A ‘Europhile’ Labour minister, Roy Jenkins, was proposed and took up his duties in 1977. Two individuals in particular made names for themselves during this period: Claude Cheysson for Development and Etienne Davignon for Industrial Affairs (including, therefore, the crisis-stricken steel industry). Jenkins was the first President to represent the Community at the G7 Summit and boldly made the case for Monetary Union. But the big news at the time was the first election to the Parliament by universal suffrage (which contained the seeds of conflict over the legitimacy of Presidents appointed by the governments alone). This was in June 1979; the following month, the European Council proved its added value with the Bremen decisions on the European Monetary System.
Jenkins returned to London, probably relieved. Cheysson prepared for ministerial life in Paris. For 1981, there would be a return to earlier criteria: it was the turn of the Liberal family and of a small country that had never supplied a President: therefore, Gaston Thorn. It was two firsts in one: it was the first time a former Prime Minister had taken up the role and the first time Luxembourg had sent one of its children to Brussels. It would not be the last time, but nobody could imagine it then! Thorn had an admirable European ideal, but did not succeed in pushing things forward. Despite the accession of Greece and the launch of the first technological research programme, the Community’s lights faded. The man was propped up by London, not the Franco-German pair.
The duo would not have to wait long for revenge. In Germany, the name of a certain Biedenkopf (CDU) was bandied around, but he did not have the support of the Chancellor. In June 1984, Kohl took the French Minister for the Economy and Finance, Jacques Delors, to one side and told him that he would not let the job go to anybody but a Frenchman with the initials J.D… Emboldened by the success of his speech – shot through with an explicit European faith – before the Parliament, by the success of the European Council of Fontainebleau, which made peace with Margaret Thatcher, and by his complicity with Kohl, President Mitterrand secured the Presidency of the Commission for France, for the second time in 12 years.
His first thought was of his Minister for External Relations, Claude Cheysson (who, as we have seen, knew his way around the building): he was rejected by the British. In Matignon, Mauroy was replaced by Fabius, sparking the voluntary departure of Delors, who thus became available. And the rest is history! The Ten wrapped it up in July. The British secured the job of Secretary General of the institution, for David Williamson, a position that came free with the retirement of the highly respected Emile Noël, who had held it for 30 years.
The rest of the saga is well known. Two Delors Commissions, of four years and then two, to coincide with the European Parliament elections (1994). Two major treaties, in which the Commission played a driving role, the completion of the single market, intensive legislative activity, the launch of Economic and Monetary Union, the increase in power of the Parliament and in size of the budget, the peaceful reunification of Germany.
Delors left behind him a stronger institution and more prestigious presidency. Could – and should – a successor who embodied similar values be found? Certain countries wanted to try, others wanted the opposite. The gut instinct was that it was the turn of a small country; after a Liberal and a Socialist, there should be a Christian Democrat. The European Council informally added a further criterion: in future, the happy incumbent would be selected from among the members of the club (for which read ‘a head of government’ – which Delors was not). The pool would become smaller, but of greater quality. Possibly…
At the expense of his Dutch colleague Ruud Lubbers, the Belgian Prime Minister, Jean-Luc Dehaene, a Fleming born in Montpellier, a lawyer and an economist, both a go-getter and a skilled negotiator, was the favourite: at the European Council of Corfu (1994), eleven delegations supported him, but John Major played his veto against the appointment of this dangerous federalist (at the time, unanimity was required). The decision-makers would have to fall back on the lowest common denominator, Jacques Santer of Luxembourg. He only narrowly secured the blessing of the Parliament, which would develop a critical attitude towards his entire term in office, up to the point of setting up a group of independent experts who returned a damning report on the functioning of the institution; rather than lose a vote of no-confidence, as they most certainly would have done, the Santer Commission resigned en masse (March 1999), in an unprecedented move. The administration was left shaken and disorientated. The EP was vindicated, punishing the European Council for a decision they always felt was below par.
From these ruins, a new boss had to be picked. In response to an extraordinary situation came ordinary instincts: it was the turn of a large member state again; to follow centre-right, centre-left. The former Italian head of government, Romano Prodi, was available; he was put forward by Chancellor Schröder and others, principally Italy. He won British support in return for pledging an in-depth reform of the administration, which was entrusted to Neil Kinnock, First Vice-President (and a survivor of the Santer team). Enlargement would be sooner and broader than the previous Commission had anticipated. On both of these points, the British vision scored some easy points. (To be continued).
Renaud Denuit