POLITICIANS and journalists may engage in cold-hearted debate over the possible break-up of Belgium but many ordinary citizens are filled with dismay over the increasingly acrimonious sparring among angry Flemish and French-speaking political leaders over the fate of their small country.

So-called ‘new’ Belgians — immigrants and foreign workers who have acquired Belgian nationality as well as members of the vast Brussels-based European Union and Nato bureaucracies — are equally alarmed at reports of the imminent demise of their adopted homeland.

Predictions that Belgium’s two linguistic communities — the Dutch-speaking Flemings and the French-speaking Walloons — are headed for permanent separation, reminiscent of Czechoslovakia’s ‘velvet divorce’ are gaining momentum. However, some are even speculating that the two future independent halves of Belgium may be interested in joining France and the Netherlands. If Belgium were to disappear as a country it would be the first break-up of a western European state since the Second World War.

Recent developments certainly point to a grim future for this small country of 10.4 million people. There is little doubt that Flemings and Walloons are finding it increasingly difficult to live and work together. The ever-deepening rift has meant that more than three months after a general election, Belgian politicians are still struggling to create a new government. Even the country’s mild-mannered, 73-year-old king, Albert II, who traditionally tries to stay above the political fray, has taken the exceptional step of urging politicians to end the ‘crisis’ as soon as possible.

For most people living in Belgium, however, it’s difficult to see any signs of such crisis. While politicians engage in bad-tempered exchanges and separatist sentiment grows in Flanders, the 54-year old outgoing prime minister Guy Verhofstadt — once touted as a possible president of the European Commission — is still responsible for the day-to-day running of the central government.

The country is also governed largely by a patchwork of regional bureaucracies, so trains run on time, mail is delivered, garbage is collected and the police keep order. The former government is allowed to pay bills, implement previously decided policies, and make urgent decisions on peace and security. But with a new budget needed and parliament due to return from recess next month, pressure is mounting for a coalition-building deal.

Those hoping for Belgium’s survival argue that both Nato and the European Union, which have their headquarters in Brussels, will not allow the country’s division. Others insist that Belgium’s EU partners will also fight against the country’s break-up in order to prevent other European separatist movements, including the Basques and the Corsicans, from intensifying their own demands for independence.

For many, Belgium is already a model for decentralised government. Constitutional changes enacted in 1993 have transformed a highly centralised state to one with three levels of government: federal, regional and linguistic community. But such devolution has also meant that increasingly, people vote along ethnic lines, there are no national political figures in the country’s 11 parties and there are five parliaments organised on rigid regional and linguistic lines.

Significantly, Belgium’s problems spotlight the power and politics of money. Once-poor Flanders is now Belgium’s economic powerhouse and home to 60 per cent of the country’s population. In contrast, Wallonia, historically Belgium’s richer province, now has an ailing economy. Many Flemings say they are fed up with financially propping up the country’s south and insist they would be better off on their own. To make matters worse, unemployment among French speakers is 20 per cent, compared to eight per cent among Flemings.

The shift in economic power has also meant a switch in the political fortunes of the two regions. Belgium is no longer run by a French-speaking Walloon elite. Instead, the country’s top politicians and business leaders come from Flanders.

The historical bitterness has become worse since the June 10 national elections. Yves Leterme, a Flemish Christian Democrat, may have triumphed in Flanders with calls for more self-rule but his bid to form a government with the Liberals met resistance from French-speaking parties that objected to Flemish calls for more local control over taxes and social security.

Mr Leterme shocked many Walloons earlier this year when he declared in an interview that most French-speaking Belgians were either unwilling or too stupid to learn Dutch. He further alienated French-speakers on Belgium’s national day in July when he launched into a fine rendition of The Marseillaise — the national anthem of France — when asked by a Belgian TV crew to sing the Belgian national hymn. But even before this gaffe, Mr Leterme had dismissed the 177-year-old Belgian state as ‘an accident of history’ and said Belgians have nothing in common apart from the king, the football team and some beers. The task of forming a government has now been handed to Herman Van Rompuy, a Flemish Christian Democrat.

With little news leaking out from Mr Van Rompuy’s rescue mission, the Belgian media are spinning through scenarios for a possible break-up, asking who would take on the national debt and whether the ‘velvet divorce’ of the Czech Republic and Slovakia in 1993 would be a model.

London’s Economist said recently that since Belgium was no longer required to play the role of a neutral buffer state, it should recognise that its job was done. ‘A praline divorce is in order,’ it declared. Others like the Belgian Le Soir newspaper suggest the country could be turned into a city-state like Singapore, handed over to the EU, or made the capital of an independent Wallonia or Flanders.

While the current political impasse is certainly dramatic in its intensity, chaos and turmoil are part of the country’s past. Belgian territory has frequently been the scene of confrontations between foreign powers, from Napoleon’s defeat at Waterloo in 1815 to decisive battles of both world wars. The country is also no stranger to political impasse. In 1988, it took 148 days to agree on a government.

Despite the political bickering, however, many of the country’s citizens retain a sense of humour. Gerrit Six, a teacher and former journalist, stirred up controversy recently by trying to sell Belgium on eBay: Mr Six’s ad said: ‘For Sale: Belgium, a kingdom in three parts ... free premium: the king and his court (costs not included).’

‘I wanted to attract attention,’ Mr Six told reporters, adding: ‘You almost have to throw a rock through a window to get attention for Belgium.’

The disgruntled teacher offered free delivery of the country to the future buyer but pointed out that the country was coming secondhand and that potential buyers would have to take on over 300 billion dollars in national debt. But he also vaunted Belgium’s attractions to potential buyers from art nouveau architecture to the headquarters of Nato and the EU and some great beers. The ad was withdrawn — but only after an enterprising person had submitted a 14 million dollar bid for the country.

The writer is Dawn’s correspondent based in Brussels.