A mild defence of Belgium

In Belgium, First World War memorials bear rousing inscriptions such as “POUR LA PATRIE” AND “GESNEUVELD VOOR HET VADERLAND”, but seem reluctant to give this “Patrie” or “Vaderland” a name.

Is this because Belgium is a completely artificial state with more in common with Bosnia, a country that struggles to command the loyalty of most of its population, than with Switzerland, which grew organically into a state with a strong identity? Opponents of European integration are particularly keen proponents of this view, seeing Belgium as a kind of prototype for the grander project of breaking down linguistic barriers across the continent to create a European superstate.

But those who wish to defend national identity against the anti-historical cultural vandalism of the European Union should perhaps be wary of denigrating Belgium, which in Britain at least, is sneeringly dismissed as both artificial and boring. Opponents of Belgium’s existence are fond of pointing out that it was created in 1831 by foreigners against the wishes of most of its inhabitants, in contrast to Switzerland’s much more gradual and consensual emergence as an independent state, a process that began in 1291.

But the similarities between Belgium and Switzerland could be much more important than the very different ways in which they came into being.

Perhaps the most important similarity is that, while both countries are made up of populations that speak the same languages as inhabitants of neighbouring countries, the Swiss and the Belgians do not see these countries as their home nations. The inhabitants of Geneva and Liege are French-speaking, but they are no more French than the citizens of Swansea and Glasgow are English. People from Antwerp speak Dutch and people from Zurich speak German, but they are not Dutch or German. In this regard, Belgium has much more in common with Switzerland than with Bosnia, where Serbs look to Serbia as their homeland and Croats to Croatia.

So the suggestion, made by some who see Belgium as an artificial state, that it should split into two, with Flanders joining the Netherlands and Wallonia France, may be problematic. It is difficult to see how this could be achieved without trampling over the Flemings’ and Walloons’ distinct identities, which have been shaped by hundreds of years of separation from their supposed mother countries. Flying the French tricolour from town halls in Liege and Charleroi in Wallonia and the Dutch flag in Antwerp and Ostend in Flanders would in many ways be just as artificial as the imposition of the EU flag.

Maybe Flanders and Wallonia could respectively join the Netherlands and France in the same way England and Scotland came together to form the United Kingdom in 1707? But it seems highly questionable that either Flanders and the Netherlands or Wallonia and France could emulate this unique coming together of nations. Would the highly-centralised French Republic, with its population of more than 60 million people, be willing to undergo the sweeping constitutional changes needed to create a federation with a territory of less than three-and-a-half million inhabitants? Conversely, would the 16 million Dutch welcome a merger with a new federal unit containing six million people? This seems doubtful.

Paradoxically, a union between Flanders and Wallonia may be the best way for these territories to preserve their distinct identities precisely because of the insurmountable differences between them. Flanders and Wallonia could easily be swallowed up by the Netherlands and France, but within Belgium, they will always be protected by the linguistic division between them.