The row over Ukrainian grain imports shows that politicians in Eastern Europe can be their own worst enemies. Five Eastern European countries – Bulgaria, Romania and Slovakia, led by Poland and Hungary – failed to convince other EU member states that the existing ban on imports of grain from Ukraine, imposed earlier this year, should be extended beyond 15 September. As a result, at least three of them – Poland, Hungary and Slovakia – will now adopt their own restrictions, in defiance of the EU.
What is all too clear is that the countries seeking a ban, particularly Poland, have elevated short-term political considerations above their own long-term interest in Ukraine. Their push for an EU policy that would actively harm Ukraine at the worst possible moment, and a unilateral pursuit of the same plan, bodes ill for the idea that Europe’s centre of political gravity is finally shifting to the east.
It’s true that Eastern European politicians were prescient about Russia’s threat. Poland’s leadership following Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, including its rearmament, deserves nothing but praise. The region’s economic take-off after 1990, driven by pro-market reforms, has been spectacular. On one metric of household consumption, Poland has already overtaken Spain and is on par with Ireland.
Some of Ukraine’s staunchest supporters have adopted short-sighted positions to cater to special interests at home
However, countries in Eastern Europe have a long way to go to project their influence in the EU or Nato – or, as the grain issue illustrates, to be effective advocates of their own interests. A recent meeting of the Three Seas Initiative in Bucharest, spearheaded by Eastern European countries, had little in the way of a substantive agenda – other than vague gestures at greater ‘connectivity’ within the region. More broadly, while they succeeded in getting France’s Emmanuel Macron onboard, Eastern European leaders have thus far failed to convince the United States to make a firm commitment to Ukraine’s membership in Nato, which would have been a major step towards ending the war.
The reason for this is not simply a lack of power or the condescension to which Eastern Europeans politicians are routinely treated in Western capitals. ‘New Europe’ has substantial heft in the EU – it holds almost a quarter of the total voting power, determined by population size. Add the Nordics into the mix and the proportion rises to over 27 per cent. However, even on matters that directly affect the shared interests of the Eastern bloc, that power is rarely used wisely or effectively. Aside from Viktor Orbán’s Hungary, which has long been viewed as a source of friction in the rollout of new sanctions packages, even some of Ukraine’s staunchest supporters have adopted short-sighted positions to cater to special interests at home.
The ban on Ukrainian grain perfectly illustrates this. In Poland, the ruling Law and Justice Party (PiS) is up for re-election on 15 October and the party relies on support in rural areas. Low food prices would normally be welcomed in times of rampant inflation – except that downward pressure on agricultural prices harms local farmers, PiS’s key constituency.
The region’s economic success, too, comes with qualifications. A growth model based on a continuous inflow of foreign direct investment from the West – effectively turning the local Eastern European economies into extensions of Germany’s manufacturing sector – is slowly but surely exhausting itself. Without institutions supporting human capital and innovation (think world-class universities or venture capital ecosystems), economies of the region risk getting stuck in a version of the middle-income trap.
If things go economically south in Germany – as it increasingly seems that they might – Eastern Europe will follow suit. Meanwhile, Warsaw and its partners, so keen to confront Brussels on its social and cultural liberalism and questions of national sovereignty, have largely failed to steer the EU away from policies that are likely to accelerate the continent’s economic downturn. These include the rush to decarbonise quickly and at any price, even if it means Europe’s and Germany’s gradual deindustrialisation, and the creation of new economic dependencies on China in the automotive sector, for example.
The region has also failed to act as an effective counterweight to the EU’s protectionist instincts, in particular those of France, directed at America’s tech giants. What are, for example, Eastern Europe’s common positions on deepening the single market, digital services, or AI? Estonians, or Latvians, surely have their own views on such subjects. Why don’t we hear more from politicians from these countries?
The question of Europe’s economic future increasingly hinges on whether Eastern Europe as a bloc, together with the Nordic countries and the Netherlands, can lead a broad pro-market coalition to counter some of the worst ideas originating in Paris and Berlin, not unlike the United Kingdom did before Brexit. On that point, alas, Eastern European leaders leave a lot to be desired – to their own detriment and to the detriment of Europe and the wider Western alliance as a whole.
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