Papandreou's choice: Scylla or Charybdis

And yet the Greeks remain pro-European.

When we thought we had seen it all, as the latest EU summit had produced a deal that was supposed to draw a line under the debt crisis in parts of the eurozone and set the foundations for a healthy future for the single currency the unexpected happened. The Greek PM called a referendum and shocked the whole world as much as he shocked his own government.

European Union leaders are left speechless in disbelief, the markets fell in an existential depression and the Greeks are trying to make peace with the idea they will have to chose between Scylla and Charybdis.

George Papandreou's decision has been described, in equal measure, as blackmail, madness, suicide, even treason? He has obviously run out of political capital. His EU partners do not trust him. At home, many within his own party seem prepared to vote against the new bailout plan (and the new austerity measures that come with it).

So in a moment of desperation he has decided to pose the most impossible of questions to the Greek people. Punishing austerity or certain bankruptcy, humiliating poverty or real starvation, a place in the EU or relegations to the margins of Europe? His hope is that they will support the new bailout plan, offering him political legitimacy to continue implementing the measures imposed by Greece's international creditors in return for loans, financial guarantees and a reduction in the overall size of its debt.

But there lies the problem. The reason why we are still here after two years is that the IMF programme has failed. The remedy used requires violent reduction in the size of the state, deep cuts in spending on public services and relentless privatisation, despite how depressed the value of national assets is.

But those measures have led to the suffocation of economic activity. Unemployment has gone up dramatically, those who still have a job have seen their wages cut significantly, consumers' purchasing power has fallen exponentially, confidence in the economy has disappeared and higher taxes have wiped out what was left.

As a result Greece has been locked in a recessionary vicious circle with no credible plan for growth. If you couple that with a strong sense of injustice among the Greek people who see the political and business elites go unpunished for administrative incompetence, corruption and tax evasion, then we have an explosive mix. As a result there is no guessing when Greek society will explode.

So with a population at the verge of suicide, the outcome of any plebiscite is unpredictable, to put it mildly.

The irony is that the Greeks remain pro-European. They would chose to stay part of the eurozone everyday of the week. What they have come to resent is not so much the EU but the political and economic orthodoxy that is currently in power across Europe. They have been confronted with a set of neo-liberal economic policies that are religiously obsessed with austerity.

As economic growth in Europe is stalling the effects of this ideologically driven economic model are becoming obvious. The European south is stagnating, even big economies that enjoy the confidence of the markets (and have been allowed by them to print money at will) find it difficult to achieve and maintain even the most anaemic levels of growth.

And because the European economy is very interconnected and depends on intra-EU trade as much as it does on extra-EU trade the effects of that stagnation are starting to be felt even in the most affluent, and fiscally healthy, parts of the EU as well.

There is a solution though and it is based on an alternative economic model. Austerity must be replaced by investment. Not just at the national but at the European level as well. There are economies of scale to be achieved, there is added value in spending at the EU level and there is huge need for investment across the continent.

Furthermore, indebted countries must be given more time and better terms to repay their debts and balance their books. That balancing act needs to happen across the EU. In a single market the existence of deficit countries has a direct relation with the existence of surplus countries. If we are to have a common market, with a single currency we also need an integrated economic policy that evens out imbalances, reducing the distance between surpluses and deficits. In addition, the banking sector needs to be cleared out.

European banks are in effect global banks so IMF funds should go into re-capitalising these global banks and ridding them of bad debts, imposing loses on investors that make bad investments. EU funds should be invested in the real economy, in education, research and development, green technologies, telecommunication and energy infrastructure that will help the EU deliver growth and jobs.

Last but not least, efforts to restructure the architecture of the eurozone must be redoubled, with emphasis on economic convergence and common governance via supranational and directly elected institutions. A common currency deserves a common government, one elected by the people and for the people.

The Greeks have been asked a question. But as they are deliberating their answer they pose an even more important question to the EU as a whole. After two years of failed economic policies it is time the EU considered a different plan. One that invests in its people, in its social economic model, in its future as an unified continent.

The stakes could not be higher, not just for the Greeks. But for the EU as a whole.

Petros Fassoulas is the Chairman of the European Movement UK.

Petros Fassoulas is the chairman of European Movement UK

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Erdogan’s purge was too big and too organised to be a mere reaction to the failed coup

There is a specific word for the melancholy of Istanbul. The city is suffering a mighty bout of something like hüzün at the moment. 

Even at the worst of times Istanbul is a beautiful city, and the Bosphorus is a remarkable stretch of sea. Turks get very irritated if you call it a river. They are right. The Bosphorus has a life and energy that a river could never equal. Spend five minutes watching the Bosphorus and you can understand why Orhan Pamuk, Turkey’s Nobel laureate for literature, became fixated by it as he grew up, tracking the movements of the ocean-going vessels, the warships and the freighters as they steamed between Asia and Europe.

I went to an Ottoman palace on the Asian side of the Bosphorus, waiting to interview the former prime minister Ahmet Davu­toglu. He was pushed out of office two months ago by President Recep Tayyip Erdogan when he appeared to be too wedded to the clauses in the Turkish constitution which say that the prime minister is the head of government and the president is a ceremonial head of state. Erdogan was happy with that when he was prime minister. But now he’s president, he wants to change the constitution. If Erdogan can win the vote in parliament he will, in effect, be rubber-stamping the reality he has created since he became president. In the days since the attempted coup, no one has had any doubt about who is the power in the land.

 

City of melancholy

The view from the Ottoman palace was magnificent. Beneath a luscious, pine-shaded garden an oil tanker plied its way towards the Black Sea. Small ferries dodged across the sea lanes. It was not, I hasten to add, Davutoglu’s private residence. It had just been borrowed, for the backdrop. But it reminded a Turkish friend of something she had heard once from the AKP, Erdogan’s ruling party: that they would not rest until they were living in the apartments with balconies and gardens overlooking the Bosphorus that had always been the preserve of the secular elite they wanted to replace.

Pamuk also writes about hüzün, the melancholy that afflicts the citizens of Istanbul. It comes, he says, from the city’s history and its decline, the foghorns on the Bosphorus, from tumbledown walls that have been ruins since the fall of the Byzantine empire, unemployed men in tea houses, covered women waiting for buses that never come, pelting rain and dark evenings: the city’s whole fabric and all the lives within it. “My starting point,” Pamuk wrote, “was the emotion that a child might feel while looking through a steamy window.”

Istanbul is suffering a mighty bout of something like hüzün at the moment. In Pamuk’s work the citizens of Istanbul take a perverse pride in hüzün. No one in Istanbul, or elsewhere in Turkey, can draw comfort from what is happening now. Erdogan’s opponents wonder what kind of future they can have in his Turkey. I think I sensed it, too, in the triumphalist crowds of Erdogan supporters that have been gathering day after day since the coup was defeated.

 

Down with the generals

Erdogan’s opponents are not downcast because the coup failed; a big reason why it did was that it had no public support. Turks know way too much about the authoritarian ways of military rule to want it back. The melancholy is because Erdogan is using the coup to entrench himself even more deeply in power. The purge looks too far-reaching, too organised and too big to have been a quick reaction to the attempt on his power. Instead it seems to be a plan that was waiting to be used.

Turkey is a deeply unhappy country. It is hard to imagine now, but when the Arab uprisings happened in 2011 it seemed to be a model for the Middle East. It had elections and an economy that worked and grew. When I asked Davutoglu around that time whether there would be a new Ottoman sphere of influence for the 21st century, he smiled modestly, denied any such ambition and went on to explain that the 2011 uprisings were the true succession to the Ottoman empire. A century of European, and then American, domination was ending. It had been a false start in Middle Eastern history. Now it was back on track. The people of the region were deciding their futures, and perhaps Turkey would have a role, almost like a big brother.

Turkey’s position – straddling east and west, facing Europe and Asia – is the key to its history and its future. It could be, should be, a rock of stability in a desperately un­stable part of the world. But it isn’t, and that is a problem for all of us.

 

Contagion of war

The coup did not come out of a clear sky. Turkey was in deep crisis before the attempt was made. Part of the problem has come from Erdogan’s divisive policies. He has led the AKP to successive election victories since it first won in 2002. But the policies of his governments have not been inclusive. As long as his supporters are happy, the president seems unconcerned about the resentment and opposition he is generating on the other side of politics.

Perhaps that was inevitable. His mission, as a political Islamist, was to change the country, to end the power of secular elites, including the army, which had been dominant since Mustafa Kemal Atatürk created modern Turkey after the collapse of the Ottoman empire. And there is also the influence of chaos and war in the Middle East. Turkey has borders with Iraq and Syria, and is deeply involved in their wars. The borders do not stop the contagion of violence. Hundreds of people have died in the past year in bomb attacks in Turkish cities, some carried out by the jihadists of so-called Islamic State, and some sent by Kurdish separatists working under the PKK.

It is a horrible mix. Erdogan might be able to deal with it better if he had used the attempted coup to try to unite Turkey. All the parliamentary parties condemned it. But instead, he has turned the power of the state against his opponents. More rough times lie ahead.

Jeremy Bowen is the BBC’s Middle East editor. He tweets @bowenbbc

This article first appeared in the 28 July 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Summer Double Issue