Gazing into Belgium's widening political and cultural gulf

EUROPEAN DIARY: The two linguistic groups are stretching the political system to its limits, writes ARTHUR BEESLEY

EUROPEAN DIARY:The two linguistic groups are stretching the political system to its limits, writes ARTHUR BEESLEY

FIVE WEEKS after Belgium’s general election, the country’s leaders are still working on a coalition pact in which Dutch-speaking Flemish separatists would share power with French-speaking Socialists. It’s no sprint. The negotiation could continue for months.

The pace of the talks says much about the depth of the linguistic schism in Belgium, a country in which two communities have for generations led parallel lives. Dutch-speakers to the north in Flanders and French-speakers to the south in Wallonia have become increasingly distant, stretching the political system to its limits.

As Belgians celebrate their national day tomorrow, marking 179 years since the coronation of King Léopold I, there is much to reflect on. Agreement on a new political deal is difficult because the communities have less and less to bind them together, with profound differences in the strength of their respective economies adding to the cultural and political gulf between them.

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Sweeping generalisations are inherently risky – who likes the stereotype of the drunken Irish? – but provide useful pointers nonetheless.

While Flanders was long the poor relation in Belgium, it is now far more prosperous than Wallonia, with a higher employment rate and bigger tax revenue. This has changed the dynamic in a relationship that was once defined by French-speakers’ supremacy, in terms of wealth and political clout. Huge flows of public money from Flanders to Wallonia foster a sense of superiority among Flemings – and gnawing frustration in Wallonia over its loss of influence.

“The Flemish people have the feeling that they don’t have a lot to learn from the French-speakers,” says Dirk De Wilde, a journalist with Dutch-language daily De Tijd.

Locals say the cohesiveness between the communities has declined. They watch different news bulletins, read different papers, listen to different radio stations. Big-name pop singers and writers on one side are dismissed on the other.

The thinking goes that the only binding forces are King Albert II and the national soccer squad.

For pragmatic reasons, fewer young Flemings bother to perfect their French and instead choose to concentrate on English. On the other side, many French-speakers have little enthusiasm for Dutch.

Just as Irish children must take lessons in the first national language, Belgians are obliged to learn the language they don’t speak at home until the age of 15. And, like the Irish, many leave school with little to show for the effort.

All of this adds to a language divide that permeates all aspects of life. Entrenched in the education system, the separation runs through most of the state institutions. Political parties campaign in one community or the other, but never the two.

Even the sense of humour is different.

This lends no little potency to the argument that Belgium is essentially two countries in one, its cultural differences stemming from the ancient divide between northern and southern Europe. Facile, perhaps, but locals say it rings true.

Up in Flanders, they readily profess devotion to quick-thinking, entrepreneurial efficiency. For a romantic attachment to eloquence and an afternoon snooze, go south. Or so the story goes. The Flemings also have the reputation of being keener on work than Walloons.

In the middle of the country stands Brussels, officially bilingual but predominantly French-speaking.

The city, however, remains home to Belgium’s old money. Inevitably, wealthy French-speakers look down on their poorer confreres.

Most of this is at odds with the power structures that held sway in Belgium for more than a century. While the language divide goes back to Roman times, French was the language of the ruling elite when the Belgian state was formed in 1831.

Wallonia became the prime beneficiary of the industrial revolution, confirming its dominance and the status of its language. Only in 1898 was Flemish recognised as a second language, and it wasn’t used in schools for another 30 years.

By 1962, however, the force of increasing Flemish assertiveness resulted in the country’s official division between Flanders, Wallonia and bilingual Brussels. This coincided with the rise of the Flemish economy, which benefited from large motor industries and the port of Antwerp. Meanwhile, the traditional coal and steel industries of Wallonia waned.

Decentralisation of the national government in the 1980s and early 1990s added to regional autonomy, but turned the two communities away from each other.

Whereas opinion polls repeatedly show that most Belgians don’t want the country to break up, it was the arch Flemish nationalist, Bart De Waver, who took the election spoils last month. That his economic policy is glaringly at odds with that of the French-speaking Socialists isn’t even half the story.

The longer the talks on go, the more questions will be asked about the country’s viability. But talk of dissolution still seems far-fetched.

Observers say the king and the enormous national debt could be dealt with in any break-up, but not the ownership of Brussels. Far too big and important for either side to yield, the city could be the country’s ultimate bedrock. In the scheme of things, it’s little enough to go on.