BRUSSELS IS THE comic capital of Europe. I don’t say this as a criticism; nor even as a comment on the fact that, while still serving as the hub of the greatest political project in modern history – the EU – it is also central to a dispute that has left Belgium itself without an effective government for two years now; although that is ironic when you think about it.
No. It’s just that Brussels has designated itself European “Capital of the Comic” for 2009: celebrating Belgium’s long association with that art form, through such children’s favourites as as Tin Tin and the Smurfs. A year-long programme of events includes the unveiling next week of the world’s largest comic strip – 500 square metres of it – in the city’s Market Square.
It is also a fact, nevertheless, that the constitutional crisis continues, with no real sign of a breakthrough. As you may know, it came to a head in the 2007 general elections, when the majority Flemish community voted for candidates unsympathetic to the federation with the charmingly-named Walloons (who sound like an exotic bird species but are actually the French-speaking minority).
Thrown together by a 19th-century shotgun marriage, the partners have become increasingly estranged in recent times, partly due to money. The Flemish have grown wealthy and prefer free-market policies; the once-wealthy Walloons are now poor and socialist. There’s also the “BHV question”, which I won’t even get into. But despite this and the population difference, the constitution gives them a more-or-less equal say at federal level; hence the difficulty in forming a stable government.
When I flew into Brussels earlier this week, I expected to see evidence of the long power vacuum. Perhaps the Grand Place would have been reduced to smouldering ruins by rioters? Maybe there would be piles of rotting refuse in streets overrun by rats? At the very least, surely one could expect a slight decline in quality of the country’s famous beer and chocolate?
Au contraire; or as they in Flemish, intengendeen. Brussels has rarely looked better. The chocolate is in excellent condition. The Grand Place is still a picture postcard. The city’s parks remain well looked after (except by dog owners). It’s true that the weather was mostly cloudy when I was there. But so, happily, was the beer. As far as I could judge, the country’s Trappist brewers have not dropped their quality controls.
The Manneken Pis looked as cheerful as ever, urinating for the tourists’ cameras. I was finally corrected on the pronunciation of his name, having always assumed that the second word was spoken French-style, which wouldn’t sound quite so rude. But no, apparently: unlike some of the beer-making monks, the S is not silent. The pronunciation is “piss”. And in the current circumstances, the manneken seemed to making a comment on the redundancy of central government.
It’s true that I didn’t meet many Belgians during my short visit, and so couldn’t ask them about the BHV question. I was in Brussels to speak at the annual dinner of the city’s UCD Alumni association, and most of the people I talked to were Irish.
But then it’s a common experience among those who work in the EU institutions that it can be quite hard to meet Belgians in Brussels, and I suspect this is no accident.
There seems to be a strong anarchist streak in the country that makes the locals avoid contact with anyone in positions of power. Maybe that’s why the shortage of government hasn’t made much difference to everyday life.
The UCD graduates seem to be holding up well under the strain. Living even in a rudderless Belgium may have its problems. But it seems to a better option currently than living here, where our most radical experiment with anarchism so far has been to reduce the number of junior ministers to 15.
I gathered that last year’s guest speaker, Ombudsman Emily O’Reilly, had discussed among other things the problems Ireland was having in dealing with its new-found wealth. And the only good news I could bring from home this year was that those
problems had been greatly alleviated.
While in Brussels, I paid a quick visit to the Centre Belge de la Bande Dessinée – the comic-strip museum. This is housed in a former department store designed a century ago by Belgium’s greatest architect, Victor Horta. Thus I was killing two birds with one stone: tracing the adventures of the intrepid Tin Tin as he travelled the globe solving various local difficulties, and getting to admire a masterpiece of Art Nouveau by its leading exponent.
The building is a study in harmony, unlike contemporary Belgium. Probably not even Tin Tin could find a solution acceptable to both the Flemings and Walloons, whose relationship seems to have broken down irretrievably. Their friends do not expect a reconciliation. But the hope is that, with it being the year of the comic and all, they will stay together a while longer, if only for the sake of the children.
fmcnally@irishtimes.com