Gods and mortals play at EU games

Dateline Dublin 2005: Crisis in Cyprus as Greece moves missiles to Green Line. Riots in streets. UN peacekeepers under fire. EU again faces funding crisis as budget deadline nears and Poland and Hungary prepare for accession.

The WTO demands swingeing cuts in price support. Ireland assumes Presidency with pledge to complete a new treaty-changing Inter-Governmental Conference, but floundering already under pressure . . .

"You are a god," the lady from the British embassy told the European Diary as he arrived at the EU Council HQ in UCD's Industry Centre on Saturday.

"You're very kind", this correspondent replied.

But the temptation of immortality is too great. Forsaking journalistic aloofness on the basis that writing history beats writing about it, your not-so-humble scribe accepted his new status as one of the adjudicators.

We were guests of the British embassy, UCD and AIB in a game for graduate students of International Relations supposed to give a taste of the dynamics of EU diplomacy; a packed weekend of talks and negotiations that had to compress into two days the twists and turns of a six-month presidency and culminate in a mock EU summit.

The rules are simple: the gods are in charge, omnipotent, there to impose a degree of realism when student imaginations let rip as they are wont to do. Every move must be approved. No one wins, little is achieved.

And, between sessions, Leo Enright grills participants for news bulletins about potential domestic fall-out. Germany's Lander are rebelling at the government's readiness to foot ever-increasing EU bills. The Mayor of London, Ken Livingstone, blocks concessions on the British rebate.

Teams from UCD, TCD, Limerick University, Aberdeen, Aberystwyth, Galway and Dublin's Institute for European Affairs assume the roles of EU member-states, and we're off with a flurry of activity aimed at finding a permanent location for the Parliament.

"I think we'd better kill off a peacekeeper, preferably Irish. That should concentrate minds," one of the gods suggested. Sure enough. We're talking Cyprus in no time and the Turks are refusing to come to talks until the Greek missiles are removed.

Suddenly there's a Franco-British initiative in the air and no sign of the presidency. The Finns protest at Ireland letting down the small member-states, and an almighty wrangle ensues about whether a peace conference should be EU-led, NATO-led or led by the European members of NATO . . .

All delightfully realistic except that in their enthusiasm the participants have overlooked the fact that Greece's declared willingness - most improbably - to remove the missiles before talks even begin means that we may not actually need peace talks at all. Better kill off a few more peacekeepers. Nordics this time.

The budget talks are bogged down on every front. "No!" say the French, Spanish, Portuguese and Greeks to CAP reform. "We will not sell our farmers short."

The British waver on their hated rebate, but backs are stiffened following blatant interference by the British god. "My career is on the line," she says apologetically.

The Dutch want no increase in spending, but their finance minister has a novel approach to raising money. "Cash for Hash" seems unlikely to win support despite an appeal on air: "Don't blow on our cash, cash in on our blow." Alistair Campbell could not have put it better.

Treaty reform is not faring much better, although the Portuguese have a formula for representation in the Parliament that is winning ground but will be scuppered in the end by a French "Let's send it to a committee" demarche. Classic!

"Strasbourg, Strasbourg, Strasbourg" is all the French will say on the location issue, although they do promise to improve the TGV route.

The gods dream up a Food and Drug Agency with a staff of 6,000 Eurocrats. A location must be found for it, too, and the Spanish have soon laid claim.

It occurs to no one - perhaps Annabelle's is to blame for somewhat dulled overnight thinking - that this is the sugar for the French pill. Give them the agency in return for a Brussels home for the Parliament. No one bites. The problem with the game is there is not enough reward for problem-solving, a bit like playing poker for matchsticks.

No progress either on the extension of majority voting. And now the Spanish foreign minister has been assassinated and the Belgians are refusing to extradite the ETA suspect. All in a day's work.

But the presidency summit declaration is a blank piece of paper. Nothing has been agreed and the EU's political crisis moves from dangerous to critical . . . Who said it was easy?

Time up, and this god sets off back to town, and mortality, not in a winged chariot but the No 10 bus. Sobering.

Patrick Smyth can be contacted at psmyth@irish-times.ie