Old Europe, new ideas: A look at what works

Um artigo de Katrin Bennhold para o International Herald Tribune em 10 de Agosto de 2005. Uma breve viagem pelas políticas comunitárias que entraram no nosso quotidiano.

Bertrand Kurtz, a Frenchman, reckons that he crosses the Rhine about 500 times a year. The frontier between France and Germany, which generations of his ancestors died fighting for, is on his way to work.
"You actually forget that there is a border because no one ever stops you anymore - that's the luxury of my generation," said Kurtz, 49, who lives outside Strasbourg and works as the top mechanic at a car repair shop in Kehl, Germany. "My grandfather fought in World War I, my father was deported by the Germans in World War II, and I live my life in both countries."
Here in Alsace, one of the most contested regions during centuries of intermittent war in Europe, the everyday reality of the Continent's open borders brings home perhaps the most tangible achievement of the European Union: Every day millions of Europeans move freely across the EU's open borders to travel, work and study in countries that were once considered enemies.
Indeed, amid the current pessimism about Europe, a number of things appear to work rather well.
"When you read the newspaper these days you could be forgiven for thinking that Europe is a failure on all fronts," said Dieter Rogalla, a former member of the European Parliament from Germany. "Of course the EU has to overcome some very serious legitimacy issues with its citizens. But just stop to think how many times a day we take advantage of something that wouldn't be possible without the EU."
Many border controls have vanished. The euro, shared by 12 of the EU's 25 members, consigned to history the time-consuming business of changing money at borders. Within the zone, banks no longer charge a fee for cash withdrawals outside the country of residence. The common market and deregulation of state monopolies have cut phone costs and led to the emergence of low-cost airlines connecting cities that were not linked before.
Europeans, benefiting from a single standard, can use their mobile phones from the western tip of Portugal to the Polish-Ukrainian border. They enjoy an abundance of arts festivals supported by EU grants.
And they have more time to enjoy them, with longer vacations and a shorter workweek than Americans and Asians.
Kurtz, for example, pays income taxes in France, where he lives, and social security contributions in Germany, where he works. He can choose a doctor on either side of the frontier. He buys his clothes in Germany, where they tend to be cheaper, but shops for food in France.
His two sons are bilingual, like their father, and Kurtz himself went for a year of further education in northern Germany at age 43.
According to Rogalla, who was a customs officer in Germany in the 1960s and famously tore down a border fence between France and Germany in the early 1980s, nothing has been more symbolic and effective in weaving Europe closer together than scrapping border controls.
Ten years ago, the Schengen agreement paved the way for passport-free travel among 15 European countries. Britain and Ireland never gave up their border checks, but Norway and Iceland adhered to the pact and the 10 mainly Eastern European members that joined the EU last year are scheduled to join the agreement in 2007 if they can prove that they are capable of securing their external borders.
The July terror attacks in London cast a shadow over such carefree travel. Less than a week after the first wave of bombings, France became the first country to reimpose border controls, using temporary emergency procedures spelled out in the Schengen accord. When it emerged that one of the London suspects managed to travel by train across the Continent to Italy before being caught, the debate about whether to tighten controls intensified.
On the Bridge of Europe connecting Strasbourg and Kehl, however, commuters have so far noticed no changes and many say they cannot imagine going back to the days of passport controls.
According to Günther Petry, the mayor of Kehl, as many as half of the workers employed in industry in and around his city are French and more than half of local retail sales depend on French customers. "It is inconceivable that the border comes back," he said. "There are practical, economic reasons, but also symbolic reasons. Here at the frontier, history is much more alive."
From the Thirty Years War that ended in 1648 to the devastation of World War II, Alsace was a pawn in an intermittent tug-of-war between the various incarnations of modern-day France and Germany. Today home to the Council of Europe and the European Parliament, the region switched back and forth between France and Germany five times. A local joke says that Alsatians keep German street signs in their basements, just in case.
The divided history of the region became that of countless families. In the ornate sacristy of the Gothic Roman Catholic cathedral that dominates the center of Strasbourg, the Reverend Joseph Musser, 60, has a typical tale. His grandfather was born in the late 19th century, when Alsace belonged to Germany, and fought on the German side in World War I. His father was a toddler when the region was returned to France after World War I; he fought on the French side in World War II.
Musser's life has paralleled the EU's rise from the rubble of the war. Two of his nephews are married to Germans. "Here in Alsace," he says, "Franco-German reconciliation is not just an abstract concept - it is a daily reality."
That reality has left its traces everywhere. On both sides of the border most schools offer bilingual programs. The border police drive joint patrols twice a week and the mayors of Strasbourg and Kehl would like to create a "Eurodistrict" enveloping both their cities, perhaps with a joint telephone code and license plate.
Niels Pakull, 20, whose mother is Swiss-French and father is German, has a bilingual high-school diploma and is in the process of obtaining a bilingual degree in management studies, his time divided between Reutlingen in Germany and Reims in France. "Sometimes I feel German, sometimes I feel French," said Pakull, who is spending his summer break working for the city of Strasbourg, which temporarily transferred him to the city of Kehl to help out at an outdoor pool. "But I definitely feel European."
In Colmar, 70 kilometers, or 45 miles, south of Strasbourg, Bernard Sturm, 65, says he rejects the idea of nationality altogether, arguing that he feels Alsatian first and European second - not French. "We have the efficiency of the Germans and the savoir vivre of the French - we have the best of both worlds," said Sturm, sitting in a café opposite the imposing German-designed red-brick train station.
A trip through the lush wine country sloping up the Rhine Valley reveals timbered houses and picturesque village churches on both sides of the river. The region is home to Riesling, the renowned German wine, and Kronenbourg, the best-known French beer, which is brewed south of Strasbourg.
But despite a longstanding cultural melange, both sides of the border have retained their separate identities: If Alsace is the most Germanic part of France, with cultural, artistic and linguistic links spanning centuries, it is still French, compared with the German Rhine Valley's decidedly German feel.
"The charm of this region is that you have both," Petry said. He speaks German to city officials in Strasbourg and they answer in French. "We understand each other but still prefer to speak our own languages - it works well."
Two months after the rejection of the proposed European constitution by French and Dutch voters, as politicians across the EU scramble to find ways of reconnecting with disenchanted citizens, the experience of Alsace may hold some lessons.
Unlike France as a whole, Strasbourg voted overwhelmingly in favor of the constitution in a May referendum. Sixty-three percent cast their ballots in favor of the charter, while 55 percent of the French said no in a vote that appeared to be aimed as much against an unloved national government as an EU that fails to inspire.
"When you are exposed to your neighbors and close to the European institutions, you are not afraid of Europe, it's as simple as that," said Pascal Mangin, 35, deputy mayor of Strasbourg in charge of European affairs. "We've changed nationality five times and Europe has managed to overcome all that history. When you are next to your secular enemy and forget that there is a border, now that is a powerful message."