interactions take two forms. First, the Bundeswehr is part of the larger defence and security policy subsystem, which overlaps with the foreign and security policy subsystem. Secondly, both the Bundeswehr and the defence and security policy subsystems are nested within NATO and increasingly the EU. The Bundeswehr is appropriately seen as a distinct subsystem from NATO and the EU in that innere Führung is seen as a German innovation and conscription as part of a German concept of the ‘citizen in uniform’. In short, Bundeswehr policy is an expression of a sense of a specific national identity and national sovereignty. In addition, only a small proportion of those involved with Bundeswehr policy are actively involved in NATO policy. The Bundeswehr and the Defence and Security Policy Subsystem At the time of unification and the end of the Cold War, territorial defence and conscription were the dominant concepts in the Bundeswehr policy subsystem. They found legitimation in the postwar ‘bloc’ system, in which Germany, as a result of Adenauer’s diplomacy, was locked in the pro-West

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camp.20 Moreover, Germany was a distinctively exposed part of the Western bloc because of its borders with the Eastern bloc and the uniquely exposed position of West Berlin. Hence Germany was structurally vulnerable and highly dependent on collective NATO commitment to its territorial defence. Territorial defence was bound up with the notion of an ideological commitment to defend a way of life based on freedom against communism. In short, territorial defence and postwar political identity were closely interwoven. More practically, German leaders prided themselves on having the largest European army in NATO, some 500,000 men, including 220,000 conscripts. The policy subsystem of the Bundeswehr was nested within the wider policy subsystem of defence and security, characterised by a number of key features. These key features include the constitutionally enshrined rules within which it operates, notably the Basic Law’s Preamble and article 26. Not least, German defence and security policies are committed: ‘to promote world peace as an equal partner in a united Europe’. The Basic Law enshrines three basic principles: The exclusive power of the federation to establish the armed forces and subject them to rigorous political control; the defensive aim of German defence and security policies, and finally the principles both of compulsory military service, if need be, and of the right of conscientious objection, linked to the obligation to serve a ziviler Ersatzdienst.21 The second key feature is the pivotal position of the Defence Ministry and its institutional interest in its autonomy in the conduct of its affairs, supported by article 65 of the Basic Law. Because of its origins in the debate about rearmament in the context of NATO entry, the Defence Ministry had a traditionally strong NATO orientation and a deep commitment to deterrence doctrine.22 Interestingly, it is the only federal ministry lacking a European policy unit, whether in the form of a division or even a section (Referat). Over time, Europeanisation pressures have grown, notably through the Franco-German Defence Council, Eurocorps, integration of the WEU into the EU’s structures, the development of the ESDP’s institutional machinery in Brussels and its Rapid Reaction Force and joint defence procurement projects. It also possesses all of the attributes of a ‘mature’ policy subsystem listed above, including, not least, a policy learning process after German unification that led to a gradual redefinition of identity. Earlier, policy identity had been founded on territorial defence and the capacity to mobilise large numbers of ground troops for this purpose. During the 1990s, this notion began to give way to the idea of a crisis-reaction, mission-oriented Bundeswehr, capable of taking on international responsibilities. This doctrinal reorientation meant a more mobile, highly-trained Bundeswehr taking on tasks of cri-

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sis management and humanitarian action, in which policing the safety of civilian populations became a priority. The subsystem is characterised by a relatively low incentive for senior politicians to interest themselves in defence policy, given the low prestige of military values in German public life and the minor position given to defence in the priorities of the public. Far more attractive in career terms was specialisation in economic, employment, and social policy issues, given the greater importance that electors assigned to them.23 Consequently, only a small number of politicians seeking or gaining senior office had experience and expertise in defence and security policy. Among chancellors, only Helmut Schmidt (1974-82) had earlier been defence minister and took an active, highly-informed interest. During the 1950s, bitter debates about German rearmament and the formation of the Bundeswehr generated a group of politicians with a defence expertise: notably Fritz Erler and Carlo Schmid in the SPD; Erich Mende in the FDP; and Konrad Adenauer and Franz Josef Strauss within the CDU/CSU. However, Willy Brandt, Helmut Kohl, and Gerhard Schröder did not show much enthusiasm for this policy sector. On the whole, chancellors and party leaders were reluctant to become identified with military issues, for electoral as well as historical reasons. There was no electoral incentive for a German chancellor or chancellor candidate to present her/himself as leader of a ‘warrior’ nation. The sensitivity to rearmament and deployment issues, especially on the left, underpinned a general ‘culture of restraint’ within the defence and security policy subsystem.24 Examples include the issues of the European Defence Community and NATO during the early 1950s; the debate between 1959 and 1960 about whether the Bundeswehr should be equipped with tactical nuclear weapons; the early 1980s debate over deployment of American Pershing and Cruise missiles on German soil; the 1985 debate about the U.S.’s proposed Strategic Defence Initiative (SDI); the issue of modernisation of short-range tactical nuclear weapons in 1988 to 1989; the Gulf War of 1991; the Kosovo War of 1999; the Afghan War of 2001; and the Iraq crisis. Over the period since 1983, on average some 70 to 80 percent of Germans wish to remain within NATO.25 This support was distinguished from a much more critical attitude toward war-fighting strategies, and missile and troop deployments, that might be seen as offensive rather than defensive. This attitude was strongly represented among German intellectuals and students, who were prepared to take to the streets in huge demonstrations. The Pershing and Cruise deployments were implemented against public opinion but legitimated in terms of NATO loyalty.26 Despite NATO loyalty, ‘war’ was a deeply emotional issue for a people still living in the trauma of the Second World War. Notions of associating the Bundeswehr with a strategy of

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preemptive military action of the kind outlined by the Bush Administration in 2002 threatened high domestic political costs.27 Within the defence and security policy subsystem three distinct policy narratives arose, based on contending definitions of the principal source of security threat. For the ‘freedom’ coalition the threat came from the enemies of Western values (the Soviet empire and then ‘rogue’ states); for the ‘peace’ coalition the threat derived from the ‘spiral of violence’ associated with the military-industrial complex; and for the ‘pacifist’ coalition the threat was U.S. power. The presence of these advocacy coalitions distinguished this policy subsystem from the professional, more consensual, character of the Bundeswehr policy subsystem. The work of research institutes like the Stiftung Wissenschaft und Politik and the Deutsche Gesellschaft für Auswärtige Politik (DGAP) fed into these advocacy coalitions. However, it was more important in sustaining and adapting their shared beliefs than in generating new policy ideas. In the U.S., by contrast, a range of think tanks played an active pace-setting role in defence and security policy ideas and agenda change, such as the Brookings Institution, at the heart of the ‘liberal’ coalition, and the Heritage Foundation at the centre of the traditional ‘conservative’ coalition. There were no German equivalents for these. Also, there is not the same circulation of people and ideas between Defence Ministry and think tanks as in the U.S., seen, for instance, in the influence of actors like Richard Perle and Paul Wolfowitz on behalf of the U.S. neoconservative agenda. Nor does the German defence industry play an important role in funding think tanks. More important in the German case is the role of the party foundations like the SPD’s Friedrich Ebert Stiftung and the CDU’s Konrad Adenauer Stiftung in organising debates around defence and security policy. They provide a platform for the exchange of ideas rather than an independent research and thinktank capacity that seeks to shape the political imagination. The Bundeswehr and the Budgetary and Foreign Policy Subsystems Because it was so nested within defence and security policy the Bundeswehr was affected by three key aspects of the interaction of this larger policy subsystem with other subsystems. Firstly, defence and security was nested within the budgetary policy subsystem. From the very origins of the postwar Bundeswehr, the Finance Ministry had presented obstacles to planning and frustrated German ability to meet NATO commitments.28 The Finance Ministry’s traditional policy prerogatives were reinforced by two factors: the greater political weight of finance ministers than defence ministers in coalition and party politics (cf. Theo Waigel and Volker Rühe, Hans Eichel and Rudolf Scharping, and later Peter Struck); and the impact of EMU on the relative power of the finance minister in imposing fiscal discipline. Bud-

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get constraints remained a key part of the politics of the Bundeswehr reform and were accentuated by the economic and fiscal implications of unification. The Finance Ministry was an important source of pressure for change, especially in pressing the NATO and EU agenda of pooling military capabilities and privatisation.29 Pooling avoided a duplication of efforts by different states and, by economies of scale and overhead, enhanced military capability, while privatisation was seen as the route to efficiency gains. Both the Defence Ministry and the German armament industry were more disposed to identify and stress the potential costs of such changes. Secondly, defence and security overlapped with the foreign policy subsystem. The Chancellor’s Office acted as policy broker between the two, but had a bias toward the foreign and security policy subsystem. This policy bias reflected the weight of the Foreign Policy Division within the Chancellor’s Office and the greater political weight of the Foreign Ministry in coalition politics.30 The Foreign and Defence Ministries shared an overall commitment to the Harmel doctrine of ‘deterrence with détente’, adopted by NATO in 1967 as the basis for a durable and just ‘peace order’ in Europe as a whole. However, within this broad commitment, and the framework of constitutional constraints outlined above, the Foreign Ministry was disposed to stress the reduction of tensions through diplomatic and political means, the Defence Ministry to emphasise the requirements of deterrence and coercive diplomacy. There was also a difference in the weight that they attached to different multilateral forums for security policy. The EU and UN, in particular, figured prominently in the thinking of the Foreign Ministry, giving it an important voice in the development of German participation in UN peacekeeping operations.31 Under the Kohl chancellorship, Klaus Kinkel sought to claim credit for this development; as a Green Foreign minister, Joschka Fischer attached particular importance to strengthening the UN’s new security role.32 The Defence Ministry had a traditional attachment to the primacy of NATO. Bundeswehr reform and defence and security policy were subject to a dynamic of change associated with ESDP. By means of its key coordinating role in European policy, both through chairing the Committee of ‘European’ State Secretaries and the permanent representative in Brussels, the foreign ministry saw in sponsorship of ESDP a means to gain more influence over defence and security policy. The Defence Ministry could not distance itself from ESDP as an emerging key element in Germany’s priority to European political union, post–Maastricht and, especially, post–Kosovo. Considerations of bureaucratic politics led it to concentrate on ensuring that institutional mechanisms were in place with the new European security committee in Brussels to minimize the opportunities of the Foreign Ministry

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to interfere. This relative autonomy was justified by reference to the distinctive nature of defence and security policy; it depended on a high degree of confidentiality and secretiveness in order to protect the lives of soldiers and to prevent potential enemies gaining an advantage. ESDP was associated with two forms of Europeanisation pressures on the Bundeswehr. ‘Top-down’ Europeanisation involved pressures to adapt the role, structures, and appropriate behaviour in the Bundeswehr to meet the stated requirements of ESDP, notably the Helsinki Headline Goals. ‘Bottom-up’ Europeanisation involved the use by German actors of Europe as a means to push through and legitimate Bundeswehr reforms. As suggested above, however, ESDP, like NATO, is best seen as a distinct policy subsystem that interacts with the German defence and security policy subsystem, and with the Bundeswehr policy subsystem, rather than as in a hierarchical relationship to these subsystems. It has been above all important in opening up domestic political opportunities for policy change, as the Weizsäcker Commission shows. As we shall see in chapters 4 and 5, potentially far more important for German defence and security policy were the implications of the Bush Administration’s unilateral commitment to a new preemptive military strategy, of its use of NATO as a military toolkit for the Afghan invasion, and the unilateral military action against Iraq in 2003. These developments created a new flux and uncertainty about the respective values of the UN, NATO, and the EU as contexts for effective multilateral action on security. They gave a renewed emphasis to developing the UN and EU peacekeeping and humanitarian roles of the Bundeswehr, for instance in Macedonia and Afghanistan, a development consistent with longer-term SPD and Green policy thinking about international security. Ultimately, the consequences of European disarray over the Iraq War led German policy makers to reinforce the traditional ‘bridge concept’ of balancing ‘Atlanticism’ and Europeanism in German defence and security policy by ‘ringfencing’ ESDP and any European Security and Defence Union within the primacy of NATO and the trans-Atlantic relationship. Paradoxically, this was driven by European concerns: that, in the context of the ‘Atlanticisation’ of Central and East European states and Germany’s West European partners, particularly the U.K. and Italy, the threat of a bifurcated Europe necessitated a strong reassertion of German commitment to NATO and trans-Atlantic partnership.33 Bundeswehr policy is, at one level, a highly specialist subsystem, involving a small elite of actors who are tied together in an intimate world of highly confidential information. In the German case, in contrast to the United States or Britain, this mystique does not derive from the high social and political status and respect accorded to military professionalism. The role of the military in the downfall of the Weimar Republic and in the Third

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Reich made such claims politically unsustainable. It is rooted in the more practical concern, shared across states, not to jeopardize the lives of German soldiers or the general public by advantaging those who threaten the use of armed force against Germany. In addition, the Bundeswehr policy subsystem is held together by a strong sense of shared professional identity that has evolved over nearly fifty years, and that is supported by a carefully cultivated cross-party consensus within the Bundestag. It is dominated by the models of reflective practice and professional consensus, which value the personal experience of soldiers as a source of valid knowledge. Conversely, the organisation of the Bundeswehr policy subsystem shows little support for the idea of new policy ideas generated by external scientific ‘think tanks’. Such ‘think tanks’ would open up the Bundeswehr to a more critical external scrutiny. This dimension has been lacking in Bundeswehr reform because it has not been built into the organisation of the policy subsystem. In addition, policy leaders have shown little interest in reforming its organisation in order to encourage radical new thinking, as this may threaten their ability to retain tight control over the policy process. This shared identity provides defence ministers with a formidable political resource in negotiating policy change, not least at NATO and EU levels. The Bundeswehr is a core element in German postwar political and social reconstruction and symbolic of a ‘new’ Germany of which Germans are proud. This degree of autonomy is offset by the extent to which Bundeswehr policy is embedded in a much more complex institutional context and one, that generates a great deal of bureaucratic politics around the interacting interests of the Defence, Foreign, and Finance Ministries, as well as of the Länder and of the EU and NATO. The result is a formidable set of constraints that policy leaders must negotiate. An analysis of the complex set of policy subsystems with which Bundeswehr policy interacts, and in which it is nested, suggests that the EU and NATO are important but by no means central to defining the scope and nature of policy leadership. The institutional context does, however, select for certain kinds of policy leadership roles, strategies, and styles over others. In particular, it favors brokerage and veto-playing roles over entrepreneurship. There is little scope or incentive to embrace a heroic leadership style and to pursue a strategy of creating and sustaining a crisis consciousness on the basis of which to legitimate radical change to the Bundeswehr. Far better adapted to such an institutional context are strategies of promoting policy learning and ‘binding in’ opposition by means of ‘professional forums’ (see Rühe, Scharping and Struck in later chapters) or of sidelining or excluding change agents (see chapter 2). Equally, policy leaders do have choices about how to combine

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and to sequence roles, strategies, and styles, and, on occasion, policy entrepreneurship has made an appearance.

The Three Coalitions in Defence and Security Policy during the Cold War During the Cold War, up to 1989/90, the defence and security policy subsystem came to possess a basic structure formed around three advocacy coalitions. Their boundaries were by no means firm, and individual actors could cross them and sometimes combine them in complex and changing ways. Nevertheless, these coalitions gave a long term stability to Bundeswehr policy based on the different core policy beliefs that bound them. Above all, they offered different policy narratives about the nature and role of defence and security policy, framing the definition of problems and threats, their causes, and the solutions proposed. Domestically, the Cold War period was characterised by competition between the ‘freedom’ and the ‘peace’ coalitions, with the ‘pacifist’ coalition as the outsider to the policy process and the ‘freedom’ coalition as ascendant. The ‘freedom’ coalition was united by a shared core policy belief in defence of the Western way of life by an Atlanticist approach, rooted in deterrence of a clearly defined enemy: the Soviet empire. It was represented most strongly by the CDU/CSU and on the right of the SPD.34 The political ascendancy of this coalition derived from the successful way in which Adenauer had used the 1950 Korean War crisis and 1953 Soviet repression of East Berlin and the Hungarian uprising of 1956 to push the agenda of a ‘policy of strength’ in confronting the enemies of liberal democracy.35 This was tied to a policy narrative that located defence and security policy in the historical story of the ‘long journey to the West’. 36 The ‘peace’ coalition was united in a shared core belief about internationally negotiated disarmament and arms control measures and cemented by a deep bonding to peace. The ‘spiraling arms race’ was seen as transforming both sides into potential victims, making the enemy the military-industrial complex. Membership of this coalition stretched from the ‘realist’ wing of the Green Party into the centre-left of the SPD and was strongly represented in the churches, especially the Lutheran Church, youth organisations, the trade unions, and peace research institutions. 37 Protagonists of this policy narrative looked to Austria, Finland, and Sweden, rather than to NATO and its constituent states, as models. Its influence extended into the SPD where leading politicians, like Heidemarie Weiczoreck-Zeul, European spokesperson in the 1990s, preferred imitation of these three states to France as a model for a European defence and security policy.38

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Each advocacy coalition offered a policy narrative, based on different lessons from history. For the ‘peace’ coalition, history taught that Germany had a special responsibility to work to avoid war, notably through détente, that guaranteed a durable, just, and comprehensive peace order throughout Europe based on collective security.39 Its preferred institutional arenas for policy development were the Organisation for Security and Cooperation in Europe (OSCE) and the UN. For the ‘freedom’ coalition, history taught that Germany must never again isolate itself by seeking to pursue a Sonderweg.40 Its peace and security depended on the closest possible integration into the Atlantic Alliance and the EU as a reliable, loyal ally. Its preferred institutional arena was NATO and development of a European pillar within NATO, preferably linked to the EU. The particular political skill of HansDietrich Genscher as FDP Foreign minister (1974-92) was to act as policy broker between these two coalitions.41 A third ‘pacifist’ advocacy coalition comprised those opposing the doctrine of Landesverteidigung (territorial defence) and conscription and was to be found on the fringes of the political system. These figures and organisations were united by deep core policy beliefs stemming from a fundamentalist opposition to war, advocacy of unilateral disarmament, and neutrality. The epicentre of this coalition was provided by the ‘fundamentalist’ wing of the Green Party and the peace movement.42 Pacifism had strong roots in the country’s catastrophic experience of World War Two and was influential within university towns and cities. However, it was an ‘outsider’ rather than an ‘insider’ coalition. Its means of influence were petitions (like the Krefeld Appeal of November 1980 against the NATO ‘dual-track’ decision) and mass demonstrations. Of particular importance was the fact that the main split between the ‘peace’ and ‘freedom’ coalitions cut right through the SPD and was opened wide by Chancellor Schmidt’s initiative of 1977 in calling for a coordinated Alliance response to the challenge of Soviet medium-range missile deployments in central Europe. For those associated with Willy Brandt, the SPD’s chair, the party’s mission was to promote international peace and reconciliation; for the fewer around Schmidt, the priority was defence of the Western way of life based on freedom and fulfillment of Alliance commitments. In the aftermath of the highly divisive deployment of Cruise and Pershing missiles in 1983, the ‘peace’ coalition gained power within the SPD.43 Under Brandt’s chairmanship the SPD advocated arms control, disarmament, and a ‘nuclear-free’ zone in central Europe to reinforce détente, distancing itself from deterrence.44 The ‘peace’ coalition gained power in part because Brandt found himself cast into the difficult political position as party chair of having to act as policy broker between the presence of the ‘pacifist’ coali-

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tion within the SPD’s ranks (and fears of defections to the Greens on this issue) and the ‘freedom’ coalition. However, crucially, the SPD’s advocacy of Egon Bahr’s ideas of a ‘second Ostpolitik’ and of ‘common security’, endorsed at the Nuremberg party conference of 1986, did not challenge the conception of the Bundeswehr as purely defensive, to be used only to defend the territory of Germany or that of another NATO member. The key questions and debates were about how that defensive role was to be organised, notably what role, if any, nuclear weapons should play in war fighting. Thus a broad consensus existed among all the major parties (FDP, SPD, and CDU/CSU), academics, journalists, and defence institutions about the basic role of the Bundeswehr. Critically, this consensus was reinforced by the constitution. Dominant Policy Doctrines: Territorial Defence, Conscription, and Citizens in Uniform Despite this overall adversarial contest about defence and security policy, the Bundeswehr policy subsystem during this period was dominated by a deeply entrenched policy doctrine of territorial defence, of conscription, and of ‘citizens in uniform’. They formed the key elements within a policy narrative that resonated with past historical military failures. Its reach was spread widely across the Defence Ministry, the Chancellor’s Office, the Foreign Ministry, the two main ‘catch-all’ parties of the CDU/CSU and the SPD, the FDP, Länder governments, and a range of social institutions like the churches and the trade unions. It was also supported by the international institutions in which Germany was embedded. Even at the height of the polarisation on defence policy between SPD and the CDU/CSU in the early and mid-1950s, this consensus was not seriously contested.45 The debate was about the political and institutional context of a future Bundeswehr, and whether this context should be NATO or the SPD-sponsored idea of a system of collective security for a unified Germany.46 Notwithstanding this polarisation, on the basis of advice from his key military advisers, Adenauer proceeded to base the foundation of the Bundeswehr on careful cross party agreement about basic principles. In this process there were careful consultations with the Bundestag’s new security committee, involving many meetings between key SPD politicians like Fritz Erler and military officers. Hence, from the outset, Adenauer adopted a leadership role of policy brokerage rather than policy entrepreneurship. This approach prevented the formation of advocacy coalitions within the Bundeswehr policy subsystem. This leadership role was reinforced by Germany’s semi-sovereignty: externally, as a ‘penetrated’ state constrained by the international treaty system under which Germany was rearmed in the 1950s.47 Internally, the

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consensus was buttressed by the Constitutional Court’s role in interpreting the constitution, the Länder interest in maintaining military bases, the Finance Ministry’s interest in budgetary control, and by the interest of a range of social groups in Ersatzdienst, and the dependence of the social policy subsystem on this supply of carers. In particular, the Basic Law prescribed a limited role for the German armed forces, allowing their use only in the context of attack upon German territory or another NATO member. At the same time, this consensus owed a great deal to Adenauer’s choice of leadership role. The two elements of ‘territorial defence’ doctrine and conscription within the policy narrative gained legitimacy, not just from the geostrategic position of West Germany during the Cold War, but also from her historical experience. Her position as a ‘front line’ state of the West necessitated a large number of ground troops ready for mobilisation in the event of a USSR ‘first strike’. Conscription was justified by the fear that a professional army would not attract enough troops to provide effective territorial defence, deter a potential Soviet aggressor, and meet NATO commitments. More fundamentally, conscription was bound closely with the refashioned political identity of the postwar state. The system of conscription was seen as crucial in the context of Germany’s past civil-military relations. In one sense it was a useful way of connecting to German tradition and establishing appropriate and much-needed role models after the disaster of complicity with the Third Reich. The idea of a ‘citizens’ army’ could be linked to Prussian military reformers like Gerhard von Scharnhorst, August Count von Gneisenau, and Karl von Clausewitz. Crucially, the ‘citizens’ army’ was a way of transforming the Bundeswehr into a different type of institution from the old Prussian-inspired Wehrmacht. One key aspect was a change in leadership style, a new code of conduct, and tough parliamentary control. These themes were pressed by the SPD.48 The emphasis was to be on personal responsibility, and a culture of discussion and persuasion, rather than unthinking obedience. Here the crucial innovator was Count von Baudissin and his concept of innere Führung.49 This concept of ‘inner leadership’ emphasised the importance of political education, teamwork, and, above all, personal responsibility as the essential components of an army of ‘citizens in uniform’. Democratisation of the Bundeswehr was underpinned by the specification of the aims and objectives of the Bundeswehr in the Basic Law (especially in the Preamble and in article 26, 1); the new defence commissioner accountable to the Bundestag; the subservience of members of the Bundeswehr to the civil courts, and explicit regulation of military tradition, including the symbolic features of the Bundeswehr.

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A second aspect was conscription as a way of ending the military’s isolation from society, a theme that was pressed by the CDU/CSU.50 The role of the military during the Weimar Republic was seen as a central example of how the first republic had been doomed. The lesson was to put in place arrangements that would ensure the Bundeswehr’s political loyalty by closely integrating it into society. Conscription was justified as a means of ensuring that there could be no recurrence of a ‘state within a state’.51 Through a citizens’ army, conscription would firmly embed the notion of the military’s subordination to democratically elected government. Adenauer’s success was demonstrated by the way in which Germany was brought back into the international community as a respected partner and by the way in which Germany built a civic society with strong civil-military relations. Most importantly, territorial defence and conscription were deeply bound up with postwar German political identity. In this respect it can be argued that conscription went beyond a core policy belief to partake of the characteristics of a ‘deep core belief’ in conscription as ‘a pillar of our democratic state’ through its contribution to a sense of citizenship.52 Consequently, it was a deeply entrenched belief as an integral part of actors’ value systems and highly-resistant to change.53 Territorial defence and conscription remained the dominant doctrines right up to the end of the Cold War. Their dominance was intimately related to the bipolar character of the international security environment, Germany’s vulnerable front-line status, and the depth of German embeddedness in NATO. Not least, conscription was a key part of postwar national political identity, linked to painful memories of elite behaviour during the Weimar Republic and resistant to change as a deep core belief. Both concepts were further held in place by the institutional constraints of internal semi-sovereignty represented by the Constitutional Court, Länder interest in avoiding closures of bases, and the Finance Ministry’s interest in defraying costs by retaining the use of young men in Zivildienst. In this strategic context, the prospects for leadership in support of an alternative policy were very limited.

The Post–Cold War World: Unification, New Security Threats, and Responding to U.S. Power The end of the Cold War brought a number of fundamental changes, giving it the quality of a critical juncture for German defence and security policy. However, its main effects were longer term, taking the form of a process of policy learning over a decade and more. During the 1990s, the new issue of the Bundeswehr’s role in military intervention and crisis-management dis-

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placed the traditional centrality of its role in collective defence. This issue was focused on the participation of Germany in UN-led and NATO-supported peacekeeping missions and the question of NATO ‘out-of-area’ operations. The development of a military intervention and crisis-management role and capability challenged the traditional policy narrative of territorial defence and a conscript army, opening a new opportunity for the reconfiguration of domestic advocacy coalitions within the defence and security policy subsystem. This responded to the emerging realities of the post–Cold War world, notably the growing instability associated with state failure, for instance, in Yugoslavia, Somalia, and Rwanda. German Unification The most immediate effect of the end of the Cold War was a new united Germany, unleashed from the remaining constraints of four-power Allied control. New questions emerged about whether, and in what ways, Germany might pursue a more interest-based and assertive security policy.54 Observers detected a new discourse of ‘normalization’.55 In the case of the Bundeswehr, it became clear that ‘normalization’ did not mean a structural transformation into a professional, war-fighting army. It meant a stronger assertion of a specifically German interest in retaining conscription and developing a new international crisis prevention and peacekeeping role. The change in German defence and security policy did not involve a new effort to project power at the international and European levels but rather a complex adaptation to changing domestic and international conditions.56 These conditions included: the enormous budgetary problems facing Germany, consequent on unification; the relative decline in German economic performance and the more assertive behaviour of Länder governments, keen to protect their economic interests in more competitive globalising and Europeanising economies. The problem for political leadership was how to reconcile these mounting domestic constraints with growing international (especially U.S.) pressure to radically upgrade Germany’s defence contribution. The difficulties that such pressure could cause for Germany were apparent in Kohl’s embarrassed reaction to President Bush’s offer of a ‘partnership in leadership’ with the U.S., reflecting U.S. estimation of the pivotal role of Germany in the development and provision of European security. However, it also contained the implication of a partnership at the global level. It was not taken up in Bonn because it threatened to create both internal political difficulties, over the idea of a global security role for Germany, and external difficulties, within the Franco-German relationship and for European integration.

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German unification had more immediate implications for the Bundeswehr. During the cold war, the Nationale Volksarmee (NVA) of the GDR numbered 175,000 troops, whilst the West German armed forces totaled some 500,000 troops. However, the first democratic government of the GDR sacked all senior personnel over the age of 55. Additionally, 60,000 soldiers deserted. By the summer of 1990, the NVA amounted to some 103,000 troops. The Two Plus Four (the two German states plus the four wartime Allies) Treaty set a ceiling on the upper limit of permitted troop numbers at 370,000. 57 The result was a radical reorganisation, involving downsizing and problems of cultural change, as elements of the much more traditionally organised, hierarchical NVA were absorbed into the Bundeswehr’s concepts of ‘citizens in uniform’ guided by innere Führung.58 In consequence, irrespective of other changes that came with the post–Cold War order, German unification imposed an immediate major reform that meant politically sensitive base closures.59 There was little time and energy to reflect on other major reforms till this period was over. Hence the process of policy learning about the new security environment was impeded in the short-term by the exigencies of German unification. German unification imposed its own reform agenda that had temporal precedence over any other basis for reform. German defence and security policy was also influenced by the changing domestic political context with unification. Public opinion in the Eastern Länder was less enthusiastic in its endorsement of loyalty to the Atlantic Alliance.60 The policy narrative that Berlin was in danger of serving as a satellite of Washington gained meaning and resonance from the way in which the GDR regime had served as a satellite of the Soviet Union. This critical distance was accompanied by a lack of the kind of economic benefits associated with U.S. bases located in the Western Länder. In addition, the East German Party of Democratic Socialism (PDS) aligned itself closely with the ‘pacifist’ coalition.61 As the East had a much higher percentage of floating voters than the West, the political parties came to view the East as a critical electoral battleground. Hence a political strategy of neutralising the appeal of the PDS to anxious Eastern voters had an obvious appeal to the SPD leadership. German unification provided a political incentive to adopt a less Atlanticist defence and security policy, although this incentive had to be balanced against the dangers of losing Western voters who were more likely to fear isolation from the United States. New Security Challenges and Changing Policy Narratives Another source of transformation came from new forms of conflict within the international security environment, from the 1991 Gulf War via heightened ‘ethnic conflicts’ with the Balkan wars of succession, to the terrorist

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challenge represented by the events of ‘9/11’ and the Bush doctrine of preventative intervention.62 The consequent uncertainties about the nature of security challenges, the international institutions best suited to the new security environment, and whether U.S. policy should be followed, threw the defence and security policy subsystem into flux. In the words of Rühe, the newly united and sovereign Germany had to ‘redefine its foreign and security policy under changed conditions’.63 In 1992 it was not clear just how far those conditions were changing. Hence the process of redefinition extended over the period of a decade and more, in a process of policy learning involving new information about sources of threat. This learning process generated two main policy narratives. Two central questions were the nature of the source of threat and the appropriate response. The first question was whether the traditional interstate model of security challenge, with its priority to territorial defence and war-fighting capability, was becoming an anachronism.64 For some, especially neo-conservatives and ‘realist’ unilateralists within the U.S. Bush Administration, the key threat was now from ‘rogue’ states, meaning a continuing need for a war-fighting capability to topple the regimes of these states. Seen from this perspective, the problem was the rapidly increasing military capability gap between the U.S. and Europe. The crisis was defined as the lack of combat preparedness of Germany, and the appropriate response was fundamental structural transformation of the Bundeswehr. More influential within Germany was an alternative model that stressed the importance of multilateral action in areas of ‘soft’ power, in an age in which the information revolution, technological change, and globalisation elevated the importance of transnational issues.65 In this perspective the key threat came from new types of privately-organised warfare against civilians (the ‘privatisation’ of war), spilling across borders in the form of refugees, asylum seekers, organised crime, identity-based networks, and terrorism.66 According to this model, the priority shifts to a more piecemeal restructuring of the Bundeswehr around international law enforcement in defence of civilian populations. These two policy narratives about new security challenges had important implications for the role and structure of the Bundeswehr. In one narrative (embraced by the conservative Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung), the appropriate response was the classic security approach of raising defence expenditure, especially on increased military capability in precision weapons, transport, and intelligence. This narrative accorded with the position of those who sought to liberate German policy thinking from the constraints of the Nazi period around a reconstructed postwar identity. In the other narrative (represented by the left-wing Tageszeitung), the pressing need was for new, more flexible forms of humanitarian intervention and policing beyond borders, to protect civilian populations and support nationbuilding. This second narrative

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had greater resonance in the German defence and security policy subsystem, in which the ‘peace’ coalition had a stronger impact than in the U.S. and in which the ‘pacifist’ coalition was a more influential contextual constraint. The Changing Role of the United States and United Nations Two critical aspects of the post–Cold War period were the responses of the UN and of the U.S. to the changing security environment. The UN was crucially important in providing the moral authority for German ‘out-ofarea’ military participation, through the ‘Agenda for Peace’ strategy of its Secretary-General, Boutros Boutros-Ghali in June 1992. This expanded the traditional concept of peacekeeping operations, as set out in Chapter VI of the UN Charter, to include preventive deployments. It also began a debate about the right and duty of the international community to intervene in the traditionally sovereign internal affairs of states, and about the links between conflict prevention and democracy and good governance.67 The second important factor was the way in which successive U.S. administrations redefined U.S. security policy on military intervention. Most problematic for Germany was the tying of this policy development to a progressive toughening of the notion of ‘coercive diplomacy’ in the U.S., and the emerging political consensus between Democrats and Republicans around the idea of a role for the U.S. as a global sheriff, forging coalitions or posses of states. The events of September 11th, 2001, a major terrorist attack on the territory of the U.S., were critical in this respect. 68 Broadly, two phases in the development of a military intervention and crisis-management role can be detected. The first phase involved the elaboration of a new security strategy of intervention during the presidency of Bill Clinton (1992-2000) under the auspices of both the UN and NATO. This strategy began with the Gulf War, and stretched through Bosnia, Somalia, and Haiti, to Kosovo. For the U.S., especially the Democratic Party, it involved the exorcising of the ghosts of the Vietnam War of the 1960s. Its reception in Germany was influenced by the fact that this new, tough minded military interventionism emerged under the Democratic presidency of Bill Clinton. Clinton was a multilateralist by conviction, and humanitarian ends of protecting civilian populations and opposing ethnic cleansing seemed to play an important role in his attitude to crisis intervention. There was room for tension with the domestic German ‘peace’ coalition, which feared being drawn into an escalating spiral of violence in crisis regions, and continuing implacable opposition from within the ‘pacifist’ coalition, where the collusion of exploitative U.S. corporate interests with U.S. military intervention remained the chief suspect. Crucially, the notion of a role in protecting civilian populations from ethnic cleansing created a new opportunity for domestic policy leadership from

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within the ‘peace’ coalition. Joschka Fischer was able to relate this new interventionism to constitutionally mandated German goals of promoting world peace and situate it in a policy narrative emphasising Germany’s historical responsibility (‘never again Auschwitz’).69 Notably, this transformation within defence and security policy was not linked to a crisis narrative about the Bundeswehr. There was no immediate attempt to define a radical ‘misfit’ between these international security developments and domestic conceptions of defence and security and of the role of the Bundeswehr. The focus was on the Bundeswehr having a new opportunity to meet the purpose for which it was designed. The second phase in the development of a U.S. interventionist role was more complex, problematic, and dramatic. It was linked to a perception of a radical ‘misfit’, in Washington and Berlin: with the Bush Administration arguing that Germany’s lack of an appropriate Bundeswehr marginalised it; and the Schröder government rejecting the role that the U.S. sought from it. This new U.S. interventionist role was driven by Bush’s response to the watershed events of 9/11, the Afghan War, and the second Iraq War. The U.S. response was informed by the enhanced influence of the traditional conservative and the neo-conservative advocacy coalitions within the Bush Administration. In particular, 9/11 and the ease of U.S. victory in Afghanistan empowered the neo-conservatives. These events engendered an increased optimism about U.S. military power and its capacity to serve as a force for good by transforming the world in the U.S. image. This new emphasis on U.S. primacy went along, not just with an accentuation of the coercive element in U.S. diplomacy, but also with the development of a new political programme to rewrite the postwar world order. In this new narrative, American interests no longer lay principally in Europe, and the test for Europeans was ‘who was prepared to enter into coalitions of the willing with the United States’. A multilateralism of conviction gave way to multilateralism of convenience. This evolving phase drew out a crisis narrative in Germany, but one whose referents changed as events unfolded. In the immediate aftermath of 9/11, Schröder and the SPD situated themselves firmly in the narrative of the ‘freedom’ coalition, declaring ‘unlimited’ solidarity with the U.S. Envisioning a global expansion of the area of the deployment of the Bundeswehr, Schröder forced German military participation in Operation Enduring Freedom through the Bundestag by tying it to a vote of confidence in his government over the deployment of 3,900 troops.70 Against this dramatic background, observers such as Heins concluded that the historic frame of reference of German defence and security policy had been abandoned, notably the ‘culture of restraint’ rooted in the traumas of the Third Reich.71 This transformation seemed to be signaled by the militant Atlanticism of the

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editorials of the Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung and their identification of the crisis as residing in the lack of combat readiness of the Bundeswehr for an active role in the anti-terror alliance.72 The turning point came in 2002 with the Bush Administration’s definition of a new world order based on the right to preemptive military strike. The National Security Strategy reserved to the U.S. the right to decide who might be its enemies and how they were to be dealt with. Both the process involved (bypassing NATO) and the content (the assumption of U.S. primacy and aggressive war fighting) deeply offended elite and public opinion in Germany. This new security doctrine was a ‘watershed’ event, representing both a challenge to the core beliefs of the ‘peace’ coalition and a radical ‘misfit’ with the role and structures of the Bundeswehr. One effect was to mobilise the ‘pacifist’ advocacy coalition around opposition to the U.S. as the cause of a potentially uncontrollable escalation of violence by its ‘failed’ Middle East policy and aggressive conduct stimulating the growth of terrorism. Above all the behaviour of the Bush Administration offered a mobilising and unifying issue for a politically beleaguered coalition government, facing the imminent prospect of defeat in the September 2002 federal elections. From a mixture of principle and opportunism, Schröder crafted a political position for the elections that met two requirements. He took a stand on widely accepted principles of defence and security policy (no commitment of German troops to a preemptive strike) and unified party and public opinion on this issue to his electoral advantage. His position, outlined in the Bundestag debate of 13 February 2003, was that: ‘No Realpolitik and no security doctrine should lead to the fact that, surreptitiously, we should come to regard war as a normal instrument of politics’.73 This position opened up a profound political gap between the Bush Administration and the Red/ Green coalition. Strikingly, this turn of events put the ‘freedom’ coalition on the defensive and was judged to have contributed to the narrow defeat of the CDU/CSU in the 2002 federal elections. Its strongest advocates were still to be found within the CDU/CSU, especially the party chair, Angela Merkel. They focused on the historic debt to the U.S. for defeating Hitler, confronting the Soviet threat, and backing German unification.74 They also stressed the historical lessons about the dangers of German isolation and the need to sustain pressure on dangerous dictators. However, German public opinion was overwhelmingly anxious about the new U.S. security doctrine of preemptive strike. Also, the Bundeswehr was not structured or equipped for such a role. There was, in short, a closer ‘fit’ between the ‘peace’ coalition’s conception of defence and security and the changing role of the Bundeswehr, than between the ‘freedom’ coalition’s conception and the Bundeswehr’s capabil-

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ity. In public debate two definitions of crisis competed: a crisis in GermanAmerican relations, ascribed to U.S. unilateralism, and a crisis of isolation of the Schröder government. But neither crisis narrative identified the Bundeswehr as the source of the problems and sought to address the problems by its structural transformation. These external developments toward a new crisis interventionist role illustrated the resilience of the domestic ‘peace’ coalition and the way in which events had empowered it. Schröder could proudly point to the transformation in defence and security policy and the Bundeswehr. Germany was, by 2002, the second biggest contributor to international peacekeeping after the United States, with an annual budget of €2 billion, compared with 22 million in 1998.75 The missions in Macedonia and Afghanistan were seen as models of a new kind of defence and security policy that cast the Bundeswehr in a major role in economic and social reconstruction, and in protecting civilians. In short, the Red/Green government was no longer appealing to a ‘culture of restraint’ grounded in the historical traumas of the Third Reich, as Kohl had in rejecting military participation in the Gulf War. Its policy narrative stressed German defence and security policy and the Bundeswehr as positive role models about which postwar Germans could be proud. U.S. Hyperpower and NATO Crisis The second fundamental change was that Germany no longer found itself caught up in the bloc rivalry between two superpowers, the U.S. and the Soviet Union. This rivalry, with its ideological basis and clearly defined external threat, had imparted a powerful sense of a shared transatlantic security identity, symbolised by NATO. The postwar transatlantic security identity was further reinforced by memories of the critical importance of U.S. will and resources for the victory of freedom in the two world wars. However, the collapse of the Soviet Union and the end of the Warsaw Pact left NATO and, above all, the U.S. militarily ascendant, and acted as triggers for a long-term process both of redefining NATO and how individual states like Germany related to the U.S. through NATO. Crucially, it was no longer so clear that Germany and the U.S. were united against a common enemy. In this new context, U.S. and European actors had to come to terms with the realisation that they had overlapping but frequently different interests and perspectives and that divergences were growing.76 In the early stages of this process of redefining NATO, Germany played an important role, especially in shaping NATO’s ‘London Declaration’ of July 1990 and the far-reaching ‘Strategic Review’ and subsequent ‘New Strategic Concept’ adopted at the November 1991 Rome summit. The trigger was the withdrawal of Soviet troops from east central Europe and the disbandment of the Warsaw Pact. This process of engagement in NATO

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reform involved close coordination between Genscher’s Foreign Ministry and Gerhard Stoltenberg’s Defence Ministry, with a strong role for the Chancellor’s Office under Kohl’s foreign policy adviser, Joachim Bitterlich. Genscher also worked very closely with U.S. Secretary of State James Baker to achieve German-U.S. coordination in developing political dialogue with the Soviet Union and Eastern Europe through the new ‘North Atlantic Cooperation Council’. More importantly from a military perspective, the ‘New Strategic Concept’ involved a shift from forward defence and a reliance on nuclear response to a new stress on reinforcements in the event of war, and smaller, more mobile forces configured in multinational corps. The German government welcomed the consequent development of a NATO Response Force. Of more immediate importance for German defence and security debate was the shift in NATO’s strategic concept away from an emphasis on nuclear escalation. This emphasis had been a trigger for the formation of the ‘peace’ coalition and support for withdrawal from NATO. The ‘London Declaration’ defined nuclear weapons as ‘weapons of last resort’ and called for the negotiated elimination of all short-range, ground-launched nuclear weapons. NATO’s nuclear strategy was no longer the key divisive issue in German defence and security policy, reducing the incentives for the ‘peace’ and the ‘pacifist’ coalitions to mobilise. However, another development, U.S. emergence as the military ‘hyperpower’ and its implications for NATO, provided a new catalyst for the ‘peace’ and ‘pacifist’ coalitions, sharpening domestic debate about defence and security. A poll in FT Deutschland in February 2002 showed that 74 percent of German respondents believed that the U.S. had too much power.77 This change in public opinion suggested that Germans no longer felt so confident that what was happening within NATO, and to NATO, reflected German policy preferences. The first change was an accelerating imbalance of military capacity within NATO. U.S. military superiority as a war-fighting machine was demonstrated in the Gulf War, the former Yugoslavia, and the Kosovo War in 1999, Afghanistan in 2001 to 2002, and the second Iraq War of 2003. Illustrative of the imbalance was that the defence budget of the Bush Administration in 2002 exceeded the combined military budgets of the next 14 biggest spenders.78 New military technologies, as well as new external security challenges, forced a reassessment of U.S. military strategy, based on the recognition that the U.S. had a ‘war-fighting’ capability way beyond other states. This transformational leap in military capabilities found expression in the Bush Administration’s adoption of a ‘preventive’ strategy in its National Security Strategy of September 2002.

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This new U.S. strategy raised sensitive political problems for a German defence and security policy subsystem constitutionally forbidden from anything other than defensive policies.79 It contributed to an increasing difficulty of communication and understanding between the Red/Green government and the Bush Administration. This difficulty was accentuated when the Bush Administration demonstrated a new willingness to isolate the Schröder government. Its Secretary of State for Defence, Donald Rumsfeld, wrote Germany off as part of ‘old’ Europe.80 This behaviour of the Bush Administration provided the context for the Schröder government to reexamine its traditional caution about working with the French on ESDP. It also offered a political opportunity for Chirac to woo the support of Schröder for his ambitions of a more independent Europe.81 Defence and security emerged as a key pillar of strengthened Franco-German cooperation in Schröder’s second term. The second, linked change was in U.S. attitudes to NATO, above all when invoking Article 5 in the aftermath of ‘9/11’. This article states that an attack on one ally is an attack on the whole alliance, obliging other states to assist. Influenced by the lessons of the Kosovo War, the U.S. did not wish to be impeded by the requirements of multilateral action. Instead, in Afghanistan, the Bush Administration opted to use NATO as little more than a forum for building coalitions of convenience on the principle that the mission determines the coalition. In addition, given the U.S.’s very low estimation of the military capabilities of its European allies, it wanted very little from them. Consequently, there was a loss of confidence among German policy makers in NATO’s capability to influence U.S. power. The result was a crisis narrative about NATO that focused on U.S. policy and behaviour as the cause.82 More positively for German policy makers, discussions about reform of NATO’s role and structures pointed to its transformation into a strengthened role in ‘out-of-area’ operations, based on a structure that encouraged ‘niche’ capabilities and force specialisations among its expanding membership. In this context Germany, like other NATO members, had the potential to develop its own relationship to the U.S. focused around its particular, limited military capacities, especially in peace keeping and humanitarian roles. This emerging NATO doctrine offered a domestic opportunity to stress that structural reform should focus on a clearly specified and specialised range of tasks suited to Germany, namely crisis prevention and management. However, this role specialisation could not overcome the political problem that Germany and other NATO members were seen as dependents and used as convenience dictated.83 These changes in the U.S. role and NATO meant that the parameters of German defence and security policy had changed. No longer was it defined by the ideological clarity of a bipolar system and contending advocacy coali-

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tions over nuclear weapons policy. 84 It was characterised by a new uncertainty about how far to go along with the consequences of a radical change in both structural and relative power that left Germany as a marginal player. Many key players in the German defence and security policy subsystem did not feel that Germany was capable, or prepared, to participate in new U.S.style war-fighting strategies.85 For them Bundeswehr structural reform could not go beyond a crisis prevention role. In this respect, the parameters of Bundeswehr reform were set more by domestic than NATO factors. In so far as Germany was to be subject to ‘top-down’ pressures, these were more likely to come from the development of an ESDP whose development Germany could shape more readily than it could shape NATO. A key result of post–Cold War developments was an increasing sense that German defence and security interests were more effectively promoted in an EU rather than a NATO context, because German policy actors were better able to ‘upload’ German ideas within the EU. However, this shift of view threatened the autonomy of the German defence and security policy subsystem because EU policy coordination was traditionally the preserve of the Foreign Ministry. The challenge for the Defence Ministry was to work with fellow EU ministries to develop arrangements in council decision making that would insulate EU defence and security policy from both the foreign ministers and from the German permanent representative in Brussels. It is dangerous, though, to exaggerate Germany’s willingness to look to the EU as a key institutional forum in which to locate its defence and security policy. This underestimates the continued importance, not only of the trans-Atlantic relationship, but also of Germany’s relationship with its Atlanticist neighbours – Britain, Italy, and east and central European states. The second eastern wave of NATO enlargement, begun at the Prague Conference of 2002, acted as an important brake on Schröder and Fischer’s willingness to privilege the EU as the core institutional venue for German defence and security policy. States such as Poland and many forthcoming new members of NATO were strongly Atlanticist, perceiving that in NATO the U.S. would act as their ‘champion’ and that a European Security and Defence Union could well lead to their domination by France and Germany (see chapter 5). While the impact of the Bush Doctrine resulted in a greater willingness within the Red/Green coalition government to look to the EU as a key institutional forum, the 2002 NATO Prague Conference and NATO enlargement also reinforced NATO’s importance. Fischer and Schröder faced the prospect that a ‘bifurcated’ Europe could result from forging ahead with a ‘core Europe’ based on European Security and Defence Union, while neglecting the trans-Atlantic relationship and NATO.86 Chapter 6 examines

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Bundeswehr reform in the context of the development of the European Security and Defence Policy in greater detail.

Conclusion The end of the Cold War and developments within the international system acted to empower or disempower advocacy coalitions within German defence and security policy. The results were reflected in changing policy narratives about the Bundeswehr’s role and structure that are documented in later chapters. On the other hand, exogenous shocks did not lead to radical structural transformation of the Bundeswehr because they were not translated into a persuasive crisis narrative that identified the problem of failure as residing in the Bundeswehr. To the extent that an influential crisis narrative arose, its referent has been elsewhere, not least in German-U.S. relations. More influential with respect to the Bundeswehr has been a longterm policy learning process deriving from its accumulating operational experience in international crisis management. This process has been linked both to policy change (which is analysed in chapters 3 - 6) and to the emergence of a policy narrative that reflects an increasing sense of confidence in the Bundeswehr as a model. However useful it is in identifying the main lines of policy thinking, an explanation grounded in the advocacy coalition framework needs to be handled with caution. It has three main limitations. The first stems from its essentially heuristic nature and the danger of reifying coalitions as if they were actors. In practice it is not easy to clearly shoehorn individual actors and institutions into coalition membership. This is true, for instance, with respect to the SPD (whose members cross the ‘freedom’ and ‘peace’ coalitions) and the Greens (where members of both the ‘peace’ and the ‘pacifist’ coalitions are to be found). Hence the Red/Green government was crosscut by, and bestrode, these contending coalitions, so that it is not surprising that a wide variety of narratives inform German defence and security policy. Within the SPD opposition during the 1990s the dominant feature in defence and security policy was a strengthening belief in the EU as the core security framework, in concert with the CSCE, but with ambiguity about the role of NATO. However, ‘western Europeanists’ (including Oskar Lafontaine), ‘pan-European’ institution-building advocates (including Karsten Voigt, Heidemarie Wieczoreck-Zeul, and Günther Verheugen), Civil Democrats (including Gert Weisskirchen and Hermann Scheer), and Anti-Militarists (including Katrin Fuchs) had different views about the relative usefulness of these institutional settings.87

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‘Western Europeanists’ dominated SPD thinking on foreign, defence, and security policy and argued that integration and interdependence should replace national sovereignty in all areas of policy, prioritising a deepening of European unification rather than its widening. This would cohere around the Franco-German axis, with the EU as the central institutional venue.88 ‘Pan-European Institutionalists’ believed that the core function of the EU was the avoidance of war and conflict between its members and were informed by ideas of common security.89 In contrast to Western Europeanists, they argued for a rapid and full expansion to Central and Eastern Europe, rather than a ‘multi-layered’ EU with a Franco-German core, and promoted an enhanced role for the CSCE.90 Civil Democrats perceived Europe’s future as lying in Central and Eastern Europe and the universalisation of human rights standards, prioritising the CSCE in the creation of ‘European society of citoyens’, rejecting NATO as an exclusively Western security institution.91 Finally, Anti-Militarists were focused upon preventing the use of force, prioritising the Helsinki process over NATO and the WEU.92 NATO was therefore rejected with the CSCE viewed as the appropriate institutional venue for U.S. involvement in European affairs.93 The governing CDU/CSU and FDP under Chancellor Kohl were also subject to internal debates about German defence and security policy. Their thinking was much more clearly dominated by the ‘Atlanticism’ of the ‘freedom’ coalition and by the importance of NATO to German security policy and the need for an emerging European defence and security identity to be within this framework. But it was by no means clear what this set of core policy beliefs implied, as the next chapter shows. The second, more serious limitation of the advocacy coalition framework stems from the fact that, even if it can be shown that actors share core policy beliefs, there is not always clear evidence of significant, or even minimal, coordinated action across institutional boundaries. Thus the FDP and then the Greens came to agree on the need for a professional rather than conscript Bundeswehr, but did so independently and without sharing much in the way of deep policy beliefs. It can be argued that the Green Party and the FDP came to adopt this position despite their ideological distance. Each party took up the idea of a professional Bundeswehr because of its own particular ideological outlook, in short for internal reasons related to its own clientele. But there was no coordinated action to promote this idea. Finally, it is critical to remember that individual policy actors, rather than advocacy coalitions, seek out leadership roles in defence and security policy, whether by promoting a particular idea and policy narrative or acting as a broker. Their strategies are vital: whether creating a crisis narrative or pursuing ‘salami tactics’ (small but regular series of policy change) to push through new ideas; promoting policy learning and ‘binding in’ opposition; or

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sidelining or excluding change agents. These leadership roles and strategies highlight the role of individuals and are explored in the following chapters.

Notes 1. Sabatier and Jenkins-Smith define a policy subsystem as ‘A group of actors interacting with some regularity in a functional policy domain’. Sabatier and Jenkins-Smith, ‘The Advocacy Coalition Framework’, 135. 2. Sabatier, ‘The Advocacy Coalition Framework’, 135. 3. Ibid., 135. 4. Basic Law, Articles 26 and 115a-l, Deutsche Bundestag, December 2000. 5. Ibid. 6. Taken, with the addition of shared identity and corporate interests, from Sabatier and Jenkins-Smith, ‘The Advocacy Coalition Framework’, 136. 7. Basic Law, Article 65a, Deutsche Bundestag, December 2000. 8. S. Bulmer, C. Jeffrey, and W. Paterson, Germany’s European Diplomacy, (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2000), 25. 9. D. Walz, ed., Drei Jahrzehnte Innere Führung: Grundlagen, Entwicklungen, Perspektiven, (Baden-Baden: Nomos, 1987). 10. Ibid. 11. Bestandsaufnahme, Die Bundeswehr an der Schwelle zum 21.Jahrhundert, Bundesministerium der Verteidigung, May , 1999, 171–8; see also The Bundeswehr in 2002, Current Situation and Perspectives, Defence Ministry, April 2002, 53. 12. Ibid. 13. Ibid., 4–5. 14. Tageszeitung, 29 October 1997. 15. Dyson, ‘German Military Reform 1998–2004’, 370. 16. ‘Jobs für Wachhunde’, Spiegel, 9 October 2000. 17. Dyson, ‘German Military Reform 1998–2004’, 365. 18. Interviews, Marcus Lackamp, CDU Central Office, Berlin, 6 August 2002; Bernd Weber, Berlin, 26 August 2002; Defence Ministry, Berlin, 6 August 2002; British Embassy, Berlin, 9 September 2002. 19. E. Roe, Narrative Policy Analysis: Theory and Practice, (Durham: Duke University Press, 1994). 20. K. Adenauer, Erinnerungen 1945–1953, (Stuttgart: Deutsche Verlags-Anstalt, 1965), 245; Schwarz, Konrad Adenauer, vol. 2, 801. 21. Basic Law, Article 26, Deutsche Bundestag, December 2000. 22. L. Gutjahr, German Foreign and Defence Policy after Unification, (London: Pinter, 1994), 109. 23. R.C. Eichenberg, ‘Defence/Welfare tradeoffs in German budgeting’ (Ph.D. diss., University of Michigan, 1981). 24. Hans Maull, ‘Germany’s Foreign Policy Post-Kosovo: Still a Civilian Power?’ in Germany as a Civilian Power? The Foreign Policy of the Berlin Republic, ed. S. Harnisch and H. Maull, (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2000), 113. 25. Figures provided by interview partner, Chancellor’s Office, Berlin, 2 September 2002. 26. Gutjahr, German Foreign and Defence Policy, 40.

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27. ‘Grüne: Regierung baut Bundeswehr zur Interventionsarmee aus’, DPA 261053, 26 September 1995’; Interview, Axel Schneider, Referent, SPD Working Group on Defence and Security Policy, SPD Parliamentary Party, Offices of Peter Zumkly and Heidemarie Wiezoreck-Zeul, MPs, Berlin, 4 September 2002. 28. Schwarz, Konrad Adenauer, vol. 2, 217. 29. Interviews, Finance Ministry, Bonn, 28 August 2002; interviews, Defence Ministry, Berlin 14 August 2002. 30. H.D. Genscher, Erinnerungen, (Berlin: Siedler, 1995), 581–621. 31. Maull, ‘Germany’s Foreign Policy Post-Kosovo’, 110. 32. Joschka Fischer’s speech to the 35th Munich Security Conference, 6 February 1999. 33. Dyson, ‘German Military Reform 1998–2004’, 376. 34. Gutjahr, German Foreign and Defence Policy, 22. 35. Schwarz, Konrad Adenauer, II, 81–86. 36. H.A. Winkler, Der Lange Weg nach Westen, (München: Beck Verlag, 2000). 37. Gutjahr, German Foreign and Defence Policy, 154–62. 38. Ibid., 141. 39. J. Fischer, Risiko Deutschland, (Köln: Kiepenteuer and Witsch, 1994), 185–233. 40. G. Gillessen, ‘Germany’s Position at the Centre of Europe’ in Germany’s New Position in Europe, Problems and Perspectives, ed. A. Baring (Oxford: Berg, 1994), 30–31. 41. Enscher, Erinnerungen. 42. Gutjahr, German Foreign and Defence, 154–75. 43. Ibid., 109. 44. Ibid., 124. 45. V.F. Löwke, Die SPD und die Wehrfrage: 1949–1955, (Bonn: Bad Godesberg, 1976). 46. Gutjahr, German Foreign and Defence Policy, 21–26. 47. W.F. Hanrieder, Die stabile Krise, Düsseldorf, Bertelsmann 1971. 48. Fritz Erler in Bundesminister der Verteidigung, 161–65. 49. Velten, ‘Baudissins ursprüngliches Konzept’. 50. K. Longhurst, ‘Why Aren’t the Germans Debating the Draft? Path Dependency and the Persistence of Conscription’, German Politics 12, no.2 (2003): 148. 51. Longhurst, ‘Why Aren’t the Germans’, 152–53. 52. Genscher, Erinnerungen, 1022. 53. K. Longhurst, ‘Why Aren’t the Germans’. 54. Josef Joffe, ‘German Grand Strategy After the Cold War’ in Germany’s New Position in Europe, ed. A. Baring, Oxford, Berg 1994, 79–91. 55. Hyde-Price and Jeffery, ‘Germany and the EU’, 689–717. 56. M. Kreile, ‘Zur Nationalen Gebundenheit: Europapolitischen Visionen, das Schröder Papier und die Jospin Rede’, Integration 3, no.1 (2001): 250–57. 57. ‘Ein Staat , ein Armee: Streitkräfte im vereinten Deutschland’ , IAP-Dienst Sicherheitspolitik, 1 August 1990. 58. D.R. Herspring, Requiem for an Army: The Demise of the East German Military, (London: Rowman and Littlefield, 1998). 59. Interview, Bernd Weber, Defence Policy Working Group, CDU/CSU Parliamentary Party, Berlin, 26 August 2002. 60. Gutjahr, German Foreign and Defence Policy, 166–70. 61. Ibid.,162–70 62. Heinz Gärtner, ‘Introduction’ in Europe’s New Security Challenges, ed. H. Gärtner and A. Hyde-Price (Boulder: Lynne Rienner, 2001), 1–23; Nicholas Wheeler, ‘Introduction’ in Dimensions of Western Military Intervention, C. Mc.Innes and N. Wheeler, (Frank Cass: London, 2002): 1–28. 63. V. Rühe, Deutschlands Verantwortung, Perspektiven für das neue Europa, (Frankfurt am Main: Ullstein Verlag 1994), 467. 64. M. Coward, ‘International Relations in the Post-Globalisation Era’, Politics 26, no. 1 (2006): 54–61.

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65. Maull, ‘German Foreign Policy’, 1–24. 66. Gärtner, Europe’s New Security Challenges, 1–23. 67. M. Keren and D. Sylvan, International Intervention: Sovereignty vs. Responsibility, (London: Frank Cass, 2002). 68. A. De Benoist, Die Welt nach 9/11, (Tubingen: Hohenrain, 2003). 69. J. Luppes, ‘Never Again War, Never Again Auschwitz’, The German Greens and Military Intervention in the 1990s’, Paper to the LSE/KCL European Foreign Policy Conference, London 1–2 July 2005. 70. ‘Thank You So Much, Mr. Chancellor’, Tageszeitung, 6 October 2001. 71. V. Heins, ‘Germany’s New War: 11 September and Its Aftermath in German Quality Newspapers’, German Politics 11, no. 2, 2002, 128–46. 72. Ibid., 134. 73. ‘Schröder hält Kurs gegen die USA’, Handelsblatt, 14 February 2003. 74. CDU/CSU Executive Committee Resolution, 28 April, 2003, CDU Federal Office. 75. Figures provided by interview partner in Finance Ministry, Bonn, 28 August 2002. 76. Carpenter, T. ed. NATO Enters the 21st Century, (Portland, Oregon: Frank Cass: 2001), 1–6. 77. FT Deutschland, 2 February 2002. 78. www.defencelink.mil/comptroller/defbudget/fy2002. 79. Basic Law, Article 26, Deutsche Bundestag, 2001. 80. ‘Zorn auf die Zauderer’, Welt, 24 January 2003. 81. B. Irondelle, ‘Europeanisation without the European Union? French Military Reforms 1991–96’, Journal of European Public Policy 10, no. 2 (2003): 208–27. 82. S. Harnisch, ‘German Non-Proliferation Policy and the Iraq Conflict’, German Politics 13, no.1 (2004): 11. ‘Neue Aufgaben, neuer Kurs’ Spiegel no. 42, 2003. 83. Harnisch, German Non-Proliferation Policy’, 8. 84. S. Hoffmann, World Disorders, Troubled Peace in the Post–Cold War Era, (London: Rowman and Littlefield, 2000). 85. ‘Die Grenzen der Verteidigung’, Süddeutsche Zeitung, 21 January 2003. 86. ‘Lernen aus der Iraq Krieg und Furcht vor Lähmung nach Osterweiterung’, FT Deutschland, 27 March 2003. 87. Gutjahr, German Foreign and Defence Policy, 135–46. 88. Ibid.,139–40. 89. Ibid.,140–42. 90. Ibid.,142–44. 91. Ibid., 143. 92. Ibid., 146. 93. Ibid., 146.

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Chapter 3

POLICY LEADERSHIP AND BUNDESWEHR REFORM DURING THE KOHL CHANCELLORSHIPS The Art of Varying and Sequencing Roles

During the first Cold-War phase of the Kohl Chancellorship (1982–90) Bundeswehr reform was a case of ‘first-order’ change.1 It focused on the adaptation of existing policy instruments (for instance, the length of conscription) rather than the creation of new instruments or the change of policy objectives (‘second-order’ and ‘third-order’ change respectively). The initial post–Cold War phase (1990–98) was characterised by the elevation of the Bundeswehr to an issue of ‘second-order’ change (the replacement of conscription by a volunteer army) and even of ‘third-order’ change to its basic role (from territorial and collective defence to crisis management). This shift in the level of policy change was partly attributable to the series of interrelated changes in the international security environment, analyzed in the previous chapter: German unification, new security challenges, transformation in the roles of the U.S. and of NATO towards crisis intervention, and an emerging European security and defence identity (ESDI). However, despite these important structural changes, policy leadership at the ministerial level was critical in determining the scope, shape, pace, and sequencing of policy changes between 1990 and 1998. This chapter identifies two, somewhat paradoxical, stages of policy leadership by Volker Rühe: entrepreneurship on behalf of a new crisis-management role for the

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Bundeswehr (1992–1994) and veto-playing, to ameliorate the consequences of this entrepreneurship for structural reform. Domestic political factors, rather than the international security environment, emerge as vital in informing Rühe’s leadership role and in explaining this paradox—most notably the interlocking policy subsystems of social and financial policy, the politics of base closures, and the consequences of radical reform for his ambitions of reaching the Chancellor’s Office. Rühe’s assessment of the consequences of policy entrepreneurship on the structure of the Bundeswehr for his personal political ambition ensured the triumph of domestic constraint over international opportunity. Particular attention is paid to Rühe’s skill in choosing and sequencing leadership roles, utilising institutional venues and managing policy learning, to control the scope, shape, pace, and temporal ordering of policy change both in entrepreneurship and veto-playing. This chapter outlines how strategic/political military culture not only acted as a constraint upon leadership but also served as a resource for the defence minister and was used selectively to justify policy change or encourage stalemate. In emphasising the importance of policy leadership at the ministerial level, the chapter does not discount the importance of the Kanzlerprinzip. Cooperation and coordination with Kohl was crucial in setting the guidelines and strategic direction of policy change and in realising Rühe’s political ambitions. However, the Ressortprinzip remained pivotal.2 The role played by the minister in the day-to-day management of the policy process emerges as crucial in determining the scope, shape, pace, and sequencing of policy change. In the delicate task of building cross-party consensus around the Bundeswehr’s new tasks, the key figure was Rühe. In particular, policy stalemate in structural reform of the Bundeswehr was the product of ministerial leadership, which focused on controlling policy learning within the policy subsystem and at the macropolitical level. In short, Rühe was the preeminent figure, ensuring that the CDU/CSU’s political interests and Rühe’s ambitions shaped the process of reform between 1992 and 1998.

From the Gulf War to Sarajevo: Helmut Kohl as a Policy Leader The Gulf crisis of 1990 to 1991 was a watershed event. For the first time, it raised the problem of Bundeswehr deployment outside German territory. It involved highly sensitive issues of Germany’s historical and political responsibilities in defence of a NATO state (Turkey) and in support of a U.S.-led ‘out-of-area’ intervention against an aggressor (Iraq’s invasion of Kuwait and threat to Israel). It was a test of Germany’s loyalty as an ally and of historic debts and responsibilities to the U.S. and Israel. In the Foreign Ministry view,

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these considerations were balanced by potentially difficult issues in relation to the USSR. The Kohl government also faced serious domestic constitutional and political problems about a German role in military intervention, especially outside NATO.3 Binding in Domestic Opposition and Responding to U.S. Pressure Kohl crafted a complex policy leadership role in response to Iraq’s invasion of Kuwait on 2 August 1990 and the UN Security Council’s resolution demanding Iraqi withdrawal. Domestically, he was determined not to take the political risk of stepping outside established policy consensus. Externally, Kohl stressed the domestic constitutional constraint on troop deployment, combined with German willingness to contribute financially to UN-sanctioned intervention.4 The consequence was a policy brokerage role, designed to keep the SPD leadership on board. However, as made clear by Defence Minister Gerhard Stoltenberg at a WEU meeting in August 1990, Kohl stressed that he aimed to change the Basic Law to enable Bundeswehr deployment. The policy entrepreneurship role was announced, but deferred. Kohl and the key ministers involved, Foreign Minister Hans-Dietrich Genscher and Stoltenberg, hesitated to identify and define this event as a crisis for German defence and security policy, or for the Bundeswehr, requiring a comprehensive transformation of its role and structure. There were a few critical ‘outside’ voices articulating a crisis narrative. Some within the ‘freedom’ coalition, such as Volker Rühe, stressed that Germany must assume a new role of international responsibility and solidarity. For them, there was a crisis of Bundeswehr capability that had to be addressed.5 The Kohl government hesitated to adopt this position, fearing adverse political consequences in the imminent federal elections of December 1990, a frightened public and constitutional problems. Leadership style was shaped by a preference for avoiding open public debate about the Bundeswehr’s role and structure. More numerous were voices from within the ‘peace’ and ‘pacifist’ coalitions stressing that Germany must devote its energies to finding a political and diplomatic solution. For them, the crisis was defined as minimising the loss of lives, or about American power. Huge anti-war demonstrations were testament to the capacity of these coalitions to mobilise against government policy. Nevertheless, the Kohl government distanced itself from Willy Brandt’s mission to Iraq in November 1990, fearing a loss of international respect. Given this strategic context, and the accident of political timing connecting the crisis to federal elections, the government chose a low-profile leadership role and style. By its nature as an issue of war and peace, the Gulf crisis was a Kanzlersache, for the macropolitical system rather than for the policy subsystem,

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and was associated with a change of institutional venue. This change was reinforced by then President George Bush and U.S. Secretary of State James Baker, who dealt directly with Kohl, expressing disappointment with German responses as early as September 1990.6 Hence the chancellor was under considerable pressure, including the calling in of political debts for U.S. support of German unification and threats that Congressional hostility could endanger U.S.-German relations. Kohl’s core beliefs set him firmly within the ‘freedom’ coalition; his language was consistently about primacy to deterrence of dangerous dictators and to loyalty to the U.S. Germany’s $2 billion financial assistance to back Operation Desert Storm was designed to placate this Congressional hostility. However, Kohl consistently pursued a leadership role of policy brokerage, seeking to bind-in potential domestic opposition and pacify the U.S. Stoltenberg was careful to keep the Bundestag Defence Committee informed, while Kohl met with SPD leaders. His leadership style was not heroic, as it had been over German unification, or the Maastricht Treaty and EMU in 1989/90. It was low key and humdrum, focused on avoiding a war and peace issue in the federal elections. Voter reaction was particularly uncertain, as the new East German electorate was potentially volatile. Stoltenberg was also subject to external pressure from U.S. Defence Secretary Dick Cheney, especially over Bundeswehr deployment to Turkey. He was in no position to play the role of policy entrepreneur because the strategic context offered no real window of opportunity for bold initiative. Kohl was immeasurably more powerful within the coalition government, especially after the December 1990 elections. The constitutional constraints on committing German troops ‘out of area’ were too tight to offer room for maneuver. Also, Stoltenberg faced not just Genscher’s influence on Kohl but also the chancellery’s foreign policy division. Both agreed that the Gulf crisis must be managed in the framework of German unification, meaning accession to U.S. pressure to repay it for decisive support in 1989/90. Equally, Kohl was impressed by the foreign policy argument that a new German military role would empower hard-line domestic critics of Mikhail Gorbachev and threaten ratification of the ‘Two-Plus-Four’ treaty in the USSR.7 The Foreign Ministry argued that completing a stable, enduring framework for German unification, without threatening the reform process in the USSR, had to have precedence over proposals for a new role for the Bundeswehr. Policy Brokerage and Domestic Consensus Potential policy entrepreneurs within the government lacked a window of opportunity to couple proposals for policy change to the Bundeswehr with a pressing policy problem. Kohl therefore opted for the leadership role of

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policy broker, seeking out a position that enabled the three advocacy coalitions in defence and security policy to share power. This meant satisfying three conditions: enabling Germany to continue to hold back from the use of force (satisfying the ‘peace’ coalition); doing something to fulfill its role as a sovereign and loyal member of NATO and the UN (satisfying the ‘freedom’ coalition) and, finally, making it possible for the SPD leadership to unify the representatives of the ‘peace’ and the ‘pacifist’ coalitions in their ranks behind Kohl’s policy. Kohl therefore embedded German action, especially ‘cheque-book’ diplomacy, in the traditional narrative of the historical and constitutional restraints on German defence and security policy.8 He situated it in the context of heavy external pressure from the U.S. Administration, which made issue linkage (German unification/Gulf War participation) and called in political debts. In addition, the domestic institutional context of interacting and nested policy subsystems shaped and narrowed the strategic choices that Kohl faced. In negotiating the Gulf crisis, Kohl laid greatest stress on reassuring the U.S. that he was doing all he could within the framework of the constitution. He also emphasised the need for constitutional amendment so that Germany could participate not just in ‘blue helmet’ missions under Article VI of the UN Charter (pacific settlement of disputes) but also in military operations under Article VII. In March 1991, Kohl responded to U.S. and UN pressures by sending 2,700 troops to take part in minesweeping operations in the Gulf. This represented the first deployment of German troops outside Europe since the end of the Second World War and the first use of ‘salami tactics’ to change the Bundeswehr’s role. It was followed by air support for UNSCOM in Iraq and for the UN mission in eastern Turkey and western Iraq, with nearly 2,000 troops providing humanitarian aid. Kohl’s leadership role, style, and strategy drew lessons from the way in which the Gulf conflict tested the limits of German consensus on military intervention. This fine tuning was most clear in the widespread opposition, from the SPD and public opinion, when Kohl sent eighteen jet fighters to Turkey to deter Saddam Hussein. As legitimation he invoked the collective defence of a NATO member. Kohl sought to appeal to the public mood by emphasising the importance of the deployment for the credibility of Germany and NATO. Particularly sensitive was the issue of German assistance for Israel to deter Iraqi Scud missile attacks. This became acutely embarrassing when the Israeli government reminded Kohl that German companies had sold gas and biological weapons to Iraq and limited the German opposition’s capacity to object. The testing of the limits of the domestic consensus deterred Kohl from acting as policy entrepreneur on a constitutional amendment. It threatened

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to raise serious disagreements and make the necessary two-thirds parliamentary majority difficult to achieve. However, it was clear that military intervention and a crisis-management role for the Bundeswehr was not a ‘one off’ event confined to the Gulf War. Kohl therefore opted for a humdrum leadership style, avoiding open debate about the Bundeswehr’s role, and pursued a ‘salami tactic’ that justified each German participation in crisis intervention as for humanitarian purposes. Hence he was able to retain SPD support for Bundeswehr deployment as part of the UNTAC mission to Cambodia in May 1992.9 The political sensitivity of this issue, even in the context of a humdrum leadership style, was displayed in April and May 1992 over the deteriorating situation in the Balkans. The Sarajevo crisis raised the issue of German troop involvement in ‘out of area’ humanitarian operations to protect civilians. German interests were directly affected: the crisis threatened to erupt into a flood of refugees into Germany and a potentially destabilising use of this crisis by right-wing German populists; while insecurity threatened to promote wider destabilisation in Eastern Europe. The Foreign Ministry feared a humanitarian nightmare, associated with feeble EU and NATO responses. However, it was reticent about taking on a policy leadership role, especially given French reluctance to intervene. Once again, the dynamic factor was U.S. policy, which, influenced by memories of Vietnam, was focused on persuading the EU to assume responsibility. The Bush Administration sought to encourage Germany and Britain to play a lead role that would, at a minimum, impose tough sanctions and isolate the Serbian leadership and, at a maximum, involve UN military intervention.10 By May 1992 U.S. pressure on Germany to play an active agendasetting role was mounting. The Sarajevo crisis was a source of mounting German embarrassment. Its outcome was the decision of 18 July 1992 to commit German destroyers as part of a NATO force monitoring the UN’s embargo against Serbia. However U.S. pressure encouraged the government to push its ‘salami tactics’ too far to retain SPD support, which argued that the deployment went beyond Alliance treaty obligations. In the rapidly changing context of crisis escalation in the Balkans, Cambodia, and Somalia, Kohl’s leadership was not simply about agenda setting, but about defining German policy on military intervention. One issue was what form intervention should take: whether just peacekeeping and humanitarian aid missions, or extending to peace enforcement and Gulf-style combat missions against aggressors. Another issue was under what conditions, and within which institutional frameworks, interventions should take place. These issues were tackled by policy brokerage, with Kohl using individual crisis situations for practicing ‘salami tactics’. The ‘salami tactics’ and policy brokerage were cover for policy preferences that were embedded in the

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‘freedom’ coalition. Kohl’s core policy belief was that Germany must assume the full range of international responsibilities, including military intervention. Precisely because the policy brokerage was an ongoing process, there was an unwillingness to spell out clear policy positions on the forms, conditions, and frameworks of intervention. These positions evolved in practice within the framework of the consensus policy style of the Bundestag Defence Committee. By 1992 it was possible to infer the German policy position as requiring that Bundeswehr interventions should be limited to humanitarian missions on the basis of the UN’s moral authority, overseeing the implementation of its resolutions. A New Opportunity for Policy Leadership Interventions in Bosnia and Cambodia, and later Rwanda and Somalia, unleashed a policy learning process. This involved aspects of reflective practice and the generation of professional consensus within the Bundeswehr about viable forms of intervention and their management. Experience threw up lessons about the appropriate structures and skills required within the Bundeswehr; about the risks and problems involved in German troops protecting civilian victims from aggressors in peace enforcement operations (here later U.S. experience in Somalia was important); and about developing new capabilities to assist in economic and social reconstruction through civil-military projects.11 A mounting caseload of interventions and increased uncertainties about policy placed new demands on policy leadership, creating a greater incentive for the government to attempt to shape the policy debate within the key international institutions—UN, NATO, the WEU, the EU, and the OSCE— about the terms under which crisis interventions should took place. The retirement of Genscher in May 1992 also offered a new opportunity for Kohl to strengthen his grip on foreign and security policy. The new Foreign Minister, Klaus Kinkel, lacked Genscher’s political authority with respect to the FDP and the electorate. This conspired to offer a window of opportunity for policy entrepreneurship about the role of the Bundeswehr. By April 1992 Kohl was keen to seize the opportunities for policy leadership opened by unification and the problems of the post–Cold War era. His strategic response involved combining a positive response to U.S. pressure for German leadership with nesting this role within the priority he gave to European political unification and giving a defence dimension to this process. This balancing act was difficult, given the different conceptions of the U.S. and France, the two pivotal players within NATO and the EU respectively, about ESDI. Kohl’s political advantage lay in his accumulated credit as a loyal ally in both contexts. He enjoyed a high degree of policy autonomy in these domains, not least related to his experience and reputa-

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tion as the ‘chancellor of unification’. To the extent that defence and security policy touched on relations to the U.S. Administration and the French presidency, Kohl had a substantial measure of autonomy of action. However, Kohl faced three constraints. Foremost, the domestic institutional context of the Bundeswehr and the defence and security policy subsystems offered limited opportunities for policy change to roles and structures. To a considerable extent, he was hostage to this institutional context, with its bias towards reflective practice, professional consensus, and political consensus building around the Bundestag Defence Committee. Secondly, Kohl lacked confidence in Kinkel’s ability to make an impact on policy development within the UN, the EU, and other international forums. He needed a new policy leader who could develop the Bundeswehr’s role in intervention and crisis management. The Defence Minister, Gerhard Stoltenberg, was a competent departmental manager, but a conservative, cautious figure, lacking independent political authority. His early success as finance minister (1982–89) ended in what was regarded as relegation to the Defence Ministry, following a politically costly tax reform and a scandal in his state of Schleswig-Holstein. He lacked the background and expertise in defence and security that could imbue him with authority over Bundeswehr policy. His original task, defined by Kohl in 1989, had been to ensure order and discipline in the Defence Ministry.12 However, his personal qualities did not equip him to play the role of policy entrepreneur in transforming the Bundeswehr’s role. To the extent that German unification imposed requirements of ‘downsizing’ on the Bundeswehr and integration of two armed forces, Stoltenberg could be expected to do it efficiently, but he was less interested in new policy ideas and their promotion. Above all, he was not, in Kohl’s view, the man to shape the institutional context to accelerate change to the role of the Bundeswehr. He was more hostage than shaper of this context. Under Stoltenberg the key agent of policy change was General Klaus Naumann, Inspector General of the Bundeswehr. Naumann sought to move the Bundeswehr away from a territorial defence role to a crisis intervention role. As early as 1990 he used NATO’s London Declaration to promote a shift away from forwards defence within the Defence Ministry.13 Naumann had a major influence on the key policy statement under Stoltenberg: ‘Reform of the Bundeswehr: Military Policy and Strategy and its Conceptual Framework’.14 This paper acted as an initial means of ‘softening up’ the national mood for a redefinition of the Bundeswehr’s roles and structures. Equally, the critical reaction to it demonstrated the high hurdles to policy change in the Bundeswehr. By 1992 it was clear to Kohl that a bolder leadership role was needed to empower change agents like Naumann. He looked to Volker Rühe to provide it.

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Developing the Crisis Intervention Role of the Bundeswehr: Volker Rühe as Policy Entrepreneur and Broker 1992–94 After the Gulf War, Volker Rühe and Helmut Kohl were determined to expand the Bundeswehr’s role beyond territorial and alliance defence.15 During the Gulf War, Kohl’s actions reflected a cautious brokerage role, reembedding Germany within NATO, the UN, and EU. Acting as policy entrepreneurs, Rühe and Kohl created a ‘crisis consciousness’ exploiting the policy problems presented by Cambodia and Somalia in 1992 and 1993 to widen the Bundeswehr’s role.16 In appointing Rühe in April 1992, the chancellor sought a confident politician, prepared to challenge conventional thinking and not allow Kinkel’s Foreign Ministry and the FDP to gain the initiative on security policy.17 Kohl wanted a defence minister who could influence decisions in international institutions about the terms on which crisis interventions were to be initiated, ‘uploading’ German policy preferences to NATO and the WEU as a link between NATO and the EU, venues in which the Defence Ministry had a lead role. Their goals were to develop an agenda-setting role for Germany and boost the CDU’s profile in this policy area after the Genscher era.18 Rühe’s strong background in foreign policy led to a high degree of self confidence and a reputation of being prepared to ‘step on Kinkel’s toes’ and frame ideas about the Bundeswehr in a wider context.19 He also had a clear sense of the FDP’s importance as a coalition partner. By framing his thinking about Bundeswehr reform as part of a stronger EU, Rühe established common ground with Kinkel, simultaneously making his position more attractive to SPD leaders by pursuing a strategy of embrace.20 Rühe’s self-confidence was reinforced by Kohl’s support in dealing with the changed security environment.21 He was especially active in promoting an EU crisis-reaction capability, using the German WEU presidency to advocate the adoption of the Petersburg Declaration in June 1992.22 This activism was designed to promote a more secure and predictable environment, allowing smooth Bundeswehr adaptation to a new crisis-intervention role, while bypassing difficult constitutional issues. This political development was followed by German support for two other initiatives. In July 1992 the CSCE decided to launch peacekeeping and other humanitarian operations. In December 1992 NATO agreed to participate in UN operations on a case-by-case basis, ending the ban on ‘outof-area’ activities. Rühe was helping to create a ‘top-down’ Europeanisation/NATO-isation process with domestic resonance, reframing the terms of debate about military intervention, demonstrated in the growing consensus accompanying German participation in IFOR and SFOR, and securing a close ‘fit’ between German and EU/NATO/CSCE templates.23

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Rühe gave particular attention to attempts to embed the Bundeswehr in German policy on Franco-German reconciliation and European unification.24 Under Rühe, the WEU and the Franco-German relationship were instrumentalised to strengthen the political pillar of European integration and give direction to the reformulation of defence policy in a changed context.25 He was skilful in combining agenda setting, by pursuing a policy entrepreneurship role in relation to specific crises, with a broker role in defining intervention policy. His skill rested in using domestic strategic opportunities and constraints, particularly those of the institutional context.26 The result was innovation in policy narrative with a new strategy for promoting policy change. The policy narrative justified a new crisis-intervention role for the Bundeswehr in established historical terms and consensual political terms by locating it within European political unification.27 ‘Salami Tactics’ and Expanding the Role of the Bundeswehr This process of crafting an appropriate discourse was accompanied by a leadership strategy of ‘salami slicing’, of regular but limited policy change to ‘wrong-foot’ opponents, whilst not challenging the doctrines of territorial defence and conscription.28 Rühe was an experienced politician, aware of the institutional constraints represented by the Constitutional Court, Länder and Finance Ministry.29 The ‘salami tactics’ amounted to a series of daring policy proposals about the Bundeswehr’s role. Their highly sensitive nature was evident in the difficulty that Rühe’s policy leadership faced in managing societal debate surrounding the Bundeswehr’s role and reform. During the period up to the Constitutional Court’s ruling on ‘out-of-area operations’ on 12 July 1994, Rühe had prepared the Defence Ministry to take advantage of any window of opportunity, supported by Klaus Naumann.30 NATO and the WEU provided a means with which to ‘manage’ the domestic policy process by changing the range of actors involved and redefining the role of the Bundeswehr in terms of positive symbols of Germany’s postwar rehabilitation.31 Already, under Stoltenberg, the requirements of these institutional venues had been used to develop and legitimate new thinking about the armed forces.32 The 1992 Defence Policy Guidelines (VPR) emerged as a key policy statement, stressing the need for the Bundeswehr to participate in, and orient its structures to, the prevention, containment, and resolution of crises and low intensity conflicts.33 Its proposals were framed within the terms of the roles specified in the Petersburg Declaration. This was followed by the 1994 White Paper on the Situation and Future of the Bundeswehr, outlining the transformation of parts of the armed forces into mobile crisis-reaction forces. German embeddedness in international institutions provided Rühe with the external discipline to control the range of competing ideas. He continu-

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ally linked the importance of changes to the Bundeswehr’s role and structure as the only means to overcome German ‘difference’ on issues of security policy and to move towards European cooperation.34 Against the background of ambiguity of the post–Cold War period, the Defence Ministry provided an institutional context that both constrained and facilitated policy leadership. Rühe’s ‘salami’ tactics can be understood in terms of his use of a series of events to open up opportunities for strategic action. This took the form of increasing the roles of, and consequent adaptational requirements on, the Bundeswehr, within the institutional constraints of a Defence Ministry dominated by the concept of territorial defence and constitutional provisions. However, the Defence Ministry also presented opportunities for policy leadership by Rühe and Naumann, as it was firmly embedded in NATO and Atlanticist in orientation. The ability of Rühe to use the institutional venue of NATO was crucial. Rühe was able to legitimate his appeal for Bundeswehr reform by reference to NATO’s credibility in the context of the challenges of a new security environment.35 In turn, this triggered and guided a process of policy learning among defence specialists, preparing the ground for further change. Policy leadership was enabled by a changing strategic context that created the ambiguity necessary for major policy change. However, this was not enough to force change. Rühe also displayed the leadership traits and skills needed by successful policy entrepreneurs, notably self-confidence, ambition, calculated risk taking, activism, and good timing. He was renowned for a coercive, autocratic, and arrogant leadership style, earning him the nicknames ‘Volker Rüpel’ (lout), ‘bulldozer’, and ‘Rambo’.36 However, he was capable of striking a heroic pose, framing policy leadership within a discourse of historical legitimation, and citing the necessity to embed Germany within NATO and the EU during a period of flux.37 Despite his reputation, Rühe was also careful to build support and tailor his leadership style to a policy system replete with veto points. He did this by engineering faits accomplis, and ‘binding in’ opposition by taking opponents into his confidence.38 Entrepreneurship in agenda setting on a Bundeswehr role in military intervention was accompanied by brokerage in translating this role into policy making and implementation. In short, Rühe’s leadership role and style was adapted to different stages of the policy process. He was an accomplished practitioner of varying and sequencing modes of policy leadership. The framing of Rühe’s strategic action in support of a new military interventionism within the ideational context of international institutions involved an appeal to deep core beliefs (notably Atlanticism and Europeanism) to justify changes to the Bundeswehr’s role.39 He would later find support within the SPD by arguing that German action in Yugoslavia was

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crucial to the development of CFSP. This ‘softening up’ approach was decisive, involving a combination of ‘salami tactics’ with a persuasive policy narrative resonating widely in the Bundestag Defence Committee and beyond.40 Rühe and the Former Yugoslavia: ‘Softening Up’ and ‘Binding in’ the Opposition Rühe’s approach was exhibited in three critical decisions on German deployments to Bosnia from 1995 to 1996. In the first vote in June 1995, participation was supported by 386 to 258 (eleven abstentions); in the second vote in December 1995 on IFOR participation support rose to 543, with 107 against (six abstentions); in the third vote in December 1996, 499 voted for participation in SFOR, 93 against (with twenty-one abstentions). The SPD defence spokesperson, Walter Kolbow, praised Rühe’s role.41 In this ‘softening up’, Rühe was aided by NATO force structure proposals, recognising the need for a crisis-prevention capability. These surfaced in the November 1991 NATO Strategic Concept, emphasising smaller, more flexible, and mobile forces for crisis management as well as collective defence. This initiative was followed by the proposal for Combined Joint Task Forces (CJTF) to facilitate NATO contingency operations, endorsed at the Brussels summit of January 1994 and completed by the Berlin summit of June 1996. Similarly, changes within the force structures of Germany’s closest European partners, Britain and France, also helped Rühe to manage the agenda of Bundeswehr reform.42 Not least, Rühe’s ‘softening up’ approach was assisted by intense media coverage of the carnage in Bosnia and Croatia, and public sentiment that something had to be done and that German interests were directly engaged.43 Public opinion was a resource that Rühe could use to his advantage, especially in the Bundestag Defence Committee. Rühe prompted a visit of Green MPs to Bosnia to ‘soften up’ members of the opposition and was in close contact with opposition MPs, calling upon favors and attending endless committee sessions.44 Whilst his toughness and abrasiveness were displayed in agenda setting, his leadership style in policymaking implementation was consensual, persuasive, and accommodative. He demonstrated flexibility in policy leadership, variably using assertiveness to promote this new interventionist role and caution when seeking domestic support and overcoming veto players. In particular, he attempted to solve any problems early on by meeting with coalition working groups and influential opposition figures.45 His ability to ‘bind in’ opposition was highlighted by Peter Glotz (SPD): ‘One has to hand it to Rühe, he is not just capable of shaming his political opponents, he can…over the months give the feeling that he is taking their arguments seriously and championing them’.46 He was a cunning politician, combining the leadership traits and skills of a policy entrepreneur in agenda setting with those of a broker in policy making and implementation.47

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Rühe as Kronprinz A final factor affecting Rühe’s leadership was his ambition, as the ‘crown prince’ successor to Kohl.48 The Defence Ministry had developed a reputation as a dangerous post; moreover, whilst it was important to maintain an image of a forwards-thinking future leader, he had to be careful not to alienate sections of the party. These considerations added another dimension to his consensual politics: he was keen to move away from the ‘Rüpel’ image developed during his time as CDU General Secretary between 1989 and 1992.49 Kohl and (after 1992) Rühe’s policy entrepreneurship was critical in developing the Bundeswehr’s crisis-intervention role in the immediate post–Cold War period. The process was begun by Kohl during the Gulf crisis, and taken up by Rühe, whose excellent, flexibly deployed leadership skills were put to use by focusing on windows of opportunity to effect policy change through agenda setting. However, he was entrepreneurial in agenda setting rather than in policy making and implementation. Crucial for Rühe’s policy leadership in agenda setting were his use of international institutional venues (NATO and the WEU) and the moral legitimacy of UN peacekeeping operations. They created an opportunity to construct an objective basis for domestic reform in the ‘need’ to adapt the Bundeswehr’s role. They also created the basis for developing a policy narrative to justify change anchored in multilateralism. However, Rühe’s leadership in policy making and implementation was designed to avoid enflaming sensitivities about Bundeswehr deployment and to negotiate the constraints of numerous veto players. This meant that, in addition to institutional venues, he gave primacy to ‘salami tactics’ and to preparing policy change by encouraging a longer-term policy learning process within the Defence Ministry under Naumann. The institutional context conditioned the scope of policy change (no radical challenges to core policy beliefs), the mechanism of change (‘salami tactics’), the process (‘softening up’ opposition and instigating policy learning), and the pace of change (incremental and slow). It did not, however, prevent Rühe from acting as entrepreneur in agenda setting on the Bundeswehr’s role or as policy broker in domestic policy making and implementation.

The Structure of the Bundeswehr and the Politics of Base Closures: Volker Rühe as Policy Broker and Veto Player 1994–98 The landmark 1994 Constitutional Court ruling on the legality of ‘out-ofarea operations’ relaxed the constraint impeding changes to the Bundeswehr’s role and represented a victory for Rühe’s policy entrepreneurship. It opened a new window of opportunity to make further changes to the

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Bundeswehr. However, Rühe’s assessment of domestic political constraints and of its implications for his leadership role, strategy, and style, ensured that this opportunity was not taken. Paradoxically, the ruling heralded a new era of policy stalemate on the Bundeswehr’s structure. This was due to Rühe’s assessment of external factors, residing not so much in the international system as in the domestic political context, leading him to reemphasise the traditional role of territorial and alliance defence and to engage in an active political management of the reform process.50 The result was a situation within the coalition government in which the FDP sought to position themselves as the radicals on Bundeswehr reform and Rühe, abetted by Kohl, emerged as policy veto player.51 The 1994 Conceptual Guidelines for the Further Development of the Bundeswehr reduced the Bundeswehr from 370,000 to 340,000, with 53,600 crisis-reaction troops deployable at short notice and 140,000 conscripts serving for ten months.52 There were also changes to the Bundeswehr’s command structure, with the general inspector’s role strengthened, further empowering Naumann’s reform agenda. However, the guidelines suggested a very cautious approach to policy change, particularly towards conscription. Kohl and Rühe identified electoral dangers in structural reforms to the Bundeswehr, showing greater caution between 1993 and 1994 when the prospects for the government in the forthcoming federal elections looked bleak.53 The chancellor wished to avoid ‘bad news’ with Bundeswehr reform (particularly base closures), and Rühe’s career prospects were bound up with meeting this requirement.54 Such ‘bad news’ would have had a further negative impact on critical Länder elections in March 1996 (Baden-Württemberg, Rhineland-Palatinate and Schleswig-Holstein) on which the government depended to steer its legislative programme through the Bundesrat. Bundeswehr reform involved numerous base closures that would meet staunch Länder opposition.55 Reunification had already led to numerous base closures, necessitating large compensation payments, and causing conflict with the Länder. Importantly, these payments brought Bundeswehr reform into the orbit of a Finance Ministry dealing with mounting debt levels consequent on reunification.56 The Finance Ministry and the Politics of Base Closures The Finance Ministry had two concerns about base closures. Firstly, Theo Waigel, Finance Minister, CSU chair, and a pivotal coalition player, enjoyed a close relationship with Kohl and was concerned to prevent negative political and economic ramifications for the CSU and his leadership of the party.57 For reasons of strategic electoral interest, Rühe could not expect support from Waigel for base closures. Crucially, Bundeswehr reform was secondary to the completion of EMU by 1999.58 This Maastricht Treaty

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commitment had to be honoured against a background of growing public debt, a slow down in German growth, higher unemployment, and budget deficits. Under Bavarian pressure, where the CSU feared populist exploitation of the Deutsche Mark’s loss, Waigel insisted on ‘3.0’ as the meaning of the Maastricht deficit rule as a guarantee that the new euro would be ‘at least as stable as the Deutsche Mark’.59 This view was backed by Kohl, who viewed EMU as the central measure of his historical reputation as the ‘Chancellor for Europe’.60 In short, Bundeswehr reform was situated within a budgetary policy subsystem prioritising EMU and the value of the ‘peace dividend’ as a key contribution to budget consolidation (see figure 3.1).61 The implications of fiscal difficulties and EMU obligations for Bundeswehr reform were clear, not least for a defence minister who needed the support of Kohl and Waigel for his career ambitions and projected himself as a CDU foreign-policy thinker. A major structural reform of the Bundeswehr modeled around crisis-reaction capabilities would necessitate an initial financial injection to compensate for Zivildienst and base closures. By 1996 it was becoming clear that Germany had failed to meet the Maastricht fiscal criteria and risked failing to meet the conditions to qualify for the final date of January 1999. The risk of acute political embarrassment was heightened because by 1995 Waigel was taking the initiative in proposing a tough Stability Pact, enshrining the 3 percent deficit limit in stage three with tough sanctions. Hence fiscal discipline was crucial. The message for Rühe was clear: a costly Bundeswehr reform would have been a political ‘hot potato’ and the kind of ‘bad news’ Kohl wished to avoid.62 The Political Targeting of Base Closures The scale of the difficulties that this changed context made for his policy leadership was evident in Bundestag and Länder reaction to base closures on 14 March 1995.63 Rühe wanted to release DM 1.5 billion to increase investment from 21 to 25 percent of the defence budget by 1998. This could not be achieved because Länder opposition led to a reduction in the number of base closures from nineteen to sixteen, with large reductions in a further thirty-two barracks.64 A number of patterns in the political targeting of base closures are discernible. There was a clear correlation between incidences of complaint and the targeting of closures. By 30 May, the Defence Ministry had received over 500 petitions, from local authorities, politicians, trade unions, and soldiers, particularly from Bavaria (112), Schelswig-Holstein (91) and Lower Saxony (77). There were over 700 statements of protest, supported by local media and Länder Prime Ministers, notably Edmund Stoiber (CSU, Bavaria), Heidi Simonis (SPD, Schleswig-Holstein), and Gerhard Schröder (SPD, Lower Saxony).65

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Secondly, the timing and pattern of base closures were affected by the national and Länder electoral cycles, in other words by strategic electoral interests. In Länder with forthcoming elections, Schleswig-Holstein and Rheinland Pfalz, bases were saved, with other bases subject to reduced reductions. Other Länder also benefited from revisions to the closure programme, including Lower Saxony, Bavaria, and Baden-Württemberg. In contrast, Bremen, Hamburg, Saxony, Saxony-Anhalt, Thuringia, and the Saar saw no changes to troop reductions; Hesse had one more closure; and Mecklenburg-Vorpommern saved one base.66 Thirdly, the pattern of closures suggests that key beneficiaries were ‘flagship’ Länder, models of CDU/CSU policy success, and contributing disproportionately to CDU/CSU electoral success, with Bavaria and Baden-Württemberg central within the federal coalition, translating into political weight for Edmund Stoiber (CSU) and Erwin Teufel (CDU) in Bonn. There appears to have been a clear political manipulation of base closures with a skilful combination of spatial targeting of reductions in order to spread the costs. Rühe drew a lesson: he did not want to repeat a process that could make many political enemies.67 For reasons of political ambition, and of electoral and party strategy, he was not prepared to pursue the logic of his policy entrepreneurship on the crisis-intervention role of the Bundeswehr into structural reforms. He was a policy broker in dealing with the 1995 base closures. The Implications of Bundeswehr Reform for Social Policy Another critical domestic issue deterred Rühe from acting as policy entrepreneur on structural reform of the Bundeswehr: the consequences of radical reform for the social policy subsystem. The abolition of conscription would spell the end of Zivildienst. Without its replacement by an Allgemeiner Dienst (General Service) for men and women, social policy, especially care services, would be placed under unbearable pressure. This added to the incentives within the CDU/CSU to resist the movement of the Bundeswehr to a volunteer force. The social policy context helped to close windows of opportunity for policy change, raising concern within the CDU/CSU from leading figures such as Michael Glos, chair of the CSU Landesgruppe (state group) in the Bundestag: ‘Whoever begins to put a question mark over conscription must openly admit that the discussion about an Allgemeiner Dienst for men and women is tied to this; if conscription is abolished there is no more justification for Ersatzdienst’.68 The defence and security policy speaker of the CSU Landesgruppe, Christian Schmidt, took up the same position in a press release on 4 June 1996. Similar worries about the consequences for Zivildienst were also expressed by Dr. Klaus Rose (CSU), Chair of the Bundestag Defence Committee.69

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Michael Wonneberger, another member of the Bundestag Defence Committee, pointed out: ‘With the creation of a professional army the future of the Zivildienst and thus the effectiveness of many social institutions would be threatened. In the short run there is no possibility of compensating for this work’.70 Policy actors involved in social care prophesied disastrous consequences for the old, sick, and disabled, if Zivildienst were to be abolished. According to Rüdiger Löhle, spokesperson for the Bundesamt für den Zivildienst (Federal Office for Community Service): ‘If this disappears the state would have to finance other forms of this absolutely necessary service’.71 Additionally, there was a great deal of sensitivity to proposals for shortening the length of service. Dieter Hackler, the Bundesbeauftragter für Zivildienst (Federal Commissioner for Community Service) in the Federal Ministry for Family, the Elderly, Women, and Youth, highlighted how, if Zivildienst were to be shortened to eight months, it would become pointless, as there would be very little time left for active service after training.72 The interlocking subsystems of social policy, and defence and security policy, made changes to conscription complicated and difficult. The issue of structural reform to the Bundeswehr fell into the orbit not only of the Finance Ministry but also of the Ministry for Family, the Elderly, Women, and Youth, and its minister Claudia Nolte. Rühe did not wish to court political difficulties with the CDU/CSU’s social policy wing. A professional army of volunteers might have been cheaper in the long run, but the short-term costs were too high to encourage policy entrepreneurship by Rühe in terms both of base closures and the repercussions for Zivildienst. With the Finance Ministry looking to trim the budget, Bundeswehr reform threatened to add to financial burdens at an inopportune time.

Leadership within the Defence Ministry: ‘Denkverbot’ and the Control of Policy Learning Policy stalemate on military reform required active policy leadership within the Defence Ministry, and Rühe’s political caution began to have effects on his leadership of the Ministry. His ‘salami’ tactics in extending the Bundeswehr’s role had set in place policy learning that suggested politically threatening policy change on Bundeswehr structure. This threat of loss of control was evident in the controversy in May 1995 surrounding the development of a Mehrzweckschiff (multi purpose ship).73 This DM 620 million ship was designed for crisis operations, drawing on the lessons of the Cambodia and Somalia missions.74 Rühe was unaware of the plans for the ship and was only informed through an article published in

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Marineforum by Jens Detlefsen, the head of the study group in the Führungsstab (Military Command) of the navy had been charged with the job of developing what had been an innovative concept of Naumann and Deputy Vice-Admiral Hans Frank for a Führungsschiff (‘leading ship’). Rühe immediately torpedoed the plan, fearing it would create pressure for German involvement in military interventions and challenge the doctrine of territorial defence.75 This was anathema to Rühe, who was concerned with the careful management of policy so that it caused minimum political disturbance. The strategic electoral context offered more threats than opportunities, as the painful process of base closures demonstrated. More seriously, Rühe was in danger of losing control over the ‘salami’ tactics, as the Defence Ministry began to develop dynamics of change, a result of policy learning. Any policy proposals emerging out of this learning process that challenged the core rationale of territorial defence by developing new crisis-reaction capabilities contained high political risks. He had worked carefully to build a consensus with the SPD and Greens/Bündnis90 about troop deployment. Such a project would raise fears amongst the SPD and Greens/Bündnis90 about the development of an ‘intervention army’ and unravel this delicately constructed consensus.76 Rühe was concerned about proposals from within the policy subsystem that raised the sensitive issues of conscription and Zivildienst, especially when they suggested further base closures. Controlling Policy Learning: ‘Gatekeepers’ and the ‘Denkverbot’ Rühe put in place a Denkverbot (ban on thinking) within the Defence Ministry about structural reform, to retain control over the scope and pace of policy change. Controlling information and policy learning is critical for a policy veto player in managing and dampening change. Hence Vordenker (innovators) were marginalised and challenging papers were filed away.77 The seriousness of the Denkverbot is demonstrated by the case of air force officer Jürgen Rose, a researcher at the George C. Marshall Centre. Rose was placed under a great deal of pressure by Rühe and forced to resign after Rose questioned him critically about conscription at a conference and published an article in the Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung stating: ‘conscription must and will end’.78 Above all, the Denkverbot was signaled by the replacement of Klaus Naumann as chief of staff by the conservative Hartmut Bagger in February 1996. Naumann had advocated an increasingly global role for the Bundeswehr, pleading in 1994 for the full participation of Germany in UN peacemaking operations.79 This put his position closer to that of Kinkel. His reputation as a somewhat maverick figure and willingness to act in a ‘political’ fashion strained his relationship with Rühe, who drew the conclusion that effective implementation of the Denkverbot necessitated a more traditional chief of staff.

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By ensuring that key officials and ‘gatekeepers’ of the policy process were staunch supporters of territorial defence and conscription, Rühe could exert a strong control over policy learning within the ministry. Promotion and career advancement were consequent upon support for these concepts. This leadership strategy led to conceptual stagnation and apathy, as the brakes were applied to ideas of policy change that might touch on core beliefs about doctrine and conscription until the 1998 elections.80 In this way Rühe sought to ensure that he remained the central figure in ensuring that the CDU/CSU retained control over the scope and pace of policy change.

Contenders for the Role of Policy Entrepreneur on Bundeswehr Reform: Klaus Kinkel, the Foreign Ministry, the FDP, and the Greens Whilst Rühe’s ability to exert control over learning processes within the Defence Ministry was important in ensuring policy stalemate on the Bundeswehr’s role and structure, there were actors in other policy subsystems and the macropolitical context who favored opening up debate about the Bundeswehr’s role and structure. Klaus Kinkel and the Foreign Ministry Most notably, Rühe’s Denkverbot did not extend to Kinkel’s Foreign Ministry. To the irritation of Rühe and Kohl, Kinkel sought out a policy entrepreneur role on Bundeswehr reform. In May 1997 a memorandum from the Foreign Ministry’s planning staff proposed a Bundeswehr of 250,000 men, with a reduction of conscription from ten to six months.81 This proposal surfaced in the context of an increasingly strained relationship between figures in the FDP and CDU/CSU over conscription. Kinkel was a supporter of conscription. Nevertheless, his proposals placed greater pressure on Rühe.82 The remodeled Bundeswehr would consist of 180,000 professional soldiers and 70,000 conscripts. The Foreign Ministry memorandum stressed the contradiction between the changes in the security environment and the current structure of the Bundeswehr. The state of the Bundeswehr, notably the need for greater investment in armaments, was of increasing concern to the Foreign Ministry, for whom the Bundeswehr was becoming an increasingly important tool of foreign policy. This added to a series of conflicts between Rühe and Kinkel, notably over NATO enlargement, resolved in Rühe’s favor but leaving a legacy of strained political relations.83 Rühe sought to fend off criticism by appealing to NATO again, citing how Germany would lose ‘weight’ and reputation within the Alliance

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through troop reductions. He also sought to veto policy change by linking the idea of a career army to a ‘worldwide intervention force’, designed to strike a chord with the ‘peace’ coalition, and argued that the memorandum risked opening up a dangerous debate before the 1998 federal elections.84 This skilful combination of strategic electoral interest with a binding historical narrative helped ensure that the Foreign Ministry proposals were killed off, and the few copies of the memorandum that existed were filed away. The Foreign Ministry’s proposals were a pragmatic response to the reality of a Bundeswehr that was increasingly financially stretched by its over emphasis on territorial defence, at the expense of creating well-equipped, crisis-reaction forces. Kinkel favored a UN-based, global role for the Bundeswehr. However, the difficulties in an effective policy entrepreneur role on Bundeswehr reform resided not only in Rühe closing down the debate but in Kinkel’s weak strategic position, his lack of political weight and reputation to act entrepreneurially on this issue. The FDP had suffered a series of ‘public opinion’ shocks from defeats in Länder elections, losing in twelve out of thirteen elections between 1993 and 1995 and failing to overcome the 5 percent hurdle in the nine Länder elections of 1993 and 1994. These shocks led to Kinkel’s replacement as party chair by Wolfgang Gerhardt in 1995, and responsibility was attributed to Kinkel’s weak leadership as party chair. At the same time Kinkel was emboldened to act by the more assertive political strategy of the FDP before the federal elections. Faced by the prospect of elimination from the Bundestag in 1998, the FDP sought out a more distinctive policy profile. Kinkel had to respond to pressures emanating from within his own party, which were seeking to remodel FDP defence policy to reflect the changing security environment. The idea of a professional Bundeswehr fitted this profile. However, with Kohl keen that ‘bad news’ should be kept to a minimum, the opportunity for Kinkel to open up a policy ‘window’ on Bundeswehr reform was nonexistent. Paradoxically, the internal debate within his own party forced him to act, whilst simultaneously serving to weaken his political base for engaging in entrepreneurship. In short, Kinkel lacked a favorable strategic context for effective policy entrepreneurship. The Greens, FDP, and PDS: ‘Pragmatic’ and ‘Ideological’ Opposition Within the wider political elite, territorial defence and conscription faced a challenge from two fronts: ideological and pragmatic. Ideological criticism came from the traditional pacifist wing of the Greens and the PDS. They shared a deep opposition to conscription, based on the belief that conscription serves to perpetuate the role of force in international relations.85 Pacifists within the Greens also stood for the abolition of Zivildienst. Along with

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pacifists in the PDS, they opposed conscription as part of a policy of dismantling the Bundeswehr and withdrawal from NATO, in favor of a European peace order based on the CSCE as a regional organisation of the UN.86 However, these shared policy beliefs did not lead to the formation of a new ‘advocacy’ coalition, because pacifists in the Greens and in the PDS did not exhibit coordinated action—this would have split the Green Party. The second, more serious challenge was from what can be termed ‘pragmatic critics’: actors who questioned the rationale of territorial defence, arguing that the Bundeswehr’s core rationale was now peacekeeping and humanitarian intervention. These actors also sought to abolish conscription, citing the need for better-trained professional forces able to effectively engage in crisis-management and prevention tasks. The policy leaders here were within the ‘realist’ wing of the Greens, notably Joschka Fischer, and within the FDP.87 The FDP was initially the more important because it was within the Kohl government, with Kinkel as Foreign Minister. The party was split on this issue. Some younger members of the party argued that the current international situation meant conscription could no longer be justified, and that crisis-management tasks required a fully professional Bundeswehr.88 The FDP demonstrated the extent to which policy learning was disseminating through the German political system, with the party taking the lead on this issue. The 1994 Constitutional Court ruling had broken the macropolitical support for territorial defence, allowing actors to question the relevance of conscription. The FDP’s constitution allowed the party membership to vote on key issues, requiring a proposal by five regional party associations. In August 1997 this hurdle for a vote on conscription was cleared. The party was split: Wolfgang Gerhardt, its party chair, Klaus Kinkel, and Günther Nolting backed the retention of conscription; Jürgen Koppelin, Jürgen Möllemann, the leaders of several Länder branches, and the Young Liberals favored a volunteer, professional army. Following pressure from their coalition partner, the CDU/CSU, and Rühe, the FDP decided to officially campaign for conscription. However, the stage had been set for the FDP to abandon this principle once it had a younger leader and was released from the constraints of coalition discipline. Within the Green Party the key entrepreneur on defence and security policy was Joschka Fischer. He used Srebreniça in 1995 to reframe Green thinking, in particular through two impassioned Bundestag speeches resonating within the ‘peace’ coalition and the wider political Left. Fischer argued that, for historical reasons, Germany could not distance herself from human rights violations. He considered it Germany’s historic and moral responsibility to ensure that Auschwitz would never again happen on European soil. Srebreniça required Germany to rethink its defence and security interests.89

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Fischer’s views had clear implications for the Bundeswehr’s role and structure. It would have to be restructured as the instrument of a security policy that focused on crisis prevention, humanitarian intervention, civilian policing, and a wider framework of political, economic, and social reconstruction. For historical and moral reasons, Germany would play a lead role in multilateral and, particularly, European structures undertaking these tasks. Hence Fischer pushed the Europeanisation of the Bundeswehr’s role and structures.90 It was also clear that such highly complex and specialised tasks required a much more professional Bundeswehr. Nevertheless, despite Jürgen Trittin’s backing for Fischer’s views at the March 1998 Magdeburg party congress before the federal elections, the Greens continued to see the abolition of conscription mainly in terms of a move towards German demilitarisation of Germany and a ‘humanisation’ of foreign policy.91

Adapting to Rühe: The SPD and the Deferral of Bundeswehr Reform Paradoxically, Rühe had fewer problems with the SPD than with his coalition partner, the FDP, over conscription. A key explanation is to be found in the character of the CDU/CSU and the SPD as Volksparteien, (‘catch all parties’) afraid of alienating swing voters through base closures and the financial and social effects of ending Zivildienst. Fears of electoral damage were less pressing for the FDP and Greens. SPD caution on Bundeswehr reflected internal pluralism on defence and security policy beliefs, along with acute sensitivity about social policy. Caution was reinforced by SPD interest in profiling itself as a ‘government in waiting’ and in counteracting its lack of credibility with German public opinion on defence and security by being seen to act responsibly on issues like Bundeswehr reform.92 The SPD did not wish to expose a weak flank to CDU/CSU attack. Internal SPD policy leadership was about brokering agreement amongst the three advocacy coalitions traversing the party. Hence the SPD had a problem of presenting a united face on Bundeswehr reform. A crucial influence on policy brokerage was the past identification of two key actors, Oskar Lafontaine (party chair) and Heidemarie Wieczoreck-Zeul, with the New Left’s rejection of a Bundeswehr role in ‘out-of-area’ operations. As Lafontaine stressed at the November 1995 Mannheim party conference on his election as party chair: ‘we want to remain a peace power; we stand back when it comes to military operations, and so it shall stay’.93 A third factor was the internal institutional context of the SPD. Its effects were complex, giving much power and influence to a small group of SPD parliamentarians in the Bundestag Defence Committee and security policy

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working group. As a Fachausschuss (expert committee), the Defence Committee was strongly permeated by norms of expertise and consensus. Here a strong role was played by traditionalists on conscription, like Walter Kolbow (the SPD’s defence spokesperson), who were close in policy positions to traditionalists in the CDU like Kolbow’s counterpart, Paul Breuer. Rühe was particularly skilful in exploiting these working norms of the Defence Committee through his technique of ‘salami slicing’, and its key figures supported Rühe’s stance on territorial defence and conscription.94 On the other hand, the SPD was a weakly institutionalised party, characterised by ‘loosely coupled anarchy’ in which the federal, regional, and local levels displayed a high degree of autonomy in relation to each other.95 The result was considerable opportunity for personal rivalries, internal frictions, and lack of party discipline to express themselves, especially between the party chair and powerful regional leaders, who were particularly sensitive to the implications of base closures and keen to deal directly with Kohl and Rühe on this issue. They were otherwise largely uninterested in defence and security policy questions. In this context it was difficult for the SPD leadership to plot a clear direction of policy change on the Bundeswehr’s role and structure. The key leadership resource for overcoming this ‘loosely coupled anarchy’ was appeal to the SPD’s shared strategic electoral interest in becoming, and being perceived as, a party of government. Establishing the SPD as a ‘Government in Waiting’: Organising Policy Learning Within the SPD The period from 1995 to 1997 was critical in SPD thinking about defence and security policy. Crucially the policy context changed, as the SPD had to face up to the implications of the Constitutional Court ruling of 1994 and digest the horrors of Srebreniça. How the party responded to these exogenous events was shaped by the preoccupations of the party leadership with both electoral-strategic interests and ideological renewal.96 Those most actively concerned with the SPD’s foreign, European, and defence policies—Walter Kolbow, Rudolf Scharping (chair of the SPD parliamentary party), Norbert Wieczoreck (chair of the Bundestag European Affairs Committee), Heidemarie Wieczoreck-Zeul (the SPD’s European spokesperson), and Günther Verheugen—were alert to the need to establish the SPD as competent on defence and security for the 1998 federal elections.97 Here the SPD had been traditionally vulnerable and had to reappraise policy in the wake of Bosnia and the Constitutional Court ruling. This preoccupation with establishing the SPD as a ‘government in waiting’ concentrated attention on the importance of unity within the SPD federal executive and presidium. It also involved the elite level of the federal executive and presidium leaving the details of defence and security policy to

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a small group of SPD parliamentarians in the key policy groups at SPD headquarters, the Bundestag and the Defence Committee. During the period of opposition the working groups played an important role in policy formation, with the same very small number of actors figuring prominently across these forums. As defence spokesperson, with one foot in the Bundestag Defence Committee (and its norms of expertise and consensus) and the other in the SPD’s internal policy groups, Kolbow was a pivotal actor in determining the scope and pace of policy change on the Bundeswehr’s role and structure.98 The security policy working group around Kolbow played an essentially reactive role to Rühe’s initiatives. The emphasis was on fine tuning the details of SPD policy and differentiating the SPD within the consensus about the Bundeswehr by a somewhat differently weighted ordering of priorities.99 As new party chair after his November 1995 putsch against Scharping, Lafontaine sought a new ideological unity as a motor for identifying the SPD with policy change. This motor was in a new stress on the Europeanisation of SPD policies and their nesting in the Franco-German relationship. By reframing policy in this way, Lafontaine aimed to provide not just a new dynamic of change but also a greater respectability for new policy ideas by linking them to the consensual theme of European integration. This stronger European dimension was pursued initially through collaboration with the French Socialist Party and was coloured by the French party’s much stronger interest in European defence and security. SPD policy thinking on defence and security was, in short, linked to a new external dynamic of Europeanisation that was essentially ‘bottom up’ and linked to Lafontaine’s leadership. Hence Lafontaine’s arrival as party chair was a catalyst for policy change. This strategic orientation empowered Wieczoreck-Zeul as a presidium member and head of the Koordinierungsstelle (coordination office) for European policy, and of the Schwerpunktkommission (Focal Commission) on EU affairs established by the Mannheim conference in November 1995 (including Scharping), to clarify European policy for the 1998 federal elections.100 It also led to the EU Affairs working group of the SPD parliamentary party taking a greater interest in defence and security policy issues and seeking to coordinate these issues through the ‘cross-cutting’ group on European policy. Even so, defence and security played a subordinate role in this European policy work compared to the more electorally salient issues of economic growth and employment. The result of the different electoral priorities between economic/jobs and defence issues was that the SPD’s defence specialists around Kolbow were not put under strong pressures to adapt policy on the role and structures of the Bundeswehr. By these means SPD leaders sought to organise processes of policy learning with a view to brokering policy change amongst the three key advocacy

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coalitions within the party on defence and security policy. As Sabatier and Jenkins-Smith suggest, such processes tend to be long-term and result only in changes to the ‘secondary’ aspects of policy beliefs.101 Hence they would not lead one to expect significant policy change before the 1998 elections. Nevertheless, the SPD underwent a deep internal debate about the foundations of its defence and security policy.102 Policy learning was aided by public debates about the Bundeswehr’s role and structure and the relevance of conscription.103 This debate within the SPD (and FDP) also provided an opportunity for researchers within universities (like Professor Ingo von Münch in Hamburg) and research institutes to promote the idea of professional armed forces. Dieter S. Lutz of the Hamburg Institut für Friedenforschung (Institute for Peace Studies) suggested that estimated savings from the abolition of conscription could amount to between DM 4.2 and DM 13.2 billion.104 Social Policy, Zivildienst and the Failure of Policy Entrepreneurs This stress on policy leadership by brokerage and organising policy learning was accompanied by the efforts of key actors on defence and security policy within the SPD to act as policy entrepreneurs on behalf of a professional volunteer Bundeswehr. They identified the potential for radical policy change opened up by the internal ‘flux’ within the SPD between 1996 and 1997, initiated by Srebreniça, military reforms in France and the U.K., tightening financial constraints on the Bundeswehr, and the new challenges of ‘out-of-area’ operations.105 The SPD commission on foreign and security policy under Scharping offered an internal opportunity to open up debate about the role and structures of the Bundeswehr in time for the Hannover party conference in December 1997. In the summer of 1996 Manfred Opel, who had been critical of conscription since unification, began to press for a volunteer army, with the support of Hans Wallow, using the media to build support. However, the SPD was quick to distance itself from Opel’s position. Kolbow, Scharping, Karsten Voigt, and the minister president of Lower Saxony, Gerhard Schröder, all spoke out in favor of conscription.106 They were supported by FDP and CDU members of the Bundestag Defence Committee, led by Paul Breuer (CDU) and Günther Nolting (FDP). Nolting accused Opel and Wallow of being ‘populist and wrong’; Breuer termed them ‘once more offside of the opinion of the SPD parliamentary party’.107 Behind the defence of conscription by SPD and CDU members of the Defence Committee lay a real concern about the disadvantages of a volunteer army. Of paramount importance to the SPD leadership, and empowering traditionalists like Kolbow over policy entrepreneurs, was a deep fear of the consequences of the abolition of conscription for Zivildienst and the

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effects of its abolition on the social policy system.108 Its abolition would open up a difficult debate about whether to create a ‘voluntary social year’. For the SPD the issue would also be a divisive factor in any possible coalition negotiations with the FDP or the Greens after the 1998 elections. Above all, the necessary social spending that would result from the lack of Zivildienstleistende (people on community service) would cripple the social system.109 Raising the issue of abolition of conscription was an acutely sensitive and risky venture for the SPD in the run up to the 1998 federal elections, as it sought to differentiate itself from the Kohl government as the party of solidarity and ‘modernisation with social justice’. In December 1996 the SPD’s parliamentary party chair, Rudolf Scharping, set forth his concept for SPD Bundeswehr policy. He attempted to create a ‘crisis consciousness’ within his own party, stressing that the roles, structure, and resources of the Bundeswehr were no longer compatible.110 Scharping’s timing was influenced by the internal debate taking place within the FDP about conscription. It followed a paper that surfaced in the SPD in November 1996 from the working group on the Bundeswehr, based on close links to the armed forces. This paper proposed that the SPD should continue to support conscription, but that the Bundeswehr was in need of modernisation and legitimation in a changed security environment and tight financial constraints. The proposals were influenced by a letter sent from Defence Commissioner Claire Marienfeld in August 1996, outlining the poor state of the military. The SPD experts warned that, at current levels of expenditure, the only means of sufficiently increasing the Bundeswehr’s share of the budget would be to abolish conscription. Strikingly, the Arbeitskreis (study group) stressed that the abolition of conscription would have no negative consequences on the integration of troops into society.111 In short, in the context of the increasing financial constraints placed on the Bundeswehr, it was becoming harder to justify conscription. Scharping sought to twin this policy ‘problem’ with a new policy by proposing a Bundeswehr that would be reduced to 300,000 men, with conscription cut from ten months to six months. This would free-up finances within the budget to increase investment in new equipment and weapons, allowing the Bundeswehr to fulfill territorial-defence and crisis-prevention roles equally.112 Scharping was not in favor of abolishing conscription. Indeed, he was attempting to bolster it by a reform that would maintain its health into the twenty-first century. However, he was also keen on stressing the importance of developing compatibility between European armed forces, whilst opposing the Eurofighter project on the grounds that common transport and satellite capabilities were the key assets for development. Scharping wanted to modernise SPD thinking on defence and security policy, by allowing Germany to play an active role in the development of

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ESDP.113 This view corresponded with Lafontaine’s Europeanisation of SPD policy and the policy ideas of Wieczoreck-Zeul. Meanwhile, the ‘flux’ and ambiguity about defence and security policy, occasioned by exogenous events and developments, led to alternative proposals from other policy entrepreneurs, notably Verheugen and WieczoreckZeul, who proposed a defence and security concept to the Scharping Commission, advocating an end to conscription.114 They also sought to create a ‘crisis consciousness’ and mobilise support for a broad debate questioning conscription’s relevance. Verheugen was also an advocate of a possible Red/Green coalition after the 1998 elections.115 ‘Applying the Brakes’ and Empowering Traditionalists The internal debate within the SPD came to a head just before the Fachkongress (special party congress), on 18 June 1997. Above all, the SPD federal executive and the presidium were keen to avoid a debate about conscription breaking out at the Hannover party conference in December, close to the federal elections. The SPD leadership decided that the internal debate had to be resolved in the party commission before 18 June. Attempts at policy entrepreneurship by leading SPD figures made it clear to the leadership that the SPD was on the brink of a potentially harmful debate. Meanwhile the commission led by Scharping had been effectively taken over by Verheugen.116 Thus the SPD party leadership sought to stamp out the debate, by empowering the traditionalists supporting conscription and territorial defence as the core role of the Bundeswehr. The commission ended in victory for supporters of Kolbow and Volker Kröning. Kröning had advocated a model that designed to reinforce conscription, reducing the Bundeswehr from 340,000 to 250,000, and the percentage of professional and temporary soldiers from 55 to 50 to create more places for conscripts, retaining an average service length of nine months.117 He was keen that the SPD remain strong supporters of conscription, ensuring that, in the event of a coalition with the Greens, it would not be challenged.118 Had Verheugen and Wieczoreck-Zeul’s position prevailed, their policy entrepreneurship could well have led to the formation of an ‘advocacy’ coalition uniting members of the Greens, SPD, and followers of Koppelin and Möllemann in the FDP behind the idea of a professional Bundeswehr. Scharping’s reduction of conscription to six months would have placed real pressure on territorial defence, by leaving little time after training for active service. Whilst Kolbow’s concept was not implemented, he found a means of attaining his goal of securing the party’s stance on conscription by gaining acceptance of his proposal for a Wehrstrukturkommission (commission on the structure of the Bundeswehr) after the federal elections. By this means the SPD deferred the issue.

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Rather than modernising SPD policy to fit the changing security environment, traditionalists within the SPD (the ‘experts’ led by Kolbow) were empowered by the party leadership to outline the SPD’s official position as: ‘Territorial and Alliance defence remains for the future the core task of the Bundeswehr’.119 It was deemed that Germany’s security would be best protected through a Bundeswehr comprising both professionals and conscripts.120 There were concerns amongst SPD traditionalists and supporters of conscription that professional armed forces encouraged ‘Rambos’. In contrast, conscription promoted transparency in the Bundeswehr, forcing politicians to carefully scrutinise troop deployment, and provided well-qualified and educated recruits.121 The result was an acceptable compromise to all sections of the SPD, allowing debate about a sensitive issue to be postponed until after the federal elections. According to Kolbow: ‘We have applied the brakes on those who started the debate on conscription too early’.122 Oskar Lafontaine had succeeded in dampening down the debate surrounding Scharping’s public proposal for his concept of the Bundeswehr.123 In short, whilst a significant degree of flux existed within the SPD, the strategic electoral interests of the party and internal divisions of policy belief on defence and security militated against a clear policy position on the abolition of conscription. Strategic electoral interests closely followed opinion poll figures. In the summer of 1997, opinion polls found 60 percent of Germans in favor of conscription.124 The German public had a high level of trust in the Bundeswehr during the 1990s. In 1995 the Bundeswehr ranked third in a poll measuring the trust of Germans in their institutions, with 74 percent of those polled expressing trust in the institution, behind schools (77 percent) and universities (80 percent).125 The conclusion drawn by party strategists was that the abolition of conscription would be a vote loser. The economic repercussions would be severe, particularly in the short term, from the necessary large-scale base closures. Over 140,000 Zivildienstleistende were active in Germany in 1997, each costing DM 1,000 per month. A study for an internal SPD discussion paper on community service found that, if this work were to be undertaken by professionals, the cost would rise to DM 3,700 per post, per month.126 The paper argued that the abolition of community service would reduce the quality of service to the most vulnerable in society.127 Many people with disabilities and the elderly would no longer be able to live independently in their own homes. Such conclusions raised alarm bells within the party. The SPD was committed to defending and bolstering the rights of the vulnerable in society, according to the principles set out in its basic programme.128 After the decision to establish a Commission on the Structure of the Bundeswehr after the 1998 elections, even Verheugen began to modify his position and became increasingly moderate, actively promoting the idea of a commission.129

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The key questions about Bundeswehr reform were delayed until after the elections, and the SPD declared its ‘unanimous’ support for conscription, to be upheld ‘as long as possible’.130 Kolbow acted as a crucial veto player and was able to block the translation of policy learning within the SPD into policy change. The internal SPD debate and attempts at policy entrepreneurship had the effect of altering ‘secondary’ aspects of policy beliefs through new information about the state of the Bundeswehr, recognition of the seriousness of the new security challenges, and a new questioning about its capability to play its more complex roles. Günther Verheugen stated: ‘It is no longer taboo to debate the relevance of conscription’.131 The taboo had not been fully broken, as Verheugen claimed, but had certainly been weakened. The effects of policy learning on the SPD conscription debate were evident at the August 1997 Berlin regional party conference, where Manfred Opel actively promoted a volunteer army, whilst Wolfgang Thierse, deputy SPD party chair, defended conscription and the Wehrstrukturkommission. The delegates voted for keeping conscription by a tiny majority, 126 votes to 124, demonstrating the groundswell of support for the position of those such as Wieczoreck-Zeul, Verheugen, and Opel.132 Similar policy learning was taking place in other Länder, with the SPD in Schleswig-Holstein threatening to break the party line on the issue.133 This development brought strong opposition from Norbert Gansel, the MP for Kiel in Schleswig-Holstein, who sought to counteract such moves by his SPD state group Landesgruppe.134 Electoral Strategic Interests, Social Justice, and the Deferral of Debate The hesitations of party political actors about abandoning territorial defence and conscription derived from a combination of strategic electoral interests with ideological dynamics. For ‘catch-all’ parties like the SPD and the CDU/CSU, there were much clearer electoral costs than benefits from abandoning traditional policy beliefs about the role and structure of the Bundeswehr. The ’catch-all’ parties, unlike the FDP and the Greens, whose MPs were elected through state lists, had constituencies to defend in which Bundeswehr bases were located. In contrast, whatever political gains there might be from a shift in policy belief were diffuse. For the opposition SPD to advocate radical policy change to the Bundeswehr would have provided electoral ammunition to the CDU/CSU, which could argue that voting SPD would mean base closures and unemployment.135 It would have opened up potential conflicts with powerful regional SPD leaders who were concerned to defend their territorial economic interests, resulting in a lack of internal unity that would have undermined SPD claims to be a ‘government in waiting’, competent to create jobs and secure social justice alongside modernisation.

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The abolition of conscription raised sensitive issues about the staffing and costs of social programmes that went to the heart of the SPD’s core belief in solidarity and social justice.136 It risked opening up ideological divisions within the party, undermining its capacity to mobilise its voters. A further constraint on policy change came from the ideological commitment of the SPD leadership around Lafontaine, including Weiczoreck-Zeul, to retain the party’s identity with peace and hence to stand back from ‘out-of-area’ operations. Consequently, the SPD lacked an electoral incentive and ideological justification to reject conscription. Strategic electoral constraints were less in the case of the FDP and the Greens; they depended for their Bundestag representation on clearing the hurdle of 5 percent of the vote to gain ‘party list’ seats, and hence were more distant from local constituency issues. Above all, the SPD leadership of Lafontaine, Franz Müntefering (key organiser for the 1998 elections), and Schröder were keen to avoid a politically harmful debate on the issue. They had wider political ambitions for the electoral success of the party. Thus the SPD leadership empowered traditionalists to defend the policy beliefs of territorial defence and conscription. In any case, the issue of the Bundeswehr’s role and structure lacked the political salience to warrant risk taking, and threatened to be a divisive factor in any future Red/Green or SPD/FDP coalition. Whilst acknowledging the need for a debate, it was ‘swept under the carpet’ until after the elections.

Conclusions This analysis of policy change during the Kohl chancellorships in the 1990s highlights the importance of individual leadership and, with reference to Rühe, the arts of selecting and varying leadership roles, strategies, and styles. Policy leadership took the form of organising or blocking policy learning and managing institutional venues. In this way policy leaders attempted to control the flow of ideas. A key factor was the chancellor’s assessment of strategic electoral interests, along with the SPD leadership’s assessment of its own strategic electoral interests as a ‘government in waiting’. Within the macropolitical context of strategic electoral interests, party ideology, and inherited strategic culture, policy leadership at the ministerial level was critical. In particular, Rühe exhibited a high level of skill in practicing a form of ‘salami’ tactics that kept SPD members of the Bundestag Defence Committee on board with his evolving policy on ‘out-ofarea’ operations. This skill was demonstrated in careful respect for the norm of consensus, whilst using Europeanisation as a basis for shifting the nature of the consensus towards a redefined role for the Bundeswehr. In consequence, Rühe earned a great deal of respect from SPD defence specialists

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and, in the process, furthered his prospects of becoming foreign minister in the event of a possible Grand Coalition with the SPD (without the FDP) after the 1998 elections. He also displayed a considerable skill in tailoring and sequencing his leadership role and style to changing assessments of the strategic electoral interests of the CDU/CSU and the overriding need for internal party unity, particularly by not annoying regional leaders through savage base closures or by alienating the social wing of the CDU/CSU by putting Zivildienst at risk. In short, the chapter illustrates the arts of ministerial policy leadership in the context of the importance of the Ressortprinzip in German government. Rühe’s leadership, based on his assessment of the domestic political context, shaped the scope and pace of policy change and ensured that the CDU/ CSU were able to retain control over the policy process within the policy subsystem and macropolitical system. The political management of reform was a complicated task involving a high level of activism by Rühe. As a consequence of the policy learning, resulting from Rühe’s entrepreneurship on the Bundeswehr’s participation in crisis-management operations, and from the Constitutional Court’s 1994 ‘out of area’ ruling, the policy process within the Defence Ministry had began to escape the minister’s control to an alarming extent. The strict management of the flow of ideas in the form of the Denkverbot, and the appointment of conservative officials within the ministry as ‘gatekeepers’ who could control the range of acceptable ideas about doctrine and structure, emerge as crucial factors in determining the nature of reform. Additionally, the chapter illustrates how strategic culture offers only a partial understanding of Bundeswehr policy change. Rather than acting as just a constraint upon the action of Rühe, it emerges as a resource both in promoting policy change and stalemate. Rühe was able to use German strategic culture selectively to provide himself with a rationale either to promote policy change (as consistent with Germany’s European vocation) or to block change (as leading to a ‘pure intervention’ Bundeswehr). Despite their great contribution to our understanding of Bundeswehr reform, cultural explanations neglect the political dynamics of policy change over this period, especially the pragmatism of policy leaders in dealing with external events and developments and relating them to strategic electoral interests and ideological renewal. They also neglect the characteristics of the Bundeswehr as a policy subsystem and how it relates to the defence and security, social policy, and financial policy subsystems within which it is nested. As Rühe shows, policy leaders have a measure of autonomy and are not necessarily hostage to their institutional context. They are able to change characteristics of the decision setting to enable access by other actors to the policy area, notably by managing institutional venues. In this way leadership

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has direct effects on the institutional contexts in which action takes place, changing the environment and altering the scope and tempo of action. Secondly, leadership can involve organising, and being affected by, processes of policy learning. This learning is a process of discovering not just the strategic opportunities and constraints of the institutional context but also the characteristics of emerging problems and the cogency of different policy proposals.

Table 3.1 German Defence Spending 1994–2004 (in DM Billion) AREA OF EXPENDITURE

1994

1995

1996

1997

1998

1999

2000

2001

2002

2003

2004

Personnel Expenditure

12.9

12.9

12.8

12.5

12.2

12.4

12.4

12.3

12.4

12.4

12.0

Maintenance Expenditure

2.1

2.0

2.0

2.0

2.0

2.0

2.3

2.3

2.4

2.3

2.1

Other Operating Expenditure

4.0

4.1

4.0

3.9

4.0

4.2

3.8

3.6

3.5

3.8

3.5

Total Operating Expenditure

19.0

19.0

18.8

18.6

18.3

18.6

18.4

18.3

18.3

18.6

17.7

(Share of Budget 14)

78,9

78,3

77,7

78,4

76,3

75,7

75,7

75,5

77,9

75,9

74,1

Research, Development and Testing

1.3

1.4

1.4

1.3

1.2

1.1

1.1

1.1

0.9

1.0

1.0

Military Procurement

2.8

2.8

2.9

2.7

3.3

3.7

3.7

2.8

3.5

3.8

4.1

Military Facilities

0.9

0.9

1.0

0.9

0.9

0.9

0.9

0.8

0.7

0.8

0.7

Other Investments

0.1

0.1

0.2

0.2

0.2

0.2

0.2

0.2

0.1

0.2

0.2

Total Defence Investment Expenditure

5.0

5.3

5.4

5.1

5.7

6.0

6.0

6.0

5.2

5.9

6.0

21,7

21,7

22,3

21,6

23,7

24,3

24,3

24,5

22,1

23,9

25,0

(Share of Budget 14)

Source: Federal Defence Ministry

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Notes 1. P. Hall, ‘Policy Paradigms, Social Learning and the State: The Case of Economic PolicyMaking in Britain’, Comparative Politics 25, no. 3 (1993): 278–79. 2. R. Sturm, ‘The Chancellor and the Executive’ in Adenauer to Kohl: The Development of the German Chancellorship, ed. S. Padgett, (London: Hurst and Company, 1994), 79. 3. R.D. Asmus, Germany after the Gulf War, Santa Monica, California, RAND 1992; T. Kielinger, ‘The Gulf War and the Consequences from a German Point of View’, Aussenpolitik 42, no. 3 (1991): 241–50. 4. D. Lutz, ‘Die Golfkrise, das Grundgesetz, die gemeinsame Sicherheit zur übertragbarkeit Europäischer Sicherheitsvorstellungen auf den Vorderen Orient und zur zulässigkeit von Bundeswehreinsätzen am Golf’, Vierteljahresschrift für Sicherheit und Frieden 8, 233–37. 5. Asmus, Germany after the Gulf War. 6. J. Baker, The Politics of Diplomacy: Revolutions, War and Peace, 1989–1992, (New York: Putnam’s Sons, 1995), 282. 7. Genscher, Erinnerungen, 907. 8. K. Kaiser and K. Becher, Deutschland und der Irak-Konflikt, Internationale Sicherheitsverantwortung Deutschland’s und Europa’s nach der deutschen Vereinigung (Bonn, Forschungsinstitut der DGAP, 1992, 96–97; H. Meyer, ‘Early at the Beach and Claiming Territory? The Evolution of Ideas on a New European Order’, International Affairs 73, no. 4 (1997): 722–24. 9. J. Mayall, The New Interventionism 1991–1994: The UN Experience in Cambodia, Former Yugoslavia and Somalia, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), chapter 2. 10. J. Baker, The Politics of Diplomacy, Revolutions, War and Peace, 1989–1992, (New York: Putnam’s Sons, 1995), 650. 11. Interview, Defence Ministry, Berlin, 6 August 2002. 12. Ibid. 13. A. Heinrich, ‘Der Normaliser Geht: Generalinspekteur Naumann, ein Bilanz’, Internationale Politik, March 1996; see also ‘Wenn der ‘erste Soldat’ die Kamaradschaft vermisst’, Welt 17 May 1995. 14. Militärpolitische und Militärstrategische Grundlagen und Konzeptionelle Grundrichtung der Neugestaltung der Bundeswehr, Federal Defence Ministry 1990. 15. Interviews, Jasper Wieck, CDU/CSU Working Group on Defence Policy , Berlin, 16 August 2002; Bernd Weber, CDU/CSU Working Group on Defence Policy, Berlin, 26 August 2002. 16. ‘Politiker mit Overdrive’, Rheinische Merkur/Christ und Welt, 3 June 1992; Interview, Jasper Wieck, Berlin, 16 August 2002; Bernd Weber, Berlin, 26 August 2002. 17. ‘Mehrzweckwaffe Volker Rühe wechselt auf die Hardthöhe’, Stuttgarter Zeitung, 1 April 1992. 18. ‘Kohl’s Mann für den Notfall’, Frankfurter Rundschau, 2 April 1992; Interview, Jasper Wieck, Berlin, 16 August 2002. 19. ‘Kohl’s Mann für den Notfall’, Frankfurter Rundschau, 2 April 1992. 20. Interview, Axel Schneider, Referent, SPD Working Group on Defence and Security Policy, SPD Parliamentary Party, Offices of Peter Zumkly and Heidemarie Wiezoreck-Zeul, MPs, Berlin, 4 September 2002; Bernd Weber, Berlin, 26 August 2002. 21. ‘Kohl’s Mann für den Notfall’, Frankfurter Rundschau, 2 April 1992. 22. Interviews, Jasper Wieck, Berlin, 16 August 2002; Bernd Weber, Berlin, 26 August 2002. 23. V. Rühe, ‘Growing Responsibility’, German Comments 42, April, 1996, 32–37; Interview, Bernd Weber, Berlin, 26 August 2002. 24. ‘Neue Chancen aus der Wiedergeburt der Europäische Mitte’, Welt am Sonntag, 12 June 1994. 25. V. Rühe, ‘Deutsche Sicherheitspolitik: Die Rolle der Bundeswehr’, Internationale Politik 4 (1995): 26–29. 26. ‘Volker Rühe: Der Bulldozer wird Minister’, Berliner Morgenpost, 1 April 1992.

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27. 28. 29. 30.

31. 32. 33. 34. 35. 36. 37. 38. 39. 40.

41. 42. 43. 44.

45.

46. 47. 48. 49. 50. 51. 52. 53.

54. 55. 56. 57. 58. 59. 60.

83

V. Rühe, ‘Deutsche Sicherheitspolitik’, 26–29. ‘Salamitaktik’, Zeit, 17 January 1997; Dienst und Raki’, Zeit, 16 August 1996. Interview, Jasper Wieck, Berlin, 16 August 2002. ‘Soldat in bewegter Zeit’, IFDT no. 1, 1996; Interviews, Brigadier-General Klauswilli Gauchel, Defence Advisor, German Delegation, NATO 16 September 2002 and Lt. General Olshausen, German Military Representative, NATO, Brussels, 17 September 2002. ‘Soldat in bewegter Zeit’, IFDT no. 1 1996. ‘Militärpolitische und Militärstrategische Grundlagen und Konzeptionelle Grundrichtung der Neugestaltung der Bundeswehr’, Federal Defence Ministry, 1990. K. Longhurst, ‘Strategic Culture: The Key to Understanding German Security Policy’? (Ph.D. diss., University of Birmingham, 2000), 157. ‘Hier wird wirklich europäisch gedacht’, Rheinische Merkur, 29 December 1995. ‘Höchste Zeit für eine grundlegende Reform’, Parlament, 36/37, September, 1995. ‘Volker Rühe: Der Bulldozer wird Minister’, Berliner Morgenpost, 1 April 1992. V. Rühe, ‘Deutsche Sicherheitspolitik’, 26–29. ‘Stehvermögen für die schnelle gangart’, Süddeutsche Zeitung, 24 September 1992. V. Rühe, ‘Deutsche Sicherheitspolitik’, 26–29. Interviews, Bernd Weber, Berlin, 26 August 2002; Axel Schneider, Berlin, 4 September 2002, 10 October 2002. ‘Der Edel-Reservist’, Woche, 29 November 1997; ‘Das Amt hat ihn verändert’, Berliner Zeitung, 3 August 1997. Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, 17 December 1996; Interview, Axel Schneider, 10 September 2002. Irondelle, ‘Europeanisation without the European Union’? 208–27. H. Maull, ‘Germany in the Yugoslav Crisis’, Survival 37, no. 4 (1995): 99–130. ‘Die Erfolgsgeschichte eines Querdenkers’, General-Anzeiger, 26 June 1998; Interview Axel Schneider, 4 October 2002; Thomas Schiller; Advisor to Karl Lamers, MP, CDU Working Group on Foreign Policy, 14 February 2002; Dr. Jasper Wieck, Berlin, 16 August 2002. ‘Politiker mit Overdrive’, Rheinischer Merkur/Christ und Welt, 3 June 1992; ‘Auf dem Weg zum Gipfel’, Woche, 14 August 1998; ‘Stehvermögen’, Süddeutsche Zeitung, 24 September 1992. ‘Auf dem Weg zum Gipfel’, Woche, 14 August 1998. ‘Die Erfolgsgeschichte eines Querdenkers’, General-Anzeiger, 26 June 1998. ‘Auf dem Weg zum Gipfel’, Woche, 14 August 1998. ‘Im Profil: Volker Rühe’, Süddeutsche Zeitung, 25 June 1998. ‘Die Landesverteidigung bleibt Kernauftrag’, Lausitzer Rundschau, 22 March 1996; ‘Mit mir gibt es kein Rütteln an der Wehrpflicht’, Westdeutsche Allgemeine, 27 November 1997. ‘FDP-Befragung: Für Wehrpflicht, DPA 171333, November 1997; ‘Rühe warnt FDP vor Irrweg bei der Wehrpflicht’, Süddeutsche Zeitung, 8 August 1997. ‘Konzeptionelle Leitlinie zur Weiterentwicklung der Bundeswehr’, Federal Defence Ministry, Bonn, 12 July 1994. ‘Kohl: Es bleibt bei der Wehrpflicht’, Süddeutsche Zeitung, 9 August 1997; ‘Helden an der Kostenfront’, Sonntagsblatt, 26 September 1997; Interviews, Defence Ministry, Berlin, 6 August 2002 and 14 August 2002. Ibid. Interview, Marcus Lackamp, CDU Central Office, Berlin, 6 August 2002; Bernd Weber, Berlin, 26 August 2002. Interview, Finance Ministry, Bonn, 28 August 2002. ‘Um die Soldaten kämpfen’, Sonntagsblatt, 24 March 1995. ‘Um den Büffel wird es einsam: Warum Theo Waigel immer Gewinner bleibt und Maastricht wichtiger ist als die Bundeswehr’, Focus, 8 June 1996. K. Dyson and K. Featherstone, The Road to Maastricht: Negotiating Economic and Monetary Union, Oxford, Oxford University Press 1999, 285. Ibid., 449.

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61. ’Um den Büffel wird es einsam’ Focus, 8 June 1996; interview, Finance Ministry, Berlin, 18 August 2002. From DM 26.975 Billion in 1992 to DM 23.962 Billion in 1998. 62. ’Um den Büffel wird es einsam’, Focus, 8 June 1996; interview, Finance Ministry, Berlin, 14 August 2002. 63. ‘Ressortkonzept zur Anpassung der Streitkräftestrukturen, der Territorialen Wehrverwaltung und der Stationierung’, Federal Defence Ministry, Bonn, 15 March 1995. 64. ‘Bundeswehr löst weniger Standorte als bisher vorgesehen’, DPA 311355, 30 May 1995. 65. ‘Bundeswehr löst weniger Standorte’, DPA 311355, 30 May 1995; ‘Um die Soldaten kämpfen’, Sonntagsblatt, 24 March 1995. 66. ‘Bundeswehr löst weniger Standorte’, DPA 311355, 30 May 1995. 67. Interview, Bernd Weber, 26 August 2002. 68. Presse Mitteilung, CSU Landesgruppe, 2 July 1996; DPA 0212209, July 1996. 69. Fernseh-/Hörfunkspiegel Inland II, 22 February 1996. 70. DPA 160210, 16 June 1996. 71. DPA 07080, 5 June 1996. 72. Fernseh/Hörfunkspiegel, 17 December 1996. 73. ‘Schiffversenken auf der Hardthöhe’, Süddeutsche Zeitung, 3 March 1995; Interview, Axel Schneider, 4 September 2002; Interview Defence Ministry, 14 August 2002. 74. Ibid. 75. Ibid. 76. See ‘Naumann abhors the soft-speaking of the politicians, also that of his own minister’, in ‘Grosser Schritt: Pazifisten, Militärs und der Minister’, Zeit, 1995. On the fears of the Greens about an interventionist armed forces, see ’Grüne: Bundeswehr wird Interventionsarmee’, DPA 261117, 26 September 1995; see also ‘Grüne: Regierung baut Bundeswehr zur Interventionsarmee aus’, DPA 261053, 26 September 1995. 77. Interview, Axel Schneider, 4 September 2002; interview, Defence Ministry, Berlin, 14 August 2002; ‘Druck von Oben’, Spiegel, 1 December 1997; ‘Zapfenstreich für die Wehrpflicht’, Focus, 3 November 1997. 78. Ibid. 79. ‘Neue Sicherheitsrisiken bringen der Bundeswehr neue Aufgaben’, 30 May 1994, DPA 300442. See also ‘The departing General Inspector [Klaus Naumann] has more than once said and done things that have ignited serious internal political debates on numerous occasions he has fallen out with his minister, also in public’, in ‘Abscheid eines politischen Kopfs’, Tagesspiegel 6 February 1995. 80. Interviews, Defence Ministry, Berlin, 6 August 2002 and 14 August 2002; NATO, 17 September 2002. 81. ‘Mit Berufsarmee Aufgaben nicht zu erfüllen’, Süddeutsche Zeitung, 23 May 1997. See also ‘Unter Verschluss: Wie viele Soldaten braucht das Land? 250000 Mann sind genug, meint Kinkel’s Aussen-Ministerium, zu Rühe’s Ärger’, Spiegel, 5 May 1997. 82. Ibid. 83. H. Tewes, ‘Between Deepening and Widening: Role Conflict in Germany’s Enlargement Policy’, West European Politics 21, no. 2, 1998, 117–33; H. Tewes, ‘Germany as a Civilian Power: The Western Integration of East Central Europe’ (Ph.D. diss., University of Birmingham, 1999). 84. ‘I don’t need a professional armed force. I would only need one if I wanted to intervene worldwide in places like Hati’, in ‘Zapfenstreich für die Wehrpflicht’, Focus, 3 November 1997. 85. ‘Die PDS ist eine pazifistische Partei’, Neues Deutschland, 14 November 1995. 86. Interview, Michael Alvarez, Heinrich Böll Stiftung, Berlin, 13 November 2001. 87. See Angelika Beer MP in ‘Wehrpflicht retten’, Woche, 22 August 1997. See also Fernseh/Hörfunkspiegel Inland II, 13 August 1997; see also Jürgen Koppelin, (Speaker of the FDP Parliamentary Party) in ‘Brennpunkt Wehrpflicht’, Focus, 25 July 1997. 88. ‘Nur die Junge Union möchte an der Wehrpflicht festhalten: Vertreter der anderen politischen Jugendorganisationen dagegen’, Tagesspiegel, 23 August 1997.

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89. Interviews, Helmut Hüber, Office of Angelika Beer MP, Green/Bündnis 90, Berlin, 18 July 2002; Michael Alvarez, Berlin, 13 November 2001. 90. Ibid. 91. ‘SPD lehnt Berufsarmee ab: Plädoyer für Wehrpflicht’, Welt am Sonntag, 21 June 1996. 92. J. Sloam, ‘From Loosely Coupled Anarchy to Responsibility for Europe: A Study of the European Policy of the SPD’ (Ph.D. diss., Birmingham University, 2001). 93. Parteitag der SPD in Mannheim, 14–17 November 1995. 94. Interview, Axel Schneider, Berlin, 10 September 2002. 95. P. Lösche, ‘Lose verkoppelte Anarchie: zur aktuellen Situation der Volksparteien am Beispiel der SPD’, Politik und Zeitgeschichte, no. 43 (1993): 34–45. 96. J. Sloam, ‘From Loosely Coupled Anarchy’. 97. ‘Militärischer Schutz bleibt oft genug erforderlich’, Süddeutsche Zeitung, 25 November 1996. 98. ‘Tabubruch mit Rücksicht auf den Wahlkampf vertagt: Die SPD will jetzt erst die Experten sprechen lassen’, Berliner Zeitung, 9 June 1997. 99. On European policy see J. Lindner, ‘Europapolitik der SPD Bundestagsfraktion’, Perspectiven 4 (1993): 293–305. 100. ‘Tabubruch mit Rücksicht auf den Wahlkampf vertagt’, Berliner Zeitung, 9 June 1997. 101. Sabatier, ‘The Advocacy Coalition Framework’, 147. 102. ‘Bonn weiterhin gegen eine Berufsarmee: Risse im Wehrpflicht-Dogma der Sozialdemokraten’, Neue Zürcher Zeitung, 21 December 1996; ‘SPD sorgt sich um die Bundeswehr: Unter Finanzdruck wird die Debatte um die Wehrpflicht rasch pragmatisch’, Berliner Zeitung, 7 November 1996. 103. For example: ‘Allgemeine Dienstpflicht: Alternative zur Berufsarmee’? Conference, Friedrich Ebert Stiftung, April 1996. 104. ‘Die neue Spartruppe: Experten halten eine verkleinerte Freiwilligenarmee für weitaus kostengünstiger und mindestens ebenso kampfstark’, Woche, 26 July 1996. 105. Numerous interviews, SPD Parliamentary Party, Berlin, 9 November 2001 to 5 June, 2003. 106. ‘SPD debattiert über Wehrpflicht’, Stuttgarter Zeitung, 26 August 1996; ‘Vorstoss aus der SPD zur Aufhebung der Wehrpflicht’, Berliner Zeitung, 29 August 1996. 107. DPA 2815336, 28 August 1996. 108. Fernseh/Hörfunkspiegel, Info am Morgen, 28 August 1996. 109. See also ‘Die Zivis sind untauglich für die Wehrpflicht Debatte’, Welt am Sonntag, 7 July 1996. The article highlights how a ‘Zivi’ costs DM 1500 per month and how the state would have to pay at least twice that for a professional. The state would have to employ an extra 700,000 men and women at a cost of DM 21 Billion per year. Whilst the article stresses how this has no formal effect on the Bundeswehr debate (because ‘Zivis’ are not supposed to occupy jobs which could otherwise be filled by professionals (‘Arbeitsmarkt Neutralität’)), it recognises that a professional army would be more expensive than a conscript army and carry significant political and economic risks. See also ‘Die Kostendämpfer’, Woche, 19 June 1996 and interviews, Finance Ministry, Bonn, 28 August 2002. 110. Welche Armee soll’s dann sein?’ Zeit, 27 December 1996; see also ‘Bonn weiterhin gegen eine Berufsarmee’, Neue Zürcher Zeitung, 21 December 1996. 111. ‘SPD-nahe Soldaten: Vier monate Wehrdienst genügen’, General-Anzeiger, 14 November 1996. 112. ‘Welche Armee soll’s dann sein’? Zeit, 27 December 1996; see also ‘Bonn weiterhin gegen eine Berufsarmee’, Neue Zürcher Zeitung, 21 December 1996. 113. Interview, Rudolf Scharping, SPD Parliamentary Party, Berlin, 5 June 2003. 114. ‘Tabubruch mit Rücksicht auf den Wahlkampf vertagt’, Berliner Zeitung, 9 June 1997. 115. ‘SPD will ganz neue Bundeswehr’, Bild am Sonntag, 15 December 1996. 116. Ibid. 117. Ibid.

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118. Kröning is quoted as stating: ‘Conscription should not be the first concession of the SPD to the Greens’ in ‘Tabubruch mit Rücksicht auf den Wahlkampf vertagt’, Berliner Zeitung, 9 June 1997. 119. Ibid. 120. ‘SPD lehnt Berufsarmee ab: Plädoyer für Wehrpflicht’, Welt am Sonntag, 21 July 1996. 121. ‘Zapfenstreich für die Wehrpflicht’, Focus, 3 November 1997; interviews in SPD Parliamentary Party, Working Groups on Foreign, Defence, and Security Policy, June–September 2002. 122. ‘Tabubruch mit Rücksicht auf den Wahlkampf vertagt’, Berliner Zeitung, 9 June 1997. 123. See ‘rejection of Scharping’s ideas’ in ‘Bonn weiterhin gegen eine Berufsarmee’, Neue Zürcher Zeitung, 21 December 1996; DPA 161641, 16 December 1996; also interview, Kristian Gaiser, SPD Parteivorstand, Berlin, 12 November 2001. 124. ‘Zapfenstreich für die Wehrpflicht’, Focus, 3 November 1997; see also Frage der Woche, RTL, Representative Forsa-Umfrage im Auftrag von RTL, 11 August.1997. 125. EMNID-Umfrage, August 1995. 126. ‘Zivildienst Arbeitsgruppe tagte: Bergmann für erhalt des Dienstes’ DPA, 301706, May 2000. 127. ‘Verkürzter Zivildienst erschwert die Arbeit mit Behinderten’ DPA 0417,16 August 1999; ‘Zivildienst Arbeitsgruppe tagte: Bergmann für erhalt des Dienstes’ DPA, 301706, May 2000. 128. See, in particular, SPD Basic Programme, chapter 3, part 1. 129. Reuters, 161012, August 1997. 130. ‘Wehrpflicht kein Tabu mehr’, Süddeutsche Zeitung, 4 June 1997. 131. ‘Tabubruch mit Rücksicht auf den Wahlkampf vertagt’, Berliner Zeitung, 9 June 1997. 132. DPA 152031, August 1997. 133. ‘Nord-SPD will die Freiwilligen-Armee’, Lauenbürgische Landeszeitung, 12 June 1997. 134. Sozialdemokratischer Informationsbrief, Kiel, 6 March 1997. 135. M. Opel, Auslaufmodell Wehrpflichtarmee, Zentralstelle KDV, Bremen, 1996.

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Chapter 4

POLICY LEADERSHIP ON BUNDESWEHR REFORM DURING THE FIRST SCHRÖDER CHANCELLORSHIP 1998–2002 Managing ‘Government by Commission’

The paradox of policy leadership on Bundeswehr reform during the first Schröder chancellorship derived from the combination of new opportunities for reform with the lack of a powerful political sponsor. This chapter focuses on the questions of why a powerful sponsor did not emerge and the nature of the leadership provided by Rudolf Scharping as Federal Defence Minister. As in the case of Rühe, it illustrates the triumph of domestic politics over international opportunities. The international opportunities took the form of the Anglo-French Saint Malo initiative to push for ESDP, the Kosovo War of 1999, and new EU and NATO initiatives. In addition, domestic opportunity for reform was created by the election of the first centre-left (SPD/Green) federal coalition government in postwar German history in September 1998, and its establishment of the new Kommission Gemeinsame Sicherheit und Zukunft der Bundeswehr (Commission on Common Security and the Future of the Bundeswehr). The so-called ‘Weizsäcker Commission’ sought to codify the lessons of Germany’s deployments, including Kosovo and new EU and NATO initiatives, and to produce far-reaching, authoritative reform proposals that would command a broad consensus. Under its high profile chair, former Federal President and CDU politician Richard von Weizsäcker, the

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Commission opened up new opportunities for policy learning in the form of a ‘professional policy forum’ and for Weizsäcker to play a key brokerage role in ‘binding in’ the ‘freedom’ and the ‘peace’ coalitions behind radical reform. The Weizsäcker Commission was, moreover, the precursor to a technique of policy reform that characterised the first Schröder Chancellorship – ‘government by commission’.1 The lack of a powerful sponsor was manifested in Scharping’s leadership strategy and style, which drew back from an entrepreneurial role, and in the CDU/CSU opposition’s unwillingness to back the reform proposals of Wolfgang Schäuble. Scharping saw the value of the Weizsäcker Commission in testing the limits of what was possible in reform, without having to make an early commitment. However, he also identified in Weizsäcker’s capacity to act as an independent policy broker in this new institutional venue for policy learning a risk that the process of Bundeswehr reform could escape his control, with adverse and potentially disastrous political consequences. His efforts at political management of the resulting reform process cast him in the role of a veto player, denying the Commission support. The macropolitical level of chancellor, defence minister and SPD supported conscription for its instrumental value, namely the uncertain benefits of radical change and the potentially high economic and political costs of abolishing conscription. In short, despite the opportunity afforded by the international events and a range of EU and NATO initiatives, domestic political considerations triumphed. In addition, on entering office, Scharping and the new SPD/Green government faced an important new window of opportunity opened by the Franco-British initiative at Saint Malo, in which Great Britain, traditionally strongly Atlanticist in its defence and security policies, added greater credibility and impetus to ESDP.2 The Schröder government was able to use the WEU and the EU presidencies in the first half of 1999 to situate the role and structure of the Bundeswehr within a revived debate about European defence and security identity. German participation in the Kosovo War gave Scharping an early opportunity to pursue agenda change about the Bundeswehr. However, he did not adopt a leadership role as policy entrepreneur. Instead, Scharping resorted to defending conscription from the threat posed by the Weizsäcker Commission. When seen from the perspective of the Commission, which served as a professional forum for policy learning, the policy-brokerage leadership role of Weizsäcker contrasted with Scharping’s veto-playing role. Scharping’s political reading of the Weizsäcker report was that it was too politically dangerous for his own ambitions. Scharping denied it full political support when, in seeking a compromise, he did so on terms that favored and sustained territorial and Alliance defence and conscription.

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Fanning the Flames of Policy Learning: The Weizsäcker Commission The idea of an expert commission had been developed in opposition as a way of defusing internal SPD conflict about Bundeswehr reform.3 Bundeswehr policy was one of the first areas where the Schröder government practiced its technique of using expert commissions to build a professional consensus on reform. This technique was well-suited to the macropolitical context of a ‘negotiation’ democracy in which powerful veto players could block change, and was referred to by Frank-Walter Steinmeier, the state secretary in the Chancellor’s Office, as ‘the innovative power of consensus’.4 The Commission was mandated to examine the Bundeswehr’s tasks and structure in the light of the changing security environment and to engage in impartial analysis.5 It was designed as a means of ‘acceptance management’, bringing actors together from key institutions affected by Bundeswehr reform, thereby facilitating the transmission of its thinking and proposals to members of the policy subsystem and broader society.6 Table 4.1 The Recommendations of the Weizsäcker Commission Professional and Regular Soldiers FDWL GWDL Total number of soldiers

2000

2006

203,000 23,000 112,000

210,000 5,000 25,000

338,000

240,000

1. FWDL: Freiwilligen zusätzlichen Wehrdienstleistende (conscripts signed up for extra service) 2. GWDL: Grundwehrdienstleistende (basic conscripts)

(Source: ‘Gemeinsame Sicherheit und Zukunft der Bundeswehr: Bericht der Kommission an die Bundesregierung, Bundesministerium der Verteidigung,’ May 2000) Policy learning processes within the Weizsäcker Commission embraced change to core beliefs about the tasks and structure of the Bundeswehr. In May 2000 the Commission recommended that the central role of the Bundeswehr should be crisis management and prevention and that its operational capabilities had to be adjusted to this role. The Bundeswehr was to be reduced to a peacetime strength of 240,000 troops, with only 30,000 conscripts (a selection system) and 140,000 as the operational force component ready for deployment as part of the Alliance. A ‘selection system’ with 30,000 conscripts would, in effect, have meant the end of conscription due to the issue of Wehrgerechtigkeit (the principle of

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justice in defence service and the call up of all eligible males for military service). Before 1990 the number of men fit for and willing to do military service, but not called up, was around 2 percent. However this figure rose as high as 16 percent in the post–Cold War period.7 A selection system for conscription would be an affront to any principle of equity in military service, as a large number of those willing and fit to do military service would not be allowed to. This would raise serious issues about the constitutionality of conscription. The Commission retained a small number of conscripts to: ‘allow for strategic, personnel and societal flexibility and avoid the risks of an uncertain future’.8 Above all, it was concerned with restructuring the Bundeswehr to enable it to engage in two simultaneous, time-unlimited crisis deployments, involving the division of the army, navy, and medical service into two operational contingents. Other priorities included streamlined command structures, privatisation and efficiency measures, increased European armaments procurement cooperation, and increases in the defence budget. In short, the Commission recommended deep changes to the guiding doctrine of territorial defence. ‘Minor adaptations no longer serve to accommodate the extent of the transformation [in the security environment]: what is now needed is a fundamental reform’.9 The Impact of the Kosovo Conflict, the Helsinki Headline Goals, and Budget Consolidation The report was influenced by two key events. A crucial influence was the Kosovo War and the subsequent Helsinki Headline Goals, which stipulated that, by 2003, Germany should be able to mobilise 20,000 troops as part of a 50–60,000 EU force within sixty days.10 These developments were taken as confirmation that European crisis reaction capabilities must be prioritised. Hence the Commission’s thinking became Europeanised in response both to events and to ESDP developments at the EU level. As the members of the Commission heard the evidence given by witnesses, they became more and more convinced about the necessity to structure the Bundeswehr around crisis-prevention tasks. This process was facilitated by a general impression amongst the Commission members that vested interests within the Defence Ministry were the main rationale for the continuing ascendancy of the policy doctrine of territorial defence. Starting from the observation that Germany was surrounded by a ‘stable peace’ and by friends for the first time in its catastrophically troubled history, the Commission came to advocate the policy doctrine of crisis prevention: ‘The Commission recommends that the abilities, structure, and size of the Bundeswehr be determined primarily from the perspective of crisis deployment’.

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The second key influence upon the Commission was the budget consolidation policy that was announced by the new finance minister, Hans Eichel, in summer 1999, backed strongly by Schröder, as a means of restoring an image of financial competence to the government after the sudden resignation of Oskar Lafontaine as finance minister. The Commission was aware of this crucial change in the political context and attempted to limit its effects upon the implementation of its recommendations.11 It was concerned to propose a reform that could be implemented in the context of the financial difficulties that Germany faced and was particularly concerned to create a Bundeswehr that would be able to invest in the necessary weaponry for its new tasks, seen by the Commission as critical for meeting the European ‘perspective’ and NATO requirements. The report proposed cuts that would free up some DM 3 billion in the medium term, explicitly for investment in new weaponry. Whilst the report emphasised the importance of efficiency and privatisation measures, it also highlighted how a successful reform would necessitate a fixed defence budget from 2001 to 2006, with an initial injection of extra funds to cover the first period of reform. The Weizsäcker Commission as a Professional Forum for Policy Learning In order to understand the process by which the Commission came to these conclusions, and assess its effectiveness as a professional forum in promoting policy learning and change, the work of Sabatier and Jenkins-Smith on ‘professional policy forums’ is particularly insightful. The effectiveness of a forum is determined by the extent to which it reaches ‘consensus among previously disagreeing scientists on whatever technical and policy issues are placed before it,’ and where the conclusions that the forum reaches are through the involvement of all parties involved.12 Four criteria are outlined for an effective professional forum: composition, funding, duration, and the context of a mutually unacceptable policy stalemate.13 The first criterion was fulfilled by the Weizsäcker Commission: the forum was composed of a wide range of experts and representatives of groups affected by either a continuation of the status quo or radical reform of the Bundeswehr. It was also chaired by a man considered to be impartial, former Federal President and CDU politician Richard von Weizsäcker. The appointment was acceptable to both the SPD/Greens and opposition and designed to lend prestige and dignity to the forum and to reinforce the impression that it would be conducted according to norms of professionalism, independence, and neutrality. In addition to a number of ‘impartial’ academics from various German universities, the Commission consisted of experts from opposite sides of the debate: on the one side, Professor Harald Müller of the Hessen Foundation for Peace and Conflict Research, who was in favor of a professional armed force; on the other, members of the armed forces, who represented the status quo.14

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To distance its discussions from the ministerial hierarchy and avoid veto by vested interests, the Commission’s members were appointed by the government after discussions between Scharping and Schröder. Its membership was purposefully drawn from the various institutions that made up the Bundeswehr policy subsystem.15 Coalition leaders were able to trust their representatives, whilst impartial members could give specialist advice on the area and help a consensus to emerge. The composition of the Commission was an important factor in the success of the Commission in producing a professional consensus on reform. It represented key interests and strands of opinion and, in this way, was able to establish a measure of trust within the policy subsystem. It also contained people whose expertise was recognised and could reassure others that the work and recommendations had been based on expert professional norms of objectivity. In addition, though provided from within the Federal Ministry of Defence, the secretariat distanced itself from the ministerial structures and interests and encouraged the process of professional consensus building within the Commission.16 Weizsäcker’s chairmanship was also well suited to the process of consensus building.17 According to sources within the Commission, Weizsäcker’s chairmanship was fully independent for the first six months when he acted as a moderator. However, when the Commission’s work was accelerated to meet a tighter deadline and came under greater time constraints, his influence was felt more strongly as he attempted to get the Commission to develop concrete proposals. Weizsäcker also had a strong influence on the Commission’s stress on crisis prevention and the ‘European perspective’. However, he was not responsive to proposals of members of the Commission for the inclusion of terrorist threats and the proliferation of weapons of mass destruction as part of the risks facing Germany, and for the removal or alteration of the first and crucial point made by the report (‘For the first time in its history, Germany is surrounded by Alliance and integration partners and has no immediate external threat to its territorial integrity from its neighbours’).18 With respect to the second criterion, funding, whilst the Commission was government-funded, an attempt was made to underline its independence by giving it the task of reaching its own verdict on the future tasks and structure of the Bundeswehr. However, in the period running up to the publication of its report, the Commission’s members were subject to pleas from the Defence Ministry and Rudolf Scharping to ‘tone down’ the nature of its proposals, particularly in regard to conscription. In duration, the Commission exceeded the stipulations of Sabatier and Jenkins-Smith: namely, that a professional forum must meet at least six times during a year. Its work lasted from early 1999 until May 2000 and

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involved thirty plenum meetings, with in-depth debate, beginning with an initial debate about the risks, interests, and role of Germany, and their implications for the future needs of the armed forces. The work was then divided into three working groups: personnel, organisation, and armaments. After eight meetings lasting many hours, each working group reported its findings to a plenum session.19 Commission meetings were conducted as a genuine seminar discussion on the tasks and structures of the Bundeswehr in the context of emerging international security challenges.20 There was both opportunity and time for a critical evaluation of assumptions and evidence and for the building of trust. Evidence and information (an area undervalued by Sabatier and Jenkins-Smith’s criteria for an effective professional forum) were critical, for, whilst the Commission included a number of experts on the armed forces, it also included figures with little knowledge of this area. Each member of the Commission took her/his work very seriously and sought to become experts in their designated area.21 This was particularly important because members had to be able to return to the groups that they represented and stand by the verdict of the Commission. Expertise was also critical to effective participation in the working groups and plenum sessions. The working groups heard evidence from over 107 witnesses, ranging from ministers and financial consultants to NATO representatives and a cross section of the Defence Ministry.22 Interestingly, witnesses from the German military establishment created a negative impression of vested interests from which the Commission sought to move away.23 The three exgenerals on the Commission played a quieter role than might have been expected, and their influence was most felt on secondary and technical issues.24 Indeed, General Helge Hansen changed from being an advocate of territorial defence and conscription to being a proponent of crisis prevention and professional armed forces during the deliberations.25 A further factor that should be added to Sabatier and Jenkins-Smith’s and Smith’s criteria for an effective professional policy forum: a Commission must hear evidence from a wide range of sources, facilitating debate and a critical examination of opinion, and allowing important actors excluded from the Committee to provide a broader spectrum of expert opinion. If the results of the work of a Commission are to be translated into policy, it is important that those outside a Commission, and critical of the implementation of its findings, feel they have been able to impart their perspective and knowledge. The final criterion, the context of a mutually unacceptable policy stalemate, was partially fulfilled. For the members of the Commission, external events (Kosovo and the Helsinki Headline Goals) helped generate a perception that the status quo was no longer acceptable. Commission members, not least the three ex-generals, proved willing to alter their perceptions of

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the challenges, especially their urgency. Above all, Weizsäcker skillfully moved the Europeanisation issue to the centre of the agenda.26 In this respect the radical nature of the policy learning that took place in the Commission cannot be divorced from the impact of external events and the way in which these events and developments were used by Weizsäcker to manufacture a climate for policy change. As the Commission began its work, the political context was favorable to the development of a compromise.27 However, this political context would alter dramatically, closing windows of opportunity for policy change and leading to a political management of reform by key figures on the macropolitical level. Thus, whilst the members of the Commission were prepared to compromise, the key political decision makers responsible for translating the report into policy were not. There was a consensus amongst members of the Commission that a mutually unacceptable policy stalemate had been reached. However, those on the macropolitical level did not share this view. This points to another important criterion that must be added to Sabatier and JenkinsSmith’s list: a successful professional policy forum must include not only members of a policy subsystem but also members of the macropolitical system who are ultimately responsible for implementing the conclusions of a policy forum. The Weizsäcker Commission is an example of the way in which a professional forum can be effective in promoting policy learning. A consensus was reached among a set of actors from within the Bundeswehr policy subsystem who had not started their work with agreed views on the key policy and technical issues. Its recommendations were also accepted by most of the main institutions involved in Bundeswehr policy. However, its influence was stymied by the leadership of policy-veto players on the macropolitical level, who engaged in a political management of the reform and marginalised the Weizsäcker Commission and the impact of the Kosovo conflict and the Helsinki Headline Goals upon the reform process, due to their assessments of the domestic political context. The key figure in this process was Rudolf Scharping.

The Strategic Context of Bundeswehr Reform: Base Closures, Social Policy, and the CDU/CSU Opposition By 1999 to 2000 important building blocks for an entrepreneurial leadership role on the doctrine and structure of the Bundeswehr were in place. There was a compelling policy problem, widely recognised after the Kosovo War (1999), and a coherent set of policy solutions in the Weizsäcker Report (2000). Its proposals stood alongside NATO, WEU, and EU initiatives, designed to develop capabilities for crisis management: NATO’s updated Strategic Concept and Defence Capabilities Initiative (DCI) (April 1999); the Bremen Declaration

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of the WEU Council of Ministers (May 1999); the European Council Declaration on Strengthening the Common European Policy on Security and Defence (June 1999 at Cologne) and the Conclusions of the European Council in Helsinki on Common European Security and Defence and the HHG, (December 1999). The Kosovo War increased pressure for change at the domestic level, uniting the opposition to territorial defence and conscription, and giving momentum to a ‘nascent’ advocacy coalition for a professional, crisis-management Bundeswehr.28 The Greens, who provided the most important strand of the ‘ideological’ opposition to territorial defence, now joined the FDP in their ‘practical’ opposition. The Kosovo War allowed Joschka Fischer to act as policy entrepreneur within his party, marginalising the ‘fundamentalist’ pacifists and empowering the ‘realists’. With the triumph of Fischer’s policy entrepreneurship, the Greens’ opposition to conscription was transformed into a practical critique of the ineffectiveness of territorial defence in the international security environment. Green opposition also shared a common basis with the FDP in its libertarian rejection of the argument that conscription was part of a citizen’s obligations. Instead of advocating conscription’s abolition as a step towards disarmament, this reform was seen as an opportunity to structure the armed forces around crisis management.29 However, the federal government was thwarted by the 1998 Red/Green coalition agreement. Under SPD pressure, the Greens committed themselves not to make conscription a coalition issue.30 The transformation of a ‘nascent’ coalition into a ‘mature’ coalition was frustrated by the lack of an SPD ministerial sponsor. The radical policy change proposed by the Weizsäcker Commission contrasted with Scharping’s cautious response. His reform, passed on 14 June 2000, reduced the armed forces from 338,000 with 135,000 conscripts, to 277,000, including 178,000 regular troops and 77,000 conscripts (with 22,000 in further education and training, see table 4.2).31 Territorial and collective defence, rather than crisis management, remained the underlying rationale.32 Table 4.2 Rudolf Scharping’s Reform Concept: ‘The Cornerstones of a Fundamental Renewal’ PERSONNEL CATEGORY Professionals Short Service Volunteers Conscripts Total SSVs/Conscripts Standing Forces

ARMY

AIR FORCE

NAVY

TOTAL

112,000 21,000 39,000 60,000 172,000

47,000 3,200 9,800 13,000 60,000

19,000 2,800 1,200 4,000 23,000

178,000 27,000 50,000 77,000 255,000

Source: Die Bundeswehr: Sicher ins 21. Jahrhundert, Federal Ministry of Defence, June 2000

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Although Scharping’s leadership took place within the context of the Weizsäcker Commission and the fall out from the Kosovo conflict, it had to be sensitive to a range of domestic political issues that had a critical bearing upon the scope, shape, and pace of Bundeswehr reform. His leadership was crucial in ensuring that reforms based on the Weizsäcker Commission, and influenced by the Kosovo conflict and developments at the international level, took account of the domestic strategic political context. The result was an active political management of Bundeswehr reform. Four main factors informed Scharping’s adoption of a veto role, all a result of his assessment of the domestic political context. Base Closures and Electoral Strategic Constraints The strategic electoral constraints facing the SPD/Green government, with several mid-term Länder elections, were pivotal. The SPD federal executive and the Chancellor’s Office hesitated in dealing with the political ‘fall out’ from large-scale base closures.33 Base closures threatened Länder interests, the SPD’s political success at this level, and its power within the Bundesrat. The sensitivity of base closures impeded Scharping from implementing the recommendations of the Weizsäcker Report, for, as the next section will outline, even the modest closures consequent upon his own reform concept proved to be highly contentious. Zivildienst, Social Policy and the Abolition of Conscription The second factor informing Scharping’s veto role was the political sensitivities about the role of Zivildienst and fear that its abolition and the consequent reduction of social-care provision would lead to high financial and human costs. The scope, shape, and pace of Bundeswehr reform were formed by a ‘mobilisation of bias’: interests within social policy had an interest in preventing, and the power to prevent, conscription from being openly discussed and driving the reform agenda. This mobilisation of bias was felt acutely within the SPD, whose identity was closely bound with the principle of social solidarity.34 Scharping stated: ‘Replacing those doing community service and conscription with professionals would lead to a massive rise in costs’.35 As one high-ranking Finance Ministry official stated: ‘The abolition of Zivildienst plays a huge role in the issue of Bundeswehr reform—it would be very expensive, at least in the short to medium term. No government is prepared to open up this debate’.36 Eckhard Fuhr succinctly encapsulates this: ’The conscientious objectors unknowingly provide strongest support for what they object to’.37 The Weizsäcker Commission proposed 30,000 conscripts, meaning that Zivildienst was inevitably going to be brought into question. The consequences of its abolition were uncertain, to say the least, and threatened core

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aspects of SPD ideology. Whilst this would create much-needed jobs, within the context of budget consolidation the short- to medium-term costs would be high. The loss of the cheap labor that it brought (130,000 young men per year) would have severe financial implications and necessitate a sharp increase in social spending. It was the chancellor’s job to ensure that the SPD won the elections in 2002: to raise questions about a ‘supporting pillar’ of the German social system would have created unnecessary problems for the SPD in an electoral year.38 EMU, Eichel, and Budget Consolidation The chancellor’s strong political backing for Eichel’s budget consolidation, with strict financial constraints on the Bundeswehr, also informed Scharping’s leadership role. Schröder knew that the Bundeswehr was of minor interest to voters compared to growth and jobs. The new government also coincided with the launch of the final stage of EMU on 1 January 1999, Germany’s core European project. It was in the SPD’s interests to be associated with a successful launch of the Euro, especially given the strength of the value of economic stability within German public opinion.39 In this context, to break the rules of the Stability and Growth Pact would be politically embarrassing.40 Eichel and Schröder represented the central policy axis, with Eichel owing his career to Schröder after his electoral defeat as Hessen’s ministerpräsident. Schröder saw Bundeswehr reform as less relevant to the core SPD theme of ‘modernisation with social justice’.41 Despite U.S., NATO, and U.K. pressure, Eichel made his position clear: ‘Whoever increases the defence budget must clarify which other budgets he will cut’.42 There would be no financial compensation to Länder adversely affected by base closures or monies available to deal with the short- to medium-term consequences of a lack of conscientious objectors for the German social system. Eichel’s position added to the complexities of Bundeswehr reform. The problems were exacerbated because, despite Scharping’s best efforts, he was never an insider at the Chancellor’s Office.43 After Lafontaine’s resignation in 1999, Schröder identified Scharping as his most dangerous rival.44 The CDU/CSU in ‘Opposition’: More Help than Hindrance to the SPD The unwillingness of the CDU/CSU to mobilise around the new policy doctrine of a professional, crisis-management Bundeswehr also hindered Scharping. The CDU/CSU opposition feared drawing attention to the Kohl government’s deep financial cuts in defence policy after the end of the Cold War and was still strongly influenced by Volker Rühe.45 The inadequacies of the Bundeswehr in carrying out crisis-management missions did not receive the attention that they deserved because of the unwillingness of the

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CDU/CSU to act as an effective opposition on this issue.46 In consequence, those advocating the crisis-management policy doctrine lacked the encouragement to press effectively for, and gain full implementation of, the Weizsäcker Report and a bigger share of the federal budget. This unwillingness of the CDU/CSU to prioritise Bundeswehr reform and embrace radical reform stemmed from a political fear of highlighting their failures in office. There was a broad consensus amongst military experts in Germany that the Bundeswehr was in a poor state for international engagement after the budget cuts under Rühe.47 CDU/CSU attitudes worked to the benefit of the status quo and the policy doctrine of territorial defence and conscription. As a deputy chair of the CDU/CSU parliamentary party, Rühe was able to sustain the Denkverbot in opposition.48 Hence the main opposition parties facilitated and supported Scharping’s role as a veto player rather than outlining an alternative agenda setting role on the Bundeswehr. The CDU/CSU opposition focused on pressing for a higher budget for the Bundeswehr and on opposition to base closures. Rühe, who had decided upon leaving the Defence Ministry after the 1998 elections to distance himself from the Bundeswehr, was inundated with requests from figures within the Defence Ministry to become active on the issue and push the Red/Green government for more resources.49 Despite this widespread political support for territorial defence and conscription within the CDU/CSU, there was a growing feeling that CDU/CSU policy on conscription was outdated and was in need of ‘modernisation’.50 Policy learning was taking place within the party, particularly amongst younger members of the CDU/CSU who viewed the Weizsäcker Report as the most coherent basis for reform and started to question whether conscription was the correct basis for an armed force involved in international missions. A senior party figure, Wolfgang Schaüble (former chair of the parliamentary party and, for a brief period in opposition, of the CDU), took up the cause of reform against Rühe and Paul Breuer. Before the 2002 federal elections Edmund Stoiber, the CDU/CSU Chancellor candidate, put together an election team called ‘40 Plus’. Schaüble was given responsibility for European, foreign, and security policy and was charged with producing a paper on future security concepts for the CDU/CSU. In April 2002, Schaüble—along with Rupert Scholz and Karl Lamers (the foreign policy spokesperson of the CDU/CSU parliamentary party)— delivered this paper to Angela Merkel (the CDU chair) and to Stoiber and his team ‘40 Plus’. Schaüble’s concept was strongly influenced by the events of 11 September 2001. It called for a shortening of the length of conscription to five or six months and a separation of the Bundeswehr into two groups: Heimatschutzkräfte (a national guard, consisting mostly of conscripts) and Einsatzkräfte (crisis-reaction troops, consisting of career sol-

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diers).51 Stoiber was convinced that the events of 11 September 2001 necessitated a stronger level of domestic security and that international missions were better carried out by professional troops. Schaüble also proposed that the government should be given the power to deploy the Bundeswehr without the consultation of Parliament. In contrast, Rühe developed an alternative concept of CDU/CSU Bundeswehr policy, entitled: ‘The Future of the Bundeswehr: 10 Theses’.52 Rühe and Breuer strongly rejected any shortening of conscription, recommending a Bundeswehr of 300,000 troops, including 100,000 conscripts (see table 4.3). Rühe warned that splitting the Bundeswehr into Heimatschutz and Einsatzkräfte would have the effect of creating a ‘two-class army’, with demotivated and underfunded troops at home and well-equipped troops on international duty. Most importantly, Rühe warned against Schaüble’s concept as the ‘beginning of the end’ for conscription, which he saw as the ‘jewel in the crown of the Bundeswehr’.53 He also highlighted how Schaüble’s concept would necessitate base closures and would meet with ‘revolt’ amongst CDU/CSU supporters and be a certain vote loser. In addition, Rühe pointed to the consequences of a shortening of conscription for Zivildienst, rendering it impractical.54 Table 4.3 Basic Positions of German Political Parties and Key Figures on Bundeswehr Reform in 2000 Bundeswehr in 2000

General Inspector von Kirchbach

SPD (Model of Kröning)

Size of Armed Forces

338,000

280,000–290,000

Length of Conscription

10 months option of extension to 23 months 135,000

Number of Conscripts

CDU (Model of Breuer)

Bündnis 90/ Grünen

FDP

250,000

300,000

200,000

260,000

9 months

9 months

9 months option of extension to 23 months

0 months

5 months

84,500

105,000

100,000

0

65,000

The CDU/CSU leadership was aware that conscription needed rethinking. Indeed, advised by a security policy group including Naumann, Edmund Stoiber was a strong supporter of Schaüble’s ideas about the Bundeswehr. However, once again, domestic politics triumphed over international opportunity. The ramifications of base closures—especially sensitive in Bavarian local politics—extinguished opportunities for action on the issue. When Stoiber was informed of the mood within the CDU/CSU parliamentary party about Schaüble’s concept, and about the implications for base closures, his support for Schaüble’s concept quickly dissipated. 55 After a number of hours of discussion, it was decided unanimously to retain conscription at nine months. Schaüble’s idea of splitting the Bund-

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eswehr into two sections was skeptically received. From this point on Paul Breuer, a staunch defender of conscription, was put in charge of developing CDU/CSU policy on the Bundeswehr. Merkel’s and Stoiber’s policy leadership in favor of the status quo and the traditional policy doctrine was critical. They realised that Schaüble’s paper had touched on a sensitive issue that would have negative ramifications for the CDU/CSU’s electoral success and acted fast to stop any policy learning by putting a veto player in charge of the issue for the election. Nevertheless, whilst Schaüble’s paper was vetoed, it added weight to policy learning within the CDU/CSU. It served to act as an aid to the small group of reformers who sought to alter thinking on conscription in the CDU/CSU. There was a growing consensus amongst younger members of the CDU/CSU (like Bruno Zierer and others in the CDU/CSU party executive) that Rühe and Breuer were outdated in their thinking on the Bundeswehr and that conscription was in need of adaptation to the post–September 11 security environment.56 Schaüble’s failure as a policy entrepreneur cannot be explained by inadequacies in his personal leadership traits. He was operating within an unfavorable strategic electoral context, where his proposals threatened more electoral losses than gains for the CDU/CSU. He was unable to create any kind of ‘crisis consciousness’ within the CDU/CSU because it retained a greater credibility on defence and security issues with the public than the SPD or the Greens. It might be argued that Schaüble’s timing was poor. However it must be remembered that it was Stoiber and Merkel, not Schaüble, who requested that Schaüble present a paper on the issue. Rühe and Breuer were able to act as policy veto players by appealing to the ramifications for wider macropolitical objectives, rooted in the domestic political context, and the campaign team was highly sensitive to electoral arguments. The issue of base closures remained the defining element of CDU/CSU policy on the Bundeswehr.57 The net result of CDU/CSU opposition during the Red/Green government was more help than hindrance to Scharping in his veto role. CDU/CSU opposition was most damaging to the SPD in highlighting Scharping’s lack of political judgment and scandals. The CDU/CSU was also very active in pushing for an increase in the Bundeswehr’s budget, and was able to protest more against the implications of budget consolidation for defence than Scharping, who had to toe the government line. In addition, the CDU/CSU was supportive of the idea of privatisation within the Bundeswehr. Paul Breuer, Thomas Kossendey, and Dietrich Austermann reserved their criticism for Scharping’s implementation of the initiative.58 Additionally, the party was in favor of maintaining conscription, and like Scharping, stood against the radical recommendations of the Weizsäcker Commission.

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In this domestic context there were strong incentives for the political management of reform. As under Rühe, territorial defence and conscription were sustained by the political calculation of the defence minister, Rudolf Scharping, that far-reaching change was not in his interests. Once more, the politics of base closures and issue of Zivildienst were central to the political management of reform. Policy entrepreneurship would have been highly politically damaging, both personally to Scharping and to the SPD.

Rudolf Scharping as Policy Leader: The Marginalisation of the Weizsäcker Commission and the Control of Policy Learning Scharping identified that the Bundeswehr policy subsystem and domestic political context were too complex for an entrepreneurial policy role and heroic style, an assessment shared by the Chancellor’s Office.59 However, whilst Schröder’s support was important in determining the strategic direction of policy change, leadership at the ministerial level was critical in sustaining policy stalemate on reform to the tasks and structure of the Bundeswehr. Scharping was above all concerned to ensure his control over the scope, shape, and pace of reform in the face of international pressure from NATO and the EU, the Weizsäcker report, the Greens, the FDP, and those within the SPD, such as Manfred Opel and Hans-Ulrich Klose (chair of the Bundestag Foreign Affairs Committee), who openly supported the Weizsäcker report.60 In short, control over policy learning at the macropolitical level and within the policy subsystem was vital. The SPD was able to defuse initial pressure for change that resulted from the Kosovo conflict by appointing the Weizsäcker Commission. However, when Scharping perceived that ‘some members of the Commission mistook the opportunity to give advice for an opportunity to give orders’, and its proposals threatened to cause Scharping and the SPD political damage, he took action to marginalise the commission.61 The Temporal Management of Reform The first step in this process was to place stricter time constraints upon its work, bringing its report forwards by six months, to 23 May 2000, and thereby allowing the reform to pass through cabinet before the budget negotiations of August 2000. The original scheduled publication date of the Weizsäcker Report in autumn 2000 meant that it would miss the budget negotiations for the year 2001, thus postponing the Bundeswehr reform. This temporal management of reform would also allow the base closure concept to be agreed in late 2000/early 2001, thereby distancing it further from, and decreasing its potential negative effects on, the September 2002

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federal elections. Postponement of the reform would mean that the SPD/Green government would unveil its base closure concept, with attendant large-scale job losses, in the run up to the next federal elections. The Weizsäcker proposals were unacceptable for the SPD and for Schröder. Upon hearing the proposals of the Commission, the SPD general secretary, Franz Münterfering, made it very clear that he did not want any ‘softening’ of conscription and that it must remain the building block of the armed forces.62 It made little political sense for the chancellor to jeopardise the SPD’s reelection over an issue that was low on the list of voters’ concerns and over a set of proposals from the Weizsäcker Commission that were unacceptable to the SPD and the chancellor. Not least, Schröder was acutely aware of the consequences that a large number of base closures could have for forthcoming Länder elections, notably in the SPD’s pivotal state of North-Rhine Westphalia in May 2000 and in Baden-Württemberg and Rhineland Palatinate in March 2001 (the latter was SPD-led). Seizing control of the temporal dimension of reform also had another, subtler, but equally important effect—it closed down the possibility for debate, both within the SPD and at societal level.63 A wider debate would lead to heightened intra coalition tensions and conflict with the Greens and could result in a loss of control over the process of reform. This political management of the timetable of reform was justified by the need to establish clarity for the Bundeswehr and increase its Alliance capability. Scharping stated that without this: ‘The Defence Minister must send a letter to the NATO Secretary-General and cancel the Bundeswehr’s participation’.64 Hence Scharping, rather than Schröder, was critical in ‘thinning the substance of [policy] conflict’.65 Ensuring the control of policy learning within the SPD and justifying the marginalisation of the Weizsäcker Report were also achieved by appealing to both practical arguments (conscription as vital to recruitment and to ensuring ‘intelligent’ soldiers) and cultural arguments (conscription’s long-standing importance for civil-military relations). SPD defence and security experts were empowered by the party leadership to disseminate this narrative, ameliorating internal dissent to Scharping’s marginalisation of the Weizsäcker Report.66 The Control of Policy Learning Within the Defence Ministry: From ‘Management by Cooperation’ to a ‘Quiet Style of Terror’ The other key element in the marginalisation of the Weizsäcker Commission and the effects of international developments was the control of policy learning within the policy subsystem. The Defence Ministry had a reputation as a political graveyard. Internal interests that were adversely affected by policy proposals were prepared to brief against a minister and undermine

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his reputation.67 This posed an additional challenge to ministerial leadership skills. Initially Scharping appeared to embrace a leadership role of brokerage, seeking to earn the respect of service personnel by showing that he listened to their concerns: ‘management by cooperation after management by terror’.68 It was crucial for Scharping’s political ambition in relation to the chancellorship to portray himself as a forwards-thinking reformer. However, his presentational problems in this respect had many of their roots inside the Ministry. His lack of neutrality on conscription and unwillingness to act entrepreneurially on Bundeswehr doctrine could be seen as adapted to this situation. On entering office in 1998, Scharping opted for a dual approach to ministerial policy leadership, modeled on two previous, respected SPD defence ministers: Helmut Schmidt and Georg Leber.69 This choice had important implications for the pursuit of his policy-veto role. Schmidt’s reputation stemmed from detailed policy knowledge, deriving from a close relationship with officials. Scharping drew the lesson that building confidence through continuity in senior positions was critical, and retained the same state secretary as under Rühe. These senior officials were the legacy of Rühe’s Denkverbot; thus bureaucratic interests and a lack of innovation prevailed.70 This was to prove a double-edged sword for Scharping’s leadership. Denkverbot appointees would be useful to Scharping in closing down policy learning within the ministry. However, many also had a political agenda, driven by the effects of Eichel’s budget consolidation upon the Bundeswehr, and were active in leaking sensitive information to the CDU/CSU. The model of Leber was reflected in Scharping’s efforts to make direct contacts with ordinary soldiers and gain their respect and admiration.71 Scharping’s leadership style was also influenced by his conception of the flow of information. Normally, a minister would have to wait until the information came through the Dienstweg (official channel).72 The Dienstweg was slow and filtered information, with successive spins placed on it as it moved along. Scharping wanted ‘to put in place a situation where it is the quality of thought that counts rather than hierarchy’ and to obtain information by hearing the soldiers’ ideas and concerns directly.73 He sought a ‘bottom-up’ approach, perceiving Rühe’s ‘leadership of control’ as ineffective.74 However, this model of leadership did not last long. As it became clear that Scharping would have to deal with the unintended consequences of the Weizsäcker Commission and an increasingly restrictive domestic political context, he narrowed policy making down to a small core of advisors. Management by cooperation soon became ‘a quiet style of terror’, mirroring the Denkverbot.75 He attempted to retain the image of policy broker, whilst in reality playing a policy veto role. This process of adapting leadership roles was reflected in Scharping’s emulation of Schmidt’s ministerial leadership style.

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In his Generalinspekteur, Hans-Peter von Kirchbach, he had a Denkverbot appointee who was now charged with drawing up an internal ‘ministry concept’. The ‘Cornerstones for the Further Conceptual Development and Planning of the Armed Forces’, released in April 2002, was a mini-reform, envisaging a reduction of Bundeswehr from 323,000 to 290,000, with an increase in professional forces from 189,000 to 202,300 and a reduction in the number of conscripts from 134,000 to 84,500 (see table 4.3). 76 It drew sharp criticism for its lack of ambition and neglect of the problem of Wehrgerechtigkeit, as one in every three of those judged capable and willing would miss military service.77 Commissioning this report was part of a deliberate strategy by Scharping. Von Kirchbach’s conservative internal reform proposal was designed to ensure that Scharping’s own reform proposal would appear as a brokerage, when, in fact, on the core issues of territorial defence and conscription, he was a veto player.78 Having done his duty, von Kirchbach was forced to resign and replaced by Hartmut Bagger. Whilst this action was designed to create the illusion of Scharping as a policy broker, it severely undermined his personal credibility within the ministry, dissipating the trust and loyalty he had sought to develop by retaining Rühe’s appointees. There were serious implications for the implementation of Scharping’s reform concept once passed through cabinet. Nevertheless, emulation of Schmidt’s leadership style meant that conservative figures remained in power within the ministry. As well as impeding the influence of policy learning from the Weizsäcker Commission, this continuity hindered the transmission of ‘top-down’ pressures from the EU, a process explored in greater detail in chapter 6.79 Aided by the legacy of the Denkverbot put in place by Rühe, Scharping managed to keep a lid on policy learning, closing policy making down to small core of advisors.80 By altering the timetable of reform, framing his veto playing as brokerage, and ensuring that reformers were marginalised within the ministry, Scharping was able to exert a strong measure of control over the context of ideas within which the reform took place and contain pressures for radical change to the tasks and structure of the Bundeswehr within the policy subsystem and the macropolitical system. Scharping’s reform was acutely sensitive to the implications of reform for the domestic political context—the ramifications for social policy, the politics of base closures, and the demands of the Finance Ministry. In short, he had ‘done his duty’, successfully negating forces militating for radical change, events at the international level, in particular, whose ramifications were clearly spelt out by the Weizsäcker Commission. He delivered a reform that would not cause political problems for the SPD in the 2002 federal elections. Whilst domestic structural constraints and their assess-

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ment by Schröder and Scharping set the strategic direction of policy change, leadership at the ministerial level was critical. Without this control of the policy process, the scope, shape, and pace of policy change would have escaped the SPD.

Policy Leadership and the Unsuccessful Implementation of Reform The implementation of reform was to prove a more frustrating experience. Central to Scharping’s concept was the claim that it could be financed through a relatively small number of base closures and through the economic gains from privatisation and increased economic efficiency within the Bundeswehr. The credibility of this claim was dependent upon his ability to raise funds from privatisation and from the limited base closures outlined in his reform concept. In fact, the domestic politics of base closures drastically reduced projected funding levels for the reform. Deeply entrenched bureaucratic interests at the heart of the Defence Ministry hampered privatisation and efficiency measures. Whilst this might point to structural factors beyond the control of an individual, on closer examination it seems that a key variable in this failure was ministerial policy leadership: what one source referred to as ‘the Scharping phenomenon’. 81 Privatisation: Leadership and the Exacerbation of Bureaucratic Politics Scharping’s plans for increasing financial efficiency by using privatisation to finance his reform concept backfired. He had hoped to raise DM 800 million from efficiency measures and DM 1 billion from the sale of land, creating the Association for Development, Procurement, and Operations (Gesellschaft für Entwicklung, Beschaffung, and Betrieb, [GEBB]) to assess the options for public-private partnerships.82 However, by 2002, only DM 437 million had been generated through privatisation and efficiency measures. The sale of land had failed to deliver: of the DM 1 billion, only DM 1.1 million had been raised from the sale of a solitary piece of land. Scharping was confronted by institutionalised interests and bureaucratic politics at the heart of the Defence Ministry. Despite successes in the vehicle fleet and clothing areas, Scharping’s proposals on efficiency measures encountered the same bureaucratic obstacles that General Huber’s measures had met eight years earlier.83 Privatisation involved the close coordination between a number of different institutions and actors with an interest in the process. The various proposals had to pass through the Defence Ministry. As they passed from one office to another, each official raised critical points, with the result that the proposals had to be passed back along the

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chain for further amendment.84 Privatisation proposals also had to be approved by the Finance Ministry and the Bundesrechnungshof (Federal Auditing Office), where more objections to the feasibility of proposals were raised, not least to their constitutionality.85 The net result was a stalling of the privatisation project and a failure to meet the high level of expectation that Scarping had generated. The central problem was that those charged with the implementation of privatisation and efficiency measures within the ministry were those who would be most adversely affected: the civilian personnel. Proposals were passed backwards and forwards between Referate, (ministerial sections) and stalled in the hope that the CDU/CSU would win the 2002 federal elections and reverse the reform process.86 In short, institutionalised interests, bureaucratic politics, and inadequate planning acted to apply the brakes to Scharping’s initiative. Whilst consulting groups were called in to review financial practice and help increase efficiency, they found deeply entrenched institutionalised interests hard to overcome. One source recalled the statement of a high-ranking official in the Hardthohe (location of the Defence Ministry in Bonn): ‘The flies [consulting groups] may come and the flies will leave, but the shit [referring to himself] always stays’.87 Faced with these constraints, the privatisation and efficiency initiative failed to release the necessary financial resources for Scharping’s other reform proposals. This might suggest structural constraints beyond Scharping’s control. However, bureaucratic politics was significantly reinforced by Scharping’s increasingly autocratic leadership style. A series of political mistakes and scandals saw him lose the support and respect of many within his own party and within the Defence Ministry. Scharping’s leadership style also demonstrated poor mobilising and conciliatory skills. Having used former defence ministers Leber and Schmidt as models, he had attempted to accommodate as many points of view as possible, encouraging discussion about the state and future of the Bundeswehr.88 He consulted figures from the ‘grass roots’ upwards in a Bestandsaufnahme (stock taking). However, this accommodative, consensual leadership style was short lived and was part of a strategy of portraying the image of a policy broker. As Scharping’s perception of the domestic political context became increasingly negative, he closed down access to decision making in the Defence Ministry, granting influence to a small circle of advisors within the Planning Staff.89 The Schmidt model of leadership that led Scharping to conclude that he should not change the personnel within the Defence Ministry, but instead work with those already in office, proved to be a ‘double-edged sword’.90 Scharping found himself surrounded by Rühe’s appointees, figures interested in maintaining the status quo and lacking imagination. Whilst this was an aid in controlling policy learning, it had serious repercussions for his

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ability to implement his own reform, as these figures had been infuriated at the treatment of Hans-Peter von Kirchbach and felt betrayed. 91 Scharping also failed to consult and ‘bring along’ key figures within the Defence Ministry, whose support was pivotal for an effective implementation of the reform, leaving many feeling alienated from the decision-making process.92 By 2001, the Ministry was characterised by a high level of apathy, disillusionment, and antipathy towards the Defence Minister. Enmity towards Scharping and the process of Bundeswehr reform reached such critical levels that a substantial number of important figures within the ministry were active in leaking politically sensitive information to the CDU/CSU, in particular to Volker Rühe, in an attempt to undermine Scharping and the SPD.93 This situation could have been avoided, had he pursued a more accommodative, consensual, and persuasive leadership style and coopted a wider range of Defence Ministry officials into the decision-making process. Base Closures: Prioritising Electoral-Strategic Interests over Investment Scharping had banked on a number of base closures, in particular of small bases, to help raise resources for the reform. The compromises necessary to avoid political isolation within his own party and electoral damage to the SPD meant Scharping was unable to raise enough funds to implement his reform effectively and increase investment in capabilities.94 Scharping’s leadership role in base closures stemmed from his priority to retain support amongst his colleagues as a means of securing his ambition of succeeding to the Chancellor’s Office.95 He prioritised strategic electoral interests over the value of real estate, compromising his ability to raise funds and crucially increase investment in new equipment and weapons projects. The base closure plan took place in three phases: outline planning from June until September 2000, detailed planning from September to December, and the final decision in early 2001. During the outline planning stage, Scharping made it clear that most of the 166 small bases with less than fifty soldiers each would be closed, unless they were needed for special purposes such as radar surveillance. The more sensitive issue of closure of the 439 larger bases was left open. Such bases were often the lifeblood of a local economy. A garrison of 10,000 troops would, for example, consume over two million bread rolls, 1,250 pigs, 130 cows, and DM 500,000 of fruit and vegetables in a year.96 The average annual expenditure of an employee of the Bundeswehr in the local economy was DM 60,000.97 For this reason Scharping made it clear that the majority of closures would take place in the more prosperous regions of the western Länder rather than in the new Länder, which had already suffered large closures under Stoltenberg and Rühe and were no longer in a position to sustain cuts. Strategic electoral interests also played a role in this judgment. The SPD saw

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the new Länder of the East as pivotal for its success in the forthcoming 2002 federal elections. The sensitivity of base closure was such that members of the Green party, who previously protested against the military, opposed the closure of bases in their own Länder.98 The SPD was also concerned that the base closure programme could have a negative impact on the two key Länder elections on 25 March 2001 in Baden-Württemberg and Rhineland Palatinate, especially on the prospects for Kurt Beck, Ministerpräsident in Rhineland Palatinate. Scharping was bound to be sensitive to this latter issue because he was a former Ministerpräsident of Rhineland Palatinate, which remained his home state. Baden-Württemberg and Rhineland Palatinate saw a drop of 4 percent and 15 percent in troops numbers respectively. Scharping’s meetings with Kurt Beck were particularly intensive and took place before Scharping met with other Ministerpräsidenten.99 In particular, the SPD parliamentary party put pressure on him to push through the concept hastily.100 It was also critical to troop morale that their future be clarified as soon as possible. Scharping acted quickly to put to rest fears, stoked by the CSU, that Bavaria was to suffer disproportionately. He ‘took the wind from the CSU’s sails’ by securing the future of bases such as Freyung in Bayern.101 In this way it was hoped to uncouple the timing of the base closure programme not just from the federal elections of 2002 but also from sensitive Länder elections in 2001. The closure of larger bases was to be determined through testing by a number of publicly articulated criteria: the social and economic importance of the base to the region, the relationship between the local population and the base, the amount of new recruits that a base produced, and the concentration of bases in the region (the army had to remain ‘in der Fläche präsent’, that is, soldiers should be near their homes). Two very important but less articulated criteria were the prices to be fetched by the real estate left vacant and, secondly, the political sensitivity of the closure of the base to the SPD.102 Scharping was very careful during the outline and detailed planning stages to keep all information about base closures within the Führungsstab of the Defence Ministry. He wanted to push his concept through quickly as a ‘short, sharp shock’ in early 2001 and avoid mass protest and negative media coverage. Crucially, Scharping wanted the support of his SPD colleagues in his attempts to secure a higher budget for the Bundeswehr. He also had one eye upon his political future and had to be careful to avoid alienating fellow colleagues through insensitive base closures. However, on 14 December 2000, Scharping’s plans were leaked to Die Welt.103 He had planned to speak with the Ministerpräsidenten in early 2001 about their concerns. The leak meant that opposition had more time to mobilise. Scharping’s strategy and personal popularity within his own party

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were dealt a severe blow, as the leak placed a number of his colleagues in a very difficult position, causing them to feel betrayed by Scharping.104 The leak forced the detailed planning stage of Scharping’s strategy to be completed sooner than anticipated. Scharping encountered a high level of opposition from the chair of the Association of the Bundeswehr (Bundeswehrverband), Bernhard Gertz, who had publicly warned about threats to up to eighty bases.105 Heavyweight opposition came from a number of Landerministerpräsidenten and other Länder politicians. Examples included Lower Saxony, notably Siegmar Gabriel (SPD Ministerpräsident) and Heiner Aller (SPD Finance Minister).106 Lower Saxony was Schröder’s home state. In Schleswig-Holstein Ministerpräsident Heide Simonis continued to support Scharping’s reform publicly, but her Interior Minister Klaus Buss was sharply critical (he had been promised by Scharping that he would be consulted before any decision was made).107 Criticism of the base closure programme also came from the CSU and the Bavarian government, most notably Edmund Stoiber, Peter Ramsauer (business manager of the CSU Landesgruppe), Erwin Huber (head of the Bavarian State Chancellery), and Thomas Goppel (CSU General Secretary). Meanwhile, Kurt Beck, SPD Ministerpräsident in Rhineland Palatinate, had been lobbying Scharping for months for ‘gentle treatment’.108 Scharping’s programme of base closures planned on bringing in a total of DM 1 billion to help finance Bundeswehr reform, in comparison with the recommendation of the Weizsäcker Commission for an initial financing of DM 1 billion per year from this source.109 The Commission had recommended the closure of roughly half of all bases and the sale of half of the real estate of the armed forces. Scharping’s concerns in designing the programme were twofold: to raise as much money for the Bundeswehr as possible, whilst simultaneously retaining support within his own party.110 It was later revealed that much of the information in the leak was inaccurate. However, the damage had already been done and the leak to Die Welt ensured that the concept was brought into the public before his first round of talks with Länder politicians, putting an end to the damage limitation project planned for January.111 Scharping went public with his detailed planning and final decision on 29 January 2001, after a first round of consultation with Länder politicians. Following an examination of 439 large bases, his initial plan foresaw the closure of 39, with a further 53 large bases facing reductions of up to 50 percent. This was to be accompanied by the closure of 20 smaller bases, with a further 72 smaller bases also facing reductions of up to 50 percent in numbers.112 The concept was agreed in cabinet on 31 January 2001. However, Scharping continued to encounter protest from within his own party as well as the CSU. Indeed in the week of 13 February, he had fifteen meetings with Länder politicians and members of the opposition.113 Länder politicians

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began to argue for a compensation package for base closures. However, the Defence Ministry, having received the backing of the Chancellor’s Office and the cabinet for the final concept, was insensitive to such pleas. On 16 February 2001 Scharping presented his final concept, after a second round of talks with Länder politicians, embodying one major correction: the garrison of one thousand soldiers in Schneeberg, Saxony, was to remain. This was the result of a joint campaign by all the parliamentary parties on the state parliament (Landtag) of Saxony against the closure of the base. In total, the second concept cut the number of posts lost by 2,500.114 Scharping’s personal ambitions, crucially the need to retain personal support amongst his colleagues as a means to securing the Chancellor’s Office, were critical in his immobiliste leadership style on the issue of Bundeswehr reform. His base closure concept struck a tortuous compromise between military reasons for closures and their political, economic and social consequences, leading to a reduction in troops from 340,000 to 282,000, a 16 percent reduction. The base closure programme was sensitive to forthcoming Länder elections, with Rhineland-Palatinate losing 15 percent of its troops (from 39,512 to 33,600) and Baden-Württemberg losing 4 percent (from 34,293 to 32,800). The CSU-led Land of Bavaria was a big loser from closures, with a drop of 11 percent (from 71,696 to 57,900). However, SPD-led Länder (perceived as secure) were also far from immune to large-scale troop reductions, most notably North-Rhine Westphalia which lost 17 percent of its troops (from 59,371 to 49,000). The scale of the opposition to base closures and the sensitivity to the reduction of troops by 16 percent demonstrate the political, economic, and social difficulties that Scharping and the SPD would have incurred, had they followed the recommendations of the Weizsäcker Commission and reduced the number of troops by a further 42,000 to 240,000.115 The potential damage to the SPD, to his own personal popularity within the SPD and in the eyes of the public, would have been high.116 As the Handelsblatt noted: ‘A large-scale closure of bases would have meant mass protests, also internal to the party. No minister could withstand that’.117 Another high-ranking source in the Defence Ministry reinforced this message: ‘Better to have a small-scale reform than a large-scale reform which would bring such negative consequences that it would be reversed before it could begin by the victory of the CDU/CSU in the 2002 federal elections’.118 Within sections of the Federal Defence Ministry and from Green MPs there was a great deal of disappointment about Scharping’s lack of courage over base closures. Scharping himself stated that, from a purely military and rational point of view, he should have closed a further 60 bases.119 He had been unable to close the large number of smaller bases that he had wished to, closing only 20 of the 166 small bases that had come under threat

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in his earlier proposals in the summer and autumn of 2000. The result was that Scharping had not been able to free up the necessary funds from base closures to finance the reform of the Bundeswehr.120 The ‘Scharping Phenomenon’: Alienating the Budgetary Committee, SPD, and Defence Ministry Scharping’s increasingly coercive leadership style also impacted upon his ability to raise funds for weapons projects. He alienated, and made unnecessary enemies of, members of the Bundestag Budgetary Committee and many within his own party by failing to supply basic information about his financial plans. He gained a reputation as arrogant and unnecessarily coercive in his dealings with his coalition partners and his colleagues within the SPD, termed the ‘Scharping phenomenon’ by one colleague.121 Scharping had hoped that, having loyally delivered a reform that did not threaten the SPD’s electoral prospects, he might be granted a measure of leeway when seeking to redress the shortfall in Bundeswehr finances, thereby securing key weapons projects. However, his leadership style exacerbated the problem of raising funds for the Bundeswehr, making it very difficult to encourage members of his own coalition—especially Greens such as Oswald Metzger —to support the financing of major weapons projects such as the A-400M transport aircraft project.122 To make matters worse, just as Scharping lost internal support within the SPD and the Defence Ministry, a sequence of avoidable scandals impaired his political reputation amongst the electorate. A scandal about payments for an autobiography and his close ties to a lobbyist proved the last straw for the party leadership, leading to his resignation. His resignation followed a number of damaging revelations, many of which also could have been avoided. These included inappropriate timing of holidays in Majorca during the deployment of German troops in Macedonia, the use of military aircraft for personal appointments, and the poor handling of a scandal involving radioactive munitions. These scandals, allied to a faltering reform concept, led to his becoming something of a joke figure within his own party and amongst the general public.123 His position was now so weak that he had become a liability to the government, which faced a very difficult federal election, and was no longer in a position to challenge Schröder’s leadership.124 Bundeswehr Reform in 2002: A Failing Policy Concept It was becoming clear that the SPD was locked in to a failing policy concept. Germany’s continuing commitment to territorial defence was apparent in its purchase of heavy, immobile artillery, infuriating Germany’s international partners.125 This frustration was exacerbated by the lack of available funds to invest in new weapons projects and equipment, resulting from Germany’s

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commitment to conscription and the failure of privatisation and base closures to raise significant funds. Long-term weapons projects, such as the A-400-M transport aircraft—a lynchpin of ESDP—and the Defence Capabilities Initiative (DCI), came under threat, and the percentage of the defence budget allocated to investment continued to lie well beneath the necessary 30 percent, at 22 percent in 2002.126 Only after arduous negotiations between the Defence and Finance Ministries, the Bundestag defence and budgetary committees, and the Chancellor’s Office was a reduced number of aircraft (60) ordered.127 This outcome had serious implications for the Bundeswehr’s ability to carry out its crisis-management tasks. Macedonia, Afghanistan, and Policy Learning within the Defence Ministry The deployment of German troops to support peacekeeping in Macedonia as part of ‘Operation Amber Fox’, and then deployment to Afghanistan in the wake of September 11th, had little immediate effect on the scope, shape, or pace of implementation of the reform in the run up to the 2002 federal elections. Despite the ‘anti-terror’ package, there were no extra funds available to support Bundeswehr reform. Nevertheless, the operational experience of Afghanistan and Macedonia initiated a ‘bottom-up’ process of policy learning within the Defence Ministry, the results of which would become evident after the SPD/Green victory in the 2002 elections. Whilst the official position of Scharping and the Denkverbot appointees was that conscripts were better equipped to deal with the challenges of post-conflict resolution, many who had recent operational experience drew different conclusions.128 An internal paper, written by a group of German generals, surfaced in February 2002, arguing that, to meet humanitarian and crisis-reaction commitments, the Bundeswehr required a professional force of 200,000– 250,000 troops.129 The paper was particularly concerned about the late arrival of German forces in Kabul due to the time taken to deploy troops. The generals stressed that the Bundeswehr was not structured for such deployments and that greater flexibility and responsiveness were needed. Change was inevitable in order to avoid always being the ‘tail light’. But, with federal elections looming, Scharping was determined to stick to his reform concept, marginalising outspoken figures within the ministry, and ensuring that this pressure did not disrupt his political management of reform and force him away from his veto role. This balancing act became increasingly difficult in the context of more widespread policy learning. With the 2002 federal elections imminent, Peter Struck, chair of the SPD parliamentary party, replaced Scharping. He was widely respected, considered a ‘safe pair of hands’ and was charged with carrying through the reform’s implementation until after the election.130

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Conclusions The Weizsäcker Commission illustrates powerfully the domestic political constraints on Bundeswehr reform and the acute challenges that it poses for ministerial leadership. Even the veto-playing role of Scharping to protect conscription landed him in deep political problems over base closures, privatisation, and efficiency measures. Scharping also exhibited failings in leadership traits. He was less adept at binding people in to his positions than Rühe had been, not least within his party (where he also lacked strong backing from his chancellor), but also in his dealings with the CDU/CSU opposition. Critically, he was caught up in the contradiction between his opting for staff continuity in the ministry (following the Schmidt model of leadership) and the appointment of the Weizsäcker Commission. The result was that he was caught between Denkverbot officials, Rühe’s legacy, and the Commission’s innovative solutions. This mismatch caused him considerable political difficulties in managing Bundeswehr reform and led him to exhibit an increasingly coercive, narrowly enclosed leadership style that made him enemies. Scharping’s leadership challenges were deepened by a more pressing environment of international events and EU and NATO initiatives in the Schröder government’s first year of office. They offered a new window of opportunity for policy entrepreneurship on the tasks and structure of the Bundeswehr. This window of opportunity was widened by the work and conclusions of the Weizsäcker Commission. The result was that in Bundeswehr reform Scharping had to contend with a much sharper clash between international opportunity and domestic constraint. This clash placed additional pressures on his policy leadership, generated great problems of designing the scope, shape, and pace of reforms, and led to failures in implementation and consequent embarrassments. Domestic political factors were central in informing Scharping’s choice of leadership roles. The macropolitical and electoral implications of Bundeswehr reform, and its nature as a policy subsystem interconnected with the financial and social policy subsystems, brought it into the orbit of the Chancellor’s Office (where there was little sympathy for Scharping). Moreover, the Weizsäcker Commission represented a factor that was difficult for Scharping to control. It threatened to leave him with a set of ‘authoritative’ proposals that were political dynamite. In the context of Schröder’s and the SPD‘s concern to neutralise potentially severe political and financial costs from Bundeswehr reforms, and of the CDU/CSU’s lack of support for radical reforms, policy leadership at the ministerial level was critical in the political management of reform and in defusing pressure for radical change to the doctrine and structure of the Bundeswehr. The control of policy learn-

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ing, within the macropolitical system and policy subsystem, were vital in sustaining policy stalemate on reform. This control was achieved by the careful appointment of officials at the ministerial level, the initiation of parallel policy reform work in the ministry by conservative officials, and the selective use of strategic culture to justify policy stalemate on both the doctrine and the structure of the Bundeswehr. Scharping actively promoted the Defence Ministry’s Atlanticist orientation through the retention of Rühe’s Denkverbot appointees. In consequence, the resonance of the Europeanisation of German defence and security policy that was promoted by Weizsäcker was diminished. The EU was perceived by Scharping as a greater threat than NATO to his control over the policy process and a threat to the continuation of conscription. Similarly, leadership proves the critical variable in the implementation of Bundeswehr reform. Scharping’s retention of Rühe’s appointees and, critically, his autocratic leadership style and treatment of von Kirchbach acted to significantly worsen preexisting structural constraints in the form of bureaucratic politics within the Defence Ministry. Likewise, Scharping’s ambition with respect to the Chancellor’s Office affected his willingness to undertake the base closures necessary to raise the finances for the successful implementation of reform and increase the share of the defence budget allocated to investment in capabilities. Scharping’s problems of policy leadership were testament to the mounting difficulties of controlling the scope, shape, and pace of Bundeswehr reform.

Notes 1. K. Dyson, ‘Binding Hands as a Strategy for Economic Reform: Government by Commission’, German Politics 14, no. 2, (2005): 224–27. 2. R. Dover, ‘The Prime Minister and the Core Executive: A Liberal Intergovernmentalist Reading of UK Defence Policy Formulation 1997–2000’ British Journal of Politics and International Relations 7, (2005): 521. 3. ‘Tabubruch mit Rücksicht auf den Wahlkampf vertagt’, Berliner Zeitung, 9 June 1997; Interview Wolfgang Biermann, Head of International Policy, SPD Parteivorstand, Berlin, October 2002; Jürgen Schnappertz , Office of Peter Struck, MP, SPD Parliamentary Party, Berlin, 5 August 2002; Dirk Sawitzky, Office of Gernot Erler, MP, SPD Parliamentary Party, Berlin, 17 July 2002. 4. J. Hogrefe, Gerhard Schröder: Ein Porträt, (Berlin: Siedler, 2002): 25. 5. Interviews, Defence Ministry, Bonn, 23 September 2002. 6. Ibid. 7. Compulsory Military Service in the 21st Century: More Security for All, Federal Defence Ministry, April 2002, 23. 8. Gemeinsame Sicherheit und Zukunft der Bundeswehr: Bericht der Kommission an die Bundesregierung, May 2000, Point 109. 9. Ibid, Point 5.

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10. Interviews Defence Ministry, Bonn, 23 September 2002; interview Professor Helga Haftendorn, 27 May 2003. 11. Interviews, Professor Helga Haftendorn, Member of the Kommission Gemeinsame Sicherheit und Zukunft der Bundeswehr, 27 May 2003; Defence Ministry, Bonn, 23 September 2002. 12. Sabatier and Jenkins-Smith, ‘The Advocacy Coalition Framework’, 146. 13. Ibid. 14. Interviews, Defence Ministry, Bonn, 23 September 2002. See also ‘Friedensforscher greift Scharping an’, Frankfurter Rundschau, 25 May 2000. 15. ‘Gemeinsame Sicherheit’. 16. Interviews, Defence Ministry, Bonn, 23 September 2002; interview Professor Helga Haftendorn, 27 May 2003. 17. Ibid. 18. Interviews, Defence Ministry, Bonn, 23 September 2002. 19. Interviews, Defence Ministry, Bonn, 23 September 2002; interview Professor Helga Haftendorn, 27 May 2003. 20. Ibid. 21. Ibid. 22. ‘Gemeinsame Sicherheit’. 23. Interviews, Defence Ministry, Bonn, 23 September 2002. 24. Ibid. 25. Helge Hansen in Welt, 27 February 1996, quoted in Opel, ‘Auslaufmodell Wehrpflichtarmee’. In this article Hansen makes the case for conscription. However in a dissenting vote (Abweichende Voten) Weizsäcker Commission report, General Hansen advocates an all-volunteer force rather than the 30,000 conscripts recommended by the report. Gemeinsame Sicherheit, Abweichende Voten, Anhang 1, p. 147. 26. ‘Weizsäcker-rede löst Verstimmung aus’, Welt, 20 August 2000. See also, ‘Kommissionsvorsitzender betont Notwendigkeit europäischer Sicherheitspolitik’, Handelsblatt, 24 November 1999. 27. ‘Zeit zum letzten Zapfenstreich? Fünf Argumente gegen eine Armee aus lauter Frewilligen’, Zeit, 1 March 1996. Point 4 stresses how the loss of Zivildienst would have severe repercussions for social care. 28. Sabatier and Jenkins-Smith distinguish between ‘nascent’ and ‘mature’ advocacy coalitions. Mature advocacy coalitions have a ‘line up of allies and opponents that are rather stable over a period of a decade or so’, sharing common ‘policy core’ beliefs (about policy preferences). The FDP and Green convergence over ‘policy core’ beliefs underpinning their opposition to conscription threatened to create an advocacy coalition that could challenge territorial defence /conscription. However, because of the constraints of coalition discipline, the Greens were unable to engage in concerted ‘practical’ opposition to conscription/territorial defence with the FDP. Sabatier and Jenkins-Smith, ‘The Advocacy Coalition Framework’,136. 29. ‘SPD Pocht weiter auf Wehrpflicht’, Frankfurter Rundschau, 9 May 2000; Interview, Helmut Hüber, Office of Angelika Beer MP, Grünen/Bündnis 90, Berlin, 18 July 2002. 30. Interviews, Helmut Hüber, Berlin 18 July 2002; Chancellor’s Office, 2 August 2002 and 14 November 2001. 31. Cornerstones of a Fundamental Renewal, Federal Defence Ministry, June 2000, point 56. 32. Ibid, points 4 and 6. 33. Interview, Chancellor’s Office, Berlin, 2 August 2002; ‘Schröder wants to avoid a debate’, Spiegel 15, 8 April 2002. 34. Interview, Finance Ministry, Bonn, 28 August 2002; ‘Ministerium setzt Arbeitsgruppe zum Zivildienst ein’, Berliner Zeitung, 20 March 2000; ‘Ohne die Drückeberger geht es nicht’, Zeit, 18, 27 April 2000; DPA 041623, May 2000; ‘Stirbt der Zivildienst mit der Wehrpflicht?’, Berliner Morgenpost, 14 May 2000; ‘Ein Pflichtjahr wäre für alle ein Gewinn’, Hannoverische Allgemeine Zeitung, 6 April 2002. Ex-Deputy Generalinspekteur

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35. 36. 37. 38.

39. 40. 41. 42.

43. 44. 45. 46. 47. 48. 49. 50. 51. 52. 53. 54. 55. 56. 57.

58. 59. 60. 61. 62. 63. 64. 65. 66. 67.

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Jürgen Schnell at the Bundeswehr University, Munich, produced a study concluding that a 280,000-strong professional force would save the Defence Ministry 7 Billion DM, DPA 0485, February 2000. ‘Teuere Wehrpflicht’, Spiegel, 21 February 2000. Interviews, Finance Ministry, Bonn, 28 August 2002. ‘Fragen zur Wehrpflicht’, Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, 25 March 2000. ‘Ohne die Drückeberger geht es nicht’, Zeit 18, 27 April 2000, Fernseh/Horfunkspiegel Mittagsmagazin, 4 May 2000; interviews in Finance Ministry, Bonn 28 August 2002 and Berlin 18 August 2002. Interview, Finance Ministry, Berlin, 18 August 2002; Bonn 28 August 2002. Ibid. ‘Der ungerechte Staat’, Welt, 28 November 2002. Scharping’s privatisation and efficiency project backfired. Proposals were stalled in the hope that the CDU/CSU would win the 2002 elections, interviews, Defence Ministry, Bonn, 23 September 2002. See also, ‘Kritik aus den USA am Etat der Bundeswehr’, Handelsblatt, 2 December 1999; ‘Streit um die Bundeswehr’, Berliner Zeitung, 2 December 1999; ‘Deutschland gibt ein schlechtes Beispiel’, Tagesspiegel, 12 November 1999. Interview, Chancellor’s Office, Berlin, 2 August 2002; Axel Schneider, Berlin, 4 August 2002. ‘Streicheleinheit nach dem Nasenstüber’, Badische Zeitung, 23 November 2001. Interview, Axel Schneider, Berlin, 10 August 2002; Marcus Lackamp, CDU Central Office, Berlin, 6 August 2002. Interview, Axel Schneider, 10 September 2002; Dr. Jasper Wieck, Berlin, 16 August 2002. Interviews, Defence Ministry, Bonn and Berlin, August–September 2002. Interview, Marcus Lackamp, Berlin, 6 August 2002. Interview, Dr. Jasper Wieck, 16 August 2002. Interview, Markus Lackamp, Berlin, 6 August 2002. ‘Union entschärft internen Streit um die Bundeswehr’, Süddeutsche Zeitung, 6 April 2002. ‘Schlappe für Schaüble’, Welt, 6 April 2002. Ibid. Ibid. ‘Union will bei Wehrpflicht von neun Monaten bleiben’, Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, 6 April 2002. Interview, Markus Lackamp, Berlin, 6 August 2002. Interview, Markus Lackamp, Berlin, 6 August 2002. See also ‘[Rühe’s] argument that such a closure would lead to an uprising from regional party organisations and electoral districts and could cost the CDU votes acted to convince Stoiber [against Schaüble’s concept]’‚ Schlappe für Schaüble’, Welt, 6 April 2002. Interview, Bernd Weber, Berlin, 26 August 2002. Interview, Rudolf Scharping, Berlin, 5 June 2003; Interview, Chancellor’s Office, 2 August 2002. Spiegel 51, 17 December 2001, 22–24; Interviews, Axel Schneider, Berlin, 4 September 2002, 10 September 2002. Interview, Rudolf Scharping, Berlin, 5 June 2003. ‘SPD Pocht weiter auf Wehrpflicht’, Frankfurter Rundschau, 9 May 2000. Interviews, Defence Ministry, Bonn, 23 August 2002; Chancellors Office, Berlin, 2 November 2001. Hannoverische Allgemeine Zeitung, 19 April 1999. Patzelt, ‘Chancellor Schröder’s Approach’, 293. Interview, Axel Schneider, SPD Parliamentary Party, Working Group on Defence and Security Policy, 4 September 2002. Interview, Defence Ministry, Berlin, 26 August 2002; Interview, Bernd Weber, Berlin, 26 August 2002.

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68. Interviews, Defence Ministry, Bonn, 23 August 2002; Berlin, 14 August 2002; Rudolf Scharping, Berlin, 5 June 2003; ‘Scharping, finde ich gut’, Berliner Morgenpost, 12 February 1999; ‘Scharping bevorzugt auf der Hardthöhe die sanfte Tour’, Stuttgarter Nachrichten 9 January 1999. 69. ‘Der Stille Star’, Rheinische Post, 1 April 1999; ‘Noch kein Georg Leber, aber immerhin’, General Anzeiger, 15 January 1999, Interview, Axel Schneider, 10 September 2002; interview, Rudolf Scharping, 5 June 2003. 70. Interview, Axel Schneider, Berlin, 10 September 2002. 71. Interview, Rudolf Scharping, Berlin, 5 June 2003. 72. Ibid. 73. Interviews, Rudolf Scharping, Berlin, 5 June 2003; Axel Schneider, 4 August 2002. 74. Interview, Defence Ministry, Berlin, 6 August 2003; Rudolf Scharping, Berlin, 5 June 2003. 75. Interviews, Defence Ministry, Berlin, 30 August 2002; Herr Van der Busche, SPD Parliamentary Party, Budgetary Policy Working Group, Office of Volker Kröning MP, Berlin, 15 August 2002. 76. ‘Grüne attackieren Bundeswehr-Konzept’, Welt, 20 April 2000. 77. ‘Ein Sprengsatz für den Kanzler’, Welt, 28 April 2000. 78. This allowed the SPD to uncouple base closures from the 2002 elections and Länder elections in Baden-Württemburg and Rheinland-Palatinate in March 2001. ‘Fraktion mahnt Scharping zur Eile’, Süddeutsche Zeitung, 2 December 2001. 79. Interviews, Defence Ministry, Bonn, 23 August 2002. 80. Interview, Axel Schneider, 4 September 2002; Defence Ministry, 30 September 2002. 81. Interview, Herr Van der Busche, Berlin, 15 August 2002 82. E. Krahmann, ‘Controlling Private Military Services in the UK and Germany: Between Partnership and Regulation’, European Security 13, no. 2 (2005): 11. 83. Interview, Axel Schneider, Berlin, 10 September 2002. 84. Interviews in Defence Ministry Bonn, 23 September 2002 and Berlin, 6 August 2002; interview, Axel Schneider, Berlin, 10 September 2002. 85. E. Krahmann, ‘Controlling Private Military’ 86. Interview, Axel Schneider, Berlin, 4 September 2002. 87. Interview, Defence Ministry, Bonn, 23 September 2002. 88. ‘Der stille Star’, Rheinische Post, 1 April, 1999. 89. ‘Der General und sein Minister’, Süddeutsche Zeitung, 8 February 2001; interviews, Defence Ministry, Berlin, 18 August 2002. 90. Interview, Rudolf Scharping, Berlin, 5 June 2003. 91. Scharping’s leadership style changed from collegial and accommodative to coercive and authoritarian. ‘The relationship of trust to Scharping’s top figures in the Leadership Staff (Führungsstäben) has been cracked’ in ‘Aus dem Reichstag’, Welt, 30 May 2000; see also DPA 140938, April 2002; ‘Bundeswehrangehörige protestieren gegen Reformpläne von Minister Scharping’, Welt, 8 June 2002. Interview, Defence Ministry, 6 August 2002. 92. Ibid. 93. Interview, Dr. Jasper Wieck, Berlin, 16 August 2002 94. ‘Alle lieben die Bundeswehr’, Rheinische Post, 18 August 2000. 95. Interview, Herr Van der Busche, Berlin, 15 August 2002; interview, Chancellor’s Office, Berlin, 2 August 2002. 96. ‘Jobs für Wachhunde’, Spiegel, 9 October 2000. 97. Ibid. 98. ‘Alle lieben die Bundeswehr’, Rheinische Post, 18 August 2000. 99. DPA 141542, December 2000. 100. ‘Fraktion mahnt Scharping zur Eile’, Süddeutsche Zeitung, 2 December 2001; ‘Scharpings Konzept ist ausgewogen’, Handelsblatt, 30 January 2001. 101. ‘Nur kleine Bundeswehr Standorte werden geschlossen’, Welt, 18 August 2000. 102. ‘Alle lieben die Bundeswehr’, Rheinische Post 18 August 2000.

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103. 104. 105. 106. 107.

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‘79 Bundeswehr Standorte im Viser der Reformer’, Welt, 14 December 2000. Ibid. ‘Bundeswehr reform bedroht bis zu 80 Standorte’, Tagesspeigel, 10 January 2001. ‘Widerstand gegen Bundeswehrreform aus den Länder’, DPA, 101612 January 2001. ‘Die BündesLänder kämpfen um den Erhalt von Kasernen und Standorten’ , Berliner Morgenpost, 18 December 2000. 108. ‘Opposition und Länder kritisieren Scharping’s Streichliste’, Welt, 15 December 2000. 109. Gemeinsame Sicherheit, Point 249. 110. Interview, Herr van den Busche, Berlin, 15 August 2002. 111. ‘Die BundesLänder kämpfen um den Erhalt von Kasernen und Standorten’, Berliner Morgenpost, 18 December 2000. 112. ‘Kleinere Armee, weniger Standorte’, Frankfurter Rundschau, 30 January 2001. 113. DPA 021535, February 2001. 114. ‘Scharping ändert Konzept für die Bundeswehr-Standorte’, Süddeutsche Zeitung, 17 February 2001. 115. ‘Scharping’s Konzept ist ausgewogen’, Handelsblatt, 30 January, 2001; ‘Weniger Soldaten, weniger Standorte’, Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, 30 October 2001. 116. See poll on barrack closure: ‘The armed forces need DM 2 Billion. How should this hole in finances be filled? Bundeswehr withdraw from the Balkans, 27 Percent; reduce troop numbers by 25,000, 22 Percent; close 50–60 further bases, 11 Percent; use money from another budget, 21 Percent. Emnid-Umfrage, Spiegel, 13–14 Marz 2001, in ‘Bundeswehr Sparen, aber wie’? Spiegel, 19 March 2001. 117. ‘Scharping’s Konzept ist ausgewogen’, Handelsblatt, 30 January, 2001. 118. Interview, Defence Ministry, Bonn, 23 September 2002. 119. ‘Scharping ändert Konzept für die Bundeswehr-Standorte’, Süddeutsche Zeitung 17 February 2001. 120. ‘Die Wehr ist nicht mobil, ohne Geld ist Rudolf Scharping zur Untätigkeit verdammt’ Rheinische Merkur, 1 June 2001; ‘Der Minister steht unter Druck’, Kölner Stadt-Anzeiger, 2 June 2001; ‘Nachschuss Nötig’, Zeit, 8 March 2001. 121. ‘He [Scharping] is a hard one and lacks any form of elegance’, in ‘Reform, Welche Reform?’ Tagesspeigel, 30 May 2000; ‘A quiet style of terror’, was the description of one division head in the Defence Ministry of Scharping’s leadership style in ‘Die Einsamkeit der Auster’, Süddeutsche Zeitung, 13 June 2000; Interview, Herr van den Busche, Berlin, 15 August 2002. 122. Interview, Herr Vöringer, Office of Oswald Metzger MP, Budgetary Spokesperson for the Grünen/Bündnis 90 and member of the Bundestag Finance, Berlin, 18 August, 2002. 123. ‘Rudolf retten bis zu Wahl’, Zeit, 31 May 2001. 124. ’Scharpings Entlastung bringt Schröder Pluspunkte’, Tagespiegel, 20 July 2002; Politik und Kommandeure halten an Wehrpflicht fest’, FT Deutschland, 9 April 2002; Interviews, Defence Ministry, Berlin, 14 August 2002 and 30 August 2002; Bonn, 23 September 2002. 125. Interviews with Paul Williams (Political Military Affairs) and Col. Jack Sheldon (Defence), British Embassy, Berlin, 9 September 2002; ‘Verteidigung braucht Zukunft’, Zeit, 6 June 2002. 126. ‘Bundeswehr wehrt sich gegen Sparkurs’, Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, 2 May 2002; interview, Herr Vöringer, Berlin, 18 August 2002. 127. Ibid. 128. Interview, Rudolf Scharping, 5 June 2003; interview Axel Schneider, Berlin, 4 September 2002. 129. Interviews, Defence Ministry, Berlin, 14 August 2002; interview, Axel Schneider, Berlin, 4 September 2002. 130. Interviews, Chancellor’s Office, Berlin, 2 September 2002; Axel Schneider, Berlin, 4 September 2002; Jürgen Schnappertz, Berlin, 5 August 2002.

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Chapter 5

BUNDESWEHR REFORM DURING THE SECOND SCHRÖDER CHANCELLORSHIP 2002–05 The Art of Combining Leadership Roles

Following Scharping’s resignation in July 2002, Peter Struck was appointed defence minister to bring stability to a policy sector and ministry perceived to be in disarray. He was viewed by Schröder and the SPD as a ‘loyal, hard, disciplined heavyweight’ who would not challenge Schröder’s position as chancellor.1 Having previously acted as chair of the parliamentary party, he had well-developed consensus-building skills, could be trusted to adhere to budget consolidation, and was a long-standing supporter of conscription.2 Struck brought a major asset to the ministry: he was close to the chancellor and enjoyed his support. In this respect, like Rühe, he possessed an important resource of ministerial leadership. Struck was charged with the task of undertaking ‘the reform of the reform’. Given the difficulties of Scharping’s reforms, Schröder’s desire for order in the Defence Ministry, and Struck’s known views, domestic politics suggested a leadership role of veto playing on conscription. In fact, Struck played an entrepreneurial role in redefining the Bundeswehr’s doctrine to crisis management, through the new Defence Policy Guidelines (VPR). He developed a clearly defined policy narrative for reform, framed within Germany’s international responsibilities within a post-9/11 world. Paradoxically, this domestic entrepreneurship was enabled by his brokerage in redefining

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the institutional bedrock of the new doctrine, by careful rebalancing of the Europeanisation and Atlanticisation of German defence policy. Policy leadership took the form of controlling the temporal dimension of reform, managing institutional venues, and organising or blocking policy learning, crucial in controlling the flow of ideas. Rather than constraining Struck, strategic culture acted as a resource, which he used to control the policy process. He justified change to the Bundeswehr’s tasks as crucial to renewing Germany’s long-standing commitment to its UN, NATO, and EU partners, whilst providing a rationale for why this change did not require major reforms to the structure of the Bundeswehr (stressing the importance of conscription for civil-military relations, of ‘innere Führung’, and of the traditional form of territorial defence). However, his leadership on, and capacity to control, structural reform at the macropolitical level was circumscribed by a ‘mature’ professional armed forces ‘advocacy’ coalition, which was led by Social Minister Renate Schmidt and successfully promoted policy learning both within the SPD and within the policy subsystem. The Coalition Agreement: Seizing Control of Political Timing The Greens’ success in the September 2002 federal elections meant that the October coalition negotiations presented a window of opportunity to place pressure upon the SPD to accede to their demands for conscription’s abolition and a professional armed force of 200,000 troops. The leadership of key SPD figures was critical. Struck, Schröder, Franz Münterfering (chair of the SPD parliamentary party) and Wolfgang Clement (the new Federal Economics Minister) closed down this window of opportunity, presenting a firm axis of support for conscription.3 The SPD leadership sought to postpone the debate by proposing a compromise: an analysis of conscription before the 2006 Federal elections.4 This was equally acceptable to the Greens and the SPD, allowing the SPD to postpone any decision on conscription. The Greens viewed it as an important step towards the end of conscription, and a considerable improvement upon the last coalition agreement in which they had been unable to effect any change on conscription.5 However, control over the temporal aspect of structural reform also depended upon Struck’s and the SPD party leadership’s ability to ameliorate the effects of policy learning about the utility of conscription within the SPD itself, something that would prove to be a highly-difficult task.

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The Parameters of Reform: Domestic Politics and the ‘Need for New Thinking’ During the first three months of the new legislative period, a number of meetings took place between Chief of Staff (Generalinspekteur) Wolfgang Schneiderhan and Frank-Walter Steinmeier, the state secretary in the Chancellor’s Office, to set the broad parameters for the ‘reform of the reform’ and determine how a failing policy sector could be rescued without radical changes to the Bundeswehr’s structures. The Chancellor’s Office suggested that there was a need for ‘new thinking’ on the Bundeswehr,6 due to the abject failure of Scharping’s privatisation and efficiency measures to raise finances and a fear of growing macropolitical pressure for radical structural reform. A critical building block for policy entrepreneurship on a professional force was in place in the form of mounting policy problems. The Bundeswehr was facing an acute crisis in capabilities, unable to fulfill its international responsibilities. The scale of the financial shortfall was staggering. Over the coming 15 years, the Bundeswehr would need € 36 billion to finance weapons projects ordered by Scharping. Whilst many of these were a vital component of Germany’s development of common capabilities with its NATO and EU partners, a number of projects were solely designed to augment territorial defence capabilities. Between 2003 and 2005 Struck would need € 1 billion in addition to the Defence Ministry’s yearly budget of € 24.3 billion. From 2005, the financial demands consequent upon weapons projects would become increasingly urgent—the Bundeswehr faced the task of finding in excess of €3 billion extra each year. A professional armed force could, in the medium-to-long term, clearly ease this problem.7 According to the Bundeswehr University, this would save around €3.5 billion; Professor Gert Wagner’s study at Berlin’s Technical University also termed conscription ‘a waste’, concluding that professionals would lead to significant savings.8 Schröder made it clear that Struck had to ensure the Bundeswehr could solve these financial shortcomings without abolishing conscription: at least until the financial resources necessary to compensate for the short-to medium-term costs for the financial and social policy subsystems had been liberated by the implementation of Agenda 2010, the programme of structural reforms to the German economy and the welfare state.9 This chancellor guideline could only be achieved if Struck adopted an entrepreneurial leadership role on a new doctrine that would allow the Bundeswehr to free up financial resources committed to territorial defence. Hence domestic political factors—and not simply 9/11 and international deployments— were critical in informing Struck and Schröder’s decision to pursue an entrepreneurial role on the Bundeswehr’s doctrine. Had Scharping’s privatisation

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and efficiency measures succeeded, it is questionable whether Struck would have opted for an entrepreneurship role, for territorial defence could have been sustained without compromising Germany’s ability to contribute to crisis-management tasks. Scharping had wished to avoid such entrepreneurship on doctrine precisely because he was aware of how difficult it would be to combine this with a commitment to the status quo on conscription and structural reform. Hence Struck was keen to stress the negative short-to-mid-term financial implications of the creation of a professional force, citing the expenses France had incurred when shifting to a professional armed force in 1996. He argued that it would necessitate the employment of 30–40,000 extra professional soldiers and an initial ‘Finanzanschub’ (injection of finances) that the Greens and FDP would be reluctant to fund.10 However, in reality, the greatest short-to-medium-term cost would come from the loss of the 100,000 young men per year who acted as cheap labor for Germany’s beleaguered social system. As the Handelsblatt perceptively noted: ‘In comparison to Germany, it was comparatively easy for the French to abolish conscription almost overnight. France never had a system of Zivildienst on the scale of Germany’.11 Oberstleutenant (Lieutenant Colonel) Jürgen Rose argued: ‘The abolition of conscription would lead to an abolition of community service – it is without question that the consequences for many services would be disastrous. Conscription, once the legitimate child of the Cold War, has become the illegitimate child of medical and social care, that utilises compulsory labor rather than professional personnel’.12 The chancellor’s assessment of domestic political constraints was important in determining the strategic direction of policy change, suggesting Struck’s leadership and the Ressortprinzip were secondary. However, Struck’s leadership both within the policy subsystem and at the macropolitical level would prove vital, in controlling pressure for change emanating not only from the FDP, Greens, EU, and NATO but also within his own party. Without this, control over the scope and pace of policy change would have been lost.

Struck and the Defence Policy Guidelines (VPR): ‘Germany Will Be Defended on the Hindukush’ Acutely sensitive to the temporal dimension of reforms, Struck was keen that the VPR be developed with haste to ensure base closures took place well before the 2006 federal elections.13 Announced on 21 May 2003, the VPR radically redefined the Bundeswehr’s role, embodying the core finding of the Weizsäcker Commission: that Germany faced little threat from its neighbours and should develop its crisis-management capabilities.14 How-

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ever, unlike the Weizsäcker report, the VPR explicitly outlined how Germany had to concentrate upon the threat of terrorism.15 The defence of Germany could no longer be geographically limited; Germany would now be ‘defended on the Hindukush’.16 The guidelines also differed from the Weizsäcker Commission in another crucial respect: they were not driven by a ‘European Imperative’. Instead they were about framing the crisis intervention role of the Bundeswehr within the ‘bridge concept’, balancing Atlanticism and Europeanism. This framing presented Struck with the opportunity to play the lead role in agenda setting on the institutional bedrock of German defence and security policy. The Defence Ministry and the VPR: Ring-Fencing Europeanisation with Atlanticism Struck used the Defence Ministry’s Atlanticist institutional culture to promote policy change within the policy subsystem. The new doctrine was framed as critical in ensuring NATO’s relevance in the twenty-first century, allowing Germany to make a substantial contribution to NATO’s Response Force and trans-Atlantic partnership. In pursuit of this leadership strategy, Generalinspekteur Wolfgang Schneiderhan was charged with developing the VPR. Struck’s appointment of key figures was crucial to effective ministerial leadership in the policy sector, both in developing the reform proposal and in the implementation of reform. Struck was careful to ensure that he did not surround himself with ambitious figures. By appointing Peter Eickenboom as state secretary in October 2002, he sought to bring stability and a ‘ceasefire’ to internal conflict within the ministry.17 Schneiderhan became an important figure for Struck, in particular by helping him control policy learning. He was a close and loyal advisor, having pleaded for some time for a broader definition of the concept of defence, sharing Struck’s vision of a Bundeswehr defending Germany’s security ‘on the Hindukush’; and yet he was also a strong supporter of conscription. He would be a crucial ally in opening up policy learning within the ministry about the redefinition of Bundeswehr tasks in the new context of terrorism as an external threat. He was also responsive to the learning processes that had taken place within the ministry as a consequence of the missions in Macedonia and Afghanistan. Crucially, he could be trusted to strictly control any subsequent policy learning about the consequences for conscription and the structural reform of the Bundeswehr. Schneiderhan was someone who ‘was aware when he should speak, and when he should keep quiet and patiently smoke his cigarette’.18 In the event of future disagreement he could be trusted not to express dissent and loyally implement Struck’s wishes, something the previous Generalinspekteur, Harald Kujat, had been less willing to do.19

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In retaining Schneiderhan, Struck also reinforced the ministry’s Atlanticisation. Struck was influenced both by international and by domestic considerations. Firstly, Struck viewed the Defence Ministry as an important counterweight to the Foreign Ministry, which was strongly Europeanised.20 Struck sought out a stronger role in balancing the Europeanisation and Atlanticisation of Foreign, Defence, and Security Policy. In addition, NATO was a more conducive framework for a Bundeswehr able to engage in tasks across the mission spectrum. Finally, despite the development of the NATO Response Force, (a high-readiness joint air, naval and infantry force of 21,000 troops able to remain in the field for up to 3 months and deployable within 5 and 30 days) NATO was perceived as less threatening to conscription than the EU.21 Schneiderhan was careful to ensure that ESDP was ring-fenced by Germany’s commitment to the trans-Atlantic partnership. The EU and the ESDP were vehicles in which to pursue security challenges that NATO was unwilling or unable to undertake, in line with NATO’s 1999 ‘Strategic Concept’.22 Struck had set the tone for the VPR in an internal memo to the Generalinspekteur: ‘The worldwide fight against international terrorism lies at the heart of military planning’. This memo suggested a radical change in German reactions to terror. Schneiderhan’s long standing desire to redefine the concept of defence was critical in this context. As Mary Hampton illustrates, terrorism has traditionally been defined by Europeans as an ‘internal’ and political problem, in particular by Germany.23 However, the VPR explicitly defined the fight against international terrorism as the greatest threat to Germany, a threat that necessitated a redefinition of the concept of defence. This provided a useful means with which to marginalise the ‘peace’ coalition and to ensure the centrality of NATO and the trans-Atlantic relationship within German defence and security policy. It was also indicative of the recognition that, in the context of German involvement in Afghanistan, it was now a target for international terrorism and also had a responsibility to protect its alliance partners from this threat. Hence, within this context, territorial defence itself became crisis management: Germany’s defence ‘began on the Hindukush’.24 Schneiderhan’s thinking stemmed from his belief that 9/11 represented a ‘critical juncture’, following which Germany must orientate its defence and security policy according to the ‘Super-Gau’: the possibility of a future 9/11 that involved the use of weapons of mass destruction. This required a new definition of defence, including German perceptions of terrorism as an external as well as internal threat, in addition to a new ‘tool box’ of instruments with which to tackle security issues, incorporating political, environmental, social, military, and policing dimensions.25 Engaging in the fight against international terrorism and in post conflict reconstruction and development would be the core challenges, challenges that

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must be primarily addressed by NATO. NATO’s Prague Capabilities Commitment, which embodied unenforceable recommendations, would not suffice. Instead, a set of enforceable and well defined ‘capabilities goals’ for each member state was now needed to effectively tackle the complicated challenge of international terrorism and meet this broader conception of security. This, according to Schneiderhan, would be the only way to achieve better, quickly deployable, and mobile forces, as part of the NATO Response Force. An enforceable Capabilities Commitment would, of course, have the effect of binding the German government and Finance Ministry to fund clearly defined and internationally agreed on weapons projects, creating a level of security of investment for the Bundeswehr. Whilst the EU would also take up this challenge, it was relegated to the ‘third line’ of response, behind Germany and NATO.26 This ordering of priorities reflected a long standing skepticism towards ESDP within the Defence Ministry.27 The redefinition of territorial defence as crisis management took place within the context of a broad strategic reassessment in the Defence Ministry about the threats and challenges facing Germany. However, whilst Schneiderhan commissioned papers, those empowered were strongly Atlanticist.28 The lessons of Germany’s international deployments and the international security environment would be codified through this ideational prism.29 However, Atlanticism should not be thought of as a monolithic unidimensional concept. One paper, (SFT 21 ‘Streitkräfte, Fähigkeiten, und Technologie im 21 Jahrhundert’, leaked to the Süddeutsche Zeitung on 9 November 2002), demonstrated the scope and depth of Atlanticist thinking and policy learning taking place within the Ministry. Using the Bush doctrine of ‘preventative strikes’ against rogue states as its reference point, it put forth the case for the development of capabilities that would allow Germany to take part in preemptive military strikes against dangerous regimes. For those close to the ‘peace’ and ‘pacifist’ coalitions this was perceived as a worrying ‘testballoon’, for an ‘intervention force’ that would form part of a retreat from Germany’s ‘reflexive multilateralism’ and anchoring of German foreign, defence, and security policy within the UN, ESDP, and NATO.30 This fear was enhanced by appeals from Schneiderhan and Struck to repeal the necessity for parliamentary approval for Bundeswehr deployment in order to allow the armed forces to mobilise quickly and effectively, and be deployed domestically, to deal with terrorist attack. Nevertheless, whilst such papers were produced within the ministry, Schneiderhan’s position was more moderate, focused on ‘ring-fencing’ ESDP within Atlanticisation. The development of papers on capabilities for preemptive military action was very much about letting off ‘internal steam’ within the ministry and ensuring a wide range of figures felt included in discussions on policy change. The aim was to build support not only for the

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VPR but also for the structural reforms that would follow. Struck and Schneiderhan were keen to avoid the discontent and apathy that had characterised the Defence Ministry under Scharping’s ‘quiet reign of terror’ as he narrowed down decision making to a small group of figures. The internal exercise within the ministry also served another important purpose—allowing Schneiderhan to frame his ‘ring fencing’ of ESDP within Atlanticisation in terms that would reconcile potential opponents from the ‘peace’ coalition within the macropolitical system. Whilst Schneiderhan was not known as a ‘political’ figure, in the context of the April 2003 Belgian, German, French, and Luxembourg initiative on behalf of a European Security and Defence Union, he made his skepticism towards ESDP publicly known. In the weeks leading up to the publication of the VPR, Struck’s public discourse became highly ‘Europeanised’, reflecting his desire to retain the support of his own party, its coalition partner, the foreign minister and the French. In an interview for the left-wing Tagesspiegel, Struck stressed that, by the year 2010, Europe would be in the position to guarantee its own security, autonomously from the U.S.31 It is within the context of Struck’s statement that Schneiderhan’s surprisingly ‘political’ behaviour can be understood. With such a discourse so close to the timing of the VPR’s release in May, Schneiderhan feared that this was a sign that the ‘peace’ coalition, led by Fischer, and internal thinking within the SPD stressing the importance of ESDP as part of the creation of a ‘European civil peace order’, would persuade Struck to frame the VPR within a ‘European imperative’ and challenge the Atlanticist consensus within the Defence Ministry.32 As the next chapter outlines, the Defence Ministry’s Atlanticism makes it an exceptional institution within the German executive. The embdeddness of the ministry within NATO over the postwar period, combined with the actions of key policy leaders, fostered this Atlanticisation and imbued NATO with a high level of ‘institutional credibility’ during the postwar period. This made the ministry highly sensitive to the influence of the Foreign Ministry and Chancellor’s Office, institutions that embody a strongly Europeanist institutional culture. A ‘European Imperative’ would impact upon the Bundeswehr’s mission spectrum, privileging ‘low-end’ tasks of reconstruction and development. This fear of Schneiderhan and others within the Defence Ministry had been given credence by Fischer’s strong and vocal opposition to the United States attack upon Iraq and his proposals of 22 November 2002, in concert with the French Foreign Minister Dominic De Villepin, suggesting the development of a European Security and Defence Union as a group of core EU states forging ahead with political unification and enshrined within the new European Constitutional Treaty. According to this paper, Europe had to be in a position to guarantee its own security and deal with threats on a

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global basis.33 Schneiderhan, who was ideologically rooted in the ‘freedom’ coalition and strongly Atlanticist, was deeply worried about Fischer’s potential influence on the VPR. Hence he attempted to keep the VPR outside the orbit of the Foreign Ministry by defining the terms of debate as a matter for the Defence Ministry. Despite the attempted influence of the Foreign Ministry and Fischer upon the VPR (explored in great detail later on in the chapter), Schneiderhan’s thinking was clearly reflected in the guidelines—in the redefinition of terrorism as an external as well as internal threat to German security—as well as in the redefinition of territorial defence as crisis management. Whilst the EU was ‘the core’ of the European ‘zone of stability’ and an important means of responding to crisis management and prevention in Europe and beyond, Schneiderhan ensured that his proposals designated ESDP as a ‘work in progress’, reinforcing NATO’s European pillar, to which Germany would continue to make a strong contribution.34

Combining Leadership Roles to Build Consensus at the Macropolitical Level Building support within the policy subsystem was pursued by developing a policy narrative that resonated with competing domestic conceptions of Germany’s role in international institutions, such as the EU, the UN, and NATO, and responded to the agenda setting role played by Schröder and Fischer on ESDP. Whilst the Weizsäcker Commission and deployment to Kosovo, Macedonia, and Afghanistan had helped foster broad acceptance of the need for a new doctrine, Struck’s success in engaging in entrepreneurship on the Bundeswehr’s tasks was also a product of his ability to broker the tensions between Atlanticist and Europeanist conceptions of defence and security policy. Whilst there was a consensus about the need for a doctrine allowing German to focus upon crisis-management and -prevention tasks, there was strong disagreement about the international institutions that should frame the development of the new doctrine, amplified by domestic tensions surrounding the trans-Atlantic relationship in the run up to, and aftermath of, the 2003 U.S.-led attack on Iraq. Struck sought to ensure that the VPR represented continuity with Germany’s postwar role as a ‘bridge’ between French and Anglo-American/East Central European understandings of European security.35 The Construction of Domestic Consensus: Meeting the Concerns of the Freedom and Peace Coalitions Domestic tensions centered around two contending advocacy coalitions. The ‘freedom’ coalition, located mainly around the CDU/CSU and the FDP,

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stressed the crucial importance of the trans-Atlantic relationship and Germany’s continued debt to the United States for supporting reunification: ‘Europe and America share the same values, interests and fate’.36 The ‘Bush doctrine’ of preventative strikes against rogue states and the invasion of Iraq in 2003 provided an important context for defence and security policy in Germany. The CDU/CSU was highly critical of the Schröder government’s vocal opposition to the United States attack upon Iraq. They argued that the SPD had: ‘gambled away trust from our partners and allies which it had taken us years to build’.37 Hence, for the ‘freedom’ coalition, U.S. unilateralism had to be managed not by challenging the United States through an independent European military capacity but by reengaging the U.S. in established institutions. ESDP had to be securely anchored within the Atlantic Alliance, as a ‘European pillar’. European unification and the transAtlantic partnership embodied ‘two sides of the same coin’.38 At the NATO Prague Summit in November 2002, Germany had committed itself to the creation of a NATO Response Force and to the Prague Capabilities Commitment, which involved improving capabilities in areas such as strategic lift and air-to-ground surveillance. For the CDU/CSU this was a signal that NATO was adapting to the post–Cold War and post-9/11 security environment and must be prioritised as the core institution within which to frame and undertake German crisis-management tasks. Whilst the CDU/CSU also stressed the importance of the development of ESDP, and a European Security and Defence Union, according to the CDU executive committee resolution of April 2003, the NATO Response Force ‘must be achieved as soon as possible and be given top priority’.39 Volker Rühe made it clear to the SPD that: ‘The American presence in Europe will remain vital in the future. The CDU of Germany calls on the federal government to set out a clear position on this issue’. The Defence Ministry was closely aligned to thinking within the ‘freedom’ coalition, and the VPR responded to Rühe’s plea by stating: ‘The trans-Atlantic partnership remains the cornerstone of our security. Without the U.S. there will be no future security in Europe. Germany will continue to make a substantial contribution to the trans-Atlantic partnership’.40 Whilst Struck was careful not to refer to ‘Western values’ in the VPR, by framing the VPR as a response to the threat of international terrorism and the need to defend ‘the achievements of modern civilisation such as freedom, human rights, openness, tolerance, and diversity’, Struck made his position attractive to members of the Atlanticist ‘freedom’ coalition. Satisfying this coalition had added political importance for the SPD, due to the way in which the SPD had angered many of the coalition’s members through its vehement opposition to the United States invasion of Iraq in 2003.41 It also represented an important means of bridge building externally

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to the Bush Administration and to the United Kingdom. Struck succeeded in binding the ‘freedom’ coalition to the VPR, which was met with broad assent from the CDU/CSU. The chair of its parliamentary party, Wolfgang Schäuble, stated: ‘Their approach is correct, although not quite rigorous enough’.42 Simultaneously, Struck was focused upon courting the ‘peace’ coalition, whose membership was largely to be found within the federal government, and satisfying the demands for a strong European dimension to German defence and security policy thinking from within the Greens and the SPD, which were dominated by the ‘peace’ coalition. The SPD’s international policy motion at the November 2003 party congress was strident in its emphasis upon the importance of the EU as a forum for the development of German defence and security policy and upon the new crisis-management tasks of the Bundeswehr. This focus was the means for the ‘peace’ coalition to ensure that the new tasks of the Bundeswehr would not lead to a ‘militarisation’ of German defence and security policy and assertion of national interest by military force. It was essential that: ‘EU military capabilities function exclusively as part of a comprehensive security strategy for peacekeeping, crisis-prevention and -management, deescalation and containment of conflicts, and the combating of terrorism’.43 Struck had to ensure he retained the support of important figures within the SPD such as Gernot Erler (vice chair of the Parliamentary Party responsible for Foreign Policy, Development, and Human Rights) in order to ensure consensus and support within his own party.44 For Erler, ESDP would be an essential part of the ‘European peace order’ and a ‘European civil power’ ensuring the ‘consolidation of peace’.45 This, in time, would lead to a ‘European model’ of international politics that focuses upon ‘a foresighted peace policy and crisis prevention, that emphasises the primacy of political means and rejects preemptive military strikes without the legitimisation of international law; we see Germany’s future as part of a European civil power. The SPD sees German interests best served by a common European foreign and security policy, focusing on crisis prevention, civil conflict resolution, and enduring consolidation of peace’.46 Such thinking was also reflected in a working paper, drawn up in the context of the development of a new SPD party programme by the members of the programme commission’s working group on Europe, in March 2005.47 Thinking within the SPD reflected a deep sense of unease with the new U.S. military doctrine of ‘preventative strike’. The 2002 U.S. Security Strategy formed an important context for thinking within the ‘peace’ coalition about German defence and security policy. Fischer, Schröder, the Greens, and the SPD viewed U.S. unilateralism and attempts to exploit the division of ‘old’ and ‘new’ Europe during the Iraq conflict as a sign that Europe would have to ensure that in future it could not be split by the United States. Hence

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there was an urgent need for an EU foreign minister and a European Security and Defence Union that would allow ‘core’ European states to deepen political integration and build upon the 2003 EU Security Strategy. In short, the EU and the Franco-German relationship was the key forum in which to respond to U.S. unilateralism. The ‘peace’ coalition’s preference for the EU as a core institution framing German defence policy was very much part of the aim of limiting the mission spectrum of the Bundeswehr. There was a continued skepticism about the development of a ‘worldwide intervention force’, whereas many within the Greens and SPD viewed the EU and the UN as institutional frameworks conducive to the development of a ‘civil peace order’ in Europe. Deepening of German engagement in these institutional venues would act as an insurance that military force would only be utilised as a last resort and that the Bundeswehr would be deployed primarily for ‘low-end’ tasks such as post conflict reconstruction and development. Crucially, by embedding German defence and security policy within these institutions and international law, Germany would avoid being drawn into ‘preventative’ wars.48 Hence Struck was aware that the ‘crisis-intervention’ policy narrative also had to focus on the pressing need for a new doctrine enabling more flexible forms of humanitarian intervention and policing beyond borders to protect civilian populations and support nation building, with the UN and EU as key institutional forums. He needed to utilise a discourse that would not threaten members of the ‘peace’ coalition and would find strong resonance within the Green Party and the SPD. This discourse was actively pursued in interviews with the left-wing press such as the Tageszeitung.49 Fischer, the Foreign Ministry, and the Fear of a ‘Bifurcated Europe’ Close cooperation and consultation with his coalition partner and Foreign Minister, the ‘peace’ coalition’s leading spokesperson, Joschka Fischer, was also important. Most problematically for Struck, Fischer was concerned that the VPR should emphasise Germany’s commitment to his long-term goal of a lead role in the development of a European Security and Defence Union, prioritising low to medium intensity tasks such as post conflict reconstruction.50 Fischer had received Schröder’s backing for this position, having been active in developing proposals with the French to allow the EU to ‘take charge of providing for its own security ’.51 Hence the VPR stated: ‘The goal is the creation of a European Security and Defence Union as part of a fully developed Political Union’. 52 This was an important concession to the ‘peace’ coalition and to Fischer, who deeply valued Struck’s ‘openness and cooperation’.53 However, Struck was also keen to ensure the new VPR would give him the scope to engage in high-intensity military operations, in both the pre-

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vention and management of crises and conflicts and international terrorism, necessitating a strong role for NATO.54 Like Schneiderhan, Struck sought to silence the ‘peace’ coalition’s objections by stressing Germany’s vulnerability to terrorism that has ‘shaken the civilised world’.55 He also persuasively argued that it was impossible to differentiate between operations, as a post conflict reconstruction mission could easily escalate to a high-intensity operation.56 Schröder was also important in determining the VPR’s institutional bedrock. Although he played a high-profile role in abetting Fischer’s entrepreneurship on behalf of the development of a European Security and Defence Union at the Franco-German summit in Schwerin on 30 July 2002 and at the November 2001 Nantes summit, he was also important in determining the Atlanticisation of defence policy.57 This was evident at the November 2002 NATO Prague Summit, where Schröder and Struck agreed to develop the NATO Response Force.58 Crucially, the Prague Summit marked the formal invitations for the second wave of NATO’s Eastern enlargement. NATO enlargement was a long-term German goal and supported by Schröder.59 Many East Central European states, particularly Poland, were strongly Atlanticist, fearing that ESDP would lead to their marginalisation by France and Germany, whereas within NATO the United States would act as their champion. The Iraq crisis highlighted the depth of these tensions. NATO enlargement and the Iraq war were important intervening variables and empowered Struck to reinforce explicitly Germany’s long-established ‘bridge role’ in the VPR and the framing of ESDP as a means of strengthening NATO.60 There was a deep fear within the Foreign Ministry and the Chancellor’s Office that the pursuit of a European Defence and Security Union by ‘core Europe’ could lead to a bifurcated Europe, as the UK, Italy, Spain and East Central European states preferred to locate their security policy firmly within the trans-Atlantic relationship.61 The result could be a net loss of German influence within the wider and expanding EU; strengthening the ‘privileged’ partnership with France would be bought at the expense of the ‘bridge-building’ role. This fear was also expressed by the CDU/CSU, which emphasised how ESDP and the Franco-German relationship should not be prioritised at the expense of ‘Washington or Warsaw’.62 Hence the VPR was framed as a continuity of German post–Cold War grand strategy.63 Whilst terrorism presented a new challenge, the domestic debate continued to be split between Europeanists and Atlanticists. Allowing the ‘peace’ and ‘freedom’ coalitions to share power over policy was critical in order to ensure both domestic and international assent for the VPR. Entrepreneurship on a new doctrine was located within the overriding priority of consol-

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idating the ‘Euro-Atlantic security community’: ensuring compatibility between the deepening of EU integration and the restructuring of NATO. Struck’s Policy Leadership Skills Struck’s policy leadership skills were vital in this process and greatly underestimated. The popular impression of Struck was as a rather ‘cranky’ character, lacking charisma.64 However, his ‘down-to-earth style’ worked to his advantage, as he was able to frame the Bundeswehr’s new role in terms that the ‘average German’ could understand.65 His experience as parliamentary party chair imbued him with the tact and diplomacy needed to broker agreement between contending coalitions about the new doctrine’s appropriate institutional bedrock. He was afforded a high level of trust, perceived by the public as competent, unthreatening, and trustworthy.66 Struck was quick to adapt from leader of the parliamentary party to Defence Minister and made a positive impression within the ministry, immediately flying to Kabul to visit German troops deployed as part of ISAF, and referring to them as ‘my soldiers’ (to which Schröder retorted ‘but only during times of peace’)! 67 Additionally, whereas Scharping had been prepared to compromise on the issue of the ‘Panther’ tanks, Struck was active in lobbying the Bundestag budgetary committee to purchase 410 tanks.68 He was aided by international pressure exerted by the British prime minister, Tony Blair, who voiced his concern about the capacity of the German military to cooperate with its international partners, adding weight to Struck’s assertion that the Bundeswehr was in grave danger of being unable to fulfill its international responsibilities.69 This championing role helped endear him to the armed forces; without these tanks the German armed forces would have continued to use the ageing, thirty-year-old ‘Marder’ model.70 His lack of charisma and ‘straighttalking’ style lent him a great deal of popularity amongst the troops, who would later refer to him as ‘Uncle Peter’.71 External developments also thrust Struck to the fore in dealing with the growing crisis over the potential U.S. invasion of Iraq and the frantic rounds of diplomacy with France, the UK and the United States. Even before the 2002 elections Struck had established himself as a respected Defence Minister. The perception of Struck, as concerned ‘uncle’ of the troops and opponent of U.S. policy, yet also as an active, high-profile international figure leading the Bundeswehr’s deployments and ‘bridge builder’ to the U.S. administration, enhanced his reputation at the macropolitical level and within the military.72 Importantly, in contrast to Scharping, Struck enjoyed a close relationship with Schröder: as a fellow Lower-Saxony politician, he owed his career to the chancellor. This intimacy increased the confidence of important figures in the Bundeswehr and Defence Ministry in his ability to

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provide effective leadership by promoting their interests. Combined with his leadership skills, this confidence had an important bearing upon his ability to retain control of the policy process within the Defence Ministry and implement his reform concept.73 Negotiating Constitutional Constraints Struck also had to be aware of potential constraints within the Basic Law. Opponents, such as Professor Christian Pestalozza, argued that the new doctrine was unconstitutional: ‘According to the Basic Law, territorial defence is the core doctrine of the armed forces. Struck is arguing that whatever and wherever the Bundeswehr is deployed, this is what takes place. As his very tight and careful definitions demonstrate, this is not what is meant by the constitution’.74 However, he outmaneuvered these opponents, arguing that the VPR represented a redefinition of territorial defence.75 ‘According to article 87a of the German constitution, the armed forces are for Germany’s defence. Today, defence involves a great deal more than the traditional defence of our borders; it involves the containment of conflicts and crises; defence can no longer be geographically limited’.76 Again, this highlights the importance of domestic politics. Balancing the Europeanisation and Atlanticisation of security policy was crucial to binding in potential opponents, who might otherwise appeal to the Federal Constitutional Court.77 Struck’s success in developing a convincing policy narrative (or what Vivien Schmidt terms ‘coordinative’ and ‘communicative’ discourses) by framing his entrepreneurship within the ‘bridge’ concept surprised even himself: ‘I am amazed that the [societal] debate about redefining the concept of territorial defence and my statement that Germany’s defence will take place on the Hindukush, has until now, been so low-key’.78 Entrepreneurship and Political Capital: Struck as an Important Figure in Cabinet Struck’s entrepreneurship was also an attempt to position himself as an ‘an important figure in cabinet’.79 The Defence Ministry’s reputation as a dangerous post had been enhanced by the high-profile demise of its latest ‘victim’, Rudolf Scharping. It had become known as the ‘Schleudersitz’ (ejector seat). As Karl Feldmeyer of the Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung noted: ‘Struck’s destiny as Defence Minster will depend upon whether he wants to be, indeed if he can be, more than Defence Minister. He must make security policy. The cabinet table rather than the desk must be his most important place of work. He must connect the range of tasks the Bundeswehr need to undertake with the consequences of failing to meet them; his own political future, as well as that of the Bundeswehr, will depend upon this’.80

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This could only be achieved by engaging with the broader referents of German defence and security policy.81 By successfully acting on behalf of a new doctrine, he boosted his stature, receiving widespread praise.82 He hoped this would prompt a relaxation of the strictures placed upon the Defence Ministry by Eichel’s budget consolidation. However, the SPD leadership was convinced that the 2006 elections would be determined by economic rather than defence policy; hence the defence budget was frozen at € 24.4 billion. Instead, the VPR empowered Struck to release financial resources through troop reductions and refocusing weapons projects.83 This was nevertheless an achievement: three years earlier, Scharping’s reform had been presented as ‘the reform of the century’.84

Struck as Policy Veto Player on Structural Reform: Political Timing and the Control of Policy Learning The exercise of producing the VPR created a window of opportunity for an ‘advocacy’ coalition militating for professional armed forces, spanning the Greens, the FDP, and, increasingly, the SPD. Between 1998 and 2002, its transformation from ‘nascent’ to ‘mature’ coalition had been frustrated by the lack of a powerful SPD ministerial sponsor. However, this was about to change. Struck would have to repel an attempt at entrepreneurship from Renate Schmidt, head of the new Ministry for Social Affairs, one of two new ‘superministries’. This external entrepreneurship was not fully successful and did not alter his veto role in the short-to-medium term. It led instead to the recognition that a long-term policy-veto role on structural reform was likely to be untenable: Struck would need to prepare the armed forces for future abolition of conscription. To the Greens’ frustration, Struck attempted to use the VPR to justify conscription. In addition to protecting Germany from terrorist attack, the traditional understanding of territorial defence continued to be an ‘important task’, for which conscription was essential.85 With the Bundeswehr’s professional soldiers committed to crisis-management operations, conscripts were rendered critical to fulfilling the traditional notion of the territorial defence of Germany, particularly in the case a ‘serious accident’ or natural catastrophe. Additionally, in framing the VPR and the continuation of conscription as an essential part of protecting Germany from asymmetric threats and ‘preventing, repelling, and coping with terrorist attacks’, Struck sought to marginalise Green opponents of conscription.86 This discourse imbued his stance on conscription with a degree of credibility and gravitas that his opponents in the Green party could not call upon, and allowed him to use his ministerial authority effectively. The

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Tageszeitung stated: ‘A minister has seldom shown such disregard for his coalition partner’.87 Struck also pushed the VPR through cabinet without a vote, closing down the opportunity for debate at the macropolitical level.88 This was part of a broader strategy of controlling the policy process on structural reform, limiting the effects of policy learning about conscription’s weaknesses. His attempt to ‘channel’ the debate on conscription involved several measures, starting before the VPR was announced.89 Struck, Schneiderhan, and the Control of Policy Learning within the Defence Ministry Firstly, to ensure control and consensus within his own ministry, Struck canvassed opinion from the military hierarchy. The Generalinspekteur was the key to enabling Struck to retain control over the effects of policy learning within the Defence Ministry. In April 2003, Schneiderhan met the chiefs of staff of the army, navy, and air force to discuss the VPR’s ramifications for conscription, reporting to Struck that any shortening of conscription would not allow sufficient time for service and would create recruitment problems.90 However, whilst Schneiderhan had sought to create the impression of inclusiveness, critics and those in favor of professional forces were sidelined. This sidelining was aided by invoking myths, including that the main recruiting ground for the British armed forces was amongst those coming to the end of prison sentences; this was something Scharping had also exploited, much to the consternation of the British.91 Several generals expressed their desire for ‘highly trained fighters’ and were bitter about the role of Zivildienst in producing policy stalemate.92 Struck and Schneiderhan sought to marginalise dissent by justifying conscription in terms of both strategic culture (conscription as an important element of German identity and crucial to civil-military relations) and practical justifications (as ‘critical’ to the traditional form of territorial defence).93 This was facilitated by the respect afforded to Struck and Schneiderhan within the military hierarchy: a product of their leadership skills and the VPR.94 Where dissent could not be controlled ‘diplomatically’ or through the selective use of strategic culture, Struck took decisive action. Gert Gudera, Generalinspekteur of the army, was forced to resign and replaced by HansOtto Bunde in January 2004. The chief of staff of the navy, Vice-Admiral Lutz Feldt, was also replaced by Hans Lüssow in March 2003.95 Struck and Schneiderhan were keen that key ‘gatekeepers’ of policy learning would loyally implement their wishes. This was a crucial part of sustaining the ministry’s institutional culture and control of the policy process.

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Secondly, Struck was aware that the ‘reform of the reform’ could encounter the issue of Wehrgerechtigkeit. With a further reduction of conscription, the gap between the number of young men fit for service and positions available for conscripts would increase. This could lead to accusations of unconstitutionality. In a surprise move, outmaneuvering his opponents, Struck tightened the criteria governing the eligibility for service, increasing Wehrgerechtigkeit by the expedient of reducing the pool of men eligible to serve.96 Controlling Policy Learning Within the SPD: The Temporal Management of Reform In addition, Struck took measures to control the debate about the scope of structural reform at the macropolitical level, within both his own coalition government and the opposition. An important part of this process was the careful control of the temporal dimension of reform. Struck wished to bind the Greens to conscription until after the 2006 elections and create Planungssicherheit (a secure planning horizon) for the Social and the Defence Ministries. However, this process could not begin unless the SPD parliamentary party presented a united front on conscription, which would allow Struck to ‘snub’ Greens on the issue.97 He sought to attain a resolution from the parliamentary party on 1 July 2003 by ‘burying’ a vote of support for conscription within support for the VPR.98 However, he underestimated the extent to which the new doctrine would increase the pressure to radically alter the Bundeswehr’s structure. In seeking to attain a unified front within his own party, Struck unwittingly presented his opponents on conscription with the opportunity to deliver a serious blow to his policy-veto role. SPD MPs and regional figures began to use the coalition agreement to propose a vote on conscription at the November 2003 party conference.99 Interestingly, the most high-profile opponent of conscription was Renate Schmidt, who was responsible for Zivildienst, and who acted entrepreneurially for a professional armed force.100 Constant cuts in service over the 1990s (from twenty months in 1984 to ten months in 2003), and uncertainty surrounding Zivildienst, created severe problems for secure planning in her ministry. Whilst the savings brought by Zivildienst made it attractive to the Finance Ministry, it had become a burden for the Social Ministry.101 As Joachim Hagelskamp of the Paritätischer Wohlfährtsverband (Association for Welfare Workers) stated: ‘Better an end to the terror than a continuation of ‘salami tactics’.102 Support for conscription was located within the Finance and Defence ministries, the Chancellor’s Office and the SPD party executive. Additionally, Schmidt’s opposition to conscription made it easier for the SPD to engage in the political management of reform and avoid constitutional difficulties: conscription could only be constitutionally justified as

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a necessary response to Germany’s security environment, as her opposition to conscription could be dismissed by the party leadership as that of an illinformed non military expert.103 The goals of SPD opponents of conscription were to ensure that the issue would be debated at the November 2003 party conference in Bochum and to ignite a broad debate within the party, media, and public about conscription. These opponents included Ute Vogt, the Parliamentary State Secretary in the Interior Ministry, who proposed at the Baden-Württemburg party conference an end to conscription, something already proposed by the SPD in the Saar. Others included the Parliamentary State Secretary of the Ministry for Education, Christoph Matschie, and numerous younger SPD MPs including Sabine Bätzing, Sören Bartol, and Marco Bülow.104 In response, SPD heavyweights such as Franz Münterfering (chair of the parliamentary party), and the party’s security policy working group, threw their support behind Struck’s resolution.105 However, the debate and opposition had gathered too much pace, and Münterfering’s comments drew a stinging rebuke from sections of the media such as FT Deutschland. 106 In the week leading up to the 1 July 2003, Struck presented the SPD parliamentary party with a paper entitled ’31 Reasons for Conscription’, using highly emotive discourse, and making an appeal to his colleagues grounded in the importance of conscription in anchoring the armed forces into society.107 Despite his commitment to conscription, Schröder was not prepared to risk his leadership on the question and refrained from appealing directly to the parliamentary party. This would prove to be costly. By 1 July, the party had been unable to agree on the resolution. Whilst Struck was prepared to defend conscription with ‘all means possible’, the extent of the internal opposition had been underestimated, astonishing considering his knowledge of the parliamentary party and mobilising skills.108 In linking the retention of conscription to approval for the VPR, Struck had assumed that he would be able to force the parliamentary party to accede to the ‘expertise’ of the Defence Minister and SPD defence policy experts who supported the party line. However, Sabine Bätzing, a key opponent of conscription and leader of the thirty-seven ‘youngsters’ of the parliamentary party (of whom only two were in favor of conscription), successfully uncoupled the two issues. The ‘youngsters’ released a paper, praising the VPR but rejecting any premature decision about conscription.109 Whilst Struck failed to achieve the unified front he sought, it is important to note that this failure belied the fact that the clear majority of SPD MPs were in favor of retaining conscription—only around one-fifth of whom were active opponents of conscription in June 2003.110 The SPD leadership correctly believed that the Greens would not be prepared to withdraw from the coalition on this issue and that pressure would remain

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‘verbal’.111 However this ideational activism and pressure achieved notable success in extending the advocacy coalition in favor of professional forces to encompass a significant section of the SPD. Struck began a belated attempt to outmaneuver members of the professional armed forces coalition. A politically embarrassed Schröder finally stepped into the debate.112 His anger was directed particularly at Schmidt, who was silenced.113 This made it clear to SPD opponents of conscription that the party leadership would accept no further dissent and coordinated action with the Greens on the issue. Figures such as Siegmar Gabriel (member of the SPD federal executive) then attempted to arrest this policy learning process through high-profile pleas for conscription’s retention in the press during the summer months.114 However, policy learning, consequent upon the Weizsäcker Commission, international deployments, the VPR, and Schmidt’s entrepreneurship on behalf of the professional armed forces coalition, meant that cultural and emotive arguments no longer carried great weight with non specialists.115 In short, external developments had created a situation in which the construction of convincing ‘coordinative’ and ‘communicative’ discourses on conscription was increasingly difficult.116 Green and SPD opponents of conscription, led by Schmidt, had scored a notable success: they cemented the position of the professional armed forces ‘advocacy’ coalition within the SPD. This would make it highly difficult for Struck to marginalise the Greens on the issue in the run up to the 2006 elections, prolonging the macropolitical level debate on conscription. Struck was forced into a new, but ultimately successful, strategy. This was articulated by Münterfering: ‘The theme of conscription is so deeply anchored within the concept of Social Democracy that the parliamentary party will not attempt to resolve the question’. 117 The decision would be left to the party membership. The key question was when and how the party membership would be consulted. Struck was presented with two options, each with differing implications for Struck’s ability to reassert control over the process of structural reform and play a veto role on conscription. The first option was to allow the SPD’s Bochum party conference in November 2003 to decide on the issue. This was too risky; Struck could lose control over the temporal dimension of reform. Opinion polls in late June 2003 suggested that SPD members viewed conscription in only a marginally more positive light than the average voter.118 Instead, Struck proposed that conscription be debated in the SPD’s basic programme, whose drafting would take until 2005.119 This raised problems: it would allow the professional armed forces coalition to increase its support, and any reform would run the risk of being unfinished work, impeding Struck’s ability to raise finances for investment and leading to low morale within the military.120

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Nevertheless, it was the most attractive option: if a decision to abolish conscription were to be delayed until 2005, the financial implications would not be felt until 2010 as its abolition would take five years. Meanwhile, despite Struck’s positive public discourse about the utility of conscription, the SPD was preparing for its possible abolition. Shortly after the VPR had been announced, under the instruction of the party leadership a commission, ‘Impulse für die Zivilgesellschaft: Perspektiven für Freiwilligendienste und Zivildienst in Deutschland’ (Impulse for Civil Society: Perspectives on Voluntary and Community Service in Germany), was set up by Social Affairs Minister Renate Schmidt to examine the future of Zivildienst in the context of a possible abolition of conscription. The Commission was internal to the Social Affairs Ministry (which encompassed the earlier Ministry for Family, the Elderly, Women, and Youth), thereby reducing the potential for unwanted conclusions that could place the government under increased pressure. This reflected the lessons learnt by the SPD from the rather painful experience of the Weizsäcker report. It was chaired by the state secretary responsible for family affairs, Peter Ruhenstroth-Bauer, and included members from the Defence Ministry, Finance Ministry, Education Ministry, healthcare, and the social sector, including representatives of the Wohlfahrtsverbände (Welfare Associations). Its work was to be divided into two working groups: ‘Perspektiven für Freiwilligendienst’ (perspectives for volunteers) and ‘Zivildienst unter neuen Rahmenbedingungen’, (community service under new conditions). The Commission presented its findings in January 2004. It did not commit itself to precise figures or dates, but made a number of recommendations for how Zivildienst could be replaced. The Commission had come to a consensus that the abolition of conscription was a ‘matter of time’. The Wohlfahrtsverbände, who had been expected to strongly oppose the possibility of the abolition of Zivildienst, were brought around to the prevailing consensus. Their representatives recognised that full time and voluntary workers would be more reliable than ‘Zivis’ (civilians) who, after training, could only engage in six-seven months of active service.121 However, this change would depend upon the Finance Ministry’s willingness to free up sufficient funds to compensate for the loss of Zivildienst. In the face of Germany’s financial restrictions, the task would be enormous: the Zentralstelle für Kreigdienstverweigerer (Central Office for Conscientious Objectors) estimated that some 80,000 positions would need to be filled by professional workers.122 Hence the Commission concluded that voluntary service would be encouraged, but, because this would be far from sufficient, in hospitals, care homes, and the emergency services, new professional positions would have to be financed.123 The Commission made it clear that the end of Zivildienst would necessitate significant investment in the social services.

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The Social Affairs minister, Renate Schmidt, used the Commission as an opportunity to ensure that the Finance Ministry was aware that conscription’s abolition would have to be accompanied by a ‘professionalisation’ of the social services. An ‘obligatory social year’ (allgemeinverpflichtendes Gesellschaftsjahr) would not be acceptable. Schmidt had consistently used emotive discourse to scotch this idea: ‘only the Burmese dictatorship has an obligatory social service’.124 Within the context of the Commission’s recommendations, Schmidt continued to oppose the party line on conscription but had added a crucial new caveat to her discourse: the abolition of conscription would involve a transitional phase of at least five years, which would allow the SPD to postpone the negative financial consequences.125 It was now clear to Struck that policy stalemate on conscription could only be sustained in the short-to-medium term; if the SPD/Green coalition remained in power beyond 2006, the victory of the professional armed forces ‘advocacy’ coalition was inevitable. Not only did this coalition span the FDP and the Greens; it was also now firmly cemented within the SPD.126 Investment in Capabilities and the Retention of Conscription On 6 October 2003 Struck announced his reform, which was passed by cabinet on 13 January 2004. The Bundeswehr was to be reduced from 285,000 (with 77,000 conscripts) to 252,500 personnel (with 50,000 conscripts), necessitating over 100 base closures.127 It would be restructured into front line troops (35,000), able to engage in high-intensity operations, stabilising troops (70,000) for low-to-medium intensity post conflict reconstruction missions, and support/logistical forces (147,500). Having narrowed the criteria governing eligibility for service, Struck could introduce a ‘selection system’ for conscription, without constitutional difficulties.128 The remaining conscripts would be integrated into the three units in such a way that, should conscription be abolished, no new reform would be necessary. Like Scharping, this reform allowed Struck to frame his veto role as brokerage: ‘I’m fighting for conscription, but the Bundeswehr has to be in a position to function with professional full time soldiers without great changes’.129 The cuts would come from weapons projects that served the previous doctrine of territorial defence, such as the Mars Lenkflugkörper designed for attacking large numbers of advancing tanks, the MH 90 helicopter, and from the lower amount of weapons and equipment needed after the reduction of the Bundeswehr by 35,000 troops and 10,000 civilian workers.130 This would allow Struck to raise the share of the Bundeswehr’s budget allocated for investment in weapons projects and focus the Bundeswehr’s tight resources on projects crucial to effective cooperation with its Alliance partners in crisis-management operations, enhancing reconnaissance, strategic lift, and communications capabilities.131 The German armaments industry

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received the news without great consternation; something of significant political help in ensuring these cuts could be undertaken with the minimum of fuss. German manufacturers, such as Krauss-Maffei Wegmann (KMW) and Diehl, had already made the strategic decision to focus upon weapons exports, realising that, in context of the long term slowdown in the German economy, the Bundeswehr could not provide a reliable source of income.132 The Political Management of Base Closures The reform also envisaged saving €1 billion through base closures. The final base closure concept, announced in November 2004, suggested political management and targeting of closures to avoid negative consequences for forthcoming elections. Länder that had recently held elections where the CDU/CSU had been victorious (or clearly would be victorious), such as Hesse (February 2003), Lower Saxony (February 2003), Baden-Württemberg (January 2001), and Saxony were hardest hit, as was the CSU stronghold of Bavaria.133 Having acted entrepreneurially on the Bundeswehr’s doctrine (unlike Scharping), and cancelled weapons projects designed for territorial defence, Struck could find resources for this political management of base closures. However, this financial leeway had come at another price: the new doctrine gave extra impetus to the transformation of the professional armed forces ‘advocacy’ coalition from nascent to mature, cementing it within the SPD.

Conclusions Military reform during the second Schröder chancellorship was, once more, determined by policy leaders and their assessments of constraints and opportunities emanating largely from the domestic political context. The politics of base closures and nature of the Bundeswehr policy subsystem as nested within the financial and social policy subsystems were important factors in informing the scope and shape of structural reform. Again, rather than looking to the Kanzlerprinzip, a full analysis of leadership in Bundeswehr reform requires a sustained focus upon the Ressortprinzip. In this case it also shows a role from the Social Affairs Ministry. Whilst Schröder was important in setting the strategic guidelines for policy change, the retention of control over the policy process, and the scope, shape, and timing of reform, was largely a consequence of ministerial policy leadership. Struck pursued a complex policy leadership that combined and varied roles, strategies, and styles. Entrepreneurship on the Bundeswehr’s doctrine—which differentiated him from Scharping—was combined with brokerage on the institutional bedrock of the Bundeswehr’s new role. His

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leadership involved the careful balancing of Europeanisation and Atlanticisation of reform, with the aim of creating consensus at the domestic level for the Bundeswehr’s new doctrine, by ensuring that the ‘freedom’ and ‘peace’ coalitions would share power and by finding resonance with Germany’s international partners. This approach also ensured that Struck was able to bind in opposition figures within the ‘peace’ coalition, who might otherwise have appealed to the Federal Constitutional Court about the doctrine’s constitutionality. Domestic factors, notably policy learning from the failure of Scharping’s efforts to raise finances from privatisation and efficiency measures, were critical in spurring Struck’s and Schröder’s decision to act entrepreneurially upon the doctrine of the armed forces. At the same time international factors, particularly the U.S.-led attack on Iraq and the threat of a ‘bifurcated Europe’, were crucial factors in Struck’s brokerage role. The second Gulf War threw into sharp focus the Atlanticist inclination of East Central European states and, in the context of the 2002 Prague Summit and the second wave of NATO enlargement, empowered Struck to reinforce the traditional ‘bridge concept’ and ‘ring fence’ ESDP and the European Security Strategy within the centrality of the trans-Atlantic relationship, returning to post–Cold War German ‘grand strategy’.134 Struck’s appointment of personnel emerges as critical leadership resources in ensuring control over the policy process within the Defence Ministry. Walter Stützle’s appointment as state secretary brought an end to internal conflict within the ministry, whilst Generalinspekteur Schneiderhan sought to create an impression of inclusiveness in discussion about both doctrinal and structural reform of the armed forces. However, Struck and Schneiderhan were also ruthless in dealing with internal dissent to the ‘paradox of Bundeswehr reform’. Proponents of a professional armed force were marginalised, and ‘gatekeepers’ to policy learning (notably the chiefs of staff) were replaced, if they did not ensure the strict control of ideas about the necessity for the retention of conscription. Policy learning at the macropolitical level was much harder to control and began to cause serious problems for control over structural reform of the armed forces. It spiraled in the context of Struck’s VPR, leading to a mature ‘advocacy’ coalition spanning the SPD, the Greens, and the FDP, in favor of a professional armed force. This made the control of the temporal dimension of reform highly problematic and threatened to derail the political management of reform. Increasing internal disagreement about the utility of conscription within the SPD made it very difficult to marginalise the Greens on the issue. Yet, despite the inability of Struck to secure an agreement on conscription within the SPD parliamentary party, and the policy entrepreneurship on behalf of a professional armed force by Renate

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Schmidt, Struck was able to control the timing of reform. This was achieved by postponing a decision on conscription to 2005, and ensuring its survival until at least 2010. The analysis presented in this chapter also throws doubt upon the utility of the concept of strategic culture as a stand-alone explanation of policy change. Crucially, it fails to take into account the nature of Bundeswehr policy as subject to the nature of the Bundeswehr as a policy subsystem, interlinked with the financial and social policy subsystems, and bound up with strategic electoral interests. Far from being hostage to his institutional environment, Struck was active in shaping the institutional culture of the Defence Ministry to enable the political management of reform, avoiding costly base closures and hikes in social expenditure. However, the use of cultural arguments to control policy learning at the macropolitical level, notably within the SPD, became increasingly ineffective, due to the extent of policy learning consequent upon the long term effects of the Weizsäcker Commission, German deployment in Afghanistan, and Struck’s own entrepreneurial role on the doctrine of the armed forces. Appeals to conscription as a core element of SPD ideology and a postwar German identity in civilmilitary relations found increasingly hollow resonance within the party, especially amongst younger members of the Bundestag. This weakened the ideational gravitas of conservative figures within the SPD, such as Walter Kolbow, who had previously been successfully empowered by the SPD leadership to retain control over the range of acceptable ideas on the Bundeswehr’s structure. Yet, despite these difficulties, Struck did his duty on the Bundeswehr. The SPD positioned themselves as innovative reformers, having presided over radical change to the Bundeswehr’s doctrine, releasing funds for investment. At the same time it retained conscription and avoided both the political costs from mammoth base closures and financial costs from the loss of Zivildienst. Struck delivered a triumph of policy leadership in the context of severe domestic constraints.

Notes 1. 2. 3. 4.

‘Gelassenheit wünscht er sich’, Stuttgarter Zeitung 19 July 2002. Interview, Jürgen Schnappertz, Berlin, 5 August 2002. ‘Wehrpflicht bleibt bestehen’, Handelsblatt, 8 October 2002. Ibid.

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5. ‘Rührt euch’, Welt, 9 October 2002. 6. ‘Jetzt kommt die Reform der Reform’, Frankfurter Allgemeine Sonntagszeitung, 1 December 2002. 7. ‘Mehr als Bundeswehrminister’, Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, 30 September 2002. 8. ‘Wehrpflicht und Zivildienst: die reine Vergeudung’, Frankfurter Allgemeine Sonntagszeitung, 18 January 2004. 9. ‘Mehr als Bundeswehrminister’, Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, 30 September 2002. 10. ‘Tagesbefehl: Sparen’, Handelsblatt, 14 January 2004. 11. ‘Chiracs Militärreform kostet viel Geld’, Handelsblatt, 14 January 2004. 12. ‘Die Wehrpflicht, Schrecken ohne Ende’? Freitag 33, 8 August 2003. 13. ‘Ein Ende mit Schrecken’, Spiegel 12, 17 March 2003. 14. Verteidigungspolitische Richtlinien, (VPR), Federal Defence Ministry, 21 May 2003, article 9. 15. VPR, 21 May 2003, article 19. 16. ‘Wir müssen die Landesverteidigung neu definieren’, Süddeutsche Zeitung, 4 February 2004. 17. ‘Harmonie in Oliv’, Zeit, 25 September 2003; Ein loyaler Stratege mit schwäbische Tüchtigkeit’, Stuttgarter Nachrichten, 4 September 2002. 18. ‘Die Bewährungsprobe kommt nach der Wahl’, Welt, 28 June 2003. 19. Ibid. 20. Bulmer, Germany’s European 25. 21. Interviews, NATO, Brussels, 16 and 17 August 2002. 22. ‘Generalinspekteur sieht europäische Armee skeptisch’, DPA 250100, April 2003. 23. M. Hampton, ‘Terrorism and German Security Policy’, Paper Presented to the 29th German Studies Association Annual Conference, Milwaukee, Wisconsin, 29 September–2 October 2005. 24. ‘Wir müssen die Landesverteidigung neu definieren’, Süddeutsche Zeitung, 4 February 2004. 25. ‘Den Super-GAU denken’, Welt am Sonntag, 9 November 2003. 26. Ibid. 27. ‘Generalinspekteur Schneiderhan sieht europäische Armee skeptisch’ DPA 250100, April 2003; ‘Ab 2007 muss der Wehretat deutlich Steigen’ Berliner Zeitung, 25.04.03 28. Ibid. 29. ‘Die Grenzen der Verteidigung’, Süddeutsche Zeitung, 21 January 2003. 30. Ibid. 31. ‘Wie Stark muss Europa sein, Herr Struck’? Tagesspiegel, 13 April 2003. 32. ‘Generalinspekteur Schneiderhan sieht europäische Armee skeptisch’, DPA 250100, April 2003. 33. ‘Paris und Berlin fördet Kern-EU’, Frankfurter Rundschau, 23 November 2002. 34. Verteidigungspolitische Richtlinien 2003, Federal Defence Ministry, 21 May 2003, Articles 33 and 51. 35. N. Van Willigen, Germany and the Transatlantic Link, NATO/EAPC Fellowship Final Report, 2003. 36. CDU/CSU Executive Committee Resolution, CDU Federal Office, 28 April, 2003. 37. Ibid., Introduction. 38. Ibid. 39. Ibid., article 6. 40. VPR, Federal Defence Ministry, 21 May 2003, article 40. 41. CDU/CSU Executive Committee Resolution of April 28, 2003, CDU Federal Office, article 4. 42. ‘Wehrpflicht wird zunehmend zur Belastungsprobe für Koalition’, DPA 211746, May 2003. 43. SPD International Policy Motion, Ordinary Party Congress, November 2003, Berlin, Point 8.

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44. G. Erler, ‘Stimulus Paper for the Programme Commission’ for the chapter ‘Peace in Mutual Security in the Berlin Programme’, 23 March 2003. 45. Ibid. 46. Ibid. 47. ‘Europe: Ideas for the New Programme of the Social Democratic Party’ Programme Forum 23 March 2005. 48. G. Erler, ‘Stimulus Paper’, 6. 49. ‘Wie Stark muss Europa sein, Herr Struck?’ Tagesspeigel, 13 April 2003. 50. Alistair Miskimmon, ‘Recasting the Security Bargains’, in New Europe, New Germany, Old Foreign Policy, ed. D. Webber, (London: Frank Cass, 2001). 51. ‘Paris und Berlin fordern Kern-EU’, Frankfurter Rundschau, 23 November 2002. 52. VPR, Federal Defence Ministry, 21 May 2003, article 75. 53. ‘Wenn Verteidigung vor dem Ernstfall beginnt’, Stuttgarter Nachrichten, 22 May 2003. 54. ‘NATO’s Future Role’, Speech to the Munich Conference on Security, 2 August 2003. 55. VPR, Federal Defence Ministry, 21 May 2003, article 18; ‘Den Super-GAU denken’, Welt am Sonntag, 9 November 2003. 56. VPR, Federal Defence Ministry, 21 May 2003, article 58. 57. ‘Paris und Berlin fördert Kern-EU’, Frankfurter Rundschau, 23 November 2002. 58. NATO Prague Summit Declaration, 21 November 2002, Article 4a. 59. Hyde-Price, Germany and European Order, 205–209. 60. ‘Lernen aus der Iraq Krieg und Furcht vor Lähmung nach Osterweiterung’, FT Deutschland, 27 March 2003. 61. Ibid. 62. CDU/CSU Executive Committee Resolution, April 28, 2003, CDU Federal Office, article 2. 63. Hyde-Price, Germany and European Order, 205–209. 64. ‘Der deutsche Anti-Donald’, Handelsblatt ,11 August 2003; Interview, Jürgen Schnappertz, Berlin, 5 August 2002. 65. Ibid. 66. Ibid. 67. ‘Wenn Verteidigung vor dem Ernstfall beginnt’, Stuttgarter Nachrichten, 22 May 2003. 68. ‘Struck druckt aufs Tempo’, Süddeutsche Zeitung, 5 August 2002. 69. ‘Die Bundespartner machen Druck’, Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, 26 July 2002; ‘Mehr als Bundesminister’, Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, 30 August 2002. 70. Ibid. 71. ‘Struck 100 Tage im Amt, Schneller Start und hohe Hürde, DPA 2230930, October 2002 72. Ibid. 73. ‘Harmonie in Oliv’, Zeit, 25 September 2003. 74. Grundgesetzänderung für neue Bundeswehraufgaben gefordet’, DPA 251421, May 2003. 75. ‘Wir müssen Landesverteidigung neu definieren’, Süddeutsche Zeitung, 4 February 2004. 76. VPR, 21 May 2003, article 11. 77. ‘Grundgesetzänderung für neue Bundeswehraufgaben gefordert’, DPA 251421, May 2003. 78. V. Schmidt, ‘The Politics of Adjustment in France and Britain: When Does Discourse Matter?’ Journal of European Public Policy 8, no. 2 (2001): 247–64; ‘Wir müssen die Landesverteidigung neu definieren’, Süddeutsche Zeitung, 4 February 2004. 79. ‘Mehr als Bundeswehrminister’, Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, 3 September 2002. 80. Ibid. 81. Ibid. 82. ‘Wenn Verteidigung vor dem Ernstfall beginnt’, Stuttgarter Nachrichten, 22 May 2003. 83. ‘Ende der Wehrpflicht rückt offenbar näher’, Stuttgarter Zeitung, 24 June 2003. 84. ‘Arme Armee auf dem Prüfstand’, Tageszeitung, 6 December 2002. 85. ‘Struck-Papier heizt Dauerkonflikt mit Grünen’, Frankfurter Rundschau, 20 May 2003; VPR, 21 May 2003, article 62.

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86. 87. 88. 89. 90. 91.

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Ibid. ‘Kein Kompromiss, wenn’s um Wehrpflicht geht’, Tageszeitung, 22 May 2003. ‘Appell zum Nachdenken’, Tagesspeigel, 22 May 2003. ‘Tagesbefehl: Sparen!’ Handelsblatt ,14 January 2004. ‘Neun Monate oder gar kein Wehrpflicht’, Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, 25 April 2003. ‘Nichts in die Bundeswehr ist wie es war’ DPA 110304, December 2003; ‘Briten sind sauer auf Scharping’, Stuttgarter Nachrichten, 22 May 2000. 92. ‘Ende mit Schrecken’, Spiegel, 17 March 2003, p.50. 93. http://www.bundeswehr.de/C1256EF4002AED30/DocName/Wehrdienst 94. ‘Der Vier-Sterne Ironiker’, Zeit, 27 June 2002. 95. www.nato.int/shape/news/2002/11/a021104.htm 96. ‘Strucks Pläne an der Grenze zur Verfassungswidrigkeit’, Rheinische Post, 16 April 2003. 97. ‘Wehrpflicht Debatte spaltet die SPD’ Welt, 3 July 2003. 98. Ibid. 99. ‘SPD-Youngsters gegen Struck’, DPA 021647, July 2003. 100. ‘Schluss mit der Wehrpflicht’, FT Deutschland, 27 June 2003. 101. Interview, Finance Ministry, Bonn, 28 August 2002. 102. ‘Ende mit Schrecken’, Spiegel, no. 12, 17 March 2003, 50. 103. ‘Struck: Berufsarmee zu teuer’, Handelsblatt, 14 January 2004. 104. ‘Wehrpflicht Debatte spaltet die SPD’ Welt, 3 July 20003; ‘SPD-Youngsters gegen StruckAbgeordnete stellen Beibehaltung der Wehrpflicht in Frage’, DPA 021647, July 2003. 105. ‘Münterfering sieht in Fraktion mehrheit für Wehrpflicht’, Reuters 231845, May 2003. 106. ‘Ein Herz für Wehrpflicht’, FT Deutschland, 26 May 2003; ‘Wehrpflicht Debatte spaltet die SPD’, Welt, 3 July 2003. 107. ‘Struck kämpft für Erhalt des Wehrdienstes’, FT Deutschland, 24 June 2003. 108. ‘Grüne attackieren Struck’, DPA 291108, June 2003; ‘SPD-Youngsters gegen Struck’, DPA 021647, July 2003. 109. ‘Struck vertagt Streit über Wehrdienst’, FT Deutschland, 1 July 2003. 110. Ibid. 111. ‘Prüfen gerne, ändern nicht’, Tagesspiegel, 5 June 2003. 112. ‘Wehrpflicht Debatte spaltet die SPD’, Welt, 3 July 2003. 113. Ibid. 114. ‘Die Wehrpflicht muss bleiben, der Zivildienst erweitet werden’, Zeit, 24 July 2003; ‘Die Wehrpflicht ist überflüssig’, Zeit, 7 August 2003. 115. ‘Tabubruch mit Rücksicht auf den Wahlkampf vertagt’, Berliner Zeitung, 9 June 1997. 116. Schmidt, ‘The Politics of Adjustment’, 247–64. 117. ‘Kein SPD-Fraktionsbeschluss zu Wehrdienst, Münterfering: Parteisache’, DPA 301649, July 2003. 118. ‘Wehrpflicht Abschaffen’? Spiegel, 3 June 2003. 119. ‘Rot und Grün suchen Kompromiss’, DPA 161450, September 2003. 120. Ibid. 121. ‘Ministerin bereitet Ende des Zivildienstes vor’, FT Deutschland, 22 December 2003. 122. ‘Regierung kürzt Zivildienst auf neun Monate’ FT Deutschland, 12 January 2004. 123. ‘Ministerin bereitet Ende des Zivildienstes vor’, FT Deutschland, 22 December 2003. 124. ‘Schluss mit der Wehrpflicht’, FT Deutschland, 27 June 2003. 125. ‘Repnik für Gesellschaftsjahr bei Aussetzen der Wehrpflicht’, DPA 111635, January 2004; ‘Mit der Wehrpflicht stirbt auch der Zivildienst’, Neue Presse, 12 January 2004. 126. ‘Struck: Freiwilligenarmee 2010 möglich’, Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, 30 December 2003. 127. ‘Struck: Berufsarmee zu Teuer’, Handelsblatt, 14 January 2004 128. ‘Struck löst Debatte über Wehrpflicht aus’, Handelsblatt, 6 October 2003. 129. ‘Struck: Freiwilligenarmee 2010 möglich’, Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, 30 December 2003. 130. ‘Kürzungen treffen Industrie bisher kaum’, Handelsblatt, 14 January 2004.

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131. 132. 133. 134.

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VPR, section VIII.2 Ibid. ‘Weitere Schließungen von Standorte angekündigt’, AP 161650. Brokering agreement between Europeanisation and Atlanticisation was also evident in U.K. Defence Policy, see R.Dover, ‘The Prime Minister and the Core Executive’, 521.

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Chapter 6

MILITARY REFORM, NATO, AND THE EUROPEAN SECURITY AND DEFENCE POLICY Between Atlanticisation and Europeanisation

The previous chapter demonstrated how Europeanisation and Atlanticisation were mediated and controlled by Peter Struck, who was able to ‘ring fence’ ESDP within Atlanticisation by carefully controlling the ideational climate within the Defence Ministry and using the VPR as an opportunity for determining the institutional bedrock of German defence and security policy. This involved careful management of policy learning within the Bundeswehr policy subsystem and Defence Ministry, in particular and, at the domestic macropolitical level, brokerage between the ‘freedom’ and ‘peace’ coalitions. Struck’s leadership role of brokerage was facilitated by the ramifications of the pursuit of an independent EU military capacity for Germany’s relations with Eastern Central European states in the aftermath of the 2003 Iraq conflict. In order to highlight how Atlanticisation and Europeanisation were themes that united the Rühe, Scharping, and Struck periods, and to explore how the themes related to each other, this chapter situates the reform of the Bundeswehr’s roles and structure during the Kohl and first Schröder governments in the context of Germany’s role in the development of a European Security and Defence Identity (ESDI) within the NATO alliance (as its

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European ‘pillar’) and, after the Cologne and Helsinki European Councils in June and December 1999, of ESDP as a component of the EU. Bundeswehr reform has been caught up in two interrelated dynamics of ‘uploading’ (transferring German policy templates to EU and NATO levels) and ‘downloading’ (transferring EU and NATO templates to the German level). These dynamics were associated with the emerging security and defence component of European integration, and, especially in the case of ‘downloading’, represented by Atlanticisation and Europeanisation. Successive German governments sought to reconcile these twin dynamics in the traditional ‘bridge’ concept, whereby the strengthening of ESDP was not to be understood as emancipation from the United States but as the European ‘pillar’ in the Trans-Atlantic Alliance.1 It fitted into the notion of German interests as bound up in a dual integration strategy of European and transatlantic ‘binding in’ rooted in the beginnings of the postwar Bonn Republic. The ‘bridge’ concept was put under increasing strain as, with the Helsinki European Council, the EU’s goal became ‘an autonomous military capacity to launch and conduct EU-led military operations’. The formulation of the need for an autonomous EU military capacity, led by the Foreign Ministry, challenged the Defence Ministry’s traditional position, that the military dimension was a matter for NATO under the ESDI/Combined Joint Task Forces (CJTF) arrangements. In the context of the trans-Atlantic tensions surrounding the Iraq War, the ‘bridge concept’ was placed under pressure by a French, German, Belgian, and Luxembourg initiative to enshrine the development of a ‘European Security and Defence Union’ and European Foreign Minister within the draft European Constitutional Treaty, and secure defence cooperation as part of a ‘deepening’ of political union by ‘core’ EU states. Ultimately, though, as the last chapter highlights, Struck was able to use external events to locate the VPR of 2003 firmly within German ‘grand strategy’ of the post–Cold War period and the ‘bridge concept’. The key question is the extent to which, and the ways in which, Atlanticisation and Europeanisation affected Bundeswehr reform, shaping the scope, shape, and pace of domestic policy change. In addressing this question the chapter seeks to show how a focus on domestic policy leadership can offer new insights into the processes of Atlanticisation and Europeanisation. In contrast to the emphasis on ‘misfit’ between domestic and European/ NATO institutional requirements as the ‘top-down’ trigger for domestic change, the chapter highlights the role of domestic policy leadership in determining the extent and manner in which German defence and security policy is Atlanticised and Europeanised. The central argument is that policy leaders have played a central role in the ‘bottom up’ and ‘top down’ processes of Europeanisation in German defence and security policy, whether as entrepreneurs, brokers, or veto

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players. ESDP has been an increasingly important part of the strategic context within which these roles are played.

Theories of Europeanisation and German Defence and Security Policy It is possible to identity three main approaches to Europeanisation, each of which underplays the role of policy leaders in shaping Europeanisation as a ‘top-down’ and ‘bottom-up’ process. The first two approaches to Europeanisation can be seen as different variants of the ‘top-down’ perspective on Europeanisation. These two approaches are the ‘fusion’ thesis and the ‘misfit’ thesis. Fusion: Institutional and Policy Convergence According to the ‘fusion’ thesis, domestic institutional and policy traditions are losing their distinctiveness.2 This suggests that the Defence Ministry will devote greater resources to EU business, that the Bundeswehr would converge with its EU counterparts through ESDP, and that the characteristics that it had developed in the 1950s would become increasingly attenuated. The ‘fusion’ thesis generates the proposition that Europeanisation will be associated with institutional and policy convergence. This applies in a qualified way. At the administrative level, both Europeanisation and Atlanticisation are complementary with the continuing role of the Defence Ministry as the epicenter of the Bundeswehr policy subsystem and its strong sense of a distinctive policy identity as an indispensable component of the postwar political order. This embedded construction of its role militates against a comprehensive mobilisation of the ministerial administration behind Atlanticisation or Europeanisation. At the political level, defence ministers are bound in a configuration of party, parliamentary, governmental, and electoral factors, offering little incentive to Atlanticise or Europeanise Bundeswehr reform. Such domestic institutional and political arenas are not bound up in an effective multi level system reaching up to NATO and the EU, and political career incentives do not prioritise engagement at these levels.3 Hence the ‘fusion’ thesis has limited explanatory power in understanding the Europeanisation of German defence and security policy. Fit/Misfit and the Role of Mediating Factors The other approach to Europeanisation as a ‘top down’ process focuses not on fusion but on ‘fit’/’misfit’. European requirements in the form of ‘misfit’ between EU and domestic levels impose adaptational pressures on domes-

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tic structures and policies with domestic factors shaping the outcomes, varying from transformation to inertia and retrenchment.4 Accommodation occurs when there is a ‘fit’ between the levels. Risse et al. emphasise intervening variables in shaping the impacts of Europeanisation.5 Firstly, domestic political and governmental structures enable or block adaptational change, providing opportunities for policy entrepreneurs or veto players. The second intervening variable is formal institutions, which frame the reaction to EU pressure for change. The third variable is political and organisational cultures, which define the setting within which actors respond to Europeanisation, determining the nature and strength of the ‘logic of appropriateness’ that is challenged or reinforced. In the case of Bundeswehr reform this logic is provided by Germany’s strategic culture and its priority to civilian power values.6 Less attention has been given to the fourth intervening variable: agency. Firstly, European integration leads to a differential empowerment of actors, reshaping the power structure at the domestic level, producing winners and losers.7 Secondly, Europeanisation is associated with learning, inducing changes in the interests and identities of actors. Risse et al. distinguish between ‘single-loop’ and ‘double-loop’ learning; ‘Single-loop learning’ refers to situations where actors simply adjust their strategies to achieve their goals and preferences, ‘simple’ learning about how to cope with Europeanisation. ‘Double-loop’ learning involves paradigmatic change to the goals and preferences of actors and is reflected in a discontinuity in institutional development, with a transformation of rules and norms.8 ‘Simple’ learning focuses on Europeanisation as a resource available to policy leaders and is consistent with an ‘actor-centered’ account. ‘Double-loop’ learning highlights Europeanisation as a cognitive structure shaping the preferences and practices of policy actors. Despite its ‘top down’ basis in a ‘fit’/’misfit’ account, Risse et al. develop a sophisticated account which leaves space for considering how domestic actors use European integration. In this respect, this account and the ‘bottom-up’ conception of Europeanisation have a substantial area of overlap. Europeanisation as a ‘Bottom-up Process’ The ‘bottom up’ approach to Europeanisation stresses how domestic actors frame and use Europe to pursue particular policy beliefs and to gain power over policy in the context of domestic political opportunity structures and the incentives that actors face. In this view of Europeanisation the focus is on how domestic actors create ‘misfits’ and use the EU to strengthen their domestic political power, to pursue institutional interests (for instance in more policy competence and resources) and to legitimate policy reforms and develop new policy solutions.9

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Following and broadening the consensus seeking definition of Europeanisation by Dyson and Goetz, Atlanticisation and Europeanisation are best seen as complex sets of interactive, ‘top down’ and ‘bottom up’ processes, through which the domestic politics of military reform is affected by NATO and by European integration around the EU respectively.10 This definition suggests a range of opportunities for policy leadership in shaping and managing these processes, which can be seen as enabling constraints, highlighting the risks in a rather stylised juxtaposition of the ‘top-down’ and ‘bottom-up’ approaches.11 In practice, there is a large area of overlap and common ground between these approaches. Risse et al. have a sophisticated view of how ‘misfit’ operates, emphasising the domestic aspects of Europeanisation. However, the advantage of the ‘bottom up’ approach is that it focuses attention on how domestic policy leaders, in this case Defence Ministers, manage ‘fit’, minimising adaptational pressures. This approach has particular relevance in studying Atlanticisation and Europeanisation in defence and security, where (especially in Europeanisation) there are not the clear prescriptive institutional models that trigger ‘top-down’ change through ‘misfits’.12 Studies of the Europeanisation of German defence and security policy have reflected the greater knowledge about the Foreign Ministry than the Defence Ministry.13 There has been a tendency to analyse from the European perspective of the Foreign Ministry as the senior coordinating ministry pursuing European integration, for until recently the Defence Ministry has been an observer rather than a participant in EU integration. Little has been written on the Atlanticisation of German policy, with the exception of Hanrieder’s ‘penetration’ thesis, which suggests deep fusion in the Atlantic Alliance and its structures.14 The Defence Ministry seems to support Wessels’s portrait of the ‘opening of the state’ better than any other ministry.15 What emerges from this chapter is a picture of a ministry locked into domestic political structures that give little incentive to Europeanise the Bundeswehr. More striking is the active leadership of defence ministers in seeking to shape and use Atlanticisation and Europeanisation in the interests of their own domestic political interests and agendas. The most sophisticated account of the Europeanisation of German foreign, defence, and security policy is by Miskimmon and Paterson.16 They provide a multi variable explanation of ‘uploading’ and ‘downloading’ processes within CFSP and ESDP that stresses their interconnections, identifying four factors that act as a yardstick by which to assess how far ‘European Community political dynamics become part of the organisational logic of national politics and policy making’: the extent of elite socialisation, bureaucratic reorganisation, constitutional change, and increase in public support for European integration.17 Checkel’s concept of ‘persuasion’ is

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used as an additional tool to help explain the extent to which Germany has influenced the shape of both CFSP and ESDP. Miskimmon and Paterson conclude that Germany has been both an agent (‘uploader’) for Europeanisation and an object (‘downloader’) of the process. Its role as object was evident in elite socialisation, bureaucratic reorganisation, constitutional change, and support of public opinion for CFSP and ESDP as an aspect of European political unification.18 This chapter concurs with the thesis of Miskimmon and Paterson that, although Germany plays a strong role as an ‘agent’ in uploading its policy preferences to the EU level, it is to only a limited extent an object of Europeanisation in defence and security policy. Despite the rhetoric from the Foreign Ministry, Chancellor’s Office, and Defence Ministry about Germany’s commitment to developing ESDP, Atlanticisation frames and qualifies how Europeanisation shapes German defence and security policies. The Defence Ministry has been the institutional guarantor that a balancing of Atlanticisation and Europeanisation would be sustained in domestic bureaucratic politics within the core executive. Leadership and the Management of Europeanisation and Atlanticisation This chapter differs in two respects from Miskimmon and Paterson. Firstly, it questions how far Atlanticisation affects defence and security policy, by stressing the context of the domestic political opportunity structure and incentives.19 Secondly, it provides a different explanation for limited Europeanisation that highlights the distinctiveness of policy subsystems like the Bundeswehr, the resilience of core policy beliefs to change, the long term nature of policy learning, and the role of design and management of institutional venues. Crucially, it draws out the role of policy leaders in shaping, managing, and using ‘uploading’ and ‘downloading’ processes, whether as policy entrepreneurs, brokers, or veto players. Consistent with Knill and Risse et al., it is important not to lose sight of institutional and strategic cultures as mediating factors in the extent to which a state engages in ‘downloading’ from the EU level.20 At the same time, as this book shows, policy leaders maneuver and negotiate within these strategic contexts, managing policy learning, creating and using different institutional venues, and varying, combining, and sequencing their roles, strategies, and styles.

The EU and German Defence and Security Policy during the Kohl Chancellorship From the early stages of the European integration process, the ambition to create a political identity through common defence was evident. This

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ambition surfaced in the ill-fated European Defence Community proposal in Charles De Gaulle’s vision of Franco-German leadership and in the abortive 1961 Fouchet Plan, materialising again in the Genscher-Colombo Plan of 1981.21 The French Fouchet Plan sought to incorporate defence into the EEC on an intergovernmental basis. A central problem for German policy, especially once De Gaulle became French president in 1958, was the association of French-inspired plans for common European defence with challenge both to United States hegemony (represented by NATO) and the idea of a supranational Europe. In particular, French plans threatened to wreck what was conceived as the central German national interests in a privileged relationship to the United States in defence (through NATO). Hence, though the Elysée Treaty on Franco-German Cooperation of 1963 committed France and Germany to bilateral defence cooperation, the Bundestag insisted on inserting, in the face of Adenauer’s opposition, an Atlanticist preamble stressing collective defence within NATO. De Gaulle’s 1966 withdrawal of French forces from NATO’s integrated structure further reduced the credibility of French proposals on common defence to German policy makers, who remained wedded to NATO, making Elysée Treaty provisions redundant.22 Out of the failures of these years emerged one structure that represented a supranational approach to defence and security, the Western European Union (WEU). WEU was a potential institutional building block for later initiatives—notably the Maastricht Treaty of 1992, the Petersburg Declaration of 1992, and the Amsterdam Treaty of 1997—and one on which German negotiators seized in the Maastricht negotiations and after.23 The early abortive efforts were followed by a slowly evolving framework of foreign policy cooperation that created a diplomatic context in which defence cooperation could be seen as more credible. From the outset Germany played a key role as initiator and supporter of efforts at foreign policy coordination, aligning itself with a supranational approach aiming at effectiveness and speed through qualified majority voting. However, this framework evolved with difficulty, leaving a gap between German ambitions for the EU and what could be negotiated. It proved difficult to gain agreement on Europe’s strategic interests or an institutional structure avoiding national vetoes. Where such agreement was forthcoming, as eventually over Bosnia and Kosovo, it lacked credibility without military capability. Above all, Germany had to reconcile her Atlanticist and European interests. The Harmel Report of 1967 on the future tasks of the Alliance gave initial impetus to this diplomatic framework. By drawing attention to the importance of the political context of security, it contributed to instilling the idea of the value of European foreign policy cooperation. The first practical step was European Political Cooperation (EPC), agreed at the Hague Summit of 1969, conceived as a structure within which foreign policy stances

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could be coordinated, allowing European foreign ministers, officials, and diplomats to meet on a regular basis. However, EPC was not tied to the institutions and agenda of the EC and was intergovernmental, playing an outside role in European foreign policy.24 The most important role of the EPC was in elite socialisation and as a forum for policy learning.25 It helped to facilitate a deeper knowledge and understanding between EC states, putting in place the habits and structures of mutual consultation that could later be strengthened in the context of external shocks and crises. Bosnia, Kosovo, and Iraq clarified the need for deeper European foreign policy coordination and for the credibility that comes from an autonomous military capability. German governments consistently supported the development of EPC away from intergovernmentalism towards the community method. Mitterrand, Kohl, and Franco-German Defence Collaboration President François Mitterrand was important in trying to give a new impetus to Franco-German defence collaboration as the motor for wider European defence cooperation.26 Mitterrand’s defence initiatives were made more credible to the German government by his explicit support for the Kohl government’s implementation of the NATO ‘dual track’ decision on stationing Cruise and Pershing missiles in Germany.27 Another factor was Franco-German agreement that Gorbachev’s emergence as Soviet leader represented a new opportunity to bring peace and stability to Europe. A third factor was German Foreign Ministry thinking that bilateral initiatives on European security policy could compensate for the poor progress with EPC. From 1986 to 1987 Mitterrand and Kohl developed a series of initiatives. They sought to revive the WEU as a key component of European political unification with its new ‘Platform on European Security Interests’ in October 1987. This spoke of ‘a more cohesive European defence identity’. The 25th anniversary celebrations of the Elysée Treaty in 1988 were used to launch the Franco-German Defence Council. This initiative derived from the Chancellor’s Office as a device for binding France more strongly to Germany’s territorial defence.28 The new Franco-German Brigade, created in October 1990, was meant to symbolise this new positive view of bilateral defence collaboration.29 However, these Franco-German initiatives on defence cooperation under Mitterrand and Kohl were stronger on symbolism than substance and were without deep effects on the Bundeswehr, whose operational tasks were bound up with NATO. These initiatives were not linked to the mobilising effect of crisis and lacked urgency. This situation was transformed by German unification and Mitterrand’s conviction that its effects were best contained by deepening European political, economic, and monetary integration. Defence was seen as a key component of stronger European politi-

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cal union to ensure that reunified Germany was bound tightly into European structures.30 Germany, European Defence, and the Maastricht Treaty The Maastricht Treaty, negotiated in 1991, was an historic opportunity in the wake of rapid unification to underline German commitment to accelerating and deepening European unification. A common European defence policy caused particular problems for the Kohl government. It raised issues about how to reconcile paying off political debts owed to the Americans and French with respect to their support for unification. The difficulty stemmed from the importance that Mitterrand attached to this aspect of the Maastricht Treaty. Kohl was caught between the desire to respond positively to Mitterrand on a common defence policy as a logical next step in European unification and the desire to accommodate American concerns by promoting the ‘bridge’ concept.31 Defence was negotiated in and around the IGC on political union, with German Foreign Ministry officials in the driving seat. The key question centered on the role of the WEU, which German negotiators identified as the decisive institutional venue for gradually giving the EU a role in defence and security. The German negotiating position was to strengthen the WEU’s role, but to confine this role to crisis-management operations. Collective defence was to remain the function of NATO. Hence WEU/EU and NATO would have complementary functions, carving out a balancing role between two views. According to the British and the Dutch, the WEU should be a bridge linking the EU and NATO, but with the WEU remaining as the European pillar of NATO. In the French view, the WEU should be an instrument for the gradual transfer of various functions, including collective defence, from NATO to the EU, acquiring an autonomous operational capability and the right to operate outside and within NATO.32 The Kohl government offered ambivalent support to the French position. The Foreign Ministry worked with its French counterpart to table a joint Franco-German proposal on defence, proposing an ‘organic’ link between the WEU and the EU and the transformation of the Franco-German Brigade into the Eurocorps as the basis for an integrated European military structure.33 Nevertheless, Kohl stressed the importance of getting NATO on their side and attached key importance to NATO’s Rome summit. Here the new NATO ‘Strategic Concept’ endorsed the development of European multilateral forces whilst reaffirming the primacy of NATO. The CFSP was created by the Maastricht Treaty as a separate EU intergovernmental pillar, whilst the role of the WEU was cast in ambivalent language. There was reference to ‘the eventual framing of a common defence policy’ as a goal of the EU in Chapter B. However, Chapter J.4(1) offered

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an opportunity to slow down the development of this policy when it spoke of ‘the eventual framing of a common defence policy, which might in time lead to a common defence’. This Treaty provision underlined the absence of a political will behind European defence policy, especially on the part of Atlanticists like the British and Dutch. Some progress was made in putting in place an institutional structure to provide a military capability for the EU. The WEU was elevated as ‘an integral part of the development of the EU’ (Chapter J.4.2), and its secretariat reinforced and moved from London and Paris to Brussels. It was to ‘elaborate and implement decisions and actions’ of the EU that have defence implications, although the WEU had no forces of its own. Also, this limited integration of defence and military policy into the EU was not accompanied by a binding link between the EU and the WEU. During the Maastricht negotiations defence ministries had been marginalised in favor of foreign ministers and their officials who occupied the key role in the IGC on political union. The German Defence Ministry looked to the NATO Rome summit of November 1990 and its new ‘Strategic Concept’ to protect its interests, effectively neutralising the hastily prepared Franco-German proposal on defence that had bypassed them. The Foreign Ministry’s idea of a closer ‘organic link between the WEU and the EU’ was kept off the agenda. Another factor in limiting progress towards a common European defence was the intransigence of Atlanticist states, leading to friction between the French and Dutch governments over whether the Dutch had been using their EU presidency to pursue their own agenda on defence and institutional issues. Irritated by British and Dutch obstruction, Mitterrand had convened a separate EU summit in Paris on defence, outside the framework of the IGC and Dutch chairing.34 The outcome at Maastricht was unsatisfactory to the French, but helpful to Kohl in avoiding a domestic split between Atlanticists and Europeanists. Kohl was conscious that it was equally important for the German government to pay off political debts over German unification to the United States as well as to the French.35 During the period after unification Germany was keen to show itself a reliable international partner that would not return to a Sonderweg both to the French (as partners in developing the EU) and to the U.S. (as partners in NATO). The problem was how to reconcile and balance Europeanisation and Atlanticisation. This problem had reverberations within the core executive. Within the context of a general policy commitment to balancing these two priorities, guarded over by the chancellor, the Defence Ministry had an institutional bias towards Atlanticisation, the Foreign Ministry to Europeanisation.36 This had exhibited itself during the IGC negotiations on defence. For the Defence Ministry, the key was to keep the chancellor focused on NATO summits, as in Rome in 1991, and on the value of

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substantial operational policy statements (like NATO’s ‘Strategic Concept’) over declaratory Franco-German statements that could jeopardise transAtlantic relations. The key theme for the Defence Ministry was the development of ‘a new European security architecture’ through NATO in the form of an ESDI, notably at the NATO Brussels meeting in January 1994, linking ESDI to CJTF. Rühe, ESDP, and the ‘Negotiation of Fit’ The pressure of events in Eastern and South Eastern Europe combined with the opportunities that were offered by the Maastricht Treaty to open a window of opportunity for Rühe to play an activist policy leadership role in ESDI. In the face of new security challenges, Rühe could argue that faith in German promotion of ‘soft’ security through supporting economic development was not sufficient. He developed the argument for a stronger defence component within German foreign policy, working through NATO and the WEU. This position challenged the Foreign Ministry. Rühe sought to carve out a key role through the negotiations leading to the WEU ministerial meeting in Bonn in June 1992 at which the Petersburg Declaration was agreed. This agreement outlined a distinctive interventionist role for the WEU in peacekeeping, peacemaking, and humanitarian operations, giving a strongly German emphasis to its tasks. Not least Rühe, like many within the CDU, realised that Germany was going to have to take a more active role in the international community and a greater share of the security ‘burden’ under pressure from its international partners, especially the United States.37 The Constitutional Court ruling of 1994 on ‘out-of-area’ operations offered a further opportunity for Rühe to act to promote a stronger EU defence and security dimension. He was aware that defence and security cooperation was going to be a key issue in the future of the EU and was confident of Kohl’s support in actively promoting this dimension of European integration.38 Rühe’s activism on ESDI was partly motivated by his interest in making sure that the Europeanisation of defence and security was not controlled by the Foreign Ministry that threatened to create a ‘top down’ problem of ‘misfit’ that would lead to difficult problems of domestic structural adaptation, not least for the Bundeswehr. 39 He was keen to ensure that he had a strong voice in determining the substance of any initiatives on ESDI that would have ‘top-down’ effects on the Defence Ministry. Also, whilst Rühe was a strong advocate of ESDI, he was wary of challenging NATO’s primacy as the key framework for German policy. He stressed that it was in the interests of the U.S. and the EU that the EU should begin to take more responsibility for security and that, in the context of a broader spectrum of risks, the key to European security was going to be an increased emphasis on crisis management.40

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In Rühe’s eyes, the Bosnia crisis and 1995 Srebreniça massacre were key events demonstrating the need to develop European structures ensuring that such events could not happen again. His goal was to create an EU that could deal with crises such as the former Yugoslavia, but only in situations where the U.S. was happy to let Europe ‘go it alone’.41 He was also keen to promote the military capabilities for such structures, stressing greater European cooperation in armament production and procurement.42 Rühe was wary of challenging territorial and alliance defence as the core principle on which the Bundeswehr was structured. The development of ESDI threatened to lead to new institutional models that could create adaptational pressures through ‘misfit’ and initiate pressure for change within the policy subsystem of defence and security policy by highlighting the failure of a policy based on territorial defence and conscription. The strategic political context made Rühe unwilling to act as a policy entrepreneur for ESDI outside NATO. Part of his caution in acting as policy entrepreneur on behalf of a crisis-management role for the Bundeswehr can be linked to perceptions of Rühe within the CDU/CSU as the ‘crown prince’ and successor to Kohl.43 His political ambitions meant that he was unwilling to take unnecessary risks. Rühe also lacked a strong level of support within his own party (coming from Hamburg, whose postwar history was SPD) making him heavily dependent on the chancellor’s support, constraining his decisional assertiveness. Nevertheless, Rühe was active on ESDI when he saw an opportunity consistent with this strategic context. Rühe was aware that: ‘It must be clear to the Europeans: there will be no more automatic American engagement in Europe. In the future there will be conflicts where the Europeans have to act alone’.44 Within strategic constraints, he demonstrated a high level of activism, playing the role of policy broker on ESDI, seeking to enhance Germany’s ability to engage in crisis-reaction operations, whilst ensuring the continued dominance of the traditional policy doctrine by stressing the primacy of territorial and alliance defence. Within the context of a weak Foreign Ministry under Kinkel, Rühe was able to mobilise Kohl’s support behind his efforts to control the ‘uploading’ of Germany preferences into ESDI and thereby the ‘top-down’ effects on his Defence Ministry.45 Rühe was, in effect, actively negotiating ‘fit’ to reduce pressures for domestic structural transformation to the Bundeswehr. Central to Rühe’s activism was his call for a new trans-Atlantic partnership, based on three pillars: political, economic, and security. A stronger Europe within this security partnership was the solution to the failure of the UN evident in the Bosnian crisis. The future role of Germany in this new security environment was going to shift ‘from net importer to contributor’ to the WEU, NATO, and the UN.46 Rühe was active in advocating this posi-

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tion not only within Germany but also in the U.S. As the Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung recognised: Rühe had ‘access to the most important Americans’, allowing an active role not only in defence but also in foreign policy on his visit to the U.S in 1995.47 He was notably effective in using United States support to strengthen his domestic position vis-à-vis Kinkel, especially over an acceleration of NATO Eastern enlargement.48 Rühe was aware of the sensitivity of the issue of giving a military dimension to CFSP. Within the context of the multiple veto points in the German political system, his ‘salami’ tactics had been carefully deployed to bring on board key members of the opposition and of his coalition partner, the FDP, especially over monitoring the UN embargo on Serbia and Montenegro between 1993 and 1996, and over Bosnia. Rühe acted as a policy broker within his own party and the defence and security policy subsystem. Rather than engaging in entrepreneurship on ESDP, he was convinced it could only be realised by ‘salami tactics’.49 Initially, Rühe was keen to transform the Franco-German Brigade into Eurocorps (made operational in November 1995) and to strengthen Eurocorps as a multinational force of 50,000, joined by the Belgians and the Spanish. It was a first step towards a European army that would give CFSP substance and provide insurance against a U.S. withdrawal of its forces from Europe. He also supported the strengthening of the German-Netherlands Corps and backed the assignment of the Eurocorps to the WEU, for whose future use it was ‘made available’.50 Above all, he was keen to secure these moves to strengthen WEU as part of ESDI within the trans-Atlantic partnership and did not follow the French in pressing for a rapid merger of the WEU and EU. This approach helped to protect him against potential attack from Atlanticist members of the ‘freedom’ coalition spanning the CDU/ CSU and FDP. It also ensured that the incremental development of a common European defence policy as a crisis-management capability under WEU auspices could be reconciled with the retention of territorial defence as the core policy doctrine through NATO. In NATO and the WEU the Defence Ministry had greater potential to control policy outcomes than in the EU framework, where foreign ministers were likely to be influential. A development of common European defence policy through WEU/NATO offered a better guarantee that conscription could be defended. Reconciling French and U.S. Views on the Architecture of European Security Rühe’s approach was also designed to take the initiative from the French on ESDP and ensure that moves in this direction were consistent with German strategic interests. The French conception of a common European defence policy was much more about moving away from the reliance on the U.S. and NATO as a security provider. Rühe and Kohl did not see NATO, the U.S. and

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a common European defence policy as mutually exclusive.51 Having ‘sounded out’ and reassured the Americans by visiting the U.S., Rühe called for the strengthening of European capabilities to respond to crises within Europe, to ensure that ‘a situation such as Yugoslavia would not be allowed to develop in the first place’.52 He was conscious that the period leading up to the Treaty of Amsterdam would set the context for any agreement on how Europe was going to move towards a common defence policy.53 Consequently, in Rühe’s eyes, the way the Bosnia crisis was handled and the lessons learnt from the former Yugoslavia were of great importance to the EU’s future development. Rühe began to use the rhetoric of Kohl before the Maastricht summit, stressing how the EU was a ‘matter of war and peace’.54 Accordingly, he argued that the next step for the EU Friedensmachine (‘engine of peace’) was to give up sovereignty over armed forces.55 Rühe and Kohl hoped that the WEU would provide a framework to reconcile tensions between Atlanticists and Europeanists, with the WEU acting as a bridge between NATO and the EU. Hence Rühe supported the 1994 CJFT proposal because it opened up the possibility for NATO command and control structures to be placed under WEU operational command in the conduct of missions supporting the Petersburg tasks.56 The period from 1995 to 1996 was a critical juncture for ESDI. Jacques Chirac’s election as French president in May 1995 was associated with a Gaullist attempt to make defence the key axis of French EU policy. This resonated with hostile views towards U.S. hegemony in defence across the French political spectrum and built European integration around a defence pillar where France was seen as having an advantage, not least over Germany. It was, however, clear from past experience that any French initiative on European defence that was built on hostility to the U.S. would fail. Hence in December 1995 President Chirac narrowed the gap between French and German thinking by accepting that ESDP must be built from within NATO through Europeanising NATO.57 This redefinition of the French position suited the CDU/CSU, as it allowed the development of a crisis-reaction capability whilst retaining the dominant domestic policy doctrine of territorial defence and conscription. At the July 1996 NATO Council in Berlin, the U.S. accepted this agenda and agreed that the WEU could be asked to carry out a military role in purely European conflicts. This French move facilitated the Franco-German ‘common strategic concept’ of December 1996. For the first time they jointly defined the objectives of a common defence policy. Crucially, the French government conceded the principle of ‘parity’ between France and Germany and accepted discussion of the role of nuclear deterrence within ESDI. The signal was that FrancoGerman defence cooperation could be pursued in multilateral structures and

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that France rejected a special leadership role. Germany was happy to embrace NATO reform, bringing it closer to OSCE, allaying Russian fears. The basis for a joint Franco-German concept of ESDI was laid, reducing dependence on, but not seeking independence from, the U.S.58 These external changes were critical in shifting the debate in Germany. By these interlinked French and NATO moves, Rühe was emboldened to become a policy broker and revise German positions on ESDP, as a means of increasing German weight and influence vis-à-vis the U.S. without disrupting this strategic partnership. Similarly, through ESDI he saw a means of strengthening the Defence Ministry’s domestic weight and influence within the core executive by upgrading the importance of defence as a component of a more active German international diplomacy.59 Underpinning this political strategy for ESDI was Rühe’s attempt to project an image as an active, world-rank politician, who was the number one CDU foreign policy expert and candidate for the highest office once Kohl retired.60 Whilst Rühe was keen to act as policy entrepreneur on ESDI, he was more cautious about how it should be given substance. He used the Bosnia crisis, especially events in Srebreniça, to argue that the time had come for the Federal Republic to actively stand against genocide in Europe and that such a strategy for Germany required being part of a European military structure that was capable of acting in a crisis-prevention role.61 However, in developing his ideas on ESDI in a more practical form, Rühe was very much a policy broker, keen to ensure that ESDI did not challenge territorial and alliance defence. He proved a very skilful policy leader in the strategic context that faced him, heroic in vision, but humdrum on detail. This leadership mix was reconciled in his ‘salami tactics’ in developing a crisis-prevention role for the Bundeswehr, whilst not challenging a domestic political context wedded to territorial defence and conscription. Crucial to the way Rühe conceived ESDI was his shared view with Kohl that Germany was historically indebted to the U.S., particularly after the unqualified support of the Bush Administration for rapid German reunification.62 Hence Kohl was not prepared to be used by the French government to develop ESDI in opposition to the U.S. ESDI had to emerge from the Europeanisation of NATO, with U.S. support at every stage. For Rühe NATO and the WEU were the prime institutional venues in which ESDI would develop.63 He instrumentalised the WEU to give operational expression to European policy and project the role of the Defence Ministry. This position suited the bureaucratic interests, and reflected the established institutional culture and identity, of the Defence Ministry. It was the condition under which Rühe could sponsor ESDI without conceding political weight and influence to the Foreign Ministry. Above all, Rühe ensured an optimal ‘uploading’ of German policy preferences and practices in the

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WEU’s Petersburg tasks. This conception supported role change in the Bundeswehr without challenging the continuance of territorial defence and conscription. In the context of a public sensitive to the issue of intervention and a constraining domestic political context, the use of NATO and the WEU as a bridge to the EU as the institution in which the first steps towards a stronger ESDI was to be taken enabled Rühe to reconcile new and traditional roles. This policy leadership role depended on Rühe’s skills in routing ESDI through the institutional venues of NATO and WEU, keeping ESDI business away from the regular meetings of the European state secretaries, chaired by the Foreign Ministry. Once ESDP business got into the European State Secretaries Committee, it was more likely to escape the defence and security policy subsystem into the macropolitical context. A change of institutional venue increased the prospects of a more radical approach to ESDI, threatening ‘misfit’ between EU requirements and the Bundeswehr’s operational capabilities. Rühe and the Control of Policy Learning The control of information and promotion of policy learning was crucial to Rühe’s policy broker role. Within the Defence Ministry and NATO these processes were facilitated by figures such as Naumann and Manfred Wörner.64 As NATO Secretary General, with very close contacts to Naumann, Wörner was important in working with the WEU to secure the definition of the Petersburg tasks. Naumann and Wörner were also important in ensuring that policy learning about the need for a stronger crisis-prevention role did not challenge core policy beliefs. As shown in chapter 3, Rühe was also active in seeking to promote policy learning within the coalition party and the opposition parties. Despite his reputation as a ‘lout,’ Rühe demonstrated important conciliatory and mobilising skills, combining brokerage and the cultivation of agreement around clear policy goals with decisional assertiveness. In conclusion, Rühe’s policy leadership skills were vital to the way in which Europeanisation affected the Bundeswehr. He played an active role in seeking to ‘upload’ German policy preferences and practices in a way that ‘misfit’ and major adaptational pressure to core domestic policy beliefs about the Bundeswehr were avoided. ESDP was carefully managed by keeping it within the institutional venues of NATO and the WEU, where the Defence Ministry was the primary player and the Committee of European State Secretaries could be kept on the margins. This institutional venue management ensured that Rühe retained privileged access to Kohl, especially in preparing key NATO Council meetings where the role of the WEU was discussed (notably in Brussels in January 1994, Berlin in June 1996, and

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Madrid in July 1997). The Berlin meeting was especially important in gaining approval for Rühe’s concept of building ESDI within NATO through the CJTF structure, including its reference to ‘the use of separable but not separate military capabilities in operations led by the WEU’. Rühe’s view of the prime need to embed ESDI in the Atlantic framework of NATO was upheld in that the U.S. would still have a veto on WEU-led operations through the need for North Atlantic Council approval for the use of NATO assets. Rühe was determined that the Defence Ministry should not be as marginalised in the definition of German positions during 1996 for the IGC preparing the Amsterdam Treaty. Kohl was determined to make progress towards a ‘Communitarisation’ of CFSP as a key to closer European political union, notably through the extension of qualified majority voting. Crucially, the aim of strengthening CFSP commanded wide domestic political consensus across party boundaries and public support.65 Kohl also saw an opportunity to place the SPD and Greens under pressure, as they lacked internal consensus about developing a common European defence policy, with key figures rejecting a ‘militarisation’ of the EU. The Defence Ministry’s influence in the development of German negotiating positions was apparent in the emphasis on constructing European capabilities in defence and security policy within the European pillar of NATO. The Foreign Ministry’s contribution was seen in the longer-term perspective of a common defence through incorporation of the Petersburg tasks in the EU Treaty, the step-by-step integration of the WEU into the EU, and the introduction of a solidarity clause. However, crucially, the idea of a phased fusion of the WEU into the EU collapsed because of British resistance.

Fischer, Scharping, and Europeanisation: The Legacy of Opposition Crucial to the relationship over ESDP between Joschka Fischer, the foreign minister, and Rudolf Scharping, the defence minister, in the first Schröder government was the different direction in which they had led their parties in foreign and security policy during opposition. Before the 1998 federal elections both had sought to position the Greens and the SPD as ‘governments-in-waiting’. Scharping’s objective was to Atlanticise the SPD, promoting the ESDI within the NATO framework by Europeanising NATO.66 For strategic electoral reasons, Scharping sought public respectability for the SPD as credible and trustworthy to handle defence and security. For Fischer, the central issue was an ESDP within the framework of the CFSP, offering a better opportunity to pursue the Green’s agenda of a strong civilian and crisis-prevention

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dimension to defence and security through multilateral agreement.67 Accordingly, as incoming ministers, neither Fischer nor Scharping challenged departmental thinking. Scharping was not likely to challenge the Defence Ministry to become more Europeanised by reorientating its strategic thinking and force structures around the EU. Conversely, Fischer’s thinking was consistent with the Foreign Ministry, where officials were pressing for a stronger EU strategic thinking in defence and security policy.68 However, a leadership role by Fischer as policy entrepreneur was constrained by three factors. Firstly, the Green party emerged from the 1998 federal elections as the junior coalition partner. Fischer was successful in getting priority for CFSP in the coalition agreement, but an end to conscription was ruled out. Secondly, Schröder had no background or interest in defence and security policy and was content to place a politician in whom he had little trust in the Defence Ministry.69 Thirdly, Scharping had little political credit and support on which to draw in coalition and party negotiations. Fischer had greater leverage as the leading Green party figure, deputy chancellor and consistently the most popular political figure.70 Nevertheless, it was difficult to translate these advantages into policy entrepreneurship over defence and security policy, where Scharping guarded the competence of the Defence Ministry. The Foreign Ministry could legitimately focus on the institutional questions thrown up by designing ESDP. However, capability questions were a matter for the Defence Ministry. This division of competence was seen as essential if territorial defence and conscription were to be retained as the essential pillars of the Bundeswehr. A vanguard German role in developing ESDP in 1999, led by Fischer, was surprising given these constraints, past German reluctance to lead on military issues and a Red/Green coalition containing a pacifist tradition. Firstly, and crucially, the initial focus on institutional issues of ESDP design rather than substantive military issues initially handed the leading role to the Foreign Ministry, in which support for values of European political union was a central part of policy culture and identity.71 A second factor was the transition of the SPD and the Greens from opposition parties to government.72 This shift of macropolitical realities altered the framework in which defence and security policy was considered. There were ‘top-down’ pressures from within NATO and the EU to which the new government had to respond. The Strategic Context of Red/Green Coalition: Kosovo, the Saint Malo Declaration, and the EU Presidency The learning curve for the new government was made all the more steep as, on 1 January 1999, it had to assume the EU Presidency. In doing so they were

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confronted by the opportunity opened by the Franco-British Saint Malo Declaration to give ESDP a central role in the EU presidency.73 The learning curve was made steeper by the Kosovo crisis. Like earlier events in Bosnia, especially the Srebreniça massacre of 1995, the Kosovo conflict was vital in altering the debate on ESDP within the SPD and the Green party.74 It provided a window of opportunity for advocates of a European crisis-reaction capability to create a ‘crisis consciousness’. This policy could be readily legitimated within the political Left by situating it within the context of ESDP as the next stage in an essentially consensual domestic commitment to European political unification. Kosovo was a critical event in enabling the SPD and Green leaderships to carve out a defence and security policy within a European framework.75 Despite difficulties with pacifist views, notably in the Greens, the result was a new domestic consensus, ratified at the SPD’s Berlin party conference in December 1999. This formed the basis for a newly active German role over ESDP at the 1999 Cologne and Helsinki European Councils.76 In addition to the Kosovo war, the Schröder government coincided with the implications of the December 1998 Saint Malo Declaration for agenda setting on European defence. The Saint Malo Declaration was a challenge to Germany’s EU presidency to flesh out institutional details on how the European Council should assume the responsibility to decide on the progressive framing of a common defence policy within the framework of the Amsterdam Treaty’s provisions on CFSP. On the other hand, the Saint Malo Declaration represented a window of opportunity to pursue traditional German policy interests in strengthening CFSP by giving it a military component.77 Hence the Schröder government was confronted with three challenges: the EU presidency, the Saint Malo Declaration, and the Kosovo crisis and war. Its response was framed within the emphasis laid on continuity in the government’s policy statements on foreign and European policies. ESDP continued to be seen as a necessary and desirable aspect of the European political union that was Germany’s top priority. However, it was also bound up with differences of view about the Franco-German relationship. For Fischer the Franco-German relationship remained the essential motor for European unification, and ESDP was the next main project in this process after EMU.78 For some in the Chancellor’s Office, notably around Bodo Hombach (its new head), other relationships (especially with the British), offered an opportunity for a more influential German role.79 However, the civilian-based German concept of security (reinforced by the Greens) contrasted with the more realist and military-based French approach.80 German caution stemmed from fear that France might tempt Germany into a European initiative undermining NATO and Germany’s security partnership with the U.S., thereby opening a vulnerable flank of the new Red/Green government to the CDU/CSU.

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The past policy leadership of Chancellor Kohl was crucial in setting the terms in which the Red/Green government debated ESDP in the context of the Kosovo War and Saint Malo. For Kohl ESDI had to be part of a Europeanisation of NATO. The policy brokerage and ‘salami tactics’ of the previous Defence Minister, Volker Rühe, on behalf of a stronger ESDI and the Franco-German recognition that an ESDI had be achieved through the WEU and the Europeanisation of NATO, offered Kohl an opportunity to put pressure on the SPD and Greens as ‘unreliable’ in European policy, shifting the consensus.81 In turn, this made it possible for Scharping and Fischer to act as policy leaders on ESDI within their parties. More pressingly, events in Bosnia offered Kohl and Rühe an opportunity to label the SPD and the Greens as unreliable. In particular, the exigencies of staging a recovery of the Greens before the federal elections, and ensuring that they were a credible coalition partner with the SPD, strengthened Fischer’s hand on Green security policy.82 Hence in the coalition agreement of October 1998 there was no problem of signing up the Greens to ESDI, including the further development of the WEU, within the framework of a strengthened, ‘Communitarised’ CFSP. The Legacy of Opposition As foreign minister, Fischer again played the role of policy leader on behalf of ESDP, using Kosovo to promote a leading role for Germany because of its historical responsibility to stop genocide.83 Fischer’s role as policy entrepreneur was facilitated by his position as leader of the smaller coalition partner and his ongoing identification with this issue, over which he had scored a resounding victory over the pacifist wing within the Greens. Above all, Saint Malo and the Kosovo war provided Fischer with the opportunity to make ESDP a central agenda item for the informal meeting of EU foreign ministers on 13–14 March 1999 in Reinhartshausen, the Franco-German summit in Toulouse on 29 May, and the Cologne European Council in June 1999. At the March meeting he gained agreement on the new EU Military Committee and for the future Political and Security Committee (PSC), as well as pressed for the integration of the WEU into the EU. The symbiosis between Fischer’s policy ambitions and the Europeanist bias of the Foreign Ministry created a facilitative environment to act entrepreneurially on this issue.84 Fischer was constrained by the coalition agreement, which stipulated that the Greens would not make conscription a coalition issue. At the same time neither he nor his party had a stake in the retention of territorial defence and conscription. Thus Fischer’s strategic political context meant that he was in a position to advocate a stronger emphasis upon EU crisis-prevention forces, without having to face the consequences of ‘top-down’ EU pressure.

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These pressures would fall instead upon the Defence Minister, Rudolf Scharping, and Finance Minister, Hans Eichel. The SPD was more vulnerable to the implications of pursuing ESDP, a case of the unintended consequences of integrationist ambitions.85 Scharping had played a different kind of leadership role in opposition than had Fischer, as policy broker. The debate in the SPD about the use of force had been triggered by the Gulf War. Lafontaine aligned himself with the pacifist left, whilst Scharping spoke to the centrist majority in limiting German involvement to UN peacekeeping operations. Bosnia and the Constitutional Court’s ruling on ‘out-of-area’ operations in 1994 played catalytic roles in helping a grouping around Scharping, Günter Verheugen, and Karsten Voigt to create a new consensus within the SPD.86 The SPD’s federal executive established the Zukunftskommission (Commission on the Future) under Scharping with two functions: to establish a new consensus in the SPD on ESDP, and to ensure that the SPD did not expose a weak flank to CDU/CSU attack in the 1998 federal elections.87 The crisis in Bosnia had led to a polarisation between the old Left, who opposed German military involvement without a UN mandate, and reformers such as Scharping and Voigt, who argued that Germany had a special responsibility to stop genocide. The work of the Zukunftskommission was supplemented by several conferences and visits from prominent figures. The Aussenpolitischer Kongress: Herausforderungen des 21. Jahrhundert in 1997 was an important event for Voigt, and Scharping, showing a new public face to SPD foreign and security policy and placing pressure on pacifists within the SPD.88 These events continued into 1998 with a public symposium on the trans-Atlantic relationship in January 1998, including John Kornblum, the U.S. Ambassador. NATO Secretary-General Javier Solana was very influential, bringing home the necessity for the SPD to consider acting outside of a UN mandate, and helping to put in place the building blocks for SPD involvement in Kosovo.89 At the November 1997 SPD conference, the Scharping Commission’s report was adopted. It recommended that the WEU should be the European pillar of NATO. On this basis ESDI was included in the Red/Green coalition agreement, especially strengthening the WEU within the EU framework, reforming NATO so that its aims were more consistent with the OSCE and the UN Charter, and reforming the Bundeswehr on the basis of a broader concept of security. Whilst the SPD was forced to modernise its defence and security policy as a result of Rühe’s ‘salami’ tactics and of changes in the security environment, it remained wary of policy learning that might undermine the doctrine of territorial defence. The potential electoral costs to the SPD were too uncertain. Thus, despite the reservations of Verheugen and Heidemarie

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Wieczoreck-Zeul about conscription, this question and the issue of Bundeswehr reform were postponed until after the 1998 elections.90 As within the Defence Ministry under Rühe, it was safer for the party leadership to empower traditionalists who defended the concept of territorial defence and conscription. Scharping’s role as policy broker rather than entrepreneur was shown in the way in which he adopted a more conservative position on conscription than he had originally advocated. Scharping had been keen to ensure that the SPD did not move towards the French conception of ESDP as a challenge to the primacy of NATO.91 In so far as Scharping can be labeled a policy entrepreneur within the SPD, his entrepreneurship was about promoting NATO as a security organisation and ESDI as part of the WEU and the ‘European pillar’ of NATO.92 The legacy of opposition was a Red/Green government in which Fischer and Scharping represented different strands of thought about European defence and security policy. Schröder had been out of the internal SPD circuit reviewing defence and security. His contribution was to frame the new importance of ESDP, consequent on the Saint Malo Declaration and Kosovo, within a policy discourse emphasising a more self-confident German role, giving Germany a new profile.93 The combined German presidencies of the EU and of the WEU in early 1999 offered a window of opportunity to achieve this profile through prioritising ESDP. Germany could play a special role as bridge between the European and the trans-Atlantic dimensions of ESDP. Also, it was essential for Germany to be an active player in any ‘core’ group that might be emerging in a fast changing Europe. However, Schröder was not prepared to make a linkage between promoting ESDP and radical reform of the role and structures of the Bundeswehr away from a conscription force because of the potential domestic political costs. Both were secondary to the budget consolidation programme of the finance minister. The result was that by 2000 German resistance to structural reforms to the Bundeswehr and consequent incapacity to meet resulting commitments meant that any notion of Germany as a leading player in ESDP had begun to evaporate. The Effects of ESDP on the Bundeswehr: The Weizsäcker Commission as Domestic Agent of Europeanisation Before the December 1999 Helsinki European Council the EU’s influence on the Bundeswehr had been limited. The most concrete developments of ambitions to European political unification were the creation of the FrancoGerman Brigade and Eurocorps in 1995. However, at the Helsinki European Council it was agreed that governments would commit themselves to Headline Goals and Capabilities Goals. The Headline Goals involved the

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development of a ‘militarily self sustaining’ force by 2003, consisting of 50–60,0000 troops (fifteen brigades), deployable within 60 days, and able to remain in the field for up to twelve months. Its ‘rapid response’ elements were to be available and deployable far more quickly. Under the Capabilities Goals the governments pledged to increase and develop the capabilities of the troops involved in common operations. The Helsinki Headline Goals codified the lessons of the Kosovo War, namely that the German military was not in a situation to carry out crisismanagement tasks effectively and that common capabilities were critical to ESDP. The job of determining the future roles and structure of the Bundeswehr was given to the ‘Common Security and the Future of the Bundeswehr’ Commission under Richard von Weizsäcker. This Commission acted as the key domestic agency of Europeanisation of the Bundeswehr. The implications of the ESDP for the Bundeswehr were recognised in the Commission’s findings, which stressed the need for the Bundeswehr to orientate itself to crisis-management tasks. The ‘European perspective’ was of great importance to the Commission members, and hence its proposals were designed to enable the Bundeswehr to be used increasingly in EU operations.94 In the Commission’s view, ESDP created two challenges for German defence policy: cooperation and convergence in the procurement of weapons systems and force structures. It recommended that the government should launch a European initiative, similar to the Maastricht convergence criteria for EMU, to harmonise European military reforms and reach joint agreements on weapons system procurement.95 The Commission thereby signaled that the participation of German armed forces within a European Rapid Reaction Force was on an equal footing to their commitments within the NATO alliance, commitments that were not mutually exclusive but fully compatible with NATO’s Defence Capabilities Initiative and force structure requirements. As a result of these combined pressures, from NATO, the EU, and the practical experiences of ‘out of area’ operations in the 1990s, the Commission determined that the armed forces should be restructured to engage in crisis-management tasks. They were to comprise an operational forces component of 140,00 troops and a total peacetime strength of 240,000 troops, with 30,000 conscripts.96 In line with the Helsinki Headline Goals, multi nationalisation of operational forces was to be promoted by seeking integration along the lines of the NATO Airborne Early Warning Forces and the pooling of European lift, reconnaissance, and air defence resources. Equipment was also recognised as in need of modernisation for the new crisismanagement tasks, and the Commission recommended that all equipment should be procured in agreement with EU partners.97

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For the Weizsäcker Commission, the Helsinki Headlines Goals and the EU were the imperative driving Bundeswehr reform. This demonstrates the important role that can be played by domestic professional policy forums in the process of Europeanisation. The Weizsäcker Commission played a dual role in this process. Firstly, it acted as a conduit through which the EU was exerting ‘top-down’ influence; the EU’s goals were brought to bear on the reform debate. Secondly, the Commission used European requirements as a means with which to place pressure upon the doctrine of territorial defence.98 It did so by providing a new policy doctrine (crisis reaction) and a new institution within which this new doctrine could find a home (the EU). It was, in short, an agent of ‘bottom-up’ as well as ‘top-down’ Europeanisation. However, its influence as a professional policy forum for Europeanisation was limited because it did not include members of the macropolitical system who carried responsibility for implementing its conclusions.

Europeanisation versus Atlanticisation in the Defence Ministry: ESDP and the Problem of Institutional Credibility Whilst the Helsinki Headline Goals had an important effect upon the report of the Weizsäcker Commission, the same cannot be said of Scharping’s reform. The Weizsäcker Commission stressed how Germany faced ‘no threat to its territory from its neighbors’ and recommended that the ‘yardstick for the Bundeswehr should be the capability to participate in two crisis-response operations’.99 However, Scharping’s reform concept continued to stress territorial defence as the ‘core task of the German armed forces’, a task that could only be fulfilled through conscription. According to Scharping’s reform concept: ’territorial defence is Alliance defence. It requires capabilities which can serve for conflict avoidance and crisis management’.100 Scharping’s reform, passed by cabinet on 14 June 2000, involved a reduction of the standing armed forces from 338,000, with 112,000 conscripts, to 255,000, including 178,000 regular troops with 77,000 conscripts.101 As outlined in chapter 4, several factors combined to inform Scharping’s leadership style, leading him to the conclusion that Europeanisation and the Weizsäcker Commission’s recommendations were not in his, or the SPD’s, interests. Firstly, Fischer proved unwilling to put his weight behind the Weizsäcker report, resulting from the relatively weak position of the Greens in the coalition, their difficulties in profiling distinctive positions, and the SPD’s, demands for coalition discipline.102 In addition, the CDU/CSU was unwilling to promote a professional, crisis-prevention Bun-

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deswehr. It feared drawing attention to the Kohl government’s deep financial cuts in defence policy, remained strongly influenced by Volker Rühe, and was concerned with the implications of radical reform for base closures and Zivildienst.103 A third factor was Schröder’s backing of Eichel’s budget consolidation, in the context of the EU Stability and Growth Pact, and the need to reduce the German fiscal deficit and public debt, resulting in tight financial constraints on the Bundeswehr. Interestingly, the ‘hard’ Europeanisation of one area, fiscal policy with rules and the threat of EU sanctions had a negative effect upon Germany’s willingness to adapt in other areas of European policy. There were unintended consequences from EMU for German capacity to play a leading role in ESDP. Fourthly, across the domestic political spectrum, and especially within the ‘catch-all’ parties of SPD and of CDU/CSU, there were political sensitivities about the role of community service within the social care policy subsystem. The fear was that the end of conscription would necessitate large transitional and short- to medium-term financial and human costs and the end of a pillar of social solidarity.104 Finally, Bundeswehr structural reforms meant base closures, which had strategic electoral implications for the SPD, with several mid-term Länder elections.105 The incentive to pursue such reforms was also reduced by the presence of vested interests within the Defence Ministry, particularly in the Führungsstab (military command), which consisted of many Rühe appointees who opposed personnel reductions and any challenge to NATO.106 These factors help explain why Europeanisation, as both a ‘top-down’ and a ‘bottom-up’ process, had little impact on Bundeswehr reform. The Helsinki Headline Goals had been agreed on by foreign ministers in intergovernmental negotiations at the EU level. The Foreign Ministry embodies a political and organisational culture that is ‘Europeanist’, perceiving the EU as the key institutional framework for German foreign policy.107 However, the organisational culture of the Foreign Ministry cannot be seen as the sole determinant of Europeanisation of German defence and for security policy. It does not stand alone and is reproduced and altered in the strategic interactions of actors. Under Fischer and earlier Genscher, the Foreign Ministry’s Europeanist outlook was the result of a symbiosis between the enabling strategic context of a foreign minister, who was the highly popular leader of a smaller coalition partner, and the ministry’s European bias. Each acted to reinforce the other and allowed for greater risk taking and entrepreneurship within the Foreign Ministry in EU policy. Whilst Fischer and the Foreign Ministry were central in driving the agenda of ESDP and shaping its institutional structures, the implementation

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of the Helsinki Headline Goals fell to the Defence Ministry. In the context of Germany as ‘object’ of Europeanisation through ESDP, the Defence Ministry was the crucial institution, and the key actor was Rudolf Scharping. However, in order to understand the process fully, the net must be cast wider to capture a number of domestic political factors, which served to influence the extent to which German defence and security policy was influenced by the creation of new institutions on the EU level and help explain its shift to a laggard role.108 The Defence Ministry’s strong Atlanticist orientation meant that NATO rather than the EU was viewed as the most robust and crucial pillar of German defence and security policy. However, organisational and political culture does not provide as complete an explanation as cultural approaches posit.109 We must turn to the role played by agency and the theme of policy leadership. After the discursive stagnation of the Denkverbot under the last two years of Rühe’s stewardship, conservative figures within the Defence Ministry were dominant. They opposed a shift away from conscription that would have freed up resources and provided the professional soldiers able to spend a number of months abroad, thereby restructuring the German military to take part fully in crisis-management tasks. Key figures within the Defence Ministry were prone to mistrust the new EU institutions.110 Rather than being seen as complimentary to NATO, the PSC and other EU structures in the Council were perceived as lacking the credibility to inform domestic structural reform. There were regular meetings between German NATO and EU officials in Berlin, with the aim of promoting an exchange of ideas and developing common concepts. However, the essential problem for the EU in defence and security policy was that it was seen as a threat to NATO within the Führungsstab of the Defence Ministry.111 Arguably, no other area of EU policy faces such institutional competition as ESDP.112 Added to this, the Helsinki Headline Goals are not enforceable by the European Court of Justice, and no other policy area is more jealously guarded by nation states than defence and security. As Miskimmon and Paterson highlight, the lack of an external body to enforce coordination, and of a sectoral interest providing extra impetus to ESDP, serves to limit the scope of Europeanisation of the policy area.113 Policy Leadership and the Institutional Culture of the Defence Ministry In this context the issue of institutional credibility is important in understanding why the Defence Ministry was unreceptive to the EU. The greater institutional credibility of NATO within the Defence Ministry is more than just a product of elite socialisation and ‘strategic culture’; it stems from policy leadership, the unwillingness of both Rühe and Scharping to appoint or promote pro-Europeanist Vordenker within the Defence Ministry.114 This was an

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attempt by Rühe and Scharping to avoid the potentially de-stabilising effects that Europeanist policy learning could have upon the political management of reform due to the pressure it would place upon Rühe and Scharping to abolish conscription, leading to damaging repercussions for the social and financial policy subsystems and electorally damaging base closures.115 This is not to imply that the EU had no influence upon German defence policy. Within the Defence Ministry, compliance with the Helsinki Headline Goals and Capabilities Goals was seen as being complimentary to NATO requirements. Under NATO force proposals and the DCI, the Bundeswehr was committed to be capable of participating in combined operations through ‘interoperability’, ‘flexibility’ and ‘speedy deployment’. It was not the Helsinki Headline Goals that were perceived as a threat to NATO but the longer-term consequences of a stronger European defence dimension, spelt out by the Weizsäcker Commission. Hence, whilst Germany adapted its armed forces to be able to participate in a European reaction force of 50–60,000 troops, available at 60 days notice, this commitment and deployment did not represent ‘Europeanisation’ of the Defence Ministry. Miskimmon and Paterson’s emphasis on the importance of Smith’s processes of ‘elite socialisation’ and ‘bureaucratic reorganisation’ needs to be complemented by a focus on policy leadership.116 The new Military Committee and the Military Staff set-up on the EU level have led to a process of limited elite socialisation. However, the quality of elite socialisation taking place within the NATO context is much higher and a long-standing pillar of the organisational and institutional culture of the Defence Ministry, strengthened during the 1990s.117 However, organisational culture and elite socialisation are not ‘standalone’ concepts; they are supported, adapted or challenged by policy leaders. During the 1990s Rühe exploited the Atlanticist orientation of the Defence Ministry as a framework within which to practice his ‘salami tactics’.118 When domestic political factors unfavorable to further reforms of the German armed forces narrowed Rühe’s strategic political context, he used the Atlanticist organisational culture to stress the importance of territorial defence and collective defence and was skilled in manipulating the Defence Ministry’s organisational culture.119 Rühe empowered traditionalist figures within the ministry and in discouraging Vordenker, placing conservative figures in key positions.120 The ‘mediating factors’ of institutional culture and the role of individual leadership are thus intertwined. Actors play a key role in promoting new policy doctrines or policy stalemate within institutions. In other words, individual policy leadership is as a key variable in the process of Europeanisation. When Scharping was appointed Defence Minister, he perpetuated the discursive stagnation by working with, rather than replacing, key figures

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appointed by Rühe.121 Instead of instigating debate within the ministry about the institutional frameworks of defence policy, reform was dominated by conservative voices. An example was von Kirchbach’s conservative internal reform concept, which led to his dismissal by Scharping.122 The Atlanticist orientation of such figures and their conservative worldview meant that EU crisis-reaction capabilities were seen as a threat to the deeply embedded, traditional policy doctrine of territorial defence and conscription. By challenging territorial defence, the EU also threatened large-scale base closures, troop reductions, and a pillar of the German social system, Zivildienst. NATO was a far less threatening institution to the Defence Ministry. Whilst NATO pressurized Germany to restructure its forces to enable it to engage in crisis-reaction capabilities, it presented no threat to territorial and collective defence. NATO was an institution within which the increasing pressure for crisis-reaction capabilities could be reconciled with the domestic pressures on Scharping to prevent significant disruptive feedback from international commitments and a ‘critical juncture’ for Bundeswehr policy. In contrast, there was considerable resistance to the European Rapid Reaction Force and ‘topdown’ pressures of Europeanisation within the Defence Ministry. NATO was endowed with a high degree of credibility by history. Not only had it been the framework within which Germany had weathered the Cold War; it had also been championed successfully by Rühe during the 1990s as the framework within which Germany was to engage in its first international military engagements since the Second World War and was a trusted forum for elite socialisation. The proposals of the Weizsäcker Commission were simply ‘too European’ for the Defence Ministry.123 The ‘top down’ Europeanisation of the German armed forces was hindered by the unwillingness of Scharping to take political risks on behalf of crisis-reaction capabilities. Political leadership plays a key role in the Europeanisation process. Whilst Fischer’s strategic context allowed him to act as a policy entrepreneur in ESDP, Scharping faced a much more constraining strategic context which, along with his own often mangelhaft (deficient) leadership skills and traits, confined him to the role of policy broker, and seen from the Weizsäcker Commission’s perspective, of ‘veto player’ in relating Bundeswehr reform to ESDP.124 Scharping had welcomed the Helsinki Headline Goals as compatible with NATO requirements and had hoped that they might herald a greater share of the budget. However, he hesitated when faced with the implications of further European integration in the area of ESDP spelt out by the Weizsäcker Commission.

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Conclusion: A Disjointed Discourse Successive German defence ministers were successful in ensuring only a limited Europeanisation of Bundeswehr policy. Their policy leadership was directed at managing Atlanticisation and Europeanisation to minimise ‘misfit’, potential ‘top-down’ adaptational pressures, and a revision of the traditional assumptions on which Bundeswehr policy had been based. EU effects on the structures of the Defence Ministry were even more negligible. In structural terms it remained the least European of German ministries.125 Indeed, there was only a very marginal increase in the Europeanness of values and in the willingness to exploit EU institutional venues. This limited Europeanisation had its roots in a deep commitment to NATO as the prime multilateral institution for collective defence. Even then, Atlanticisation was carefully managed in order not to challenge traditional policy assumptions about the Bundeswehr. German policy towards ESDP was characterised by a weak ‘coordinative’ discourse at elite levels about its aims and objectives, with the Foreign Ministry being far bolder than the Defence Ministry. The tensions between Atlanticisation and Europeanisation, and the problems of reconciling the notion of an autonomous European defence capability with the traditional ‘bridge’ concept, made it difficult to forge and sustain a ‘common language and framework through which key policy makers can come to agreement in the construction of a policy programme’.126 Fischer saw ESDP as essentially a European project that depended on working closely with the French. It was part of the integrationist logic of the Foreign Ministry. Scharping saw ESDP as a limited venue that had nothing to do with the main Defence Ministry business of collective defence. For him ESDP raised sensitive and critical issues of force readiness, deployability, and sustainability and of designing appropriate structures and procedures for consultation with NATO, especially on military capacity and the transfer of assets. Struck had similar concerns and sought to ensure that the development of a new doctrine was framed firmly within Atlanticisation and Germany’s contribution to the strengthening of NATO through the ‘NATO Response Force’. He ‘ring fenced’ ESDP within Atlanticism in the VPR of 2003, strictly controlling policy learning within the Defence Ministry and brokering tensions between Atlanticists and Europeanists at the macropolitical level. Crucially, the Foreign and Defence Ministries differed in the way in which they defined the point at which ESDP might compromise the relationship with the United States The Defence Ministry, reflecting its NATO orientation, was much more cautious. Hence German policy towards ESDP lacked the unified ‘coordinative’ discourse of French policy makers or British policy makers. It was more difficult for other EU partners to interpret. The Foreign Ministry was closer to French positions, the Defence Ministry to British positions.

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This disjointed ‘coordinative’ discourse made for difficulties for policy leaders in engaging in ‘communicative’ discourse on ESDP: that is, in seeking to persuade the German public ‘(through discussion and deliberation) that the policies developed at the coordinative phase are necessary (cognitive function) and appropriate (normative function)’.127 ESDP did not achieve a high-profile role in policy leadership under the Kohl and first Schröder governments because there was not sufficient consensus on its necessity (in terms of the problems in NATO) and on its appropriateness (given the risks to Germany’s traditional ‘bridge’ role between the Atlantic Alliance and Europe). Hence policy leaders were reluctant to justify radical Bundeswehr reform as necessary or appropriate to the future requirements of ESDP. The Weizsäcker Commission developed a ‘communicative’ discourse about Bundeswehr reform that stressed ESDP, but this approach lacked wider political resonance. External events in the shape of the U.S. doctrine of ‘preventative strikes’ and the 2003 Iraq war appeared to present an opportunity to engage in a ‘communicative’ discourse on ESDP. However, Fischer and Schröder’s ability to pursue entrepreneurial roles on the Europeanisation of German defence and security policy were constrained by the continued disjointed nature of ‘coordinative’ discourse at the elite level. Struck was able to use the fear of the threat of a ‘bifurcated Europe’ to reassert post–Cold War German ‘grand strategy’ and the ‘bridge’ concept, locating the development of a European Security and Defence Union within the primacy of the transAtlantic relationship and NATO. Hence despite the primacy of the Foreign Ministry and the Chancellor’s Office in pursuing Europeanisation as a ‘bottom up process’, and an apparent movement of German towards French Europeanist conceptions about the institutional bedrock of defence and security policy, the process of Europeanisation was mediated and delayed by a Defence Ministry deeply committed to the primacy of NATO for collective defence, and that saw in NATO a more secure shield for retaining traditional assumptions about the Bundeswehr’s role and structure.128 However, the Defence Ministry did not have a single coherent identity that shaped the behaviour of its policy leaders. Atlanticisation vied with the notion of the Bundeswehr as a citizens’ army of conscripts that was committed to territorial defence. Policy leaders maneuvered within, as well as were shaped by, this complex context of identity. Atlanticisation was not primarily a ‘top down’ process. Defence Ministry policy leaders instrumentalised it for the purpose of protecting inherited notions about the Bundeswehr. The reform of the Bundeswehr does not, consequently, reveal a deeply ‘penetrated’ German polity, whether by NATO or the EU, but a polity with a complex set of postwar identities that provide the context for

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policy leadership. ESDP has exposed the tensions and conflicts of these identities in new, more visible ways. In the process it raises new questions about German capacity to sustain her European commitments and her central role in European political unification.

Notes 1. Uwe Schmalz, ‘Die europäisierte Macht—Deutschland in der Aüssen und Sicherheitspolitik’, in Eine neue Deutsche Europapolitik? Rahmenbedingungen—Problemfelder—Optionen’, eds. H. Schneider, M. Jopp, and U. Schmalz, (Bonn: Europa Union Verlag, 2002), 563. 2. W. Wessels, ‘An Ever Closer Fusion? A Dynamic Macropolitical View on Integration Processes’, Journal of Common Market Studies 35, no. 2 (1997): 26. 3. Klaus Goetz, ‘The Federal Executive: Bureaucratic Fusion vs. Governmental Bifurcation’, in Germany, Europe and the Politics of Constraint, ed. K.H. Dyson, and K.H. Goetz, (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003), 57–72. 4. T. Börzel, When Europeanisation Hits Home: Europeanisation and Domestic Change, EUI Working Paper, no. 56, 2000. Thomas Risse, et al., ‘Introduction’, in Transforming Europe, Europeanisation and Domestic Change, ed. M. Cowles, et al., (Ithaca, Cornell: 2001), 1–21. 5. Risse, ‘Introduction’, 1–21. 6. H. Maull, ‘Germany and Japan: The New Civilian Powers’, Foreign Affairs 69, no. 5, 1990, 91-106; Maull, ‘Germany in the Yugoslav’, 99–130; Maull, ‘German Foreign Policy’, 1–24. K. Longhurst, ‘Germany and the Use of Force’. 7. F. Laird, ‘Rethinking Learning’ Policy Currents 3, no. 9 (1999): 3–7; Risse, ‘Introduction,’ 1–21. 8. Ibid. 9. Klaus Goetz, ‘European Integration and National Executives: A Cause in Search of an Effect,’ in Europeanised Politics and National Political Systems, eds S. Hix and K.H. Goetz, (London, Frank Cass, 2001), 211–31; C. Knill, ‘European Politics: The Impact of National Administrative Traditions’, Journal of Public Policy 18, no. 1 (1998): 1-28. 10. Klaus Goetz and Kenneth Dyson, ‘Europeanisation Compared: The Shrinking Core and the Decline of Soft Power’, in Germany, Europe and the Politics of Constraint, ed. K.H. Dyson and K.H. Goetz, (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003), 20. 11. Goetz, ‘The Federal Executive’, 59. 12. Risse, ‘Introduction’, 6-9. 13. Miskimmon, ‘The Europeanisation’, 3254–5; Bulmer, ‘Germany’s European’. 14. W. Hanrieder, ‘Compatibility and Consensus’, in Comparative Foreign Policy, ed., (New York: David McKay Company, 1971), 242–65. 15. W. Wessels, ’Die Öffnung des Staates’, (Opladen: Leske and Budrich, 2000). 16. Miskimmon, ‘The Europeanisation’, 325–45. 17. R. Ladrech, ‘The Europeanisation of Domestic Politics and Institutions: The Case of France’, Journal of Common Market Studies 32, no. 1 (1994): 69–88. 18. Ibid. 19. Goetz, ‘The Federal Executive’, 59. 20. C. Knill, ‘European Politics: The Impact of National Administrative Traditions’, Journal of Public Policy 8, no. 1, 1998, 1–28; Risse, Introduction’, 9–12.

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21. G. Hendriks and A. Morgan, The Franco-German Axis in European Integration, (Cheltenham: Elgar, 2003), 93; Ben Tonra, ‘Analysing European Foreign and Security Policy’, in ‘The Europeanisation of Dutch, Danish and Irish Foreign Policy, ed. B. Tonra, (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2002), 1–3. 22. A. Cole, Franco-German Relations, (Pearson: Longman, 2001),109. 23. M. Jopp, European Defence Policy: The Debate on the Institutional Aspects, Institut für Europäische Politik Document, Bonn, 1999, 6; Schmalz ‘Die europäisierte Macht, 515–580 24. S. Nutall, European Political Cooperation, (Oxford: Clarendon, 1992), 182–260. 25. M. Smith, ‘Conforming to Europe: The Domestic Impact of EU Foreign Policy Co-ordination’, Journal of European Public Policy 7, no.4 (2000): 613–31. 26. Cole, ‘Franco-German Relations’, 109–10. 27. Ibid., 109. 28. Ibid., 51. 29. Ibid., 115–16. 30. Ibid., 103. 31. Ibid., 107. 32. Ibid., 110. 33. Anthony Forster, ‘The EU and the WEU’ in Disconcerted Europe: The Search for A New Security Architecture, ed. A. Moens and C. Anstis, (Oxford: Westview, 1994), 135–58. 34. Hendriks, The Franco-German Axis, 109. 35. Cole, Franco-German Relations, 106–9. 36. Bulmer, Germany’s European, 25. 37. V. Rühe, ‘Frieden und Stabilität’, MIT, July-August, 1996, 14–15; ‘Politiker mit Overdrive’, Rheinischer Merkur/Christ und Welt, 3 June 1992. 38. ‘Kohl’s Mann für den Notfall’, Frankfurter Rundschau, 2 April, 1992. 39. ‘Gerangel zwischen richtige und möchtegern-Aussenminister, Tagesspeigel, 30 August 1996. See also ‘The ambitious foreign policy specialist at the Hardthöhe profits from the fact that there is no imaginatory thinking on foreign policy from the opposition or the Foreign Ministry’, Woche, 5 October 1995; additionally see, ‘In all detailed military work Rühe has remained a parliamentary politician and above all foreign policy specialist. Klaus Kinkel is uncomfortable with this, seeing in Rühe his greatest competition’, ‘Bei Hofe ist er wieder wer’, Berliner Zeitung, 9 December 1995. 40. Rühe, ‘Deutsche Sicherheitspolitik’, 27. 41. ‘Hier wird wirklich Europäisch gedacht’, Rheinische Merkur/Christ und Welt, 29 December 1995. 42. ‘Rühe für enge Rüstungskooperation in Europa, gegen US Konkurrenz’, DPA 261137, April 1995. 43. ‘Kronprinz in Feldgrau’, Woche, 6 October 1995; ‘Auf dem Weg zum Gipfel’, Woche, 14 August 1998. 44. ‘Hier wird wirklich Europäisch gedacht’, Rheinische Merkur/Christ und Welt, 29 December 1995. 45. See ‘Die konzeptionellen Defizite von Bundesaussenminister Klaus Kinkel’, in ‘Neue Transatlantische Partnerschaft’, Handelsblatt, 2 March 1995; see also ‘Gerangel zwischen richtigen und möchtegern-Aussenminister’, Tagesspiegel, 30 July, 1996. 46. Rühe, ‘Deutsche Sicherheitspolitik’, 28. 47. Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung quoted in ‘Behutsam in den Krieg’, Spiegel, 12 June 1995. 48. H. Tewes, ‘Between Deepening and Widening: Role Conflict in Germany’s Enlargement Policy’, West European Politics 21, no. 2 (1998): 117–33. 49. ‘Herr der Truppe ohne Truppe’, Zeit , 18 October 1996; see also, ‘Verteidigung ist der Beste Angriff’, Süddeutsche Zeitung, 17 October 1996. 50. ‘Höchste Zeit für eine grundlegende Reform’, Parlament, 1–8 September 1995; Forster, ‘The EU and the WEU’, 48–75.

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51. Hendriks, The Franco-German Axis, 112; see also interview with Volker Rühe in ‘Hier wird wirklich Europäisch gedacht’, Rheinische Merkur/Christ und Welt, 29 December 1995. 52. ‘Hier wird wirklich Europäisch gedacht’, Rheinische Merkur/Christ und Welt, 29 December 1995. 53. ‘Deutsche Kontingent bis 2000 Mann’, Welt am Sonntag, 11 June 1995. 54. ‘Hier wird wirklich Europäisch gedacht’, Rheinische Merkur/Christ und Welt 29 December 1995. 55. Ibid. 56. ‘Neue transatlantische Partnerschaft’, Handelsblatt, 1 March 1995. 57. Cole, Franco-German Relations, 118. 58. Ibid., 104–18. 59. ‘Gerangel zwischen richtigen und möchtegern-Aussenminister’, Tagesspiegel, 30 August 1996. 60. ‘Kronprinz in Feldgrau’, Woche, 6 October 1995; ‘Auf dem Weg zum Gipfel’, Woche, 14 August 1998. 61. V. Rühe, ‘Bilanz und Perspektiven: Eine Bewertung des Bundesministers der Verteidigung’, Soldat und Technik , no. 1, 1996, 11–12. 62. Interviews, Herr Thomas Schiller, Berlin, 15 November 2001 and 14 February 2002. 63. ‘Deutsche Sicherheitspolitik vor neuen Aufgaben’, Bulletin, 8 October 1993. 64. Interviews, NATO, Brussels, 16 and 17 September 2002. 65. Schmalz, ‘Die europäisierte Macht’, 551. 66. Interview, Jürgen Schnappertz, Berlin, 5 August 2002; see also ‘Solana, NATO-Einsätze ohne Mandat der UN sind möglich’, 20 January 1998; ‘Die NATO als Dreh- und Angelpunkt’, Neues Deutschland, 2 January 1998; ‘In Germany, a formal Burial for AntiNATO Past’, International Herald Tribune, 21 January 1998; ‘Aussenpolitischer Kongress, Herausforderung des 21. Jahrhunderts’, 18 June 1997. 67. ‘Mit Schröder einig in der Europapolitik’, Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, 15 January 1999; ‘Die Geschichte hat die Entscheidung zur EU-Erweiterung gefällt’, Neue Zürcher Zeitung, 16 January 1999; ‘Fischer: Nach Euro muss Europa Verteidigungsidentität aufbauen’, DPA, 171340, November 1998. 68. ‘Auswärtiges Amt pocht auf Mitsprache bei Bundeswehrreform’, Berliner Zeitung, 25 May 2000. 69. Interview, Chancellor’s Office, 2 September 2002. 70. ‘Fischer beleibt wie Rau’, Tagesspiegel, 25 March 2003. 71. W. Wagner, ‘From Vanguard to Laggard: Germany in European Security and Defence Policy’, German Politics 14, no. 4 (2005): 455–69. 72. ‘In Germany, a Formal Burial for Anti-NATO Past’, International Herald Tribune, 21 January 1998. 73. See speech by Chancellor Schröder to the 35th Munich Conference on Security Policy, Munich, February 1999. 74. Interview, Herr Helmut Hüber, Berlin, 18 July 2002; ‘Die Kosovo-Krise wirkt wie ein Katalysator’, Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, 24 March 2000. 75. Interviews, Rudolf Scharping, Berlin, 5 June 2003; Dirk Sawitzky, 17 July 2002; Herr Helmut Hüber, Berlin, 18 July 2002, Herr Kristian Gaiser, Berlin, 12 November 2001; Dr. Wolfgang Biermann, Berlin, 3 September 2002; see also, ‘Der Kosovo-Krieg und seine Lehren’, Report from the Commission on International Policy, SPD Party Federal Headquarters, November 2001 and ‘The Future of the CFSP: Social Democratic Views on the EU’s CFSP, A Stock-Taking of the SPD Group in the Bundestag’, November 2000. 76. J. Howorth, ‘Britain, France and the European Defence Initiative’, Survival 42, no. 2 (2000): 33-55. 77. Ibid. 78. Interview, Michael Alvarez, Berlin, November 2001. See also P. Teunissen, ‘Strengthening the Defence Dimension of the EU’, European Foreign Affairs Review 4, no. 2 (1999): 340. 79. Interview, Chancellor’s Office, Berlin, 2 September 2002.

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80. G. Andreani, ‘Why Institutions Matter’, Survival 42, no. 2, 2000, 94. 81. Interview, Michael Alvarez, Berlin, November 2001, Interviews, CDU Parliamentary Party, 16–26 August 2002. 82. Interviews, Michael Alvarez, Berlin, 13 November 2001; Herr Helmut Hüber, Berlin, 18 July 2002. 83. Ibid. 84. Bulmer, ‘Germany’s European’, 25. 85. Wagner, ‘From Vanguard to Laggard’, 455. 86. Interview, Rudolf Scharping, Berlin, 5 June 2003. 87. ‘Die SPD schafft sich ein Gütesiegel: Der neue aussenpolitische Ansatz soll der Partei Profil geben’, Saarbrücker Zeitung, 19 June 1997. 88. ‘Die SPD befürwortet die erweiterung von NATO und EU’, Frankfurter Allegmeine Zeitung, 19 July 1997; ‘SPD auf neuem aussepolitischem Kurs’, Welt, 19 June 1997. 89. Interview, Jürgen Schnappertz, Berlin, 5 August 2002; ‘Solana, NATO-Einsätze ohne Mandat der UN sind möglich’, Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, 20 January 1998. 90. ‘Tabubruch mit Rücksicht auf den Wahlkampf vertagt: Die SPD will jetzt erst die Experten sprechen lassen’, Berliner Zeitung, 9 June 1997. 91. Interview, Rudolf Scharping, 2 June 2003. 92. ‘Integration statt isolation’, Vorwärts, February, 1998; see also Rudolf Scharping in ‘Eine notwendige Partnerschaft für das 21. Jahrhundert’, 19 January 1998. 93. Interview, Chancellor’s Office, 2 September 2002. 94. ‘Gemeinsame Sicherheit’, Section II: ‘Der Europäische Imperativ’. 95. Ibid. 96. Ibid., point 10. 97. Ibid. 98. See interview with Richard von Weizsäcker: ‘We can no longer afford to depend completely upon U.S. military assistance. Certainly not when we have to deal with such a unilateralism from Washington’, in ‘Europa muss erwachsen werden’, Zeit, 21 October 1999; see also interviews, Professor Helga Haftendorn, Berlin, 27 May 2003; Defence Ministry, Bonn, 28 August 2002. 99. ‘Gemeinsame Sicherheit’, points 1 and 7. 100. ‘The Bundeswehr Advancing’, point 4. 101. Ibid., point 56. 102. Interview, Axel Schneider, Berlin, 4 September 2002. 103. Interview, Axel Schneider, Berlin, 4 and 10 September 2002; CDU Working Group on Defence and Security Policy and CDU Federal Headquarters, October 2001–September 2002. 104. Interviews, Finance Ministry, Bonn and Berlin, 18–28 August 2002. 105. Interviews, Defence Ministry in Bonn and Berlin, June–August 2002 106. Ibid. 107. Ibid. 108. Wagner, ‘From Vanguard to Laggard’, 455-69. 109. Longhurst, ‘Why Aren’t the Germans’, 147-65. 110. Interviews, Defence Ministry, Bonn and Berlin, June–August 2002 111. Interviews, Defence Ministry, Bonn and Berlin, June–August2002; interviews, NATO, 16 and 17 September 2002. During several informal conversations with high-ranking officials in the EU the summer of 2002, much pessimism was expressed about the NATO-orientated mindset of many within the Defence Ministry. 112. Miskimmon, ‘The Europeanisation’, 325–45. 113. Ibid. 114. Both Volker Rühe (1992–1998) and Rudolf Scharping (1998–2002) appointed conservative figures as Generalinspekteuren, to act as gatekeepers, hindering the flow of new ideas, stymieing internal debate. Interviews, Defence Ministry, Bonn and Berlin, June–August 2002; SPD Working Group on Defence and Security Policy, August 2002.

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115. Interviews, Chancellor’s Office, Berlin, 2 August 2002; Finance Ministry, Bonn, 28 August 2002; Defence Ministry, Bonn, 23 August 2002; Defence Ministry, Berlin, 14 August 2002. 116. Miskimmon, ‘The Europeanisation’, 325–45. 117. Interviews, NATO, 16 and 17 September 2002; Defence Ministry, Bonn and Berlin, June–August 2002. 118. Interviews, CDU Working Group on Defence and Security Policy, CDU Parliamentary Party, August 2002. 119. D. Buchholtz, ‘Soldat in bewegter Zeit: General Naumann prägte die Bundeswehr im Umbruch’, IFDT, 1, 1996; K. Naumann, ‘Bundeswehr vor Neue Herausforderungen’, Soldat und Technik 1, 1995; ‘Abschied eines politischen Kopfs’, Tagesspiegel, 6 February 1996. 120. Interviews, Defence Ministry, Bonn and Berlin, June–August 2002; Interviews, SPD Working Group on Defence and Security Policy, SPD Parliamentary Party, August-September 2002. 121. Interviews, Axel Schneider, Berlin, 10 September 2002; Rudolf Scharping, Berlin, 5 June 2002. 122. ‘Eckwerte für die konzeptionelle und planerische Weiterentwicklung der Streitkräfte’, Generalinspekteur der Bundeswehr, 23 May 2000. 123. Interview, Defence Ministry, Bonn, 23 September 2002. 124. Several interview partners (including prominent figures within the Finance and Defence Ministries and a key SPD member of the Budgetary Committee) who had dealt directly with Scharping noted his poor leadership straits and skills, particularly his overly coercive leadership style. On base closures see ‘Scharping’s Konzept ist ausgewogen’, Handelsblatt, 30 January 2001. 125. Miskimmon, ‘The Europeanisation’, 325-345. 126. V. Schmidt, ‘The Politics of Economic Adjustment’. 127. Ibid. 128. V. Knowles and S. Thompson-Pottebohm, ‘The UK, Germany and ESDP: Developments at the Convention and the IGC’, German Politics 13, no. 4 (2004): 581-604.

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Chapter 7

A LAGGARD IN MILITARY REFORM The Arts of Policy Leadership and the Triumph of Domestic Constraints over International Opportunity

At first glance the Bundeswehr would appear to have undergone significant structural transformation in the period 1990–2005. By the end of the second Red/Green coalition in September 2005, it had been streamlined form a post unification force comprising 370,000 troops and 170,000 conscripts, to 252,500 troops with 50,000 conscripts. However, when German military reform is compared with the record of her closest EU and NATO partners in defence reform, the reality is one of gradual and partial adaptation. Both France and Britain recognised the changing nature of the international security environment in the mid-late 1990s—the diminishing threat to territorial sovereignty and the increasing threat posed by non-state actors and ‘failed states’—by implementing far-reaching defence reforms to both the doctrine and structure of their militaries in 1995/6 and 1998 respectively. Yet in Germany, despite an increasing recognition of the new post–Cold War and post–September 11 security threats amongst many actors, both within the Bundeswehr and the wider defence and security policy subsystem, it was not until 2003 that the doctrine of ‘territorial defence’ was replaced by ‘crisis management’. Moreover, Germany’s defence budget continues to fall far behind that of other core European states, amounting to only 1.4 per cent of GDP in 2003, in comparison with France (2.6 percent) and the UK (2.4 percent, see Table 7.1).

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Table 7.1 Defence Spending as percent of GDP 1990-2003

Germany United States France UK Italy

Average 1990–94

Average 1995–99

1997

1998

1999

2003

2.1 4.7 3.4 3.9 2.1

1.6 3.3 2.9 2.8 1.7

1.6 3.3 2.9 2.7 1.7

1.5 3.1 2.8 2.7 1.7

1.5 3.0 2.7 2.6 1.7

1.4 3.2 2.6 2.4 1.5

Source: Defence Expenditure of NATO Countries, www.nato.int/docu/pr2003/table5.pdf The impact of this low level of spending has been significantly exacerbated by two key factors: the retention of conscription and long term persistence of territorial defence until 2003. They have tied up financial resources in inappropriate weapon procurement projects and a system of recruitment better suited to the exigencies of the Cold War. Consequently, German investment in equipment lags far behind its European partners (14.0 percent of the defence budget in 2003, compared with France’s 20.6 per cent and the UK’s 23.5 percent, see Table 7.2). Table 7.2 Percentage of Defence Budget Allocated to Investment in Equipment 1990-2003

Germany US France UK Italy

Average 1990 - 94

Average 1995 - 99

2000

2001

2003

13.5 25.1 — 21.0 16.3

11.8 26.2 21.3 24.8 12.9

13.5 21.9 18.9 25.7 14.3

14.0 25.7 19.4 24.2 10.3

14.0 27.6 20.6 23.5 12.7

Source: Defence Expenditure of NATO Countries, www.nato.int/docu/pr/2003/table5.pdf This pattern of resource deployment has impeded the Bundeswehr in meeting the demands of the contemporary security environment—its ability to mobilise troops over large distances at short notice and sustain several simultaneous deployments for indefinite periods in support of combat and post conflict reconstruction missions, ranging in intensity. German shortcomings in military capabilities have provoked criticism from her international partners and NATO, most notably in the context of German performance in the ISAF mission in Afghanistan.1 In short, Europe’s largest economy and most populous nation is a laggard in defence expenditure and reform. This paradox is reinforced, of course, by the leading role that Germany has played in contributing to international peacekeeping and peacemaking

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operations, committing troops to an array of UN, NATO, and EU missions over the 1990s and early twenty-first century (see Table 7.3). However, due to inadequate investment, the Bundeswehr is increasingly suffering from overstretch and the exhaustion of its capacity to carry out effectively the Federal Republic’s peacekeeping and post conflict reconstruction responsibilities, and to operate in tandem with its international partners. This overstretch has important implications for the success of NATO, the EU, and UN in meeting the challenges posed by the post–Cold War and post 9/11 security environment. The preceding chapters have sought to get to the heart of this paradox and build upon the literature on post–Cold War German foreign, defence, and security policy.2 As Alison McCartney states of German foreign and security policy: ‘this new international order and Germany’s power/position in it are not the most important determinants of policy choices. Domestic politics, history and norms also play crucial roles in defining and making choices’.3 The book illustrates how domestic politics combined with assessments of Germany’s shifting power and position in the international order and security environment over the issue of the Bundeswehr’s doctrine and tasks, and how domestic political factors were of greater salience in determining structural reform of the Bundeswehr. The book has argued that the scope, shape, and pace of Bundeswehr reform between 1990 and 2004 were heavily influenced by domestic policy leaders and their practice of the arts of policy leadership in varying, combining, and sequencing their roles, strategies, and styles to complex domestic political constraints. Leadership emerges as a key variable in explaining the triumph of domestic constraints over international opportunity and the German shift from a vanguard to a laggard role in ESDP.4 The study also points to a number of implications for wider debates within the field of German politics. Firstly, it highlights the need for a shift in case studies of German leadership from a preoccupation with the chancellor to the role that is played by ministerial leadership and top ministerial officials in policy change. In addition, the book raises questions about the utility of strategic culture as a stand alone explanatory framework. It demonstrates how strategic culture was altered or sustained by policy leaders as a resource in the political management of reform. This political management paid close attention to strategic electoral interests, to the politics of base closures, to fiscal policy constraints, and to social policy and considerations of social solidarity. Finally, the book suggests that Europeanisation studies might benefit from a more sustained focus upon the role of leadership at the ministerial level, particularly in managing and negotiating ‘fit’ and thereby reducing ‘top-down’ adaptational pressures from EU requirements. This management of fit included careful selection of international

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institutional venues, with the Foreign Ministry preferring the EU and the Defence Ministry preferring NATO in order to control the agenda and policy learning processes to their particular advantage.

Leadership and the Triumph of Domestic Constraint As chapters 2 shows, Rühe, Scharping, and Struck worked within a Bundeswehr policy subsystem that was tightly interlinked with the wider defence and security policy subsystem and its ‘freedom’, ‘peace’, and ‘pacifist’ coalitions. It was also nested within the financial policy subsystem and alongside the social policy subsystem. Moreover, the Bundeswehr policy subsystem operated within the constraints of a ‘negotiation democracy’, including the federal structure and constitutional law provisions and review. The result was strong systemic incentives for, if not a structural bias towards, policy-brokerage and veto-playing roles and to ‘humdrum’ and immobiliste styles of policy leadership. In their practice of the arts of policy leadership defence ministers were acutely aware of the potential political costs of an entrepreneurial role and of a ‘heroic’ style in pursuing far-reaching reforms to the tasks and structure of the Bundeswehr, not just for their parties’ strategic electoral interests but also for their own personal political ambitions. A range of domestic political factors informed the policy leadership roles of defence ministers over the post–Cold War period. Firstly, far-reaching structural reform of the Bundeswehr would have incurred politically damaging side effects in the form of unpopular base closures, affecting powerful CDU/CSU and SPD regional figures and the governing party’s electoral success at the Land level, potentially translating into reduced power in the Bundesrat and career costs for the minister. This was further compounded for Volker Rühe and the CDU by the strong Bavarian factor in the CDU/CSU coalition, and the political standing and weight of Federal Finance Minister and CSU Chair Theo Waigel, who vociferously opposed cuts in military personnel in his home state. The legacy of German reunification, relative economic decline, and EU obligations resulting from EMU also impacted upon the ability of defence ministers to pursue an entrepreneurial role on the tasks and structure of the armed forces. Their room for maneuver in policy leadership was narrowed by the slow down in the growth of the German economy over the 1990s and into the new millennium, rising unemployment, and increasing public debt levels, following massive financial transfers to the East. This was further exacerbated by the stipulations of the EU Stability and Growth Pact empowering German Finance Ministers to pursue a policy of budget consolidation. The impact was felt particularly acutely by the Bundeswehr,

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which, following the end of the Cold War, had already been expected to deliver a ‘peace dividend’. Nevertheless, a focus on financial constraints alone does not explain why conscription remained intact, or the reticence of defence ministers to pursue entrepreneurial roles on the structure of the armed forces, for, as the majority of studies highlight, a more streamlined, professional armed force is associated with greater financial efficiency.5 Instead, Bundeswehr reform was a victim of defence ministers’ assessments of the implications of the linkages between the financial and social policy subsystems. Most seriously of all, the abolition of conscription would, in the short to medium term, induce high costs for the social policy subsystem in the form of the loss of Zivildienst, which provided cheap labor for the beleaguered and increasingly under funded German social system. The slow down in the German economy, budget consolidation, and adherence to the Stability and Growth Pact ensured that there would be no financial resources available to ‘professionalise’ the areas of the social services staffed by conscientious objectors. Hence radical structural reform would have serious implications for the standard of care for the most vulnerable members of society—the elderly and disabled. These adverse consequences of entrepreneurship on behalf of a professional force were anathema for the CDU/CSU and, in particular, the SPD, threatening fundamental principles of the German social model and associating the minister and the government with an image of soziale Kälte (‘social coldness’). Not least, policy entrepreneurship would also have been highly damaging to Rühe’s and Scharping’s political ambitions in relation to the Chancellor’s Office as it would have alienated powerful regional figures through severe base closures, the social policy wing of the CDU/CSU, and the very core of SPD support. In short, the politics of base closures and interlocking policy subsystems of defence and social policy created a high incentive for defence ministers to engage in the political management of reform through brokerage and veto playing. Despite the importance of these structural factors in shaping the practice of the arts of policy leadership, this study illustrates the crucial role of leadership in determining the triumph of domestic constraints. Policy leadership was critical in the reform process, demanding a focus not only on the leadership function of the chancellor but also on the roles of the Defence Minister and ministerial officials. Whilst the domestic political context, and the strategic calculation of the chancellor, were important in informing Rühe’s, Scharping’s, and Struck’s choices of leadership roles, and general policy guidelines were set in coordination with the Chancellors Office, the successful execution of these leadership roles and political management of reform was dependent upon well developed ministerial leadership skills.

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These were put to use in controlling processes of policy learning to ensure that pressures for change emanating from within the policy subsystem, the macropolitical system, and the international system did not interfere with the political management of reform.

The Implications for German Leadership Studies This study points to the need to augment traditional approaches to leadership in Germany, which focus largely upon the role of the chancellor in setting the strategic direction of policy change.6 As the analysis demonstrates, the chancellor in coordination with the defence minister is important in determining the broad direction of policy change: a balance of the Kanzlerprinzip and Ressortprinzip.7 However, the scope, shape, timing, and pace of policy change is not only the result of formulating ‘general policy guidelines’, for these guidelines can be subverted by actors and events both within and external to the policy subsystem. A complete understanding of leadership requires a more detailed examination of the development and implementation of policy. Over the post–Cold War period, a range of actors, both within the policy subsystem and at the macropolitical level, sought to derail the political management of reform. They attempted to derail the policy-veto roles pursued by defence ministers by attempting to create a new ‘crisis consciousness’ about the ‘misfit’ between the Bundeswehr’s tasks, doctrine, and structure. Management of policy learning emerges as a crucial factor in effective leadership. Rühe’s, Struck’s, and Scharping’s ability to control the flow of ideas and learning within the Defence Ministry and at the macropolitical level was critical to the success of entrepreneurship, brokerage, and, most notably, policy stalemate. Within the Defence Ministry this management of policy learning was achieved through the careful appointment of officials and military personnel who would act as ‘gatekeepers’ to the flow of policy ideas. Hence, as Rühe’s assessment of the domestic political context grew increasingly restrictive, and the implications of entrepreneurship on the tasks and structure of the Bundeswehr became more negative for his political ambition of the Chancellor’s Office, he took decisive action to ensure that the ministry would not act upon policy learning resulting from German participation in crisis-management operations in Cambodia and Somalia. This action took the form of the Denkverbot and, in February 1996, the replacement of Generalinspekteur Klaus Naumann with a new, more conservative chief of staff, Harmut Bagger, to ensure its enforcement. This process was critical to the variation in leadership role, as, following Rühe’s entrepreneurship on the

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tasks of the armed forces and empowered by Naumann, officials within the defence ministry had begun to develop policy proposals without the knowledge of the defence minister, seriously threatening Rühe’s control over structural reform of the armed forces. The Denkverbot ensured that career progression within the ministry would be determined not by innovation but by adherence to the traditional doctrine of territorial defence and support for conscription. Similarly, the appointment of key officials was a crucial factor in Scharping’s ability to control the flow of ideas about the appropriate doctrine and structure of the Bundeswehr and engage in a leadership role that attempted to disguise retention of the policy status quo behind a brokerage role. This involved the retention of Rühe’s Denkverbot officials, allowing him to ensure stalemate on the core issues of doctrine and structure whilst portraying himself as a policy broker (although this, combined with Scharping’s increasingly autocratic leadership style, led to significant difficulties in the implementation of reform). Peter Struck sought out the most complex policy leadership roles: entrepreneurship on doctrine, combined with retention of the status quo on conscription. Again, the appointment of civilian and military personnel within the Defence Ministry was a critical factor in the pursuit of these policy goals. Walter Stützle was replaced by Peter Eickenboom as state secretary in 2003, bringing stability to the ministry; whilst Generalinspekteur Wolfgang Schneiderhan was retained, having been identified by Struck as a highly respected, trustworthy, and apolitical figure who would be indispensable in strictly dictating the scope, timing, and pace of policy change. Nevertheless, as the contradictions and paradoxes of policy leadership that combined entrepreneurship on doctrine with the lack of a corresponding shift to a professional armed force became apparent, controlling the flow of policy ideas became increasingly difficult for Struck. Consequent upon deployment to Macedonia and Afghanistan, ‘bottom up’, operational policy learning about the inefficiencies associated with conscription in the context of crisis-management operations intensified. ‘Gatekeepers’ (particularly chiefs of staff) who refused to ‘shut the gate’ on policy ideas about a professional armed force were stripped of their positions, and replaced with conservative figures who would block policy ideas that threatened conscription’s survival. In short, we must look to the Ressortprinzip and the day-to-day management of the policy process rather than the Kanzlerprinzip as the critical variable in policy change. They were the key determinants of the scope, timing, and pace of policy change, and suggest the need for a deeper focus on ministerial leadership within policy subsystems. Defence ministers were critical in the retention of control over the policy process not just within the policy subsystem but also at the macropolit-

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ical level. Volker Rühe was highly adept at this task, successfully repelling attempts at entrepreneurship from Klaus Kinkel’s Foreign Ministry, and ensuring tight control over learning within his own party and even the opposition. Rühe was able to ‘bind in’ opposition to his leadership, working closely with the Bundestag defence, budgetary, and foreign policy committees, and using leadership skills of conciliation and mobilisation to set the policy agenda. He also worked closely with the CDU party leadership to ensure the empowerment of conservative figures such as Paul Breuer (CDU Defence Policy Spokesperson), who was of great importance in setting the terms of debate within the party and helping Rühe control the range of legitimate policy ideas about the doctrine and structure of the armed forces within the CDU/CSU. Similarly, Scharping played a vital role in determining the impact of the Weizsäcker Commission at the macropolitical level by closing down the possibility for a societal debate through placing strict time constraints on the Commission’s work. This time management was an important part of ‘thinning the substance of policy conflict’, an action that is attributed to the chancellor by other studies of leadership in Germany.8 Like Rühe, Scharping and the SPD party leadership also ensured that conservative figures such as Peter Zumkley (member of the Bundestag defence committee) and Walter Kolbow (SPD Defence Policy Spokesperson and Parliamentary State Secretary in the Defence Ministry) were empowered within the SPD to help ameliorate the policy learning effects of the Weizsäcker Commission and the consequences of coalition with the Greens, who sought to promote learning within the SPD about the weaknesses associated with conscription. Kolbow and others actively disseminated arguments in favor of territorial defence and conscription that were laden with cultural references to conscription as an important part of German civil-military relations and a pillar of SPD ideology. Struck faced the most difficult task in retaining control over the policy process at the macropolitical level due to a ‘snowballing’ of policy learning resulting from the longer-term impact of the Weizsäcker Commission, the strength of the Greens in the governing coalition after the 2002 federal elections, and operational experience with Bundeswehr deployment in Afghanistan. Despite attempts at entrepreneurship on structural reform from within his own party by social minister, Renate Schmidt, leading to the formation of a more mature ‘advocacy’ coalition for the abolition of conscription that spanned the Greens, the FDP, and the SPD, Struck ultimately achieved policy stalemate on conscription for the legislative period. He did so by careful attention to the temporal aspect of reform, postponing an internal SPD vote on conscription until 2005. This device allowed the SPD to ensure the survival of military service based on conscription at least until 2010.

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Again, the ‘binding in’ of potential domestic opposition to his entrepreneurship on the Bundeswehr’s doctrine and to his veto role on conscription was crucial. Struck combined entrepreneurship on doctrine with brokerage on the institutional settings of the Bundeswehr’s new tasks, ring fencing ESDP within NATO. This combination was critical in diffusing tensions between Atlanticists (the ‘freedom’ coalition) and Europeanists (the ‘peace’ coalition) that had been exacerbated by the 2003 Gulf War and ensured that the opposition politicians did not appeal against the constitutionality of the new doctrine. Hence the locus of leadership lies not only in setting the strategic guidelines of policy change but also in managing and seeking to control the policy process. This insight points to the importance of leadership at the ministerial level in ensuring that policy development and implementation adhere to the strategic guidelines set in coordination with the Chancellor’s Office. Above all, it necessitates the careful control of policy learning within the policy subsystem and at the macropolitical level.

The Concept of Strategic Culture: Resource as Well as Constraint In analyzing the role played by leadership in determining the nature of military reform in Germany, this book engages with another important body of literature—the dominant ‘strategic culture’ approach to German defence and security policy.9 This institutional perspective suggests that the persistence of conscription and territorial defence is the consequence of a Defence Ministry and macropolitical system characterised by institutionally embedded ‘logics of appropriateness’ about Bundeswehr policy, and of a policy process that reflects a highly path-dependent form of historical conditioning. Ministers act from a cognitive script; they follow historically informed ideas about what can and should be done. However, rather than being just hostages to their ideational contexts, this study illustrates the extent to which policy leaders were able to reproduce and sustain strategic culture selectively, as a resource with which to control the scope, timing, and pace of policy change, particularly within the Defence Ministry. In doing so they paid careful attention to the domestic constraints posed by tightening financial consolidation, the impact of base closures at the federal state level, and the social policy subsystem. They also maneuvered within a defence and security policy subsystem that involved conflicts between three broad coalitions (‘freedom,’ ‘peace,’ and ‘pacifist’). Rühe used strategic culture selectively as a rationale to promote policy change (as consistent with Germany’s European vocation) or to block change (as leading to a pure intervention Bundeswehr). Both Scharping and

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Struck were also adept at using ‘cultural’ arguments to justify policy change or stalemate. Again, the appointment of conservative figures within the Defence Ministry by Rühe, Scharping, and Struck in the pursuit of veto roles on structural reform was an important element in sustaining a strategic culture that prioritised territorial defence/conscription. Conservative figures such as Walter Kolbow (SPD), Paul Breuer (CDU), and Thomas Kossendey (CDU) were empowered by the CDU/CSU and SPD party leaderships to disseminate emotive cultural arguments in favor of conscription and territorial defence. These individuals played an important role in controlling the ideational environments within the two ‘catch all’ parties and allowed defence ministers to imbue the political management of reform with a strong degree of legitimacy. Despite their great contribution to our understanding of Bundeswehr reform, cultural explanations neglect the political dynamics of policy change over this period, especially the pragmatism of policy leaders in dealing with external events and developments and relating them to strategic electoral interests such as the politics of base closures, social policy concerns, and ideological renewal. They also neglect the characteristics of the Bundeswehr as a policy subsystem and how it relates to the defence and security, social, and financial policy subsystems within which, or alongside which, it is nested. This complex nesting, along with strategic electoral interests, represents powerful constraints on structural reforms.

Europeanisation: Leadership and the Management of ‘Fit’ Policy leadership was also important in mediating and controlling Europeanisation and draws our attention to a deficit of studies examining the role played by agency in the Europeanisation of German defence and security policy, and more broadly within the Europeanisation literature. 10 Rühe, Scharping, and Struck were able to ensure only a very limited Europeanisation of Bundeswehr policy by the pursuit of policy leadership roles directed at managing Europeanisation in order to minimize ‘misfit’, potential ‘top-down’ adaptational pressures, and a revision of the assumptions on which Bundeswehr policy had been based. As a consequence, the Defence Ministry remained the least European of German ministries. As ESDP moved from institutional to operational issues, and the Defence Ministry became more central to its agenda, so Germany shifted from a vanguard to a laggard role in its development.11 A measure of the success of the Defence Ministry in controlling and limiting Europeanisation was the prevailing view inside NATO that the Weizsäcker Commission was an excellent document.12 The Defence Ministry proved less receptive than many in NATO to its Europeanisation message.

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The marginalisation of pro-European Vordenker within the Defence Ministry was crucial. Appointing conservative figures as ‘gatekeepers’ of policy learning ensured that the EU and the Weizsäcker Commission, as an agent of ‘Europeanisation’, had a limited impact upon the policy process. Leadership was therefore critical in determining the ‘top down’ impact of German involvement in ESDP and in sustaining the ‘institutional credibility’ of NATO. In short, leadership was the critical variable in sustaining a political and administrative culture conducive to the political management of reform. Further studies, across a wider range of policy areas, are needed to draw out the extent to which policy leaders are able to control and negotiate ‘misfit’ and ‘top-down’ adaptational pressure and determine the range of acceptable and legitimate policy ideas through strict control over the ministerial apparatus.13 However, the book’s focus upon policy leadership and domestic political constraints should not lead us to conclude that international events and institutions (‘international structure’) did not impact upon reform.14 Under Rühe and Struck particularly a range of international events were harnessed to create a sense of crisis consciousness and a favorable climate for policy change in pursuing their entrepreneurial roles on the tasks and doctrine of the Bundeswehr. Rühe was able to use the crisis in the former Yugoslavia in order to frame German involvement in peacekeeping operations. Expanding the remit of the armed forces was located within the context of German historic responsibility to prevent ethnic cleansing and war in Europe and as part of contributing to, and reinforcing, the institutional venues of the EU and NATO. The ‘Petersburg tasks’ bore an important German imprint on their design, providing an important means with which to bring Rühe’s opponents in the Greens and SPD ‘on board’ and to manage ‘fit’ between international and domestic factors. Most notably, NATO enlargement and the aftermath of the Iraq crisis were important variables informing Struck’s leadership on the VPR and defining the nature of the institutional bedrock underpinning his new doctrine. The threat of a ‘bifurcated Europe’, post–Iraq, empowered Struck to reinforce Germany’s role as a ‘bridge’ between Atlantic and European security institutions, ensuring that the domestic ‘freedom’ and ‘peace’ coalitions could share power over policy, and creating a solid framework for structural reform and retention of the policy status quo on conscription. September 11 was used to justify radical change to the Bundeswehr’s tasks, marginalising opposition from the ‘peace’ coalition’. As Generalinspekteur Schneiderhan stated: ‘Wir müssen den Super-Gau denken’ (we must plan now for the super catastrophe).15 Yet simultaneously Struck argued that the threat presented by terrorism required the maintenance of conscription to deal with the consequences of domestic terror attacks.

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The striking feature of the international security environment was the extent to which the opportunities that it offered for policy entrepreneurship were not taken up by policy leaders, who were preoccupied with the personal and strategic electoral implications of the politics of base closures and the interlocking policy subsystems of defence, social, and budgetary policy. Notably, the political management of reform in the shape of policy stalemate on structural reform became increasingly difficult in the context of compelling international opportunities, which amplified the paradox of armed forces reform in Germany. It is to policy leadership that we must look as the decisive factor in determining the scope and pace of Bundeswehr reform.

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Table 7.3 Main German Contributions to International Operations 1990–2004

Operation

Size of Force/ German Contribution

Mandate/ Auspices

Partner Nations

Operation Sharp Guard, Adriatic Sea 1992–96

22 ships/2 destroyers

UN mandate, Joint NATO/WEU operation

12 Nations including UK, United States, Greece, Turkey, Netherlands

UNTAC, Cambodia 1992–93

15,991 troops/150 medical staff

UN mandate, UN operation

45 Nations including UK, United States, Russia, France and Japan

UNOSOM II, Somalia 1993–94

28,000/2,420 troops

UN mandate, UN operation

34 Nations including United States, Italy, Greece, France and Turkey

Operation Deny Fly, Bosnia Herzegovina 1993–95

4,500 air personnel/ 500 air personnel

UN mandate, NATO-led operation

United States, France, UK, Italy, Netherlands, Turkey

IFOR, Bosnia Herzegovina 1995–96

60,000 troops/ 3,000 troops

UN mandate, NATO-led operation

All NATO members and 22 non-NATO members

SFOR, Bosnia Herzegovina 1996–2004

32,000 troops/3,000 troops

UN mandate, NATO-led operation

All NATO members and 22 non-NATO members

KFOR, Kosovo 1999

50,000 troops/8,000 troops

UN mandate UN/NATO

All NATO members and 22 non-NATO members

INTERFET, East Timor 1999–2000

9,8000 troops/100 military personnel

UN mandate, Australian-led multinational operation

29 nations, including Australia, UK, United States

Operation Essential Harvest, Macedonia August–September 2001

1000 troops/500 troops

NATO operation

Belgium, Canada, Czech Republic, France, Greece, Italy, Netherlands, Spain, Turkey, UK

Operation Amber Fox, Macedonia, 2001–02

1,000 troops/ 600 troops

UN mandate, NATO operation

Denmark, France, Greece, Italy, Portugal, Poland, Spain

International Security Assistance Force (ISAF) Afghanistan 2002

31,000 troops/3,000 troops

UN Mandate, NATO- led operation after August 2003

37 Nations, including the UK, United States, Turkey, and France

Operation Artemis, Congo, June– September 2003

1,400 troops/350 troops

UN Mandate, EU operation

Belgium, Brazil, Canada, France, Hungary, Netherlands, South Africa, Sweden, UK

Sources: http://www.un.org/Depts/dpko/dpko/ and http://www.einsatz.bundeswehr.de/

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Notes 1. ‘The Role of NATO in the 21st Century’, Speech by NATO Secretary General Lord Robertson at the Welt am Sonntag Forum, Berlin, 3 November 2003; ‘German Foreign and Security Policy in the Face of Global Challenges’, Speech by Chancellor Angela Merkel, Munich Conference on Security Policy, 2 April 2006. 2. Accounts that stress the importance of ‘international structure’ include Otte, German Foreign Policy. Accounts that emphasise the impact of history norms and domestic politics include: T. Banchoff, The German Problem; Bluth, Germany and the Future; Phillips, Power and Influence. 3. McCartney, ‘International’’, 109. 4. Wagner, ‘From Vanguard to Laggard’, 455. 5. ‘Wehrpflicht und Zivildienst: die reine Vergeudung’, Frankfurter Allgemeine Sonntagszeitung, 18 January 2004; interview, Finance Ministry, Bonn, 28 August 2002; ‘Ministerium setzt Arbeitsgruppe zum Zivildienst ein’, Berliner Zeitung, 20 March 2000; ‘Ohne die Drückeberger geht es nicht’, Zeit 18, 27 April 2000; DPA 041623, May 2000; ‘Ein Pflichtjahr wäre für alle ein Gewinn’, Hannoverische Allgemeine Zeitung, 6 April 2002. 6. Patzelt, ‘Chancellor Schröder’s’, 283–99. 7. Mayntz, R. ‘Executive Leadership in Germany’, 142–43. 8. Patzelt, ‘Chancellor Schröder’s’, 292 9. Duffield, World Power Forsaken, 27; Berger, Cultures of Antimilitarism; Longhurst, ‘Why Aren’t the Germans?’ 147–165; Longhurst, Germany and the Use of Force. 10. Radoslav Zubek, ‘Poland and the Euro: In Search of Domestic Leadership’. In Enlarging the Euro Zone: The Euro and the Transformation of East Central Europe’, ed. K. Dyson, (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006). 11. Wagner, ‘From Vanguard to Laggard’, 455–70. 12. Interviews, NATO, Brussels, 16 and 17 September 2002. 13. Zubek, ‘Poland and the Euro’. 14. McCartney, ‘International’, 109. 15. ‘Den Super-GAU denken’, Welt am Sonntag, 9 November 2003.

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A Adenauer, Konrad, 25, 30, 32 Advocacy Coalition Framework, 11, 15n3, 45-46, 47n1, 115n28 Afghanistan, 1, 6, 14, 23, 28, 39, 41-43, 112, 123-24, 143, 189-90, 195 Agenda 2010, 121 Agenda for Peace, 38 Airbus A-400-M Military Transport Aircraft, 112 Aller, Heinrich, 109 Allgemeinverpflichtendes Gesellschaftsjahr, 140 Atlanticisation 11, 120, 124-26, 131, 133, 142, 147, 148-57, 171, 176-77 Austermann, Dietrich, 100 Austria, 30

B Bagger, Hartmut, 67, 104, 188 Bahr, Egon, 31 Baker, James, 41, 53 Bartol, Sören, 137 base closures, 21, 32, 34, 36, 65, 78,101-2, 107-10; 116n57, 118n116, 141 Basic Law, 19, 24, 32-33, 52, 133 Bätzing, Sabine, 137 Beck, Kurt, 108 Belgium, 126, 149, 160, 195 Blair, Tony, 4, 132 Bosnia and Herzegovina, 1, 14, 22-3, 38, 56, 61, 72, 154-55, 159-62, 166-68, 195 Brandt, Willy, 25, 31 Breuer, Paul, 72, 74, 98-100, 190, 192

‘bridge concept’, 28, 123, 127-28, 131-33, 142, 149, 156, 161, 163, 169, 176-177, 193 Bülow, Marco, 137 Bush, George (Senior), 35, 53, 55, 162 Bush George (Junior), 25, 28, 36-37, 3940, 42-44, 125, 128-29 Buss, Klaus, 109 Bunde, Hans-Otto, 135 Bundesamt für den Zivildienst, 66 Bundesbeauftragte, 66 Bundesrechnungshof, 106 Bundestag Budgetary Committee, 111, 132, 182n124 Bundestag Defence Committee, 19, 21, 53, 56-57, 61, 65-66, 71-74, 79, 190 Bundestag European Affairs Committee, 72 Bundestag Foreign Affairs Committee, 101 Bundeswehr Universities, 19, 115n34, 121 Bundeswehrverband, 109

C Cambodia, 22, 55-56, 58, 188, 195 Chancellor’s Office, 15, 32, 89, 110, 121, 126, 153, 166, 187-88 Cheney, Dick, 53 Chirac, Jacques, 2-3, 43, 161 Christian Democratic Union (CDU), 6, 12, 22, 25, 30, 32-33, 40, 46, 51, 62, 64-66, 68, 70-74, 78, 80, 87-88, 91, 94, 97101, 103, 106-7, 110, 113, 116n57, 127-29, 131, 141, 158-62, 168, 171-72, 186-87, 190, 192 Christian Social Union (CSU), 12, 25, 3233, 40, 46, 63-65, 68, 70-71, 78, 80, 88, 94, 97-101, 103, 106-10, 113, 127-29,

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Index

131, 141, 159-61, 166, 168, 171-72, 186-87, 190 civil society, 22 Clement, Wolfgang, 120 citizen in uniform, 3, 20, 23 Cold War, 23, 30, 33-35, 50, 97, 122, 175, 184 Cologne European Council, 95, 149, 166-67 Combined Joint Task Force (CJTF), 61, 149 Common Foreign and Security Policy (CFSP), 61, 152-53, 156, 160, 164-67 Community Service. See ziviler Ersatzdienst Conference on Security and Cooperation in Europe (CSCE), 45-46, 58, 70 conscription, 2-4, 20, 23, 31-35, 50, 59, 63, 65-79, 86n84, 88-90, 92-93, 96-104, 112-114, 115n25, 115n28, 115n34, 119-24, 134-43, 160-63, 165, 167, 169, 171-185, 184, 187, 189-193 crisis-management/-prevention/-reaction, 2, 24, 28, 34, 35, 43, 50, 55, 57, 58-59 61, 63-64, 67, 69-71, 75, 80, 89-90, 92-95, 97-98, 112, 119, 122, 124-25, 127-29, 140, 156, 158-60, 161-64 166-67, 170-71, 173, 175, 183, 188-89 Croatia, 61

D Defence Capabilities Initiative (DCI), 94, 112, 174 Defence Policy Guidelines (VPR), 59, 119, 122-31, 133-39, 141-42, 148-49, 176, 193 defence spending, 22, 81, 134, 184 de Gaulle, Charles, 154 Detlefsen, Jens, 67 de Maiziere, Ulrich, 20 Denkverbot, 12, 66-68, 80, 98, 103-4, 113-14, 173, 188-89 de Villepin, Dominic, 126 Diehl, 141 Die Welt, 108-9

E Eichel, Hans, 26, 90, 97, 168 Eikenboom, Peter, 123, 189 ‘elite socialisation’, 152-53, 155, 173-75 Elysee Treaty, 154-55 Erler, Fritz, 25, 32 Erler, Gernot, 129 Eurocorps, 24, 160, 169

Europeanisation, 2-3, 6-7, 14, 24, 28, 58, 71, 73, 75, 79, 93, 114, 120, 123-24, 133, 142, 148-53, 157-58, 163-64, 167, 169, 170-77, 185, 192-93 European Monetary Union (EMU), 26, 53, 63-64, 97, 166, 170, 172, 186 European Political Cooperation (EPC), 154-55 European Rapid Reaction Force (RRF), 24, 170, 175 European Security and Defence Identity (ESDI), 50, 56, 148-49, 158-64, 167-69 European Security and Defence Policy (ESDP), 3, 6, 24, 27-28, 43-44, 75, 8788, 90, 112, 124-29, 131, 142, 148-50, 152-53, 158, 160-177 European Security Strategy, 142 European Union Military Committee, 167, 174 European Union Political and Security Committee, 167

F Federal Auditing Office. See Bundesrechnungshof Federal Constitutional Court, 33-34, 59, 62, 70, 72, 80, 133, 142, 158, 168 Federal Finance Ministry, 26, 27, 32, 34, 59, 63, 66, 96, 104, 106, 125, 136, 139140 Federal Ministry for Family, the Elderly, Women and Youth, 22, 66, 139 Federal Ministry of Social Affairs, 134, 139-41 Feldt, Lutz, 135 Finland, 30, 195 Fischer, Joschka, 1, 11, 27, 38, 44, 70-71, 95, 126-131, 164-69, 171-72, 175-77 Foreign Ministry, 19, 20, 22, 27, 32, 41, 44, 51, 53, 55, 58, 68-69, 124, 126-27, 131, 149, 152-59, 162-65, 167, 172, 176-77, 186, 190 Former Yugoslavia, 42, 61, 159, 161, 193 Fouchet Plan, 154 France, 2-3, 43, 55, 57, 73, 87, 122, 12627, 130, 149, 154, 156-57, 160-162, 166, 169, 172, 176-77 Franco-German Brigade, 155-56, 160, 169 Franco-German Defence Council, 24, 155 Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, 37, 67, 133, 160 Free Democratic Party (FDP), 12, 25, 31-32, 46, 56, 58, 63, 68-71, 74-76, 78-79, 160, 190

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‘Freedom’ Coalition, 26, 31-32, 39-40, 46, 52-54, 56, 127-29, 131, 160, 191 Führungsstab, 67, 108, 172 FT Deutschland, 42, 176

G

Index

Israel, 51, 54 Italy, 28, 44, 131, 184, 195

J Johanniter-Unfall-Hilfe, 22

Gabriel, Siegmar, 109 Genscher, Hans-Dietrich, 31, 41, 52-53, 56, 58, 154, 172 Genscher-Colombo Plan, 154 Gerhardt, Wolfgang, 69-70 German Democratic Republic (GDR), 35-36 German-Netherlands Corps, 160 German Reunification, 1, 13, 23-24, 34-36, 40, 45, 50, 53-54, 56-57, 63, 74, 128, 155-57, 183,186 Gesellschaft für Entwicklung, Beschaffung, und Betrieb (GEBB), 105 Glos, Michael, 65 Goppel, Thomas, 109 Gorbachev, Mikhail, 53, 155 Great Britain, 1-4, 88, 129, 131-32, 135, 156-157, 164, 166, 176, 183-84, 195 Green Party, 11, 27-28, 30-31, 41-42, 4446, 61, 67-71, 75-76, 78-79, 87-88, 9596, 98, 101-2, 108, 110-11, 112, 115n28, 120, 122, 129-30, 134, 136, 138, 140, 142, 164-71, 183, 190, 193 Gudera, Gert, 135 Gulf War, 25, 36, 38, 41-42, 52, 54-55, 58

K

H

Lafontaine, Oskar, 45, 71, 73, 75, 77, 79, 91, 97, 168 Lamers, Karl, 98 Leber, Georg, 103, 106 Löhle, Rüdiger, 55 Lüssow, Hans, 135 Luxembourg, 126, 149

Hackler, Dieter, 66 Hague Summit, 154 Handelsblatt, 110, 122 Hansen, Helge, 93, 115n25 Harmel Report, 154 Helsinki European Council, 6, 149, 166, 169 Helsinki Headline Goals, 6, 28, 90, 93-95 170-175 Huber, Erwin, 109

I innere Führung, 20, 23, 33, 36, 120 International Force East Timor (INTERFET), 195 International Security and Assistance Force (ISAF), 132, 184 ‘international structure’, 5, 15n14, 193 Iraq, 14, 25, 28, 42, 51-52, 54-55, 127-29, 131-32, 142, 148-49, 155, 177, 193

Kanzlerprinzip, 13, 15n16, 51, 141, 188-89 Kinkel, Klaus, 11, 27, 56-58, 67-70, 159-60, 190 Klose, Hans-Ulrich, 101 Kohl, Helmut, 1-2, 11-13, 25, 27, 35, 41, 46, 50-79, 98, 148, 153, 155-64, 167, 171, 177 Kolbow, Walter, 61, 72-74, 76-78, 143, 190, 192 Kommission Gemeinsame Sicherheit und Zukunft der Bundeswehr (‘Weizsäcker Commission’), 6, 11, 28, 87-89, 91, 94-96, 100-104, 109, 113, 115, 122, 123, 127, 138, 143, 169, 171, 174, 177, 190, 192-93 Kosovo, 1, 6, 14, 22-23, 25, 27, 38, 42-43, 87-88, 90, 93, 94-96, 101, 127, 154, 155, 165-70, 195 Kossendey, Thomas, 100, 192 Krauss Maffei Wegmann, 141 Kröning, Volker, 76, 86n118, 99 Kujat, Harald, 123

L

M Maastricht Convergence Criteria, 3, 170 Maastricht Treaty, 3, 27, 53, 64, 154, 157-8, 161-62, 170 Macedonia, 1, 5, 22, 28, 41, 111-12, 123, 127, 183, 195 Malteser Hilfsdienst, 22 Matschie, Christoph, 137 Mende, Erich, 25 Merkel, Angela, 40, 98, 100 Metzger, Oswald, 111 migration, 37, 55 Mitterrand, Francois, 155-57

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Index

Möllemann, Jürgen, 70, 76 Münterfering, Franz, 102, 120, 137-38

N National Security Strategy, 39, 42 Nationale Volksarmee (NVA), 35-36 NATO enlargement, 20, 44, 68, 131, 142, 160, 193 NATO Response Force (NRF), 42, 124-25, 128, 131 Naumann, Klaus, 57, 59-60, 62-63, 67, 84n76, 99, 163, 188-89 Netherlands, 156-57 ‘new world order’, 39 Nolte, Claudia, 66 Nolting, Günther, 70, 74 North Atlantic Cooperation Council, 41 North Atlantic Treaty Organisation (NATO), 1-3, 6-7, 18-20, 23-34, 38, 41-46, 50-62, 68, 70, 87-88, 91, 93-95, 97, 101-02, 113-14, 120-28, 131-32, 142, 148-50, 152, 154-170, 172-77, 183-86, 192-93, 195

O Opel, Manfred, 74, 78, 101 Operation Artemis, 195 Operation Amber Fox, 112, 195 Operation Deny Fly, 195 Operation Desert Storm, 53 Operation Essential Harvest, 195 Operation Sharp Guard, 195 Organisation for Security and Cooperation in Europe (OSCE), 31, 56, 162, 168 ‘out of area operations’, 21, 34, 43, 51, 53, 55, 59, 71, 74, 79, 80, 158, 168, 170

P ‘Pacifist’ Coalition, 26, 30-31, 36, 38, 42, 45, 52, 125, 186 Paritätischer Wohlfährtsverband, 136 Party of Democratic Socialism (PDS), 36, 69-70, path dependency, 4 ‘Peace’ Coalition, 26, 30-31, 37-38, 40, 42, 45, 54, 69, 88, 124, 126-27, 129-31, 142, 148, 191, 193 Petersburg Declaration, 58-59, 154, 158 Petersburg Tasks, 161, 163-63, 193 Planning Staff, 19, 68, 106 Poland, 44, 131, 195 policy brokerage 7, 11, 32, 52-53, 55-56, 71, 88, 167, 186

policy entrepreneurship 2, 7, 11, 29, 32, 52, 56, 59, 62, 65, 66, 69, 76, 78, 96, 101, 113, 121, 142, 165, 187, 194 policy leadership, 4, 7, 9, 11-14, 18, 23, 29, 38, 50-52, 55-56, 59-62, 64, 66, 71, 74, 79-80, 87, 120, 132, 141, 143, 149, 152, 158, 163, 167, 173-5, 177, 185-97, 189, 192-94 policy learning, 5-7, 9, 14, 15n15, 21, 24, 29, 34, 36-37, 45-46, 51, 56, 60, 62, 6668, 70, 72-74, 78-81, 88-89, 91, 92, 98, 100-104,106, 112-113, 120, 123, 125, 134-36, 138, 142-43, 148, 153, 155, 163, 173, 176, 186, 188-191, 193 policy subsystem, 18, 82, 35-37, 42-44, 47, 51-52, 54, 57, 64-65, 67-68, 70, 80, 89, 92, 94, 101-02, 104, 113, 120-23, 141, 143, 148, 150, 153, 159-60, 163, 172, 174, 183, 186-89, 191-92, 194 policy veto playing, 7, 11-12 Prague Summit, 44, 124, 128, 131, 142 privatisation, 27, 37, 90-91, 100, 105-06, 112-13, 121, 142 professional policy forum, 6, 11, 29, 88, 91-94, 171

R Referate, 106 Ressortprinzip, 5, 13-14, 15n16, 51, 80, 141, 188-89 Robertson, George, 4 Rome Summit, 41, 156-57 Rose, Jürgen, 67, 122 Rühe, Volker, 1, 5-6, 11, 14, 26, 29, 36, 5052, 58-73, 79-80, 87, 97-101, 103-4, 106-07, 113-14, 119, 128, 148, 158-64, 167-69, 172-75, 186-93 Ruhenstroth-Bauer, Peter, 139 Rumsfeld, Donald, 42 Russia, 162, 195 Rwanda, 35, 56

S Saint Malo Accord, 87-88, 165-67, 169 Sarajevo, 51, 55 Scharping, Rudolf, 1, 5-6, 12, 14, 21, 26, 29, 72-77, 87-88, 92, 94-98, 100-114, 116n42, 117n91, 118n121, 119, 12122, 126, 132-35, 140-42, 148, 164-65, 167-69, 171, 173-76, 182n124, 186-92 Schaüble, Wolfgang, 98-100 Schmid, Carlo, 25 Schmidt, Christian, 65

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Schmidt, Helmut, 25, 31, 103-04, 106, 113 Schmidt, Renate, 11, 120, 134, 136, 138-40, 143, 190 Schneiderhan, Wolfgang, 121, 123-27, 131, 135, 142, 189, 193 Scholz, Rupert, 98 Schröder, Gerhard, 12-13, 25, 39-44, 64, 74, 79, 87-89, 91-92, 97, 101-02, 105, 109, 111, 113, 119-21, 123, 125, 127-32, 138, 141-42, 148, 162, 164-66, 169, 172, 177 Schwerpunktkommission, 73 Second World War, 25, 31, 54, 175 September 11th, 6, 14, 36, 39, 43, 100, 112, 119, 121, 124, 128, 183, 185, 193 Serbia and Montenegro, 55, 160 Simonis, Heidi, 64, 109 Social Democratic Party (SPD), 6, 22, 25-26, 28, 30-33, 36, 39, 45, 52-55, 58, 60-61, 64, 67, 71-79, 119-20, 126-30, 134, 136-43, 164-69, 171-72, 182n124, 186-87, 190, 192-93 social policy, 3, 5, 22, 25, 32, 65, 66, 71, 74, 75, 80, 96, 104, 113, 121, 141, 143, 185-87, 191-92 Solana, Javier, 168 Somalia, 1, 35, 38, 55-56, 58, 66, 188, 195 Soviet Union (USSR), 33, 36, 41, 52 Spain, 131, 195 Srebrenica, 70, 72, 74, 159, 162, 166 Stability and Growth Pact, 97, 172, 186-87 Stabilisation Force in Bosnia and Herzegovina (SFOR), 61, 195 Steinmeier, Frank-Walter, 89, 121 Stoiber, Edmund, 64-65, 98-100, 109, 116n57 Stoltenberg, Gerhard, 41, 52-53, 57, 59, 107 Strategic Concept, 41-42, 61, 94, 156-58, 161 strategic culture, 3-6, 14, 79-80, 114, 120, 135, 143, 151, 153, 173, 185, 191-92 Struck, Peter, 1, 2, 5-6,11, 14, 29, 112, 119-43, 148-49, 176-77, 186-93 Stützle, Walter, 142, 189 Süddeutsche Zeitung, 125 Sweden, 30

T Tageszeitung, 37, 130, 135 territorial defence, 2, 4, 19, 23-24, 31-34, 37, 57, 59-60, 67-70, 72, 75-76, 78-79, 88, 90, 93, 95, 98, 101, 104, 111,

Index

115n28, 120, 121, 122, 124-25, 127, 133-35, 141, 155, 159-63, 165, 167-69, 171, 174-75, 177, 183-84, 189-92 terrorism, 37, 40, 123-25, 127, 129, 131, 193, Teufel, Erwin, 65 Thierse, Wolfgang, 78 ‘think tanks’, 22-23, 26 Third Reich, 28, 33, 39, 41 Treaty of Amsterdam, 154, 161, 164, 166 Trittin, Jürgen, 71 Turkey, 51, 53-54, 195 Two-Plus-Four Treaty, 53

U United Nations (UN), 1, 20, 27, 31, 34, 37-38, 52, 54-56, 58, 62, 70, 120, 125, 127, 130, 159-160, 168, 185, 195 United Nations Special Commission (UNSCOM), 54 United States, 13, 19, 22-23, 26, 28, 35-46, 50-57, 126, 128-30, 131-32, 149, 154, 157-162, 164, 168, 176, 177, 181n98, 184, 195

V Verheugen, Günther, 45, 72, 76-78, 168 Vogt, Ute, 137 Voigt, Karsten, 45, 74, 168 von Baudissin, Wolf, 20, 33 von Clausewitz, Karl, 33 von Gneisenau, August, 33 von Kirchbach, Hans-Peter, 99, 104, 107, 114 von Scharnhorst, Gerhard, 33 von Weizsäcker, Richard, 87, 91, 170, 181n98

W Wagner, Gert, 121 Waigel, Theo, 26, 63-64, 186 Wallow, Hans, 74 weapons of mass destruction, 92, 124 Wehrdienst. See conscription Wehrgerechtigkeit, 89, 104, 136 Weimar Republic, 28, 33, 34 Western European Union (WEU), 24, 46, 52, 56, 58-59, 62, 88, 94, 154-64, 16769, 195 Wieczoreck, Norbert, 72 Wieczoreck-Zeul, Heidemarie, 30, 45, 7173, 75-76, 78-79,169

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Wohlfahrtsverbände (Welfare Associations), 139 Wonneberger, Michael, 66 Wörner, Manfred, 163

Z Zentralstelle für Kriegdienstverweigerer (Central Office for Conscientious Objectors), 139 ziviler Ersatzdienst (Zivildienst), 22, 34, 66-67, 69, 71, 74-75, 77, 80, 96, 99, 101, 115n34, 122, 135-36, 139, 143, 172, 175, 187 Zukunftskommission, 168 Zumkley, Peter, 190

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