Drifting Apart

The men who signed the American Declaration of Independence 230 years ago were determined to build a bold new nation in the world. "These United Colonies are, and of Right ought to be Free and Independent States," they proclaimed. "All political connection between them and the State of Great Britain, is and ought to be totally dissolved." They got their wish. For more than a century, the new United

States of America fixed its attention westward, away from the Old World and toward its own expansion. But the divorce was never intended to be total. Much of the Declaration itself was a plea for European sympathy and understanding. "Let Facts be submitted to a candid world," it argued. "A decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation." If the Americans were insisting on moving out of the house, they still wanted to be invited back for the holidays.

But would they be, today? Wherever you look in Europe, there is a palpable estrangement from U.S. values and rhetoric, at least as expressed by the leaders of the current Administration. What are the wellsprings of current sour European attitudes to the U.S., and how deep are they? How long will they last? How serious are their implications for the ability of the great democracies to work together to confront some of the most pressing issues facing the world?

It's easy to dismiss Europe's current, curdled view of things American as something that will change over time. After all, it has done so before. Sure, the argument goes, the Bush Administration has alienated Europe — over Iraq and Guantánamo and global warming, to name but three salient issues — but so did Dwight Eisenhower when he pulled the plug on the British-French-Israeli invasion of Suez, Lyndon Johnson with the Vietnam War, Ronald Reagan when he deployed Pershing and cruise missiles despite Continent-wide protests. So maybe if we just wait a while, the ship will right itself, buoyed up by a vast ocean of common experience and belief: a commitment to democracy and free markets, intensifying economic links, a shared culture that ranges from the Magna Carta to Montesquieu to Madonna to Mastercard to mtv.

In one sense that has to be right. In a world still complex and dangerous, Europeans know they will not often find more natural partners than the Americans. Even as politicians disagree over how to handle Iraq and carbon emissions, French scientists find their labs are being funded along more entrepreneurial American lines, the British newspaper the Guardian has a huge U.S. readership for its website, and in Angela Merkel, Germany has elected a Chancellor determined to improve relations with the U.S. Since George W. Bush came to office, polls have shown that Europeans blame him personally more than the U.S. in general for what ails U.S.-European ties. The Transatlantic Trends survey conducted in 12 European countries for the German Marshall Fund of the United States, released last month, found that only 18% of Europeans approve of the way Bush handles international affairs. Nevertheless, 37% think U.S. leadership in world affairs is generally desirable — still a low number (down from 64% in 2002), but more than double Bush's personal score. Ron Asmus, an American who heads the Marshall Fund's Transatlantic Center in Brussels, says: "Europe has made up its mind on George Bush. But in 2008, the page will be turned. Europeans will take a new look at America, and that's when it gets interesting."

Well, maybe. But I have been writing about U.S. foreign policy for 30 years and living in Europe for the last seven, and while I hope Asmus is right, I fear there are bigger centrifugal trends at work than a single President and his unpopular war.