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Lucy Nicholson reveals...
Meet the entrepreneur on a mission to cool down stresses execs over a hot stove at her base in Cumbria. EN reaches for the blue plasters as Lucy Nicholson reveals...
| Back in the EU-SSR |
| Wednesday, 20 December 2006 | |
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In the first of a series of articles, Vitali Vitaliev investigates the past, present and future of the European Union, an organisation whose capacity for mindless bureaucracy and self-aggrandisement recalls his Soviet youth.
“In the distant future, one could perhaps imagine a new association of nations, composed of individual states of superior national quality, that could challenge the imminent overpowering of the world by the American union” – excerpt from ‘Adolf Hitler’s second book’, published by Jewish scholar Gerhard Weinberg in October 2003. At the tourist information office at Bruxelles-Midi train station I picked up a leaflet headlined “Welcome to Brussels, the capital of Europe!” and a couple of glossy “Mini-Europe” pamphlets. They gave me directions to the Bruparck area, where “Mini-Europe” was located. During the 40-minute-long Metro ride I had plenty of time to study the brochures. According to them, “Mini-Europe” was a 25-hectare park, featuring “350 monuments and miniature working models of the most important European sites and monuments”. Built in 1989 “under the auspices of the EU” at a cost of 15 million Belgian francs (out of the EU taxpayers’ uncomplaining pockets, of course), it was in itself “a window on Europe” and “an exciting voyage through Europe” all at the same time. “Cheer on the matador at the Corrida in Seville, watch the launch of Ariane V, follow the Thalys train from Paris to the other end of France, let Mount Vesuvius explode and feel the earthquake!” goaded one brochure, explaining that all of this could be activated by “pushbuttons in the neighbourhood of the monuments”. Another pamphlet was inviting would-be visitors to “break down the Berlin wall!” – by pressing other pushbuttons, no doubt. To me and countless others whose lives had been fractured by the Berlin Wall, the latter sounded tactless. The whole of the Bruparck exhibition area is dominated by the Atomium, a giant sculpture, representing an iron molecule (enlarged 165 billion times) built for the 1958 World Fair. Contemplating its proximity to the miniaturised “Europe”, I couldn’t help remembering a remark by Russian satirical writers lya Ilf and Evgeny Petrov to the effect that bureaucrats had always been fascinated with useless models of enormous fountain pens and minuscule steam engines. A Mini-Europe” official was due to meet me near the ticket office. Waiting for him, I watched the people about to enter the grounds. There were not too many of them, and very few bothered to buy the €11 tickets. Instead, they flashed VIP passes and official letters in the face of the turnstile guard, who waved them through. Could it be that free entry to “Mini-Europe” was just another of the EU employees’ multiple perks? Whatever it was, one thing was clear – there were far too many VIPs in Brussels. As the same Ilf and Petrov once wrote about getting into a popular Moscow theatre, “Only courting couples and wealthy heirs go to the box-office. The other citizens (they make up the majority, you may observe) go straight to the manager.” The associations with the Soviet Union were all-too tangible in Brussels. The “Mini-Europe” official was late. I knew he would be. Yet only being a “mini-Eurocrat”, he was not terribly late – a mere 15 minutes. We went through the gates, decorated with a large plastic “Euro-Turtle” – the official mascot of “Mini-Europe” and found ourselves in the “Central Square”. I felt like Gulliver in Euro-Lilliput. On the right was a toy-like Dover Castle. Next to it, a P&O Ferry the size of a large water rat chugged across the English Channel puddle towards the smallish Eiffel Tower, around which a model Thalys train circled. “Do you have little TGV trains too?” I asked my escort. “We used to,” he replied. “But then we replaced them with Thalys, who are one of our sponsors.” It was good to know that one could actually pay to become part of the “Mini-Europe” scene. “All models here are one twentyfifth of their normal size, except for the Vesuvius volcano which is 1,000 times smaller,” the mini-official carried on. In the distance, I could see the shrunken Vesuvius erupt like an oversized cigarette lighter. “What is the purpose of it all?” I asked. He looked puzzled: “To learn about Europe, of course.” And, after a pause: “It is handy for the Americans who can do the whole of Europe in two hours...” The last comment was probably meant as a joke. “The whole of Europe?” I exclaimed. “I can’t wait to see a little Moscow. I haven’t been there since defecting. Imagine: a tiny Kremlin or, better, a miniature KGB building in Lubianka Street – and how about my native Ukraine?” He cut me short: “We only have EU member countries here.” “Why do you call it ‘Mini-Europe’ and not ‘Mini-EU’ then?” He couldn’t answer and looked at his watch: “I am afraid I have an important meeting in five minutes. In any case, everything here is self-explanatory. Enjoy yourself.” He stepped over the English Channel and headed for the exit. The minion was right. It was all pretty self-explanatory, only not in the way he would have wanted. By the scale of “Mini-Europe”, by far the largest country on the continent was Belgium. Proportionally, it was about ten times bigger than Italy. And the model of Brussels’ baroque Market Square was the grandest one of all. To my dismay, I also discovered that Amsterdam, my favourite European city, was actually located on the Belgian territory! Having opened the theme park’s catalogue, kindly left behind by the mini-official, I saw that Amsterdam was listed as part of the Belgian section there, too! That finding shocked me so much that I didn’t notice I had wandered into Spain and was standing in Seville’s Plaza de Toros staring at the sign that read, “Say ‘Olé!’ into the microphone”. I did, but nothing happened. I then walked past the hedge marking Spain’s border with France, hoping against hope to stumble upon Llivia – a Catalan enclave in the Pyrennees. But the enclaves, of course, had no place in that Brusselized version of Europe. Nor had Russia, Ukraine, Norway or even Switzerland. It has to be said that some of the EU member-countries were pretty harddone by, too – compared to Belgium that is. A single model of the Adolph Bridge represented Luxembourg; Greece consisted of just two buildings, one of which was the Acropolis, and poor Austria had nothing but an 18th-Century abbey in the town of Melk. Yet Belgium incorporated 22 structures and a disproportionately huge territory. It was obvious that “Mini-Europe” had nothing to do with Europe, nor even the “model of Europe” it claimed to represent. It was just a model of a superstate with the centre in Brussels. My 35 years in the USSR made me extremely sensitive – at times, possibly over-sensitive – to all manifestations of totalitarianism. One doesn’t need to be particularly observant, however, to spot a growing trend towards a European superstateby simply following Brussels’s totalitarian offensive since January 2002. Totalitarianism and bureaucracy are like two connecting tubes. The state thrives on red tape and the bureaucrats prosper at the expense of the state. The overall number of apparatchiks in Brussels, Strasbourg, Kirchberg (Luxembourg City), Maastricht and elsewhere has been estimated at around 26,000. However, when the first EU enlargement took place in May 2004, this figure grew by another 4,000. With its second wave in January 2007, the number of Eurocrats is destined to rise again. The EU can’t wait to have its ranks expanded further and further: the larger the behemoth, the harder it is to control. As for the new post-communist member states themselves, they initially regarded their membership as that of a prestigious Pall Mall club. As it was put by Polish-Canadian writer Eve Hoffman, “In the West, Europe is a project. In the East, it is a memory.” Or a dream, even. And yet just one month after the first enlargement, the prevailing attitude to the EU in all the new member-countries was apathy. In the European Parliament elections in June 2004, just over 20 per cent of the new members’ electorate took part. In the meantime, the EU functionaries continued to lead a carefree and prosperous existence, full of benefits and perks (including free Viagra!) claiming expenses for items such as travel without having to keep receipts and with no questions asked. Despite numerous promises of change, the EU personnel system – as well as the expenses gravy train – has been virtually untouched for over 40 years. In addition to their hefty salaries, MEPs – as it was revealed for the first time in June 2005 – get €262 (£174) for every day that they choose to pop into the parliament buildings in Brussels or Strasbourg. To receive the money, MEPs must sign a register kept in an unattended room. Hans-Peter Martin, an Austrian MP who had campaigned against fraud in the European Parliament, discovered that many signatures in that register were fakes. It was also discovered that some MEPs had been signing on for party meetings that did not exist, just so they could claim an allowance. Just like within the Soviet communist party hierarchy, the EU features promotion by seniority rather than ability. After 16 years of troublefree employment, Eurocrats can receive automatic pay rises of up to 40 per cent, regardless of achievement. It is virtually impossible to sack anyone for incompetence and the only way of disposing of someone’s services is to give them a sinecure in some remote EU office. But this doesn’t seem sufficient for EU officials. In October 2006, Michaele Schreyer, the EC Budget Commissioner, put forward proposals for a new EU-wide VAT to raise more money for the EU’s internal needs! If accepted, every household bill in Britain would have a new line at the bottom showing the contribution to “the European Union VAT”, when EU taxes are already costing an average British family an additional £500 a year in food bills alone. It would also undoubtedly lead to more regulations to complement the 80,000 pages already in existence.       |
