clout

France has been mired in political turmoil since Macron dissolved the National Assembly in June 2024 – and on Friday, Paris was effectively sidelined at a turning point moment for the European Union, as it failed to stop the Mercosur agreement.

After weeks of farmers’ protests and under the threat of a no-confidence vote at home, Macron chose to oppose a deal negotiated by the European Commission over 25 years with Mercosur countries Argentina, Brazil, Paraguay and Uruguay.

If implemented, the agreement would create a 700 million-strong free-trade area, opening new markets for EU companies at a time when the bloc’s largest trading partner, the US, is becoming more inward-looking.

The countries who backed the deal, led by Germany, Spain and the Commission itself, proved determined to confront mounting global economic tensions by diversifying trade ties beyond the US and China despite protests from farmers, who for years have warned the deal could expose them to unfair competition from Latin American imports.

France in particular amplified those concerns, piling pressure on the Commission, which holds exclusive EU competence over trade policy.

According to one EU diplomat who spoke to Euronews on condition of anonymity, France on Friday thanked the Commission for the concessions it had made to farmers over the past year but ultimately justified its continued opposition to the deal with a reference to political reasons.

The signature ceremony between the EU and the Mercosur countries will take place on January 17 in Asunción, Paraguay, sources familiar with the matter told Euronews.

As expected, Italy – whose support France needed to secure a blocking minority of four member states representing 35% of the EU population – backed the agreement.

But Italy also emerged with tangible gains for its farmers, securing all the guarantees France had pushed for, including early access to €45 billion from the Common Agricultural Policy and a retroactive freeze of the EU carbon border tax on fertilisers.

For von der Leyen, the outcome marks a victory too.

The Commission aggressively pushed the deal for a year, jumping hurdles to reach a technical and political agreement. Von der Leyen was relentless despite the opposition from Paris, which in the past would have been enough to make the Commission back down facing the ire of the French government.

Former Commission President Jean-Claude Junker famously used to say, “La France…C’est la France!”, referring to Paris’ habit of getting its way under the EU’s indulgence. Those days now appear to be coming to an end.

Von der Leyen capitalises on Macron’s weakness

Macron’s shock decision to dissolve the National Assembly in June 2024 stunned European partners and altered the balance in Brussels. Von der Leyen, now heading the EU executive for a second term, has moved to sideline the French president despite his decisive backing for her appointment in 2019.

Just three months after the dissolution, she capitalised on Macron’s weakened position to push out Thierry Breton, a powerful French commissioner seen as too dominant.

Breton was the architect of two landmark EU digital laws, the Digital Markets Act and the Digital Services Act, and a relentless defender of French interests in Brussels as well as a critical voice within von der Leyen’s College of Commissioners where disagreements with the chief are not often tolerated.

Still, Macron agreed to replace him with one of his oldest allies, Stéphane Séjourné, a former Renew leader in the European Parliament who served as French foreign minister from January to September 2024.

In Brussels, Séjourné is viewed as less influential his predecessor. Where Breton’s former portfolio also covered digital policy, defence and space, Séjourné now holds a far narrower portfolio focused on industrial strategy and the single market.

France’s waning influence has not gone unnoticed among diplomats from other countries, who have grown accustomed to seeing the bloc’s second-largest member paralysed by political fragmentation and partisan infighting.

The government’s painful efforts to rein in soaring debt and deficits have prompted diplomats to joke that France has become “the most frugal member state” – a major break from its traditional embrace of heavy public spending.

Good ideas, bad timing for Emmanuel Macron

The French president now finds himself in an awkward position.

Paris still retains enough clout to sway key discussions, most notably when it comes to the “Made In Europe” preference, long advocated by Macron and now widely endorsed by other leaders as a counterweight against foreign competition.

On foreign policy, Macron has continued to shape Europe’s key debates. He made headlines as the first European leader to raise the prospect of deploying national forces to Ukraine; initially dismissed as unrealistic, the idea gained new traction after Donald Trump returned to the White House and upended US policy toward Russia.

The notion of an on-the-ground deployment was soon picked up by British Prime Minister Keir Starmer, since when the two leaders have co-led the “Coalition of the Willing” to design security guarantees for Ukraine.

Earlier this week, both Starmer and Macron signed a declaration of intent with Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy to establish a multinational force in the event of a ceasefire.

Still, the Mercosur deal exposes his weaknesses where it hurts him the most – at home.

Jorge Liboreiro contributed reporting.

Karl Rove, the canny and controversial presidential advisor who will be leaving the White House at the end of the week, may have more enemies than anybody in Washington. He also may have more nicknames. George Bush calls him “boy genius.” Critics of the administration have often described him as “Bush’s brain.”

But the name that has really stuck with Rove over the years is “the architect.” In January 2000, before Bush had competed in a presidential primary, he was asked about Rove’s role in shaping his campaign strategy.

“Karl gets credit for being the architect of it,” he said, “and he should.” He famously repeated the term at a news conference after his 2004 victory over John Kerry. Wayne Slater and James Moore titled their second book on Rove, published last year, “The Architect: Karl Rove and the Master Plan for Absolute Power.”

What is it about architecture that makes it so attractive as a metaphorical job description? There’s Bill Walsh, the NFL coach who after he died last month was widely remembered as “the architect of the West Coast offense.” And Khalid Shaikh Mohammed, Osama bin Laden’s Rove, often is called the architect of 9/11. Don’t forget James Madison, architect of the Constitution, or Alfred Hitchcock, labeled by one of his biographers “the architect of anxiety.” The computer industry is full of information and software “architects” who do their building with zeros and ones.

And, of course, there’s God: architect of the universe.

The architect label suggests precision, strategic savvy and the ability to consider a project from a certain analytical remove — to see the whole chessboard at a glance. It describes the person who sketches out a complex plan but never the one who executes it.

As a metaphor, it’s a step up from “engineer,” which used to be as common a rhetorical title as architect is now. Somebody in Rove’s position a few decades ago would have been said to have “engineered” an electoral victory; those architects at Intel and Microsoft were once called software engineers.

But engineering, a profession that tends to be more esteemed in quickly growing industrial societies than in postindustrial ones like ours, has none of the Machiavellian undertones required to capture the scope of Rove’s role. It implies pure expertise — all science and no art.

In his canonical “Ten Books on Architecture,” written in the 1st century BC, Roman architect Vitruvius argued that successful buildings had three qualities in common: firmness, commodity and delight. In other words, to qualify as a piece of architecture, a structure had to be not only stable and useful but beautiful.

That distinction helps explain why certain public figures become candidates for architect status. There usually has to be a sense, even among rivals, that what you are producing is the result of creativity along with hard work or brute force. It has to be impressive in form as well as function, in operation as well as plan. Like architecture, it has to have one foot in the practical world and one foot in the aesthetic.

And it helps if there is a noticeable gap between a typical approach to your job and the way you perform it. Walsh’s reserved, professorial style on the sidelines and the quick grace of his best San Francisco 49ers offered a sharp contrast to football’s inherent violence and plodding, three-yards-and-a-cloud-of-dust conservatism. Hitchcock too seemed all the more urbane because he was creating artworks for a mass audience, cinematic choreography to be enjoyed with popcorn.

A similar dynamic was at work from the start between Bush and Rove. As a presidential candidate, Bush had the popcorn part down from the beginning: Despite his gilded political pedigree as the son of a president and the grandson of a senator, and his years at Andover, Yale and Harvard, he has always been comfortable cloaking himself in down-home rhetoric. He needed a way to turn that raw material — of connections and a certain kind of charm — into votes on a national level.

And we, the public, needed a way to reconcile the seeming contradiction between the aw-shucks, tongue-tied Bush persona and the nimble strategic thinking that got him elected president — twice — by outfoxing the Democrats in nearly every battleground state. (Bush might have won Georgia or Texas by himself, but it took an architect to win Ohio.) Self-taught and widely curious, Rove is a true mirror image of Bush — and the perfect vehicle for that reconciliation. If he hadn’t existed, the pundits would have had to invent him.

The odd twist to this story is that architects are increasingly chafing at what they see as the political limitations of their profession. At ground zero in New York, in post-Katrina New Orleans and in traffic-choked Los Angeles, they are realizing that however much celebrity they may enjoy, it hasn’t helped them become real players in shaping the future of cities.

Leading architects, including Thom Mayne and Rem Koolhaas, have been outspoken in recent months about trying to change that. They want to leverage their fame into clout and, by operating more strategically, move closer to the centers of power. They want to be metaphorical architects — of disaster recovery, of urban rebirth — and not just the real thing.

In short, they’d like to be more Rovian.

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christopher.hawthorne@latimes.com