Kohlgate

By Charles P. Wallace/Berlin

One newspaper headline cried out: FATHER MURDER. Some of Germany's most experienced, cynical politicians broke down and wept. Helmut Kohl, who as Chancellor from 1982 to 1998 unified Germany, was forced to resign as honorary chairman of the opposition Christian Democratic Union, his reputation soiled by a spreading financial scandal. In the end the statesman who counted Ronald Reagan and former Soviet leader Mikhail Gorbachev among his peers was brought down by the likes of a French wheeler-dealer nicknamed Dede the Sardine.

The fall of Kohl took on elements of a Greek tragedy, complete with reversals of fortune and fatal character flaws. It probably reached a nadir late last week, when Wolfgang Hullen, the official in charge of finance for the C.D.U.'s parliamentary faction, hanged himself at home as the Bundestag opened its investigation into the funding scandal. While the reasons for the suicide remain hazy, Hullen apparently feared being arrested for diverting some of the party's huge cash flow into his own account. But he's not likely to be the scandal's last victim. It has already touched the lives of some of Germany's most senior political figures.

The leading man on the list is Kohl. As recently as last November he was hailed at the Brandenburg Gate as a national hero for deftly steering his country through the fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989; now he is demonized as a national embarrassment. The mass-circulation magazine Stern ran Kohl's photo on its cover showing the former Chancellor dappled with mud. He was lampooned on television's most popular interview show as "Helmut Kohleone," the Teutonic equivalent of the Godfather. Throughout his public humiliation, Kohl, 69, has remained defiant. Since the scandal first erupted late last year, he has steadily refused to name the sources of at least $1.2 million in unreported campaign contributions made to the C.D.U. during his tenure as Chancellor. He acknowledged using the cash to set up secret bank accounts, and then funneling money to favored politicians, all of which was illegal under stringent campaign laws introduced by none other than Kohl. He angered even his most stalwart supporters by implying that his promise of anonymity to the sources of the illegal money was more important than Germany's laws. "I regard myself as incapable of breaking my promise," Kohl said in announcing his resignation as honorary chairman of the party. That has only heightened speculation about just where the money may have come from--and why. Was it a donation from rich German party supporters? Or possibly a payoff from foreign businessmen? Andre Guelfi, a French businessman known as Dede the Sardine because of his ownership of a now defunct Moroccan fishing company, said he helped pass more than $40 million to the C.D.U. to help secure a contract for a German-French joint venture. He has since backtracked on many of his accusations, which are being investigated by French and Swiss justice officials.

The scandal has been a nightmare for the C.D.U., which was struggling to adjust itself to the role of opposition party after nearly two decades in power. Wolfgang Schauble, Kohl's handpicked successor, offered to resign after admitting he had received a $52,000 cash contribution from arms dealer Karlheinz Schreiber that went mysteriously unreported, but the party's leadership threatened a mass resignation if he quit. While anywhere else Schauble's lapse might have been justification for resignation, it wasn't enough to justify dumping him--yet.

On the other hand, the scandal has been a godsend to current Chancellor Gerhard Schroder, who defeated Kohl in Bundestag elections in September 1998. Before the scandal erupted last November, Schroder's ruling Social Democratic Party (S.P.D.) had been trounced by the C.D.U. in state and local elections because of popular discontent with Schroder's plan to cut $16 billion from the budget. The next election face-off is in February in the key state of Schleswig-Holstein. Early indications show the S.P.D. heading for victory.

It was not clear at week's end whether Kohl would agree to appear before the Bundestag's investigators. At least one key detail had already emerged from the committee's first day of work, though: Schroder's office confirmed that at the request of the committee, it had searched the official archives for material and had found that a number of key documents "seem to be missing." In addition to the parliamentary inquiry into the funding scandal, Kohl also faces a criminal investigation by prosecutors in Bonn for criminal breach of trust, a crime that carries a maximum sentence of five years. According to legal experts, the case could be difficult to prove unless the C.D.U. is willing to testify to having been victimized by Kohl, who led the party for 25 years.

More damaging revelations are still to come for the C.D.U. Party officials disclosed that an audit of party books revealed nearly $5 million in additional donations whose source could not be determined. Perhaps worse, the party branch in the state of Hesse admitted it had "parked" about $4 million in secret Swiss bank accounts in the 1980s. By the 1990s, the sum had mysteriously grown to $15 million.

It will be interesting to see how long Kohl's claim to omerta will be regarded by some Germans as an honorable path. The scandal is a reminder that as Chancellor, Kohl was willing to do anything to keep Germany's socialists out of office. During the height of his power, in the midst of the cold war, that goal may have justified all kinds of behavior in his mind--even illegal behavior. But from today's perspective, with East Germany reintegrated into the mother country--by his own hand, no less--Kohl's actions no longer carry the same moral weight. They look very much like the final flailings of corrupt politicians everywhere, from Chicago to Belgrade. But while Kohl has fallen very far, very fast, his tumble may be a long way from finished.

--With reporting by Regine Wosnitza/Berlin and Bruce Crumley/Paris

With reporting by Regine Wosnitza/Berlin and Bruce Crumley/Paris