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‘We were all wrong’: how

Germany got hooked on
Russian energy
Germany has been forced to admit it was a
terrible mistake to become so dependent on
Russian oil and gas. So why did it happen?
by Patrick Wintour

An oil refinery in Leuna, Germany in 2007. Photograph: Getty Images

O
Thu 2 Jun 2022 06.00 BST

n Sunday 1 February 1970, senior politicians and gas executives

from Germany and the Soviet Union gathered at the upmarket
Hotel Kaiserhof in Essen. They were there to celebrate the
signing of a contract for the first major Russia-Germany gas
pipeline, which was to run from Siberia to the West German border at
Marktredwitz in Bavaria. The contract was the result of nine months of
intense bargaining over the price of the gas, the cost of 1.2m tonnes of
German pipes to be sold to Russia, and the credit terms offered to Moscow by
a consortium of 17 German banks. Aware of the risk of Russia defaulting, the
German banks’ chief financial negotiator, Friedrich Wilhelm Christians, took
the precaution of asking for a loan from the federal government, explaining:
“I don’t do any somersaults without a net, especially not on a trapeze.”

The relationship would benefit both sides: Germany would supply the
machines and high-quality industrial goods; Russia would provide the raw
material to fuel German industry. High-pressure pipelines and their
supporting infrastructure hold the potential to bind countries together, since
they require trust, cooperation and mutual dependence. But this was not just
a commercial deal, as the presence at the hotel of the German economic
minister Karl Schiller showed. For the advocates of Ostpolitik – the new
“eastern policy” of rapprochement towards the Soviet Union and its allies
including East Germany, launched the previous year under chancellor Willy
Brandt – this was a moment of supreme political consequence. Schiller, an
economist by training, was to describe it as part of an effort at “political and
human normalisation with our Eastern neighbours”.

The sentiment was laudable, but for some observers it was a potentially
dangerous move. Before the signing, Nato had discreetly written to the
German economics ministry to inquire about the security implications.
Norbert Plesser, head of the gas department at the ministry, had assured
Nato that there was no cause for alarm: Germany would never rely on Russia
for even 10% of its gas supplies.

Half a century later, in 2020, Russia would supply more than half of
Germany’s natural gas and about a third of all the oil that Germans burned to
heat homes, power factories and fuel vehicles. Roughly half of Germany’s
coal imports, which are essential to its steel manufacturing, came from
Russia.

An arrangement that began as a peacetime opening to a former foe has

turned into an instrument of aggression. Germany is now funding Russia’s
war. In the first two months after the start of Russia’s assault on Ukraine,
Germany is estimated to have paid nearly €8.3bn for Russian energy – money
used by Moscow to prop up the rouble and buy the artillery shells firing at
Ukrainian positions in Donetsk. In that time, EU countries are estimated to
have paid a total of €39bn for Russian energy, more than double the sum
they have given to help Ukraine defend itself. The irony is painful. “For thirty
years, Germans lectured Ukrainians about fascism,” the historian Timothy
Snyder wrote recently. “When fascism actually arrived, Germans funded it,
and Ukrainians died fighting it.”

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When Putin invaded Ukraine in February, Germany faced a particular

problem. Its rejection of nuclear power and its transition away from coal
meant that Germany had very few alternatives to Russian gas. Berlin has
been forced to accept that it was a cataclysmic error to have made itself so
dependent on Russian energy – whatever the motives behind it. The foreign
minister, Annalena Baerbock, says Germany failed to listen to the warnings
from countries that had once suffered under Russia’s occupation, such as
Poland and the Baltic states. For Norbert Röttgen, a former environment
minister and member of Angela Merkel’s Christian Democrat Union (CDU),
the German government bowed to industry forces pressing for cheap gas “all
too easily”, while “completely ignoring the geopolitical risks”.

In February this year, German Green economic affairs and climate action
minister Robert Habeck said that gas storage facilities owned by Gazprom in
Germany had been “systematically emptied” over the winter, to drive up
prices and exert political pressure. It was a staggering admission of Russia’s
power to disrupt energy supplies.

“I was wrong,” the former German finance minister, Wolfgang Schäuble,

says, simply. “We were all wrong.”

In recent weeks even Frank-Walter Steinmeier, the German president, a

totemic figure of the Social Democrats and greatest German advocate of the
trade “bridge” between east and west, has recanted. He admits he misread
Russia’s intentions as he pursued the construction of a new undersea gas
pipeline. “My adherence to Nord Stream 2 was clearly a mistake,” he told
German media in April. “We held on to bridges that Russia no longer believed
in, and that our partners warned us about.” This is an extraordinary
admission for a man who acted as chief of staff to Gerhard Schröder, the
Social Democratic chancellor from 1998 to 2005 and thereafter a lavishly
rewarded, and much reviled, lobbyist for Vladimir Putin. Steinmeier was also
foreign minister under Chancellor Merkel, and a great evangelist for Wandel
durch Handel, the concept that trade and dialogue can bring about social and
political change.

How did Germany end up making such a blunder? Some argue that Merkel
should have seen that Putin was taking Russia in an authoritarian direction
when he announced his return to the presidency in 2011. After Russia’s
invasion of Ukraine in 2014, Germany made no move to stop importing
Russian gas, and although Merkel threatened to introduce crippling trade
sanctions, German industry convinced her to hold back. But some blame a
more persistent misjudgment stretching back 50 years, based on a fallacy
that authoritarian countries can be transformed through trade.

Destroyed buildings in Borodianka, Ukraine, in April. Photograph: Alexey Furman/Getty Images

The Social Democrats have now set up a review into whether the policy of
Ostpolitik – first laid out in a landmark speech in July 1963 by Egon Bahr,
then the closest adviser to West Berlin’s mayor and chancellor-to-be, Willy
Brandt – became deformed over time, especially after securing its great
:
achievement, the fall of the Berlin Wall.

What is extraordinary, retracing the history through memoirs and

contemporary records, is how frequently and determinedly Germany was
warned, by everyone from Henry Kissinger onwards, that it was making a
pact it might live to regret. Kissinger wrote to Richard Nixon on 9 April 1970:
“Few people, either inside Germany or abroad, see Brandt as selling out to
the East; what worries people is whether he can control what he has started.”
Over 50 years, Germany fought numerous battles with a series of US
presidents over its growing dependence on Russian energy. In the process,
Germany’s foreign office developed a view of American anti-communism as
naive, and a belief that only Germany truly understood the Soviet Union.

From the late 1960s, the Federal Republic of Germany tried to open its own
direct line of communication with the Soviet leadership, even though its
interest in reunification created tensions with the US. When it faced criticism
from the US, Germany was wont to cite its unique status. “I cannot imagine
there is anyone more interested in being allowed to continue working for
detente and balance in Europe than the German people who are forced to live
in two states,” Hans-Dietrich Genscher, then the foreign minister, told the
German Bundestag in January 1980, to great applause.

But after the fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989, why was Germany still so
reluctant to listen to others? A sense of guilt for the atrocities committed
against the Soviet Union during the second world war may have played a
role. Pride, too, that – through Ostpolitik – it had mended its relations with
Moscow. Germany, in a sense, became a double prisoner of its past – bound
both to the horrors it had committed, and to its belief that its response to
those horrors was correct.

T
he conflicts between Germany and the US in the 70s and 80s,
involving two very different presidents, Jimmy Carter and Ronald
Reagan, were some of the most rancorous transatlantic battles
since the second world war. “The disputes were all part of West
Germany showing independence in foreign policy during the cold war, and
that became uncomfortable for some American leaders,” the historian Mary
Elise Sarotte said to me.

Carter and the German chancellor Helmut Schmidt had little respect for each
other. Carter found Schmidt moody, while the chancellor, in his
autobiography, dismissed Carter as an idealistic preacher, who knew nothing
of Europe and was “just not big enough for the game”. The two leaders did
not just grate personally, they disagreed on issues of substance – including
how to protect human rights in Russia. In 1979 Schmidt and Carter came
together to jointly adopt the so-called dual track decision, by which Nato
would upgrade its nuclear weapons based in Europe, while actively seeking
an arms control agreement with Russia. But in other ways their approach was
very different.

Schmidt never lacked self-confidence, but like many Germans of that era he
carried a deep sense of shame arising from painful war memories. He also
believed that the stability of the eastern bloc was in the interest of West
Germany, given Russia’s nuclear capability. In his autobiography he wrote
that he had wanted to develop trading relations with Russia, in order to
foster “a greater Soviet dependence upon European supplies”, in turn
:
leading to “more European influence” on Moscow’s policies. And following
the 1973 oil crisis, Schmidt became convinced that the Soviet Union
represented a more reliable supplier of energy for Germany than the Gulf
states.

Carter, by contrast, saw withholding trade as the better way to influence the
Soviets. In July 1978, responding to Moscow’s imprisonment of two Soviet
dissidents, Aleksandr Ginzburg and Anatoly Shcharansky, Carter restricted
US exports of technology for the exploration and development of the Soviet
oil and natural-gas industries.

Vladimir Putin and Gerhard Schröder, then German chancellor, in Moscow in 2004. Photograph:
Yuri Kochetkov/AFP/Getty Images

Yet, collectively, European business went in the opposite direction. Even

after the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan in 1979, a large German business
delegation went ahead with a visit to Moscow. The Soviets (Soyuzgazexport)
and western Europeans (chiefly Ruhrgas and Gaz de France) completed
negotiations on a new giant gas project, a 4,500km dedicated pipeline from
the giant Urengoy field in West Siberia in late 1980. This deal was projected to
increase Germany’s dependence on Russian gas from 15% to 30%. When
German ministers reviewed the security implications, they concluded there
was no danger of Russia misusing its potential stranglehold. Their reasoning
was simple. “Long-term disruption would be against the self-interest of the
Soviet Union,” the ministry decided.

In a phone call with Carter on 5 March, Schmidt explained his support for the
pipeline by telling the US president, “Those engaging in trade with each
other do not shoot at one another.” It was a restatement of Norman Angell’s
famous pre-first world war theory that the new interdependence of
economies made war unprofitable and thus irrational. According to a note in
his diary, Carter responded: “It is not beneficial for the Europeans to expect
us to provide the stick and for them to compete with one another about
providing the biggest carrot.”

In 1980, Schmidt wrote: “To speak of the Federal Republic’s economic

dependence on Moscow to a degree large enough to affect foreign policy
indicates ignorance or malice.” Given Germany’s plight now, those words
look hopelessly misjudged.
:
S
chmidt faced a more challenging opponent in Carter’s successor,
the traditional anti-communist Ronald Reagan. In Reagan’s eyes,
German trade with Russia was in direct conflict with western
security. Reagan’s view was informed by a CIA assessment
submitted in July 1981, which noted a clear trend: from 1970 to 1980, Soviet
gas exports to western Europe had risen from 1 billion cubic metres (bcm) a
year to 26.5bcm annually. The CIA warned Reagan that the Urengoy gas
project would not only accelerate Soviet economic growth, but provide the
Soviets with $8bn in hard currency, facilitating a further military buildup.
Far from giving Germany sway over Soviet thinking, “it would provide the
Soviets one additional pressure point they could use as part of a broader
diplomatic offensive to persuade the West Europeans to accept their
viewpoint on East-West issues”.

In arguments that echo today’s debates, the US ambassador to the UN, Jeane
Kirkpatrick, complained: “We consistently find in our talks the allies are
already significantly dependent: France for 15% [of its] gas, Germany for
30%.” Schmidt assured the Americans that Germany “can go six months in
the event of a Soviet cut-off”. The forecast now is that, in such an
eventuality, Germany would have to go straight to a form of energy rationing.

Despite various US efforts to persuade Europe to adopt a voluntary ban,

including offering alternative sources of energy, in 1981 Ruhrgas AG and
Soyusgazexport went ahead and signed a contract for annual imports of
10.5bcm of Soviet gas over a 25-year period. Unemployment in Europe was
close to 9% at the time, and European industry needed to boost its energy
supplies. At the same time, the US argument about security was dismissed as
a veiled way of promoting the US oil industry.

When Moscow backed the imposition of martial law in Poland on 13

December 1981, Reagan thought such a shocking event might persuade
Germany to put the pipeline on hold. In a private note to Margaret Thatcher,
sent on 19 December 1981, he urged her to back tough sanctions against the
Soviets, stating that “this may well be a watershed in the history of mankind.
A challenge to tyranny from within.” Unusually for her, Thatcher vacillated,
advising Reagan that the Germans “cannot and will not give up the gas
pipeline project”.

Work on the Nord Stream pipeline in Portovaya Bay north-west of St Petersburg in 2010.
Photograph: Dmitry Lovetsky/AP
:
The US responded to the Soviet intervention by banning US companies from
helping with the pipeline. In the summer of 1982 Reagan tried to force
European firms to stop working on the pipeline by imposing secondary
sanctions on them. Such sanctions are now a commonplace in the US foreign
policy armoury, particularly over Iran, but then, they were seen as an
incursion into European sovereignty. Thatcher bridled, telling the Commons
“it is wrong” for “one very powerful nation [to] prevent existing contracts
being fulfilled”.

By November, Reagan had abandoned the attempt to impose sanctions. In a

trial of strength in which Europe sided with Germany, the world’s
superpower had lost. The new pipeline started pumping on 1 January 1984.

The German advocates of change through trade had won. The US position on
Russia was further weakened when the Berlin Wall fell in 1989. The peaceful
collapse of communism was trumpeted as a vindication for those that had
championed dialogue, and engagement through trade. In a speech to the
Brandt Foundation in March 2008, Steinmeier gave full vent to this view:
“What Ostpolitik in fact achieved – as is now recognised also by those who
criticised it at the time,” he said, “was to make peace in Europe, despite the
difficulties, a degree more secure. For the democracy movements in eastern
Europe it created new possibilities, new scope for action. It was a key factor,
too, in finally ending the confrontation between the two blocs.”

Olaf Scholz, Germany’s current chancellor, remains an adherent of this view,

arguing last year that it contributed to the fall of the Soviet Union and laid
the basis for democracy and EU membership for much of eastern Europe.
The SPD co-leader, Lars Klingbeil, has also insisted that Ostpolitik “was the
basis for reunification and the end of the cold war. As a result, there has been
a consensus in the federal republic for decades that conflicts can be defused
through dialogue. We won’t let that be bad-mouthed.”

Yet a number of historians and writers believe that this rosy picture of
Ostpolitik is misleading. “The idea that Willy Brandt’s policy of detente
towards Moscow led in a straight line to the fall of the iron curtain and
German unity is at least an over-simplification,” says the historian Jan
Behrends. German journalist Thomas Urban, author of a new book critiquing
Ostpolitik, believes its role in the fall of the wall and German reunification
has been exaggerated: “It was military buildup by Reagan and the flooding of
the market with cheap oil that led to the collapse of the Soviet Union,” he
told me. The Russian government budget had grown so dependent on energy
for its revenue, he said, that when the price of oil plummeted in the mid-
1980s, Russia’s lifeline to external capital dried up. “Gorbachev could no
longer fund the overseas wars and the Soviet Republics,” he said. “But this
argument was entirely missing in the German debate, especially on the left.”

Urban argued that Ostpolitik’s theory of change suffered from two basic
misconceptions: the belief that political change in eastern Europe could only
come from engaging with the elite in power, rather than from civilian
movements, and second, that “security must be the key to everything”.

y the turn of the century, the advocates of change through trade were in their
pomp. Chancellor Schröder, with growing confidence, promoted the idea of a
strategic partnership with Russia. He invited the new Russian president,
Vladimir Putin, to address the Bundestag in 2001, where he won over his
:
B
audience by giving the speech in fluent German and declaring “the cold war
is over”.

Schröder, at the time of Putin’s address, saw a perfect confluence

of interests between Europe, Germany and Russia: peace,
stability, multilateralism and economic growth. Putin, Schröder
was convinced, “wants to transform Russia into a democracy”.

In this favourable political climate, pro-Russian German lobbyists such as

Klaus Mangold, chairman of the powerful German Committee on Eastern
European Economic Relations, pursued the construction of yet another gas
pipeline, this time taking gas from Vyborg under the Baltic Sea to Germany –
the first Nord Stream. The scheme was especially controversial since it would
bypass Poland, Belarus and Ukraine, reducing those countries’ incomes,
weakening their bargaining power and depriving them of badly needed
transit fees. The €7.4bn pipeline construction costs were to be borne by the
private German companies BASF and E.ON, and the majority Russian state-
owned Gazprom.

This time, protests against the pipeline did not just come from the US, but
from the states that had recently emerged from Soviet rule, such as Poland
and Lithuania. Radosław Sikorski, then Poland’s defence minister,
notoriously compared the plan to the 1939 Molotov-Ribbentrop non-
aggression pact between Nazi Germany and the Soviet Union, which paved
the way for the invasion of Poland.

Yet on 8 September 2005, 10 days before the election in which Schröder’s

Social Democrats lost to Angela Merkel’s conservatives, the Nord Stream 1
contract was signed in Berlin by representatives of Gazprom, E.ON and BASF.
Putin stood alongside Schröder at the signing ceremony.

Schröder has since been singled out for his role in creating Germany’s
dependence on Russian energy, and getting very rich in the process. But the
distinguished former German diplomat Wolfgang Ischinger recently argued
that Schröder should not take the blame for giving the go-ahead to Nord
Stream 20 years ago: most German politicians, he told the New York Times in
April, did not question whether they were getting into an unhealthy
dependence on Russian energy. In the article, Schröder made the same case:
“It never occurred to anyone that this could become a problem. It was just a
way of procuring gas for Germans, for Germany’s heavy industry, and also for
the chemical industry, with fewer problems and disruptions.”

Thereafter it seemed, whatever the setbacks in German-Russian relations,

nothing could shift the faith in trade – not Russia’s “peace enforcement
operation” in Georgia in August 2008, not the Russian disruption of the gas
pipelines in a dispute with Ukraine in January 2009, nor the news that Putin
was planning to return to the presidency in 2012, replacing Dmitry
Medvedev, in whom Frank-Walter Steinmeier had placed his faith. In 2011,
the year Nord Stream finally opened, German total trade exports to Russia
rose 34% to €27bn.
:
 Finland
Vyborg Russia
Narva Bay

Norway Sweden Estonia

Moscow
Nord Stream
Latvia
Nord Stream 2
North Sea
Lithuania
Baltic
Denmark Sea
Belarus
Lubmin

Ukraine
Poland
Berlin
300 km
Germany
300 miles

Guardian graphic. Source: Nord Stream 2

The Nord Stream gas pipelines from Russia to Germany

Then came the Russian invasion of Ukraine in February 2014. Initially,

Russia’s incursion seemed to mark a turning point. Merkel’s condemnation
was clear: the annexation of Crimea was contrary to international law.
Sanctions were duly imposed, and German exports to Russia fell.

Following the 2014 invasion, serious German media such as Frankfurter

Allgemeine Zeitung published lengthy articles looking at the options for how
Germany could wean itself off its dangerous dependency on Russian energy.
Many of the proposals, such as new liquid gas terminals to allow Germany to
import gas from other countries such as Qatar and the US, are the same ones
under discussion now, which shows how little actual diversification was
achieved. When I spoke to a Qatari energy official last month, he recounted
how they spent five years trying to break into the German energy market,
only to find their route blocked at every turn.

Some German sanctions on Russia continued for many years, but the
advocates of change through trade gradually re-established their ground. It
seemed nothing Russia could do would shake their confidence. On 4
September 2015, at the Vladivostok economic forum, with Putin in
attendance, an agreement was signed for the construction of the Nord
Stream 2 gas pipeline on the Baltic seabed, which would vastly increase
Germany’s reliance on Russian natural gas. Gazprom would also take over
Germany’s gas storage business, thereby handing control of German energy
reserves to a foreign power.

arious theories – some grubby, some metaphysical – have been proposed to

explain Germany’s dogged refusal to see the dangers in its dependency on
Russia. One argument places the blame on SPD politicians and civil servants
who were allowed to move seamlessly between public office and Putin’s
employment, and worked hard to manipulate the EU and German regulatory
environment to suit Gazprom.

Then there is the question of the German-Russian industrial lobby, as

symbolised by the German-Russian Forum, which was closely linked with,
and partly funded by, German companies active in Russia. (The Forum was
:
V
suspended after the invasion of Ukraine.) Its board of trustees consisted
mainly of business people, often with economic interests in
Russia. Its chairman, Matthias Platzeck, the former SPD minister
president of Brandenburg, seemed genuinely shocked by Putin’s
invasion: “I was wrong because until recently I thought what
happened was unthinkable.”

The historian Sarotte said there is no clear evidence that business had
exerted greater influence in politics in Germany than in other countries.
Nevertheless, over the years, Russia showed an ability to suborn, and in
some cases corrupt, the German political class. The Polish foreign minister,
Zbigniew Rau, on a visit to Berlin in late May, called German Ostpolitik a
“fiasco”. German rhetoric around the political value of interdependence, he
said, crudely boiled down to gaining a competitive advantage through cheap
energy.

German Chancellor Angela Merkel and then Russian President Dmitry Medvedev (centre left and
right), opening a symbolic valve during an inaugural ceremony for the first of Nord Stream’s twin
gas pipeline in 2011. Photograph: John MacDougall/AFP/Getty Images

Thomas Urban, examining the psychological roots of Ostpolitik, pinpoints

two emotions in Germany’s relationship with Russia: nostalgia and guilt. He
described to me “the memory of Bismarck, who saw the alliance with Russia
as an anchor of stability in Europe. But then there was also the feeling of
guilt because of the German attack on the Soviet Union in 1941, with millions
of dead. It meant it was difficult to criticise the Red Army or the Soviet
repression since to do so means you do not recognise the greatest crimes in
history. It makes Germany blind to the black side of the Soviet Union. It also
permits Putin’s propaganda by talking only of the Russian war dead, and not
those that were killed in Ukraine and Belarus.”

Much of Germany’s belief in trade with Russia was born of wishful thinking.
It led Steinmeier as foreign minister, for instance, to look constantly for signs
of reform, ignoring foreign office advice that he needed a plan B in case
Germany’s faith in Russia turned out to be ill-founded. In 2016, Steinmeier
gave a deeply sincere, almost elegiac speech at Yekaterinburg University
asking whether Germany and Russia were still capable of listening to one
another. He admitted the annexation of Crimea had been a low point, but
hoped dialogue was still possible, urging both sides not to turn their backs on
one another.

It was the speech of a man who sensed the tide was going out, and who
:
 feared his belief in dialogue no longer matched the spirit
of harsher times: “In political discussions, we sometimes hear opinions
expressed by people who are not interested in the slightest in understanding
others; people who have already made up their minds about the other side;
people who don’t even bother reading because they think they already know
the answer.” What he described as the “supposed antagonism” between the
west and Russia, he feared was becoming entrenched and ideologically
driven, running counter to the pursuit of diplomacy and peace.

Now, as Germany’s president and head of state, Steinmeier has been told by
Ukrainian officials that his record as the promoter of Russian interests in
Germany means he is not welcome in Kyiv at this time. It seems a shame.
There would be no need for him to fall to his knees – as Willy Brandt did in
Warsaw in 1970, apologising for his nation’s wartime crimes – but he could
give a sober reflection on what precisely went wrong with Germany’s eastern
policy for so long. For, one way or another, a reckoning is still needed.

This article was amended on 2 and 3 June 2022 to make clear that when
Egon Bahr was adviser to Willy Brandt in 1963, the latter was yet to become
chancellor; and that officials at the 1970 Essen meeting were representing the
Soviet Union rather than Russia.

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