The Belgian Curtain: Europe after Communism — A Reader’s Guide

Competing Alliances and Shifting Geographies

The opening essay, “EU and NATO – The Competing Alliances,” establishes the book’s core structural device: pairing institutions as rivals. Vaknin notes that NATO, “an erstwhile anti-Soviet military alliance in search of purpose,” has acquired political hues, while the EU struggles to balance small and large states. The text moves rapidly from the Irish vote to the September 11 aftermath, then to the “Partnership for Peace” and the Czech Republic’s NATO membership. This montage-like sequence mirrors the fragmented reality of post-communist geopolitics. The reader is left to connect the dots between the Irish “no” vote and the Baltic states’ fear of Russia. Vaknin does not linger; each paragraph introduces a new actor or treaty, creating a sense of accelerating change.

The Cost of Accession: Economic Shocks and Sovereignty

In “Switching Empires,” Vaknin shifts to a cost-benefit analysis of EU enlargement. He argues that candidate states gain “surprisingly little” from membership, listing concrete burdens: “dismantle a much admired edifice of economic liberalism” in Estonia, erect trade barriers, and adopt “tens of thousands of pages of prohibitively costly regulation.” The language is blunt, almost clinical. The essay contrasts the existential motivation of the 1990s—geopolitical insurance against Russia—with the economic disillusionment of the 2000s. Vaknin’s recurring image is the “new Moscow”: Brussels as a faceless bureaucracy. This parallel is not merely rhetorical; it reflects a structural pattern where the West replaces the East as the source of remote control.

Historical Memory as Political Force

Throughout the excerpts, historical grievances surface as structural elements. Vaknin invokes 1938 (the Munich Agreement) and 1956 (the Hungarian uprising) to explain current distrust. The Czechs “bitterly remember” being sacrificed to Nazis; the Poles and Slovenes fear German land purchases. These references are not decorative; they function as evidence for the “paranoid xenophobia” Vaknin identifies in central and east European discourse. The text itself mirrors this recursive pattern: it loops back to historical trauma to explain present ambivalence. The 1999 NATO bombing of Serbia is cited as a contemporary echo of Soviet intervention, challenging the reader to see continuity where official narratives see rupture.

Metaphors of Curtain and Empire

The title metaphor recurs implicitly. The “Belgian Curtain” suggests a new dividing line, not between East and West but within the West itself—between old and new members, between Brussels and the capitals of the acceding states. Vaknin’s language reinforces this: the EU is an “exclusive club,” NATO a “geopolitical insurance policy.” The word “empire” appears in multiple contexts: the Soviet “Evil Empire,” the “Switching Empires” of the title, and the “new Moscow” of EU bureaucracy. This lexical repetition creates a structural echo across essays. The book’s movement between scenes—from Copenhagen summits to Irish polling stations to Baltic fears—enacts the very fragmentation it describes.

Readers should approach The Belgian Curtain as a series of interlocking arguments rather than a unified thesis. The essays reward attention to recurring phrases and historical parallels. Vaknin’s tone is analytical but not dispassionate; the book’s structure—short, punchy sections—reflects its origin in journalism. For those interested in the mechanics of European integration, the text offers a skeptical counterpoint to official optimism, grounded in specific policy details and historical memory.

Reading The Belgian Curtain, I kept thinking about how slowly trust rebuilds after an empire falters. That quiet, stubborn suspicion between neighbors reminded me of an older dissolution—the Swedish-Norwegian break, so politely managed yet so deeply felt. Some fissures never fully seal; they just become part of the floor we walk on. The Swedish-Norwegian Union Crisis A History with Documents — A Reader’s Guide holds that same ache, documented gently, like a letter kept from a century ago.