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Eighteen ninety-eight, a year known by Spaniards as the 'Disaster' because of the loss of the country's last colonies of its once vast empire –Cuba, the Philippines and Puerto Rico– to the US in the Spanish-American war, is a good point at which to begin a history of modern Spain. The defeat galvanised the educated […]
La entrada The long and winding path to Spain's modernisation se publicó primero en Elcano Royal Institute.

Today, the Department of Political Science celebrated its graduates at our traditional Friday-Before-Graduation party. Alas, this year--because of COVID-19--we had to celebrate via Web Ex. We laughed, we cried, we shared memories over the past four years we've spent together.

Every year, a faculty member is chosen to give a charge to the graduates. I became the new head this past December after a stint filling in for a semester while Dr. Wilmer was on sabbatical. I decided to give the charge myself this year. What follows is the speech I delivered to these fantastic students who will go out into the world and do wonderful things. I will miss them, but at the same time, our nation needs their energy, their passion, and their brilliance now more than ever.




A Charge to the MSU Class
of 2020: The Citizen as Essential Worker

September 11, 2001.
I'll wager a bet that none of you graduating today have a clear memory of that
moment. I certainly do, and whenever I hear mention of 9-11, my mind snaps instantly
back to a particular image:  A plume of
smoke pouring from the North Tower of the World Trade Center right before—in
the background—a plane steers toward the South Tower. That plane is Flight 175,
destined to slam into that second tower shortly after 9 a.m. Eastern Time. Why does
my mind go there? I think it's because that image encapsulates the realization
that—at that exact moment—it was clear what America was facing: A terrorist
attack and likely war with those harboring the monsters who killed thousands of
innocent men, women, and children. That still frame, to me, is one of those key
turning points in a nation's history. We are still wrestling with the
consequences of that horrible day nearly twenty years later.

Right
now, we are living through another momentous time which will shape our
collective futures for a generation or more. What's your picture representing
this moment?

For
me, it's a photo of a young man with black hair and bronzed skin. He's clad in
green medical scrubs, standing astride an intersection in downtown Denver. His
arms are crossed, he's wearing a medical mask, and he's—angry? Determined?
Outraged? It's hard to see with his mouth covered.

In
front of him is a large pickup truck—a brand-spanking new silver Ram 1500. An
older, heavy-set woman, wearing a T-shirt with USA emblazoned on the front, is
leaning out of the passenger window—(Screaming? Glaring? It's not clear)—at the
medical worker blocking her car. She's holding a placard with the words, "Land
of the Free" flush against the side of the truck's door. Is she going to or
departing from a rally opposing the stay at home order put in place by
Colorado's Governor? We don't know—and that's fitting because there is so much
uncertainty in the depths of this pandemic.

For
me, that's the COVID-19 moment. With whom do you identity, graduates? The
defiant healthcare worker or the woman demanding her freedom?

It
was a stifling hot summer in Philadelphia when 56 men affixed their signatures
to parchment, detailing to the world how King George had violated the social
contract—and that the only remedy was to sunder the binds tying the 13 American
colonies to England. Freedoms had been withheld and denied, yes. But those
freedoms had been trampled upon by a government that was not representative.
The colonies had no members of Parliament. We had no say in the decisions made
for us. The Declaration is often remembered—and idealized—because it is viewed
as an expression of the freedoms that people ought to enjoy by virtue of their
humanity—rights that no government should easily deny.

But
as much as Jefferson's Declaration is one of independence from Britain, it is also
a Declaration of Inter-dependence among those proclaiming the birth of a new
nation. Let's not forget the concluding sentence:

"And for the support of this
Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of divine Providence, we
mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes and our sacred Honor."

Back
to that picture in Denver. It's easy to say don't tread on me—like that woman
in the ginormous pickup truck. Oh, I bet it felt so damn good to release all that
frustration. Haven't we felt some of that? Don't you hunger for
companionship—to go to the grocery store sans mask, to hug your friends, to
belly up to the bar for a drink with your buddies after a long day of school?

But
then there's that man clad in protective gear in front of that car, reminding
us that those hugs, those trips to the grocery store without sanitizer, those
shared beers, or an in-person graduation celebration—can come at great cost.
Perhaps not for us—but maybe for that nurse in the ER, the grocery store clerk
checking us out, the bartender pouring that beer, or the elderly relative
sitting in the Field House as you walk across the stage.

Freedom
without responsibility to each other is just another form of tyranny. The
Founding Fathers got it; they knew that a declaration of freedom is worth no
more than the paper upon which it is printed without care for each other. The
freedoms we now enjoy were collectively earned and are collectively defended.
Are the costs we bear now any higher than those born by previous generations
charged with protecting this nation? It is a point worth pondering.

Our
inter-dependence is essential, so I find it disturbing that the Department of
Homeland Security's definition of so-called essential workers neglected perhaps
the most important job of all: Citizen. Our allegiance in this liberal
democracy of ours is to each other—we are all essential. To be free, we citizens
must all hang together— at six feet apart (!)—or surely, we will hang
separately.

Graduates
of the Class of 2020. I remind you that to establish justice, ensure domestic
tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general welfare, and
secure the blessings of liberty to ourselves and our posterity required the
founders to strive for a more perfect union.
To be more perfect: Together. Your charge is to work on that union as citizens,
mindful of what we owe each other, while being kind to ourselves and others
during these turbulent times.

Charlie Stross tells us of how: SF is a profoundly ideological genre—it's about much more than new gadgets or inventions. Canadian science-fiction novelist and futurist Karl Schroeder has told me that "every technology comes with an implied political agenda."Well, yes, we'd run with that. Although we'd go further, a major strand of Sci-Fi is exploring the political agendas, even outcomes, that might come from a specific technological change. Many of which do become dystopias of course - partly that's because "and then everything was lovely" isn't a hugely gripping storyline. But OK, there's a lot of politics in there, at least there's a lot of discussion of politics in there: Science fiction (SF) influences everything in this day and age, from the design of everyday artifacts to how we—including the current crop of 50-something Silicon Valley billionaires—work. And that's a bad thing: it leaves us facing a future we were all warned about, courtesy of dystopian novels mistaken for instruction manuals.Which, well, we doubt we share many political thoughts or ideals with Mr. Stross so let's just say that's possible. But then Sci-Fi really has discussed many of the available dystopias along the way. Possibly the grandaddy of the genre, "We", tells before the event how Stalinism isn't going to work. "Brave New World" can obviously be read as a warning about the then very fashionable in left wing circles eugenics programmes (the Fabians were virtually founded upon the idea). More recently "Fallen Angels" can be read as a warning of actually allowing any greens, anywhere, to hold the controlling reins of politics. There have been novels about how the govt of Earth tried to strangle any freedom among the space colonies by denying water for reaction mass (again, cod-green arguments) so they go corral a moon of Saturn. A whole series that has the UN controlling all new technologies. Our point here is not that Mr. Stross is wrong in identifying some dystopias that result from a possible excess of corporate power. Rather, that the universe explored also includes those with an excess of government control. Which brings us to this: We were warned about the ideology driving these wealthy entrepreneurs by Timnit Gebru, former technical co-lead of the ethical artificial intelligence team at Google and founder of the Distributed Artificial Intelligence Research Institute (DAIR), and Émile Torres, a philosopher specializing in existential threats to humanity.Gebru is famous among those who pay attention to these things for insisting that AI cannot be allowed unless it accords to her definitions of what is moral. It must include - work by, produce outcomes that lead to - equity, for example. But as the universe is inequitable by those current standards of how equity is defined - equal outcomes - Gebru's definition insists upon the only AI we're allowed being an AI that doesn't work. For it doesn't describe, start from, the world that exists, it becomes a projection of the desired world. Desired by a certain set of morals and ethical stance, not a building upon what is extant.We'd argue that the dystopias for us to avoid as described in Sci-Fi are not those in which Marc Andreessen gets to cackle at us mere mortals from his private space station. Rather, those in which bureaucrats prevent private space stations from ever existing. But that there is to betray - just as we insist Mr. Stross is doing - our own ideological biases. The real point we want to make here is that yes, Sci-Fi, among other things, explores dystopias. But many dystopias, formed by different stretches and exaggerations of current society and technology. They're by no means all - or even mostly - about an excess of capitalist, corporate or even market power. There are many about that potential excess of state, bureaucratic and just plain foolish power too.SciFi doesn't tell us to worry purely about the current crop of Silicon Valley capitalists. It tells us to worry about all who would direct our society. A little more equity from Mr. Stross and others in the dangers faced here would be welcome. For we're really very certain indeed that the potential dangers do not stem merely from those trying to make a buck or a billion.

One may wonder what has prompted the US government to become so heavily involved in the war in Ukraine after the defeats in Iraq and Afghanistan.     According to a geopolitical explanation that I have echoed in other posts, the conflict arose from the expansion of NATO to ex-communist countries, contrary to initial promises, with the aim of blocking any attempt by Russia to return to be a major world power. The list of new NATO members after the Cold War includes the former East Germany, three former members of the Soviet Union and five former members of the Warsaw Pact.     It is also well known that some de facto powers in the US have a private financial interest in the war industry. President and General Dwight Eisenhower, who knew what he was talking about, warned citizens in his farewell address in 1961 to "guard against the acquisition of unwarranted influence, whether sought or unsought, by the military-industrial complex" and predicted that "the potential for the disastrous rise of misplaced power exists and will persist."
I already mentioned in another post my modest testimony of how some warmongering think-tanks in Washington pushed to arm Ukraine after the Russian occupation of Crimea. The lesson of the defeats in the Middle East is that the business is to sell arms without sending soldiers. They didn't make it then, but they have made it now.     In any case, private geopolitical and economic interests for the foreign conflict need a favorable internal political situation, as I analyze in my book Constitutional Polarization: A critical review of the U.S. political system, soon to be published. In a large and powerful country like the United States, domestic policy and foreign policy are negatively related.     When the country was under internal construction during the 19th century, it had no foreign policy. The issues at that time were territorial expansion from the thirteen independent colonies, the structure of new territories and states and the layout of their boundaries. Only since the early 20th century, when the United States established fixed continental borders and became internally organized as a more stable federation, has it been able to pursue an independent foreign policy.     However, American foreign policy is heavily clouded by the ineffectiveness of the domestic political system. The constitutional formula for the separation of powers between a legislative Congress and an executive President with only two political parties tends to produce deadlocks between the two institutions, leading to legislative paralysis, frequent government shutdowns, and presidential impeachments.    Bipartisan cooperation and the consequent working together of the White House and Capitol Hill only flourish when an existential threat from an outside enemy is felt, as was the case during World War II and the Cold War. The call for war in the 1940s, the Red Scare in the 1950s and its second edition in the 1980s were accompanied by popular feelings of fear and national unity, as well as low electoral participation and widespread political apathy.    On the contrary, during the last thirty years of relative peace abroad, unresolved internal political issues and new demands have emerged in health, climate, immigration, race, religion, gender, sex, family, education, gun control and voting rights, which have generated mobilizations, protests and a harsh confrontation and partisan polarization. External fear has been replaced by internal anger.    When President Bill Clinton was under siege from Republicans on all sides, he confessed, "I would have preferred to be president during World War II" and "I was envious that Kennedy had an enemy." President George W. Bush also longed for the past when he launched the fight against a new "Axis" of evil and Islamist terrorism that, according to his nonsense, "followed the path of fascism, Nazism and totalitarianism." President Barack Obama was paralyzed by the suspicion that ending those wars might open up too many divisive domestic issues. It was Trump who started the withdrawal of troops from the Middle East and the first president in many years who did not start a new war; as a result, he faced an inner hell.    Joe Biden and the Democrats know that now the Republicans can again block any initiative on economic, social and cultural issues in the House of Representatives. To attract their cooperation in this new context of divided government, they may once again shift the emphasis to foreign policy with a belligerent orientation. A bipartisan foreign policy could satisfy the geopolitical interest of expanding NATO to the limits of Russia and the private economic interests in the military industry.    Russia is the welcome common foreign enemy. The dilemma between internal anger and external fear once again creates a political tension. Yet, we are not living the nationalist hysteria of the Cold War, but a flimsy bad copy of it. Security and military chiefs, including former Moscow ambassador and current CIA director William Burns and Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff Mark Milley, remember Eisenhower's warning, are more aware of the human costs of war, they have no overriding interest in another long-running conflict, and are pushing for peace negotiations.

Frantz Fanon has been making the rounds lately. The subject of a new biography by Adam Shatz and a recent New Yorker essay, the anticolonial activist is enjoying a sort of intellectual renaissance. Perhaps that's because like so many people today, he lived in a world shaped by violence.
While the formal process of post-World War II decolonization had begun to run its course by 1961, when Fanon died at the age of 36, the Global South remained a violent space. Western powers continued to extract resources from former colonies, to manipulate local economies, and to expand local civil wars by intervening in regions from Latin America to Southeast Asia.
Fanon believed that violence not only begot violence, but that it could serve to uplift peoples long suffering under the colonial system. His 1961 seminal work, The Wretched of the Earth, spared no details on this point. "At the individual level," the revolutionary political philosopher argued, "violence is a cleansing force. It rids the colonized of their inferiority complex, of their passive and despairing attitude. It emboldens them, and restores their self-confidence."
More than sixty years later, we might ask if Fanon's claims on violence still hold merit. While Fanon's writings focused entirely on anti-colonialism in his own time, broader interpretations of all violence as cleansing have entered the intellectual bloodstream. Recent conflicts in Eastern Europe and the Middle East demonstrate the fallacies of perpetually seeing violence as a "cleansing force." All of this is worth examining in context, today.
The Martinique philosopher, it should be noted, did not speak in terms of "ethnic cleansing." In no way was he following in the abominable footsteps of an Adolf Hitler or setting a precedent for Slobodan Milošević, the 1990s "Butcher of the Balkans." Instead, Fanon meant to convey the rehabilitative nature of violence for oppressed peoples still living under the thumb of their former imperial masters. Perhaps this was because, as a psychiatrist, he actually treated victims of colonial violence — and colonizers themselves — during the Algerian war for independence from France.
But war doesn't rehabilitate. It only despoils and destroys. War is not reparative. Instead, it requires costly reconstruction in the wake of what it leaves behind. Policymakers and hawkish intellectuals alike peddle falsehoods when they promise war's therapeutic cures.
If Fanon justified the use of violence as a form of anticolonial self-defense — Shatz argues "cleansing" is better translated as "de-intoxicating" — such views have been extrapolated to rationalize military force for any occasion. In restating Russia's goals in Ukraine, for instance, President Vladimir Putin spoke in cleansing terms. Peace would come, he argued, only after the "denazification, demilitarisation and a neutral status" imposed upon Ukraine. It has been nearly a year since the World Bank estimated the costs of Ukraine's reconstruction at US $411 billion. One wonders if such massive destruction truly will wash away Putin's fears of Western encroachment toward Russian borders.
If Fanon saw violence as redemptive, he also judged it to be reactive, at least for the colonized. Violence could be politically and strategically instrumental in altering power relationships between oppressor and oppressed. In other words, it is a way to contest the infliction of injury by the more powerful when peace failed to deliver.
Did similar thinking underscore Hamas's 7 October 2023 attack against Israel? As the BBC reported, the Islamic Resistance Movement justified its actions as a response to "Israeli crimes against the Palestinian people." But the orgy of violence that followed—French President Emmanuel Macron called the 7 October attacks the "biggest antisemitic massacre of our century"—hardly was cleansing.
Nor did Israel's military response shy away from a Fanonian belief in the virtues of violence. Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu sidestepped criticisms of the heavy death toll among Palestinian civilians inflicted by the Israeli response, reaching back to the allies' World War II bombing campaign as justification for the "legitimate actions" of a state at war. If Fanon maintained that the colonized individuals could regain their dignity through "counter-violence," a way to liberate themselves from subjugation, surely Netanyahu thought similarly for the Israeli state writ large.
Yet the right-wing Likud party has gone farther than simply opposing violence with violence, with some extremists calling for the annihilation of Gaza and the Palestinians who live there. Can this language of genocidal violence, if not its actual practice, truly lead to the liberation of which Fanon spoke?
Lest Americans think that Fanon's political philosophizing doesn't apply to them, they need look no further than the global war on terror. In the aftermath of 9/11, President George W. Bush landed on a two-pronged strategy for the Middle East that assumed a successful counterterrorism campaign would pave the way for a democratic transformation of the entire region. Turning Fanon on his head, the Bush administration saw violence as a way to bring order back to decolonized locales where disorder—and, to Bush and his supporters, violence—now reigned supreme.
Contemporary critics, of course, voiced their concerns. Not long after the national trauma of 9/11, journalist Chris Hedges contemplated American notions of war as a cleansing force that gave them meaning. Hedges wasn't convinced. He found the language of violence hollow, the implementation of it repugnant.
I think Hedges's doubts were (and are) justified, and not just for Americans. Do Israelis, for instance, who see themselves living in a besieged state consider their lives more meaningful for the violence they both support and endure? Do Palestinians judging themselves victims of a violent settler colonial project feel their world has been cleansed?
If Fanon remains relevant so long after his death in 1961, then perhaps policymakers and publics alike should question their enduring embrace of violence and war as cleansing forces. Historian and philosopher Hannah Arendt certainly did, arguing that the "most probable change [violence] will bring about is the change to a more violent world." Current events in both the Middle East and Eastern Europe seem to be bearing Arendt out.
To his credit, Fanon believed that violence leading to "pure, total brutality" could undermine the very political movements employing violence in the first place. But when policymakers and their people seek to use violence as a cleansing force, brutality itself seems to be the point.

Last week brought us the news that Dr. Craig Steven Wright, an eccentric Australian who has long claimed to be Bitcoin's pseudonymous creator Satoshi Nakamoto, was bench-slapped by the High Court, where Mr. Justice Mellor ruled at the conclusion of the proceedings that Wright was not Satoshi Nakamoto, not the author of the Bitcoin white paper, not the author of its software and, by extension, not the creator of Bitcoin.This bench ruling comes after years of litigation and weeks of hearings around the question of the provenance of the Bitcoin white paper and software. Full details of the court's findings on these points will be provided in a written judgment at a later date so I refrain from offering my own conclusions on the evidence, or an assessment of correctness of the ruling, here.As is public knowledge, I was one of the first lawyers – if not the first lawyer – to represent a client on the business end of Wright's years-long litigation campaign, when, in 2019, a Twitter user I know was the first crypto community member to receive legal threats from Wright's lawyers for claiming that Wright was not Satoshi, the very conclusion Mr. Justice Mellor also reached today. A short time later, an acquaintance of mine, Peter McCormack, dared to say the same thing. Peter was promptly sued by Wright in England. Wright won his case against Peter, albeit winning only nominal damages of £1 due to certain deficiencies in Wright's case.In my view, Wright's legal team chose to bring these claims in England for one reason, and one reason only: England is, and long has been, the easiest place in the English-speaking world to win a defamation action, because in England, the playing field is tilted so to the advantage of a claimant that even weak claims can win.This is not a new problem, and its roots go deep. Defamation is an ancient tort with its origins in the landed aristocracy seeking to protect their names and reputations from lesser men. The Anglo-Saxon tort of scandalum magnatum, a "fake news" tort for defaming great men of the realm (and thus not a tort capable of being inflicted on lesser men), was used as early as the 13th century. In later years, various other torts like seditious libel were used to punish political dissent – even where that dissent should be substantially true – and the imposition of these ancient rules in the Thirteen Colonies, most famously in the John Peter Zenger trial of 1735, served as focal points around which a new, young nation, the United States of America, began to develop its fledgling judicial system which led, eventually, to its free speech doctrine embodied today by First Amendment jurisprudence.In the modern formulation, defamation is the publication of a statement of fact to a third party, which is false, which is likely to cause serious harm to their reputation. In this respect it differs little from the tort in the United States. However, in England, the history of the tort – protecting the powerful from the powerless – has never been fully written out of its bones, because the burden of proof in a defamation action rests not with the claimant but with the defense. Not with the Saxon noble with the ear of the King, but with the humble pamphleteer who dared to speak out about his abuses. Not with the Member of Parliament accused of some lecherous or disreputable conduct, but the journalist who reported on it. Not with a person claiming to be Bitcoin's creator, offering nothing approaching definitive proof that he or she is (being a transaction or message signed with one of Satoshi's private keys), and armed with institutional financial backing, but the humble Twitter user who simply observed what appeared to be true, based on a cold assessment of the facts, and dared to repeat what he thought was true in writing. Put simply, at any time, in any defamation claim, the deck is always stacked against speakers and favors those who are most likely to be spoken about.On a practical level, this means that it is conceivable that a future plaintiff in England seeking to conceal certain truths or propound certain falsehoods, but with knowledge of the totality of the circumstances concerning that conduct, confidence that he or she can control those variables, and possessing the resources to reasonably predict that he or she will be able to use lawfare to intimidate others from discussing it, can stifle freedom of speech by using the threat of defamation litigation and, in some cases, being less than forthright with the courts. We need not look back to the Saxons to find a proven example of this: see, e.g., Jeffrey Archer, Baron Archer and former Deputy Chairman of the Conservative Party, who famously won a defamation case against the Star newspaper over a visit to a prostitute whose life was ruined by the case in the late 1980s, only to be sent to prison a decade and a half later, when his testimony was discovered to have been false.The point is not that Archer lied, or that he was punished for a lie. The point is that his initial case was so weak that he should never have won a civil action in the first place, or assumed that victory was possible, but the structure of English defamation law made a victory possible if not inevitable, thus incentivizing Archer to bring it anyway. Requiring a defendant to prove the truth of his statement, particularly where seeking to prove a negative, can be nearly impossible. It is far fairer and in the interests of justice to require a claimant, who starts the dispute, seeks the remedy, possesses direct knowledge of all of relevant facts about his past conduct, and is the party asking the state to intercede on his or her behalf with the full might of its power, to prove the truth under these circumstances.I offer no view on the truth or falsity of Wright's statements or evidence in this case. That is a matter for the High Court to address in its fuller ruling. What I do know is that the question of the truth of his claims should have been addressed years ago in Wright v. McCormack, but it was not dealt with because the burden of proof was on the defense and the cost of going through the exercise COPA - a coalition of very well-funded corporations - just went through was likely too much for an individual defendant like Peter to bear. In future, it is possible to make England a fairer place for speakers and help the English marketplace of ideas be a home for the truth. Ask claimants in a defamation action to bear the burden of proving their case. It's a simple change. Parliament should make it.

When Napoleon Bonaparte staged a coup d'état to oust the civilian government of the Directorate in France, he justified his actions as necessary to save the spirit of the Revolution. The army, in Napoleon's view, had a solemn obligation to defend the nation against threats both at home and abroad.The notion that a military, as guardians of a national spirit, has the right to seize the authority of the state became known as Bonapartism. This seemingly persistent belief in certain militaries in Africa emphasizes the need for comprehensive reform.Military regimes can perceive themselves to be better at governance than civilians. The simplicity of efficiently carrying out orders stands in stark contrast to the seemingly endless bureaucracy impeded by incompetence and corruption. In crises where politics leads to impasses in service delivery, the military's projection as being "above politics" can help it seize and keep power in fragile states.Despite the anti-French rhetoric of coup leaders in Africa, many of them nonetheless invoke this spirit of Bonapartism in acting to "save" the state. As the French Revolution began to eat itself under the Reign of Terror, for Napoleon the only means to preserve the Revolution was for its defenders to remove the civilian leadership by force.This was no singular event. Several times in the 19th and 20th centuries, the French army forced dramatic changes in the state whenever the national spirit had been challenged. Bonapartism furthermore formed a significant part of military formation in France's colonies, particularly in Africa.The problem with Bonapartism is that it has greatly undermined attempts to professionalize security forces. When we speak of professional soldiers outside of a (former) colonial setting, we mean a trained soldier who readily accepts and defends civilian authority. Such a situation is so taken for granted today that we do not always appreciate how necessary this is for a thriving democracy.If a military perceives itself to be better, more competent, or in some way less fallible than the civilian government, then a risk of Bonapartism can persist regardless of how well trained they might be. U.S. training of officers, such as those in Niger, may unintentionally lead to a growing confidence in the military about their competence and increase the risk of a takeover.The officers leading the coups in Niger and Gabon cite persistent civilian misrule, aided in no small part by continued French dominance in domestic political and economic policies in both countries, as the primary justification for their intervention. They present themselves as acting in the best interests of the nations they are nominally intended to protect. Seizing power away from incompetent civilians is merely a continuation of their duty.Scenes of crowds celebrating the removal of decades-long dictatorships do indicate at least a modicum of legitimacy for the military's actions in Gabon. Many coup leaders across Africa have justified their actions on the demonstrable misrule by civilian governments. In almost every scenario, however, the coup leaders merely became the new dictators. These actions further emulate Napoleon's hold on power, although few did so as blatantly as Jean-Bedel Bokassa of the Central African Republic, who declared himself Emperor 4 December 1977.Bonapartism is not solely a francophone problem and can exist in any state with weak democratic institutions. In the cases of Zimbabwe and Egypt, despite the civilian façade, the spirit of Bonapartism still lingers. For both states, the military has long been the true source of the state's authority.Zimbabwe's elections are a mere formality, a political tradition rather than any substantive effort to change the civilian authority. Aside from the Egyptian military's brief foray into relinquishing power to the Muslim Brotherhood in 2012, the civilian leadership serves at the pleasure of the military, not the electorate. When the military felt that Egypt was at risk under the leadership of the Brotherhood, they acted to save the state by retaking authority, a quintessential Bonapartist action.The coup in Sudan that ousted Omar al-Bashir was a remarkably similar instance of a military acting to change the civilian leadership during a crisis. However, the current infighting among senior officers points to an entirely different matter. It's actually a misnomer to refer to states like Sudan as "weak." Rather, the problem lies in the fact that the state is too powerful in relation to other aspects of the society, particularly the economy.Such states are the 'only game in town' in terms of attaining mobility, income, and basic security. Fights over who controls the state become so violent because of a lack of options. As long as other sectors remain underdeveloped, the risks of coups will persist. In such cases, it may well be counter-productive to invest too much in the militaries, and making control of the military all the more tempting.There are steps the African Union and other international bodies can take to militate against Bonapartism. The first concerns the AU's Lomé Declaration of 2000, which established a norm against unconstitutional regime changes by stating that any extra constitutional changes in a government is grounds for immediate suspension. In practice, this commitment has been far from rock solid, with the AU making numerous exceptions over the years.Moreover, tougher penalties could be applied, especially in the form of mandating Security Sector Reform (SSR) as necessary processes to return to the AU.SSR entails a comprehensive overhaul of a state's security sector. The security sector includes not only the military but also the police, judiciary, and any intelligence services. Importantly, SSR requires more than mere training, as the Niger and Burkina Faso cases demonstrate. Therein lies the rub of military governance and strengthening democracies: the only body with the authority to restructure the military is the military itself.Save for the odd counter-example, democratic promises by army officers have rarely been realized. Even in instances where elections have been held, the military nonetheless retains inordinate influence over the civilian leadership, and the threat of future coups persists.SSR is neither cheap nor easy to adequately implement. One of the most important factors is rewriting a constitution with sufficient judicial strength to ensure that an elected legislative body has the ultimate authority over all security forces. Doing so must result in the end of Bonapartism for the military and the conclusion that they are not the sole nor ultimate defenders of the nation.The rush to hold elections after a coup is often seen as an act of good faith by coup-leaders to return a country to democracy. However, to be a democracy does not only mean having elections, as democracy contains a set of values, including civilian oversight and regulation of all coercive forces in a state.Every soldier needs to be educated on the importance of civilian leadership as they are far more likely to know what is in the best interests of the civilian population than a general. Military training by foreign experts without complementary democracy training is, as Niger bears out, counter-productive to the overall mission objectives of combating Islamist insurgencies. US foreign military training reportedly includes instruction on safeguarding democracy and human rights.While US policy is to immediately halt all military aid following a coup, the policy has not always been strictly enforced, more rigorous enforcement may be more effective in the long term. These recent coups raise the difficult question on the efficacy of democracy and human rights training for militaries who are evidently not receptive to the message.Louis-Napoleon Bonaparte attempted a similar overthrow of a civilian government as his more illustrious uncle in 1851. This more foolhardy power grab led Karl Marx to quip that "history repeats itself, the first as tragedy, the second as farce." Unless the right lessons are learned, the Bonapartism lurking in African militaries will continue the tragedy of military rule.

Paul Matzko









This global public opinion poll asking respondents whether they have a favorable view of the USA has been bouncing around the interwebs. The topline finding — the US is pretty popular! — surprised many American cultural critics who remember the bad old days of the Iraq War when global criticism of US imperialism surged.
I find the handful of countries where the opinion of the US remains more negative just as interesting. Hungary's worst‐​in‐​Europe result is amusing given how the far Right in the US fetishizes Viktor Orban's reactionary politics. American Hungary stans suffer from sublimated self‐​hatred, wishing they could be as xenophobic and culturally chauvinist as team "Make Hungary Magyar Again."
But the other outlier country on this list with a marked dislike of the US might be more of a surprise to Americans: Australia. We're almost underwater Down Under. This is in sharp contrast with how highly Americans think of Australia; if you combine all positive responses from this survey, Americans consider Australia their warmest ally. Which means the gulf between how Americans and Australians view each other would be one of the widest in the world!
As it so happens, I spent eight summers as a teenager living in Australia. That certainly doesn't make me a country expert — and it's been two decades since I was last there — but it does mean that Australian antipathy towards the US doesn't take me by surprise.
That dislike was very much on the surface when I was a 10 or 11 year old trying to make Aussie friends. The most popular country singer in Australia at the time was the man, the legend, John Williamson. I've written about Australian country music elsewhere, but I can still sing many of Williamson's top hits from memory, including his rip‐​roaring nationalist anthem "A Flag of Our Own" (1991). Williamson was a republican, which meant that he believed Australia should leave the British Commonwealth, reject the monarchy, and take the British stripes off the Australian flag. Here's the song's chorus:
'Cause this is Australia and that's where we're from We're not Yankee side‐​kicks or second class P.O.M.s And tell the Frogs what they can do with their bomb Oh we must have a flag of our own

Let me decipher that for you. P.O.M.s stands for "Prisoners of Her Majesty," or Brits, which is often amended with an adjective such as "whingeing POMs" to describe those who yearn for ye olde country and constantly complain about Australia's supposedly backward ways. This was a particularly popular complaint in Australia in the aftermath of Australia's 1975 constitutional crisis. The Australian Governor‐​General — a crown appointee in a mostly symbolic role — had invoked a long neglected royal power and replaced the elected left‐​wing prime minister with a conservative. (For comparison, imagine the hoopla if King Charles III were to kick British Prime Minister Rishi Sunak out of office and install a Labour prime minister!)
"Frogs," of course, are the French, who were on the radar of Aussie nationalists in the 90s for conducting nuclear testing in their Polynesian colonies — which Australia considered its own backyard — and doing so without regard for the effects of nuclear fallout on surrounding islands and Australia itself.
That leaves us with Yankees, commonly shorted to "Yanks," which quickly becomes, via Australia's penchant for rhyming puns, "Septic Tanks," or then shortened further to "seppos." (Aussies are world leaders in slang. It's like if Cockney wasn't just the lingo of one neighborhood in London but had been exported en masse via prison ships, transported to the other side of the globe, and then had taken over an entire continent. Oh wait…)
Maybe you're wondering why America made that opprobrious list alongside the POMs and Frogs. We weren't testing any nukes in the Pacific (at least, we hadn't for a while) and we weren't meddling in their domestic politics (though blaming the CIA for the 1975 constitutional crisis remains popular among Aussie conspiracists).
But when this song was released in 1991, the Australian military had just participated in the US‐​led Gulf War. Although suffering no combat casualties, Australian nationalists saw this as yet another example of Australia blindly serving the interests of foreign superpowers, from dying at the command of callous British generals in the trenches at Gallipoli — the subject of a 1981 blockbuster starring a young Mel Gibson — to the failed fight alongside the Yanks in the jungles of Vietnam.
Bear in mind that Australia's anti‐​Vietnam War protests in 1970 were the *largest* protests in their history; by contrast, the much feted anti‐​Vietnam war protests in the US don't even crack our top 27! Australia's involvement in the Iraq War did little to assuage critics who believed Australia should stop playing second fiddle to the US, especially after leaked documents showed that the Aussie government's primary purpose for sending troops was to cozy up to the US. All the talk about eradicating weapons of mass destruction and promoting democracy was merely "mandatory rhetoric."
However, when I was a teenager in Australia in the late‐​90s, especially while visiting rural communities in Northern Queensland, the complaint I heard the most often revolved around US trade policy, specifically US tariffs on the import of Australian lamb meat. I remember riding around the bush in a ute (flatbed pickup truck) with a local farmer who was spitting mad about US tariffs and who said that the Monica Lewinsky scandal was Bill Clinton getting his just desserts for harming Aussie sheep farmers. What a thought! Australian headlines from the time were simply scathing in their critique of Clinton's hypocrisy in signing a free trade deal with Canada and Mexico while slapping new tariffs on Australia.
Yet other than the mad cow panic, meat import policies — let alone veal tariffs, lol — have never been a major political issue in recent US national politics. But they sure mattered a great deal to Australia, which is the second largest sheep exporting country in the world (Australia and New Zealand combine for an incredible 93% of the global market). In any case, US trade policy in the 1990s fit with Australian nationalists' broader critique of the US as a bully who simply expected Australia to meekly comply with its broader geopolitical agenda regardless of whether it was in Australia's own national interest.
So Australians' mixed opinions regarding the US are grounded in real, pragmatic considerations. It's yet another situation in which our imperial entanglements and trade protectionism have provoked blowback.
It's possible that in the future those feelings might revert towards the more US‐​positive, Australasian mean given Chinese economic and military expansionism in the region. Up until now, Australia has been insulated from the downside risks of Chinese expansion — funnily enough, the intervening Indonesians have been a more significant target for Australian jingoism — while benefitting greatly as a supplier of raw materials for the post‐​Mao Chinese economic miracle. Until the pandemic, Australia hadn't experienced a recession in nearly thirty years (!).
On a more speculative note, if Noah Smith and other India boosters are correct, Australia's role as a potential trading partner with India could matter as much for that country's success as its trade with China has for the past three decades. Last year, Australia signed a new free trade deal with India and expects its exports to triple by 2035. And given the ongoing decoupling of global investment from the Chinese market, Australia could benefit from a major boost of foreign investment given its proximity and ties with India, Vietnam, and other high growth South and Southeast Asian markets (nicknamed "Altasia"). There's little in the way of Australia enjoying another thirty years of torrid economic growth.
The US should forge a new, peer relationship with Australia, signaling that it takes Australia seriously as a vital regional ally rather than treating it as a junior partner in our foreign misadventures. We have a golden opportunity to do so right now. As Doug Bandow has noted, China has foolishly kicked off a trade war with Australia, and while Trump considered following suit with new tariffs on Australian exports, he was finally persuaded not to. We should take advantage of China's mistake by expanding our 2005 free trade agreement with Australia and lower rates on agricultural products that are feeling the pinch from Chinese tariffs.
This is a crosspost from the author's Substack. Click through and subscribe for more content on the intersection of history and policy.

 Institut
d'Estudis Nord-americans  Blog 

Josep
M. Colomer: "The current political polarization of the United States originates
in its institutional system."

General newsPhotography: Alicia Colomer



By Marc Amat

On January 6, 2021, a mob of Donald
Trump supporters stormed the United States Capitol to get Vice President Mike
Pence and Congress to reject President-elect Joe Biden. This shocking event was
the result of a crescendo of political hostility that, for decades, had eroded
the institutional system of the United States. This is how prestigious
political scientist and economist Josep M. Colomer reads the situation in his
latest book La polarización política en Estados Unidos (Debate,
2023). In its pages, Colomer points out the institutional design of this North
American country – with the separation of powers between Congress and the
Presidency and only two parties – as being responsible for the constant
emergence of bitter political and territorial rivalries.

With a comprehensive tone and rhythmic
pace, Colomer weaves a lucid essay on how the deterioration of the
effectiveness of government can end up generating growing tensions in the
political scene. To do so, he draws on his long academic and professional
career. Currently, he is a professor of political science at Georgetown
University, in Washington D.C., and an associate researcher at the l'Institut
de Ciències Polítiques i Socials in Barcelona. How should we interpret the
assault on the Capitol? What symptoms of dysfunction exist in the U.S.
institutional system? What changes could be made to improve it? To analyze
these issues, this month we interview Josep M. Colomer.

On January 6, 2021, images of the assault on the United
States Capitol swept the world. How do you explain that occurrence?

It's been repeated many times in the
media that what we experienced was an unprecedented situation. However,
throughout history, the U.S. has faced several episodes of institutional
violence. If we look beyond the recent past, between 1830 and 1860 there was a
great escalation of tension and violence, even among the congressmen
themselves. With the abolition of slavery as a core issue, this dynamic led to
a bloody civil war, with 750,000 people dead, a figure that represented 2.5% of
the population of the United States at the time. Now, for almost three decades,
we've been experiencing another continuous increase in tension in American
domestic politics. This time it will not lead to a civil war, but it is
paralyzing politics. There are problems in approving budgets; in the recent
past there have been four impeachments, when there had only been one in the
19th century; it's extremely difficult to move forward with legislature…

Can we understand Donald Trump's rhetoric and the assault
on the Capitol as a culmination of this escalation?

It is a consequence. We have to look
for the beginning of the tensions in the mid-1990s. In 1994, the Republicans
won a majority in Congress after many years without it. From day one, they
acted to create a climate of political hostility against President Clinton.
They tried to overrule him, they dug up scandals… Today, this behavior still
continues: Republicans adopt a position of boycott towards institutions they do
not control.

And this causes the institutional system to falter.

It's not that the Republicans are
worse or more combative people: the problem lies in the country's own
institutional design, which creates incentives for this to happen. That's my
thesis.

So this is a problem with a long past. In fact, it originates
in the constitution itself.

In the 18th century, when the United
States approved its Magna Carta, they were undertaking an experiment: to
establish a republic in a large country. This did not exist anywhere, and in a
way, it could be said that the U.S. has had to pay for the novelty of this
undertaking. They drew up a constitution very much intended to defend
themselves against the British, French and Spanish armies, which still had
colonies at their borders. Therefore, foreign policy was the core element. With
the creation of the United States, the newly independent states that were part
of it wanted to have a firmer government. Throughout the centuries, foreign
policy has remained the axis of the American system. We saw this, for example,
during the Second World War or the Cold War. Now, with Russia and China there
is some nostalgia to relive times like the Cold War, though the present
situation is not comparable. When there is a clear and threatening enemy,
foreign policy takes over and the whole country pulls together to face the
threat. On the other hand, when the enemy is more abstract, a lot of internal
issues surface that have never been resolved.

Such as?

There are many of them. Obama's health
care program, which didn't quite work; issues related to education; border
control and the wave of immigrants who want to enter the country; the use of
firearms; abortion; legislation on transgender people; the constant racial
tensions… These are internal issues that have never been addressed. With the American
institutional system, resolving these conflicts through two institutions ruled
by two different parties blocking each other is very complicated. The parties
being unable to solve problems has led to the appearance of social movements
such as Me Too or Black Lives Matter, but also the Tea Party or the
anti-vaccine movement.



Has political polarization translated into growing social
polarization?

In some previous conflicts, such as
the years of the Cold War, the government tried to create a certain climate of
fear among the population. They were encouraged to build atomic shelters in
their homes, there were drills in schools… Most people, however, moved away
from the hysteria and led a normal life. In fact, in the 1950s, society
progressed a lot, with the massification of automobiles, the entry of television
and appliances into the household, Coca-Cola, Hollywood… Similarly, the current
polarization is much stronger politically than socially. In fact, the
polarization is inflammatory and a spectacle, but the vast majority of people
are not polarized. Only 2% of voters go to Donald Trump's rallies, for example.
He demonizes immigrants, but there is no news of civil conflict with
immigrants.

In your book, you often remind us that America is huge.

One of the things I least expected to
find in the country when I went to live there was the great territorial
fragmentation. This is not the United States of America: it is the Disunited
States of America. I can identify at least six different countries within its
borders, such as the East Coast, the Midwest, Texas, California, the South…
There are territories with great differences and certain sentiments towards
others, but they have built the nation based on sharing a flag, a currency and
a language.



Has the size of the country also conditioned the
effectiveness of the institutional system?

When they made the Constitution, the delegates were very
inspired by Montesquieu. In fact, the French thinker is the most cited author
in the deliberations of the Americans. The author could not speak English, but
he had visited England to analyze its political system and be able to describe
it in a chapter of the book The Spirit of the Laws (1748). In
the United States, they took this as a reference. The problem was that, in
reality, the British system that the intellectual described had been out of
date for over a century. The person who instructed him during the visit was a
monarchist who had been expelled years ago from the House of Lords for
conspiring to restore the absolute monarchy, had gone into exile in France and
spoke French. He explained Britain's medieval monarchy to Montesquieu,
Montesquieu reproduced it in his book and in Philadelphia, the delegates took
inspiration from it, replacing the king with an executive president with many
powers. The result was the creation of a republic in a huge country. It was
unprecedented. The model is still unique in the world, the Americans themselves
did not even implement it in other countries, such as Germany or Japan, after
the Second World War.

What measures do you think should be incorporated into the
system to combat the malfunction you describe?

I dedicate the last chapter of the
book to this. I make suggestions for institutional reforms, but I don't propose
a new constitution. I try to identify real examples that are already moving in
the right direction, such as the reform of the electoral system that already
works at the local and state levels in some states, with elections with a
second round. Cooperation should increase between Congress and the president.
Currently, there are already some department secretaries who periodically visit
Congress to report back. Cooperation between Washington and the states still
has much room for improvement. That role should be played by the Senate, but
it's too partisan. There is a way to go, and the Constitution would not need to
be changed much to move towards a more parliamentary system. But confrontational
partisanship makes institutional reforms very difficult.

Personal website: www.josepcolomer.com




La polarización política en Estados Unidos

Orígenes
y actualidad de un conflicto permanente

Josep
M. Colomer

Saber más

Josep M.
ColomerComing soon in English:CLICK - Taylor & Francis - Routledge

 

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Siddharth Mallavarapu on International
Asymmetries, Ethnocentrism, and a View on IR from India












How is the rise of the BRICs in the international
political and economic system reflected in our understanding of that system?
One key insight is that the discipline of International Relations that has
emanated from the northern hemisphere is far less 'international' than is
widely thought. Scholars from the 'Global South' increasingly raise important
challenges to the provincialism of IR theory with a universal pretense.
Siddharth Mallavarapu's work has consistently engaged with such questions. In
this Talk, Mallavarapu, amongst
others, elaborates on IR's ethnocentrism, the multitude of voices in the Global
South, and why he rather speaks of a 'voice from India' rather than an 'Indian
IR theory'.




Print version of this Talk (pdf)






What is, according to you, the biggest challenge / principal debate in
current IR? What is your position or answer to this challenge / in this debate?



One of the things I constantly contend with in my work
is to think of ways of how we can widen our notion of the international. IR has been too closely linked to the fortunes of
the major powers, and this has been to our detriment, because it has
impoverished our sense of international. I think the spirit of what I contend
with is best captured by what Ngugi wa Thiong'o in his book Globalectics:
Theory and Politics of Knowing concerns himself with, namely '…the
organization of literary space and the politics of knowing'. My interest is to
grapple with the manner in which the discipline of International Relations in
its dominant mainstream idiom orchestrates and administers intellectual space
and the implications this carries for the broader politics of knowledge. Simply
put, the principal challenge is to confront various species of ethnocentrism –
particularly Anglo-American accents of parochialism in the mainstream account
of International Relations.



I am also keenly sensitive to some disciplinary biases
and prejudices, which I think sometimes take on tacit forms and sometimes more
explicit forms, and in which provincial experiences are passed off as universal
experiences. The whole question of 'benchmarking' is problematic, in that a
benchmark is set by one, and others are expected to measure up to that
benchmark. Then there is the question of certain theories, for example the idea
that hegemony is desirable from the perspective of international stability –
think of the Hegemonic Stability Theory in the 1970s, or the Democratic Peace Theory that assumes that liberal democracy is an unsurpassed
political form from the perspective of peace. Then there is human rights
advocacy of a particular kind, and the whole idea of the 'Long Peace' applied
to the Cold War years. In reality, this was far from a 'long peace' for many
countries in the Third World during the same era.



I am also interested right now in the issue of the
evolution of IR theory, and was really intrigued by the September 2013 issue of
the EuropeanJournal of International Relations, with its focus on 'the End of International Relations Theory': I find
this fascinating, because just at a time when there are new players or re-emerging and re-surfacing
players in the international system, there is a move to delegitimize IR Theory
itself. So I am curious about the conjuncture and the set of sociologies of
knowledge that inform particular terms and turns in the discipline.



My response to this challenge
is to consciously work towards inserting other voices, traditions and
sensibilities in the discipline to problematize its straightforward and
simplistic understanding of large chunks of the world. My work is informed by
what international relations praxis looks
like in other places and how it is locally interpreted in those contexts. There
are gaps in mainstream narratives and I am interested in finding ways to create
space for a more substantive engagement with other perspectives by broadening
the disciplinary context. This is not merely a matter of inclusive elegance but
a matter of life and death because poor knowledge as evident from the
historical record generates disastrous political judgments that have already
resulted in considerable loss of human life, often worst impacting the former
colonies.



The global south holds a particular attraction for me
in this context, especially given its often problematic representations in
mainstream IR discourse. The underlying premise here is that the discipline of
IR will stand to be enriched by drawing on a much wider repertoire of human
experiences than it currently does. The normative imperative is to nudge us all
in the direction of being more circumspect before we pronounce or pass quick
and often harsh political assessments about sights, sounds, smells and
political ecologies we are unfamiliar with. IR as a discipline needs to reflect
the considerable diversity.  



My doctoral research on the role of the International Court
of Justice advisory opinion rendered in July 1996 on the legality of the threat
or use of nuclear weapons provided an opportunity to probe this diversity
further. While advancing a case for categorical illegality of nuclear use under
all circumstances, Judge Christopher Gregory Weeramantry discusses at length the multicultural bases of
international humanitarian law. In doing so, he combines knowledge of world
religions, postcolonial histories and canonical international law to frame his
erudite opinion, which displays a thoughtful engagement with often neglected or
obscured sensibilities.



These examples can be exponentially multiplied. Such a
sentiment is most succinctly captured by Chinua Achebe in Home and
Exile where he argues that '…my hope for the twenty-first [century] is that
it will see the first fruits of the balance of stories among the world's
peoples'. It most critically calls for '…the process of 're-storying' peoples
who had been knocked silent by the trauma of all kinds of dispossession'. I would treat this as an important charter or
intellectual map for anybody embarking on the study of International Relations
today. I would also like to add that this storytelling would inevitably
encounter the categories and many avatars
of race, class, gender and nationality crisscrossing and intersecting in all
sorts of possible combinations generating a whole host of political outcomes as
well.  



The skewed politics of knowledge is most evident when
it comes to theory with a big 'T' in particular. Most theories of International
Relations emanate from the Anglo-American metropole and little from elsewhere.
This is not because of an absence of theoretical reflection in other milieus but
due rather to a not so accidental privileging of some parts of experiential
reality over others. IR has been too caught up with the major powers. I could
think of conscious efforts to theorize both in the past and in the present
elements of reality hidden from conventional vantage points. One recent illustration
of social and political theorizing from the context I am more familiar with is an
account by Gopal Guru and Sundar Sarukkai titled The Cracked Mirror: An Indian Debate on Experience and Theory. There
are on-going theoretical engagements in Africa, the Arab world, Asia and South
America reflecting an intellectual ferment both within and outside of these
societies. International Relations as a discipline has to find ways of
explicitly engaging these texts and relating it to prevailing currents in world
politics rather than carry on an elaborate pretence of their non-existence. I
am more troubled by claims of an 'end of International Relations theory' just
at a moment when the world is opening up to new political possibilities
stemming from the projected growth in international influence of parts of Asia,
Africa, the Arab world and South America. IR has to move beyond its obsession
of focusing on the major powers and seriously democratize its content. The
terms 'global' or 'international' cannot be a monopoly or even an oligopoly.
Such a view has severely impoverished our understanding of the contemporary world.





How did you
arrive at where you currently are in IR?



I cannot really claim that this was a neatly planned
trajectory. I stumbled upon the discipline by chance not design. My initial
curiosity about the world of social cognition emerged from a slice of my medical
history. When I was at school in my early teens, I developed a condition referred
to as Leucoderma or Vitiligo which involved skin depigmentation. I enjoyed
writing from an early stage and recall recording my observations of the world
around me in a piece titled Etiology
Unknown borrowing language from the doctor's diagnosis. I recall an urgency
to comprehend and make sense of what I perceived then as a fast changing world
where old certitudes were dissolving on a daily basis. I felt an outsider at
some remove from my earlier self and it gave me on retrospect a distinct
vantage point to witness the world around me. It was impacting who I thought I
was and thereby compelled me to confront issues of identity – individual and
social. An extremely supportive family made all the difference during these
years.



The turmoil and confusion in those years led me to
develop a deeper interest in understanding more loosely why people reacted in
particular sorts of ways to what was in medical terms merely a cosmetic change.
It also led me to informally forge community whenever I saw anybody else experiencing
similar states of being. I also internalized one of the first ingredients of
good social science – the capacity to be empathetic and put ourselves in others
shoes. I learnt that the discipline of Sociology among the available choices in
my milieu came closest to allowing me to pursue these concerns more
systematically further. I applied to a Sociology master's programme after my
undergraduate years at Jawaharlal Nehru University in Delhi, but I had also
applied simultaneously to the International Relations programme since in my
understanding it after all concerned the wider world – an extension of scale
but similar I imagined in terms of the canvas of concerns. The numbers in India
are large, the competition is stiff: I made it to the IR programme but did not
make it to the Sociology programme.



Having got there, I had some outstanding influences,
and I soon realized that one could also think about issues of identity (then
cast by me in terms of simple binaries – home and the external world, the
relationship of inside and outside, victors and the vanquished) in the
discipline of IR. I decided to stick the course and delve into these questions
more deeply while keeping up with a broader interest in the social sciences.



I could list a few influences that were critical at
various stages of my academic biography: at high school, an economics teacher S.
Venkata Lakshmi was very encouraging and positive and confirmed my intuitive
sense that I would enjoy the social sciences. Subsequently at college I had in
Father Ambrose Pinto a fine teacher of Political Science. He would take us on
small field excursions to observe first hand issues such as caste conflicts in
a neighbouring village, and all that helped me develop a sharper sense of the
political which moved away from the textbook and was strongly anchored in the local
context.



At the graduate level of study, Kanti Bajpai who later also became my mentor and advisor in the doctoral programme
exercised an enormous influence as a role model. I was convinced that a life of
the mind is worth aspiring and working towards once I came into contact with
him in the classroom. He also exposed me to all the basic building blocks of an
academic life – reading, writing, researching, teaching and publishing,
demonstrating at all times both patience and unparalleled generosity. We have
collaborated on two edited volumes on International
Relations in India and I continue to greatly value an enduring friendship.



For over a decade, I have also had the good fortune of
coming into contact with B.S. Chimni who is an exemplary scholar in the Third World Approaches to
International Law (TWAIL) tradition. It has been a great joy bouncing off ideas and discussing
at length various facets of International Relations, International Law and
Political Theory together over the years. I have learnt much from this rich and
continued association. In 2012 we worked jointly on an edited book titled International Relations: Perspectives for
the Global South.



I have also learnt (and continue to do so) from my
students both at Jawaharlal Nehru University (JNU) and at the South Asian
University (SAU). At JNU, I made my beginnings and continue to take some pride
in being intellectually home spun at one of the foundational and premier
crucibles of International Relations scholarship in India. I have also
thoroughly enjoyed my interactions over the years with the students drawn from
diverse backgrounds. At SAU, I have in the space of a short period been exposed
to some fine students from across the South Asian region. I have often been
impressed by their understanding of politics and on occasion have marvelled at
their demonstration of a maturity beyond their years. There is much I learn
from them particularly from their insider narratives of the unique political
experiences and trajectories of their specific countries.



Himadeep Muppidi has also been a remarkable influence
in terms of clarifying my thinking about the workings of the global IR episteme.
His receptivity to hitherto neglected intellectual inheritances from outside
the mainstream and most evidently his capacity to write with soul, passion and
character while retaining a deep suspicion of the 'objectivity' fetish in the
social sciences has alerted me to a whole new metaphysics and aesthetic of
interpreting IR. The thread that runs through all these interests and
influences is firstly the issue of context, and secondly the question of agency
–what it meant to be marginal in some sense, how could one think about
theorizing questions relating to dispossession, relating to a certain degree of
marginality– and also the broader issue of the politics of knowledge itself: of
how certain attitudes and concepts seem to obscure or deface certain
conditions, which seem to be quite prevalent.



I have also found excellent academic conversationalists
with sometimes differing perspectives who help sharpen my arguments
considerably. I would like to make special mention of Thomas Fues and the fascinating
global governance school that he offers intellectual stewardship to in Bonn. In
the years to come, I look forward to further intellectual collaborations with
scholars from Brazil and South Africa and other parts of South America and
Africa as well as the Arab world.





What would a
student need to become a specialist in IR or understand the world in a global
way?



The key without a doubt is curiosity. I do my best to
feed that curiosity as a teacher. I also think Gerardo Munck and Richard
Snyder's counsel and interviews in their book, Passion, Craft and Method in Comparative Politics are a useful
resource for students wanting to study International Relations. I also feel
strongly that classics need to be read and engaged with, by bringing them into
play in our contemporary dilemmas. I find that many of the questions we ask
today are not necessarily entirely new questions: there is a history to them
and there has been some careful thought given to them in the past, so it is
important to partake of this inheritance.



Then there is language: it is vital for students to
break out of one particular region or one particular set of concerns which flow
from a limited context, and in this way to become willing to engage with other
contexts. In this sense, language learning potentially opens up other worlds. I also believe that some exposure to quantitative methods is important:
you need to be able
to both contextualize and interpret data with some degree of confidence and not
overlook them when approaching texts. Not
everybody may choose it but we need to make the distinction between The Signal and the Noise as Nate Silverreminds us. I have found Marc Trachtenberg's The Craft of International History (chapter 1 in PDF here) a very useful text in providing
some very practical advice in fine tuning our research designs to weave the
past into our present. D.D. Kosambi's essay on 'combining methods' (PDF here) still
provides important clues to thinking creatively about method.



I also think it is important for students to avoid the
temptations of insularity and also pose questions in a fashion that allows them
to explore the workings of these questions in diverse settings. They should be open to a
diversity of methods from different disciplines such as ethnography, and
develop a deeper historical sensitivity, all these are crucial to shaping up as
a good scholar.



In sum, the importance of classics, fieldwork and
language acquisition cannot be emphasized sufficiently. Classics bring us back
to refined thought concerning enduring questions, language opens up other
worlds, and field work compels one to at least temporarily inhabit the trenches,
dirty your hands and acquire an earthy sense of the issues at hand.





Given the
importance you attach to the learning of language, among other things, and the
linguistic diversity that characterises India, do you often perceive language
to be a barrier to understanding?



I think language works in two ways. On the one hand,
each language has a specific manner of framing issues and a specific set of
sensibilities associated with it which in some respects is quite unique.
However, languages also lend themselves to different cross-cultural
interpretations and adaptations. Kristina S. Ten in an evocative piece titled 'Vehicles for Story: Chinua Achebe and Ngũgĩ wa Thiong'o on Defining African Literature,Preserving Culture and Self' maps some key lines of an enduring debate. Thiong'o
has a particularly strong position on this question of language: he says he no
longer wants to write in the English language, but instead in his native Gikuyu,
as well as Swahili. He argues that language has to do with memory, has to do
with what he calls a soul, and he maintains that language hierarchies are very
real and that we must contribute to enriching our own pools of language to
begin with, if we are to contribute to a much wider, global repertoire of
languages. In contrast, Chinua Achebe whom I mentioned earlier, very often wrote
in English and held the position that it was important to be accessible to more
people and to reach diverse audiences who would not necessarily be from his
home country. He said it was possible to use a language like English and permeate
it with local texture, wisdom and pulse – something he has exemplified in his
own work. I consider his writings a testimony to how well that can be done.



So there is a bit of a divide in terms of how one can
look at this question of language, but teaching in India I know that there are
students who may be very bright but who are constrained by the fact that they
have not had the same access to English schools, and therefore are restricted
to the vernacular. These students may have some very good ideas, but they feel disadvantaged
by the fact that their command of the English language is not sufficient to
guarantee close attention to what they wish to say. Some work hard to overcome
these challenges and meet with considerable success. While I think it is
wonderful to learn another language, it does not need to entail a diffidence or
neglect of one's own native language or any other vernacular language. My
impression is that if unimaginatively pursued something is lost in the process
and students end up feeling diffident and apologetic about their native language
which is entirely undesirable. I believe therefore that while one should enthusiastically
embrace new languages, the challenge is to accomplish this without unconsciously
obscuring one's native tongue. Having said that, all of us in India are keen to
go to English language schools. Vernacular languages have often lost out in the
process. So there is something to be said about this concern about language. We
have to tread carefully and remain attentive to how language hierarchies are
positioned and deployed for advancing particular species of knowledge claims.





From the
language issues flow conceptual questions: Asia is a Western construct, and
South Asia an extension of that. You reluctantly use this term, South Asia, in
what you call shorthand, and similarly terms "nation" and "state". How can we
break away from these concepts if we don't have a new vocabulary?



This really flows from the fact that IR is still very
much an ethnocentric construct. We are also suggesting in the same breath that
there is a particular form in which most concepts and categories tend to be
employed. I think IR language is imbued at least partly with the vocabulary of
the hegemon or of the dominant powers, so that it shares with the area studies' legacy the political connotations that are still very much with us. One
way that I try to break away from this when I introduce students to these
concepts and categories is by focusing on the lineage and the broader
intellectual history and etymology of concepts which come into play in IR.
Students are in any case acutely aware of the fact that there is a strong area
studies tradition which has mapped the world in a particular way which was not an
innocent discursive formation by any stretch of imagination. They also
recognize that this is not the only framing possible. The challenge for us is
of course to introduce new concepts and categories. I noticed for instance that
South Asia has become 'Southern Asia' for some strategic commentators (StevenA. Hoffmann among others) because 'Southern Asia' also includes China. However,
when it is done from the perspective of strategy there are other interests intertwined
such as specific geopolitical assessments.



What I try to do, rather, is to draw on the deeper
histories within the region itself, in order to arrive at concepts and
conceptions which are more germane to our context. I don't think I've succeeded
in this project as yet, but one of the reasons why I think it's important to
historicise these elements and even categories is to open up the possibility of
thinking about different imaginaries and along with that different categories.
I don't want to call it an alternative vocabulary, because I think that some
sensibilities have been given short shrift in history, and some provincial
experiences have more successfully masqueraded as universal experiences. Therefore,
part of the challenge is to call that bluff, while another part of the
challenge is to reconstruct and offer fresh perspectives. These may even be
questions about traditional issues such as order or justice, questions of
political authority, political rule or legitimacy. These are questions which
are of concern to all societies though individual responses may not echo the
language and slants of conventional IR theory. However, they may throw up some
sophisticated formulations on these very issues. A part of the challenge for
the IR scholar, then, is to recover and bring these ideas into the sinews of the
mainstream IR academia.



It is equally important to avoid any sort of nativism,
or to suggest that this is necessarily 'the best' approach, but to widen the
inventory before moving on to stimulating a real conversation between divergent
conceptions. We must avoid falling into the trap of what Ulrich Beck among
others has referred to as 'methodological nationalism'. I am by no means
suggesting that there is 'an Indian theory' of IR, but what I am curious about
is how the world is viewed from this particular location. That is quite
different from suggesting that there is a national project or a national school
of IR. I think that distinction needs to be made more subtly and needs to come
through more clearly, but one of the projects I am currently involved in is the
chronicling of a disciplinary history of IR in India and what that tells us
about Indians and their readings of the world outside their home. In that
process, I ask what the key issues that animated particularly an earlier
generation of scholars - how did they present these ideas and why did they
avoid using certain forms of presentation and framing? What were some of the
conspicuous presences and nonappearances in their work? Exploring these sorts
of issues will lead us forward by, firstly, bringing to bear all these pieces
of work which I feel have been ignored or have not received their due, and secondly,
by showing that there is a fair amount of diversity of thinking even in the
earlier generations of IR scholarship. The intent is to avoid a monolithic
conception of IR that emerges from India. I will have to make this point much
more clearly and emphatically in the future, and hope that my focus on
disciplinary history will contribute to some critical ground clearing. Similar
inventories of IR scholarship need to be assembled in different locations from
Africa, South America, other parts of Asia and the Arab world.



Many of these projects then also link up to very
practical questions. One of the issues that is of interest to me in this
context is that of South-South cooperation, such as for instance the IBSA Dialogue Forum, or the grouping known as BRICS, or the broader forum of
the G-20. There is evidence that the traditional structures and ways of doing
things are increasingly suspect and being viewed with suspicion by some actors
within the international system. It is therefore more important now to reopen
some of these questions and to think afresh about such things as institutional
design: what does it mean to be talking about "democratising international
relations"? How can we think of more inclusive and legitimate institutions? How
can we think about ways in which we can cooperate for the provision of global
public goods, but in a manner which is historically more legitimate and fair?
How can we address previous asymmetries that are not necessarily going to just
disappear? How do we deal with old power structures and their residual
influences in terms of the Westphalian state system? What legacy has been
enshrined for instance in the Bretton Woods institutions and what has that
legacy meant? What happened to non-alignment? Vijay Prashad chronicles
vividly the promise and unfulfilled promise of the non-aligned movement in
his fascinating account titled The Darker
Nations: A People's History of the Third World. How the past plays out in
terms of contemporary global governance questions and arrangements is fundamental
to my research interests. I have recently intervened on the Responsibility to
Protect (R2P) doctrine and its practice. I have been rather critical arguing that it
cannot be disassociated from a longer history of interventionism by the major
powers in the global south however benign its dressing. A thread that runs
through my work is to demonstrate how historical asymmetry continues to manifest
in terms of how the contemporary international system is structured. And I ask if
we are to arrive at a more legitimate, inclusive and effective international
system, then what are the mechanisms and steps which we need to work towards?





What do you
imagine that process might look like? Do we need to return to a 'world of
villages' (the 1300s) before we can reinvent IR, the national and the global?
Do we need micro histories before we can reassemble a bigger history or is a
subtle shift possible?



There are two levels on which this can happen: on one
level the changes that seem to work are incremental changes and not
lock-stock-and-barrel fundamental changes. In terms of scale, different
scholars do different things. Some scholars are interested in micro histories,
others are interested in macro histories and asking the big questions.



I imagine both these projects are important and there
should be more scholars from the global south as well who ask the big macro questions.
What has happened for too long is that we have relegated this responsibility to
the traditional post Second World War major powers and they have treated it as
natural to offer us macro-historical narratives and pictures. I think scholars
from the global south need now to attend to both tasks: to write good micro
histories as well as reframe the larger questions of macro history. I would add
that normative concerns such as the content and feasibility of global justice needs
also to be an integral part of contemporary international relations
scholarship. For instance, it would be fair to ask that in a world of plenty,
why do so many people go hungry?



So if you were to ask me about my dreams and my hopes,
I still think that the 1955 Bandung Conference and subsequent nonalignment visions
remain unfinished business. I hope that within the span of the current
generation there is greater egalitarianism accomplished in the international
system and ultimately a balance not just in terms of what Achebe called the stories
of the world, but also in terms of actual institutional designs and political outcomes.
This should translate into much better provision of various public goods to global
citizenry with special attention to those who have been historically
disadvantaged. For assorted reasons there have been deep asymmetries within the
international system which have persisted and resulted in diminishing the life
chances and collective self-esteem of various peoples in the global south. There
is an urgent need to both acknowledge and remedy the situation in the world we
live in.





In your
experience, what is the role of the IR scholar in India in relation to the
foreign policy establishment and the policy makers?



It is quite hard to find traction of one's ideas in
terms of any influence of scholars or groups of scholars on the social or
political establishment. Overall I would say that academia has for  a long time not been taken seriously by the
foreign policy establishment, and that has more to do with the institutional
structure where there is a pecking order and the bureaucracy sees itself as
being better informed. Even in academic conference settings, one could periodically
expect a practitioner of foreign policy to argue that they know best having
been present at a particular negotiation or at the outbreak, duration and
conclusion of any recent episode in diplomatic history. This does not in reality
translate into the best knowledge because there is the possibility that besides
the immediate detail, the absence of a larger historical context or even
unaccounted variables in terms of the contemporary political forces at work
during that moment could be blind spots in the narrative. It is fair to say
therefore that the influence of academia on the Indian foreign policy
establishment by and large has tended to be minimal. However, one could make
the argument today that there are some early stirrings of changes in the offing.




Quite evidently, the Indian Foreign Service is far too
miniscule for a country of India's size and desired influence in the
international system. There is a perceived need from within the foreign policy
establishment to draw on expertise from elsewhere and on occasion they do turn
to the academia to invite counsel on specific issues. From the perspective of
the IR academic, it is perhaps equally important to be not too close to the
corridors of power as it could alter the incentive structure to the detriment
of independent opinion making for securing short or long term political
patronage.





Siddharth Mallavarapu is currently Associate
Professor and Chairperson at the Department of International Relations at the South
Asian University in New Delhi. He is on deputation from the School of
International Studies at Jawaharlal Nehru University. He completed his doctoral
thesis on the politics of norm creation in the context of an Advisory Opinion
rendered by the International Court of Justice in 1996 on nuclear weapon threat
or use. This culminated in his first book, Banning
the Bomb: The Politics of Norm Creation. His principal areas of academic
focus include international relations theory, intellectual histories of the
global south, disciplinary histories of IR, global governance debates and more
recently the implications of recent developments in the field of cognition on
the social sciences. Mallavarapu retains a special interest in issues related
to the politics of knowledge and examines the claims advanced in the discipline
of International Relations through this perspective. His immediate teaching
commitments include a graduate course on 'Cognition and World Politics' and a
doctoral level course on 'Advanced Research Methods'. He has co-edited (with
Kanti Bajpai) two books on recent Indian contributions to International
Relations theory. In 2012 along with B.S. Chimni, he co-edited International Relations: Perspectives for
the Global South.





Related links

Faculty Profile



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Read
Mallavarapu's Dissent of Judge
Weeramantry (2006 book chapter) here (pdf)
Read
Mallavarapu's Indian
Thinking in International Relations here (pdf)
Read
Mallavarapu's Because
of America here (pdf)
Read
Mallavarapu's Nuclear
Detonations: Contemplating Catastrophe here (pdf)


Print version of this Talk (pdf)

Daniel Deudney on Mixed Ontology, Planetary Geopolitics, and Republican Greenpeace



This is the second in a series of Talks dedicated to the technopolitics of International Relations, linked to the forthcoming double volume 'The Global Politics of Science and Technology' edited by Maximilian Mayer, Mariana Carpes, and Ruth Knoblich 






World politics increasingly abrasions with the limits of state-centric thinking, faced as the world is with a set of issues that affect not only us collectively as mankind, but also the planet itself. While much of IR theorizing seems to shirk such realizations, the work of Daniel Deudney has consistently engaged with the complex problems engendered by the entanglements of nuclear weapons, the planetary environment, space exploration, and the kind of political associations that might help us to grapple with our fragile condition as humanity-in-the world. In this elaborate Talk, Deudney—amongst others—lays out his understanding of the fundamental forces that drive both planetary political progress and problems; discusses the kind of ontological position needed to appreciate these problems; and argues for the merits of a republican greenpeace model to political organization.





Print version of this Talk (pdf)







What is, according to you, the biggest challenge / principal debate in current IR? What is your position or answer to this challenge / in this debate?



The study of politics is the study of human politics and the human situation has been—and is being—radically altered by changes in the human relationships with the natural and material worlds. In my view, this means IR and related intellectual disciplines should focus on better understanding the emergence of the 'global' and the 'planetary,' their implications for the overall human world and its innumerable sub-worlds, and their relations with the realization of basic human needs. The global and the planetary certainly don't comprise all of the human situation, but the fact that the human situation has become global and planetary touches every other facet of the human situation, sometimes in fundamental ways. The simple story is that the human world is now 'global and planetary' due to the explosive transformation over the last several centuries of science-based technology occurring within the geophysical and biophysical features of planet Earth. The natural Earth and its relationship with humans have been massively altered by the vast amplifications in dispersed human agency produced by the emergence and spread of machine-based civilization. The overall result of these changes has been the emergence of a global- and planetary-scale material and social reality that is in some ways similar, but in other important ways radically different, from earlier times. Practices and structures inherited from the pre-global human worlds have not adequately been adjusted to take the new human planetary situation into account and their persistence casts a long and partially dark shadow over the human prospect.



A global and planetary focus is also justified—urgently—by the fact that the overall human prospect on this planet, and the fate of much additional life on this planet, is increasingly dependent on the development and employment of new social arrangements for interacting with these novel configurations of material and natural possibilities and limits. Human agency is now situated, and is making vastly fateful choices—for better or worse—in a sprawling, vastly complex aggregation of human-machine-nature assemblies which is our world. The 'fate of the earth' now partly hinges on human choices, and helping to make sure these choices are appropriate ones should be the paramount objective of political scientific and theoretical efforts. However, no one discipline or approach is sufficient to grapple successfully with this topic. All disciplines are necessary. But there are good reasons to believe that 'IR' and related disciplines have a particularly important possible practical role to play. (I am also among those who prefer 'global studies' as a label for the enterprise of answering questions that cut across and significantly subsume both the 'international' and the 'domestic.')



My approach to grappling with this topic is situated—like the work of now vast numbers of other IR theorists and researchers of many disciplines—in the study of 'globalization.' The now widely held starting point for this intellectual effort is the realization that globalization has been the dominant pattern or phenomenon, the story of stories, over at least the last five centuries. Globalization has been occurring in military, ecological, cultural, and economic affairs. And I emphasize—like many, but not all, analysts of globalization—that the processes of globalization are essentially dependent on new machines, apparatuses, and technologies which humans have fabricated and deployed. Our world is global because of the astounding capabilities of machine civilization. This startling transformation of human choice by technological advance is centrally about politics because it is centrally about changes in power. Part of this power story has been about changes in the scope and forms of domination. Globalization has been, to state the point mildly, 'uneven,' marked by amplifications of violence and domination and predation on larger and wider scales. Another part of the story of the power transformation has been the creation of a world marked by high degrees of interdependence, interaction, speed, and complexity. These processes of globalization and the transformation of machine capabilities are not stopping or slowing down but are accelerating. Thus, I argue that 'bounding power'—the growth, at times by breathtaking leaps, of human capabilities to do things—is now a fundamental feature of the human world, and understanding its implications should, in my view, be a central activity for IR scholars.



In addressing the topic of machine civilization and its globalization on Earth, my thinking has been centered first around the developing of 'geopolitical' lines argument to construct a theory of 'planetary geopolitics'. 'Geopolitics' is the study of geography, ecology, technology, and the earth, and space and place, and their interaction with politics. The starting point for geopolitical analysis is accurate mapping. Not too many IR scholars think of themselves as doing 'geography' in any form. In part this results from of the unfortunate segregation of 'geography' into a separate academic discipline, very little of which is concerned with politics. Many also mistake the overall project of 'geopolitics' with the ideas, and egregious mistakes and political limitations, of many self-described 'geopoliticans' who are typically arch-realists, strong nationalists, and imperialists. Everyone pays general lip service to the importance of technology, but little interaction occurs between IR and 'technology studies' and most IR scholars are happy to treat such matters as 'technical' or non-political in character. Despite this general theoretical neglect, many geographic and technological factors routinely pop into arguments in political science and political theory, and play important roles in them.



Thinking about the global and planetary through the lens of a fuller geopolitics is appealing to me because it is the human relationship with the material world and the Earth that has been changed with the human world's globalization. Furthermore, much of the actual agendas of movements for peace, arms control, and sustainability are essentially about alternative ways of ordering the material world and our relations with it. Given this, I find an approach that thinks systematically about the relations between patterns of materiality and different political forms is particularly well-suited to provide insights of practical value for these efforts.



The other key focus of my research has been around extending a variety of broadly 'republican' political insights for a cluster of contemporary practical projects for peace, arms control, and environmental stewardship ('greenpeace'). Even more than 'geopolitics,' 'republicanism' is a term with too many associations and meanings. By republics I mean political associations based on popular sovereignty and marked by mutual limitations, that is, by 'bounding power'—the restraint of power, particularly violent power—in the interests of the people generally. Assuming that security from the application of violence to bodies is a primary (but not sole) task of political association, how do republican political arrangements achieve this end? I argue that the character and scope of power restraint arrangements that actually serve the fundamental security interests of its popular sovereign varies in significant ways in different material contexts.



Republicanism is first and foremost a domestic form, centered upon the successive spatial expansion of domestic-like realms, and the pursuit of a constant political project of maximally feasible ordered freedom in changed spatial and material circumstances. I find thinking about our global and planetary human situation from the perspective of republicanism appealing because the human global and planetary situation has traits—most notably high levels of interdependence, interaction, practical speed, and complexity—that make it resemble our historical experience of 'domestic' and 'municipal' realms. Thinking with a geopolitically grounded republicanism offers insights about global governance very different from the insights generated within the political conceptual universe of hierarchical, imperial, and state-centered political forms. Thus planetary geopolitics and republicanism offers a perspective on what it means to 'Think Globally and Act Locally.' If we think of, or rather recognize, the planet as our locality, and then act as if the Earth is our locality, then we are likely to end up doing various approximations of the best-practice republican forms that we have successfully developed in our historically smaller domestic localities.





How did you arrive at where you currently are in IR?



Like anybody else, the formative events in my intellectual development have been shaped by the thick particularities of time and place. 'The boy is the father of the man,' as it is said. The first and most direction-setting stage in the formation of my 'green peace' research interests was when I was in 'grade school,' roughly the years from age 6-13. During these years my family lived in an extraordinary place, St Simons Island, a largely undeveloped barrier island off the coast of southern Georgia. This was an extremely cool place to be a kid. It had extensive beaches, and marshes, as well as amazing trees of gargantuan proportions. My friends and I spent much time exploring, fishing, camping out, climbing trees, and building tree houses. Many of these nature-immersion activities were spontaneous, others were in Boy Scouts. This extraordinary natural environment and the attachments I formed to it, shaped my strong tendency to see the fates of humans and nature as inescapably intertwined. But the Boy Scouts also instilled me with a sense of 'virtue ethics'. A line from the Boy Scout Handbook captures this well: 'Take a walk around your neighborhood. Make a list of what is right and wrong about it. Make a plan to fix what is not right.' This is a demotic version of Weber's political 'ethic of responsibility.' This is very different from the ethics of self-realization and self-expression that have recently gained such ground in America and elsewhere. It is now very 'politically incorrect' to think favorably of the Boy Scouts, but I believe that if the Scouting experience was universally accessible, the world would be a much improved place.



My kid-in-nature life may sound very Tom Sawyer, but it was also very Tom Swift. My friends and I spent much of our waking time reading about the technological future, and imaginatively play-acting in future worlds. This imaginative world was richly fertilized by science fiction comic books, television shows, movies, and books. Me and my friends—juvenile technological futurists and techno-nerds in a decidedly anti-intellectual culture—were avid readers of Isaac Asimov, Arthur C. Clarke, Ray Bradbury, and Robert Heinlein, and each new issue of Analog was eagerly awaited. While we knew we were Americans, my friends and I had strong inclinations to think of ourselves most essentially as 'earthlings.' We fervently discussed extraterrestrial life and UFOs, and we eagerly awaited the day, soon to occur, we were sure, in which we made 'first contact.' We wanted to become, if not astronauts, then designers and builders of spaceships. We built tree houses, but we filled them with discarded electronics and they became starships. We rode bicycles, but we lugged about attaché cases filled with toy ray guns, transistor radios, firecrackers, and homemade incendiary devices. We built and fired off rockets, painstaking assembled plastic kit models of famous airplanes and ships, and then we would blow them apart with our explosives. The future belonged to technology, and we fancied ourselves its avant garde.



Yet the prospect of nuclear Armageddon seemed very real. We did 'duck and cover' drills at school, and sat for two terrifying weeks through the Cuban Missile Crisis. My friends and I had copies of the Atomic Energy Commission manuals on 'nuclear effects,' complete with a slide-rule like gadget that enabled us to calculate just what would happen if near-by military bases were obliterated by nuclear explosions. Few doubted that we were, in the words of a pop song, 'on the eve of destruction.' These years were also the dawning of 'the space age' in which humans were finally leaving the Earth and starting what promised to be an epic trek, utterly transformative in its effects, to the stars. My father worked for a number of these years for a large aerospace military-industrial firm, then working for NASA to build the very large rockets needed to launch men and machines to the moon and back. My friends and I debated fantastical topics, such as the pros and cons of emigrating to Mars, and how rapidly a crisis-driven exodus from the earth could be organized.



Two events that later occurred in the area where I spent my childhood served as culminating catalytic events for my greenpeace thinking. First, some years after my family moved away, the industrial facility to mix rocket fuel that had been built by the company my father worked for, and that he had helped put into operation, was struck by an extremely violent 'industrial accident,' which reduced, in one titanic flash, multi-story concrete and steel buildings filled with specialized heavy industrial machinery (and everyone in them) into a grey powdery gravel ash, no piece of which was larger than a fist. Second, during the late 1970s, the US Navy acquired a large tract of largely undeveloped marsh and land behind another barrier island (Cumberland), an area 10-15 miles from where I had lived, a place where I had camped, fished, and hunted deer. The Navy dredged and filled what was one of the most biologically fertile temperate zone estuaries on the planet. There they built the east coast base for the new fleet of Trident nuclear ballistic missile submarines, the single most potent violence machine ever built, thus turning what was for me the wildest part of my wild-encircled childhood home into one of the largest nuclear weapons complexes on earth. These events catalyzed for me the realization that there was a great struggle going on, for the Earth and for the future, and I knew firmly which side I was on.



My approach to thinking about problems was also strongly shaped by high school debate, where I learned the importance of 'looking at questions from both sides,' and from this stems my tendency to look at questions as debates between competing answers, and to focus on decisively engaging, defeating, and replacing the strongest and most influential opposing positions. As an undergraduate at Yale College, I started doing Political Theory. I am sure that I was a very vexing student in some ways, because (the debater again) I asked Marxist questions to my liberal and conservative professors, and liberal and conservative ones to my Marxist professors. Late in my sophomore year, I had my epiphany, my direction-defining moment, that my vocation would be an attempt to do the political theory of the global and the technological. Since then, the only decisions have been ones of priority and execution within this project.



Wanting to learn something about cutting-edge global and technological and issues, I next went to Washington D.C. for seven years. I worked on Capitol Hill for three and a half years as a policy aide, working on energy and conservation and renewable energy and nuclear power. I spent the other three and a half years as a Senior Researcher at the Worldwatch Institute, a small environmental and global issues think tank that was founded and headed by Lester Brown, a well-known and far-sighted globalist. I co-authored a book about renewable energy and transitions to global sustainability and wrote a study on space and space weapons. At the time I published Whole Earth Security: a Geopolitics of Peace (1983), in which my basic notions of planetary geopolitics and republicanism were first laid out. During these seven years in Washington, I also was a part-time student, earning a Master's degree in Science, Technology and Public Policy at George Washington University.



In all, these Washington experiences have been extremely valuable for my thinking. Many political scientists view public service as a low or corrupting activity, but this is, I think, very wrong-headed. The reason that the democratic world works as well as it does is because of the distributive social intelligence. But social intelligence is neither as distributed nor as intelligent as it needs to be to deal with many pressing problems. My experience as a Congressional aide taught me that most of the problems that confront my democracy are rooted in various limits and corruptions of the people. I have come to have little patience with those who say, for example, rising inequality is inherent in capital C capitalism, when the more proximate explanation is that the Reagan Republican Party was so successful in gutting the progressive tax system previously in place in the United States. Similarly, I see little value in claims, to take a very contemporary example, that 'the NSA is out of control' when this agency is doing more or less what the elected officials, responding to public pressures to provide 'national security' loudly demanded. In democracies, the people are ultimately responsible.



As I was immersed in the world of arms control and environmental activism I was impressed by the truth of Keynes's oft quoted line, about the great practical influence of the ideas of some long-dead 'academic scribbler.' This is true in varying degrees in every issue area, but in some much more than others. This reinforced my sense that great potential practical consequence of successfully innovating in the various conceptual frameworks that underpinned so many important activities. For nuclear weapons, it became clear to me that the problem was rooted in the statist and realist frames that people so automatically brought to a security question of this magnitude.



Despite the many appeals of a career in DC politics and policy, this was all for me an extended research field-trip, and so I left Washington to do a PhD—a move that mystified many of my NGO and activist friends, and seemed like utter folly to my political friends. At Princeton University, I concentrated on IR, Political Theory, and Military History and Politics, taking courses with Robert Gilpin, Richard Falk, Barry Posen, Sheldon Wolin and others. In my dissertation—entitled Global Orders: Geopolitical and Materialist Theories of the Global-Industrial Era, 1890-1945—I explored IR and related thinking about the impacts of the industrial revolution as a debate between different world order alternatives, and made arguments about the superiority of liberalist, internationalist, and globalist arguments—most notably from H.G. Wells and John Dewey—to the strong realist and imperialist ideas most commonly associated with the geopolitical writers of this period.



I also continued engaging in activist policy affiliated to the Program on Nuclear Policy Alternatives at the Center for Energy andEnvironmental Studies (CEES), which was then headed by Frank von Hippel, a physicist turned 'public interest scientist', and a towering figure in the global nuclear arms control movement. I was a Post Doc at CEES during the Gorbachev era and I went on several amazing and eye-opening trips to the Soviet Union. Continuing my space activism, I was able to organize workshops in Moscow and Washington on large-scale space cooperation, gathering together many of the key space players on both sides. While Princeton was fabulously stimulating intellectually, it was also a stressful pressure-cooker, and I maintained my sanity by making short trips, two of three weekends, over six years, to Manhattan, where I spent the days working in the main reading room of the New York Public Library and the nights partying and relaxing in a world completely detached from academic life.



When it comes to my intellectual development in terms of reading theory, the positive project I wanted to pursue was partially defined by approaches I came to reject. Perhaps most centrally, I came to reject an approach that was very intellectually powerful, even intoxicating, and which retains great sway over many, that of metaphysical politics. The politics of the metaphysicians played a central role in my coming to reject the politics of metaphysics. The fact that some metaphysical ideas and the some of the deep thinkers who advanced them, such as Heidegger, and many Marxists, were so intimately connected with really disastrous politics seemed a really damning fact for me, particularly given that these thinkers insisted so strongly on the link between their metaphysics and their politics. I was initially drawn to Nietzsche's writing (what twenty-year old isn't) but his model of the philosopher founder or law-giver—that is, of a spiritually gifted but alienated guy (and it always is a guy) with a particularly strong but frustrated 'will to power' going into the wilderness, having a deep spiritual revelation, and then returning to the mundane corrupt world with new 'tablets of value,' along with a plan to take over and run things right—seemed more comic than politically relevant, unless the prophet is armed, in which case it becomes a frightful menace. The concluding scene in Herman Hesse's Magister Ludi (sometimes translated as The Glass Bead Game) summarized by overall view of the 'high theory' project. After years of intense training by the greatest teachers the most spiritually and intellectually gifted youths finally graduate. To celebrate, they go to lake, dive in, and, having not learned how to swim, drown.



I was more attracted to Aristotle, Hume, Montesquieu, Dewey and other political theorists with less lofty and comprehensive views of what theory might accomplish; weary of actions; based on dogmatic or totalistic thinking; an eye to the messy and compromised world; with a political commitment to liberty and the interests of the many; a preference for peace over war; an aversion to despotism and empire; and an affinity for tolerance and plurality. I also liked some of those thinkers because of their emphasis on material contexts. Montesquieu seeks to analyze the interaction of material contexts and republican political forms; Madison and his contemporaries attempt to extend the spatial scope of republican political association by recombining in novel ways various earlier power restraint arrangements. I was tremendously influenced by Dewey, studying intensively his slender volume The Public and its Problems (1927)—which I think is the most important book in twentieth century political thought. By the 'public' Dewey means essentially a stakeholder group, and his main point is that the material transformations produced by the industrial revolution has created new publics, and that the political task is to conceptualize and realize forms of community and government appropriate to solving the problems that confront these new publics.



One can say my overall project became to apply and extend their concepts to the contemporary planetary situation. Concomitantly reading IR literature on nuclear weapons, I was struck by fact that the central role that material realities played in these arguments was very ad hoc, and that many of the leading arguments on nuclear politics were very unconvincing. It was clear that while Waltz (Theory Talk #40) had brilliantly developed some key ideas about anarchy made by Hobbes and Rousseau, he had also left something really important out. These sorts of deficiencies led me to develop the arguments contained in Bounding Power. I think it is highly unlikely that I would have had these doubts, or come to make the arguments I made without having worked in political theory and in policy.



I read many works that greatly influenced my thinking in this area, among them works by Lewis Mumford, Langdon Winner's Autonomous Technology, James Lovelock's Gaia, Charles Perrow's Normal Accidents (read a related article here, pdf), Jonathan Schell's Fate of the Earth and The Abolition, William Ophul's Ecology and the Politics of Scarcity... I was particularly stuck by a line in Buckminster Fuller's Operating Manual for Spaceship Earth (pdf), that we live in a 'spaceship' like closed highly interconnected system, but lack an 'operating manual' to guide intelligently our actions. It was also during this period that I read key works by H.G. Wells, most notably his book, Anticipations, and his essay The Idea of a League of Nations, both of which greatly influenced my thinking.



This aside, the greatest contribution to my thinking has come from conversations sustained over many years with some really extraordinary individuals. To mention those that I have been arguing with, and learning from, for at least ten years, there is John O'Looney, Wesley Warren, Bob Gooding-Williams, Alyn McAuly, Henry Nau, Richard Falk, Michael Doyle (Theory Talk #1), Richard Mathew, Paul Wapner, Bron Taylor, Ron Deibert, John Ikenberry, Bill Wohlforth, Frank von Hippel, Ethan Nadelmann, Fritz Kratochwil, Barry Buzan (Theory Talk #35), Ole Waever, John Agnew (Theory Talk #4), Barry Posen, Alex Wendt (Theory Talk #3), James der Derian, David Hendrickson, Nadivah Greenberg, Tim Luke, Campbell Craig, Bill Connolly, Steven David, Jane Bennett, Daniel Levine (TheoryTalk #58), and Jairus Grove. My only regret is that I have not spoken even more with them, and with the much larger number of people I have learned from on a less sustained basis along the way.

                                    



What would a student need to become a specialist in IR or understand the world in a global way?



I have thought a great deal about what sort of answers to this question can be generally valuable. For me, the most important insight is that success in intellectual life and academia is determined by more or less the same combination of factors that determines success more generally. This list is obvious: character, talent, perseverance and hard work, good judgment, good 'people skills,' and luck. Not everyone has a talent to do this kind of work, but the number of people who do have the talent to do this kind of work is much larger than the number of people who are successful in doing it. I think in academia as elsewhere, the people most likely to really succeed are those whose attitude toward the activity is vocational. A vocation is something one is called to do by an inner voice that one cannot resist. People with vocations never really work in one sense, because they are doing something that they would be doing even if they were not paid or required. Of course, in another sense people with vocations never stop working, being so consumed with their path that everything else matters very little. People with jobs and professions largely stop working when they when the lottery, but people with vocations are empowered to work more and better. When your vocation overlaps with your job, you should wake up and say 'wow, I cannot believe I am being paid to do this!' Rather obviously, the great danger in the life paths of people with vocations is imbalance and burn-out. To avoid these perils it is beneficial to sustain strong personal relationships, know when and how to 'take off' effectively, and sustain the ability to see things as an unfolding comedy and to laugh.



Academic life also involves living and working in a profession. Compared to the oppressions that so many thinkers and researchers have historically suffered from, contemporary professional academic life is a utopia. But academic life has several aspects unfortunate aspects, and coping successfully with them is vital. Academic life is full of 'odd balls' and the loose structure of universities and organization, combined with the tenure system, licenses an often florid display of dubious behavior. A fair number of academics have really primitive and incompetent social skills. Others are thin skinned-ego maniacs. Some are pompous hypocrites. Some are ruthlessly self-aggrandizing and underhanded. Some are relentless shirkers and free-riders. Also, academic life is, particularly relative to the costs of obtaining the years of education necessary to obtain it, not very well paid. Corruptions of clique, ideological factionalism, and nepotism occur. If not kept in proper perspective, and approached in appropriate ways, academic department life can become stupidly consuming of time, energy, and most dangerously, intellectual attention. The basic step for healthy departmental life is to approach it as a professional role.



The other big dimension of academic life is teaching. Teaching is one of the two 'deliverables' that academic organizations provide in return for the vast resources they consume. Shirking on teaching is a dereliction of responsibility, but also is the foregoing of a great opportunity. Teaching is actually one of the most assuredly consequential things academics do. The key to great teaching is, I think, very simple: inspire and convey enthusiasm. Once inspired, students learn. Once students take questions as their own, they become avid seekers of answers. Teachers of things political also have a responsibility to remain even-handed in what they teach, to make sure that they do not teach just or mainly their views, to make sure that the best and strongest versions of opposing sides are heard. Teaching seeks to produce informed and critically thinking students, not converts. Beyond the key roles of inspiration and even-handedness, the rest is the standard package of tasks relevant in any professional role: good preparation, good organization, hard work, and clarity of presentation.





Your main book, Bounding Power: Republican Security Theory from the Polis to the Global Village (2007), is a mix of intellectual history, political theory and IR theory, and is targeted largely at realism. How does a reading and interpretation of a large number of old books tell us something new about realism, and the contemporary global?



Bounding Power attempts to dispel some very large claims made by realists about their self-proclaimed 'tradition,' a lineage of thought in which they place many of the leading Western thinkers about political order, such as Thucydides, Machiavelli, Hobbes, Rousseau, and the 'global geopoliticans' from the years around the beginning of the twentieth century. In the book I argue that the actual main axis of western thinking about political order (and its absence) is largely the work of 'republican' thinkers from the small number of 'republics', and that many of the key ideas that realists call realist and liberals call liberal are actually fragments of a larger, more encompassing set of arguments that were primarily in the idioms of republicanism. This entails dispelling the widely held view that the liberal and proto-liberal republican thought and practice are marked by 'idealism'—and therefore both inferior in their grasp of the problem of security-from violence and valuable only when confined to the 'domestic.' I demonstrate that this line of republican security thinkers had a robust set of claims both about material contextual factors, about the 'geopolitics of freedom', and a fuller understanding of security-from-violence. The book shows how perhaps the most important insights of this earlier cluster of arguments has oddly been dropped by both realists (particularly neorealists) and liberal international theorists. And, finally, it is an attempt to provide an understanding that posits the project of exiting anarchy on a global scale as something essentially unprecedented, and as something that the best of our inherited theory leaves us unable to say much about.



The main argument is contained in my formulation of what I think are the actual the two main sets of issues of Western structural-materialist security theory, two problematiques formulated in republican and naturalist-materialist conceptual vocabularies. The first problematique concerns the relationship between material context, the scope of tolerable anarchy, and necessary-for-security government. The second problematic concerns the relative security-viability of two main different forms of government—hierarchical and republican.



This formulation of the first problematic concerning anarchy differs from the main line of contemporary Realist argument in that it poses the question as one about the spatial scope of tolerable anarchy. The primary variable in my reconstruction of the material-contextual component of these arguments is what I term violence interdependence (absent, weak, strong, and intense). The main substantive claim of Western structural-materialist security theory is that situations of anarchy combined with intense violence interdependence are incompatible with security and require substantive government. Situations of strong and weak violence interdependence constitute a tolerable (if at times 'nasty and brutish') second ('state-of-war') anarchy not requiring substantive government. Early formulations of 'state of nature' arguments, explicitly or implicitly hinge upon this material contextual variable, and the overall narrative structure of the development of republican security theory and practice has concerned natural geographic variations and technologically caused changes in the material context, and thus the scope of security tolerable/intolerable anarchy and needed substantive government. This argument was present in early realist versions of anarchy arguments, but has been dropped by neorealists. Conversely, contemporary liberal international theorists analyze interdependence, but have little to say about violence. The result is that the realists talk about violence and security, and the liberals talk about interdependence not relating to violence, producing the great lacuna of contemporary theory: analysis of violence interdependence.



The second main problematique, concerning the relative security viability of hierarchical and republican forms, has also largely been lost sight of, in large measure by the realist insistence that governments are by definition hierarchical, and the liberal avoidance of system structural theory in favor of process, ideational, and economic variables. (For neoliberals, cooperation is seen as (possibly) occurring in anarchy, without altering or replacing anarchy.) The main claim here is that republican and proto-liberal theorists have a more complete grasp of the security political problem than realists because of their realization that both the extremes of hierarchy and anarchy are incompatible with security. In order to register this lost component of structural theory I refer to republican forms at both the unit and the system-level as being characterized by an ordering principle which I refer to as negarchy. Such political arrangements are characterized by the simultaneous negation of both hierarchy and anarchy. The vocabulary of political structures should thus be conceived as a triad-triangle of anarchy, hierarchy, and negarchy, rather than a spectrum stretching from pure anarchy to pure hierarchy. Using this framework, Bounding Power traces various formulations of the key arguments of security republicans from the Greeks through the nuclear era as arguments about the simultaneous avoidance of hierarchy and anarchy on expanding spatial scales driven by variations and changes in the material context. If we recognize the main axis of our thinking in this way, we can stand on a view of our past that is remarkable in its potential relevance to thinking and dealing with the contemporary 'global village' like a human situation.





Nuclear weapons play a key role in the argument of Bounding Power about the present, as well as elsewhere in your work. But are nuclear weapons are still important as hey were during the Cold War to understand global politics?



Since their arrival on the world scene in the middle years of the twentieth century, there has been pretty much universal agreement that nuclear weapons are in some fundamental way 'revolutionary' in their implications for security-from-violence and world politics. The fact that the Cold War is over does not alter, and even stems from, this fact. Despite this wide agreement on the importance of nuclear weapons, theorists, policy makers, and popular arms control/disarmament movements have fundamental disagreements about which political forms are compatible with the avoidance of nuclear war. I have attempted to provide a somewhat new answer to this 'nuclear-political question', and to explain why strong forms of interstate arms control are necessary for security in the nuclear age. I argue that achieving the necessary levels of arms control entails somehow exiting interstate anarchy—not toward a world government as a world state, but toward a world order that is a type of compound republican union (marked by, to put it in terms of above discussion, a nearly completely negarchical structure).



This argument attempts to close what I term the 'arms control gap', the discrepancy between the value arms control is assigned by academic theorists of nuclear weapons and their importance in the actual provision of security in the nuclear era. During the Cold War, thinking among IR theorists about nuclear weapons tended to fall into three broad schools—war strategists, deterrence statists, and arms controllers. Where the first two only seem to differ about the amount of nuclear weapons necessary for states seeking security (the first think many, the second less), the third advocates that states do what they have very rarely done before the nuclear age, reciprocal restraints on arms.



But this Cold War triad of arguments is significantly incomplete as a list of the important schools of thought about the nuclear-political question. There are four additional schools, and a combination of their arguments constitutes, I argue, a superior answer to the nuclear-political question. First are the nuclear one worlders, a view that flourished during the late 1940s and early 1950s, and held that the simple answer to the nuclear political question is to establish a world government, as some sort of state. Second are the populist anti-nuclearists, who indict state apparatuses of acting contrary to the global public's security interests. Third are the deep arms controllers, such as Jonathan Schell, who argue that nuclear weapons need to be abolished. Fourth are the theorists of omniviolence, who theorize situations produced by the leakage of nuclear weapons into the hands of non-state actors who cannot be readily deterred from using nuclear weapons. What all of these schools have in common is that they open up the state and make arguments about how various forms of political freedom—and the institutions that make it possible—are at issue in answering the nuclear-political question.

                                                                                                                

Yet one key feature all seven schools share is that they all make arguments about how particular combinations and configurations of material realities provide the basis for thinking that their answer to the nuclear-political question is correct. Unfortunately, their understandings of how material factors shape, or should shape, actual political arrangements is very ad hoc. Yet the material factors—starting with sheer physical destructiveness—are so pivotal that they merit a more central role in theories of nuclear power. I think we need to have a model that allows us to grasp how variations in material contexts condition the functionality of 'modes of protection', that is, distinct and recurring security practices (and their attendant political structures).



For instance, one mode of protection—what I term the real-state mode of protection—attempts to achieve security through the concentration, mobilization, and employment of violence capability. This is the overall, universal, context-independent strategy of realists. Bringing into view material factors, I argue, shows that this mode of protection is functional not universally but specifically—and only—in material contexts that are marked by violence-poverty and slowness. This mode of protection is dysfunctional in nuclear material contexts marked by violence abundance and high violence velocities. In contrast, a republican federal mode of protection is a bundle of practices that aim for the demobilization and deceleration of violence capacity, and that the practices associated with this mode of protection are security functional in the nuclear material context.



What emerges from such an approach to ideas about the relation between nuclear power and security from violence is that the epistemological foundations for any of the major positions about nuclear weapons are actually much weaker than we should be comfortable with. People often say the two most important questions about the nuclear age are: what is the probability that nuclear weapons will be used? And then, what will happen when they are used? The sobering truth is that we really do not have good grounds for confidently answering either of those two questions. But every choice made about nuclear weapons depends on risk calculations that depend on how we answer these questions.





You have also written extensively on space, a topic that has not recently attracted much attention from many IR scholars. How does your thinking on this relate to your overall thinking about the global and planetary situation?

                                                                                                          

The first human steps into outer space during the middle years of the twentieth century have been among the most spectacular and potentially consequential events in the globalization of machine civilization on Earth. Over the course of what many call 'the space age,' thinking about space activities, space futures, and the consequences of space activities has been dominated by an elaborately developed body of 'space expansionist' thought that makes ambitious and captivating claims about both the feasibility and the desirability of human expansion into outer space. Such views of space permeate popular culture, and at times appear to be quite influential in actual space policy. Space expansionists hold that outer space is a limitless frontier and that humans should make concerted efforts to explore and colonize and extend their military activities into space. They claim the pursuit of their ambitious projects will have many positive, even transformative, effects upon the human situation on Earth, by escaping global closure, protecting the earth's habitability, preserving political plurality, and enhancing species survival. Claims about the Earth, its historical patterns and its contemporary problems, permeate space expansionist thinking.



While the feasibility, both technological and economic, of space expansionist projects has been extensively assessed, arguments for their desirability have not been accorded anything approaching a systematic assessment. In part, such arguments about the desirability of space expansion are difficult to assess because they incorporate claims that are very diverse in character, including claims about the Earth (past, present, and future), about the ways in which material contexts made up of space 'geography' and technologies produce or heavily favor particular political outcomes, and about basic worldview assumptions regarding nature, science, technology, and life.



By breaking these space expansionist arguments down into their parts, and systematically assessing their plausibility, a very different picture of the space prospect emerges. I think there are strong reasons to think that the consequences of the human pursuit of space expansion have been, and could be, very undesirable, even catastrophic. The actual militarization of that core space technology ('the rocket') and the construction of a planetary-scope 'delivery' and support system for nuclear war-fighting has been the most important consequence of actual space activities, but these developments have been curiously been left out of accounts of the space age and assessments of its impacts. Similarly, much of actually existing 'nuclear arms control' has centered on restraining and dismantling space weapons, not nuclear weapons. Thus the most consequential space activity—the acceleration of nuclear delivery capabilities—has been curiously rendered almost invisible in accounts of space and assessments of its impacts. This is an 'unknown known' of the 'space age'. Looking ahead, the creation of large orbital infrastructures will either presuppose or produce world government, potentially of a very hierarchical sort.  There are also good reasons to think that space colonies are more likely to be micro-totalitarian than free. And extensive human movement off the planet could in a variety of ways increase the vulnerability of life on Earth, and even jeopardize the survival of the human species.



Finally, I think much of space expansionist (and popular) thinking about space and the consequences of humans space activities has been marked by basic errors in practical geography. Most notably, there is the widespread failure to realize that the expansion of human activities into Earth's orbital space has enhanced global closure, because the effective distances in Earth's space make it very small. And because of the formidable natural barriers to human space activity, space is a planetary 'lid, not a 'frontier'. So one can say that the most important practical discovery of the 'space age' has been an improved understanding of the Earth. These lines of thinking, I find, would suggest the outlines of a more modest and Earth-centered space program, appropriate for the current Earth age. Overall, the fact that we can't readily expand into space is part of why we are in a new 'earth age' rather than a 'space age'.





You've argued against making the environment into a national security issue twenty years ago. Do the same now, considering that making the environment a bigger priority by making it into a national security issue might be the only way to prevent total environmental destruction?



When I started writing about the relationships between environment and security twenty years ago, not a great deal of work had been done on this topic. But several leading environmental thinkers were making the case that framing environmental issues as security issues, or what came to be called 'securitizing the environment', was not only a good strategy to get action on environmental problems, but also was useful analytically to think about these two domains. Unlike the subsequent criticisms of 'environmental security' made by Realists and scholars of conventional 'security studies', my criticism starts with the environmentalist premise that environmental deterioration is a paramount problem for contemporary humanity as a whole.



Those who want to 'securitize the environment' are attempting to do what William James a century ago proposed as a general strategy for social problem solving. Can we find, in James' language, 'a moral equivalent of war?' (Note the unfortunately acronym: MEOW). War and the threat of war, James observed, often lead to rapid and extensive mobilizations of effort. Can we somehow transfer these vast social energies to deal with other sets of problems? This is an enduring hope, particularly in the United States, where we have a 'war on drugs', a 'war on cancer', and a 'war on poverty'. But doing this for the environment, by 'securitizing the environment,' is unlikely to be very successful. And I fear that bringing 'security' orientations, institutions, and mindsets into environmental problem-solving will also bring in statist, nationalist, and militarist approaches. This will make environmental problem-solving more difficult, not easier, and have many baneful side-effects.



Another key point I think is important, is that the environment—and the various values and ends associated with habitat and the protection of habitat—are actually much more powerful and encompassing than those of security and violence. Instead of 'securitizing the environment' it is more promising is to 'environmentalize security'. Not many people think about the linkages between the environment and security-from-violence in this way, but I think there is a major case of it 'hiding in plain sight' in the trajectory of how the state-system and nuclear weapons have interacted.



When nuclear weapons were invented and first used in the 1940s, scientists were ignorant about many aspects of their effects. As scientists learned about these effects, and as this knowledge became public, many people started thinking and acting in different ways about nuclear choices. The fact that a ground burst of a nuclear weapon would produce substantial radioactive 'fall-out' was not appreciated until the first hydrogen bomb tests in the early 1950s. It was only then that scientists started to study what happened to radioactive materials dispersed widely in the environment. Evidence began to accumulate that some radioactive isotopes would be 'bio-focused', or concentrated by biological process. Public interest scientists began effectively publicizing this information, and mothers were alerted to the fact that their children's teeth were become radioactive. This new scientific knowledge about the environmental effects of nuclear explosions, and the public mobilizations it produced, played a key role in the first substantial nuclear arms control treaty, the Limited Test Ban Treaty of 1963, which banned nuclear weapons testing in the atmosphere, in the ocean, and in space. Thus, the old ways of providing security were circumscribed by new knowledge and new stakeholders of environmental health effects. The environment was not securitized, security was partially environmentalized.



Thus, while some accounts by arms control theorists emphasize the importance of 'social learning' in altering US-Soviet relations, an important part of this learning was not about the nature of social and political interactions, but about the environmental consequences of nuclear weapons. The learning that was most important in motivating so many actors (both within states and in mass publics) to seek changes in politics was 'natural learning,' or more specifically learning about the interaction of natural and technological systems.



An even more consequential case of the environmentalization of security occurred in the 1970's and 1980's. A key text here is Jonathan Schell's book, The Fate of the Earth. Schell's book, combining very high-quality journalism with first rate political theoretical reflections, lays out in measured terms the new discoveries of ecologists and atmospheric scientists about the broader planetary consequences of an extensive nuclear war. Not only would hundreds of millions of people be immediately killed and much of the planet's built infrastructure destroyed, but the planet earth's natural systems would be so altered that the extinction of complex life forms, among them homo sapiens, might result. The detonation of numerous nuclear weapons and the resultant burning of cities would probably dramatically alter the earth's atmosphere, depleting the ozone layer that protects life from lethal solar radiations, and filling the atmosphere with sufficient dust to cause a 'nuclear winter.' At stake in nuclear war, scientists had learned, was not just the fate of nations, but of the earth as a life support system. Conventional accounts of the nuclear age and of the end of the Cold War are loath to admit it, but it I believe it is clear that spreading awareness of these new natural-technological possibilities played a significant role in ending the Cold War and the central role that nuclear arms control occupies in the settlement of the Cold War. Again, traditional ways of achieving security-from-violence were altered by new knowledges about their environmental consequences—security practices and arrangements were partly environmentalized.



Even more radically, I think we can also turn this into a positive project. As I wrote two decades ago, environmental restoration would probably generate political externalities that would dampen tendencies towards violence. In other words, if we address the problem of the environment, then we will be drawn to do various things that will make various types of violent conflict less likely.





Your work is permeated by references to 'material factors'. This makes it different from branches of contemporary IR—like constructivism or postmodernism—which seem to be underpinned by a profound commitment to focus solely one side of the Cartesian divide. What is your take on the pervasiveness and implications of this 'social bias'?



Postmodernism and constructivism are really the most extreme manifestations of a broad trend over the last two centuries toward what I refer to as 'social-social science' and the decline—but hardly the end—of 'natural-social science'. Much of western thought prior to this turn was 'naturalist' and thus tended to downplay both human agency and ideas. At the beginning of the nineteenth century—partly because of the influence of German idealism, partly because of the great liberationist projects that promised to give better consequence to the activities and aspirations of the larger body of human populations (previously sunk in various forms of seemingly natural bondages), and partly because of the great expansion of human choice brought about by the science-based technologies of the Industrial Revolution—there was a widespread tendency to move towards 'social-social science,' the project of attempting to explain the human world solely by reference to the human world, to explain social outcomes with reference to social causes. While this was the dominant tendency, and a vastly productive one in many ways, it existed alongside and in interaction with what is really a modernized version of the earlier 'natural-social science.' Much of my work has sought to 'bring back in' and extend these 'natural-social' lines of argument—found in figures such as Dewey and H.G. Wells—into our thinking about the planetary situation.



In many parts of both European and American IR and related areas, Postmodern and constructivist theories have significantly contributed to IR theorists by enhancing our appreciation of ideas, language, and identities in politics. As a response to the limits and blindnesses of certain types of rationalist, structuralist, and functional theories, this renewed interest in the ideational is an important advance. Unfortunately, both postmodernism and constructivism have been marked by a strong tendency to go too far in their emphasis of the ideational. Postmodernism and constructivism have also helped make theorists much more conscious of the implicit—and often severely limiting—ontological assumptions that underlay, inform, and bound their investigations. This is also a major contribution to the study of world politics in all its aspects.



Unfortunately, this turn to ontology has also had intellectually limiting effects by going too far, in the search for a pure or nearly pure social ontology. With the growth in these two approaches, there has indeed been a decided decline in theorizing about the material. But elsewhere in the diverse world of theorizing about IR and the global, theorizing about the material never came anything close to disappearing or being eclipsed. For anyone thinking about the relationships between politics and nuclear weapons, space, and the environment, theorizing about the material has remained at the center, and it would be difficult to even conceive of how theorizing about the material could largely disappear. The recent 're-discovery of the material' associated with various self-styled 'new materialists' is a welcome, if belated, re-discovery for postmodernists and constructivists. For most of the rest of us, the material had never been largely dropped out.



A very visible example of the ways in which the decline in appropriate attention to the material, an excessive turn to the ideational, and the quest for a nearly pure social ontology, can lead theorizing astray is the core argument in Alexander Wendt's main book, Social Theory of International Politics, one of the widely recognized landmarks of constructivist IR theory. The first part of the book advances a very carefully wrought and sophisticated argument for a nearly pure ideational social ontology. The material is explicitly displaced into a residue or rump of unimportance. But then, to the reader's surprise, the material, in the form of 'common fate' produced by nuclear weapons, and climate change, reappears and is deployed to play a really crucial role in understanding contemporary change in world politics. 



My solution is to employ a mixed ontology. By this I mean that I think several ontologically incommensurate and very different realities are inescapable parts the human world. These 'unlikes' are inescapable parts of any argument, and must somehow be combined. There are a vast number of ways in which they can be combined, and on close examination, virtually all arguments in the social sciences are actually employing some version of a mixed ontology, however implicitly and under-acknowledged.



But not all combinations are equally useful in addressing all questions. In my version of mixed ontology—which I call 'practical naturalism'—human social agency is understood to be occurring 'between two natures': on the one hand the largely fixed nature of humans, and on the other the changing nature composed of the material world, a shifting amalgam of actual non-human material nature of geography and ecology, along with human artifacts and infrastructures. Within this frame, I posit as rooted in human biological nature, a set of 'natural needs,' most notably for security-from-violence and habitat services. Then I pose questions of functionality, by which I mean: which combinations of material practices, political structures, ideas and identities are needed to achieve these ends in different material contexts? Answering this question requires the formulation of various 'historical materialist' propositions, which in turn entails the systematic formulation of typologies and variation in both the practices, structures and ideas, and in material contexts. These arguments are not centered on explaining what has or what will happen. Instead they are practical in the sense that they are attempting to answer the question of 'what is to be done' given the fixed ends and given changing material contexts. I think this is what advocates of arms control and environmental sustainability are actually doing when they claim that one set of material practices and their attendant political structures, identities and ideas must be replaced with another if basic human needs are to going to continue to be meet in the contemporary planetary material situation created by the globalization of machine civilization on earth.

                                  

Since this set of arguments is framed within a mixed ontology, ideas and identities are a vital part of the research agenda. Much of the energy of postmodern and many varieties of critical theory have focused on 'deconstructing' various identities and ideas. This critical activity has produced and continues to produce many insights of theorizing about politics. But I think there is an un-tapped potential for theorists who are interested in ideas and identities, and who want their work to make a positive contribution to practical problem-solving in the contemporary planetary human situation in what might be termed a 'constructive constructivism'. This concerns a large practical theory agenda—and an urgent one at that, given the rapid increase in planetary problems—revolving around the task of figuring out which ideas and identities are appropriate for the planetary world, and in figuring out how they can be rapidly disseminated. Furthermore, thinking about how to achieve consciousness change of this sort is not something ancillary to the greenpeace project but vital to it. My thinking on how this should and might be done centers the construction of a new social narrative, centered not on humanity but on the earth.





Is it easy to plug your mixed ontology and interests beyond the narrow confines of IR or even the walls of the ivory tower into processes of collective knowledge proliferation in IR—a discipline increasingly characterized by compartimentalization and specialization?



The great plurality of approaches in IR today is indispensible and a welcome change. The professionalization of IR and the organization of intellectual life has some corruptions and pitfalls that are best avoided. The explosion of 'isms' and of different perspectives has been valuable and necessary in many ways, but it has also helped to foster and empower sectarian tendencies that confound the advance of knowledge. Some of the adherents of some sects and isms boast openly of establishing 'citation cartels' to favor themselves and their friends. Some theorists also have an unfortunate tendency to assume that because they have adopted a label that what they actually do is the actually the realization of the label. Thus we have 'realists' with limited grasp on realities, 'critical theorists' who repeat rather than criticize the views of other 'critical theorists,' and anti-neoliberals who are ruthless Ayn Rand-like self aggrandizers. The only way to fully address these tendencies is to talk to people you disagree with, and find and communicate with people in other disciplines.



Another consequence of this sectarianism is visible in the erosion of scholarly standards of citation. The system of academic incentives is configured to reward publication, and the publication of ideas that are new. This has a curiously perverse impact on the achievement of cumulativity. One seemingly easy and attractive path to saying something new is to say something old in new language, to say something said in another sect or field in the language of your sect or field, or easiest of all, simply ignore what other people have said if it is too much like what you are trying to say. George Santyana is wide quoted in saying that 'those who forget the past are condemned to repeat it.' For academics it can unfortunately be said, 'those who can successfully forget what past academics said are free to say it again, and thus advance toward tenure.' When rampant sectarianism and decline in standards of citation is combined with a broader cultural tendency to valorize self-expression and authenticity, academic work can become an exercise in abstract self expressionism.



Confining one's intellectual life within one 'ism' or sect is sure to be self-limiting. Many of the most important and interesting questions arise between and across the sects and schools. Also, there are great opportunities in learning from people who do not fully share your assumptions and approaches. Seriously engaging the work and ideas of scholars in other sects can be very very valuable. Scholars in different sects and schools are also often really taking positions that are not so different as their labels would suggest. Perhaps because my research agenda fits uncomfortably within any of the established schools and isms, I have found particularly great value in seeking out and talking on a sustained basis with people with very different approaches.





My final question is about normativity and the way that normativity is perceived: In Europe and the United States, liberal Internationalism is increasingly considered as hollowed out, as a discursive cover for a tendency to attempt to control and regulate the world—or as an unguided idealistic missile. Doesn't adapting to a post-hegemonic world require dropping such ambitions?



American foreign policy has never been entirely liberal internationalist. Many other ideas and ideologies and approaches have often played important roles in shaping US foreign policy. But the United States, for a variety of reasons, has pursued liberal internationalist foreign policy agendas more extensively, and successfully, than any other major state in the modern state system, and the world, I think, has been made better off in very important ways by these efforts.



The net impact of the United States and of American grand strategy and particularly those parts of American brand strategy that have been more liberal internationalist in their character, has been enormously positive for the world. It has produced not a utopia by any means, but has brought about an era with more peace and security, prosperity, and freedom for more people than ever before in history.



Both American foreign policy and liberal internationalism have been subject to strong attacks from a variety of perspectives. Recently some have characterized liberal internationalism as a type of American imperialism, or as a cloak for US imperialism. Virtually every aspect of American foreign policy has been contested within the United States. Liberal internationalists have been strong enemies of imperialism and military adventurism, whether American or from other states. This started with the Whig's opposition to the War with Mexico and the Progressive's opposition to the Spanish-American War, and continued with liberal opposition to the War in Vietnam.



The claim that liberal internationalism leads to or supports American imperialism has also been recently voiced by many American realists, perhaps most notably John Mearsheimer (Theory Talk #49). He and others argue that liberal internationalism played a significant role in bringing about the War on Iraq waged by the W. Bush administration. This was indeed one of the great debacles of US foreign policy. But the War in Iraq was actually a war waged by American realists for reasons grounded in realist foreign policy thinking. It is true, as Mearsheimer emphasizes, that many academic realists criticized the Bush administration's plans and efforts in the invasion in Iraq. Some self-described American liberal internationalists in the policy world supported the war, but almost all academic American liberal internationalists were strongly opposed, and much of the public opposition to the war was on grounds related to liberal internationalist ideas.



It is patently inaccurate to say that main actors in the US government that instigated the War on Iraq were liberal internationalists. The main initiators of the war were Richard Cheney and Donald Rumsfeld. Whatever can be said about those two individuals, they are not liberal internationalists. They initiated the war because they thought that the Saddam Hussein regime was a threat to American interests—basically related to oil. The Saddam regime was seen as a threat to American-centered regional hegemony in the Middle East, an order whose its paramount purpose has been the protection of oil, and the protection of the regional American allies that posses oil. Saddam Hussein was furthermore a demonstrated regional revisionist likely to seek nuclear weapons, which would greatly compromise American military abilities in the region. Everything else the Bush Administration's public propaganda machine said to justify the war was essentially window dressing for this agenda. Far from being motivated by a liberal internationalist agenda the key figures in the Bush Administration viewed the collateral damage to international institutions produced by the war as a further benefit, not a cost, of the war. It is particularly ironic that John Mearsheimer would be a critic of this war, which seems in many ways a 'text book' application of a central claim of his 'offensive realism,' that powerful states can be expected, in the pursuit of their security and interests, to seek to become and remain regional hegemons.



Of course, liberal internationalism, quite aside from dealing with these gross mischaracterizations propagated by realists, must also look to the future. The liberal internationalism that is needed for today and tomorrow is going to be in some ways different from the liberal internationalism of the twentieth century. This is a large topic that many people, but not enough, are thinking about. In a recent working paper for the Council on Foreign Relations, John Ikenberry and I have laid out some ways in which we think American liberal internationalism should proceed. The starting point is the recognition that the United States is not as 'exceptional' in its precocious liberal-democratic character, not as 'indispensible' for the protection of the balance of power or the advance of freedom, or as easily 'hegemonic' as it has been historically. But the world is now also much more democratic than ever before, with democracies old and new, north and south, former colonizers and former colonies, and in every civilizational flavor. The democracies also face an array of difficult domestic problems, are thickly enmeshed with one another in many ways, and have a vital role to play in solving global problems. We suggest that the next liberal internationalism in American foreign policy should focus on American learning from the successes of other democracies in solving problems, focus on 'leading by example of successful problem-solving' and less with 'carrots and sticks,' make sustained efforts to moderate the inequalities and externalities produced by de-regulated capitalism, devote more attention to building community among the democracies, and make sustained efforts to 'recast global bargains' and the distribution of authority in global institutions to better incorporate the interests of 'rising powers.'





Daniel Deudney is Associate Professor and Director of Undergraduate Studies in Political Science at Johns Hopkins University. He has published widely in political theory and international relations, on substantive issues such as nuclear weapons, the environment as a security issue, liberal and realist international relations theory, and geopolitics.





Related links



Deudney's Faculty Profile at Johns Hopkins
Read Deudney & Ikenberry's Democratic Internationalism: An American Grand Strategy for a Post-exceptionalist Era (Council on Foreign Relations Working Paper, 2012) here (pdf) 
Read Deudney et al's Global Shift: How the West Should Respond to the Rise of China (2011 Transatlantic Academy report) here (pdf) 
Read the introduction of Deudney's Bounding Power (2007) here (pdf) 
Read Deudney's Bringing Nature Back In: Geopolitical Theory from the Greeks to the Global Era (1999 book chapter) here (pdf) 
Read Deudney & Ikenberry's Who Won the Cold War? (Foreign Policy, 1992) here (pdf) 
Read Deudney's The Case Against Linking Environmental Degradation and National Security (Millennium, 1990) here (pdf) 
Read Deudney's Rivers of Energy: The Hydropower Potential (WorldWatch Institute Paper, 1981) here (pdf) 









Print version of this Talk (pdf)