Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d Interpreting Global Security This edited collection explores the fruitfulness of applying an interpretive approach to the study of global security. The interpretive approach concentrates on unpacking the meanings and beliefs of various policy actors, and, crucially, explains those beliefs by locating them in historical traditions and as responses to dilemmas. Interpretivists thereby seek to highlight the contingency, diversity and contestability of the narratives, expertise and beliefs that inform political action. The interpretive approach is widespread in the study of governance and public policy, but arguably it has not yet had much impact on security studies. The book therefore deploys the interpretive approach to explore contemporary issues in international security, combining theoretical engagement with good empirical coverage through a novel set of case studies. Bringing together a fresh mix of senior and junior scholars from across the fields of security studies, political theory and international relations, the chapters explore the beliefs, traditions and dilemmas that have informed security practice on the one hand, and the academic study of security on the other, as well as the connections between them. All contributors look to situate their work against a broader historical background and long-standing traditions, allowing them to take a critical yet historically informed approach to the material. Mark Bevir is a Professor in the Department of Political Science, University of California, Berkeley. Oliver Daddow is a Reader in International Politics at the University of Leicester. Ian Hall is a Senior Fellow in the Department of International Relations, Australian National University. Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d Routledge Advances in International Relations and Global Politics 1 Foreign Policy and Discourse Analysis France, Britain and Europe Henrik Larsen 13 Ethics, Justice & International Relations Constructing an international community Peter Sutch 2 Agency, Structure and International Politics From ontology to empirical enquiry Gil Friedman and Harvey Starr 14 Capturing Globalization Edited by James H. Mittelman and Norani Othman 3 The Political Economy of Regional Co-operation in the Middle East Ali Carkoglu, Mine Eder, Kemal Kirisci 4 Peace Maintenance The evolution of international political authority Jarat Chopra 5 International Relations and Historical Sociology Breaking down boundaries Stephen Hobden 6 Equivalence in Comparative Politics Edited by Jan W. van Deth 7 The Politics of Central Banks Robert Elgie and Helen Thompson 8 Politics and Globalisation Knowledge, ethics and agency Martin Shaw 9 History and International Relations Thomas W. Smith 10 Idealism and Realism in International Relations Robert M.A. Crawford 11 National and International Conflicts, 1945–95 New empirical and theoretical approaches Frank Pfetsch and Christoph Rohloff 12 Party Systems and Voter Alignments Revisited Edited by Lauri Karvonen and Stein Kuhnle 15 Uncertain Europe Building a new European security order? Edited by Martin A. Smith and Graham Timmins 16 Power, Postcolonialism and International Relations Reading race, gender and class Edited by Geeta Chowdhry and Sheila Nair 17 Constituting Human Rights Global civil society and the society of democratic states Mervyn Frost 18 US Economic Statecraft for Survival 1933–91 Of sanctions, embargoes and economic warfare Alan P. Dobson 19 The EU and NATO Enlargement Richard McAllister and Roland Dannreuther 20 Spatializing International Politics Analysing activism on the internet Jayne Rodgers 21 Ethnonationalism in the Contemporary World Walker Connor and the study of nationalism Edited by Daniele Conversi 22 Meaning and International Relations Edited by Peter Mandaville and Andrew Williams 23 Political Loyalty and the Nation-State Edited by Michael Waller and Andrew Linklater Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 24 Russian Foreign Policy and the CIS Theories, debates and actions Nicole J. Jackson 36 Reconstituting the Global Liberal Order Legitimacy and regulation Kanishka Jayasuriya 25 Asia and Europe Development and different dimensions of ASEM Yeo Lay Hwee 37 International Relations, Security and Jeremy Bentham Gunhild Hoogensen 26 Global Instability and Strategic Crisis Neville Brown 27 Africa in International Politics External involvement on the continent Edited by Ian Taylor and Paul Williams 38 Interregionalism and International Relations Edited by Heiner Hänggi, Ralf Roloff and Jürgen Rüland 39 The International Criminal Court A global civil society achievement Marlies Glasius 28 Global Governmentality Governing international spaces Edited by Wendy Larner and William Walters 40 A Human Security Doctrine for Europe Project, principles, practicalities Edited by Marlies Glasius and Mary Kaldor 29 Political Learning and Citizenship Education Under Conflict The political socialization of Israeli and Palestinian youngsters Orit Ichilov 41 The History and Politics of UN Security Council Reform Dimitris Bourantonis 30 Gender and Civil Society Transcending boundaries Edited by Jude Howell and Diane Mulligan 31 State Crises, Globalisation and National Movements in North-East Africa The Horn’s dilemma Edited by Asafa Jalata 32 Diplomacy and Developing Nations Post-Cold War foreign policy-making structures and processes Edited by Justin Robertson and Maurice A. East 33 Autonomy, Self-governance and Conflict Resolution Innovative approaches to institutional design in divided societies Edited by Marc Weller and Stefan Wolff 34 Mediating International Crises Jonathan Wilkenfeld, Kathleen J. Young, David M. Quinn and Victor Asal 35 Postcolonial Politics, the Internet and Everyday Life Pacific traversals online M.I. Franklin 42 Russia and NATO Since 1991 From Cold War through cold peace to partnership? Martin A. Smith 43 The Politics of Protection Sites of insecurity and political agency Edited by Jef Huysmans, Andrew Dobson and Raia Prokhovnik 44 International Relations in Europe Traditions, perspectives and destinations Edited by Knud Erik Jørgensen and Tonny Brems Knudsen 45 The Empire of Security and the Safety of the People Edited by William Bain 46 Globalization and Religious Nationalism in India The search for ontological security Catrina Kinnvall 47 Culture and International Relations Narratives, natives and tourists Julie Reeves 48 Global Civil Society Contested futures Edited by Gideon Baker and David Chandler Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 49 Rethinking Ethical Foreign Policy Pitfalls, possibilities and paradoxes Edited by David Chandler and Volker Heins 50 International Cooperation and Arctic Governance Regime effectiveness and northern region building Edited by Olav Schram Stokke and Geir Hønneland 51 Human Security Concepts and implications Shahrbanou Tadjbakhsh and Anuradha Chenoy 52 International Relations and Security in the Digital Age Edited by Johan Eriksson and Giampiero Giacomello 53 State-Building Theory and practice Edited by Aidan Hehir and Neil Robinson 54 Violence and Non-Violence in Africa Edited by Pal Ahluwalia, Louise Bethlehem and Ruth Ginio 55 Developing Countries and Global Trade Negotiations Edited by Larry Crump and S. Javed Maswood 56 Civil Society, Religion and Global Governance Paradigms of power and persuasion Edited by Helen James 57 War, Peace and Hegemony in a Globalized World The changing balance of power in the 21st century Edited by Chandra Chari 58 Economic Globalisation as Religious War Tragic convergence Michael McKinley 59 Globalization, Prostitution and Sex-trafficking Corporeal politics Elina Penttinen 60 Peacebuilding Women in international perspective Elisabeth Porter 61 Ethics, Liberalism and Realism in International Relations Mark D. Gismondi 62 Law and Legalization in Transnational Relations Edited by Christian Brütsch and Dirk Lehmkuhl 63 Fighting Terrorism and Drugs Europe and international police cooperation Jörg Friedrichs 64 Identity Politics in the Age of Genocide The Holocaust and historical representation David B. MacDonald 65 Globalisation, Public Opinion and the State Western Europe and East and Southeast Asia Edited by Takashi Inoguchi and Ian Marsh 66 Urbicide The politics of urban destruction Martin Coward 67 Transnational Activism in the UN and the EU A comparative study Jutta Joachim and Birgit Locher 68 Gender Inclusive Essays on violence, men and feminist international relations Adam Jones 69 Capitalism, Democracy and the Prevention of War and Poverty Edited by Peter Graeff and Guido Mehlkop 70 Environmental Change and Foreign Policy Theory and practice Edited by Paul G. Harris 71 Climate Change and Foreign Policy Case studies from East to West Edited by Paul G. Harris 72 Securitizations of Citizenship Edited by Peter Nyers 73 The Power of Ideology From the Roman Empire to Al-Qaeda Alex Roberto Hybel Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 74 The Securitization of Humanitarian Migration Digging moats and sinking boats Scott D. Watson 75 Mediation in the Asia-Pacific Region Transforming conflicts and building peace Edited by Dale Bagshaw and Elisabeth Porter 76 United Nations Reform Heading North or South? Spencer Zifcak 77 New Norms and Knowledge in World Politics Protecting people, intellectual property and the environment Preslava Stoeva 78 Power, Resistance and Conflict in the Contemporary World Social movements, networks and hierarchies Athina Karatzogianni and Andrew Robinson 79 World-Regional Social Policy and Global Governance New research and policy agendas in Africa, Asia, Europe and Latin America Edited by Bob Deacon, Maria Cristina Macovei, Luk Van Langenhove and Nicola Yeates 80 International Relations Theory and Philosophy Interpretive dialogues Edited by Cerwyn Moore and Chris Farrands 81 Superpower Rivalry and Conflict The long shadow of the Cold War on the twenty-first century Edited by Chandra Chari 82 Coping and Conformity in World Politics Hugh C. Dyer 83 Defining and Defying Organized Crime Discourse, perception and reality Edited by Felia Allum, Francesca Longo, Daniela Irrera and Panos A. Kostakos 84 Federalism in Asia India, Pakistan and Malaysia Harihar Bhattacharyya 85 The World Bank and HIV/AIDS Setting a global agenda Sophie Harman 86 The ‘War on Terror’ and the Growth of Executive Power? A comparative analysis Edited by John E. Owens and Riccardo Pelizzo 87 The Contested Politics of Mobility Borderzones and irregularity Edited by Vicki Squires 88 Human Security, Law and the prevention of Terrorism Andrej Zwitter 89 Multilayered Migration Governance The promise of partnership Edited by Rahel Kunz, Sandra Lavenex and Marion Panizzon 90 Role Theory in International Relations Approaches and analyses Edited by Sebastian Harnisch, Cornelia Frank and Hanns W. Maull 91 Issue Salience in International Relations Edited by Kai Oppermann and Henrike Viehrig 92 Corporate Risk and National Security Redefined Karen Lund Petersen 93 Interrogating Democracy in World Politics Edited by Joe Hoover, Meera Sabaratnam and Laust Schouenborg 94 Globalizing Resistance against War Theories of resistance and the new anti-war movement Tiina Seppälä 95 The Politics of Self-Determination Beyond the decolonisation process Kristina Roepstorff 96 Sovereignty and the Responsibility to Protect The power of norms and the norms of the powerful Theresa Reinold Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 97 Anglo-American Relations Contemporary perspectives Edited by Alan P. Dobson and Steve Marsh 105 International Politics of the Arctic Coming in from the Cold Peter Hough 98 The Emerging Politics of Antarctica Edited by Anne-Marie Brady 106 The Scourge of Genocide Essays on reflection Adam Jones 99 Genocide, Ethnonationalism, and the United Nations Exploring the causes of mass killing since 1945 Hannibal Travis 100 Caribbean Sovereignty, Development and Democracy in an Age of Globalization Edited by Linden Lewis 101 Rethinking Foreign Policy Edited by Fredrik Bynander and Stefano Guzzini 102 The Promise and Perils of Transnationalization NGO activism and the socialization of women’s human rights in Egypt and Iran Benjamin Stachursky 103 Peacebuilding and International Administration The cases of Bosnia and Herzegovina and Kosovo Niels van Willigen 104 The Politics of the Globalization of Law Getting from rights to justice Edited by Alison Brysk 107 Understanding Transatlantic Relations Whither the West? Serena Simoni 108 India in South Asia Domestic identity politics and foreign policy from Nehru to the BJP Sinderpal Singh 109 A Strategic Understanding of UN Economic Sanctions International relations, law and development Golnoosh Hakimdavar 110 Politics and the Bomb The role of experts in the creation of cooperative nuclear non-proliferation agreements Sara Z. Kutchesfahani 111 Interpreting Global Security Mark Bevir, Oliver Daddow and Ian Hall Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d Interpreting Global Security Edited by Mark Bevir, Oliver Daddow and Ian Hall Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d First published 2014 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada by Routledge 711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2014 Mark Bevir, Oliver Daddow and Ian Hall for selection and editorial matter, contributors their contributions The right of Mark Bevir, Oliver Daddow and Ian Hall to be identified as editors of this work has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patent Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data Interpreting global security / edited by Mark Bevir, Oliver Daddow and Ian Hall. p. cm. – (Routledge advances in international relations and global politics) Includes bibliographical references and index. 1. National security. 2. World politics–21st century. I. Bevir, Mark. UA10.5.I575 2013 355'.03–dc23 2013006671 ISBN: 978-0-415-82537-5 (hbk) ISBN: 978-0-203-71346-4 (ebk) Typeset in Times New Roman by Taylor & Francis Books Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d Contents List of illustrations List of contributors Acknowledgements 1 Interpreting global security xi xii xiii 1 MARK BEVIR, OLIVER DADDOW AND IAN HALL 2 The rise of security governance 17 MARK BEVIR AND IAN HALL 3 An interplay of traditions: The ‘return of uncertainty’ and its taming in post-9/11 US security thinking 35 SABINE SELCHOW 4 Interpreting George W. Bush’s foreign policy 53 DANIEL ZOUGHBIE 5 From value protection to value promotion: Interpreting British security policy 73 OLIVER DADDOW AND JAMIE GASKARTH 6 Negotiating the global security dilemma: Interpreting Russia’s security agenda 92 AGLAYA SNETKOV 7 Interpreting missile defence: A comparative study of European reactions 107 JOCELYN MAWDSLEY 8 Framing the sovereignty intervention dilemma: The strange omission of the Genocide Convention ADRIAN GALLAGHER 125 Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d x Contents 9 Writing the threat of terrorism in Western Europe and the European Union: An interpretive analysis 142 CHRISTOPHER BAKER-BEALL 10 Security politics and public discourse: A Morgenthauian approach 160 HARTMUT BEHR Index 177 Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d Illustrations Figures 4.1 Religious beliefs concerning Israel 4.2 Religious beliefs and attitudes towards Israel 58 59 Tables 4.1 Select persons interviewed 5.1 Dilemmas in British foreign and security policy, 1945–73 68 79 Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d Contributors Christopher Baker-Beall is a Teaching Fellow in Political Science and International Studies at the University of Birmingham Hartmut Behr is a Professor of International Politics at Newcastle University Mark Bevir is a Professor of Political Science at the University of California, Berkeley Oliver Daddow is a Reader in International Politics at the University of Leicester Adrian Gallagher is a Lecturer in Security Studies and Research Methods at the University of Leeds Jamie Gaskarth is an Associate Professor in International Relations at the University of Plymouth Ian Hall is a Senior Fellow in International Relations at the Australian National University Jocelyn Mawdsley is a Senior Lecturer in EU/European Politics at Newcastle University Sabine Selchow is a Fellow in the Civil Society and Human Security Research Unit, Department of International Development, London School of Economics Aglaya Snetkov is a Senior Researcher at the Center for Security Studies at Swiss Federal Institute of Technology, Zürich Daniel Zoughbie is a Research Fellow at the Belfer Center for Science and International Affairs, Harvard University Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d Acknowledgements This book is the product of a workshop held at the University of Leicester in November 2011 under the auspices of the British International Studies Association working group on Interpretivism in International Relations. The editors are grateful to the Department of Politics and International Relations at Leicester for its support and to all those who attended for their contributions to the discussion. Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 1 Interpreting global security Mark Bevir, Oliver Daddow and Ian Hall This book aims to make sense of the transformations that our theories and practices of global security have undergone in the past quarter century. Global security could once be described in terms of the actions and interactions of sovereign states with hierarchical and authoritative political institutions directing police forces and organized militaries to deal with internal and external threats (Buzan and Hanson 2009: 66–100). The security of the state was assumed to imply the security of citizens and communities. The state was presumed to act in the ‘national interest’ and to seek to maximize its economic and military power to secure that interest (Morgenthau 1951). Global security was often understood in terms of the ‘balance of power’ between states and alliances of states (Waltz 1979). International organizations and international law were sometimes thought to restrain political and military elites, but only within limits (Claude 1962). The world of global security, in other words, was one of power-seeking states keeping the peace at home and fighting wars – or threatening to fight – abroad. This understanding of global security is now widely seen as obsolete by both theorists and practitioners. Most now believe that all states are now subject to new transnational challenges – human and environmental – that are not easily addressed by old, statist responses. Established, Western states now address security challenges in new ways, employing new modes of governance and even engaging private actors to deal with particular problems (Krahmann 2003). We now recognize that many non-Western states lack authoritative political institutions, police forces or organized militaries. Most theorists and practitioners now acknowledge that the security of the state does not always imply the security of citizens and communities (Buzan 1991). States are often predators rather than protectors, acting not in the ‘national interest’, but in that of sectional interests. Strengthening the power of the state can – and frequently does – mean increasing the insecurity of individuals and groups. In this context, global security can no longer be understood just in terms of states, balances or institutions, but requires new frameworks of analysis and new political practices (Buzan et al. 1998). This book is one response to that demand for new frameworks of analysis. Collectively the essays engage with the various theories of global security that Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 2 Mark Bevir, Oliver Daddow and Ian Hall have emerged since the end of the Cold War and the practices with which they are associated. To introduce this account of global security, we must first describe the interpretive approach to social science, for the account of global security found in this book arose out of an experiment with interpretive theory (see Bevir et al. 2013). Next we consider the way this interpretive theory transforms our understanding of global security and the complex picture of global security that emerges from the essays in this book. Finally, we conclude by considering the lessons learnt for the future of an interpretive theory of international relations, especially in the study of global security. Interpretive theory Although the essays in this book cover a range of cases of global security, they all adopt an interpretive approach. Following interpretive theory, they ask these questions: 1 What elite beliefs informed security policies and practices? How did national and local elites conceive, for example, of the balance of power, the national interest, economic development and global security? 2 What traditions underpinned these beliefs? Are there rival traditions inspiring competing policies and conflicting actions? 3 Did the relevant beliefs, policies and practices change over time? If so, what dilemmas led people to change their beliefs and how did the relevant actors conceive those dilemmas? Our interpretive theory can thus be introduced through its use of the three key concepts found in these questions: beliefs, traditions and dilemmas. Why beliefs? As early as the 1950s, philosophers were forcefully criticizing positivism and its concept of pure experience (Quine 1961: 20–46). Yet international relations scholars have often failed to take seriously the consequences of rejecting a positivist notion of pure experience. Many cling tenaciously to the positivist idea that we can understand or explain human behaviour by objective social facts about people rather than by reference to their beliefs. They thus exclude the interpretation of beliefs from the ambit of the discipline on positivist grounds. Other international relations scholars reject positivism, distancing themselves from the idea of pure experience, but still abstain from interpreting beliefs. Often, they try to avoid direct appeals to beliefs by reducing beliefs to intervening variables between actions and social facts (see especially Goldstein and Keohane 1993). Interpretive theorists argue, however, that once we accept that there are no pure experiences, we undermine the positivist case against interpreting beliefs. A rejection of pure experience implies that we cannot reduce beliefs to Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d Interpreting global security 3 intervening variables. When we say that a state has particular interests for which it will go to war, we rely on a particular theory to derive its interests from its global role and position. Someone with a different set of theories might believe that the state is in a different global position or that it has different interests. The important point here is that how the people we study see their position and interests inevitably depends on their theories, which might differ significantly from our theories. To explain people’s actions, we implicitly or explicitly invoke their beliefs and desires. When we reject positivism, we cannot identify their beliefs by appealing to the allegedly objective social facts about them. Instead, we must explore the beliefs through which they construct their world, including the ways they understand their position, the norms affecting them, and their interests. Because people cannot have pure experiences, their beliefs and desires are inextricably enmeshed with theories. Thus, international relations scholars cannot ‘read-off’ beliefs and desires from objective social facts about people. Instead they have to interpret beliefs by relating them to other beliefs, traditions and dilemmas. Of course, international relations scholars have grappled with the issues arising from a rejection of positivism (see, for example, Booth et al. 1996). Today the leading theories of global security are realism, institutionalism (in which category we include most forms of constructivism) and rational choice. However, even advocates of these theories have begun to question their positivist inheritance – and as they have disentangled themselves from positivism, so they have placed greater stress on interpreting beliefs. New theories, including critical, feminist and postmodern theories, have also emphasized beliefs but commonly tend to appeal to material or ideational structures to explain actions (Buzan and Hanson 2009: 187–225). Although we welcome this semiinterpretive turn, we think it is still worthwhile drawing on interpretive theory to highlight the ambiguities that thus characterize these theories. Realists are generally the most steadfast in rejecting beliefs as explanations. Classical realists commonly argue that theorists and policy makers must look to material capabilities to assess threat and set aside any consideration of the declared intentions of others (Morgenthau 1948). Structural realists seek to explain actions by reference to the distribution of power between states in international systems (Waltz 1979). Although so-called neo-classical realists depart from both of these positions, looking to the perceptions of state elites about their relative power in order to explain state behaviour, they still treat beliefs as intervening variables (Rose 1998). Realism can thus only take us part way towards an interpretive account of contemporary global security. Institutionalists are often unclear about the nature of institutions. On the one hand, institutions are said to take a concrete and fixed form. They are often defined, for example, as operating rules or procedures that govern the actions of the individuals who fall under them (Barnett and Finnemore 2004). If institutionalists think of institutions in this way, they lapse back into positivism. They do not interpret what institutions mean to the people who Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 4 Mark Bevir, Oliver Daddow and Ian Hall work within them. They elide the contingency, inner conflicts and several constructions of actors in an institution. They assume that allegedly objective rules prescribe or cause behaviour. Yet, as we have just argued, international relations scholars cannot legitimately ‘read off’ people’s beliefs from their social location. Rules are always open to interpretation. On the other hand, institutions are sometimes said to include cultural factors or beliefs, which may seem to suggest that institutions do not fix the beliefs or actions of the subjects within them. If international relations scholars open institutions in this way, however, they cannot treat institutions as given. Rather they must ask how beliefs, and so actions, are created, recreated, and changed in ways that constantly reproduce and modify institutions. Although we would welcome this decentring of institutions, we would suggest that the theory would no longer be institutionalist in any significant sense. Explanations would no longer cast as if behaviour were the result of rules but, rather, in a way that presented actions and outcomes as the contingent and contested results of the varying way in which people understood and reacted to conventions. Appeals to institutions would thus be misleading shorthand. This commentary on institutionalism suggests that if we reject positivism, our notion of an institution desperately needs a micro-theory. Institutionalists could avoid engaging with beliefs and preferences only when they believed that they could reduce actions to social facts. However, positivism undermines just that belief, making a theory of individual action necessary. It thus seems plausible to suggest that rational choice theory has had a significant impact on the new institutionalism precisely because it is a theory about individual preferences and rational action. Because rational choice theory views actions as rational strategies for realizing the preferences of the actor, it has sometimes reduced the motives of political actors to self-interest (Downs 1957). Yet, as most rational choice theorists now recognize, there are no valid grounds for privileging self-interest as a motive. Rational choice theorists have thus enlarged their notion of preference; moving toward a ‘thin’ analysis of that requires only that motives be consistent. The problem for rational choice theorists has thus become how to fill out this ‘thin’ notion of preference on specific occasions. At times, they do so by suggesting that preferences are more or less self-evident or that preferences can be assumed from the positions people occupy. Obviously, however, this way of filling out the idea of preference falls prey to our earlier criticism of positivism. At other times, therefore, rational choice theorists have suggested conceiving of people’s actions as products of their beliefs and desires without saying anything substantive about what these beliefs and desires might be (Vicchaeri 1993: 221–24). Here too, although we would welcome this decentring gesture, we would suggest that the theory would no longer be rational choice theory in any significant sense. Explanations would be based not on deductions drawn from assumptions of self-interest and utility maximization, but on appeals to people’s multiple, varying and diverse beliefs and desires. Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d Interpreting global security 5 The purpose of our theoretical reflections is not to undermine all appeals to institutions and rules as explanations of action. Our arguments do not prevent appeals to self-interest or the use of deductive models. We do not deny that quantitative techniques have a role in the study of global security. To reject any of these concepts or tools outright would be hasty and ill-considered. Our theoretical reflections imply only that international relations scholars need to tailor their appeals to institutions, rationality, models and statistics to recognize that their discipline is an interpretative one focused on the beliefs of relevant actors. Why traditions? The forms of explanation we should adopt for beliefs, actions and practices revolve around two sets of concepts (Bevir 1999: 187–218, 223–51). The first set includes concepts such as tradition, structure and paradigm. These concepts explore the social context in which individuals think and act. They vary in how much weight they suggest should be given to the social context in explanations of thought and action. The second set includes concepts such as dilemma, anomaly and agency. These concepts explore how beliefs and practices change and the role individual agency plays in such change. We define a tradition as a set of understandings someone receives during socialization. Although tradition is unavoidable, it is so as a starting point, not as something that governs later performances. We should be cautious, therefore, of representing tradition as an unavoidable presence in everything people do in case we leave too slight a role for agency. In particular, we should not imply that tradition is constitutive of the beliefs people later come to hold or the actions they then perform. Instead, we should see tradition mainly as a first influence on people. The content of the tradition will appear in their later actions only if their agency has led them not to change it, where every part of it is in principle open to change. Positivists sometimes hold that individuals are autonomous and avoid the influence of tradition. They argue that people can arrive at beliefs through pure experiences, so we can explain why people held their beliefs by referring to those experiences. However, once we reject positivism, we need a concept such as tradition to explain why people come to believe what they do. Because people cannot have pure experiences, they necessarily construe their experiences using theories they inherited. Their experiences can lead them to beliefs only because they already have access to the traditions of their community. A social heritage is the necessary background to the beliefs people adopt and the actions they perform. Some international relations scholars, including some critical theorists and postmodernists, adopt a strong version of this conclusion. They argue that a social structure, paradigm, episteme, identity or discourse governs not only the actions people can perform successfully but also people’s beliefs and desires. Strong structuralists argue that meanings and beliefs are the products of the internal relations of self-sufficient languages or Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 6 Mark Bevir, Oliver Daddow and Ian Hall paradigms. They thus leave little, if any, room for human agency. They suggest that traditions, structures or paradigms determine or limit the beliefs people might adopt and so the actions they might attempt. Surely, however, social contexts only ever influence – as distinct from define – the nature of individuals. Traditions are products of individual agency. This insistence on agency may seem incompatible with our earlier insistence on the unavoidable nature of tradition. However, our reasons for appealing to tradition allow for individuals to change the beliefs and practices they inherit. Just because individuals start out from an inherited tradition does not imply that they cannot adjust it. On the contrary, the ability to develop traditions is an essential part of people’s being in the world. People constantly confront at least slightly novel circumstances that require them to apply inherited traditions anew, and a tradition cannot fix the nature of its application. Again, when people confront the unfamiliar, they have to extend or change their heritage to encompass it, and as they do so, they develop that heritage. Every time they try to apply a tradition, they reflect on it (whether consciously or not) to bring it to bear on their circumstances, and by reflecting on it, they open it to innovation. Thus, human agency can produce change even when people think they are sticking fast to a tradition they regard as sacrosanct. As humans, people necessarily arrive at their beliefs, and perform their actions, against the background of a tradition that influences those beliefs and actions, but they are also creative agents who have the capacity to reason and act innovatively against the background of that tradition. We are here discussing something like the familiar problem of structure and agency. Like the structuralists, interpretive theory rejects the idea of the self-constituting person, but unlike many structuralists, interpretive theory does not deny the possibility of agency. It is this commitment to the possibility of agency that makes tradition a more satisfactory concept than rivals such as structure, paradigm and episteme. These later ideas suggest the presence of a social force that determines or at least limits the beliefs and actions of individuals. Tradition, in contrast, suggests that a social heritage comes to individuals who, through their agency, can adjust and transform this heritage even as they pass it on to others. Recognition of agency requires international relations scholars to be wary of essentialists who equate traditions with fixed essences to which they credit variations. Interpretive theory here presents tradition as a starting point, not a destination. It thus implies that instances cannot be identified with a tradition based on a comparison of their apparently key features. A particular relationship must exist between beliefs and practices if they are to make up a tradition. For a start, the relevant beliefs and practices must have passed from generation to generation. Traditions must be made up of beliefs and practices relayed from teacher to pupil to pupil’s pupil and so on. Such socialization may be intentional or unintentional. The continuity lies in the themes developed and passed on over time. As beliefs pass from teacher Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d Interpreting global security 7 to pupil, so the pupil adapts and extends the themes linking the beliefs. Although there must be an historical line from the start of a tradition to its current finish, the developments introduced by successive generations might result in beginning and end having nothing in common apart from the links over time. Nonetheless, an abstract set of beliefs and practices that were not passed on would be a summary at one point in time, not a tradition. It would not relate moments in time to one another by showing their historical continuity. A tradition must consist of a series of instances that resemble one another because they exercised a formative influence on one another. In addition to suitable connections through time, traditions must embody suitable conceptual links. The beliefs and practices a teacher passes on to a pupil must display a minimal level of consistency. A tradition could not have provided someone with an initial starting point unless its parts formed a minimally coherent set. Traditions cannot be made up of purely random beliefs and actions that successive individuals happen to have held in common. Although the beliefs in a tradition must be related to one another both temporally and conceptually, their substantive content is unimportant. As tradition is unavoidable, all beliefs and practices must have their roots in tradition, whether they are aesthetic or practical, sacred or secular, legendary or factual, pre-modern or scientific. Our idea of tradition differs, therefore, from that of people who associate the term with customary, unquestioned ways of behaving (Oakeshott 1962: 123, 128–29). At the heart of our notion of tradition are individuals using local reasoning consciously and subconsciously to reflect on and modify their contingent heritage. Why dilemmas? Dilemmas provide one way of thinking about the role of individual agency in changing traditions. People’s capacity for agency implies that change originates in the responses or decisions of individuals. Whenever someone adopts a new belief or action they have to adjust their existing beliefs and practices to make way for the newcomer. To accept a new belief is thus to pose a dilemma that asks questions of one’s existing beliefs. A dilemma here arises for an individual or institution when a new idea stands in opposition to existing beliefs or practices and so forces a reconsideration of these existing beliefs and associated tradition. Scholars of international relations can explain change in traditions, therefore, by referring to the relevant dilemmas. Traditions change as individuals make a series of variations to them in response to any number of specific dilemmas. It is important to recognize that scholars cannot straightforwardly identify dilemmas with allegedly objective pressures in the world. People vary their beliefs or actions in response to any new idea they come to hold as true. They do so irrespective of whether the new idea reflects real pressures, or, to be precise, irrespective of whether it reflects pressures that scholars of international relations believe to be real. In explaining change, we cannot privilege our academic Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 8 Mark Bevir, Oliver Daddow and Ian Hall accounts of the world. What matters is the subjective, or more usually intersubjective, understandings of political actors, not our scholarly accounts of real pressures in the world. The task of the social scientist is to recover the shared intersubjective dilemmas of the relevant actors. The task is not to privilege scholarly accounts, although, of course, the pressures social scientists believe to be real may closely resemble the actors’ views of the relevant dilemmas. Dilemmas often arise from people’s experiences. However, we must add immediately that this need not be the case. Dilemmas can arise from theoretical and moral reflection as well as experiences of worldly pressures. The new belief that poses a dilemma can lie anywhere on a spectrum from views with little theoretical content to complex theoretical constructs only remotely linked to views about the real world. A good example is the notion of globalization. Globalization is one dilemma that admits of many interpretations. Hay (2002) distinguishes between the economic outcomes of globalization and the effects of the discourse of globalization. The economic effects include the straightforward theory that high taxation drives capital away, a view for which there is little evidence. Nonetheless, politicians act as if there is a link between taxation and capital mobility, and reduce taxes. The social construction of globalization thus becomes crucial to explaining political actions. A related point to make here is that dilemmas do not have given, nor even correct, solutions. Because no set of beliefs can fix its own criteria of application, when people confront a new event or belief they necessarily change traditions creatively. It might look as if a tradition can tell people how to act – how to respond to dilemmas. At most, however, the tradition provides a guide to what they might do. It does not provide rules fixing what they must do. A tradition can provide hints on how its adherents might respond to a dilemma, but the only way to check if an individual’s actions are consistent with the beliefs of a tradition is to ask whether the individual and other adherents of the tradition are happy with the relevant actions. Because individuals respond creatively to dilemmas, it follows that change is ubiquitous. Even when people think they are merely continuing a settled tradition or practice, they are typically developing, adjusting and changing it. Change can occur when people think they are sticking fast to a tradition. Traditions and practices could be fixed and static only if people never met and faced novel circumstances. However, of course, people are always meeting new circumstances. International relations are in perpetual motion. Although dilemmas do not determine solutions, the scholar of international relations can explain the solutions at which people arrive by appealing to the character of both the dilemma and their existing beliefs. Consider first the influence of the character of the dilemma. To hold onto a new idea, people must develop their existing beliefs to make room for it. The new idea will open some ways of adjusting and close down others. People have to hook it onto their existing beliefs, and their existing beliefs will present some opportunities and not others. People can integrate a new belief into their existing beliefs only by relating themes in it to themes already present in their beliefs. Change Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d Interpreting global security 9 thus involves a pushing and pulling of a dilemma and a tradition to bring them together. Interpretive theory and global security Interpretive theory has led us to concentrate on the meanings and beliefs of various policy actors and, crucially, to explain these beliefs by locating them in historical traditions and as responses to dilemmas. The chapters that follow examine how shifts in beliefs and traditions, as well as new dilemmas, explain changes in the ways problems of global security have been addressed by the representatives of states and non-state actors. They generally highlight, therefore, the contingency, diversity and contestability of the narratives, expertise and beliefs informing global security practices. For, following interpretive theory, they suggest that practices embody beliefs and these beliefs are laden with the inheritances of various traditions. This emphasis on contingency, diversity and contestability distinguishes the picture of global security provided by this book from its rivals. In what follows, we suggest that this book thereby challenges the aspiration to comprehensive and formal explanations that often lurks within accounts of global security. In particular, although the chapters in this book echo themes from the literature on global governance, they also transform those themes, providing examples of the decentring of a governance account of global security. Finally, this book thereby opens novel research topics, including the study of ruling narratives, rationalities and resistance. Challenging comprehensive theories Most existing pictures of global security typically aspire to a kind of comprehensiveness that is associated with more formal modes of explanation. That is to say, they tend to obscure the variety and contingency of present-day global security precisely because they reduce it to a formal pattern or cause that defines or explains its other leading features. Structural realism, for example, aims to provide a general explanation for why certain outcomes occur in international relations. It appeals to the nature of the units (sovereign states) to account for the structure of the system (anarchical) and then to the structure of the system to account for the actions of the units (power-seeking) (Waltz 1979). Structural realists thus account for contemporary practices of global security by referring theorists and practitioners to the distribution of power in the present international system and the ‘unipolar’ order that it supposedly generates (Ikenberry et al. 2009). Similarly, institutionalism and constructivism appeal to rules or norms within institutions to account for the actions of individual agents, non-state actors or states (Barnett and Finnemore 2004; Wendt 1992). Establishing the key relevant rules or norms provides a general explanation for particular actions. Finally, the literature on global governance generally characterizes the new governance in terms of being a response to globalization (Rosenau 1987). It Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 10 Mark Bevir, Oliver Daddow and Ian Hall suggests that globalization has caused a decline in the importance and capacity of state actors as they confront new transnational challenges and become increasingly dependent on one another and on non-state actors. The result has allegedly been the spread of networks involving civil society actors at the expense of both states and international institutions. Likewise, the spread of networks allegedly explains the greater reliance of states and international institutions on ‘trust’ and ‘cooperative’ styles of management. From this perspective, global security under the new governance is more or less inherently about growing fragmentation, specialization, transnationalism and the involvement of civil society. It is only because all these existing accounts of global security aspire to comprehensiveness based on formal explanations that they appear to be in tension with one another. If present-day global security is entirely about unipolarity, it cannot be about rule-following or new transnational challenges. Likewise, if it is about norms or globalization, it cannot be about American ‘hegemony’. Interpretive theory does away with formal explanations and thus the aspiration to comprehensive accounts of global security. Here the aspiration to a comprehensive account of global security implies that we can define it by reference to one or more of its essential properties. The implications are that these properties are general ones that characterize all present-day security arrangements. Several international relations scholars also imply that these essential properties can explain at least the most significant other features of contemporary global security. In contrast, our interpretive theory makes all these implications seem implausible. From an interpretive perspective, security practices are products of people’s actions. People’s actions are not fully determined by anarchical structures, institutional rules or some logic of globalization, but rather reflect their agency and intentionality. Global security is thus constructed differently by numerous actors grappling with different issues in different contexts against the background of different traditions. A better grasp of present-day global security might arise, therefore, from accepting that it does not have any essential properties. In this book, we treat ‘global security’ as a loose phrase that refers to a number of theories and practices with overlapping features, none of which need always be present. These can include theories and practices associated with realism, institutionalism and constructivism, and global governance, since all of these can be located in the beliefs and actions of agents in the field. We can find them directing state ministries and militaries to try to fulfil certain tasks and we can find them working through international organizations or nongovernmental organizations (NGOs) to try to establish patterns of rule or to steer other actors. Equally, however, accounts of the new global governance can reveal the myriad ways in which these actors are thwarted and their aspirations and policies subverted by other actors utilizing other theories and practices. It is important to remember, in particular, that states and international institutions meet other policy actors who challenge, ignore or simply misunderstand them. Below them they meet voluntary and private-sector actors Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d Interpreting global security 11 in civil society and transnational networks. Level with them or above them, they confront other states and transnational organizations. Global security involves contestation at the levels of both theory and practice. Decentring global governance There are obvious overlaps between our interpretive theory and its emphasis on a variegated picture of security and the account of security associated with the literature on global governance and security governance in particular (Krahmann 2003; Kirchner and Sperling 2007; Adler and Greve 2009). Both highlight the limited role, power and effectiveness of states and international institutions. Both also draw attention to the role of transnational actors and networks. Despite these overlaps, however, interpretive theory transforms the concept of global governance. In particular, interpretive theory decentres global governance in a way that creates a new perspective on the topics that dominate much of the relevant literature. Most discussions of ‘global governance’ combine attention to new topics with a formal theory that presents these topics as interlinked features of a new world order (e.g. Rosenau 1987). In the first place, the literature on global governance suggests that this new world has come about as a result of globalization and its more or less inexorable systemic effects. In the second place, global governance draws attention to the diverse processes and domains of global security. Global governance is often defined in terms of any activity that contributes to transnational and international patterns of rule (Rosenau 1995). Global governance includes not only the actions of states and international institutions, but also the actions of NGOs. Global governance thus shifts attention from sovereign states in an anarchic international society to the creation, enforcement and change of global patterns of activity. Similarly, global governance and security governance broaden the research agenda from attempts to prevent and limit war to also encompass attempts to manage failed states, civil wars, terrorism and the global environment. Interpretive theory promotes many of the same topics as does the literature on global governance, but it presents these topics less as arising from a new world of globalization and more as arising out of its theoretical break with the kind of formal theories that have come to dominate so much of the study of international relations. From the perspective of this interpretive theory, global security under global governance does not fit into a neat formal and monolithic pattern. On the contrary, the point of the term ‘governance’ is in part to provide a more diverse view of authority, political action and ruling. The notion of states alone interacting in an anarchic international system was always a formal myth. The myth obscured the reality of diverse international practices that escaped the control of states and international institutions because they arose from the contingent actions of diverse actors at the boundaries of states and civil societies. The alleged ‘new’ features of global governance may have spread, but they have always been there. International Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 12 Mark Bevir, Oliver Daddow and Ian Hall regimes arise variously from the interactions of international institutions, states and other policy actors in networks of organizations. Transnational flows and international links have always disrupted borders. Patterns of rule have always crossed the public, private and voluntary sectors. The boundaries between states and civil societies have always been blurred. Global governance is (and always has been) a complex policy environment in which an increasing number of actors are forging various practices by deploying a growing range of strategies and instruments across multiple jurisdictions, territories and levels of government. To understand today’s global governance and global security, international relations scholars might appeal not to systemic logics of anarchy or globalization but to new forms of knowledge and the traditions on which theorists and practitioners draw. In so far as security practices have changed, it is because policy actors have adopted new ideas that have led them to remake the world (Bevir and Hall 2011). Perhaps the most important of these ideas have been neoliberal economics, which inspired a greater use of markets and market mechanisms, and the planning and network theories that inspired the spread of ‘whole-of-government’ and ‘joined-up’ approaches to governance in many sectors, including that of security. In Chapter 2, Mark Bevir and Ian Hall analyse the post-Cold War emergence of these ideas and associated practices in response to a series of dilemmas that provoked theorists and policy makers to question inherited traditions of thought and practice. As interpretive theory rejects appeals to a systemic logic inherent arising from anarchy or globalization, so it decentres the topics associated with global governance as a paradigm for thinking about global security. That is to say, the security practices associated with terrorism, failed states and civil wars all appear now as products of contingent patterns of activity infused by beliefs that arose against the background of clashing traditions. New research topics To decentre global governance is to challenge any straightforward dichotomy between it as a ‘new’ mode of thinking about and practising international relations and a supposedly older, anarchical international system dominated by states. As we suggested earlier, many ‘new’ features of global governance may have spread to new actors and new areas, but many have longer histories than commonly acknowledged. Contemporary global governance, in the field of global security as in other fields, mixes the old and the new. Elite actors may be addressing new dilemmas with new practices using new forms of knowledge, but they may continue to do so in the belief that states remain the dominant actors on the international stage. Any account of global security must surely include an account of various states and their fumbling efforts to realize their policy goals. In Chapters 2 to 7, the authors explore a series of these attempts by actors in particular states to achieve their objectives, sometimes utilizing old theories and practices, and sometimes utilizing new ones. Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d Interpreting global security 13 In this way, interpretive theory decentres states and regional institutions. States no longer appear as black boxes – formal entities that necessarily act in ways defined by their place in a system or their apparently fixed interests. State policies are, rather, products of struggles among actors inspired by different beliefs rooted in different traditions. Interpretive theory thus foregrounds a set of distinctive research topics, including ruling narratives, rationalities and resistance. All these topics reflect a shift from formal and systemic modes of explanation to the recovery of the contingent and contested beliefs of policy actors, whether these actors are linked to civil associations, states, transnational organizations or international institutions. Ruling narratives are the beliefs and stories by which elite actors make sense of their world. These narratives provide a background against which elites construct their worldviews, including their views of their own interests. Ruling narratives thus inform the policy choices that elites and states make. So, when international relations scholars study ruling narratives, they might ask, for example: what elite beliefs inform national security policy making? How and why have realist narratives been modified or replaced by other traditions? What changes in elite beliefs generated these new ruling narratives? What dilemmas prompted these changes in elite beliefs? Rationalities are expert strategies – the technical forms of knowledge – on which policy actors rely to design policies to realize their goals. These rationalities often arise from the formal explanations associated with present-day social science. They purport to tell policy makers what effects markets, laws, networks and specific policies will have. So, international relations scholars might explore the forms of expertise, especially from the social sciences, that have influenced national security policy making and other practices in global security. They might ask: how do these rationalities aim to address perceived dilemmas? What effects have been produced by the growth of civilian and military funding to academic disciplines like social anthropology and social network analysis? What influence have other rationalities had on policy making and implementation, especially those generated in disciplines such as International Relations? Finally, resistance occurs because other actors can thwart the intentions of elites. Subordinate actors can resist elites and transform policies by reacting to them in ways that draw on their local traditions and their local reasoning. They can react to policies in ways that are contrary to the models and predictions of social scientists with their social rationalities. Here, therefore, international relations scholars might pose questions such as: what beliefs and traditions have shaped changed modes of resistance to the ruling narratives and rationalities? How have realists thwarted newer traditions of thinking about national security? What other beliefs and traditions have driven movements within national security bureaucracies, universities, think-tanks and other locations that have tried to block the rise of new narratives and rationalities? In the next chapter, Mark Bevir and Ian Hall show how new policy agendas arose from new security challenges in the post-Cold War period, as well as how policy makers in Western states generated new practices of ‘security Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 14 Mark Bevir, Oliver Daddow and Ian Hall governance’ from new theories of international relations and new theories of public administration. They examine the emergence of new narratives and new rationalities in security governance. In Chapters 3 and 4, Sabine Selchow and Daniel Zoughbie explore other ruling narratives. They examine the different ways in which elite American practitioners confronted 9/11 and its aftermath by drawing upon inherited beliefs and practices, as well as applying new thinking to the problem of radical Islamist terrorism. Selchow concentrates on the ‘newness’ of radical Islamist terrorism and the challenge that it poses to the ‘New World’, as well as the return, as she puts it, of ‘uncertainty’ to American narratives about global security. Zoughbie, for his part, analyses the ways in which President George W. Bush drew upon his religious beliefs and his understanding of the Christian tradition to underpin his foreign and security policies during his terms in office. Chapters 5 to 7 examine the changing nature of ruling narratives in a series of European states. Oliver Daddow and Jamie Gaskarth chart the shift from what they call ‘value protection’ to ‘value promotion’ in British foreign and security policy, emphasizing the ways in which post-Cold War practitioners have re-interpreted Britain’s role as a ‘global power’. Aglaya Snetkov explores the re-casting of Russia’s security policy under Vladimir Putin, arguing that his government’s approach to contemporary security architecture was grounded not simply in a critical assessment of the 1990s, but also in a new narrative about Russian history and the imperative to be an anti-Western power. Jocelyn Mawdsley, in her chapter, compares the approaches of Britain, France and Germany to the dilemmas posed by missile defence, tracing their differing responses to contrary narratives of national roles and national histories. In Chapter 8, Adrian Gallagher analyses post-Cold War responses to the dilemmas generated by genocides and ethnic violence after 1991. He argues that both scholars and practitioners tended to couch these responses in terms of the United Nations Charter, curiously neglecting other possible starting points, including the Genocide Convention. His chapter both points to the ways in which ruling narratives emerge and the ways in which possible alternatives to those narratives are sidelined within elite debate. Christopher Baker-Beall explores similar themes in Chapter 9, examining the emergence and development of different narratives about terrorism in the European context. In the final chapter, Hartmut Behr turns to a past interpretivist approach – that of Hans J. Morgenthau. Behr argues that Morgenthau’s insistence on the inescapability of ‘standortgebunden’ (standpoints) for social and political theorists. Like other interpretivists, Behr suggests, Morgenthau appreciated the contingency of social and political knowledge, also emphasizing the need for what he calls ‘epistemological anti-hubris’. Conclusion This book aims to address the need for new frameworks of analysis for contemporary practices of global security that go beyond inherited theories. It Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d Interpreting global security 15 also aims to move beyond the positivist rejection of beliefs and the tendency of post-positivists, in International Relations at least, to neglect beliefs as a way of explaining actions. International theorists from E.H. Carr and Hans J. Morgenthau onwards have been very sceptical about explaining practices by reference to the beliefs of agents, arguing that we have few or no means of knowing what they believe and why (Carr 1939; Morgenthau 1948). This book suggests that this scepticism is unwarranted. We can gain reliable knowledge of the beliefs of others and we can assume that at least some professions of belief are sincere. Moreover, we have means of assessing the sincerity or otherwise of professed beliefs by subjecting them to well-worn means of analysis. With all of this in mind, this book argues that beliefs are central to explanation in social science and that international theorists should not be so wary of interpreting beliefs and explaining actions by reference to beliefs. It opens up new topics for research and new approaches to those topics that cannot be utilized within conventional positivist and post-positivist modes of analysis prevalent in international relations. It aims to move the field beyond theories that aspire to comprehensiveness and thus fail to account for old and new practices that fall outside their purview. It aims to demonstrate that global security is best understood as a set of decentred practices responding to multiple dilemmas and grounded in overlapping theories derived from different traditions. References Adler, E. and Greve, P. (2009) ‘When Security Community Meets Balance of Power: Overlapping Regional Mechanisms of Security Governance’, Review of International Studies 35 (Supplement 1): 59–84. Barnett, M. and Finnemore, M. (2004) Rules for the World: International Organizations in World Politics, Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Bevir, M. (1999) The Logic of the History of Ideas, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bevir, M., Daddow, O. and Hall, I. (2013) ‘Interpreting British Foreign Policy’, British Journal of Politics and International Relations 15(2): 163–74. Bevir, M. and Hall, I. (2011) ‘Global Governance’, in Mark Bevir (ed.) The Sage Handbook of Governance, London: Sage, 352–66. Booth, K., Smith, S. and Zalewski, M. (1996) International Theory: Positivism and Beyond, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Buzan, B. (1991) People, States and Fear: An Agenda for International Security Studies in the Post-Cold War Era, 2nd edn, London: Harvester Wheatsheaf. Buzan, B. and Hanson, L. (2009) The Evolution of International Security Studies, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Buzan, B., Waever, O. and de Wilde, J. (1998) Security: A New Framework for Analysis, Boulder: Lynne Rienner. Carr, E.H. (1939) The Twenty Years’ Crisis: An Introduction to the Study of International Relations, London: Macmillan. Claude, I. (1962) Power and International Relations, New York: Random House. Downs, A. (1957) ‘An Economic Theory of Political Action in a Democracy’, Journal of Political Economy 65(2): 135–50. Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 16 Mark Bevir, Oliver Daddow and Ian Hall Goldstein, J. and Keohane, R.O. (1993) Ideas and Foreign Policy: Beliefs, Institutions and Political Change, Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Hay, C. (2002) Political Analysis: A Critical Introduction, Basingstoke: Palgrave. Ikenberry, G.J., Mastanduno, M. and Wohlforth, W.C. (eds) (2009) International Relations Theory and the Consequences of Unipolarity, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Kirchner, E. and Sperling, J. (eds) (2007) Global Security Governance: Competing Perceptions of Security in the 21st Century, London and New York: Routledge. Krahmann, E. (2003) ‘Conceptualizing Security Governance’, Cooperation and Conflict 38(1): 5–26. Morgenthau, H.J. (1948) Politics Among Nations: The Struggle for Power and Peace, New York: Alfred P. Knopf. ——(1951) In Defence of the National Interest, New York: Alfred P. Knopf. Oakeshott, M. (1962) Rationalism in Politics and Other Essays, London and New York: Methuen & Co. Quine, W. (1961) ‘Two Dogmas of Empiricism’, in From a Logical Point of View, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Rose, G. (1998) ‘Neoclassical Realism and Theories of Foreign Policy’, World Politics 51(1): 144–72. Rosenau, J. (1987) Governance without Government: Systems of Rule in World Politics, Los Angeles: Institute for Transnational Studies, University of Southern California. ——(1995) ‘Governance in the Twenty First Century’, Global Governance 1(1): 13–43. Vicchaeri, C. (1993) Rationality and Co-ordination, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Waltz, K. (1979) Theory of International Politics, New York: Addison-Wesley Wendt, A. (1992) ‘Anarchy is What States Make of it: The Social Construction of Power Politics’, International Organization 46(2): 391–425. Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 2 The rise of security governance Mark Bevir and Ian Hall ‘Security governance’ is a post-Cold War phenomenon. It breaks with realist and liberal ways of managing security in international politics. Indeed, security governance is predicated on the belief that the new security threats of the post-Cold War era cannot be effectively addressed by inherited realist and liberal practices. It shifts the management of security from state-centric approaches and formal institutions towards more diverse actors and more flexible ways of working. Within states, security governance entails new roles for foreign and defence ministries as well new cross-government and international linkages for other ministries. Within the international sphere, security governance relies on networks of nongovernmental organizations (NGOs), international institutions and agencies, transnational corporations, activists, epistemic communities, and a range of other new and old actors. Throughout, security governance involves individual actors working in new ways and using new techniques to gather and analyse information, and to communicate, negotiate, implement and evaluate policy responses to security threats. The phrase ‘security governance’ first emerged in Europe in the 2000s to explain new practices by which European states addressed transnational security threats (Bossong 2008, 2012; Christou et al. 2010; Erikson 2011; Friesendorf 2007; Hollis 2010; Kirchner 2006; Kirchner and Dominquez 2011; Kirchner and Sperling 2007; Webber 2000; Webber et al. 2004). This chapter argues that security governance arose from new theories that responded to new dilemmas in both international relations and public administration. New theories in international relations challenged realist and liberal understandings of the causes of insecurity and gave rise to new policy agendas. In the pursuit of those agendas, practitioners adopted new techniques and technologies of public administration grounded in new social scientific theories. The chapter is divided into three sections. The first looks at the new theories in international relations and how they changed the content of security from the 1980s onwards. The second part looks at the new theories in public administration and how they influenced new practices of governance. The third and concluding section looks at the ways in which these new theories of international relations and these new practices of governance combined to produce ‘security governance’. Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 18 Mark Bevir and Ian Hall International relations The end of the Cold War and the collapse of the Soviet Union generated acute anxiety amongst analysts and practitioners of international relations for two principal reasons. First, these events had not been predicted by the realist and liberal theories that had dominated Cold War international relations. Many observers concluded that neorealism and neoliberalism, in particular, were defunct, having demonstrably failed to identify the actual causes of the USSR’s demise (Gaddis 1992/93; Baldwin 1995; Betts 1997; Lebow and Risse-Kappen 1995). Second, these inherited theories seemed not to be able to explain the new security threats that rapidly emerged in the aftermath of the Cold War, let alone to prescribe adequate policy responses to these threats. These threats were perceived to lie at the levels of the state, society and individual, rather than within the structure of the international system. They included a resurgence of ethno-nationalist political violence in the post-communist world and in the global South (von Hippel 1994) and an apparent shift to new forms of conflict, fought not by disciplined state militaries, but by irregular forces unrestrained by international humanitarian law or basic norms of war (Kaldor 1999). Yet more threats were perceived to be arising from environmental degradation and climate change on the one hand (Homer-Dixon 1991), and poor governance on the other (Duffield 2001). These threats posed dilemmas for analysts and policy makers because they seemed, in the minds of many, inexplicable in terms of the inherited realist and liberal theories of global security. The resurgence of ethno-nationalist violence undermined the core realist and liberal claims that modern politics and international relations were driven by instrumental rationality or by ideological rivalries, and thus could be explained and remedied by power politics or by ideational and institutional change. The apparent failure of realist and liberal theories thus created spaces for new accounts of global security. Some scholars argued that ‘ancient hatreds’ or even primordial ‘clashes of civilizations’ were to blame for contemporary conflict (Kaldor 1993; Huntington 1993). Many theorists moved to explain international relations in terms of socially constructed identities rather than interests or institutions (Wendt 1992; Katzenstein 1996). Others scholars agreed that materialist explanations of the causes of political violence were inadequate, but concentrated their attention less on identities than on the ‘discourses’ that they argued constructed threats and convinced polities to act in certain ways to address those threats (Jones 1999). These new theories responded to the post-Cold War era, but some of them derived from ideas with longer pedigrees. Since the 1960s some scholars had been arguing that realists and liberals took too narrow a view of what constituted a security threat and, as a consequence, failed to identify optimal policy responses (Buzan and Hansen 2009: 101–55). Peace researchers, in particular, argued that concentrating on military and political threats neglected the ‘structural violence’ of social injustice and economic inequality (Galtung 1969). Others concentrated on different threats and different responses. In Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d The rise of security governance 19 This Endangered Planet (1971), for example, Richard Falk urged that pollution and resource depletion were generating threats to human well-being just as serious as major war – even nuclear war – between states. By the 1980s, these various arguments had generated extensive debate about what was meant by the concept of ‘security’, the proper obligations of scholars in the field, and the practical implications – debate dominated by Barry Buzan’s iconic People, States and Fear (1983). In the aftermath of the Cold War, security analysts drew on these ideas and debates to develop new theories of global security that responded to the new threats of the age (Smith 1999). These theories shared two important features. First, they were less statist than were realist and liberal theories. Most were sceptical about the realist and liberal claim that the pursuit of national security implied greater security for individuals and communities. They recognized that the state was sometimes the principal threat to the security of citizens. Second, they were less focused on military threats, expanding ‘security studies’ to focus in addition on political, economic, social and environmental threats. In practical terms, they suggested that building security required more than simply improving the capacities of police forces and militaries. Despite their similarities, the new theories divided into different schools. Constructivists concentrated on identities and the social meanings of security practices, with the Copenhagen school working especially on ‘securitization’ (Williams 2003). Critical theorists and postmodernists looked in particular at the ways in which political discourses generated security threats and pointed to political responses (Campbell 1998; Jones 1999; Booth 2005, 2007). Feminists drew upon constructivism and critical theory to advance research agendas focused upon gender and war (Enloe 1990; Tickner 1992). All these new theories helped to inspire new policy agendas including human security, state building and humanitarian intervention. These policy agendas responded to the new security threats that scholars had identified from the 1960s onwards, and they did so by self-consciously breaking with realist and some liberal modes of thought and practice. All these agendas were driven by Western states, and some were resisted by some non-Western states, although not all of the resistance came from outside the West. The concept of ‘human security’ was made famous by the United Nations Development Programme (UNDP) report of 1994, but it built upon earlier work from the 1960s onwards by peace researchers, environmentalists and theorists like Buzan (1983). It involved a self-conscious act of ‘securitization’ – the act of rendering something not conventionally considered a security issue into a security issue to give it greater political salience (Williams 2003). Like earlier radical security theorists, advocates of ‘human security’ argued that properly to address the range of threats facing many people, especially in the developing world, it was necessary to shift the ‘referent object’ of security away from the state and to individuals and communities. The UNDP report argued: ‘[t]he world can never be at peace unless people have security in their daily lives’ (UNDP 1994: 1). At the 1995 World Summit, the UNDP and Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 20 Mark Bevir and Ian Hall other actors sympathetic to the cause pushed for a new global socio-economic order that addressed ‘human security’ by channelling resources hitherto devoted to national security and economic growth towards sustainable development in the global South. In one form or another, all Western states adopted the human security agenda. Some states – most notably Canada, led by its activist Foreign Minister Lloyd Axworthy – took up the cause enthusiastically and actively sought to advance it. Australia, Canada, the United Kingdom and other states reorganized their aid and development efforts and boosted their funding in the relevant areas. In Britain the Department for International Development (DFID), founded in 1997 in the immediate aftermath of New Labour’s election victory, grew rapidly in both size and responsibility so that by 2009 its budget dwarfed that of the Foreign and Commonwealth Office (FCO) and its international ‘footprint’ was substantial (Hall 2013). Australia’s AusAID underwent a similar phase of growth over a similar period. Even in the United States, the argument that human security and development in the global South was essential to the security of the global North had an impact. Successive US National Security Strategies throughout the post-Cold War period have emphasized the need for development assistance to address human security. As human security aimed to improve standards of governance and thereby tackle sources of insecurity, so did state building, whether it involved democratization, institutional reform or economic development. These practices were ‘securitized’. They were no longer just goods in themselves, but also means to improve national and global security. They were to remove autocratic regimes that threatened both the West and their own citizens, and they were to remove the socio-economic root causes of dissatisfaction and discontent that enabled autocrats to come to power in non-Western societies (Duffield 2001). In the 1990s, these security considerations led the West to aid states in transition from various forms of authoritarianism to liberal democracy by encouraging – or even imposing – certain standards of institutional design and economic management upon them. In the 2000s, the focus of the West shifted from transitional states to so-called ‘failed’ or ‘failing states’ such as Afghanistan or the Solomon Islands. Democratization and good governance were then merged into broader projects of ‘state building’ in places where even the rudiments of government had broken down (Wesley 2008). The human security and good governance agendas were intended by their proponents to divert resources conventionally spent on military power towards what might best be seen as prophylactic measures to prevent the emergence of non-traditional, mostly non-state-based, security threats. However, Western states also showed growing concern in the post-Cold War period with using military force for ‘humanitarian intervention’. Humanitarian intervention tackled immediate state-based and non-state-based threats to the security of individuals and communities. As a policy agenda, it has few historical precedents (see Wheeler 2001). Indeed, it challenged entrenched international Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d The rise of security governance 21 norms of state sovereignty and non-intervention, forcing a prolonged (and still ongoing) debate about their extent and value. Humanitarian intervention was primarily a response both to the conviction that human rights abuses in conflicts ought not to be tolerated, regardless of whether a sovereign state was the abuser, and to the level of popular concern in Western states about those abuses, which were covered extensively in the media. The enabling factor, however, was the so-called ‘Revolution in Military Affairs’ (RMA), which began in the 1970s, and especially the development of so-called ‘smart’ weapons like laser-guided bombs, which minimized the risks to both the pilots using them and non-combatants who might be in the area under attack. RMA allowed Western militaries to use force without suffering the combat casualties or inflicting the degree of death and injury on innocent civilians that would likely turn public opinion against military action. Six major humanitarian interventions were conducted by Western states in the 20 years after 1991. These interventions were in Bosnia (1991–95), Somalia (1992–94), Haiti (1994), East Timor (1999), Kosovo (1999) and Libya (2011). Each provoked substantial debate about its justification and legality. The justifications generally turned on two sets of issues: moral considerations and security concerns. As the moral considerations have been discussed at great length elsewhere, and are not in any case the focus here, they can be set aside. The security concerns are more relevant. What humanitarian intervention demonstrated was the extent to which traditional statist modes of thought about security had been displaced by new thinking. This new thinking was partly the result of the sheer weight of argument about the apparent effects on international relations of ‘globalization’. It was also partly due to the widespread belief that the pursuit of national security in the past had not generally led to improvements in the security of individuals and communities. Both of these sources of the new thinking are apparent in one of the clearest statements in favour of humanitarian interventionism: Tony Blair’s Chicago speech on the ‘Doctrine of International Community’ (1999), delivered during the Kosovo conflict. In that address, Blair argued that what he called ‘isolationism’, the practice of standing aside from the conflicts of others, had been made impossible by globalization and ‘global interdependence’. He went on: We are all internationalists now, whether we like it or not. We cannot refuse to participate in global markets if we want to prosper. We cannot ignore new political ideas in other counties if we want to innovate. We cannot turn our backs on conflicts and the violation of human rights within other countries if we want still to be secure. (Blair 1999) Clearly humanitarian intervention was not driven solely by moral imperatives. ‘[I]n the end’, Blair argued, ‘values and interests merge’ (Blair 1999). Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 22 Mark Bevir and Ian Hall Although humanitarian intervention remained highly controversial, it led to a partial renegotiation of international norms and practices. The challenge it posed to the traditional norms of sovereignty and non-interference, combined with the patent disregard some states continued to have for the security of their citizens, convinced many that a re-evaluation was required. At Canada’s behest, an International Commission on Intervention and State Sovereignty was created in 2000 and presented a report to the UN the following year. Called ‘The Responsibility to Protect’ (sometimes abbreviated R2P or RtoP), this report argued that sovereignty should be conceived as a trust embodying a duty to safeguard the security of citizens, not as an inalienable right. In broad terms, this new concept of sovereignty was endorsed by the members of the UN General Assembly at the 2005 World Summit. All states were then reminded that they had a responsibility to protect against war crimes, crimes against humanity and genocide. The UN was recognized to have a right to take appropriate measures to ensure that states upheld this responsibility. Although the 2005 World Summit did not settle the issue of whether armed humanitarian intervention was justifiable, it made some progress towards consensus about the meaning and extent of sovereignty in international relations (Bellamy 2009). Human security, state building and humanitarian intervention were policy agendas that derived in part from the new theories about international relations that came to the fore in the post-Cold War period. These policy agendas served, in turn, as new challenges for theorists and practitioners. They posed moral challenges about who should act for whom, why, when and how – moral challenges that generated extensive literatures. They posed practical challenges of implementation. Security governance, as a set of practices, emerged as theorists and practitioners responded to the moral and practical challenges using the new techniques and technologies of governance. Public administration Governance arose out of new modernist theories and public-sector reforms that emerged first in the 1970s in response to the crisis of the bureaucratic state (Bevir 2010). The bureaucratic state was an amalgam of a party political system and a bureaucracy comprising professional administrators, generalist civil servants and experts, who were to devise and implement rational policies. Classic texts of progressive public administration argued for a clear separation between party politics and bureaucracy. They presented the bureaucracy as a stronghold of impartial knowledge and so as a check on the factionalism, populism and other excesses of party politics. The bureaucracy was to initiate and guide intelligent action in response to solve social problems. The electoral process and politicians would dictate values and goals. The bureaucracy would then use its expertise to define the means to these. Bureaucracy represented an ideal hierarchic structure of administrative and professional expertise. Public bureaucracies acquired broad remits: they intervened in economies, Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d The rise of security governance 23 brokering dispute resolution between organized interests, and they took responsibility for significant elements of the lives of individual citizens, in education, health, pensions and employment. Governance arose out of a crisis in the bureaucratic state. Over-simplifications will abound in any attempt to differentiate the plethora of ideas that fed into the crisis of the state in the late twentieth century. Nonetheless, one way of approaching these narratives is as the products of different traditions of social science. Some narratives of the crisis of the state challenged bureaucracy, corporatism and social welfare using the tradition of neoclassical economics. Neoclassical micro-level assumptions informed, for example, narratives that tried to show fiscal crises were a pathology built into the welfare state. These narratives went as follows (King 1975). Citizens, being rational actors, try to maximize their short-term interests, privileging welfare policies that are of benefit to them as individuals over the long-term, cumulative and shared effects of rising state expenditure. Politicians, being rational actors, try to maximize their short-term electoral interests, promoting policies that will gain the votes of these rational citizens rather than pursuing fiscal responsibility. Narrow political considerations thereby trump economic imperatives. Groups of voters demand more and more welfare benefits, and politicians constantly pass welfare legislation on behalf of these voters. A growing proportion of the national product goes on welfare, making fiscal crises inevitable. These narratives of state overload and state crisis pointed to a clear solution: fiscal austerity, monetary control and a rolling back of the state. Other narratives of the crisis of the state drew on more sociological traditions and their analyses of changes in the world (Bevir 2005; Finlayson 1999). These narratives implied that the state had to change in response to international and domestic pressures. Internationally, the increased mobility of capital made it more difficult for states to direct economic activity. The state could not go it alone, but rather had to pursue coordination and regulation across borders. Industries that had operated in the domain of the state became increasingly transnational in their activities. The increasing number and prominence of transnational corporations raised problems of coordination and questions of jurisdiction. There was a gap between the national operation of regulatory structures and an increasingly international economy. Domestically, the state confronted the rising demands of its citizens. These demands arose from popular discontent with the state’s handling of the economy and its apparent unresponsiveness. Many states were saddled with large debts. Globalization provoked anxieties about competitiveness and wages. Sections of the public worried that the state had lost control. Equally, state actors often found that they were subject to varied and even contradictory demands from the public. Voters wanted better services and lower taxes. They wanted a more effective state but also a more transparent and accountable one. They wanted decisive leaders and yet more popular participation. Governance emerged, therefore, from two analytically distinct waves of publicsector reform. The first wave of reforms drew on neoclassical economics and Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 24 Mark Bevir and Ian Hall rational choice theory. The relevant reforms included the new public management and contracting out. Neoliberals turned away from what was now derided as big government, bloated bureaucracy and uniform solutions, and toward a private sector that was now lauded as competitive, efficient and flexible. This paradigm shift was also one from institutional definitions of good government, which emphasized clear-cut divisions of responsibility within hierarchical relationships, toward new definitions of efficient processes defined in terms of service delivery and outputs with an attendant emphasis on transparency, user friendliness and incentive structures. Before long, however, neoliberalism gave way to a second wave of reforms including joining up governance, networks and partnerships. These reforms were inspired not by neoclassical economics but by mid-level social theories such as institutionalism, planning theory and communitarianism. When social scientists inspired by sociological traditions of thinking studied the neoliberal reforms of the public sector, they were often highly critical. They argued that those reforms exacerbated problems of coordination and steering, and their reforms promoted networks and joined up government as solutions to these problems (Rhodes 1997). Crucially, advocates of networks distinguish them from hierarchies as well as markets. They accepted that old institutionalists had believed that hierarchies made it easier to tackle many social problems by dividing them into smaller tasks, each of which could then be performed by a specialized unit. However, they defined themselves as new institutionalists, arguing that this hierarchic approach to problem solving no longer suits today’s world, and claiming that policy makers confront ‘wicked problems’ that are not amenable to division and specialization; to solve today’s problems requires networks. So, new institutionalists often accept neoliberal arguments about the inflexible and unresponsive nature of hierarchies, but instead of promoting markets, they appeal to networks as a suitably flexible and responsive alternative based on recognition that social actors operate in structured relationships. They argue that efficiency and effectiveness derive from stable relationships characterized by trust, social participation and voluntary associations. In their view, while hierarchies can provide a context for trust and stability, the time for hierarchies has passed. Hierarchies do not suit the new knowledge-driven global economy. This new world increasingly throws up wicked problems that require partnerships, networks and whole-of-government approaches (for a detailed argument and supporting references see Bevir 2010). In short, the shift from government to governance means that states moved away from trying to determine public policy and deliver public services through hierarchical bureaucracies. They increasingly drew instead on networking with experts outside governments, engaging interest groups from various sectors of the community, ‘contracting out’, ‘outsourcing’ and creating public-private partnerships. States increasingly engage other stakeholders in the processes of formulating policies, setting rules and regulating activities. The result was governance that was hybrid and multi-jurisdictional, linking plural stakeholders in complex networks. Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d The rise of security governance 25 Controversy still rumbles on about what these changes in practices imply for the state – some scholars argue that the state is losing power and authority relative to other actors (Rhodes 1997; Stoker 1998); others argue that the state is just as strong as ever it was and merely adopting new policy instruments (Bell and Hindmoor 2009). Most scholars agree, however, that governance amounts to a substantively different form of governing to what has gone before. Policy is now made and implemented, and services delivered, in a range of different ways. Bell and Hindmoor, for example, identify the following modes of governing:  hierarchy – where state governments or other authoritative agents (international institutions, for example) ‘directly allocate resources through taxing and spending, or they attempt to impose order, rule or outcomes via direct regulatory, legal or enforcement measures’;  persuasion – where governments or other agents seek to persuade a target audience to change their behaviour rather than using ‘laws, taxes or regulation’;  markets – where governments or other agents utilize market mechanisms, including contracting out to private companies, to deliver services or modify behaviour;  community engagement – where groups of citizens are brought into policymaking and implementation processes through citizens’ juries or focus groups;  associations – where business or other associations are engaged in policymaking or service delivery, or indeed in the regulation of particular sectors of the society. (Bell and Hindmoor 2009: 16–18) Not all of these modes of governing are new. What are new are the ways in which scholars and practitioners perceive the challenges they face and what they conceive to be the best policy responses. As the global governance literature makes clear, what is also new is the ‘spill-over’ of governance from domestic politics to international relations. In part, this has occurred because of the emergence of new actors alongside sovereign states (and state-created international institutions and functional agencies), and the concomitant need to find means to manage the interactions of all these players. These new actors range from NGOs to private security and military companies (PSCs and PMCs). Although these actors have not necessarily displaced states as the most important or powerful actors (Drezner 2007), they play significant roles in international relations, sometimes at the behest of states and sometimes in opposition to states. Some of them are contracted by states to provide services to others, such as aid agencies or PSCs (Duffield 1997; Abrahamsen and Williams 2011). Some now set regulatory standards or regulate certain practices (Sassen 2002). Others have joined transnational networks of state and non-state actors to pursue particular objectives (Steets Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 26 Mark Bevir and Ian Hall 2009). Transgovernmental networks link agents within states with their counterparts in other states, one example being the Financial Action Task Force (FATF) that addresses money laundering and the funding of terrorism (Slaughter and Hale 2011: 345). The new governance thus consists of new theories about how best to govern contemporary societies and new practices being employed by politicians and bureaucrats in both domestic and international politics. As the next section makes clear, the rise of security governance involved the linking of new theories and new policy agendas in international relations with these new theories, techniques and technologies of governance. Governance came to be perceived as the means by which theorists and practitioners could respond to new dilemmas in global security and to new theories about the causes of conflict in international relations. Security governance Although the new governance first arose in domestic policy – especially health, social security and local government services – and then in the ‘softer’ sectors of international relations, it soon spilled over into ‘harder’ areas of international relations, including defence and security policy. In many cases, this spill-over was deliberate, with practitioners transferring into the security-sector approaches to policy making and implementation they had used elsewhere (Webber et al. 2004: 4). Practitioners transferred these approaches for various reasons. Many did so in response to what they perceived to be new non-state-based security challenges, such as transnational crime, terrorism and illegal migration. As these threats appeared across policy sectors and across national borders, it was argued, so they required transnational and joined-up responses. As a result, from the 1990s onwards, states and international organizations began increasingly to engage other actors on security issues, including NGOs, environmental organizations, think-tanks and private firms. In the mid-2000s, security governance thus emerged as both a concept and a set of ‘heterarchical’ practices. Security governance here involves ‘the interaction of a large number of actors, both public and private; institutionalization that is both formal and informal; relations between actors that are ideational in character, structured by norms and understandings as much as by formal regulations; and, finally, collective purpose’ (Webber et al. 2004: 8). Security governance utilizes administrative practices developed elsewhere in domestic and global governance, including markets, networks, joined-up or whole-ofgovernment strategies and public-private partnerships, as well as old-fashioned, top-down rule by states and international organizations. Although sovereign states usually remain at the core of these new ‘heterarchical’ arrangements, states are ‘increasingly willing to rely’, as Krahmann argues, ‘on the cooperation and resources of non-state actors, such as private security companies, non-governmental organizations (NGOs) and international organizations’ (Krahmann 2003: 6). In so doing, states have moved away from their historic adherence to practices based on the idea of a balance of Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d The rise of security governance 27 power, security regime or security community. They have instead begun to craft new practices characterized by the proliferation of new security agencies, the functional specialization of these agencies, especially in non-traditional security issues, and the partial fragmentation of alliances and regimes into ‘coalitions of the willing’, as well as an increasing use of private-sector security providers. Again as Krahmann argues, they are changing ‘the way in which security is defined … , by whom security policies are made and how they are implemented’ (Krahmann 2003: 9). ‘Decision-making’ now ‘proceeds through negotiation … ’, while ‘policies are implemented in a decentralized fashion’, some even ‘self-enforced’ (Krahmann 2003: 13). In Europe, the new security governance is apparent in a number of key areas. It is evident, first, in significant changes to the roles and functions of regional institutions, including the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) and the European Union (EU). NATO has developed into an extra-regional crisis manager and security provider rather than merely an institutional instrument for collective security. It has thus displaced other institutions, including the Western European Union (WEU) and the Organization for Security and Cooperation in Europe (OSCE) (Webber et al. 2004: 9–14). Within the EU, responsibility for regional and extra-regional conflict prevention has now been divided among a number of different authorities at different levels, sometimes with state governments in the lead, and sometimes with EU institutions and agencies taking the initiative (Kirchner 2006: 954–57). The European Commission, for instance, runs the European Neighbourhood Policy (ENP), which aims to promote peace and prosperity among the states immediately bordering the EU, as well as things like the European Initiative for Democracy and Human Rights (EISDR). The EU’s High Representative engages in conflict mediation within Europe and outside it, as well as conducting traditional diplomacy through the EU’s 50-odd embassies across the world. In parallel, some EU member states have worked not merely to coordinate their policies through the Common Foreign and Security Policy (CFSP) and European Security and Defence Policy (ESDP) processes, but to build institutions around them, some of which replicate or challenge existing arrangements (Webber et al. 2004: 16; Weiss and Dalferth 2009). The new security governance appears, second, in the proliferation across Europe of networks and partnerships tackling particular security issues. Many of these networks give substantial roles to private-sector actors. Often these networks exist alongside extensive efforts to build policy coordination through persuasion and norm setting. The nature and rise of these networks reflect the ‘human security’ agenda, the securitization of development, and the widespread belief that only ‘joined-up’ approaches can tackle the ‘wicked problems’ of the developing world. To that end, government agencies, such as the British DFID, have built networks that not just use NGOs to deliver aid or development assistance, but involve and co-opt private-sector actors into policy making. Sometimes they do this by community engagement – talking to, funding and advising groups within a given society – and sometimes by Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 28 Mark Bevir and Ian Hall contracting out the provision of services using market-based mechanisms. In sum, even in the difficult area of security, European governments have turned away from the hierarchical provision of services by authoritative bureaucracies (Christou et al. 2010). However, security governance is not merely a European phenomenon. Although most of the scholarly literature focuses on Europe, the relevant practices have spread into non-Western contexts. In the Asia-Pacific, for example, a region that is notorious for its weak and shaky ‘security architecture’ (Bisley 2009), security governance may be replacing efforts at managing security challenges by older realist and liberal means. Examples of security governance in the Asia-Pacific area include the proliferation of ‘strategic partnerships’, the development of new transnational security networks, the growing use of ‘minilateralism’ as opposed to multilateralism, the utilization of public diplomacy to cultivate ‘soft power’, and the privatization of security. Since 1991, and especially since 9/11, Asia-Pacific states have forged a series of new ‘strategic partnerships’ that now sit alongside old alliances (Nadkarni 2010). These flexible arrangements vary in nature and in content, but generally they avoid tying strategic partners into the treaty-based formal commitments that characterized traditional alliances, while leaving open the possibility of closer cooperation if certain contingencies arise. There are four main kinds of strategic partnership. The first looks very much like an alliance in all but name, involving substantive mutual commitments between like-minded states. A prominent example is NATO’s projected ‘global partnerships’ with Australia and Japan (Noetzel and Schreer 2009: 215–16). These alliances in all but name are rare in the Asia-Pacific. The second kind of partnership is more common: the strategic partnership as stepping stone is one that may evolve into a tacit alliance. The US-India, Israel-India and Japan-India arrangements are examples of this form of partnership (Burns 2007; Carter 2006; Ganguly and Scobell 2005; Kumaraswamy 1998; Ghosh 2008). China and Russia, together with the other members of the Shanghai Cooperation Organization (SCO) might take their relations in this direction (Lo 2004; Ferdinand 2009; Bolt and Cross 2010), as might India and Indonesia (Mohan 2011), India and Australia (Brewster 2010) and India and Vietnam (Brewster 2009). The third kind of partnership is a partnership for mutual management. The best example is the US-China strategic partnership, while other examples include the partnerships between China and India, and between the EU and China (see Shambaugh 2011; Gottwald 2010). In such partnerships, the objective is to generate, sustain and build connections across a range of areas of mutual concern, from trade to security, rather than to coordinate or harmonize policy on these areas. Finally, there are ‘unequal’ partnerships. China has a number of these, but normally with states outside the Asia-Pacific. It has multiple strategic partnership agreements with African and Latin American states that are designed principally to ensure the flow of raw materials to fuel China’s economy, but also to leverage its economic power to greater geopolitical consequence (Campbell 2009; Konings 2007; Jenkins 2010). Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d The rise of security governance 29 Alongside the formal and institutionalized networks generated between state governments by strategic partnerships, informal networks of state security practitioners and non-state independent analysts have also developed in the Asia-Pacific. Some are of long standing, such as the networks created by scholarships and student exchange programmes, such as the Australian contribution to the Colombo Plan, which ran from 1950 to 1957, and which brought Asian students to Australian universities. Others are more recent, like Australian training programmes for foreign military personnel from states like Indonesia and Pakistan. Also important are Track II initiatives, which are proliferating in the region (Taylor et al. 2006). Some Track II initiatives are quite venerable bodies like the Council for Security Cooperation in the Asia-Pacific (CSCAP), which was created in 1993, and which draws together representatives from regional think-tanks and institutes of international affairs to facilitate dialogue between practitioners and scholars (Evans 1994; Simon 2002). Other Track II initiatives are newer, including the Shangri-La Dialogue, which has been run annually in Singapore since 2002 by the London-based International Institute for Strategic Studies (IISS) (Capie and Taylor 2010). The rise of strategic partnerships and new networks has been accompanied by a shift away from heavily institutionalized multilateralism towards more flexible ‘minilateral’ engagements across a range of issues, including new security challenges (see especially Mulgan 2008; Eckersley 2012). This minilateral approach draws pragmatically on traditional bilateralism and multilateralism to build temporary or lasting coalitions rather than to forge fixed alliances or longer-term institutions. The resulting coalitions may generate wider multilateral agreements in due course or they may not. They have been used especially in climate negotiations, but also, increasingly in the ‘hard’ security realm. Whereas during the Cold War states in the Asia-Pacific were wary of trying to speak to and engage foreign publics in the region, they now make substantial investments in public diplomacy (Hall and Smith 2013). Asia-Pacific states have varying motives for pursuing public diplomacy. Sometimes their public diplomacy is both a response to the democratization of foreign policy and an invaluable aide in pushing for further public engagement in the processes of making policy and implementing it (Hall 2010). This motive informs some of the Indian and Indonesian investment in public diplomacy (see Hall 2012; Sukma 2011), but at other times public diplomacy is just a means of building ‘soft power’ for strategic ends. Many Chinese analysts and policy makers, for example, view ‘soft power’ as essential to the ‘comprehensive national power’ that China needs to secure its objectives in international relations and to ensure its security in the Asia-Pacific region (Hall and Smith 2013). For that reason, China is investing billions of dollars in an upgraded regional media presence, research centres, student exchange programmes, Confucius Institutes and other instruments. Other states across the Asia-Pacific have responded with their own public diplomacy initiatives. This general expansion of public diplomacy, like the rise of partnerships and networks, signals a shift away from state-oriented hard security practices to new forms Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 30 Mark Bevir and Ian Hall of security governance. Public diplomacy is, by definition, multi-layered – different forms of public diplomacy aim to gain and build influence at different levels of target societies. TV stations might aim at the masses. Language programmes and student exchanges might aim at business communities and ‘emerging leaders’. Art and cultural exchanges aim at both mass and elite. Academic linkages aim to shape scholarly opinion. All aim to change the dynamics of a debate about a given state and to try to shift public policy in that state’s favour with regard to economic and security issues. Finally, the Asia-Pacific region is witnessing rapid growth in the private security industry. By 1995, the Asia-Pacific region had already emerged as the third largest market for private security, after North America and Western Europe, valued at US$5.4bn (O’Brien 2000: 64). By 2009, when the global market was valued at over $150bn, the Asia-Pacific was estimated by some to account for 10%–15% of the total, or some $15bn–$25bn. Double-digit growth in the private security industry is predicted in China and India, as in other emerging markets, in the next few years (Abrahamsen and Williams 2011: 20–21). Much of this growth is in ‘private policing’ as well as the provision of guards for corporations and private citizens. Singapore is perhaps the most significant regional hub for PSCs, some drawing on the substantial number of former Ghurkha soldiers and police personnel, but other states are rapidly developing their own industries. Since the mid-2000s, Chinese firms have reportedly entered the market, offering the services of former People’s Liberation Army (PLA) and People’s Armed Police (PAP) members at cheaper rates than Western firms like G4S (Erickson and Collins 2012). Further, in the past decade, Asia-Pacific private security contractors have begun to operate in less conventional areas. Many are involved in protecting large-scale mining and industrial operations, sometimes leading to considerable controversy. The extensive private security business in Papua New Guinea, for example, has come under serious scrutiny for alleged abuses, particularly in connection to mining projects (Human Rights Watch 2011). Other contractors have been involved in anti-piracy operations in the Malacca Straits (Hohenstein 2007; Liss 2007). The Singaporean government has even mooted the idea of employing private contractors to help deal with civil contingencies, such as natural disasters and terrorist attacks (Tan 2008). Conclusion This chapter has charted the rise of security governance in the post-Cold War period. Security governance arose as new dilemmas undermined belief in realism and liberalism. The rise of new security threats arising from environmental concerns, the resurgence of ethno-nationalist violence, and the negative effects of globalization drove new agendas of human security, state-building and humanitarian intervention. Further, these new agendas were addressed not by old statist and hierarchical modes of governing, but by new market- and networkbased approaches to governing. Changes in international relations and public Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d The rise of security governance 31 administration thus combined to inspire a novel security governance initially in Europe but more recently also in other regions such as the Asia-Pacific. 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(2003) ‘Words, Images, Enemies: Securitization and International Politics’, International Studies Quarterly 47(4): 511–31. Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 3 An interplay of traditions The ‘return of uncertainty’ and its taming in post-9/11 US security thinking Sabine Selchow The terrorist attack on 11 September 2001 (hereafter, 9/11) was an extraordinary event in many respects. One dimension of its extraordinariness was its surprise nature. Most obviously, 9/11 was a surprise in the sense that it happened beyond the knowledge of US intelligence (e.g. Porch and Wirtz 2002), but it was also a surprise in the sense that there was something ‘impossible’ about two hijacked planes flying into the two towers of the World Trade Center in New York City. The event appeared ‘unimaginable’, standing beyond everything for which there were already words. As Jenny Edkins observes: [o]ne of the most striking images of September 11 was that of people on the sidewalks in New York, their hands clasped over their mouths, transfixed in horror as they watched the impossible turning into the real in front of their eyes … No cry was heard. Just the silent horror … People sat in silence, absorbed, thinking yet unable to think, overwhelmed … What happened could be spoken about, of course. But, at junctures like this, words in an important sense fail. (Edkins 2002: 243) It was this ‘unimaginability’ that made many feel that 9/11 constituted something different in kind. This sentiment was already apparent in the first public reactions of President George W. Bush to it, in which he suggested that the attack was conducted by ‘a different type of enemy’ (Bush 2001b: emphasis added), ‘a different enemy than we have ever faced’ (Bush 2001a: emphasis added). In their elaboration of how ‘traditions’ – understood as the ‘social context in which individuals exercise their reason and act’ – change, Bevir, Rhodes and Weller highlight the importance of dilemmas (Bevir et al. 2003: 6, 10pp.; see also Chapter 1 in this collection). In the face of dilemmas traditions are questioned and change is possible and facilitated. They argue that ‘a dilemma … arises for an individual or institution when a new idea stands in opposition to existing beliefs or practices and so forces a reconsideration of these existing beliefs and associated tradition’ (Bevir et al. 2003: 10). This chapter suggests that we can think about surprises (of the kind of 9/11) in a similar way to ‘dilemmas’, namely as symbolic openers that provoke reinterpretations of Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 36 Sabine Selchow traditional beliefs. This suggestion opens up a number of interesting questions concerning 9/11: How was the space filled that was opened up by the violent ‘surprise’ of 9/11? Which worldviews challenged, transformed or replaced existing ones in the face of 9/11? More precisely, is there something significant about the post-9/11 US interpretation of the global security environment that might indicate significant future shifts in US security policy making? Existing commentary on this last question usually highlights one of two interpretations as dominating the US security discourse. On the one side, commentators point to the revival of Cold War thinking, which is characterized by the underlying idea of a bipolar world implicated in a ‘war’ of ‘good’ against ‘evil’ (see e.g. Ivie 2003; Kellner 2004; Ó Tuathail 2003). On the other side, commentators stress that the US interpretation of the post-9/11 global security environment was shaped by the idea that it is full of elusive dangers and enemies, full of ‘risks’ rather than ‘threats’ (see e.g. Williams 2008; Heng 2006). This chapter argues that there is more to the US interpretation of the post-9/11 world than these two broad narratives. Grounded in an analysis of the Public Papers of President George W. Bush, this chapter shows that there is an interpretation of the post-9/11 global security environment held within the Bush Administration that has been overlooked to date, but which is highly significant. This interpretation is manifest in the explicit expression that the United States had entered a ‘new’ world after 9/11. In other words, it is manifest in the express and explicit rhetoric of the ‘new’ that entered the security context after 9/11. What makes this hitherto overlooked interpretation of the post-9/11 global security environment particularly interesting and analytically valuable is that on the one side, it indicates nothing less than a turning away from a modern frame, or – adopting the conceptual language suggested for this edited collection – a modern tradition for understanding empirical reality towards an understanding of the world as ‘reflexive’ (e.g. Beck 1994), while on the other side, symbolically ‘taming’ the imperative to fundamentally rethink the parameters of contemporary modern (security) policy making that this new tradition implies. The chapter is divided into three parts. The first part provides evidence for the hitherto overlooked interpretation of the post-9/11 global security environment as a ‘new’ world that is held within the Bush Administration. The second part advocates that there are two dimensions to this interpretation. First, it is suggested that the interpretation of the security environment as a ‘new’ world can be seen as a manifestation of the fact that there is an understanding on the part of the Bush Administration that the world is being re-shaped by what scholars have labelled the ‘return of uncertainty’ (Beck 1994: 8). Second, the two particularly American notions of the ‘new’ that are encapsulated in the interpretation of the global security environment as a ‘new’ world are stressed: these are the idea of America as the ‘New World’ and the notion of collective renewal that is captured in the American myth of the frontier. The third part of this chapter brings the key findings of the previous parts together by embedding the notion of the ‘return of uncertainty’ in Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d An interplay of traditions 37 the broader theory of reflexive modernity. On the one side, it argues that the interpretation of the post-9/11 global security environment as a ‘new’ world indicates a change from a modern tradition towards a ‘reflexive’ one, and demonstrates that the profundity of this interpretation flows from the fact that this change in tradition implies the imperative fundamentally to rethink modern policy making and thinking. On the other side, it suggests that this imperative is ‘tamed’, in the sense of ‘Americanized’, through the specific American notion or, in line with the conceptual language suggested for this edited collection, specific American tradition of the ‘new’. More precisely, it suggests that this ‘uncertainty’ about the ‘new’ world was ‘familiarized’ through the traditional American narrative of the ‘New World’ and the notion of renewal, as captured in the American myth of the frontier. Hence, the chapter argues that the interpretation of the post-9/11 global security environment as a ‘new’ world, i.e. the shift towards a ‘reflexive’ tradition, implies nothing less than the potentiality of an opening-up towards a radical rethinking of the foundations of the United States’ (modern) self while, simultaneously, due to its specific American dimension, symbolically cementing the United States in its existing (modern) position and symbolically re-enforcing the idea that what is required is a simple recourse to the ‘strengths’ of America as the quintessential product of the confrontation with the ‘new’. ‘There’s a new world here’: revisiting the US interpretation of the global security environment after 9/11 The public and scholarly debate about US foreign and security policy in the years after 9/11 was in large part taken up with the question: ‘What impact did the terrorist attack have on US foreign and security policy making and thinking?’ In particular, this debate was shaped by the black and white, either/ or question of whether 9/11 really ‘change[d] everything’, as Vice-President Dick Cheney (2003) stated, or if, by contrast, post-9/11 US foreign and security policy making was simply a continuation of pre-9/11 and post-Cold War currents. It was the dichotomized nature of the question about impact, combined with the fact that the Bush Administration used the ‘everything changed’ narrative strategically as a ‘legitimating device’ (Dunmire 2009: 196) for its ‘War on Terror’ policies, that made this debate a peculiar one, in which positions and ‘findings’ frequently seemed to be motivated by political concerns. Given that the very claim ‘9/11 changed everything’ was perceived by critics as a strategic move by the Bush Administration, critical voices were largely locked into the other, opposing position that ‘nothing had changed’. This dichotomized question not only shaped public debates but also scholarship. Here, too, the arguments and findings were overly determined by scholars’ express aim of finding either continuity or change. While this generated some interesting, mainly policy-focused insights, which show that in most respects 9/11 merely ‘tipped the balance’ (Feffer 2003: 16) within the Bush Administration between what Thomas Risse (2003: 13) called ‘the Pentagon party’ (namely Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 38 Sabine Selchow hardliners such as Donald Rumsfeld, Dick Cheney and Paul Wolfowitz), and the ‘State Department party’ (namely moderates such as Colin Powell, and Senators Richard Luger and Joe Biden), the dichotomy that was inscribed into the motivating question (has it changed everything or not?) almost automatically restricted answers to the general and broad (either/or, all or nothing). Even if analysts might be able to argue that a broad-brush, either/or approach might be suitable for the analysis of post-9/11 US policies, it has obvious limits when it comes to issues that are less tangible than policies, such as symbolic systems, belief systems and their underlying traditions, and, more precisely, issues such as the interpretation of the security environment post 9/11. Here, the question whether 9/11 ‘changed everything’ seems (even) less clear cut, hence an either/or approach seems (even) less suitable than with regard to policy changes. On the one hand, 9/11 significantly changed the US interpretation of the global security environment in reviving a pre-1990 Cold War tradition. As many commentators point out, 9/11 triggered an interpretation of the global security environment based on the revival of the Cold War tradition characterized by an underlying idea of a bipolar world implicated in a ‘war’ of ‘good’ against ‘evil’ (e.g. Ivie 2003; Kellner 2004; Ó Tuathail 2003). Although this interpretation is easily (mis)read as proof that not much had changed after 9/11, it was actually a ‘new’ post-9/11 turn, albeit a turn to an ‘old’ tradition. It was a new turn because after the disappearance of the USSR as the Great Power that posed an ‘existential threat’, the US security discourse had shifted away from the Cold War tradition, with its underlying idea of a clear enemy and easily quantifiable ‘threats’ (e.g. Williams 2008). On the other hand, the post-9/11 global security environment was interpreted as a world full of elusive dangers and enemies – a world of ‘risks’ rather than ‘threats’. Post-9/11 ‘War on Terror’ policies relied heavily on the technology of ‘risk’ (Amoore and de Goede 2008). So, while the recourse to Cold War thinking can be seen as a new post-9/11 turn to an ‘old’ tradition, the interpretation of the global security environment through the concept of ‘risk’ constitutes a continuation of post-1990 and pre-9/11 times. Thus, as Yee-Kuang Heng (2006: 2) argues in comparing the strategic thinking employed by the Clinton and Bush Administrations, in this respect, post-9/11 security thinking ‘implied continuity in strategic thinking where one might expect discontinuity given the different Administrations and strategic contexts involved’. As this brief reflection on relevant findings suggests, when it comes to issues that are less tangible than security policies, such as symbolic systems, belief systems and their underlying traditions, more precisely, issues such as the interpretation of the global security environment post 9/11, a more complex picture unfolds. Hence, approaches that look through a frame that focuses them on the question of either ‘continuity’ or ‘radical change’ do not seem to be able to capture the subtlety of the issue to hand. A broader analytical frame is needed to produce meaningful insights in this respect. Once we revisit the interpretation of the global security environment in the United States after 9/11 through a broader analytical frame, leave behind the Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d An interplay of traditions 39 distinct preoccupation with the question of whether or not 9/11 ‘changed everything’ and, instead, ask the more open-ended question of how the space that 9/11 opened was filled, the picture becomes more complex. A corpusdriven approach to the Public Papers of President George W. Bush enables us to see that alongside the (return to the) Cold War narrative and the rise of a(n accelerating, post-1990) ‘risk’ discourse, another, as yet overlooked, interpretation filled the space that the ‘surprise’ of 9/11 had opened. This other interpretation is the interpretation of the post-9/11 global security environment as a ‘new’ world. It is manifest in the striking use of the term ‘new’ in Bush’s post-9/11 rhetoric: On the morning of September the 11th, 2001, our Nation awoke to a nightmare attack. Nineteen men armed with box cutters took control of airplanes and turned them into missiles. They used them to kill nearly 3,000 innocent people. We watched the Twin Towers collapse before our eyes, and it became instantly clear that we’d entered a new world and a dangerous new war. (Bush 2006: emphasis added) The last choice of any President ought to be to commit troops into combat. We ought to try everything possible before we commit one soul into combat, and that’s why I went to the United Nations. I said, ‘We see a threat. How about you?’ You’ve passed resolutions before – resolution after resolution after resolution. And I said – so I said, ‘There’s a new world here.’ After September the 11th, we must take threats seriously. (Bush 2004: emphasis added) The attacks of September the 11th, 2001 … revealed the outlines of a new world. (Bush 2005: emphasis added) In the new world we have entered, the only path to peace and security is the path of action. (Bush in the ‘Introduction’ to the US National Security Strategy 2002: emphasis added) As these extracts show, there was explicit use of the phrase ‘new world’. In addition, the adjective ‘new’ got attached to all sorts of security-related phenomena – from ‘struggle’, ‘terrorism’ and ‘threats’, to ‘war’, ‘dangers’ and ‘enemies’. What makes this rhetoric of the ‘new’ intriguing is that it indicates an understanding of the global security environment as different in kind rather than just different in degree. ‘We stand shoulder to shoulder in a new kind of struggle’, suggested George W. Bush (2001c) to NATO Secretary-General Lord Robertson, fighting a ‘new kind of war’ (Bush 2001d), and, as he reminded addressees in other contexts, this war was fought against a ‘new kind of Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 40 Sabine Selchow enemy’ (Bush 2001e), facing a ‘new kind of threat’, as he explained to High School students in Wisconsin: You’re graduating in a time of war, right here in America, but a war that your textbooks really haven’t been able to describe before. It’s a new kind of threat to our country. (Bush 2002b: emphasis added) To be clear, this interpretation of the post-9/11 security environment as a ‘new’ world, which is evident in the Public Papers of President George W. Bush, was not the interpretation that dominated all others. Indeed, it is subtle enough as to have been overlooked by scholars so far. Yet, it is a particularly noteworthy, since loaded, interpretation. This is because of what is implied in the notion of the ‘new’ world. The two dimensions of the notion of the ‘new’ world First of all, the notion of the ‘new’ world implies the idea of a world different in kind, which can be read as an understanding on the part of the Bush Administration that the world is being (re)shaped by a broad development that scholars have labelled the ‘return of uncertainty’ (Beck 1994: 8). However, it also implies something else: a notion of the ‘new’ that is constitutive of US culture. This idea is itself two-fold: it incorporates the notion of America as the ‘New World’ and the notion of collective renewal that is captured in the American myth of the frontier. The ‘new’ world and the idea of the ‘return of uncertainty’ The first notion implied in the interpretation of the post-9/11 global security environment as a ‘new’ world is the idea of a world that is different in kind. This, in turn, can be read as an understanding on the part of the Bush Administration that the world is being (re)shaped by a broad development that scholars have labelled the ‘return of uncertainty’ (Beck 1994: 8). To commence a discussion of this first dimension of the notion of the ‘new’, it is worth drawing a comparison between the idea of the ‘new’ implied in instances such as Bush’s exclamation, ‘[t]here is a new world here’ (Bush 2004), and another notion of the ‘new’ (cf. Selchow 2011). This other notion of the ‘new’ is manifest in the various instances in which a speaker envisages and promises a ‘new’ future. The inaugural addresses of various US presidents provide ample examples of this other notion of the ‘new’. In his 2009 address, for example, Barack Obama (2009: emphasis added) promises ‘a new way forward’. Earlier, Jimmy Carter (1977: emphasis added) made clear that ‘[t]his inauguration ceremony marks a new beginning, a new dedication within our Government, and a new spirit among us all’. Ronald Reagan (1985: emphasis added) suggested that ‘[w]e must think anew and move with a new boldness … The time Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d An interplay of traditions 41 has come for a new American emancipation … From new freedom will spring new opportunities’. Likewise, George Bush (1989: emphasis added) introduced his presidential term by stating that ‘[t]here is new ground to be broken and new action to be taken’, and Bill Clinton stressed: We need a new Government for a new century … With a new vision of Government, a new sense of responsibility, a new spirit of community, we will sustain America’s journey … The promise we sought in a new land, we will find again in a land of new promise. In this new land, education will be every citizen’s most prized possession … Yes, let us build our bridge, a bridge wide enough and strong enough for every American to cross over to a blessed land of new promise. (Clinton 1997: emphasis added) The kind of notion of ‘new’ that is implied in these examples is about an active, forward-looking idea; it is about a vision for the future. Something ‘new’ is promised that is already envisaged by the speaker, a person who seems to have the future in their hands. This is a modern ‘new’ that encapsulates the idea of agency, progress and development. By contrast with this familiar (modern) idea of the ‘new’, the notion of the ‘new’ that is implied in the idea of the ‘new’ world that is evident in Bush’s interpretation of the post-9/11 global security environment does not refer to a ‘new’ future, envisaged by those who promise it. Rather, it is about the now – about how the world is (perceived to be). It is apparent that those who perceive the world as being ‘new’ take a very different position towards this ‘new’ world when compared with those who promise a ‘new’ world. The former is a less active position since they are observers of a world that is ‘out there’, rather than shapers and active innovators of it. The task and challenge that this (supposed) ‘new’ world (due to its ‘newness’) poses is not so much to shape it but to understand it accurately and to adapt to it. Most significantly, the notion of the ‘new’ that is implied in the idea of the ‘new’ world as evident in the interpretation of the post-9/11 global security environment carries with it an idea of the ‘unknown’ and the ‘uncertain’. The perception that ‘[t]here’s a new world here’ (Bush 2004) implies the idea of a terra incognita. It is the sense of an ontological uncertainty that is implied in the perception of the world that is (perceived to be) ‘new’. Importantly, this ontological uncertainty is interlinked with a state of epistemological uncertainty; it implies a state, in which – given the supposed ‘newness’ of the world – we have lost the ability to understand the now. It implies that we might not have the ‘right’ experience to build on in responding to our environment, and we might not have the appropriate conceptual tools to use in order to understand it. As George W. Bush explained in the earlier quoted comment to high school students, the Bush Administration saw itself in a ‘new kind of war’ for which there is no historical precedent – in Bush’s words, a kind of war ‘textbooks really haven’t been able to describe before’ (Bush 2002b). As such, the idea Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 42 Sabine Selchow that it is a ‘new’ world, in which the United States found itself after 9/11, also implies an historical caesura. It implies a clear divide into a ‘before’ and ‘after’. This perceived radical break with the past could not be more readily apparent than in Jonathan Schell’s post-9/11 comment in The Nation, in which he speaks of the ‘new’ world as a ‘slide in a projector’ that has been ‘rammed into’ the place of the old, ‘known’ world: In an instant and without warning on a fine fall morning, the known world had been jerked aside like a mere slide in a projector, and a new world had been rammed into its place. (Schell 2001) It is the ontological and epistemological uncertainty implied in this use of the adjective ‘new’ that makes the interpretation of the post-9/11 global security environment as a ‘new’ world intriguing. This is because it can be taken as a manifestation of the fact that there is an understanding held within the Bush Administration that the world is being (re)shaped by a broad development that scholars have labelled the ‘return of uncertainty’ (Beck 1994: 8). The expression ‘return of uncertainty’ refers to a development that numerous scholars have detected in modern societies over the past decades (e.g. Beck 1994; Giddens 1994; Wehling 2010; Boeschen et al. 2010). As we know, notions of uncertainty and the unknown are crucial components in sociopolitical life. The way a society perceives and deals with uncertainty and the unknown, and, more broadly, how that society understands and deals with the future determines its (political) action in the present. Although approaches to uncertainty and the unknown are culturally specific, all modern societies share an approach to them that is ‘active’ and ‘optimistic’. The modern approach to uncertainty and the unknown is ‘active’ in that this approach arises from an understanding that humans have their future in their hands. Indeed, this is one of the significant characteristics of modernity; it is aptly captured in the understanding of modernity as being about the ‘colonization of the future’ (Giddens 1994: 7). As well as being ‘active’, the modern approach to uncertainty and the unknown is ‘optimistic’ in the sense that this approach takes the unknown as something that could be known, either by overcoming (lay) ignorance or through further scientific exploration and advanced/advancing knowledge production (Wehling 2010: 265). Hence, the modern approach to the unknown is an ‘optimistic’ one in the sense that it takes it as something that is not yet known. The development that is captured in the concept of the ‘return of uncertainty’ refers to this ‘optimistic’ nature of the modern approach to uncertainty and the unknown. As many argue, today non-knowledge can no longer be simply understood as something that could be unlocked through scientific knowledge production (Wehling 2010: 260–62). It is no longer to be taken simply as ‘the given “primitive or native state” … from which the scientific endeavor departs to replace it, sooner or later, with complete and reliable Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d An interplay of traditions 43 knowledge’, as Boeschen, Kastenhofer, Rust, Soentgen and Wehling (2010: 785) explain. Rather, there has been an acknowledgement that the increase of scientific knowledge leads to an increase of non-knowledge. This does not simply refer to the common insight that the more we know, the more we realize we don’t know – that is, the more we are aware of known unknowns – but it means that increasing scientific knowledge production leads to an increase in unknown unknowns – that is, things that we do not know we do not know. Furthermore, increasing scientific knowledge production leads to things that we are actually not able to know. In other words, there is a widespread acknowledgement that scientific knowledge actually produces nonknowledge and uncertainty that would not exist without scientific knowledge production and that is even likely to remain beyond human grasp (see Wehling 2010: 266–67; also Beck 1992, 1994, 2006, 2009) – hence, ‘uncertainty’ has ‘returned’ to modern societies. Having said the above, the idea that there is something ‘new’ – in the sense of different in kind – about the post-9/11 global security environment can be interpreted by us as a manifestation of the fact that there is an understanding on the part of the Bush Administration that the world is being re-shaped by this broad development, by the ‘return of uncertainty’. As we will see shortly, this is a significant insight precisely because understanding that the world is being re-shaped by a ‘return of uncertainty’ entails nothing less than a turning away from the modern ‘tradition’ that constitutes the context for contemporary (security) policy making. The American ‘new’ The second dimension of the interpretation of the post-9/11 global security environment as a ‘new’ world is, arguably, less obvious than the first one. This second dimension is about the idea of the ‘new’ that is particular for and constitutive of US culture and tradition. There are two aspects to it: the traditional notion of America as the ‘New World’, and the notion of collective renewal that is captured in the American myth of the frontier. In the following, each of these aspects of the ‘new’ in US culture will be introduced in turn. The first aspect of the notion of the ‘new’ in US culture is inscribed in the founding narrative of the United States as the ‘New World’. This founding narrative is enshrined in US culture in fundamental ways. We just need to call to mind names such as New York, New Orleans, New Haven and New Canaan – i.e. the ‘New World’s markers dotted across the American landscape – to realize how constitutive it is. It is further kept alive and is constantly reproduced in the omnipresent metaphor of ‘Columbia’, through which the country’s ‘discovery’ (that is, Christopher Columbus’s 1492 landing in the Caribbean) is captured. It was in 1792 that the ‘discovery’ of America was officially commemorated for the first time and glorified as ‘the greatest event in the history of mankind since the death of our Savior’ (de Lancey, quoted in Schuman et al. 2005: 6). In this way, the ‘discovery’ of the ‘New World’ Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 44 Sabine Selchow became inscribed into the history of the new, ‘history-less’ United States of America and their evolving nation. As Cynthia Koch (1996: 32) explains, ‘representing the new land, the exotic wilderness of North America’, its feminized form ‘Columbia’ then served as the ‘symbolic counterpart to George Washington, who was seen as imposing order and reason upon the land through republican government’. Hence, the name of the new nation’s capital: Washington, District of Columbia, in which the ‘exotic’ and ‘wild’ feminine and the ‘rational’ and ‘reasonable’ masculine are juxtaposed and at the same time symbolically united. Through the countless references to Columbus the idea of the ‘New World’ is omnipresent in US culture; it represents the key to US collective identity, while also serving constantly to distinguish it from ‘old Europe’. However, the ‘new’ in the ‘New World’ does of course not refer to something ontologically ‘new’. Rather, it implies the idea of hope and opportunities. It refers to the idea of a future that is open to being shaped by those reaching the ‘New World’s shores, looking to make the American dream come true. As US President Franklin D. Roosevelt put it: America has been the New World in all tongues, and to all peoples, not because this continent was a new-found land, but because all those who came here believed they could create upon this continent a new life – a life that should be new in freedom. (Roosevelt 1941) Further, mystified as the ‘new nation’s Moses’ (Koch 1996: 33), the reference to Columbus and the ‘New World’ metaphor can be seen to play a significant role in the formation of the Christian spirit that runs through US culture. As a ‘city upon a hill’ (Winthrop 1630), it not only has the ‘eyes of all people’ upon it, but it also ‘spreads the light’ out into the world and serves as a light on the horizon, visible from afar to those (referring back to Roosevelt, above) who seek ‘a new life’, ‘new in freedom’. The second aspect of the notion of the ‘new’ in US culture and tradition is the idea of collective renewal that is captured in the American myth of the frontier. As Richard Slotkin suggests in his seminal study, Gunfighter Nation, the myth of the frontier is the ‘oldest and most characteristic myth’ that informs US culture (Slotkin 1998: 10; see also Slotkin 1973). The frontier refers to the (imagined) line between the westwards-moving settlers and the ‘unknown’, ‘wild’ land of the Native Americans, the Wild West, which was immortalized in the dime novels of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries and the films of the Western genre. In 1893, historian Frederick Jackson Turner presented his influential ‘frontier thesis’ as a way of explaining the social development in the United States or, rather, what he argued was the lack of it, due to the ‘closing’ of the ‘old’ frontier in 1890. In ‘The Significance of the Frontier for American History’, Turner (1920 [1893]) described the frontier as the central component, the driving force for the social development in America. For Turner, the development of American society is shaped by a: Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d An interplay of traditions 45 … recurrence of the process of evolution in each western area reached in the process of expansion. Thus American development has exhibited not merely advance along a single line, but a return to primitive conditions on a continually advancing frontier line, and a new development for that area. American social development has been continually beginning over again on the frontier. This perennial rebirth, this fluidity of American life, this expansion westward with its new opportunities, its continuous touch with the simplicity of primitive society, furnish the forces dominating American character. The true point of view in the history of this nation is not the Atlantic coast, it is the Great West. (Turner 1920) Turner (1920) understood the frontier as ‘the line of most rapid and effective Americanization’ because, as he suggested, it is in the confrontation with the American wilderness, at the ‘meeting point between savagery and civilization’, that the specific and unique American identity – ‘a new product that is American’, as he puts it (ibid.) – is born. So, it is at the frontier that the American becomes American, and at the frontier that the American society renews itself in a constant, evolutionary process. As a central myth in US tradition, the frontier and its complex symbolism has found its way not only into popular culture but also into political discourses in various respects. Most prominently, it was taken up by John F. Kennedy (1960) in his Democratic Party presidential nomination acceptance speech. Here, the metaphor of the ‘new frontier’ that Kennedy adjures sets the tone for his following mandate as US president; importantly, it sets ‘the terms in which the administration would seek public consent to and participation in its counterinsurgency “mission” in Southeast Asia and the Caribbean’ (Slotkin 1998: 3). As Slotkin (1998: 2–3) demonstrates, the immense cultural power of the metaphor of the frontier and its symbolism, together with its huge resonance across the American population, made it the ideal language through which political actions could be explained and justified. The ‘new’ is thus particular to and constitutive of US culture and tradition in two respects: first, through the nation’s founding narrative – as the ‘New World’; and second, through the idea of (collective) renewal, which is captured in the frontier myth. Significantly, each of these aspects of the ‘new’ plays a role in the construction of the United States as ‘exceptional’. The (constructed) ‘exceptional’ nature of the United States itself has two facets. On the one hand, there is the idea of the United States as exceptional in its nature as the ‘New World’ – the land of hope and freedom (which may be contrasted with ‘old Europe’) – and as the country that constitutes ‘a city upon a hill’. As a ‘city upon a hill’ it is watched by the ‘eyes of all people’, engendering both an imperative to do right and a kind of moral supremacy entailed in knowing what is right. As Lyndon B. Johnson (1964) put it (speaking for the American people), the legacy of the ‘city upon a hill’ ‘is at once our bequest, our burden, and our brightest expectation’. On the other hand, there is the Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 46 Sabine Selchow perception of the United States as exceptional in its very nature – in that it is understood as the product of the distinct process of ‘Americanization’ at the frontier, the place at which the American becomes American. The above elaborations highlighted the two dimensions of the notion of the ‘new’ (world). First, it was highlighted that the post-9/11 interpretation of the global security environment as a ‘new’ world can be seen as a manifestation of an understanding on the part of the Bush Administration that the world is being re-shaped by the ‘return of uncertainty’. Second, the two implied and particularly American notions of the ‘new’ were stressed: the idea of the ‘New World’ and the notion of collective renewal captured in the myth of the frontier. As the next part of this chapter argues, it is the profundity of the first dimension of the notion of the ‘new’ that accounts for the significance of the interpretation of the post-9/11 global security environment as a ‘new’ world, and it is the interplay of the first with the second one that accounts for its particular complexity and that makes it intriguing. The return of ‘uncertainty’ and its taming In order to be able to see that the significance of the interpretation of the post-9/11 security environment as a ‘new’ world flows from the fact that it is a manifestation of the fact that there is an understanding held within the Bush Administration for the ‘return of uncertainty’, it is necessary to understand the profound implications that the ‘return of uncertainty’ has for existing (modern) conceptions of how politics is practised and, indeed, how the social world is to be understood. It is necessary to see that the ‘return of uncertainty’ brings into question foundational conceptions of modern social and political being, or, going a step further and stressing its implied structural consequences, that it produces fundamentally different conditions of being and acting. Given that the ‘return of uncertainty’ means that future consequences of (scientific) knowledge production are not only not knowable now, but (might) always remain beyond knowledge, a ‘reinvention of politics’ (Beck 1994) is required. On the one hand, the ‘return of uncertainty’ means that actors and actions that had not been perceived or treated as ‘political’ in the past, need to be treated as such because they might have a fundamental – in the sense of ‘unknowable’ and ‘infinite’ (Beck 2009) – impact on others, in the present and/or in the future. Importantly, this impact may go beyond the established nets of uncertainty absorption established by and inscribed within the nature of the nation-state as we know it. Ulrich Beck (1992, 2009, for example) speaks of global risks and uses the concept of (global) ‘risk society’ to capture the contemporary society that is shaped by the ‘return of uncertainty’, more precisely, by the knowledge that is produced with the aim of ‘transform[ing] unpredictable risks into calculable risks’ but which, instead, ‘gives rise to new unpredictabilities, forcing us to reflect upon risks’ (Beck 2009: 15). As Beck argues, these unpredictabilities force us to reflect on risk – and with that produce ‘risk societies’ – because they ‘can no longer be socially delimited in Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d An interplay of traditions 47 space and time’ (Beck and Grande 2010: 418). Hence, the ‘return of uncertainty’ requires a rethinking of traditional conceptions of what constitutes political action and who is a political actor. On the other hand, the ‘return of uncertainty’ means that the normative parameters, on which actions undertaken by ‘traditional’ political actors are made and assessed, must be rethought. Issues such as accountability, responsibility and legitimacy of these actions need to be re-conceptualized in order to adopt the ‘new’, ‘uncertain’ nature of the contemporary age. This is because their consequences are ‘unknowable’ and ‘infinite’, or, more precisely, because their consequences can no longer be thought of as ‘knowable’ and ‘finite’. More fundamentally, the ‘return of uncertainty’ requires a reconceptualization of our age as an age beyond modernity. Beck (1992, 1994, 2006, 2009, for example) employs the concept of ‘reflexive modernity’ in order to capture this ‘new’ age, where ‘reflexive’ refers to the process by which progress and (scientific) knowledge production backfire. In Beck’s words, this is a ‘self-confrontation’ (Beck 2009: 5), by which he means a confrontation of modern society with (the consequences of) its modern self – that is, a ‘confrontation of the bases of modernization with the consequences of modernization’ (ibid.: 6). A rethinking of the very age in which we live is required because its ‘reflexive’ nature produces a new kind of global existence, in that it produces a new kind of interconnectedness. This new kind of global existence, this new kind of interconnectedness is the product of the new kind of risks (i.e. ‘global’ risks), in other words, of the ‘infinite’ unpredictabilities that are the product of (modern) knowledge production. As Beck and Grande (2010: 417) explain, due to their ‘reflexive’ nature, global risks mean that ‘the “global other” is in our midst’, i.e. they ‘mix the “native” with the “foreign”’. This, however, does not automatically or necessarily lead to a ‘normative cosmopolitanism of a world without borders’ (as many political thinkers suggest and/or hope), but needs to be understood as a process that creates ‘new cosmopolitan responsibilities, cosmopolitan imperatives, which no one can escape’ (ibid.: 417). As such, and continuing to follow Beck (also ibid.), ‘global’ risks pave the way for the ‘universal possibility’ of new kinds of communities, namely ‘cosmopolitan risk communities’, ‘which spring up, establish themselves and become aware of their cosmopolitan composition’ (ibid.; see also Beck 2011) – that is, of their composition as products of the ‘reflexivity’ of (societies in) the contemporary age. It is this profundity of the consequences of the ‘return of uncertainty’ for the composition of contemporary societies and, simultaneously, for the way in which political action is thought of and practised that accounts for the significance of the interpretation of the post-9/11 global security environment as a ‘new’ world that is evident in the Public Papers of President George W. Bush. Given that the interpretation of the post-9/11 global security environment as a ‘new’ world (i.e. a world different in kind) implies an understanding on the part of the Bush Administration for the ‘return of uncertainty’, and given that the ‘return of uncertainty’ stands for a profound shift in the constitution of modern (national) societies towards ‘reflexive’ ones, the interpretation of Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 48 Sabine Selchow the post-9/11 global security environment as a ‘new’ world can be read as a manifestation of nothing less but the fact that there is a reflection on, and awareness of, this ‘reflexivity’ of contemporary times within the Bush Administration. It stands for an acknowledgment on the part of the Bush Administration of a ‘new’, ‘reflexive’ age. This is a significant insight because this awareness of the ‘reflexivity’ of the contemporary world can be understood as a manifestation of nothing less than an awareness of a change in the tradition that underlies US security thinking. The interpretation of the post-9/11 global security environment as a ‘new’ world can be read as a manifestation of the fact that there is awareness that the tradition – understood as the ‘social context in which individuals exercise their reason and act’ (Bevir et al. 2003: 6) – that shapes US security thinking and practices has shifted from a modern to a ‘reflexive’ one. In this sense, discovering the interpretation of the post-9/11 security environment as a ‘new’ world entails discovering awareness on the part of the Bush Administration of a change in nothing short of the guiding tradition, namely the tradition of modernity. This is significant and analytically valuable because, as we saw above, this (reflectiveness on the) ‘reflexivity’ of the world carries with it an imperative to rethink fundamentally (US security) policy making and practices – that is, to rethink policy making and practices beyond modernity and against the background of a ‘reflexive’, in Beck’s words, ‘cosmopolitan’ reality. However, were post-9/11 US security practices really shaped by a ‘cosmopolitan vision’ (Beck 2006), as the discovered reflectiveness on the ‘reflexivity’ of the contemporary age would lead us to expect? The reality of post-9/11 security policy making does not really look as though the imperative to rethink modern security policy making was taken up by the Bush Administration. This brings us to the aspect that accounts for the complexity of the interpretation of the post-9/11 global security environment as a ‘new’ world, and to what makes it so intriguing. As this chapter argues, it is the second, particularly American dimension, which is inscribed in the notion of the ‘new’, that ‘tames’ the (potentially) fundamental implications of the understanding of the ‘reflexivity’ of the contemporary age. More precisely, what we see is that the ‘uncertain’ world, in which the Bush Administration evidently saw the United States after 9/11, is ‘familiarized’ and ‘Americanized’ through the profoundly American narrative of the New World and the notion of renewal, both of which are implied in the traditional American idea of the ‘new’. The idea that the United States was facing a ‘new’ world after 9/11 – that is, that ‘[t]here’s a new world here’, as George W. Bush (2004) explained to the United Nations – is symbolically balanced or ‘tamed’ by the idea of a (new) frontier, which as we have seen is one of the central, and (referring back to Slotkin’s analysis of John F. Kennedy’s utilization of the frontier metaphor in 1961) most powerful and all-pervasive myths in American culture. It is this myth of the frontier that symbolically ‘stabilizes’ the idea of the ‘uncertain’, ‘reflexive’ age and that symbolically ‘tames’ the implied imperative of a fundamental rethinking of the modern tradition. On the one side, through the Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d An interplay of traditions 49 reference to the myth of the frontier this implied imperative of a fundamental rethinking is symbolically turned into an evolutionary step in the process of US renewal. While the ‘new’ world might be ‘new’, in the sense of different in kind, the fact that the United States is confronted with it is not only not ‘new’, but even represents a chance for a (new) American moment. Consequently, the confrontation with the post-9/11 global security environment, understood as a ‘reflexive’ (i.e. ‘new’) reality, turns into a quintessentially American project. It becomes a truly American project, through which US society gets the chance to being renewed and, at the same time, through which the myth of American exceptionalism is fostered. On the other hand, the reference to the constitutional idea of America as the New World builds the symbolic foundation that justifies that the United States (i.e. the Bush Administration) can confront the ‘new’ world on its own terms because the confrontation with the ‘new’ is part of its cultural foundation, its tradition, in fact its very nature. Although the world might be profoundly ‘new’, the very existence of a ‘new’ world is not ‘new’ for America as constituting the New World. Consequently, instead of a radical rethinking of the foundations of its (modern) self, it can simply fall back on building on its strengths as America, the New World and quintessential product of the confrontation with the ‘new’. Given the above, we see something intriguing in the interpretation of the post-9/11 global security environment held by the Bush Administration. On the one side, it implies a change of tradition from a modern towards a ‘reflexive’ one and, with that, nothing less than the potentiality of an openingup towards a radical rethinking of the foundations of the United States’ (modern) self. On the other side, due to its specific American dimension and the traditional American idea of the ‘new’, it symbolically cements the United States in its existing (modern) position. Conclusion Following Bevir, Rhodes and Weller (2003: 6), traditions constitute the ‘social context in which individuals exercise their reason and act’, thus shaping policy decisions and actions. This chapter revisited the interpretation of the global security environment after the terrorist attacks of 11 September 2001. Based on a corpus-driven analysis of the Public Papers of President George W. Bush the chapter unveiled an interpretation held by the Bush Administration that has been overlooked by scholars: the interpretation of the post-9/11 global security environment as a ‘new’ world. The chapter unveiled that this interpretation signals an understanding on the part of the Bush Administration of the ‘return of uncertainty’, which stands for a profound shift in the constitution of modern (national) societies towards ‘reflexive’ ones. Hence, the interpretation of the post-9/11 global security environment as a ‘new’ world can be read as a manifestation of nothing less than the fact that there is a reflection within the Bush Administration on and awareness of the ‘reflexivity’ of contemporary times. This is highly significant because this awareness of the Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 50 Sabine Selchow ‘reflexivity’ of the contemporary world can be understood as a manifestation of nothing less than an awareness of a change in the tradition that underlies US security thinking and practices. While, due to its profundity, this traditional change, or more precisely the awareness of it, leads us to expect significant changes in the Bush Administration’s (security) policy making and thinking, the chapter showed that the potentiality of a profound rethinking to adapt to a ‘reflexive’ reality is ‘tamed’ by a specific American tradition, namely the US notion of the New World and the idea of collective renewal that is captured in the American myth of the frontier. As such, this chapter not only revealed a significant post-9/11 change in tradition in US security thinking (from a modern to a ‘reflexive’ one), but also revealed how its implicit imperative fundamentally to rethink the United States’ (modern) self is ‘tamed’ by an interplay with another, profoundly American tradition. References Amoore, L. and de Goede, M. (eds) (2008), Risk and the War on Terror, London and New York: Routledge. Beck, U. (1992) Risk Society, Cambridge: Polity Press. ——(1994) ‘The Reinvention of Politics: Towards a Theory of Reflexive Modernization’, in U. Beck, A. Giddens and S. Lash (eds) Reflexive Modernization, Cambridge: Polity Press, 1–55. ——(2006) The Cosmopolitan Vision, Cambridge: Polity Press. ——(2009) World Risk Society, Cambridge: Polity Press. ——(2011) ‘Cosmopolitanism as Imagined Communities of Global Risk’, American Behavioral Scientist 55(10): 1346–61. Beck, U. and Grande, E. 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(1973) Through Violence: The Mythology of the American Frontier, 1600–1860, Middletown: Wesleyan University Press. ——(1998) Gunfighter Nation: The Myth of the Frontier in Twentieth-Century America, Norman: University of Oklahoma Press. Turner, F.J. (1920 [1893]) ‘The Significance of the Frontier in American History’, in F. Turner, The Frontier in American History, xroads.virginia.edu/~hyper/turner/ (accessed 16 August 2011). US National Security Strategy (2002) ‘Introduction’, 17 September, georgewbushwhitehouse.archives.gov/nsc/nss/2002/nssintro.html (accessed 16 August 2011). Wehling, P. (2010) ‘Nichtwissen: Entstehungskomplexe, Pluralisierung und Politisierung’, in A. Engelhardt and L. Kajetzke (eds) Handbuch Wissensgesellschaft, Bielefeld: Transcript. Williams, M.J. (2008) ‘(In)Security Studies, Reflexive Modernization and the Risk Society’, Cooperation and Conflict: Journal of the Nordic International Studies Association 43(1): 57–79. Winthrop, J. (1630) ‘A Model of Christian Charity’, www.winthropsociety.com/ doc_charity.php (accessed 16 August 2011). Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 4 Interpreting George W. Bush’s foreign policy Daniel Zoughbie Few discoveries are more irritating than those which expose the pedigree of ideas. (Lord Acton 1907: 62) The 43rd president of the United States was profoundly and penetratingly influenced by religious traditions, but not as the conventional accounts might suggest. Owing to his frequent scriptural references and declaration that Jesus Christ was his favourite philosopher, it is often assumed that President George W. Bush was de facto leader of the political movement known as the Religious Right. This chapter unpacks some fundamental assumptions surrounding both the nature and importance of religious ‘beliefs’ in shaping Bush’s presidency and, specifically, the conduct of the US Middle East policy during a defining moment in American history. I argue that President Bush was a true believer, that his story of conversion and redemption was an important part of his outreach to right-wing evangelical voters, and that US foreign policy is shaped not merely by abstract national interests, but by culturally and religiously constructed conceptions of the ‘national interest’. Yet as I show, even within American religious culture, there are starkly different, one might even say ‘clashing’ theological traditions within a tradition. For example, President Bush’s Christian beliefs belong to a prominent optimistic theological tradition that is diametrically opposed to the pessimistic theological tradition espoused by much of his base, the Religious Right. As I also show, when faced with national security dilemmas like the Israeli–Palestinian conflict, the president exercised individual agency and wavered indecisively in his beliefs. Contrary to the argument presented in Bush’s autobiography Decision Points (2010), I argue that by virtue of rank and duty, the president was undoubtedly the ‘decider-in-chief ’; however, his Middle East security policy was decisively indecisive. The use of George W. Bush’s Middle East policy as a case study is justified in several ways. First, the Israeli–Palestinian–Arab conflict has been at the heart of major regional and international security dilemmas and debates throughout much of the Cold War, post-Cold War and post-9/11 periods. Second, George W. Bush explicitly made the Middle East – notably Iraq and Palestine – the Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 54 Daniel Zoughbie testing ground for his flagship ‘Freedom Agenda’. Third, with the rise of Islamic and Jewish fundamentalisms in the Middle East and the Religious Right in America, there have been few other moments in modern history where the management and organization of political decisions, not the least of which concern matters of peace and security in the Middle East, have been shaped more deliberately by religious traditions. The category ‘tradition’ employed here in the broader sense of a theological tradition may seem unconventional to security studies, yet my conception of ‘tradition’ is analytically consistent with the other chapters in this volume. As Bevir and Rhodes (1999: 2–6) argue, ‘To explain the beliefs of a particular individual, we have to appeal to an aggregate concept, such as tradition, that evokes this social context’. In order to understand why policy makers might be held by certain ‘webs of belief’, one must look further into the ‘background of an inherited tradition’ (Bevir 2002: 199). In moving beyond ‘security traditions’, one finds a backdrop of broader theo-philosophical traditions against which matters of war and peace are reasoned. ‘Traditions’ are therefore not static and unchanging analytical objects. Even within a specific culture, they can be broad, decentred, fiercely contested and inconsistently structured. In arguing that US foreign policy has developed against the backdrop of divergent theological traditions, I do not, of course, mean that policy makers are themselves necessarily religious or consult theological or even philosophical texts. Quite the opposite. In many cases, as Löwith (1949), Tuveson (1949), Bury (1932), Gray (2007) and Cohn (1957) established, it would seem that Christian theology has been secularized and injected into Western political traditions unknowingly because some theological concepts are so pervasive and have been so culturally entrenched as they are passed from generation to generation, that they are simply taken as axiomatic. For example, the revolutionary idea expressed in the New Testament that the movement of history is linear, not cyclical as the Greeks would have it, and that it contains a beginning, midpoint and end, is an idea of no small significance for the study of Western politics. Francis Fukuyama demonstrated the relevance of such theological assumptions for his major work The End of History and the Last Man: As the Christian account of history makes clear, an ‘end of history’ is implicit in the writing of all Universal Histories. The particular events of history can become meaningful only with respect to some larger end or goal, the achievement of which necessarily brings the historical process to a close. The final end of man is what makes all particular events potentially intelligible. (Fukuyama 1992: 56) There is perhaps no theological assumption that is more deeply enmeshed in America’s DNA than this belief in the ‘end of history’, i.e. that human nature is defective, that there is a solution for this defectiveness, and that Universal Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d Interpreting George W. Bush’s foreign policy 55 History is progressing towards that solution, its ultimate goal of social redemption. In Christian theology, there are three competing eschatological traditions that map out this process. Optimism The first tradition is post-millennial and casts human nature and destiny in an ‘optimistic’ light. Its focus is on the ‘original righteousness’ of humankind, and its potential to be liberated from oppressive institutions. According to this interpretation, as espoused by President Bush and Administration neoconservatives, history’s ‘end’ is its telos and its progressive fulfilment culminates in the victory of Western democratic values over evil (Frum and Perle 2003). Because human nature is inherently malleable and good, social redemption is achieved through the forceful replacement of terrorist and tyrannical regimes with more rational forms of human government. It follows that eventually humanity will reach a period of perpetual peace, within which the soul’s deepest longing for freedom will be satisfied. As Bush stated, ‘[w]e go forward with complete confidence in the eventual triumph of freedom … [w]hen our Founders declared a new order of the ages … they were acting on an ancient hope that is meant to be fulfilled. History has an ebb and flow of justice, but history also has a visible direction, set by liberty and the Author of Liberty’ (Bush 2005). Bush’s utopian plans were big and, as he put it, ‘There is nothing bigger than to achieve world peace’ (Woodward 2002: 282). Guided by theological presuppositions, Bush discerned ‘the progress of liberty’ to be ‘the design of nature’, indeed the ‘direction of history’ as established by ‘the author of freedom’. If there was any doubt as to the telos of history, Bush asserted that ‘Liberty is both the plan of Heaven for humanity, and the best hope for progress here on Earth’. Because the spread of freedom inexorably ‘leads to peace’, it is ‘worth fighting for, dying for, and standing for’ (Bush 2005). Before Bush, neoconservative political theorist Francis Fukuyama put forward a similarly optimistic thesis that the conclusion of the Cold War – the end of the ‘evil empire’ – constituted ‘the end of history … that is the end point of mankind’s ideological evolution and the universalization of Western liberal democracy as the final form of human government’ (Fukuyama 1989). Thus, according to this optimistic view, the ‘end’ or purpose of history is to move beyond it. After 9/11, Bush and the neoconservatives understood the security dilemma of terrorism to be rooted in an endemic pathology of ‘unfreedom’ sweeping the lands of Islam. Borrowing from the Christian idea that history is a linear process directed at an absolute goal of social redemption, they discerned that history was inevitably moving towards its ultimate end or telos, the spread of liberal democracy. Just as Marx conceived of the end of history in terms of a classless utopia and the Nazis conceived of their millennial Reich in terms of a racially pure society, administration neoconservatives conceived of the end of history as the universalization of Western democratic values. For these Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 56 Daniel Zoughbie optimists, humanity would enter into a more perfect epoch of liberty once the Middle East was forcefully brought under the ‘rational’ sovereignty of modernity. The ‘War on Terror’ was thus conceived by one apologetic historian as a fight ‘for the very notion of the Enlightenment’ (Hanson 2006). This eschatologically optimistic tradition manifested itself both in the secularized form of neoconservative Middle East policies and especially in the president’s theologically charged rhetoric. As Condoleezza Rice recalls, though it’s impossible to run an experiment and see how a statesman would have acted as a non-believer, faith was clearly very important to President Bush and informed his view of ‘God as an agent’ (interview with Rice, 2009). Contrary to Machiavellian explanations, religion was not simply a pretence for Bush. As another one of Bush’s closest advisers Michael Gerson affirmed, the president is ‘a person of genuine faith’ (interview with Gerson, 2009). Former White House aide Ryan Streeter recalls that Bush even used to extend his own experience of personal redemption to contemporary political problems: … President Bush was saying that many of the nation’s problems could be solved by a change of heart, even his use of religious language, you know people redeeming their lives … I was with him at meetings where he would talk with black pastors and say, you know, ‘You can’t help a drunk when he’s drunk. Like when I used to be a drunk, you know you couldn’t talk sense into me’. (Interview with Streeter, 2009) Elliott Abrams, the former deputy national security advisor for global democracy strategy, asserted that President Bush’s faith did not have much ‘operational influence’ except in ‘one important way’: his religious beliefs shaped the Administration’s hallmark foreign policy doctrine, the ‘Freedom Agenda’. As Abrams noted, Bush believed that: Rights do not come from the state. Rights do not even come from the democratic collectivity, from the polity. Rights come from God. Rights inhere in the individual and inhere in his or her relationship with God. And I think that did inform his view that democracy should be universal … They are truly human rights, that are in the nature of being human. Because of the human’s relationship with the Creator. And I do think that that mattered. And that was a deeply held view on his part. (Phone interview with Abrams, 2009) The former National Security Advisor Stephen Hadley confirmed that the Freedom Agenda is the essence of ‘who [Bush] is’. As Hadley summed up, Bush believed: People have a God-given right to be free. It’s the same principle as this radical belief in the individual and the right of individuals to be free that Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d Interpreting George W. Bush’s foreign policy 57 is the essence of this man. And it’s why he thought we had terrorism coming out of the Middle East, because of the freedom deficit in the Middle East … And for him then, the antidote to terrorism and the basis for permanent peace in the Middle East was freedom and democracy. (Interview with Hadley, 2010) George W. Bush’s concept of liberty was not simply limited to the traditional American belief that ‘all men are created equal’; it was missiological in nature. Adapting Leviticus 15:10, KJV, his stated foreign policy objective was global evangelism: ‘America, in this young century, proclaims liberty throughout all the world and to all the inhabitants thereof ’ (Bush 2005: emphasis added). Former Senior Director at the National Security Council William Inboden expands on how this religious worldview shaped national security policy in profound ways: As a ‘committed Christian’, the president argued that ‘all people were created by the same God … And because of that dignity that inheres in each individual, it’s wrong if a political system or ruler oppresses that person or takes away those rights’ (interview with Inboden, 2009). It was from this religious worldview that a specific set of policies emerged, including ‘the effort to promote democratic governance and respect for human rights around the world’. It was partly due to his ‘theologically informed worldview that he soured on Arafat’ and ushered in a major change in US Middle East policy by delivering his 24 June 2002 Rose Garden speech (interview with Inboden, 2009). In his remarks, Bush introduced sequentialism into this speech, which branded Arafat as an irrelevant dictator and rejected a ‘peace process’, negotiations and US engagement until the Palestinians democratized and elected ‘entirely new’ Palestinian leaders ‘untainted by terror’ (Bush 2002; and interview with Inboden, 2005). As the American lieutenant general overseeing this process later remarked, his mission was charged with creating ‘new men’ (Dayton 2009). In the president’s mind, the liberation of Palestine was linked to the liberation of Iraq, with the former serving as a ‘nice little laboratory’ for the broader Middle East (Hughes 2004). In conversations with his National Security Advisor Condoleezza Rice, Bush expressed his belief that democracy would be introduced to the Middle East upon the rocky hills of the West Bank and in the deserts of Iraq. According to Rice, the three pillars of a ‘new Middle East’ created a ‘package’. Once everybody turned against terrorism, Iraq would emerge as an ‘integrated’ and ‘responsible member of the Arab world’, the conflict in Palestine would be solved outside of the use of force, and the Arab world would engage in ‘reconciling with its own people through democratic reform … [and in] reconciling [with] Israel’ (interview with Rice, 2009). According to more hawkish adherents of this view, while the Palestinians were transforming themselves, dictatorships in Iraq, Syria and Iran should be removed from power by the United States (interviews with Wurmser, 2010, and former senior US official). Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 58 Daniel Zoughbie Pessimism Like the first tradition, the second is also millennial-utopian, but diverges from optimism in its decisively pessimistic view of human nature and destiny. Its focus is on the ‘original sin’ of humankind and the deterioration of social and moral order. As espoused by millions of religious conservatives who constituted President Bush’s political base and occupied senior leadership positions within the US Congress, the end of history is not mankind’s complete ideological evolution. Rather than predicting the future triumph of reason in the here and now, it sees human nature as totally corrupted by secular rationalism. Consequently, pessimism predicts the degeneration of social and moral order into global catastrophe at which point Christ will intervene and ‘make all things new’ (Revelation 21:5, KJV). This view is espoused by millions of religious conservatives who constituted President Bush’s political base and occupied senior leadership positions in the US Congress (see Figure 4.1 and Figure 4.2 for statistics concerning religious and political views towards the Middle East). As popularized by the Oxford University Press publication of The Scofield Reference Bible, this pessimistic theology of history, more technically known as (dispensational) pre-millennialism, emerged as a response to the intellectual crisis brought about by the Enlightenment’s doctrine of Progress. In the view of pre-millennialists, the foundations of faith were eroded by Higher Criticism (Robertson Smith 1907), which undermined the divine authority of the Bible, and by Kant’s devastating Critique of Pure Reason (1787), which dismissed any rational basis for Christianity. The French Revolution decapitated Christianity with its guillotines (Rousseau 1968 [1762]) and On the Origin of the Species (1859) demoted man from his privileged status of imago dei. When Marx Figure 4.1 Religious beliefs concerning Israel Source: (Data from the Pew Forum on Religious Life, 24 August 2006; and a Time/ CNN poll, 2002) Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d Interpreting George W. Bush’s foreign policy 59 Figure 4.2 Religious beliefs and attitudes towards Israel Source: (Data from the Pew Forum on Religious Life, 24 August 2006) (1848) prophesied that modernity would profane all that is holy, three decades later, the Christian God was not only profaned, but proclaimed dead by Nietzsche (1882). For American pre-millennialists, the supposed superiority of modernity’s rational social order yielded totalitarian genocides, atomic world war and global terrorism. In the twenty-first century, more advanced forms of technology, climate change, economic integration, terrorism and Israel’s 1948 establishment all seemed to confirm ‘Biblical prophesies’ imaginatively transposed into popular works of fiction (LaHaye and Jenkins 1995). Like the prophecies of Marx and Hitler, pessimistic pre-millennialism divided up history into successive historical ages or ‘dispensations’, only this time with Jews and Christians as the chosen peoples moving together towards total societal redemption (for an early example see Darby 1864). However, pessimists looked for redemption in revelation, not reason. They anticipated the imminent return of Christ and the secret ‘rapture’ of his Church, in a moment, in a ‘twinkling of an eye’ to redeem the human condition (Matthew 24:37–41; and Thessalonians 4:15–18, KJV). This secret rapture would rescue those who placed their faith in Christ from a seven-year Great Tribulation period of unparalleled human destruction (John 19:37, KJV). Pessimists argued that during this period, two-thirds of the Jewish people would experience another Holocaust under the direction of the anti-Christ, but this moment would be a time of opportunity, for the Jews will look to the ‘One they have pierced’ (Matthew 24:21, KJV). Because of the great significance of this mass conversion, pessimists argue that one should ‘watch the Jew’ to understand the course of future events (Wilkinson 2007). When the third temple is rebuilt Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 60 Daniel Zoughbie on the Temple Mount, where the Dome of the Rock and the Al Aqsa Mosque presently stand, the Battle of Armageddon will commence. Ultimately, Christ will return to Israel with the children of light to defeat Satan and the millennial rule of Christ will be established (Revelation 20:7, KJV). Supporters of the Religious Right movement have powerfully expressed such pre-millennial ideals at the voting booth. It is likely that President Ronald Reagan referred to biblical prophecies on seven different occasions and consulted with pre-millennialist theologians on matters concerning the Cold War and the end of days to appeal to this theoconservative constituency (Halsell 1986; Weber 2004). Because religious pessimists like Pat Robertson and Jerry Falwell founded the theoconservative movement, it remains heavily influenced by the pre-millennial focus on Israel, even if its members are not necessarily united on discrete matters of theology (Marsden 2006: 43; Ammerman 1994: 233–35). For example, when the political plan of action was announced in 1979 for the ecumenical Moral Majority, a top priority for its founders was ‘support for Israel and the Jewish people’ (Falwell 2008). Because 30 million plus theoconservative voters and activists were indispensable to George W. Bush’s dual election victories, their religious leaders, while considered ‘nutty’ and ‘crazy’ by elite policy makers within the Administration, were nevertheless invited to meet with top US officials (former senior US official). While White House election strategists sought to pacify conservative religious voters, President Bush sought to pacify conservative religious leaders in Congress because they held the ‘purse strings’ of the US government. House Majority Leader Dick Armey cited a biblical justification for supporting Israel and suggested relocating the Palestinians to neighbouring countries. As his successor House Majority Leader Tom DeLay estimated, of the numerous pro-Israel Democrats and Republicans serving in the House of Representatives, up to 100 of them held to the theology that God would bless those who bless Israel and curse those who curse it. Importantly, the powerful Speaker of the House Dennis Hastert was influenced by this theology and had several discussions with Leader DeLay on the subject (phone interview with DeLay, 2010). Additionally, prominent members of the US Senate, including Sam Brownback, Tom Coburn, Jim Inhofe, Zell Miller and John Kyle, publicly advocated such views. As DeLay recalls, religious conservatives in Congress were very supportive of his friend Vice President Dick Cheney, and on several occasions he helped Cheney to push President Bush in the conservative direction by vocally denouncing the moderate Road Map policy and by withholding money to the Palestinian Authority (phone interview with DeLay, 2010). For example, Bush’s inability to deliver aid to the Palestinian Authority in a timely manner was as a major factor leading to the rise of Hamas and Fateh’s 2006 defeat in Gaza (interview with Fayyad, 2009; correspondence with Dahlan, 2010; interview with Tarawneh, 2009). In practical terms, religious conservatives translated their theological assumptions into concrete policy recommendations. Though their motivations Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d Interpreting George W. Bush’s foreign policy 61 were different from their neoconservative allies in the Administration, their policy recommendations were closely aligned with the 24 June 2002 Rose Garden speech’s policy of sequentialism. As religious conservatives argued, the United States should oppose efforts to restart peace negotiations between the Israelis and Yasser Arafat’s corrupt Palestinian Authority. In short, peace would happen only after Christ returns, and in that sequence. Until that day, they predicted that Israeli sovereignty was destined to expand throughout Judea and Samaria, and the temple would be rebuilt atop the current site of the Dome of the Rock and the Al Aqsa mosque. Therefore, they argued that the United States should recognize Jerusalem as the eternal undivided capital of Israel, and encourage, not restrain, provocative Israeli actions on the Temple Mount (phone interview with DeLay, 2010, and Hagel, 2009). While Israel was left to battle the Palestinians, religious conservatives, working in tandem with their neoconservative allies, strongly urged Bush to go after Saddam Hussein in Iraq, because he was supporting terrorism against Israel. As DeLay envisioned, once the United States invaded Iraq, it should support ‘regime change’ in Iran, the major geo-strategic threat to Israel. The United States could topple Iranian leadership by providing financial and military assistance to the opposition and, ultimately, by strategically bombing the country. Syria was also considered a potential target because of its support for Hezbollah’s activities against Israel. The goal of the religious conservatives’ policy was to change regimes throughout the region so that pro-Western democratic leaders would emerge, leaving Israel to rebuild the temple in Jerusalem (phone interview with DeLay, 2010). As Leader DeLay argued: Christ cannot return until the temple in Jerusalem is rebuilt. And then the temple in Jerusalem is not going to be rebuilt unless it’s a Jewish state. So, I don’t know. I mean, I’m not a biblical scholar, but it is quite obvious to me that, over time, and who knows what that time is, you have a Jewish state that – and the prophesies can come true, because they have come true. And ultimately, Christ will return … there’s one thing for certain, that the prophesies will be fulfilled. (Phone interview with DeLay, 2010) At the Israeli Knesset he went further: ‘One day, Israel – with the United States by her side – will live in freedom, security, and peace. And terrorism will perish from the earth.’ For Tom DeLay, that would be the preordained day of Christ’s triumphant return, the end of history (DeLay 2003; phone interview with DeLay, 2010). Augustinian realism The third tradition, as espoused by Administration moderates, purports to cast human nature and destiny in a ‘realistic’ light. Unlike the overly optimistic and overly pessimistic views, realism neither discerns a ‘visible direction’ of Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 62 Daniel Zoughbie social progress in history, nor anticipates social deterioration into Armageddon (Niebuhr 1960: viii; Niebuhr 1953, 1940: 35–36). According to this view, the ‘end’ of history represents a constant tension between good and evil, between ‘fulfilment and dissolution’. The ‘end’ has a dual meaning that denotes the telos or purpose of human life and its terminus, when ‘that which exists ceases to be’ (Niebuhr 1943: 297). Elaborating upon this Augustinian a-millennial tradition, Reinhold Niebuhr’s ‘Christian realism’ laments that the ‘Christian idea of the ambiguity of human virtue’ has been supplanted by prideful attempts to assert humanity’s power over historical destiny (Niebuhr 1952: 4). Because of the moral ambiguity of human nature, there is no such thing as discernible ‘law’ of history. While man is a ‘creature’ bound by nature’s law of survival, man is also a spiritual being made in God’s image. As such, he is a ‘creator’ with the potential to embrace a higher law of love. As long as freedom of will exists, the world of good can never fully overcome the world of evil. In fact, the sin of pride is introduced into the historical process by the very attempt to manage the movement of humanity beyond it (Niebuhr 1949: 18; Niebuhr 1943: 297; Niebuhr 1932: xvi, xxi, xxiii). Unlike optimistic and pessimistic millennialists, Niebuhr viewed the whole of history as a redemptive drama, with a telos and terminus not fully disclosed to the human mind. In his estimation, the optimistic goal of reordering history through reason or revelation neglects the fact ‘that the whole drama of history is enacted in a frame of meaning too large for human comprehension or management’. Though man sees himself as the manager of history, he is utterly incapable of predicting the hidden ironies within its plot, much less its ending (Niebuhr 1952: 88). Niebuhr writes, ‘no society, not even a democratic one, is great enough or good enough to make itself the final end of human existence’ (Niebuhr 1960: 133). Instead, Niebuhr’s Augustinian realism proposes that America abandon its efforts to transform the world into its image. While there are conditions in which nations and individuals must use power as ‘an instrument of justice and a servant of interests broader than their own’, one must not be deluded into thinking that power can ever be removed from selfish interests. Instead of devising grand utopian schemes, be they pessimistic or optimistic in nature, the appropriate aim of American foreign policy should be a balance of power in which national and global interests reach an equilibrium. This requires sustained attention and skilful diplomacy. This is not a science but an art, ‘the art of statecraft’ (Niebuhr 1952: xvii). The ‘spiritual pride’ of American foreign policy is found in its belief that America was divinely chosen to tutor ‘mankind in its pilgrimage to perfection’. Such ‘harmful illusions of human nature’, he warns, can be turned into a ‘totally noxious one’ (Niebuhr 1952: 14, 24–25, 71). In international relations, Niebuhr’s devastating critique of the doctrine of Progress was highly influential. For example, Hans Morgenthau and George Kennan followed Niebuhr’s example, albeit selectively, in looking to Augustine rather than Machiavelli for an adequate view of human nature and historical Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d Interpreting George W. Bush’s foreign policy 63 destiny. Morgenthau ranked Niebuhr as the ‘greatest American political philosopher of his time’, and George Kennan is said to have called him the ‘father of us all’ (Morgenthau 1962; Bevir 2010: 98–99; Brown 2002: 304; Lieven and Hulsman 2006: 55). Throughout his life Kennan echoed Niebuhr’s cautions about the toxicity of national pride: [T]his whole tendency to see ourselves as the center of political enlightenment and as teachers to a great part of the rest of the world strikes me as unthought-through, vainglorious, and undesirable. If you think that our life here at home has meritorious aspects worthy of emulation by peoples elsewhere, the best way to recommend them is, as John Quincy Adams maintained, not by preaching at others but by the force of example. I could not agree more. (Kennan 1999) As one of the most influential statesmen of the twentieth century, Kennan’s doctrine of political containment enjoyed extensive influence, notably in the formulation of the Marshall Plan; however, it was also used in ways of which he vehemently disapproved, notably in the attempted military containment of Soviet influence in Vietnam. Though many modern realists may not have studied Kennan’s memoirs in great depth, as Colin Powell publicly admitted, US foreign policy traditions are heavily indebted to him. As Colin Powell also noted, Kennan understood the balance between interests and ideals and offered a realistic view of human nature (Powell 2004). This view, as Kennan later disclosed in his writings on personal faith and politics, is one that recognizes both the animal-like instincts of humankind, along with those higher instincts endowed by God. In Augustinian-Niebuhrian terms, this is the distinction between the law of love and the law of nature (Kennan 1993). Through an inherited intellectual framework, influential realists like Colin Powell translated realism’s principles into practical policy recommendations. They viewed the Middle East as being vital to the national interest, defined in terms of power. Though democracy was viewed as a virtue, and though America’s Arab allies in the region were often terribly unscrupulous in their dealings with their own citizens, realists did not regard it as the duty of the United States to sacrifice its own interests in pursuit of abstract moral principles. Instead of trying to impose democracy on the region by force, which they believed would do more harm than good, moderate realists argued for sustained diplomacy that would contain the violence and restore a balance of power (interviews with Powell, 2010, and senior US official, 2010). This containment policy also extended to Iran and Iraq, where Powell sought to use sanctions and diplomacy, rather than regime change, to modify state behaviour. Moderates argued that 11 September presented the United States with a unique opportunity once again to assert its position in the region. According to them, Arab and Muslim antipathy towards America was rooted in deeply Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 64 Daniel Zoughbie held feelings of injustice and dishonour. Perhaps the most powerful expression of Arab and Muslim grievances was the festering Israeli–Palestinian conflict. Indirectly backed by American taxpayers, heavy-handed Israeli military operations coupled with unrelenting settlement expansion conjured up powerful images of Arab and Muslim humiliation. This ignited rage against Israel, the United States and Western-backed Arab leaders throughout the region. Though American allies like Jordan, Egypt and Saudi Arabia lacked transparent democratic institutions, moderates believed that the United States’ post-9/11 anti-terrorism efforts should shore up relations with authoritarian allies, while containing Iraq and Iran. As part of this effort to stabilize the Middle East, realists sought to pacify Arab rage by supporting reformers and by restarting a negotiated political process between Sharon and Arafat that would ultimately result in the exchange of land for peace and the creation of a Palestinian state. Only with the gradual stabilization of the Middle East would America be able to protect its economic and security interests. In the Israeli–Palestinian arena, the realists shunned sequentialism and translated their general policy of containment into extracting parallel concessions from both Israelis and Palestinians – as adumbrated in the 2003 Road Map policy. Containment and sequence At first glance, it might appear that the optimistic and pessimistic concepts of history are inherently incommensurable. Optimists look to the ‘end’ of history as the redemptive spread of democratic values, while pessimists look to the ‘end’ of history as redemption through its total destruction. However, both have much in common to distinguish them from realists (interview with Williams, 2009). As Malcolm Bull has noted, there are ‘close parallels’ between the modern view of post-history and the fundamentalist visions of the end of the world (Bull 1995: 6). During the Bush Administration, optimistic conservatives and pessimistic religious conservatives forged a post-11 September ‘conservative alliance’, which was unified by several major assumptions:  Both articulated theories of post history brought about by the forceful spread of Western values. Neoconservatives believed that America and Israel were destined to fulfil the goal of history by exporting Western democracy and free markets to the Middle East, if necessary through the use of force. Similarly, religious conservatives believed that force would be used to facilitate Christian evangelization before the return of Christ and the termination of history. By contrast, realists dismissed such utopian visions as fantasies.  Both opposed a political process and supported Israel’s ‘right’ to expand its frontiers. Neoconservatives believed that Israel should not divide Jerusalem, Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d Interpreting George W. Bush’s foreign policy 65 that ‘Judea and Samaria’ (the West Bank) should not be relinquished, and that the Palestinians should not be engaged until they had transformed their society into a liberal democracy. Similarly, religious conservatives believed that Jerusalem, Judea and Samaria were given to the Jews by God and that all attempts at peace making were futile until God ends history. By contrast, realists rejected the notion of a Greater Israel and sought to restart peace negotiations.  Both conceived of a new world war in which the world of good would overcome the world of evil. Neoconservatives believed that the United States was on the verge of an epic victory in a war between the powers of freedom and unfreedom, between good and evil. Similarly, religious conservatives believed that the United States was on the verge of ushering in the victorious return of Christ, along with a decisive victory over evil. By contrast, realists were far more nuanced in their moral categories, and far less optimistic about the total triumph of good over evil.  Finally, both despised Europe and regarded America and Israel as chosen nations with interconnected destinies, values and interests. Neoconservatives despised Europe for the Holocaust and looked to America and Israel as exceptional nations to defeat evil unilaterally. Similarly, religious conservatives despised Europe for alleged demonic theories of evolution and godless totalitarian philosophies, and looked to America and Israel as chosen nations to usher in the millennial kingdom of God. By contrast, realists sought to engage European allies and clearly distinguished between the US national interests and Israeli policies. Caught in the middle of these foreign policy traditions, the president’s closest foreign policy adviser, Condoleezza Rice, unsuccessfully sought to resolve the inherent tensions between realist and utopian positions and their corollary policies of sequence and containment. More importantly, it was not always clear that President Bush fully understood the distinction between the two incommensurable views, and consequently, he wavered schizophrenically as he sought to reconcile his lofty view of liberty with the reality of political life (interviews with Armitage, 2010, and Wurmser, 2010). Thus, at times, one could be forgiven for asking whether President Bush was a devoted Palestinian nationalist or more Likud than Likud. Upon assuming office, he instinctively disliked Yasser Arafat, Ariel Sharon and the very idea of intervening in the conflict (interviews with Meyer and Zinni, 2009). On several occasions he directed these ill feelings towards Sharon in what were considered highly embarrassing episodes in the American-Israeli special relationship. Yet under the counsel of sober-minded moderates like Colin Powell, he became the first American president to recognize the Palestinian right to self-determination in unambiguous terms and at no less conspicuous a forum than the United Nations (interview with Rice, 2009). Then everything changed. With the traumatic events of 11 September, President Bush appeared to have assumed a messianic complex as the Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 66 Daniel Zoughbie leader of the free world with a theologically informed mandate to spread liberty (interview with Meyer, 2009). In yet another bold move that contradicted previous policies, Bush undertook a bold project to free Palestine, not from its occupiers, but from its democratically elected President Yasser Arafat. Embracing the principle of sequence as proposed by conservative utopians, Bush sought to resolve the Israeli–Palestinian conflict by creating ‘new men’ in Palestine, uncorrupted democrats untainted by terrorism, who would be accountable to their people, to democratic institutions and to their democratic neighbours in Israel. As he stated in his 24 June 2002 Rose Garden speech, only once this dramatic socio-political transformation was complete would he support a political process between Israelis and Palestinians (interviews with Abrams and Feith, 2009, and Wurmser, 2010). However, as the Iraq war loomed on the horizon, Bush once again lacked decisiveness and moved back in the direction of moderates. Ignoring the principle of sequence, he embraced the Quartet Road Map’s vision of containment and its stated principle of parallelism that sought reciprocal concessions from Palestinians and Israelis within the context of an established political process. Endorsed by the international community, the plan was dismissed out of hand by Prime Minister Sharon. Lacking a deep understanding of what was at stake, Bush reversed course, shelved the Road Map, and instead accepted Sharon’s version of sequence as defined by his disengagement plan for Gaza. After winning a solid re-election victory, President Bush renewed his commitment to the neoconservative and ‘theoconservative’ vision of sequence and the ‘freedom agenda’, but his record of indecisiveness persisted into the second term. Under the guidance of his trusted aide Condoleezza Rice, ‘realism’ and ‘idealism’ were being comingled in a new approach to statecraft, one in which interests and values were viewed as being ‘one and the same’. The aim of this freedom agenda was not simply stability, nor was it Averell Harriman’s ‘balance of power preponderantly in favor of the free countries’, i.e. the United States and its allies (Leffler 1992: 277). As summarized in that contradictory phrase (contradictory because power balances are inherently constricting), the goal of US foreign policy was somehow to design a ‘balance of power that favors freedom’ (Rice 2002). Declaring liberty to be the means and ends of Middle East policy, Bush continued to move indecisively as he mixed and matched conservative and moderate policy prescriptions. He resolved to transform the Middle East into something new, but also hinted that he might move forward with a political process in Palestine. With successful elections being undertaken in Iraq, Lebanon and Palestine, it seemed as if the progress of liberty would create peace and stability in a new Middle East after all. Instead, as Bush soon learned, the freedom agenda unleashed a destabilizing wave of fundamentalism that fed the fires of religious extremism and challenged American values and interests perhaps more than ever before. Notably, with Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d Interpreting George W. Bush’s foreign policy 67 the election of Hezbollah in Lebanon and Hamas in Palestine, Iran solidified its regional influence through proxy militias and accelerated its nuclear programme. After the shattering Palestinian elections of 2006, Bush all but abandoned the democracy component of the sequence principle and instead turned to military force. However, it was only after US-backed Israeli forces failed to defeat Hezbollah and after US-backed Fateh forces failed to defeat Hamas that Bush once again turned away from sequence and moved towards the Road Map’s vision of containment and parallel concessions. Consequently, he launched the Annapolis Conference, empowering his able secretary of state to pursue serious negotiations. With a remarkable show of 11th-hour diplomacy, Rice shuttled back and forth to the region, but alas, her efforts were torpedoed by the criminal corruption and political incompetence of Prime Minister Ehud Olmert (interviews with Rice, 2009, and Hadley, 2010). In a last-ditch attempt to topple Hamas, Olmert broke his truce with the militant organization and launched a devastating war in which both Israel and Hamas perpetrated war crimes. Rather than supporting his secretary of state’s efforts to bring about a ceasefire, Bush once again moved back to a policy of sequence and backed Olmert’s devastating war. Conclusion The primary aim of this chapter was to demonstrate the relevance of religious traditions in shaping the contemporary theory and conduct of world affairs. As John Gray summarizes, ‘The belief that history has an underlying plot is central’ to the secular and religious millenarian movements that have shaped the modern world. ‘In versions of apocalyptic belief that are avowedly religious, the author of the script is God … In secular apocalyptic, the author is that equally elusive figure humanity, battling the forces of ignorance and superstition. Either way, the demand for meaning is met by narratives in which each individual life is part of an all-encompassing story’ (Gray 2007: 289). From the Rose Garden to the Road Map to the Annapolis Summit, the Bush Administration was influenced by underlying theological views about human nature and destiny. This chapter flagged three that bitterly divided the president and key US policy makers into utopian and realist camps, which in turn yielded two opposing Middle East policies. As defined by the principle of sequence, conservatives endorsed the democratic transformation of the Middle East prior to a peace process, while the moderates endorsed immediate negotiations, containment and balancing power. Though the president’s ‘Freedom Agenda’ for the Middle East was fundamentally shaped by a millennial-utopian worldview and a millenarian voter base, he nonetheless exhibited an indecisive will and temperament and vacillated between utopian and realist policies throughout his eight years in office. Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d Table 4.1 Select persons interviewed Interviewee Principal posts Location Date Richard Armitage Deputy Secretary of State Arlington, VA 2 February 2010 Kofi Annan UN Secretary General Telephone interview 18 November 2010 Elliott Abrams Deputy National Security Advisor for Global Democracy Strategy Telephone interview 6 November 2009 Hussein Agha Advisor to Yasser Arafat London 14 September 2009 Sir Mark Allen British Foreign Office London 8 September 2009 Jawad Annani Jordanian Foreign Minister Amman, Jordan 16 September 2009 Hrair Balian Director, Carter Center Telephone interview Conflict Resolution Program John Bellinger III Legal Advisor to the State Department and Legal Advisor to the National Security Council Telephone interview 12 February 2010 Shlomo Ben Ami Israeli Foreign Minister Telephone interview 9 December 2009, 11 December 2009 William J. Burns Undersecretary of State for Political Affairs Telephone interview 15 September 2010 Scott Carpenter Deputy Assistant Secretary Washington, DC of State for Near Eastern Affairs Palestinian National Security Written correspondence Advisor 11 November 2009 Tom DeLay Michael Doran House Majority Leader Senior Director for Near East and North African Affairs, National Security Council Telephone interview New York 11 May 2010 4 November 2009 Salam Fayyad Palestinian Prime Minister Ramallah, West Bank 23 December 2009 Douglas Feith Undersecretary of Defense for Policy Washington, DC and written correspondence 12 November 2009 Larry Garber Director of USAID, West Bank/Gaza Mission Jerusalem 16 July 2007 Jean Geran Director for Democracy and London Human Rights, National Security Council 3 September 2009 Michael Gerson Assistant to the President for Arlington, VA Speechwriting and Policy Advisor 10 December 2009 Tim Goeglein Special Assistant to the Washington, DC President and Deputy Director of the White House Office of Public Liaison 13 November 2009 Richard Haass Director of Policy and Planning, State Department 2 November 2009 Stephen Hadley Assistant to the President for Washington, DC National Security Affairs Mohammad Dahlan New York 4 February 2010 12 January 2010 28 January 2010 Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d Table 4.1 (continued) Interviewee Principal posts Location Date Chuck Hagel Senator and Chairman of the Washington, DC President’s National Intelligence Council 25 November 2009 William Inboden Senior Director for Strategic London Planning, National Security Council 2 September 2009 Stephen Krasner Director of Policy and Planning, State Department Stanford, CA Daniel Kurtzer Ambassador to Israel Telephone interview and 7 December 2009 written correspondence 2 November 2009 Abdelsalam Majali Jordanian Prime Minister Amman 16 September 2009 Sir Christopher Meyer British Ambassador to the United States London 14 September 2009 Amr Moussa Former Secretary General Arab League Cambridge, MA 11 November 2011 Marwan Muasher Jordanian Deputy Prime Minister Washington, DC 26 February 2010 Lord Patten EU Commissioner for External Affairs Telephone interview 1 September 2009 Richard Perle Chairman of the Defense Policy Board Chevy Chase, MD 18 November 2009 Colin Powell Secretary of State Telephone interview 7 January 2010 Jonathan Powell Chief of Staff to Prime Minister Tony Blair London 7 September 2009 Condoleezza Rice Secretary of State Stanford, CA 3 December 2009 Ayman Safadi Advisor to His Majesty King Abduallah II Amman 16 September 2009 Ryan Streeter Special Assistant to President London Bush for Domestic Policy Fayaz Tarawneh Jordanian Prime Minister Amman 23 September 2009 David Welch Assistant Secretary of State for Near Eastern Affairs London, written correspondence, and telephone interviews 20 November 2009, 30 November 2009, 15 December 2009 Rowan Williams Archbishop of Canterbury London 7 September 2009 James Wolfensohn President of the World Bank and Quartet Middle East Envoy New York 2 November 2009 Paul Wolfowitz President of the World Bank Washington, DC and Deputy Secretary of Defense David Wurmser Principal Deputy National Security Advisor to Vice President Cheney Telephone interviews 3 March 2010, 4 March 2010 Elias Zananiri Advisor to Mohammad Dahlan Jerusalem and written correspondence 24 December 2009 3 September 2009 19 February 2010 Anthony Zinni US Special Envoy (Israel/PA) Reston, VA 1 December 2009 Phillip Zelikow State Department Counselor Telephone interview 5 January 2010 Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 70 Daniel Zoughbie References Acton, J. 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Bingham, 26 October, in the Reinhold Niebuhr Papers, Box 26–27, Library of Congress. Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 72 Daniel Zoughbie ——(n.d.) ‘The Moral Issue in International Relations’, The Reinhold Niebuhr Papers, Box 16, US Library of Congress. Niebuhr, R. and Robertson, D.B. (1957) ‘Christian Faith and Political Controversy’, in Love and Justice: Selections from the Shorter Writings of Reinhold Niebuhr, Louisville, KY: John Knox Press. Nietzsche, F. (1882) The Gay Science, trans J. Nauckhoff, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Powell, C. (2004) Remarks on the Occasion of George Kennan’s Centenary Birthday, Princeton, NJ, 20 February. Rauschenbusch, W. (1992) A Theology for the Social Gospel, New York: The Macmillan Company. Rice, C. (2002) ‘A Balance of Power that Favors Freedom’, The Wriston Lectures. ——(2005) Remarks at the American University of Cairo, 20 June. Rousseau, J.-J. (1968 [1762]) The Social Contract, trans. M. Cranston, London: Penguin Books. Sharansky, N. and Dermer, R. (2004) The Case for Democracy: The Power of Freedom to Overcome Tyranny and Terror, New York: Public Affairs. Smith, W.R. (1907) The Religion of the Ancient Semites, London: Adam & Charles Black. Tuveson, E.L. (1949) Millennium and Utopia: A Study in the Background of the Idea of Progress, Berkeley: University of California Press. ——(1968) Redeemer Nation: The Idea of America’s Millennial Role, Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Voegelin, E. (1952) The New Science of Politics: An Introduction, Chicago: University of Chicago. Waltz, K. (1979) Theory of International Politics, Reading, MA: Addison-Wesley. Weber, T. (1983) Living in the Shadow of the Second Coming: American Premillennialism 1875–1982, Chicago: University of Chicago Press. ——(2004) On the Road to Armageddon: How Evangelicals Became Israel’s Best Friend, Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Press. Wilkinson, P. (2007) For Zion’s Sake: Christian Zionism and the Role of John Nelson Darby, Colorado Springs, CO: Paternoster. Wittes, T.C. (n.d.) ‘The New US Proposal for a Greater Middle East: An Evaluation’, Saban Center, Brookings Institution, Middle East Memo No. 2. Woodward, B. (2002) Bush at War, New York: Simon and Schuster. Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 5 From value protection to value promotion Interpreting British security policy Oliver Daddow and Jamie Gaskarth Security policy lends itself to interpretivist analysis as security is an ‘essentially contested concept’ (Buzan 1991: 7–11). This is because neither security theorists nor practitioners can agree on the referent object of security, what actions would render something secure, and what that security might look like. At times, the referent object is ideological (liberty, equality, religious purity), or institutional (democracy, the rule of law, sovereignty, the state), but it can also be material (stability of borders, physical safety of individuals, group integrity). Sometimes bringing about security might require change, whilst at other times, change itself is presented as threatening to the security of the existing order. Security practitioners continually have to interpret the world around them, deciding what needs to be secured, what might threaten the referent object’s security, and how these threats might be addressed. Since 1945, British policy makers have been compelled to deal with the ramifications of this fluid interpretation of security. In one lifetime, Britain has declined from being an imperial power with global interests, to the island of Great Britain, Northern Ireland and 14 small overseas territories. In managing this decline, policy makers had to redefine what ‘essence’ of Britain the nation’s security policy was trying to preserve as its material make-up underwent major change. As a result, questions of identity have never been far from the surface. Debates about what core elements of ‘Britain’ needed to be secured were bound up with arguments over which elements of British identity need to be defended. A number of excellent studies have analysed how Britain has forged its domestic security policy (Bonner 2007; Donohue 2008; Hewitt 2007). This chapter argues that the manner in which British elites have positioned Britain in the wider world tells us a great deal about how they have come to perceive its global identity, and what aspects of this it values and wishes to secure. For reasons of space we concentrate on the most influential and readily accessible sources of thinking about Britishness – elite opinion – whilst acknowledging that they are reflected by and within wider cultural currents of opinion, for example in the media, the academy and civil society at large. To achieve this goal, we start from the assumption that policy makers interpret and make sense of security policy in relation to inherited traditions Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 74 Oliver Daddow and Jamie Gaskarth that shape decision making. Some of these traditions have proven pervasive. Such themes as continuity and bipartisanship have long been prominent and arguably militated against radical reconsideration of Britain’s position in world affairs (Gaskarth 2006). Despite such structural upheavals as world wars, the end of Empire and the end of the Cold War, British foreign, defence and security policies are seen as remarkably impervious to change over time (Kennedy 1985; Clarke 1988; Theakston 2004). In foreign policy ‘marginal rather than decisive’ breaks have been the order of the day (Vickers 2011: 127) and ‘disagreement on foreign policy has tended to be on emphasis, timing and detail, and has not extended to the main principles’ (Shlaim 1977: 26). Lacking much in the way of ideological fervour, the British have usually fallen back on their supposedly unique qualities such as practicality and pragmatism to define the national ‘style’ of managing foreign policy (Hurd 1998; Coles 2000). ‘If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it’, the saying goes, and this has held for British decision making on foreign policy with the pragmatists ‘usually’ proven right (Meyer 2010: 200). Yet, we argue, material changes in Britain’s relative global power have compelled policy makers to reinterpret and alter important aspects of British identity and culture. Ideas of racial superiority, Christian proselytizing, and ‘splendid isolation’ have been marginalized. Pluralism, multiculturalism and interdependence are now privileged, although the idea of the British ‘island race’ retains rhetorical purchase on the libertarian right, particularly on the vexed question of European integration (well covered in Brown 2013). Interpretivism deals with constructions, but – and here we echo John Searle (1995) – the acceptance of a constructivist sensibility does not necessarily entail the suggestion that the world is only an ideational construct for the agents involved. Nor does it see the production of meaning as structurally determined by contextual forces. Rather, interpretivism explores how individual agents interact with the social and the material worlds, in the process illuminating the traditions that shape the beliefs and practices of policy makers and are shaped by them. These traditions are often leaned upon and reinterpreted in response to policy dilemmas. Challenges to prevailing social, political or economic assumptions occur regularly in the dynamic environment of international politics. As policy makers grapple to understand and respond to these developments, they often make overt references to traditions as a way of endowing their actions with meaning and rendering them intelligible and legitimate in the eyes of others. In this chapter, we explore one particularly important tradition of British external policy making: the desire to maintain Britain’s great power status. This has arguably shaped all aspects of Britain’s strategic security policy thinking and national security practices from the Second World War to the present. The prolonged build-up to European Economic Community (EEC) entry in 1973 and the aftermath of the Cold War represent two distinct periods within which we identify dilemmas being recognized, interpreted and acted upon by British decision makers. The first section brings into dialogue the Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d From value protection to value promotion 75 literatures on British foreign policy and security culture as a way of illustrating what is often taken to be a remarkably persistent tradition of thought about Britain in the world going back to Winston Churchill in 1948. In the second section we explain how we have set about using this book’s analytical framework of traditions and dilemmas by surveying a previous dilemma for the British political establishment: the recognition that Britain was no longer a globally dominant actor which grew to prominence over the period of the Suez crisis in 1956 to defence retrenchment from east of Suez in 1967. The third section considers how Britain coped when existential security threats – such a potent force in identity creation and reinforcement – no longer pertained after the Cold War. We examine the beliefs on which policy makers drew to inform their appreciation of the meaning for British security of the collapse of the Soviet threat, and try to gauge how those beliefs altered in response to new knowledge about the global security environment as it emerged and was processed through an engagement with changing security thinking and practice after 1989. We argue through the chapter that the years after 1989 witnessed British decision makers facing a radical dilemma over security policy, a much more radical one than the earlier reorientation to an Europeanist approach in the 1970s. How could security be defined and guaranteed when the Soviet threat to the integrity of the state had collapsed and ‘new’ or what came to be known as ‘asymmetric’ threats (see King 2008: 649) were neither as visible nor as manageable using armed force as during the supposed heyday of Cold War and Empire? Defence reviews over this period have reinforced the impression that Britain no longer faces physical threats to its security but is confronted by a series of diffuse challenges that are not national but global. National elites have, more by luck than judgement, been able to reinvigorate the decades old Churchillian idea that Britain can enact a ‘great’ global role, but they have constantly had to recalibrate how to achieve this elusive goal. In particular, accepting that global interdependence has compelled a redefinition of the national interest, politicians have switched from security conceived as the protection of territory and liberal values, to security as the promotion of liberal ethics and, where necessary, expeditionary intervention into other states’ territories. ‘Making the world safe for democracy’ has become coterminous with ‘making the world safe for Britain’. In short, since the end of the Cold War, Britain’s tactics might have altered, but the overall strategy of maintaining a global leadership role remains undimmed. Core remnants of the ‘great power’ tradition have thus been reshaped to account for the promotion of values alongside the protection of interests. Interpreting security traditions: from foreign policy to strategic culture The structure and patterns can only be discerned by standing back from the immediate battles with a long-term rather than a short-term perspective, Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 76 Oliver Daddow and Jamie Gaskarth examining those things that the participants take for granted: the shared images, assumptions and beliefs and the ‘rules of the game’. (Freedman 1976: 449) At first sight British security policy might not seem to offer much in the way of fertile ground for an interpretivist approach. Conceptions of Britain’s role in the world have, the consensus goes, been relatively impervious to change over time, with the hazy notion of playing the part of a ‘global power’ producing little in the way of explicit discussion of the purpose of foreign policy. Writing in 2000, former Permanent Under Secretary (PUS) at the Foreign and Commonwealth Office John Coles noted that the last prime minister to attempt to explain Britain’s long-term strategic objectives was Winston Churchill with his ‘three circles’ model in 1948. Churchill argued that Britain occupied a unique position in global affairs because it was positioned at the epicentre of the ‘three great circles among the free nations and democracies’: the British Commonwealth and Empire; the ‘English-speaking world’, particularly the United States, Canada and Australia; and, very much last on the list, ‘United Europe’ (Churchill 1948: 153). Since Churchill’s time, Coles (2000: 4) contends, not much has altered because ‘there has been a failure or an inability to define an overall purpose for Britain overseas’. Commentators from within the academic community have generally found Coles to be correct, suggesting that if we appreciate Churchill’s worldview we can understand the practice of British foreign policy since 1945 (see Deighton 2005; Hill 2010). William Wallace (1992: 424) suggests that Churchill managed to create a ‘consensus’ about the national interest in 1940 which saw Britain through arguably the most serious challenge to its national security in living memory. His ‘idealised and inspirational “toughness”’ as well as his resoluteness to stand firm against tyranny are regularly invoked by politicians in Britain, the United States and, ironically in some cases, by leaders well outside of and opposed to ideas that resonate in the transatlantic policy community such as Saddam Hussein (Toye 2008: 365, 374). Churchill’s view of a peace-loving ‘sceptred isle set in a silver sea’ powerfully supported by the English-speaking peoples around the globe ‘set the context for British foreign policy in the decades after the war’ (Wallace 1992: 432). When Churchill’s successors have tried to find a form of words to update the three circles model they have fallen on deaf ears. Either they have been ‘largely ignored by the media’ (Coles 2000: 4), or, we suggest, they have been so heavily indebted to the Churchill model that such novel elements as they contained were subsumed into stilted linguistic rendering around notions of pivots and hubs (Daddow 2011: 222–24; Daddow and Gaskarth 2011). Douglas Hurd’s 1992 suggestion that through the 1980s and early 1990s ‘Britain has punched above her weight in the world’ (quoted Wallace 1992: 438) is perhaps the nearest we have to a successor to the Churchill cliché, yet it is getting at the same idea. In other words, regardless of the obvious domestic and international upheavals Britain has encountered in the second half of the Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d From value protection to value promotion 77 twentieth century and beyond, a tradition of thought that sees Britain at the centre of global decision making, with an influential role in the world, has persisted. The imaginative horizons of how Britain can, and should, act in the global arena remain extensive despite the decline in its relative material capabilities. Furthermore, even though identifying ‘national’ or broader ‘Western’ approaches to security is problematic following the onset of the Revolution in Military Affairs and the move to transnational organizational frameworks and networked war (Gautam 2009: 415–16), we would argue that it is possible to discern national strategic cultures linked to underlying foreign policy traditions. The traditions are significant because policy makers believed them to exist and acted on those beliefs accordingly. For instance, Øivind Bratberg (2011) points out that British foreign policy since 1945 has been driven by five interlocking concerns: … a privilege for Anglo-American relations, with NATO [the North Atlantic Treaty Organization] as corollary; insular reserve towards the European continent; a maintained global presence with special preference for the Commonwealth; a policy based on pragmatism rather than principle; and, finally, a liberal belief in international trade. (Bratberg 2011: 331) Bratberg identifies that the British tradition is founded on both substance (the geostrategic content of the relationships the country has sought to put in place to safeguard its security) and a certain pragmatic style that is essentially reactive and forecloses the need for much in the way of theoretical reflection or what could pejoratively be deemed the ‘intellectualization’ of British foreign policy. Bratberg’s ‘insular reserve’ point is perhaps the emblematic one to take away from what is a standard account of Britain’s foreign policy priorities. It is certainly echoed in the literature on strategic culture and national ways of war (defined and surveyed in Uz Zaman 2009), which takes seriously ideas as they affect the practice of the use of force at state and increasingly transnational levels. We conclude this section by noting, therefore, that the Churchill ‘tradition’ has been a powerful force in British foreign policy rhetoric since 1945. Alastair Miskimmon (2004) argues that Churchill’s ordering of the three circles, with Europe at the bottom, even holds for periods, such as post-1997, when supposedly Europeanist prime ministers have been resident in Downing Street. Even under Tony Blair, he suggests, Britain remained torn between engaging wholeheartedly in European initiatives which might lead to tighter political integration and enacting an Atlanticist vision of pre-emptive security which came to a head with the Iraq invasion of 2003. In a similar vein, Sten Rynning (2003) suggests that the EU’s persistent inability to undertake a coherent supranationally managed defence policy has suited the British (as well as French and German policy makers), in part because it defers the Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 78 Oliver Daddow and Jamie Gaskarth question of duplication with NATO structures and in part because it frees the bigger European powers to involve themselves in flexible coalitions of the willing to deal with security threats. Whilst the strategic environment may have altered quite dramatically since Churchill’s time, it would appear that British policy makers have been able to proceed relatively untroubled through choppy waters by falling back on their tried and trusted pragmatism. The extant literature certainly implies that a straight line can be drawn from Churchill to the present, whether this be articulations of foreign policy ‘vision’ (such as they are) or the practical expression of ideas in security practices, which continue to privilege the Atlanticist over European or other possible ideational inspirations for action. Post-war dilemmas We argue that using the framework of traditions and dilemmas helps us to appreciate that such apparent ‘givens’ in Britain’s global outlook have not been given for all time. Two examples illustrate why this is significant. First, the ‘special relationship’ is an historically contingent and still emerging entity, not the natural ‘order of things’ because ‘relations between Britain and the United States during the 150 years before 1940 were marked by suspicion and rivalry as much as mutual understanding’ (Wallace 1992: 440). The reputation it has been accorded is not necessarily in line with what is a contested historical record, either before Churchill’s time or, in fact, during it, with a succession of US presidents evidently rather bored by the prime minister’s constant references to it (Toye 2008: 367). Second, Margaret Thatcher cited Churchill as a visionary of European integration in the run-up to the 1984 European Parliament elections. Given her now iconic status as a staunch critic of European integration and the renowned apathy about European integration on the part of the British public, we might have expected Thatcher to have ignored Churchill’s zeal for a united Europe in favour of a more pragmatic line that accepted his view that Britain’s European relations were, at best, a necessary evil in the pursuit of British interests. That she went so far to rebalance the historical memory of Churchill shows the power of circumstances at the time and the ‘multiple uses’ to which Churchill’s memory can be put (Toye 2008: 370). There is nothing inbuilt into the structure of the Churchill ‘consensus’ that determines the composite beliefs of agents facing electoral or other pressing political pressures. The interpretivist perspective allows us to dig down into the lifeworld of the individual agent as they form their beliefs in a wider collective dialogue with the past and the present; it reminds us that the history of the reception and popularization of a narrative tradition is never quite as simple as it may appear in hindsight when it becomes sedimented as a collective social and institutional ‘fact’ (Searle 1995: 113–26). We agree therefore that foreign and security policy thought has remained heavily dependent on Churchillian imagery and rhetoric, but suggest that the Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d From value protection to value promotion 79 beliefs that sustain this tradition have not been fixed. In fact, the tradition itself has undergone some subtle but perceptible and important shifts over time. In foreign policy we would not expect dilemmas, however acute, to prompt overnight alterations to thinking or practice, yet tectonic shifts are detectable beneath the surface. We illustrate how we can track these medium- and longterm alterations to foreign and security policy beliefs using the period 1945–73 as a case study in geostrategic upheaval creating a series of dilemmas which were only slowly and reluctantly recognized as dilemmas by elite decision makers. Ultimately, they came to appreciate that Britain faced an existential crisis of national identity. Decolonization and relative economic decline meant that global troop deployments – the embodiment of Britain’s national identity as a world power – were unsustainable. As policies altered in response to this new knowledge, the web of beliefs that sustained the Churchillian tradition had to be reconfigured. Table 5.1 illustrates how we have enacted the traditions and dilemmas framework for understanding the interaction between beliefs and traditions in British foreign and security policy at a time of upheaval in the international system. In the left-hand column we identify the pre-1973 tradition of thought about Britain’s identity, role in the world and the concomitant foreign and security posture which was encapsulated by Churchill and widely accepted by politicians across the political spectrum. This was the vision of Britain Table 5.1 Dilemmas in British foreign and security policy, 1945–73 Pre-1973 tradition Web of beliefs Britain an internationally focused global actor (traditional outlook) Dilemmas Post-1973 tradition ‘Special relationship’ Suez crisis Britain a global actor with United States working from a regional Imperial power Decolonization base ‘inside’ Europe (post-traditional outlook) Blue Streak European balancer from missile crisis outside Economic decline UN Security Council and NATO key memberships Capitalist not communist power Liberal free trade Key security threats: Soviet Union and imperial insurgencies Develop independent nuclear technology and sustain conventional forces in Europe and east of Suez Security as protection of territory and values Note: Italicized beliefs are those that were reconfigured as decision makers began to realize the scale of the foreign and security dilemmas they faced. Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 80 Oliver Daddow and Jamie Gaskarth operating at the intersection of its three circles of power and influence to shape global developments. It fed through into, for instance, Harold Macmillan’s conviction that Britain could play Greece to America’s Rome by helping Washington learn how to execute responsibly its newfound global great power status, and simultaneously turn that power in Machiavellian fashion to serve British interests. Flawed though it was, according to Nigel Ashton, the Greek-Roman rendering of the ‘special relationship’ lasted well into Macmillan’s time as prime minister, 1957–63 (Ashton 2005: 697–98). In the other circles, the Commonwealth provided Britain with diplomatic connections and economic resources, and London looked to encourage European integration but very much from the outside. In the second column above we identify the web of beliefs that sustained the Churchillian tradition. This is the tradition that informed the British establishment’s interpretation of Britain as a global actor in the early post-war years. The first three beliefs were those associated with Britain’s geopolitical position. First, the newly discovered wartime ‘special relationship’ with the United States was built on the shared history of recent military endeavour against the Axis powers, intelligence sharing, cultural connections and common language. Second, the Commonwealth was important because it was ‘considered to be the source of [Britain’s] structural power at the time’ (Váška 2009: 121). Continental Europe remained the most problematic of the three circles and certainly in the first 15 years after 1945 British policy makers could not quite let go of the idea that Britain should act as a balancer outside rather than inside Europe. London stood aloof from the creation of the European Coal and Steel Community (ECSC) in 1950–52, the European Defence Community (EDC) in 1950–54, of which Churchill was extremely critical, and then the Rome Treaty that led to the establishment of the EEC in 1957. The remaining beliefs that informed and were informed by this tradition flowed from how British policy makers viewed Britain’s identity as a global actor in these circles of influence, and how they constructed global developments in the emerging Cold War as threats to British security and interests. Fourth, then, alliance building in NATO led by its trusted partner of choice, the United States, trumped anything the Europeans might have hoped to build in the form of the EDC. A seat at the United Nations (UN) Security Council five permanent members’ (P-5) table reinforced Britain’s self-perception as a great global power. Fifth and sixth, policy makers saw Britain’s identity firmly within the ‘Western’ camp as a capitalist power pursuing liberal free trade abroad combined with nationalization of key industries such as coal and steel at home, particularly under the reforming Clement Attlee governments of 1945–51. They were combined uneasily with elements of an imperial posture in short-lived Franco-British designs in 1946–48 to recolonize parts of the Belgian Congo to build a European ‘Third Force’ distinct from both Soviet-style communism and US-style capitalism (Kent and Young 1989). Thus, policies inspired by the ‘socialist’ tradition could be said to have been one of the mitigating factors against Britain’s closer entanglement in what Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d From value protection to value promotion 81 was seen as a Christian Democratic and capitalist continental Europe in the early years of the integration project. Meanwhile, collaborative ventures as the doomed Third Force seemed to teach London elites that its European neighbours would not provide Britain with the requisite stability or resources to pursue its security interests in the emerging Cold War, hence the much-vaunted turn to NATO in 1949. Seventh, the core security challenge facing Britain was no longer from Germany (although it was not ruled out, even in its divided and externally managed state) but from the Soviet Union. In addition to fears about the Soviet threat to UK territory, colonial insurgencies such as in Malaya kept London’s focus on the global picture and in a state of tension about communist incursions into ‘Western-friendly’ territories. Eighth, combining great power pretensions with basic security concerns there was a belief that Britain should develop the ‘ultimate’ deterrent of nuclear weapons, and that its ‘bomb’ should be independent of US input. Research and development that began under the Attlee Labour governments continued unabated through the Conservative years 1951–55 when Churchill was back in power (see Mawdsley, in this collection). This was a source of broad but not total cross-party agreement from the leaderships. For example, the ‘Keep Left’ wing of the Labour Party questioned the ethics of nuclear weapons research and testing and was suspicious of what it saw as Britain’s slavish adherence to US security practices. The final belief is a touch harder to pin down but it can be summarized as the assumption that security at this time was about national survival and the protection of national interests. This belief consisted of a ‘hard’ security agenda emphasizing the protection of national territory, colonial territories and the territorial integrity of liberal democratic states against a potentially revanchist Germany and/or Communist Soviet Union. The web of beliefs that sustained this traditional approach to British foreign and security policy sat in a dynamic relationship with each other, so that as new knowledge came to light that caused individuals to reconsider their faith in one belief, so other beliefs became destabilized and subject to reassessment. The italicized beliefs in Table 5.1 are those that changed, as policy makers perceived that the Churchillian conception of British foreign and security policy was no longer sustainable in the first two decades after the Second World War. Four dilemmas were most apparent in bringing about this reassessment. First, the Suez crisis of 1956 taught British leaders the lesson that it was dangerous to act contrary to the wishes, and/or without the support of, the Washington government. It further damaged relations with France after the failure of the Third Force, and was widely vilified as the desperate actions of a colonial power in decline. Suez therefore bolstered the US circle, disrupted Britain’s leadership of the Commonwealth circle and left the Europe circle as indecipherable to London as before. The second dilemma came from decolonization. The Suez affair confirmed in the Commonwealth circle that Britain could no longer exert the global leadership it once did as countries Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 82 Oliver Daddow and Jamie Gaskarth formerly administered by the Empire called for independence to make their own way in the world. This process began with India and Pakistan in 1947, and the pace rapidly picked up in the 1960s as the ‘winds of change’ blew through the British territories in Africa. The third dilemma struck at the heart of Britain’s security concerns and great power pretensions – the Blue Streak missile crisis leading to the Nassau Agreement of December 1960–62. The John F. Kennedy Administration’s planned cancellation of the Skybolt missile system announced in late 1962 would have singlehandedly destroyed the opportunity for a UK nuclear deterrent in the 1960s themed around the Blue Streak Intermediate Range Ballistic Missile system. The Nassau Agreement that Kennedy negotiated with Prime Minister Macmillan enabled Britain to buy the replacement Polaris system for use with British warheads. Nassau showed that the British were fundamentally reliant on the United States for the ultimate security guarantee; that the defence of Europe against a conventional or Soviet threat needed more in the way of a British and/or European effort in case the United States could not or chose not to be involved in a hot war; and it emphasized the fragility of the economic basis on which Britain’s great power pretensions were being maintained. This links to the final dilemma, which was new knowledge about Britain’s ailing economy and changing trade patterns away from the Commonwealth and towards Europe, both of which impinged on the relative balance that London elites accorded the three circles in their foreign and security policy thinking. The British economy suffered low rates of growth compared to its European counterparts in the first three decades after the Second World War; its share of global markets plummeted from 25% in 1950, such that by 2000 it was just 5% (Váška 2009: 123). It was only when the Treasury took a firm and what became a ‘critical’ grip through the Lee Report of 1961, however, that the message started to hit home to Macmillan and his Cabinet (Toomey 2003: 229) that Europe might be a solution. It was underscored by the discovery that the Commonwealth had been replaced at the beginning of the 1960s by the EEC as Britain’s main trading partner (Váška 2009: 123). Together, this series of dilemmas added up to a period within which new knowledge about Britain’s reduced standing in the world as the country at large prompted decision-making elites to fear for the nation’s future health, and they added up to one big dilemma: the dilemma of decline. The first application to join the EEC was launched by Macmillan’s Conservative government in 1961–63 on the basis of economic calculations about the British interest, not any sudden conversion to the European ideal. It offered ‘a potentially valuable solution to a period of economic and political difficulty’ (Kavanagh and Morris 1994: 106). Labour’s Harold Wilson launched a second and similarly unsuccessful application in 1967 on the same calculation of costs and benefits to Britain’s ability to play out a great power role without getting its economy in order (see Daddow 2003). In particular, the stabilization loan of £850 million from the International Monetary Fund (IMF) in Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d From value protection to value promotion 83 1964–65 could not stave off the devaluation of sterling in November 1967 nor the need for a further IMF loan in 1968 (Váška 2009: 126–27). Defence cuts and retrenchment to bases east of the Suez Canal exposed as a sham Britain’s ability to maintain a global presence because it meant the ‘end of Britain’s global military role’ and confirmed its reduced status compared to the United States and Soviet Union. As Toye (2008: 369) notes, ‘The [Lyndon] Johnson administration saw this as weakening the fight against communism in South-East Asia, and the State Department determined that it would no longer make favourable comparisons between Wilson and Churchill as it had previously’. Britain finally joined the EEC under Edward Heath in 1973, marking what Váška (2009) calls the onset of a post-traditional foreign and security policy. It was not ‘modern’ because memories of the past still haunted policy makers who had been schooled on Empire and – largely – global military successes, memories that resonate to this day (Daddow 2011; Gaskarth 2013). In this section we discussed the interaction between traditions and beliefs about British foreign and security policy in the period 1945–73, and saw how these altered in response to dilemmas. The next section will use this framework to assess the traditions, beliefs and dilemmas that altered British security thought and practice after the Cold War. Reconfiguring the tradition: from post-war to post-Cold War In the post-Cold war era, a new dilemma for policy makers emerged: how could they plan for Britain’s security in the apparent absence of existential threats? When the Soviet Union collapsed, it left the UK operating in a security environment that was less threatening than at any time since perhaps the 1830s. The downfall of communist regimes across the European continent meant that social democracies such as Britain no longer had to be wary of internal or external ideological challenges. As Malcolm Chalmers puts it, Europe had ‘evolved into a deeply rooted “peace community”’, in which war between European states was no longer ‘a factor in defence planning’ (Chalmers 2011: 25). So many of the trappings of great power status are bound up with military capability – whether possession of an independent nuclear deterrent (Allen 2011; Wallace and Phillips 2009: 270), or the capacity to deploy a division-sized force into combat within a matter of months (King 2011) – that an absence of threat might have posed problems for Britain’s great power identity. However, in a famous speech to the Conservative Party conference in 1995, the then Defence Secretary Michael Portillo declared: ‘we are not ashamed to celebrate Britain’s military prowess … to remind the world that this great nation will not be put upon, before evoking the motto of the SAS, “Who Dares Wins” as a rallying cry of national purpose’ (Portillo 1995). Yet the sentiments that Portillo evoked were already anachronistic. No other state was trying to ‘put upon’ the UK in the decade after the Cold War ended. Nor, even 18 years later, has any state emerged to pose an existential threat to Britain’s survival as a territory or political community. Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 84 Oliver Daddow and Jamie Gaskarth The first serious effort to strategize Britain’s defence planning after the Cold War, the 1998 Strategic Defence Review (SDR), began with the declaration that: ‘there is today no direct military threat to the United Kingdom or Western Europe. Nor do we foresee the re-emergence of such a threat’ (MOD 1998: 8). Although it went on to suggest that instability in Bosnia and Kosovo threatened British security, and instability in Africa might do so indirectly, it did not discuss existential threats to the UK itself, but possible threats to individual citizens or British interests abroad. Such threats were far more diffuse and open to interpretive dispute compared to the overwhelming danger of invasion or, later, nuclear annihilation, that the UK had faced for much of the twentieth century. In the aftermath of the Cold War, Britain reduced its forces by a third and its defence budget declined by 23% in real terms between 1990 and 1998 (MOD 1998: 9). In the absence of existential security threats, and facing recession at home, the UK adopted a circumspect approach to military commitments abroad. When ethnic conflict broke out in the Balkans with the break-up of Yugoslavia, the UK deliberately limited the mandate of UN forces on the ground – of which British forces were a significant part – to avoid becoming embroiled in offensive operations (Kampfner 2003: 37). It also actively resisted efforts to involve the Security Council in the ethnic conflict in Rwanda (Curtis 2004: 281–82). However, the human cost of these policies and the responsibility Britain held for blocking attempts to confront human rights abuses in Bosnia and Rwanda with force meant that Britain’s identity as an effective military and political actor was tarnished. When ethnic conflict broke out in Kosovo in 1998, it is possible to see a desire to reaffirm British leadership in the region and thereby reassert Britain’s great power status. Tim Garden notes that ‘From the start the UK Government saw itself in a leading role in Europe, in NATO and in the UN’, citing Robin Cook’s statement to the house that ‘No nation has done more to seek a peaceful settlement for Kosovo than Britain. It was Britain that convened and chaired the Heathrow meeting of the Contact Group … It was Britain which then made a leading contribution to the verification mission to police the supposed cease-fire. It was Britain and France that jointly chaired the peace talks at Rambouillet and in Paris’ (Garden 2000). Cook favourably contrasted the restoration of Britain’s identity as a leading power with the previous administration’s more cautious approach to the use of force during the Bosnian war: ‘Milosevic was beaten in Kosovo. If our predecessors in Government had acted as decisively to stop him in the past decade then we would never have seen the tragedy of Kosovo’ (Cook 1999). The human rights abuses committed in Kosovo by Serbian forces were on a far smaller scale than those that had occurred in Bosnia. What was arguably different was, in part, the desire to reaffirm British leadership by adopting a more active approach to confronting ethnic conflict. Doing so allowed Britain to express its status as a great power, demonstrated its capacity for military action, and in the process justified the continuation of high levels of defence Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d From value protection to value promotion 85 spending despite the lack of a significant threat to the mainland. As such, it served a number of political ends. To gain international support for military action in what was a civil conflict, a number of overlapping traditions were evoked. Most prominently, neoliberal beliefs about the globalizing character of world politics and the increasing interconnections between communities, both economic and political, contributed to the sense that previous assumptions about sovereignty no longer applied. Westphalian categories of foreign and domestic, inside and outside the state, standing in the way of intervention, were dismissed in favour of a belief that globalization had made them redundant. Interdependence, it was argued, exaggerated the susceptibility of states to security threats, while global media technologies brought an immediacy and urgency to the pictures and stories of human suffering from far-flung parts of the world. Importantly, this belief about political transformation was directly linked with the tradition of neoliberalism by policy makers. For instance, Tony Blair asserted in his Chicago speech in 1999 that: Globalisation has transformed our economies and our working practices … We are all internationalists now, whether we like it or not. We cannot refuse to participate in global markets if we want to prosper. We cannot ignore new political ideas in other counties if we want to innovate. We cannot turn our backs on conflicts and the violation of human rights within other countries if we want still to be secure. (Blair 1999b) Underpinning this argument was the globalizing and universalizing tradition of neoliberalism. Neoliberal economics, opening up markets and creating social links across borders were seen as feeding into a process of spreading universal political values. Robin Cook argued the following year that: the age of globalisation is creating more progressive pressures. Regimes which govern their citizens by fear and repression cannot expect the same people to display the creativity and innovation in the workplace which are essential for a knowledge-based economy. (Cook 2000) The result of this interdependence was, for New Labour policy makers, a pressure to converge around a common set of global beliefs, a ‘global alliance for global values’, as Blair described it (Blair 2006b). Importantly for security, this led to a belief that challenges to these values abroad constituted a threat to Britain, via this sense of global interconnectedness. At the regional level, geographical proximity lent weight to the sense of direct British interests under threat. In his statement to the House of Commons on 23 March 1999, Blair argued for action on the basis that, ‘If Kosovo was left to the mercy of Serbian repression, there is not merely a risk but a probability of re-igniting unrest in Albania; Macedonia de-stabilised; almost certain Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 86 Oliver Daddow and Jamie Gaskarth knock-on effects in Bosnia; and further tension between Greece and Turkey’ (Blair 1999a). Putting Britain in the position of regional spokesman, he asserted that ‘There are strategic interests for the whole of Europe at stake’ (Blair 1999a). However, the same processes would, for Blair, also have global ramifications. In a reflective speech towards the end of his premiership, Blair argued that the lesson of Kosovo was that ‘the rule book of international politics has been torn up. Interdependence – the fact of a crisis somewhere becoming a crisis everywhere – makes a mockery of traditional views of national interest’ (Blair 2006c). In response to Kosovo, Robin Cook called for a ‘new internationalism’, transposing a term from the socialist tradition onto a narrative accepting of the neoliberal forces of globalization (Cook 1999). The same logics of regional risks becoming globalized, increasing need for intervention, and Britain’s role as a leading power, were all evident in the UK’s response to the dilemma of how to deal with the global phenomenon of Islamist terrorism. Although it was common for security policy makers to emphasize the extent to which 9/11 represented a major change in the security environment, Blair argued that ‘At another level, it made sense of developments’ he had ‘seen growing in the world these past years’ (Blair 2010: 345). In particular, he depicted Britain as embroiled in ‘a battle that was ideological … about the force and consequence of globalisation’ (Blair 2010: 346). In response to the growth in Islamist terrorism, Blair argued elsewhere that ‘we have to act, not react; we have to do so on the basis of prediction not certainty; and such action will often, usually indeed, be outside of our own territory’ (Blair 2006c). In other words, actions in the name of British security would be based on the looser basis of probability and prediction rather than material evidence. To gain international support for them, Blair argued for ‘an agreed basis of principle, of values that are shared and fair. Common action only works when founded on common values’ (Blair 2006c). From an interpretivist perspective, the agreed basis Blair evoked is perhaps as revealing by its omissions as by what it included. In conjuring up supposedly ‘global values’, largely derived from a liberal democratic tradition of ‘liberty, democracy, tolerance, justice’, it is striking that there is no mention of human rights in the entire speech, and only one mention of the rule of law, centred on events in Iraq. Neither are human rights mentioned at all in the second of his three valedictory speeches on foreign policy in 2006, specifically dedicated to outlining the basis of these ‘global’ values. To the fore then, in fact, was the neoliberal emphasis on free markets and democratic governance, rather than other possible aspects of this tradition like individual rights. Blair’s characteristic framework for discussing security challenges was themed around a series of binary oppositions, such as the ‘the age-old battle between progress and reaction’, progressives versus conservatives, engagement versus isolation, modernity versus a ‘pre-feudal’ ideology, extremism versus ‘the true voice of Islam’, and the ‘reactionary and regressive’ in opposition to those who believe in democracy and liberty (Blair 2006a). In doing so, it is apparent that Blair offers a polarized, Manichaean world in which neoliberal economics and Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d From value protection to value promotion 87 politics were privileged as ‘progressive’ and enlightened, with intervention in notionally sovereign states justified as part of a civilizing process. On the face of it, the Conservative-Liberal coalition government from 2010 has questioned this appraisal of British security, certainly as far as New Labour’s commitment of troops around the globe is concerned. David Cameron asserted in his first Mansion House speech in November 2010 that New Labour had, militarily, ‘made too many commitments without the resources to back them up’ (Cameron 2010). Although he did commit British forces to action in Libya five months later, it is notable that he emphasized: ‘It is not about choosing the Government of Libya; that is an issue for the Libyan people’ (Cameron 2011). In light of controversy over the legal basis to the 2003 Iraq war, Cameron introduced three key criteria to intervention: ‘demonstrable need, regional support, and a clear legal basis’ (Cameron 2011). The last two of these were absent from Blair’s six criteria for action set out in his Chicago speech and suggested a greater emphasis on multilateralism and international law (see Daddow and Schnapper 2013). Yet, in security terms, it is arguable that Cameron was still committing Britain to a ‘war of choice’ rather than necessity. Just as Blair had attempted to link Kosovo to Europe’s regional security, so Cameron also defended action on Libya in the same manner: ‘We simply cannot have a situation where a failed pariah state festers on Europe’s southern border’ (Cameron 2011). The assumption that security threats required a response even if they were distant, and that Britain should play a leading role in international action, were accepted unchallenged. In short, the tradition of neoliberalism at the ‘end of history’ has been a potent force in British security thinking in the post-Cold War era. Underlying beliefs about globalization, interconnectedness and the universalizing pressure for ‘global values’ has encouraged policy makers to see indirect threats as of major importance. In the process, Britain has been able to continue, and reinforce, the performance of its self-identity as a global leader via the use of military force. As a result, it has largely avoided making difficult choices about demilitarization and has made little effort radically to redesign its security forces to confront non-military threats from transnational crime, the environment, health risks and insecurities in the structure of the neoliberal economic system. Conclusion This chapter explored the traditions and dilemmas that have informed British security thought and practice since 1945. Going back to the end of the Second World War we interpreted the composition of the underlying traditions that have been brought to bear in this realm, whilst illustrating how a series of dilemmas compelled policy elites, incrementally and reluctantly, to confront new knowledge and reconfigure their web of beliefs about how to secure and advance British security interests as a result. In the period 1945–73 policy makers cleaved to a Realist understanding of security as an extension of foreign Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 88 Oliver Daddow and Jamie Gaskarth policy, all framed by the Churchillian tradition of seeing Britain as a ‘great’ global power positioned at the intersection of global diplomacy and military might. This was security achieved via the influence that came from Britain being a founder member of the P-5 of the UN and the NATO alliance, glossed rhetorically with enthusiastic talk of the vitality of the Anglo-American ‘special relationship’. The Commonwealth remnants of Empire helped Britain to support its global troop commitments physically in the form of forward military bases and access to naval ports, and in the initial post-war years by providing a relatively secure economic foundation. Europe was the poor relation of the three circles: British decision makers in both main political parties were interested in Europe but preferred not to be associated too closely with nascent moves to integration as they developed through the 1950s. The end of the Cold War saw the ‘Western’ understanding of the ‘end of history’ give real impetus to the idea that the ‘Cold War was won’, with the neoliberal economic model itself becoming part of the security narrative that British policy makers defended and promoted. The tradition of claiming ‘great’ power pretensions for Britain never left the rhetoric, as we have seen through our study of Blair’s and Cameron’s speeches and writings on security. Policy making elites bolted their new knowledge about the impact of globalization onto the Churchill tradition. Significantly, they did not wish or seek to overturn it, so much as rework Churchill for the modern era, in light of their understanding of ‘new’ realities after 1989. 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Harold Wilson and European Integration: Britain’s Second Application to Join the EEC, London: Frank Cass, 227–42. Toye, R. (2008) ‘The Churchill Syndrome: Reputational Entrepreneurship and the Rhetoric of Foreign Policy since 1945’, British Journal of Politics and International Relations 10(3): 364–78. Uz Zaman, R. (2009) ‘Strategic Culture: A “Cultural” Understanding of War’, Comparative Strategy 28(1): 68–88. Váška, J. (2009) ‘Between Tradition and Modernity: Britain’s Foreign Policy in the Second Half of the 1960s’, Acta Univeritatis Carolinae Studia Territorialia IV: 119–48. Vickers, R. (2011) The Labour Party and the World, Volume 2: Labour’s Foreign Policy since 1951, Manchester: Manchester University Press. Wallace, W. (1992) ‘British Foreign Policy After the Cold War’, International Affairs 68(3): 423–42. Wallace, W. and Phillips, C. (2009) ‘Reassessing the Special Relationship’, International Affairs 85(2): 263–84. Waltz, K.N. (2010) Theory of International Politics, Long Grove, IL: Waveland Press. Wendt, A. (1995) ‘Constructing International Politics’, International Security 20(1): 71–81. Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 6 Negotiating the global security dilemma Interpreting Russia’s security agenda Aglaya Snetkov With the proliferation of discussion about global order change in recent years, and accompanying predictions about a greater role for non-Western great powers, or the so-called rising powers, in questions of global governance and security (Alexandroff and Cooper 2010; Ikenberry and Wright 2008; Young 2010; Schweller 2011; Gu et al. 2008; Drezner 2007; Ikenberry 2008), the field of Security Studies is increasingly acknowledging that it is no longer sufficient to examine questions of global security primarily or exclusively through the experience of the West. There is growing recognition that it is empirically necessary to take into account the positions, views and interests of these nonWestern powers in study of international affairs (Zakaria 2008; Glosny 2009; Kappell 2011; Layne 2009; Whitman 2010; Flemes 2011). In turn, theoretical models and concepts should also take into account the contexts and actors within non-Western contexts (Bilgin 2010). The aim of this chapter is to shed light on the way in which one such non-Western power, Russia, has sought to conceptualize and make sense of the global security agenda in the post-Cold War era. Within the extensive body of literature assessing the directions, interests and priorities of contemporary Russian security policy, a bias for positivist realist perspectives continues to exist (see Wegren 2003; Kanet 2005). Indeed, many scholars have sought to characterize the Putin regime as ideologically promoting a more aggressive and largely anti-Western position in global security matters (Blank 2002). However, the interpretivist framework adopted here departs from existing constructivist literature on Russia’s foreign and security policy, which tends to focus primarily on Russia’s identity politics as the driving factor behind the evolution of Russia’s view of itself and the world (see Neumann 2008; Morozov 2008; Tsygankov 2005, 2007; Lomagin 2007; Kassianova 2001; Hopf 2005; Clunan 2009). Instead, as already outlined in Chapter 1 of the book, rather than focusing primarily on concepts such as language, identity, culture or ideas, the interpretivist perspective used here centres primarily on recapturing actors’ beliefs and meanings within their own contexts, and on investigating the process by which ideas and beliefs evolve across time, through the notion of traditions and dilemmas and the principle of ‘situated agency’ (Bevir and Rhodes 2006; Bevir et al. 2013). Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d Negotiating the global security dilemma 93 Thus, rather than focusing on identity politics, this chapter instead examines the way in which Russia’s security policy developed and was structured by the beliefs and traditions adopted by the Putin regime, which in turn fed into and drove the conceptualization of its main security dilemma. The chapter argues that the evolution of Russia’s security policy should be viewed as an attempt by Russian policy makers to deal with what they perceived to be the primary dilemma for post-Soviet Russia: how to fit in and normalize its position within the global security landscape. The more assertive, and at times anti-Western, positions of the Putin regime adopted in the second half of the 2000s were a by-product of this negotiated process and their reading of subsequent external developments, rather than a fixed ideological position. The interpretivist framework adopted here is of particular value for studying non-Western contexts, not just because of its emphasis on the importance of local contexts, but also because it remains agnostic regarding the distinction between internal and external security spheres, or in other words, about from which locale changes to existing traditions and beliefs should come. Unlike in realist approaches, which prioritize or at least have a tendency to draw a distinction between these two security spheres, the interpretivist inductive approach developed primarily from the study of history and British governance (Bevir and Rhodes 2006; Bevir et al. 2013), and thus does not follow any predetermined assumptions about the nature of security concerns in the external or internal spheres. Nor does this approach prioritize one security sphere or context over the other. It is therefore well suited for investigating the way in which Russia’s perceptions of global security concerns were localized within its national context and the interrelationship between its global and local security concerns. This chapter now turns to examine the beliefs and traditions adopted by the Putin regime upon coming to power in 2000; the way in which these beliefs in turn structured the Putin regime’s reading of its primary security dilemma for Russia; and finally the two-stage process advocated by the Russian policy makers for dealing with this security dilemma – the rebuilding of Russia from within (2000–02), and subsequent repositioning of Russia as a more confident and independent actor within the global security architecture (2002–08). Beliefs and traditions of the Putin regime As soon as it came to power in 2000, the ideological and ideational principles of the Putin regime were under close scrutiny, with commentators trying to assess Vladimir Putin’s particular personality traits and attempting to make sense of his past career decisions in order to shed light on this ‘new’ political actor in Russian politics (Dyson 2001). Some highlighted his KGB past and FSB credentials (Herspring 2003: 3–5), some his involvement with liberal groups in St Petersburg in the 1990s (Charap 2004), and others questioned the extent to which the ideas brought in by this regime amounted to a full ideological programme (Evans 2005: 900). Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 94 Aglaya Snetkov Nonetheless, a close reading of Russia’s public discourse in this period suggests that the Putin regime sought to put together a multifaceted programme for Russia based on a series of ‘old’ Russian traditions intertwined with a set of ‘new’ beliefs drawn out of the Putin regime’s reading of Russia’s position and situation in the late 1990s, and their perception about the failures of the previous Yeltsin administration. As noted by Putin himself in 1999, ‘the new Russian idea will come about as a mixture or as an organic combination of universal general humanitarian values with the traditional Russian values that have stood the test of time’ (Putin 1999). Hence, rather than rejecting national traditions, as many analysts have argued the previous administration had done, Putin advocated reconciliation between Russia’s historical legacy and current circumstances (Sakwa, in Ross 2004: 21). In this way, the 2000 National Security, Defence and Foreign Policy Concepts papers all reiterated the principle that global and domestic threats must be dealt with in line with Russia’s traditions.1 Traditional Russian beliefs and the Putin regime Drawing on Russia’s traditions, the Putin regime promoted the importance of a strong state, and the principles of statism and state sovereignty. As noted by Putin, ‘the key to Russia’s recovery and growth today lies in the state-political sphere. Russia needs strong state power and must have it’ (Putin 1999). It was therefore suggested that the lack of a strong state would result in the disintegration of the country from within and an inability to promote its foreign policy abroad, which harked back to the traditional fear of Russia’s collapse either from within or from without. Alongside the importance of a strong state for the establishment of a strong Russia, this political regime also drew on traditional narratives about Russia’s unique position and voice in the world, relating this to Russia’s historical image of itself as a great power. Therefore, alongside the principle of Russia’s uniqueness within the international context, patriotism became yet another central principle at the heart of this regime’s web of beliefs. Putin argued that ‘for the majority of Russians it [patriotism] retains its original and positive meaning’ (Putin 1999), whilst the sense of pride in Russia’s heritage was said to support the idea that ‘Russia was and will remain a great power’ (Putin 1999). In this respect, the uniqueness of Russia’s values and traditions was said to be operating alongside the notion of universal principles that impacted on all international actors, whereby ‘our people have begun to understand and accept supranational universal values which are above social, group or ethnic interests’. However, it was suggested that state policy, and Russia’s revival in particular, should be based on the ‘foundation for the consolidation of Russian society is what can be called the primordial, traditional values of Russians’ (Putin 1999). As noted by Evans, the universal values of democracy, for example, were accepted, but situated and therefore combined with Russia’s traditional values and context to produce a more state-led notion of Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d Negotiating the global security dilemma 95 ‘sovereign democracy’ as publicized by Vladislav Surkov, a key ideologist of the Putin regime (Evans 2005: 905).2 Russia’s uniqueness, the importance of its national interests and position as a great power, were in turn the principles enshrined in the Russian Foreign Policy Concept 2000, where it was argued that the aim of Russian foreign security policy should be: To ensure reliable security of the country, to preserve and strengthen its sovereignty and territorial integrity, to achieve firm and prestigious positions in the world community, most fully consistent with the interests of the Russian Federation as a Great Power … To influence general world processes with the aim of forming a stable, just and democratic world order.3 To bind together this sense of uniqueness, the Putin regime also drew on Russia’s cultural heritage and political symbols of the past, in order to construct a positive image for Russia. The regime therefore revived the old Soviet national anthem music in 2000, made increased references to Soviet victories in the Second World War and promoted the role and place of the Orthodox Church in the Russian cultural context. However, in relation to its civilizational and international position, the Putin regime put forward a rather more ambivalent image of the international system and the West in particular, here too drawing on Russia’s traditional heritage and historically ambivalent relationship with what has traditionally been perceived as Russia’s main ‘Other’ in foreign policy (Evans 2005: 900). Whilst the regime suggested that Russia should be part of the wider, often read as Western-centric, international community, it should do so in line with its national interests and by ensuring its independent position in international affairs (Tsygankov 2007: 380). Contemporary beliefs: fear of the 1990s chaos and the Putin regime Aside from drawing on the set of Russian traditional beliefs outlined above, the Putin regime also sought to re-articulate and draw lessons from the situation in which Russia had found itself in the 1990s, particularly linked to the fear of the chaos of the 1990s, the weakness of Russia’s international position by the late 1990s and the perceived ongoing failure to normalize Russia’s position within the global security architecture. In turn, these ‘newer’ sets of beliefs, particularly with regard to the global security dilemma, centred on the fear of a weak state, the rise of non-traditional security threats, concerns about the development of a Western-led unipolar world system and concern about Russia’s isolation in global security affairs. Upon ascending to power in 2000, the Putin regime therefore suggested that Russia had found itself in a major crisis in the late 1990s whereby ‘morale was exceptionally low. It was suggested that the state was fundamentally weak. The mood was one of humiliation’ (Hill 2008: 475). As noted by Sakwa, in Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 96 Aglaya Snetkov response to this crisis the principle of normalcy in all spheres of political life became a major belief adopted by this administration as President Putin drew a line under the upheavals of the previous decade (Sakwa 2008a). It was argued that Russia must move away from the ‘social experiments’ of the Soviet period, but also from the adaptation of ‘abstract models and schemes taken from foreign textbooks. The mechanical copying of other nations’ experience will not guarantee success, either’ (Putin 1999). In this way, the older belief in Russia’s uniqueness was further reinforced, in light of its experiences in the 1990s, as Putin reiterated that ‘Russia … has to find its own path of renewal’ (Putin 1999). The post-Soviet experiment of moving Russia towards a more pro-liberal, pro-Western power, as seen under Yeltsin in the 1990s, was said to have failed and had left Russia suffering from a mass political, economic and societal dislocation, with a failing political leadership and system (Treisman 2002: 58–59), a country suffering from a weak state, rampant corruption, powerful oligarchs, federal breakdown; mass terrorist and separatist problem in Chechnya; and critically an actor isolated externally from the global security architecture. In their political project for Russia, the Putin regime placed a lot of emphasis on the importance of internal cohesion and the need to follow Russia’s national principles in conjunction with global developments and the need to re-engage internationally (Putin 2000). In addition, and particularly in view of the problems of the late 1990s and in conjunction with more traditional Russian traditional beliefs, the Russian leadership continued to promote the principle of multipolarity (as developed by Foreign Minister Primakov in the late 1990s) in international affairs. This was presented as the best policy tool for guaranteeing both Russia’s unique international position and as a mechanism for counteracting the unipolar model of global security championed by the West. As noted by the Russian Deputy Foreign Minister Vladimir Sredina, Russia would stand against any encroachment of its national interests and would not support any models of European security centred on the principles of ‘NATO [North Atlantic Treaty Organization]-centrism’ (Sredina 1999). Instead, Russia continued to believe in the central role of the United Nations (UN – and particularly the UN Security Council) in the global security architecture, for as noted by Vladimir Sredina in October 1999: One of the central places in our foreign policy has been allocated to efforts to strengthen the United Nations, it is a unique and in many ways without alternatives mechanism for regulating the whole system of international relations. (Sredina 1999) The embrace of the principles of multipolarity and the centrality of the UN in global security was meant to alleviate Russia’s sense of isolation in global security affairs and fear of being left out of future developments in global security and international affairs more generally. Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d Negotiating the global security dilemma 97 Furthermore, and in relation to the image of Russia as a great power, it was suggested that in the future Russia should seek to work in harmony, rather than disunity, with other great powers and the international community in general (Putin 2000). Cooperation between Russia and the outside world was said to be not only possible, but mutually beneficial. As noted by the Russian Foreign Minister Igor Ivanov, during his speech to the French Senate on 27 October 1999, ‘we are proposing building a world where there would be no wars or conflicts’ (Ivanov 1999). The Russian leadership believed that Russia should preserve its state sovereignty, function as a normal great power, and have its voice in the international system. Russia’s security dilemma: how to normalize its position as a great power in the contemporary global security architecture Drawing on these two sets of ‘older’ and ‘newer’ beliefs and traditions, Russian policy makers read Russia’s position in the global security architecture in the early 2000s as a major security dilemma. The dilemma of how to normalize Russia within the global security architecture in the post-Cold War era was not a ‘new’ issue for Russia. However, as noted above, the failure of the previous administration to achieve this aim in the 1990s meant that this major question had returned to the top of Russia’s official foreign security agenda in the early 2000s. Whilst the Putin regime continued to advocate Russia’s return to the international stage as a normal great power, they identified a series of reasons why it was unable to do so at that time, which were centred on Russia’s post-Soviet legacy and shifting international realities that were said to have made Russia weak and internationally sidelined. It was suggested that the extent of this dilemma was so grave that Russia was facing a series of key existential issues and questions that had to be resolved before it could begin to rebuild its strength. Putin outlined that ‘the question for Russia today is what to do next … How can we overcome the still deep ideological and political divisions within society? … What place can Russia occupy in the international community in the twenty first century?’ (Putin 1999). Russia’s inability to engage fully or to have its voice heard in major global security questions, such as the increasingly interventionist policies of the West as witnessed in Kosovo in 1999, the ongoing disagreements between Russia and the West over traditional global security concerns, including the renegotiation of arms treaties, limitation on nuclear proliferation and the possibility of a NATO expansion were all interpreted as major failures. In this respect, Russia was presented as a fallen ‘great power’, although a ‘great power’ nonetheless. As Russia’s National Security Concept argued: Despite the complicated international situation and difficulties of a domestic nature, Russia objectively continues to play an important role in global processes by virtue of its great economic, science-technological and military potential and its unique strategic location on the Eurasian continent.4 Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 98 Aglaya Snetkov In line with the Putin regime’s wider set of beliefs, for Russia to function as a strong global actor and participate fully in the global security agenda, it would have to become a strong state. As a result, the internal weaknesses of the late 1990s were identified as a major reason for Russia’s failure successfully to integrate itself into the global security agenda. As outlined in the 2000 National Security Concept: The state of the economy, an imperfect system of government and civil society, the social and political polarization of Russian society and the criminalization of social relations, the growth of organized crime and increase in the scale of terrorism, the exacerbation of interethnic relations.5 Having characterized Russia as a ‘weak’ state, Putin argued that it had only two choices: to stay weak and be left behind, or to deal with its domestic problems and rebuild itself in order to re-emerge as a ‘strong’ sovereign state once more (Putin 2000). In this way, ‘a central theme running through Putin’s policy’ was ‘recognizing Russia’s weakness and diminishing its impact on domestic and foreign policy’ (Lynch 2005: 143). As well as blaming Russia’s internal weakness, this dilemma was also said to have re-emerged as a result of ongoing shifts in the international system. It was considered that Russia was having to grapple with a changing global system, following the end of the Cold War, both in terms of what this international system would look like in the future, and what its role would be within it in the future (Legvold 2001). The potential global trends towards a unipolar world system (a model that was said to be promoted by the West) were interpreted as a threat to Russia’s principle of multipolarity and overarching ambition to reintegrate itself into the global security architecture. As noted in Russia’s Foreign Policy Concept 2000, the world, and Russia in particular, were experiencing a situation in which: new challenges and threats to the national interests of Russia are emerging in the international sphere. There is a growing trend towards the establishment of a unipolar structure of the world with the economic and power domination of the United States. In solving principal questions of international security, the stakes are being placed on western institutions and forums of limited composition, and on weakening the role of the U.N. Security Council.6 The need to overcome this trend and to ensure that the international system would remain a space in which Russia was able to promote its own interests and act as a significant player was therefore identified as a critical, although at this stage secondary issue for Russian policy makers in the early 2000s. Whilst concerns were raised that other countries may not automatically welcome back a ‘strong’ Russia and that some foreign governments had a vested interest in keeping Russia down, the belief in the possibility of successfully Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d Negotiating the global security dilemma 99 and peacefully reintegrating Russia into the global security architecture remained, as optimism about Russia’s potential to become of ‘great power’ once more prevailed (Putin 2000). Stage 1: internal rebuilding and Russia’s attempts to fit into existing global architecture, 2000–02 Having identified and interpreted the key dilemma of how to normalize Russia’s position in the global security landscape, the Putin regime proceeded to move towards rectifying this problem by prioritizing the need to rebuild Russia’s internal sphere first, and from this base of domestic strength it was then, though, that it would be possible for Russia to regain its position as a ‘great power’ in international security. Hence, the need to deal with the mass economic collapse, societal and political turmoil and the lack of effective state governance were prioritized over the global security agenda in the early 2000s. The project of ‘rebuilding’ Russia was carried out on all fronts, and particularly centred on the four pillars of reconstruction, identified in 1999/2000–01 as: economic growth, state making, nation building, and dealing with the terrorist activity threatening Russia’s stability in Chechnya. On the economic front, despite structural weaknesses and institutional problems (Hanson 2003: 380), the reform proposals of Economics Minister German Gref led to a restructuring of the Russian economic space. These changes included tax reform, deregulation, land and judicial reform (Åslund 2004: 398), devaluation of the rouble and prudent monetary and fiscal policy (Hanson 2003: 380). Furthermore, Russia’s state building centred on three key principles: state integrity (Chechnya), state capacity (federal reforms) and state autonomy (attacks on oligarchs) (Taylor 2003: 1). All of these reforms sought to deal with the state failures inherited from Yeltsin’s administration, which were blamed for Russia’s weaknesses in 2000. Externally, and in view of the idea that Russia must first become strong internally, in order then to regain its position globally, the Russian authorities moved towards a conciliatory international position, showing both goodwill and intention to work within existing global structures. As identified earlier, Russia’s three key foreign policy goals became economic modernization, global competitiveness and regaining its status as a modern great power (Trenin 2004). To this end, rather than a unipolar approach,7 the Putin regime adopted a flexible, multifaceted and pragmatic foreign policy (Lavrov 2005). The Russian leadership also proposed that Russia should reconcile itself with the West, despite its earlier disillusionment in the late 1990s, in view of its internal problems and desire to reintegrate itself back into the international fold. Thus, particularly following 9/11 and the subsequent launch of the US-led ‘war on terror’, Russia presented itself as a much more accommodating and conciliatory global security actor than in the late 1990s. As noted in the 2000 Foreign Policy Concept, ‘today our foreign policy resources are relatively limited’, and as a result Russian Foreign Minister Igor Ivanov noted that Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 100 Aglaya Snetkov Russia’s foreign policy should be pragmatic to help the country resolve its internal problems (Herspring 2003: 231). It was hoped that this new cooperation with the West would create a more favourable global security environment for Russia, enable it to deal with its domestic problems, and to facilitate its return to the global stage as a much strengthened international actor. Russia therefore moved to seek a compromise on the Start 2 Treaty between Russia and the United States in 2000, gave support to the US campaign in Afghanistan in 2001, moved towards the establishment of the Russia-NATO Council in 2002, and launched a much more active policy to revitalize Russia’s fledgling relations with its European partners (Herspring 2003: 238–44). Therefore, in this period its international partners, and particularly the West, acquired a much more positive image and role in Russia’s official foreign policy. Stage 2: Russia’s reassertion of its position in the global security architecture, 2002–08 Following the rebuilding process, particularly in the internal sphere, by the mid-2000s, Russia was no longer presented as an existential security threat to itself, and the overall message from the Russian authorities was one of self-confidence. As noted by the Duma Banking and Finance Committee Chairman Valerii Zubov, from United Russia, on 3 January 2005: ‘The country is not in crisis, not in the political, nor in a crisis of federal relations, nor in economic crisis, there is not a single crisis.’8 Within the official foreign policy strategy Russia was therefore increasingly presented as a great power in the international system, capable of defending its position and interests and no longer prepared to be sidelined in major international developments. According to the Russian Foreign Minister Sergei Lavrov, this signalled the ‘new status’ of Russia, which was ‘on the upgrade’ internationally (Lavrov 2007a). Accordingly, Russia seemed ready to take its rightful place in the international arena among other great powers, a preparedness linked to its internal stability. This was outlined in the 2008 Russian Foreign Policy Concept, which laid out the parameters and principles of Russia’s understanding of its security position, alongside state perceptions of the external environment and Russia’s place within it: Under these conditions, the role and responsibility of Russia in international affairs have qualitatively grown. The chief achievement of recent years is the newly acquired foreign policy independence of Russia. The time is ripe for conceptualization of the new situation, particularly at the doctrinal level.9 Furthermore, as suggested by Lavrov in 2006, ‘the most important thing that we ourselves sensed is that the role of the Russian factor in international affairs has considerably grown’ (Lavrov 2006). However, Russia’s ongoing failure to be fully integrated and accepted into the global security landscape continued to be presented as a major Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d Negotiating the global security dilemma 101 security dilemma; however, this was no longer linked to Russia’s internal position (which had been resolved), but to Western unilateralism, its failure to acknowledge Russia’s national interests and position as a normal great power.10 For Russian officials, the Iraq crisis in 2003 signalled the West’s readiness to use unilateral force, by-passing international law, disregarding the principles of sovereignty, cooperation, multipolarity, respect for national interests and the apparent hollowness of the norms expounded by the West.11 As noted by the Deputy Foreign Minister Aleksander Safonov: The Iraq crisis has become a major test of strength and readiness of the international community to mount real opposition to the global threat of terrorism. Because of the thorough and flexible position of Russia it was possible to resolve the biggest task – to prevent the division of international anti-terrorist coalition, to preserve the mechanisms to return it to its original principles such as adherence to cooperation, the unquestioned legitimacy and central role of the UN. (Ministry for Foreign Affairs of the Russian Federation 2004) Furthermore, as suggested by Trenin, crises such as ‘Iraq and Chechnya, YUKOS and Ukraine have brought the [Russia-West] relationship to even lower depths at the close of 2004 than Kosovo five years earlier’ (Trenin 2004). This sentiment was compounded further by a plethora of new global security tensions between Russia and the West in 2005–08, including energy geopolitics, oil and gas disputes with Ukraine, Belarus, Georgia and Moldova in 2006–08; the potential future NATO expansion towards Georgia and Ukraine; the positioning of US Missile Defence in Poland and the Czech Republic; bilateral friction between Russia and the United States/European Union (EU), together with the friction over the Commonwealth of Independent States (CIS) space, which resulted in the Russian leadership arguing that the key actor preventing Russia from resolving the dilemma of Russia’s return to ‘great power’ status was in fact the West and its role in domestic, regional and global affairs in relation to Russia. This point was exemplified by Putin in 2007: ‘today we are witnessing an almost uncontained hyper use of force – military force – in international relations, force that is plunging the world into an abyss of permanent conflicts’ (Putin 2007). In response, the Russian leadership also increasingly suggested that the West failed to acknowledge that its actions violated key Russian national interests, and used double standards, between its own behaviour and norms imposed upon Russia. Aleksandr Aksenyonok, an ambassador extraordinary and plenipotentiary of the Russian Federation, for example, suggested in December 2008 that: no one can ignore Russia’s natural state interests; there are lines that cannot be crossed. None of these warnings have been taken seriously; and in general Moscow’s arguments have long been running across a wall of more or less polite indifference. (Aksenyonok 2008) Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 102 Aglaya Snetkov With the initial ambivalent image of the West in Russia’s foreign policy agenda, the perceived failure of this actor to take into account Russia’s wider set of beliefs and traditions, and its ongoing attempts to derail Russia’s ambitions to normalize its position in the global security architecture, the West was now presented as Russia’s main ‘Other’, or threat. The Russian official position therefore betrayed disillusionment, disappointment and to some extent resignation with regards to the West. This was the sense in Lavrov’s article in the journal Global Affairs in April–June 2007, in which the West appeared to be securitized: The novelty of the situation is that the West is losing its monopoly on the globalization process. This explains, perhaps, attempts to present the current developments as a threat to the West, its values, and very way of life … Russia is against attempts to divide the world into the so-called ‘civilized mankind,’ and all the others. This is a way to global catastrophe. (Lavrov 2007b) As a result, the Russian authorities hardened their position and defence of national interests vis-à-vis Western powers. As Sakwa notes, alongside political, strategic and security questions, tensions with the West also became a debate over ‘intellectual’ and ‘cultural’ principles of organizing both nation-states and the global world order (Sakwa 2008b: 264). By the end of this period ‘all sides entered into a deeply negative spiral of mutual suspicion that gradually hardened into abuse which in turn gave way to threats and counter threat. Indeed, the scholar Dmitry Furman argued that “there is only one opposition to Putin at present – other countries”’ (Sakwa 2008b: 253). Russia, by the end of Putin’s second term in power, had grown much more confrontational and negative towards its previous Western partners. The crises experienced in the external sphere were often blamed on the West’s refusal to take Russia seriously, and it was felt that it was the West that had lost Russia, and not the other way around. In this way, the Russian authorities had shifted from arguing that it was Russia’s internal failure that was holding it back from normalizing its position as a great power in the global security architecture, towards the suggestion that it was the West that was preventing Russia from successfully resolving its main dilemma in the post-Cold War global environment. Conclusion The key driver of Russia’s security policy under Putin during the 2000s was the ongoing attempt by Russian policy makers to make sense of and negotiate the main dilemma for Russia at the turn of the twenty-first century – how to normalize its position within the global security architecture. In this respect, the Putin regime drew on a set of Russian traditional beliefs, such as the importance of a strong state, Russia’s national culture and unique perspective Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d Negotiating the global security dilemma 103 on global affairs, and its position as a great power internationally. Alongside these ‘older’ sets of beliefs, the regime also sought to draw a series of lessons from more contemporary developments, particularly characterized by the failure of the previous administration to resolve Russia’s position internationally, which were in turn read and interpreted through the same set of traditional beliefs adopted by the Putin regime. Therefore, Russia’s reading of its failure to normalize its position in the global security architecture did not derive from external and objective circumstances, but from the beliefs and traditions that were at the heart of Putin’s political project for Russia. The initial prioritization of the internal space, later followed by a greater engagement in the global security sphere, also emerged out of this particular reading of Russia’s position internationally and domestically. Taking this into account, rather than adopting an antiWestern position outright, the antagonistic relationship with the West that developed in the second half of the 2000s was the result of the Putin regime’s attempts to negotiate the original security dilemma identified in 2000. An interpretivist reading of the evolution of Russia’s security policy therefore emphasizes the importance of the role played by beliefs and traditions adopted by the key policy makers in the Putin regime and the political project that they espoused, and the way in which these beliefs structured their reading of global security dilemmas and the solutions and practices they put in place to overcome these dilemmas. Notes 1 ‘Kontseptsiya vneshnei politiki Rossiiskoi Federatsii’, Diplomaticheskii vestnik, 2000: 8. 2 ‘Surkov, Rossiya i demokratiya’, Ekspert, 3 July 2006, www.expert.ru/printissues/ expert/2006/25/news_surkov_rossiya_i_demokratiya/; Gromov. 3 ‘Kontseptsiya vneshnei politiki Rossiiskoi Federatsii’, Diplomaticheskii vestnik, 2000: 8. 4 ‘Kontseptsiya natsional’noi bezopasnosti Rossiiskoi Federatsii’, Diplomaticheskii vestnik, 2000: 2. 5 ‘Kontseptsiya natsional’noi bezopasnosti Rossiiskoi Federatsii’, Diplomaticheskii vestnik, 2000: 2. 6 ‘Kontseptsiya vneshnei politiki Rossiiskoi Federatsii’, Diplomaticheskii vestnik, 2000: 8. 7 Within this framework, debates emerged as to where Russia’s strength and greatness should come from: from its energy and economic power; greater engagement with the post-Soviet space; through a more active role on the international stage; or from its historical heritage, national norms and identity (Trenin 2004: 63); or greater links with other emerging and developing great powers, particularly in the East, such as the other BRIC (Brazil, Russia, India, China) countries. 8 ‘Interview with First Deputy Secretary of the Duma Committee on Banks, Financial and Credit Markets, Conducted by Valerii Zubov’, Litsom k Litsu, Radio Svoboda, 3 January 2005, archive.svoboda.org/programs/ftf/2005/ftf.010305.asp (accessed 18 September 2010). 9 Ministry for Foreign Affairs of the Russian Federation (2008), Russian Foreign Policy Concept, 12 July, www.mid.ru/ns-osndoc.nsf/1e5f0de Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 104 Aglaya Snetkov 28fe77fdcc32575d900298676/869c9d2b87ad8014c32575d9002b1c38?OpenDocument (accessed 3 May 2009). 10 Transcript of Russian Minister of Foreign Affairs Igor Ivanov interview with TVTs Television Company, Moscow, Ministry of Foreign Affairs, 25 January 2003, www. ln.mid.ru/Brp_4.nsf/arh/1D1C016B1F8D675943256CBC0053750A?OpenDocument (accessed 10 September 2010). 11 Transcript of Russian Minister of Foreign Affairs Igor Ivanov interview with TVTs Television Company, Moscow, Ministry of Foreign Affairs, 25 January 2003, www. ln.mid.ru/Brp_4.nsf/arh/1D1C016B1F8D675943256CBC0053750A?OpenDocument (accessed 10 September 2010). 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(2005) ‘Vladimir Putin’s Vision of Russia as a Normal Great Power’, Post-Soviet Affairs 21(2): 132–58. ——(2007) ‘Finding a Civilisational Idea: “West,” “Eurasia,” and “Euro-East” in Russia’s Foreign Policy’, Geopolitics 12(3): 375–99. Wegren, S.K. (ed.) (2003) Russia’s Policy Challenges: Security, Stability and Development, Armonk, NY: M.E. Sharpe. White, S., Gitelman, Z. and Sakwa, R. (eds) (2005) Developments in Russian Politics 6, New York: Palgrave. Whitman, R. (2010) ‘The EU: Standing Aside from the Changing Global Balance of Power?’ Politics 30: 24–32. Young, A.R. (2010) ‘Perspectives on the Changing Global Distribution of Power: Concepts and Context’, Politics 30: 2–14. Zakaria, F. (2008) The Post-American World, London: Penguin. Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 7 Interpreting missile defence A comparative study of European reactions Jocelyn Mawdsley Given their history, for twenty years after the Cold War discussions on nuclear politics within Europe were remarkably muted, and were largely reactions to successive US nuclear posture reviews in 1994, 2002 and 2010. Contentious debate was limited to national decisions on whether to allow elements of the US missile defence programmes to be sited on their territory. From 2009 to 2011, however, three decisions were made that have the potential for significant change in European nuclear politics. First, the German CDU-FDP (Christian Democratic Union-Free Democratic Party) coalition government, elected in September 2009, agreed as part of their coalition agreement that they would enter into talks with their North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) allies and the United States about the removal of US nuclear weapons from German territory. Second, in November 2010, Britain and France announced unprecedented bilateral cooperation on nuclear weapons testing facilities, signalling their commitment to their deterrents.1 Finally, also in November 2010, agreement between the NATO member states was reached on the acquisition of territorial missile defence capabilities at the Lisbon summit. These three announcements encapsulate a period of reassessment of nuclear politics in Britain, France and Germany, predominantly in response to the territorial missile defence issue raised by the United States, which has led to differing outcomes, and thus to an unusual level of tension on nuclear defence issues between France and Germany, which came close to preventing agreement in Lisbon and continued to fester at time of writing (FRS 2011). Missile defence has caused more disruption to the established nuclear politics in Europe than even the end of the Cold War did. It is therefore of interest because of what it reveals about the strength of nuclear traditions in Britain, France and Germany. This chapter starts from the premise that while much of the literature on nuclear politics in both the strategic studies and peace studies traditions has had a focus on either technical issues or strategic calculations, scholars have also correctly argued that nuclear weapons have a symbolic presence in domestic and international politics and culture beyond their supposed strategic importance.2 This chapter argues that nuclear weapons, be they in the form of independent nuclear deterrents (Britain and France) or US Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 108 Jocelyn Mawdsley weapons sited on domestic territory (West Germany and Britain) can best be understood as representing a complex web of beliefs about the state, its existence and its role, which might not be discussed openly but underpinned initial choices on nuclear weapons. Alongside this representational quality of the weapons, the chapter will argue that narratives and practices (some contradictory), which can be understood as traditions, have developed around the supposed strategic rationale for nuclear weapons, their development and their place in wider defence policy. It also argues that an examination of the peculiarly closed nature of defence policy making in each country shows how these traditions and the underpinning representational nature of the weapons are sustained by suppressing dissent and mediating challenges or dilemmas. The chapter will start by unpacking the concepts used in the analysis and then will look at the construction of nuclear beliefs and traditions in Britain, France and Germany. It will then briefly explain why missile defence as a concept has the power to disrupt this and then re-examine the three states to see how they have reconstructed nuclear weapons narratives to deal with this dilemma. Symbolism, tradition, narrative and socialization in domestic nuclear politics Let us start with the relatively uncontested point that national security is more than just a label – it is a powerful political symbol even in times of comparative peace (Baldwin 1996). The status of nuclear weapons as the ultimate weapon to be deployed in the cause of national security lends them almost inevitably a stature of particular importance beyond their strategic use. However, their acquisition, for those interested in looking beyond the nominal strategic rationale, is often associated with national prestige and existential questions of national identity. As Sagan (1996/97: 74) has argued that ‘military organizations and their weapons can therefore be envisioned as serving functions similar to those of flags, airlines, and Olympic teams; they are part of what modern states believe they have to possess to be legitimate, modern states’. However, nuclear weapons are also a powerful portrayal of national insecurity and the emotions associated with this. This chapter argues therefore that nuclear weapons, be they in the form of independent nuclear deterrents (Britain and France) or US weapons sited on domestic territory (West Germany and Britain) can best be understood as what Edelman (1985: 6) described as condensation symbols, which ‘evoke emotions associated with the situation. They condense into one symbolic event, sign, or act patriotic pride, anxieties, remembrances of past glories or humiliations, promises of future greatness … ’ In other words, they function as representations of webs of beliefs about the state, its security dilemmas, its past military glories and humiliations, and its sense of its place in the world. The continued presence of nuclear weapons also encapsulates the essence of the domestic political negotiation and compromise involved in the initial decision to accept them as a crucial part of defence. Moreover, the supporting Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d Interpreting missile defence 109 lobby coalition remains almost inevitably ‘locked in’ to the continuing development and reaffirmation of the nuclear choice as further decisions become necessary. Their different motivations, justifications, practice and ideas around the nuclear question, over time, can perhaps best be understood as nuclear traditions. Traditions might be usefully thought of as ‘a set of understandings someone receives during socialisation’ (Bevir et al. 2003: 11; cf. Bevir et al. 2013). Nuclear traditions therefore might be understood as inherited beliefs (sometimes contradictory) about security institutions, strategic history and practice. As Berger suggests, assimilation and socialization into these traditions takes place, ‘they [cultures] are transmitted through the often imperfect mechanisms of primary and secondary socialisation and are under pressure from both external developments and internal contradictions’ (Berger 1996: 326). Looking at attitudes through the prism of tradition does not necessarily rule out change though: Although tradition is unavoidable, it is so as a starting point, not as something that governs later performances. We should be cautious, therefore, of representing tradition as an unavoidable presence in everything people do in case we leave too slight a role for agency. In particular, we should not imply that tradition is constitutive of the beliefs people later come to hold or the actions they then perform. Instead, we should see tradition mainly as a first influence on people. The content of the tradition will appear in their later actions only if their agency has led them not to change it, where every part of it is in principle open to change. (Bevir et al. 2003: 11) This chapter wishes to argue, however, that the strategic traditions or rationales that have developed to rationalize nuclear policy are particularly change resistant, precisely because they have been largely shielded from internal and often external criticism. It takes therefore a fundamental challenge, in this case missile defence, to force reconsideration. The chapter also argues that the stability of nuclear traditions (with the partial exception of Germany) is partly due to the way in which nuclear politics are made by small elite groupings, and party politics have not traditionally played a major role. As Frey has argued, their power can be almost absolute: Frequently, the common interest of these actors leads to the formation of a coalition, a ‘strategic elite’, which seeks administrative as well as communicative power by controlling public opinion. By controlling public opinion, the strategic elite is able to create a positive public disposition towards nuclear weapons by building up threat perceptions, and, more significantly, by attaching symbolic values to nuclear devices: national pride, collective dignity, or their negative counter-values such as collective defiance and insult. (Frey 2006: 14) Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 110 Jocelyn Mawdsley This links back to the powerful representational nature of nuclear weapons and shows how the beliefs, traditions, narratives and elite nature of nuclear politics can be mutually reinforcing. The construction of nuclear politics in Britain, France and (West) Germany British beliefs In 1952, Britain became the third country in the world to test an independently developed nuclear weapon. Although British scientists had made important contributions to the Manhattan Project, in 1946 the Americans passed the McMahon Act severing the British and American nuclear weapons programmes. This was seen as a major snub and a blow to the British self-image of being a major global power. The importance of tradition and historical thinking in the formulation of British external policies is noticeable. For Hill, for example, in Britain, ‘“historical thinking” in the sense of attitudes, which are rooted in images of the country and its interests as they were in preceding generations has been particularly marked’ (Hill 1988: 27). In many ways the British nuclear deterrent is rooted in just such a vision of continuing global power. The initial commitment to gain an atomic bomb certainly did not involve particular strategic calculations but rather was seen as necessary for the preservation of global standing. As Bevin famously put it: I don’t want any other foreign secretary of this country to be talked to or at by a secretary of state in the United States as I have just had in my discussions with Mr Byrnes. We’ve got to have this thing [a nuclear bomb] over here whatever it costs. We’ve got to have the bloody Union Jack on top of it. (Bevin, cited in Phythian 2007: 29) Even in the official history of British nuclear weapons, Arnold (2001) argues that the 1954 decision to move to develop thermonuclear devices was primarily rationalized by fears of losing global standing and influence with the United States, rather than the potential need to contribute to the NATO nuclear deterrent. It was Duncan Sandys’s 1957 Defence White Paper that solidified the position of the nuclear deterrent in British defence policy. The White Paper recognized that Britain’s role as a global policeman east of Suez was no longer affordable, made massive cuts in conventional armed forces, including the ending of conscription, and crucially decided that the nuclear deterrent was the way Britain could replace the ensuing hole in its defences. Although the 1958 UK-United States Mutual Defence Agreement rapidly changed Britain’s nuclear deterrent from independent to interdependent and then dependent on the United States by the end of the 1960s, the symbolism of the nuclear deterrent for British politicians remained the maintenance of great power Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d Interpreting missile defence 111 status (Freedman 1999). For Alec Douglas-Home, for example, the bomb was a ticket of admission giving Britain ‘a place at the peace talks as of right’ (Pierre 1972: 178). In general, British post-war defence policy has been a matter of compromise or, as Carver described it, tightrope walking: Why tightrope walking? Because British defence policy is a perpetual balancing act: between commitments and resources; between Europe and the wider world; between Europe and the Commonwealth; between links with Western Europe and North America; between in simplified terms, a continental and a maritime strategy. (Carver 1992: vii–viii) Nuclear weapons throughout the Cold War were viewed as Britain’s best insurance policy given it could not afford to challenge the USSR’s conventional armed strength. Unlike France, little patriotic symbolism was attached to the bomb and few outrageous claims were made about its military value (Freedman 1999). It represented simply the cheapest way to maintain international status in defence terms, even if by the 1980s, the spiralling costs had a negative impact on British conventional defences. British strategic narratives and traditions From the 1957 White Paper onwards, British strategic narratives have had to disguise some fairly basic contradictions in its nuclear strategy. As Deweerd (1963) argued, Britain was opposed to nuclear proliferation but contributed to it in three ways: first, by insisting on its separate nuclear deterrent; second, by acknowledging the indivisibility of the Western deterrent but insisting that its own weapons remained independent; and third, by recognizing that Britain could not be defended from Soviet nuclear attack but proposing to meet a major Soviet ground attack in Europe with early, and if necessary full use of nuclear weapons. Freedman (1999) suggests that British nuclear doctrine from the 1960s onwards was consistently based on a theory about multiple decision centres. The official argument was that while Britain had complete confidence in the US guarantee, it recognized that adversaries might be less impressed. A second centre of nuclear decision making (i.e. the UK), particularly as it was closer to the likely conflict area, would add extra uncertainty to the adversary’s calculations. Underlying this, as Freedman (1999) points out, there was a private justification of insurance in case the United States withdrew its guarantee, but the official rationale, despite not standing up to critical analysis, persisted, because ministers could avoid critical debate easily, as few in Britain were interested in challenging the purported strategic rationale for an independent nuclear deterrent. Similarly as Freedman (1981a) argues, the narrative of independence was left mainly unchallenged, despite it being obvious that Britain was dependent on the United States for delivery vehicles from the 1960s onwards, after the cancellation of the Blue Streak programme. Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 112 Jocelyn Mawdsley A crucial explanation for how British politicians and officials were able to cling onto contradictory strategic narratives about the nuclear deterrent was the closed nature of defence policy making. Freedman points out that: It is not unusual in Britain to ignore the wider context in discussions of nuclear policy, because the formulation of the policy itself has normally been held highly within the executive branch. This has tended to encourage rationales that reflect the interests of senior officials and ministers in the exercise of international influence and in the virtues of continuity for its own sake. (Freedman 1999: 134) Both main political parties also supported the lack of disclosure and critical debate because it prevented political embarrassment vis-à-vis their doubts about the US nuclear guarantee. For the Labour Party, which had many supporters of nuclear disarmament in its ranks and in opposition tended to be critical of the nuclear deterrent,3 the lack of debate also enabled it largely to avoid criticism that while in government, Labour tended to follow the same pro-nuclear policies as the Conservatives (Freedman 1999). Moreover, as Arnold (2001) points out in the official history, the decision to develop a thermonuclear weapon met with little dissent either in the House of Commons or in the press then or thereafter. Even though Britain was the site of large-scale and wellorganized protests by the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament in both the 1960s and 1980s, popular protest never really interrupted the closed circle of nuclear policy making. French beliefs France was the fourth state to develop and test successfully an independent nuclear weapon, in 1960. Diplomatic tensions with the United States postSuez and discomfort at the development of the British nuclear deterrent have been suggested as reasons for the French decision (Schwarz 1991). However, the key decisions were taken following de Gaulle’s return to power in the midst of the May 1958 crisis. It is this crisis that needs to be understood to see how the nuclear deterrent became such a powerful political symbol in France underpinning the web of beliefs about what constituted France under the Fifth Republic. The May 1958 crisis came about when the French army declared that it had lost confidence in the Fourth Republic and had taken responsibility for the future destiny of French Algeria itself. It was, in short, a military coup. The army successfully insisted that de Gaulle be called upon to lead a national unity government. De Gaulle’s return to power led to the establishment of the Fifth Republic with its strong presidential powers and to the stabilization of France. For French politicians therefore: … the successful stabilisation of the state under the Fifth Republic – and the complex intergenerational process of ‘legitimation’ which was initiated in Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d Interpreting missile defence 113 its first decade – has resulted in the sacralisation of the nuclear deterrent as the tangible symbol of national unity, democratic consensus, political efficacy and a significant and independent role for France on the world stage. (Cerny 1984: 62) The deterrent was a linking mechanism for the revival of the state, as it helped to harness military reorganization to high-tech dirigisme across the state economy. As Hecht (1998) points out, the French policy-making elite based their recovery from this post-Second World War identity crisis, with its anxieties about their wartime losses, American dominance, decolonization and the demands of reconstruction, by fostering visions of a new technological France, based on industrial development and engineering prowess. The nuclear deterrent also solved various longstanding disagreements over defence policy between the political left and the right. From the French Revolution onwards the left had favoured mass conscription as the only way for the citizen to defend the state, whereas the right favoured a professional army. The role of the army in the French Fourth Republic remained problematic, as the repeated coup attempts in Algeria showed, but the new nuclear role for the armed forces reintegrated them into the state, while keeping nuclear weapons under strict civilian control and so both removed a serious source of potential instability and consolidated presidential authority (Cerny 1984). There was cross-party political support for the deterrent and this enabled a degree of national unity on defence during the Cold War even when there was little agreement elsewhere. Moreover, as Chilton and Howorth argued in the 1980s: The bomb has come to appear, in popular political culture, as one potential answer to France’s perennial problems. Nuclear weapons avoid overdependence on allies, without excluding the value of Alliance membership. They can be seen as a form of geographic fortification, an atomic Maginot line, which ‘sanctuarizes’ French territory at very little cost. The weapons have always been seen as ‘war-preventing’, and that, for a nation which has suffered constant defeat since 1815, also means ‘defeat-preventing’. (Howorth and Chilton 1984: 12) The belief that possession of nuclear weapons turned the French state into a sanctuary also ties into a powerful element of the nuclear web of beliefs – namely, strategic independence. A constant in French security politics is that even prior to de Gaulle, and the development of Gaullism in foreign and security policy, France’s search for grandeur on the world stage required autonomous military strategy and armed forces that were under national control (Kolodziej 1987). French strategic narratives and traditions The key elements of French nuclear strategy were developed predominantly by two Generals, Ailleret and Gallois, between 1958 and 1968. The first Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 114 Jocelyn Mawdsley element was ‘dissuasion du faible au fort’ – namely the belief that the equalizing power of the nuclear bomb meant that a smaller, weaker state could effectively dissuade a larger and stronger state. The second element was proportionality or the idea of graduated deterrence. This meant that the potential damage caused to the strong by the weak through a nuclear attack had to outweigh an adversary’s potential gains in a conflict. Third, France did not have the resources for a flexible response and so had to remain committed to massive retaliation. Finally, the French argued that you could not know who in 20 years might be an adversary, so their weapons were not targeted at any state in particular but instead were ‘tous azimuts’ – aimed at all points of the compass. Just as in the British case, this doctrine did not stand up to critical interrogation. As Freedman (1981b) pointed out, there were three major problems: first, that France helped to create greater international instability by leaving the NATO-integrated military command; second, that although the claim was ‘tous azimuts’ the reality was that France only had the resources for a regional not a global deterrent; and third, it was never clear how France intended to reconcile its NATO obligations with the idea of France as a rather aloof nuclear ‘sanctuary’. Similarly, in leaving the NATO-integrated command France lost influence over NATO nuclear weapons deployments and disarmament talks, as there were no longer any US weapons on French territory. A final objection might be that the claims of independence proved to be rather overstated, as France received covert nuclear weapons assistance from the United States, which continued throughout the Cold War (Ullman 1989). To trace the development of French nuclear narratives, it is also important to look at the Livres Blancs or White Books on defence policy during and after the Cold War to see the continuity of policy. The 1972 Livre Blanc rejected the NATO stance of flexible response in favour of strictly national deterrence to preserve French vital interests, because of their belief that nuclear risks could not be shared and effectively put nuclear deterrence at the heart of French defence (Ministère de la Défence 1972). The 1994 Livre Blanc was primarily about post-Cold War force projection, but continued to justify the role of nuclear weapons for some threat scenarios, along much the same lines. Nuclear strategy remained broadly the same in both documents. Between 1994 and 2006 there were some adaptations to French nuclear doctrine: a decoupling of deterrence and conventional action; a reduction in the size of French nuclear forces leading to their reorganization; the acceptance that the nuclear deterrent has to enable France to protect its vital interests in future against regional powers possessing nuclear, biological or chemical weapons; and the 1998 ratification of the Comprehensive Test Ban Treaty (Tertrais 2000). However, it was not until 2006 when Chirac announced an extension in the role of French nuclear weapons to new mission areas (such as being used against terrorist attack) and towards more flexible nuclear forces, and revived an idea from 1995 of a concerted European nuclear deterrent, that major changes to French nuclear strategic narratives were made (Butler 2006). This Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d Interpreting missile defence 115 length of time testifies to the strength and rigidity of the original doctrine and the difficulties in making changes. The stability in French nuclear narratives was also partially produced by a closed system of defence policy making around the president. Defence policy making in France is centred on the corps of administrators and officers, with the addition of some academics who have enjoyed a similar training in one of the elite schools such as ENA or École Polytechnique. These schools, as well as offering advanced administrative or technical training, also teach their students to serve the state and their training has a unifying effect on the students (Kempin and Mawdsley 2005). Successive presidents have surrounded themselves with representatives from these networks and as Treacher (2003) points out, even the Ministry of Defence itself has not played a large role in the formulation of strategic defence policy. Nuclear weapons have cross-party unconditional political support and so there is no real sense of intellectual challenge to existing nuclear doctrines. Even the French peace movement traditionally concentrates on protesting about American security policy and is rarely seen to attack the French nuclear deterrent (Howorth and Chilton 1984). West German beliefs For West Germany, just as in France and Britain, nuclear weapons carried a symbolic value but it was not one of independence but rather one of reluctant dependence. There are two contradictory elements to this. First, and most obviously, West Germany had a strong domestic anti-militarist tendency in the aftermath of the Second World War. Directly after the Second World War Germany was disarmed, and it was not until 1954 with the signing of the Paris Treaties, and West Germany’s 1955 accession to NATO, that a West German army was formed, because NATO needed more troops to mount an adequate conventional defence against the Warsaw Pact states. This was a measure that was difficult for other Western European countries that had suffered earlier German aggression, most notably for France. Rearmament was also domestically unpopular with many industrial leaders, who feared that it would divert resources from the economic recovery. Efforts were made to avoid any taint of militarism in the new forces: in contrast to traditional models of civil-military relations such as those in Britain, France or the United States, the primacy of politics, or civilian rule, was made an integral part of the setting up of armed forces in the Federal Republic, along with extensive measures to ensure that the armed forces were integrated into wider society. However, nothing could disguise the reality that West German citizens were on the probable front line of any East–West conflict and that, despite the addition of West German forces, NATO was conventionally outnumbered and so reliant on the US nuclear deterrent for a credible defence. The 1955 Exercise Carte Blanche, which assumed the detonation of 355 nuclear weapons on French and German soil, calculated that 1.7 million people would die immediately and 3.5 million would be seriously injured. Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 116 Jocelyn Mawdsley This was widely reported in the West German press. This crystallized the West German nuclear dilemma: dependent on the US nuclear deterrent for its security against conventional attack but acutely vulnerable in the event of a nuclear war (Kamp 1995). Second, nuclear weapons came symbolically to represent West Germany’s dependence on the United States and to serve as a humiliating reminder that it was not a fully sovereign state. From 1953 onwards some of the United States’ nuclear weapons were based on West German soil. As part of the negotiations on joining NATO, however, a commitment was made in 1954 that West Germany would not produce atomic, biological or chemical weapons on its territory (Kamp 1995); however, despite this commitment to non-production, possession of nuclear weapons was not ruled out by some politicians. In 1957 Adenauer horrified the general public, scientists and the Social Democrats by appearing to suggest that German troops should have ‘small’ nuclear weapons (Schwarz 1991: 266–69). He had hoped that France, West Germany and Italy could use Euratom to develop a nuclear weapons programme, but de Gaulle blocked this idea when he returned to power in 1958. Although the United States had repeatedly assured both the Soviet Union and nervous NATO allies that West Germany would never become a nuclear weapons power,4 in fact the picture was less clear cut from a US perspective. The question of West German nuclear participation was raised again in 1963 with an American proposal for a multinational NATO fleet armed with Polaris nuclear missiles. The West Germans were enthusiastic, seeing the proposal as an opportunity to gain more say over NATO nuclear strategy, but their European allies were much less keen on the prospect of West Germany entering the nuclear club by the back door, even though the United States had proposed the multilateral force (MLF) precisely to stop West Germany demanding its own nuclear posture (Kamp 1995). The final West German acceptance of non-nuclear status came as late as 1969, after parts of the West German political elite campaigned hard but ultimately unsuccessfully against the signing of the Non-Proliferation Treaty, which they argued confined Germany forever to the inferior status of a nuclear ‘have-not’. Nuclear weapons therefore were symbolic of a web of beliefs comprising West German dependence on the United States, its inferior status within NATO and having to accept NATO strategic doctrines that left West Germany vulnerable to nuclear war, in order to have its territorial security ensured against conventional attack. West German strategic narratives and traditions The Federal Republic of Germany’s nuclear policy making confined itself to modest forms of nuclear involvement, namely the possession by the Bundeswehr of nuclear weapons-capable carriers which, following a decision on use by NATO and the American president, would deliver American warheads, and participation in the decision making about doctrine, target setting and procurement within the framework of NATO’s Nuclear Planning Group, Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d Interpreting missile defence 117 established in 1967 (Kelleher 1975). However, West Germany was often made to feel uncertain about the extent of the US guarantee of West European security. As Garaud (1985) points out, during the years of détente the Kennedy Administration took measures designed to contain the risks to US grounds in defence of their European allies; there were proposals to limit numbers of US ground forces in Europe, and statesmen like Kennan and McNamara urged that the United States repudiate nuclear first use on Europe’s behalf. For West Germany there was a general sense, until President Reagan came to office, that NATO defences were no longer credible. This highlighted the West German nuclear dilemma in ever-starker terms. Perhaps the best example of the strategic ambivalence that successive West German administrations had to manage was the 1979 double track decision, and the subsequent intermediate nuclear forces disarmament negotiations. The decision to link deployments of US long-range theatre nuclear forces (LRTNF) to proposals for negotiations with Moscow over those and Soviet forces – with the caveat that if these failed the missiles would be deployed four years later – was in part an American response to German fears over Soviet deployments of SS-20s and Backfire bombers and the need to offer them reassurance over the continuation of the US guarantee. West Germany agreed to host modernized Pershing II ballistic missiles and cruise missiles (Zadra 1990). Despite considerable reservations about the utility of these weapons and massive demonstrations against the decision, the Bundestag voted for their deployment in 1983. Proceeding with the decision to deploy Pershing and Cruise missiles in West Germany, given the opposition, was politically brave, but also shows how the West German political elite had bought into the absolute necessity of the nuclear deterrent. They were then almost immediately pushed into disarmament negotiations, which forced West Germany to agree to compromises that undermined precisely the rationale on which the politicians had agreed in deploying the weapons (Zadra 1990). It was impossible for West German politicians to construct a comforting strategic rationale for their nuclear weapons decisions like Britain and France had; rather, they had to live with dependence on a United States that seemed at times capricious, and the knowledge that despite the risk being greatest for West Germany, it was not able to make truly sovereign decisions on security. West Germany always struggled to reconcile a powerful anti-militarist sentiment in civil society, and indeed its own political elite’s preference for a normalization of relations with Eastern Europe, with its unwavering support for US nuclear weapons being sited in West Germany to ensure its security. The West German politicians were always aware that there were enough nuclear weapons stationed in Europe to destroy it many times over, and that their policies on deterrence were at odds with much of public opinion. The Pershing and Cruise missile deployment above all led to years of demonstrations against the weapons attracting up to 1 million people (Zadra 1990). Just as in France and Britain, these decisions were taken by a relatively small Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 118 Jocelyn Mawdsley group of politicians, who could then generally rely on the Bundestag to vote in favour, because the fear of isolation from its NATO allies was still a major motivating factor for West German politicians of the Cold War era. What was different in West Germany is that throughout the Cold War there was a constant critical debate about security policy, both in society at large and amongst the political elite. This, coupled with the fact that the Bundestag had much more power on security matters than either the French or British parliaments, meant that insofar as German politicians and officials were socialized into acceptance of nuclear deterrence, it was in the open knowledge that the situation was a far from desirable one. Missile defence as a nuclear politics dilemma US missile defence plans have made successive generations of British, French and German politicians uneasy. Ballistic missile defence had long been seen as a potential destabilizing development in the Cold War, and it was to prevent this that the Anti-Ballistic Missile (ABM) Treaty was signed by the United States and USSR in 1972. It limited both sides to first two sites, and then after 1974 one site, for a strategic defence system. The agreement aimed to protect the nuclear balance by ensuring that neither side could limit the deterrent effect of nuclear weapons by reducing the damage of a nuclear strike to politically or militarily acceptable levels. US President Reagan’s 1983 Strategic Defence Initiative (SDI), which aimed to use ground- and spacebased systems to protect the United States from attack from ballistic nuclear missiles, was viewed therefore with concern by Europeans. As Garaud (1985) points out, the concerns for the Western Europeans at that time were that if the United States and USSR were able to establish defensive systems, this would simultaneously undermine the British and French deterrents, as the concept of the weak deterring the strong would be unworkable, and Western Europe would find itself no longer protected by deterrence, and so would be more vulnerable to both conventional attacks and short-range nuclear weapons that were difficult to intercept. Even after the end of the Cold War the US decision to pursue a national missile defence (NMD) programme, which led to them withdrawing from the ABM Treaty in 2002, posed a general security dilemma for the Europeans. First, the security aspects of the collapse of what was regarded as a cornerstone of arms control treaties were worrying – would the entire arms control structure disintegrate? Second, would it prompt Russia to return to a nuclear arms race rather than continuing on the economic reform path favoured by the Europeans? It also posed specific national questions for the three countries. For Britain: Formulating a policy on this issue impacts on several key areas of foreign and defence policy, some of which are in conflict with each other, some of which go to the heart of Britain’s understanding of its international role Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d Interpreting missile defence 119 and some of which compel the government to make choices it would perhaps prefer to put off. (Smith 2005: 447) Smith (2005) suggested that it posed various questions for Britain. First, the US radar base at Fylingdales was crucial for US plans and so there was a decision to be made on whether to allow its use. Given that the British government has always regarded nuclear matters as Anglo-American in nature, a refusal was never likely. Second, it posed a quandary of balancing traditional transatlanticism with a growing European sensibility (particularly given British opinions on NMD were closer to European ones than American ones) and with defence industrial interests. Third, just as SDI had, NMD challenged Britain’s self-understanding as a nuclear power. For France, too, immediate reactions were about its own understanding of itself as a nuclear power. France’s negative reactions were twofold. First, it felt that NMD undermined the deterrence concept and thus threatened France’s own nuclear posture, and second, there was great scepticism about whether NMD was technically feasible (Kempin and Mawdsley 2005). Moreover, they did not entirely share the extent of the US threat assessment on ballistic missiles even though it was agreed that there was a potential threat (Lellouche et al. 2000). However, scepticism needed to be balanced by the acceptance that this technology could prove vital for the politically important French defence industrial base (Kempin and Mawdsley 2005). For Germany, NMD also posed a difficult challenge. First, the Germans were reluctant to take a clear national stance on the issue, particularly if it was against the United States, and so tried to move the discussion to NATO (with British support). Second, it was an issue on which the political parties were split – the CDU was broadly in favour of NMD while the SPD (Social Democratic Party) and the Greens were opposed, claiming it would start a new arms race. Missile defence was also a difficult issue for Germany as, while like both Britain and France, politicians from all sides tended to believe that the American threat assessment was exaggerated, they felt obliged to support the extension of missile defence to Europe because peripheral NATO members were within the range of existing ballistic weapons, and Germany was thus reminded of its own difficult Cold War position (Bitter 2007). Reconstructing the nuclear narratives Although NMD was not initially particularly welcomed by any of the three states, it has now been accepted. All three are in favour of NATO developing territorial missile defence capabilities to protect Europe. This does not mean that they entirely accept US threat assessments or that they are convinced that the technology will be completely feasible, but as the worries about the destabilizing effects of the end of the ABM treaty have lessened, acceptance of missile defence as a legitimate defence strategy for NATO have Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 120 Jocelyn Mawdsley grown, particularly as the NATO moves include some cooperation with Russia on the issue. However, what does this mean for national nuclear traditions after the first real challenge of the post-Cold War era? For both Britain and France, the main strategy for dealing with the dilemma of NMD was to incorporate it into their own existing nuclear traditions. For France the enabling mechanism was the importance of a high-tech defence industrial base to underpin its nuclear deterrent (Kempin and Mawdsley 2005). Their 2009–13 military programming law earmarked an increasing amount of procurement money for missile defence-related projects. France appears to have made the calculation that unless it makes a meaningful contribution to the NATO plan, it will lose military status and risk the strategic autonomy that the nuclear deterrent was intended to provide in the first place. In July 2011 the French Senate committee on Foreign Affairs, Defence and the Armed Forces argued that while the actual risk of a missile reaching France was small, France risked being outdistanced by the United States on missile technology if it did not take a leading role in the NATO project (de Selding 2011). For the British, the NATO decision allows it to continue balancing Atlanticism and Europeanism without conflict. Like France, it too has defence industrial ambitions in the area and still considers possession of nuclear weapons to contribute to its global power. While the recent debate on the replacement of Trident saw more criticism than usual of the rationale for the British nuclear deterrent, the supporting coalition remained intact. Similarly, in France although a 2012 book by former Defence Minister Paul Quilès, questioning the purpose of French nuclear weapons, caused some debate, in January 2013 President Hollande reaffirmed the state’s commitment to nuclear weapons, even at a time when large defence budget cuts were needed in France (Quilès 2012; Keaten 2013). For both states, nuclear weapons remain a symbol of national status and strength. The main ongoing problem for both the British and the French is continuing to fund their extensive defence ambitions. The decision to begin bilateral cooperation on nuclear weapons is taken against this backdrop. While the independence of each deterrent was emphasized in the 2010 Teutates agreement, this cooperation offers both states a chance to maintain their national nuclear narratives and cut costs. Germany, on the other hand, has abandoned its national nuclear traditions in response to the dilemma of missile defence. For the last decade Germany has been increasingly involved in calls for complete nuclear disarmament, something that is hard to reconcile with the continued existence of US nuclear weapons on German soil. Initially this was a campaign led by peace activists, but calls for the removal of these weapons have now become government policy and are supported by all parties (if only rather half-heartedly by the CDU) (Mättig 2008). This change of policy represents a major shift in opinion among the political elite from the keen cross-party support for nuclear weapons during the Cold War. For the Germans, the supporting coalition in favour of nuclear weapons has disintegrated in direct contrast to the situation in Britain and France. For the French at least, this call for disarmament is closely linked Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d Interpreting missile defence 121 to German support for missile defence as they view NMD as negating the need to have nuclear deterrence. This has led to an unusual level of friction between the two states, usually regarded as close allies. As de Durand bluntly argued: This translates again for the French side into fundamental differences with Germany on defence issues. The Germans have chosen missile defence in NATO, and have been the most tedious on the issue of nuclear deterrence … For Germany today, there are no real security problems, as it gets along well with Russia at the moment. (FRS 2011: 11) Why has Germany reacted so differently to France and Britain, when the core of its defence policy had been based for so many years on maintaining nuclear deterrence? It would seem that British and French nuclear beliefs and traditions are based on positive emotions – prestige, status, autonomy, stability – and this made them more resilient and adaptable in the face of the missile defence dilemma. Germany, on the other hand, associated its nuclear beliefs and traditions with negative emotions – dependence, uncertainty, danger and inferiority – so making it much easier to take a completely new path. Similarly, while the nuclear support coalitions remain largely intact and insulated from criticism in Britain and France, in Germany it has dispersed and the underlying pacifist critique of the nuclear deterrent has been given free rein, resulting in policy change. The chapter argued that nuclear weapons represented a complex web of beliefs about each state, its existence and its role at the time that the original decisions on nuclear weapons were made. It is therefore perhaps unsurprising that the rupture in German politics caused by reunification and the gaining of full sovereignty after the end of the Cold War has meant that those initial choices now seem less valid than in France or Britain – states that have not gone through the same degree of political change. Similarly, while the narratives and practices developed to justify nuclear weapons policy, defined as nuclear traditions in this chapter, do not stand up to critical scrutiny in any of the three states, it is only in Germany where the insulated nature of nuclear policy making has been successfully challenged. While at first glance the divergence in contemporary nuclear weapons policy choices between Britain and France on the one hand, and Germany on the other hand, might seem puzzling, an interpretive approach casts light on why this might be the case. The dilemma posed by missile defence forced the policy actors in the three states to reconsider their national nuclear traditions. For British and French policy makers, despite some criticism, these traditions were sufficiently convincing not to require major change; for Germany the reverse was true. Notes 1 In a groundbreaking treaty, which was drawn up in close consultation with the United States, they agreed to work closely together on the simulated testing of the Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 122 Jocelyn Mawdsley performance of their nuclear warheads and associated materials. To that end, British experts would be able to access a French research centre in Valduc, where virtual testing of the viability and safety of the warheads could be carried out. Moreover, a new joint technology and development centre based at Aldermaston would develop radiographic and diagnostic technology to support hydrodynamic testing of nuclear weapons (Kempin et al. 2010). 2 For a full discussion of this point see, among others, Chilton (1985) or Buzan and Herring (1998: chapter 11). 3 In 1960, and again in 1982, the Labour party conference voted in favour of unilateral nuclear disarmament. 4 Interestingly, contrary to US assurances on this point to the USSR, the Joint Committee on Atomic Energy of the US Congress discovered by accident on a 1960 visit to a NATO airbase that German-manned fighter bombers were equipped with nuclear warheads with no discernible US control (Steinbrunner 1974). References Arnold, L. (2001) Britain and the H-Bomb, Basingstoke: Palgrave. Baldwin, D. 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(2010) ‘Turning Away from CSDP: Franco-British Bilateralism in Security and Defence Policy’, SWP Comments, 30 November, Berlin: Stiftung Wissenschaft und Politik. Kier, E. (1997) Imagining War: French and British Military Doctrine between the Wars, Princeton: Princeton University Press. Kolodziej, E. (1987) Making and Marketing Arms: The French Experience and its Implications for the International System, Princeton: Princeton University Press. Lellouche, P., Chauveau, G.-M. and Warhouver, A. (2000) ‘La France et les bombes: les défis de la prolifération des armes de destruction massive’, Commission de la Défense Nationale et des Forces Armées Rapport No. 2788, Paris: Assemblée Nationale. Mättig, T. (2008) Tactical Nuclear Weapons in Germany: Time for Withdrawal?, Nuclear Threat Initiative, Washington, DC, www.nti.org/analysis/articles/tactical-nuclear-weapons-germany/ (accessed 26 March 2013). Ministère de la Défense (1972) Livre Blanc sur la Défense Nationale, Paris: Documentation Française. Ministry of Defence (1957) The 1957 Defence Review: Ministry of Defence, Defence White Paper: outline of future policy, Cmnd 124 London: HMSO. Phythian, M. (2007) The Labour Party, War and International Relations: 1945–2006, London and New York: Routledge. Pierre, A. (1972) Nuclear Politics: The British Experience with an Independent Strategic Force 1939–1970, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Quilès, P. (2012) Nucléaire, un mensonge français: Réflexions sur le désarmement nucléaire, Paris: Éditions Charles Léopold Mayer. Sagan, S. (1996/97) ‘Why Do States Build Nuclear Weapons? Three Models in Search of a Bomb’, International Security 21(3): 54–86. Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 124 Jocelyn Mawdsley Schwarz, H.-P. (1991) Adenauer: Der Staatsmann: 1952–1967, Stuttgart: Deutsche Verlags-Anstalt. Smith, M. (2005) ‘Britain: Balancing Instinctive Atlanticism’, Contemporary Security Policy 26(3): 447–69. Steinbrunner, J. (1974) The Cybernetic Theory of Decision, Princeton: Princeton University Press. Tertrais, B. (2000) ‘La Dissuasion nucléaire française après la Guerre froide: Continuité, Rupture, Interrogation’, Annuaire français de Relations internationales 1: 759–79. Treacher, A. (2003) French Interventionism: Europe’s Last Global Player? Aldershot: Ashgate. Ullman, R. (1989) ‘The Covert French Connection’, Foreign Policy 75 (Summer): 3–33. Zadra, R. (1990) ‘European NATO Countries and the INF Negotiations’, International Spectator 25(1): 60–82. Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 8 Framing the sovereignty intervention dilemma The strange omission of the Genocide Convention Adrian Gallagher1 In discussing the language of human rights Ken Booth stated, ‘[w]e inherit scripts, but we have scope – more or less depending on who, when and where we are – to revise them’ (Booth 1999: 33). This chapter argues that in the post-Cold War era, scholars turned to the post-Second World War script in order to resolve the sovereignty-intervention dilemma: what to do about the apparent inconsistency between the problem of mass human rights violations within states and the ordering principle of state sovereignty.2 It suggests that scholars framed this dilemma within the parameters of the UN Charter and in so doing, failed to recognize the implications of extremely important alternative legal frameworks for understanding the sovereignty-intervention dilemma. In particular, they failed to make reference to the 1948 United Nations (UN) Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide.3 Despite the vast literature produced on the humanitarian intervention debate, one is struck by how little has been written on the role that the scholars involved played in constructing the very foundations of the debate in which they engaged. When one considers that the fate of potentially millions of lives, as in Rwanda, can rest on how such dilemmas are interpreted and understood, this is a profoundly important issue that calls for reflection and further research. It is the issue of framing, therefore, that is of particular interest from an interpretivist perspective. To be clear, by framing, I mean an intentional or unintentional process of emphasis and exclusion as actors construct a frame within which issues and events are subsequently analysed. The role of framing has been analysed elsewhere but further research is needed on how the issue of framing relates to the interpretivist focus on traditions and narratives (Bevir and Rhodes 1999, 2003, 2005; Bevir et al. 2013). I see framing as an attempt to put forward a static ‘snapshot’ of a narrative, therefore a frame should be understood as ‘thin’ as opposed to a narrative that is ‘thick’. Although frames may appear to be self-evident and value free, they are in fact neither. For example, in a post-9/11 world, it has been claimed that the media ‘framed terrorism’ in a certain light (Norris et al. 2003: 3–26). This frame acted to ‘simplify, prioritize and structure the narrative flow of events’ (Norris et al. 2003: 10). Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 126 Adrian Gallagher This chapter argues that in the post-Cold War era the sovereignty-intervention dilemma was framed by: i) simplifying the post-Second World War script; ii) prioritizing the UN Charter to the point that it structured the narrative of the humanitarian intervention debate; and iii) excluding key alternative legal frameworks such as the 1948 Genocide Convention. These moves are important, because the UN Charter frame is used as an enabler in order to support contrasting and competing arguments. This singular frame served multiple purposes for: i) those that wanted to radically overhaul the UN Charter; ii) those that advocated a broader spectrum of intervention; and iii) those that rejected all forms of intervention. All appeal to the UN Charter frame. This is not to suggest that scholars intentionally ignore the Genocide Convention, but instead it draws attention to the idea that authors may be ‘unaware of the influence of their unconscious designs on the utterances they make’ (Bevir 1999: 33). The chapter is in two parts. First, it looks at the significance and implications of the Genocide Convention for the sovereignty-intervention dilemma. Second, it reflects on the way that the sovereignty-intervention dilemma was interpreted exclusively within the context of the UN Charter in the post-Cold War era. Why focus on the Genocide Convention? The supremacy of international law had been proclaimed and a significant advance had been made in the development of international law. (President of the General Assembly, Mr H.V. Evatt, cited in Lippman 2002: 179) The post-Second World War script embodies a series of extremely important legal and political developments such as the 1948 Universal Declaration on Human Rights, the 1949 Geneva Conventions, and the 1951 Convention relating to the Status of Refugees. Accordingly, the question of why focus on the Genocide Convention naturally arises. While the parameters of this analysis dictate that not all these agreements can be included, this section sets out to demonstrate that the Genocide Convention should not be seen as just another legal development. To draw on the above sentiment expressed by Mr Evatt on the endorsement of the Genocide Convention in 1948, the aim here is to explain why the Convention represented a significant advance in international law and shed light on the implications that this has for the sovereignty-intervention debate. The Genocide Convention consists of 19 articles which put forward the collective responsibility of states, the definition of genocide, the acts that are punishable, as well as a host of bureaucratic necessities. Most importantly, Article one states: ‘[t]he Contracting Parties confirm that genocide, whether committed in time of peace or in time of war, is a crime under international law which they undertake to prevent and to punish.’ In so doing, the Convention drew attention to the idea that states have a responsibility to protect (R2P) Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d Framing the sovereignty intervention dilemma 127 ‘national, ethnical, racial, and religious’ groups from any intent to destroy the group ‘in whole or in part’ (as defined in Article two). Whilst much ink has been spilt on the definition of genocide, the focus here is on the obligations that stem from this commitment (Schabas 2000: 491–502). Responding to a genocide, Article eight stipulates: ‘[a]ny Contracting Party may call upon the competent organs of the United Nations to take such action under the Charter of the United Nations as they consider appropriate for the prevention and suppression of acts of genocide or any of the other acts enumerated in Article 3.’ Accordingly, the statement provides us with some insight into understanding the relationship between the Genocide Convention and the UN Charter which, it is argued here, needs to be factored into how we frame and indeed understand the sovereignty-intervention dilemma. To be clear, none of the 19 articles that make up the Genocide Convention mentions ‘sovereignty’ or ‘humanitarian intervention’. Because of this, scholars remain divided over whether an implicit or explicit interpretation of the Convention should be upheld (Hurd 2011: 299–300). In other words, whereas the latter appeal to the letter, the former appeal to the spirit of the law (see also, Franck 2003: 204–5; and Farer 2003: 61). An implicit interpretation suggests that one has to ‘read between the lines’ in order to see that the Convention advocates conditional sovereignty and humanitarian intervention in order to prevent or stop genocide. In sharp contrast, those that uphold an explicit interpretation claim that since the drafters did not choose to include terms such as ‘the right to intervene’, it is inaccurate to suggest that the Genocide Convention permits such action. However, if one follows this latter logic then why, if the drafters rejected the ideas of humanitarian intervention outright, did they not explicitly express this in the final document either? Ultimately, the outcome is that we are left with a legal framework that serves neither the advocate nor the critic of humanitarian intervention – at least on a literal reading of the text. Notably, within international criminal law, even those that uphold what is referred to as a ‘strict interpretation’ still accept that the historical context of a treaty or convention should be used as one of many interpretivist methods.4 With this in mind, this section locates the Genocide Convention within its historical setting and draws on the views expressed at the time by its drafters to demonstrate how the implications of the Genocide Convention for the sovereignty-intervention dilemma were discussed explicitly in the drafting process.5 The Genocide Convention was the first international human rights treaty adopted by the UN and as a result laid much of the groundwork for subsequent developments in international humanitarian law (Schabas 2000: 1–13). More importantly, it represented a significant legal development as it set forth the understanding that what went on within states was a matter of international rather than domestic jurisdiction. As Richard Edwards explains: Prior to the Genocide Convention, the concept of universal interests as a basis for the exercise of jurisdiction was a limited one and was primarily Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 128 Adrian Gallagher directed to piracy, the slave trade, and acts on the high seas. The Genocide Convention articulated a universal interest in preventing and punishing genocide. That has in turn over time led to a broader recognition of human rights as an area of universal concern. Other human rights conventions have carried this concept forward. How human beings are treated in the territories of their nationality, as well as when aliens in another state, is a matter of international concern. (Edwards 1981: 306) This statement articulates the significance of the Genocide Convention as it acted to extend the idea of international jurisdiction beyond that of issues between states in order to protect ‘national, ethnical, racial or religious’ groups within states (A/Res/3/260, 1948, Article II). The impact of the Nazi genocide looms large here. As Gareth Evans explains, until this event, the Westphalian ordering principles acted to ‘institutionalise indifference’ as political leaders were both immune to external accountability and largely indifferent toward the suffering of others within states (Evans 2008: 15–19). This is not to suggest that political elites never voiced concerns over human rights violations within other states (Luard 1967: 7–21; Schabas 2000: 14–50), but to highlight that for nearly 300 years a pattern of indifference toward the suffering of ‘others’ became the norm. Any international concern, such as that over the Armenian massacres at the time, was rare or, in statistical terms, an ‘outlier’. This changed in the aftermath of the Nazi genocide. As Richard Falk explains, the Holocaust (as it came to be known6) had a critical impact on ‘the origins of the movement for the international protection of human rights’, which remains an overlooked point in International Relations (IR) (Falk 2009: 83 – 96). In short, the Holocaust acted as the catalyst that altered the legal, moral and political expectations of international society to the point that genocide was deemed to be a matter of international jurisdiction. While Article 2(7) of the UN Charter states that ‘[n]othing contained in the present Charter shall authorize the United Nations to intervene in matters which are essentially within the domestic jurisdiction of any state’, it is clear that the drafters of the Genocide Convention never viewed genocide as a matter of ‘domestic jurisdiction’. This can be traced back to the 1946 General Assembly Resolution: ‘[t]he punishment of the crime of genocide is of international concern … [t]he General Assembly, therefore affirms that genocide is a crime under international law which the civilized world condemns’ (A/RES/96(I): 1946). The statement clearly embodies a universal ethic which explicitly informs us that the drafters viewed genocide as a matter of international rather than domestic jurisdiction. This sentiment was restated throughout the drafting process. The Mexican representative Mr Villa Michael stated that genocide poses a ‘direct and serious threat to the welfare of the human race’, while the Dominican Republic representative stated that even if the Convention was not ratified, its moral and legal weight was needed because ‘the moral tribunal of the world demanded Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d Framing the sovereignty intervention dilemma 129 the denunciation of genocide as a “crime against humanity”’ (cited in Lippman 2002: 178). This latter statement is important because it begins to highlight that many representatives at the time believed that even if endorsed, the Genocide Convention would not be ratified by states precisely because of its implications for state sovereignty and the issue of military intervention (to be discussed below). Yet there remained a general agreement that the Genocide Convention should be endorsed. For example, in 1949, the American Bar Association urged the United States not to ratify the Convention, but at the same time its delegates stated: ‘it is the sense of the American Bar Association that the conscience of America like that of the civilized world revolts against Genocide’, and ‘that such acts are contrary to the moral law and are abhorrent to all’ (McDougal and Arends 1950: 688). These statements demonstrate that state sovereignty was not deemed to pose an obstacle to the prevention of genocide as the actors at the time did not uphold the idea of sovereign immunity. Of course, the idea of conditional sovereignty does not, in itself, justify the right of military intervention. This remains the most controversial aspect of the sovereignty-intervention dilemma and again it is worth noting that it is not mentioned in the final wording of the Genocide Convention. However, it was discussed explicitly in both the drafting and ratification process. In 1947, the UK representative and former British prosecutor at Nuremberg Sir Hartley Shawcross raised concerns which stemmed from the fact that ‘under article XII of the convention [as it was then] the high contracting parties agree to call upon the competent organs of the United Nations to take measures for the suppression or prevention of the crime committed in any part of the world’ (United Nations 1947). The fear, therefore, was one of implementation as Shawcross perceived that the International Court of Justice would act as the necessary organ (rather than the Security Council as is often interpreted by contemporaries7), yet since genocide is committed by state officials, it is impractical to think that the same state officials would give themselves up to any international judicial process. This led Shawcross to conclude that ‘the only real sanction against genocide was war’ (ibid.). The point here is not to uphold this view (as the R2P rightly focuses on non-military and military means of prevention); however, it does highlight the fact that even though the phrases ‘humanitarian intervention’ and ‘military intervention’ cannot be found in the Genocide Convention, it was discussed explicitly. This led Shawcross to claim that the Convention was unrealistic in that the majority of states would not accept it, yet as history tells us, states unanimously endorsed the Genocide Convention and as of 2012, 142 states had ratified it. It took nearly 40 years for the United States to ratify the Genocide Convention and, notably, it was the debate over military intervention that remained a central obstacle that hindered ratification. In a fascinating piece written in 1949, George A. Finch (then Editor-in-Chief and Vice-President of The American Journal of International Law), reflects on the American Bar Association’s recommendation that the Genocide Convention (as submitted) should not be Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 130 Adrian Gallagher ratified by the United States. Restating the exact same sentiment expressed by Shawcross above, Finch (1949: 734) explains that ‘[i]n the debate at St. Louis the question remained unanswered: How is an international tribunal or foreign national court to obtain custody in time of peace of an accused genocidist?’ This line of questioning makes perfect sense and remains an all too familiar problem. For example, on 4 March 2009, the International Criminal Court issued an arrest warrant for the Sudanese President Omar Al-Bashir, who has since been charged with genocide but refuses to give himself up to the International Criminal Court. Quite simply, when perpetrators of genocide refuse to give themselves up to prosecution then how – without intervening militarily – can the accused be put on trial? As Finch stated in 1949, ‘[t]o take the accused by force would mean an act of war’ (Finch 1949: 734). Again, the statement highlights that the issue of military intervention was discussed explicitly at the time. In fact, it was this very issue that led actors such as the American Bar Association and Shawcross to urge their respective states not to ratify the Convention, yet the simple truth is that both states did (even if it did take the United States nearly 40 years). Because the issue of military intervention is, understandably, so controversial, one can see why scholars reject any attempt to advocate it through an interpretation of a Convention or Treaty that does not explicitly state this word by word. However, it is hoped that by returning to the views expressed at the time, one can begin to see that the norms of state sovereignty and non-intervention were never actually viewed to be an obstacle. This is why in 1950 – amidst concerns that states would not ratify the Convention – the International Court of Justice (ICJ) ruled that the Convention was binding on states even if they did not ratify it (Fournet 2009: 139). In so doing, the ICJ set forth the idea that genocide is a violation of jus cogens, which has since been upheld in a series of judicial rulings including those made by the International Criminal Tribunals for Rwanda and Yugoslavia (Fournet 2009: 137–41). Yet the fact is that the Convention did come into force in 1951, which led Professor Hersch Lauterpacht, who was a member of the United Nations International Law Commission from 1952 to 1954 before being elected as a judge on the International Court of Justice, to conclude: [a]cts of commission or omission in respect of genocide are no longer, in any interpretation of the Charter, considered to be a matter of exclusively within the domestic jurisdiction of the States concerned. For the Parties expressly conceded to the United Nations, the right of intervention in this sphere. (Lauterpacht, cited in Schabas 2000: 498) The statement, which is made by one of the twentieth century’s most influential international lawyers, underlines the twofold idea that first, the UN Charter and the idea of state sovereignty should not be viewed as an obstacle to the prevention of genocide, and second, the Convention grants the UN the right Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d Framing the sovereignty intervention dilemma 131 to intervene in order to prevent or stop a genocide as defined in Article II of the Genocide Convention. As William Schabas (2000: 491–502) goes on to explain, the right to intervene does not overcome the complexities that surround rights, obligations, and duties but at present this remains unresolved. In sum, the drafters of the Genocide Convention explicitly discussed the sovereignty-intervention dilemma and proceeded to endorse it. As a result, it seems that the Genocide Convention represents something of an Achilles heel for those that uphold sovereign immunity and non-intervention. This may help to explain why some scholars simply ignore it. While the Convention remains dependent upon the political will of state elites, it seems absurd to suggest that the understanding of state sovereignty as set out in the UN Charter can act as a barrier to the prevention of genocide. This is precisely the point made by Henry Shue’s seminal analysis Limiting Sovereignty, in which the author uses the crime of genocide to claim that certain rights are universal and that the Genocide Convention places clear limitations on the right of sovereignty (Shue 2006: 11–29). Accordingly, Shue’s analysis could be used to refute this chapter’s claim – that the humanitarian intervention debate was framed in a way that ignored the Genocide Convention – as it could be argued that Shue used the crime of genocide to put forward an alternative interpretation of the sovereignty-intervention dilemma. Yet before one accepts such criticism, one needs to consider that Shue’s analysis was published twelve years after the Rwandan genocide occurred. This raises the question: why was such understanding not at the very core of every humanitarian debate being held in, and immediately after, 1994. This leads us onto the issue of framing. The UN Charter frame The enormity of the sovereignty-intervention dilemma would lead one to expect that an array of interpretations were put forward by IR scholars in the post-Cold War era. Yet with hindsight it appears that a UN Charter interpretation was put forward instead. By this I mean that the UN Charter was emphasized to the point that alternative frameworks, most importantly the Genocide Convention, were excluded from the frame constructed. This is not to suggest that every scholar ignored the Genocide Convention (Wheeler 2000: 208–41; Dunne and Kroslak 2001: 27–46; and Shue 2006: 11–29), but that there is a clear divide in the post-Cold War literature between those that tend to discuss the prevention of genocide in terms of the Genocide Convention, and the much larger group that discusses it in terms of the UN Charter.8 To gain an understanding of how the UN Charter became the dominant frame for assessing the sovereignty-intervention dilemma, let us consider James Mayall’s edited volume entitled The New Interventionism. Published in 1994 this work provides an insight into the debates at the time and illustrates how scholars were attempting to address the post-Cold War problem of human rights violations within states on the one hand and a highly ambiguous United States-led ‘new world order’ on the other. In an attempt to provide Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 132 Adrian Gallagher answers to the crises of Cambodia, former Yugoslavia and Somalia, Mayall turns to the ‘old world order’ principles set out in the UN Charter. Thus, the reader is informed that the UN Charter’s commitment to collective action and state sovereignty (Chapter VII and Articles 2 (4) and (7)) and human rights (Articles 55, 56 and the Preamble) represent an attempt to bridge ‘two conceptions of international society’ – the pluralist conception upheld by the rules of state sovereignty and non-intervention as opposed to the solidarist conception upheld by the rules of conditional sovereignty and humanitarian intervention (Mayall 1994: 4–5). For anyone familiar with the humanitarian intervention debate, this frame will be a familiar one as the sovereignty-intervention dilemma was said to expose the tensions found in the UN Charter. From an interpretivist perspective, therefore, this method of interpretation helps explain how the post-Cold War discourse came to emerge as it did as the sovereigntyintervention dilemma became framed within a narrow set of parameters that predominantly focused on the UN Charter. This UN Charter frame became so entrenched in the post-Cold War era that scholars failed to factor the Genocide Convention into their analysis of genocide. For example, in Thomas Pogge’s Politics as Usual, the author spends a chapter on ‘Moralizing Humanitarian Intervention’ (Pogge 2010: 165–82). From the outset, Pogge rejects Thomas M. Franck’s claim that the UN Charter needs to be amended because its legal framework is morally deficient when faced with empirical developments such as the end of colonialism, the invention of the hydrogen bomb and the threat of international terrorism.9 In order to illustrate his point, Franck makes what Pogge refers to as an ‘[a]mazing appeal to the Rwandan genocide’ (ibid.: 166). For Franck it is the hypothetical potential of ‘another Rwanda’ that illustrates the moral deficiency of the UN Charter more than any other crime.10 Yet critically, Pogge questions whether an intervention to stop the Rwandan genocide would have in fact been illegal on the grounds that the Genocide Convention identifies genocide as a crime under ‘international law’, which implies that Article 2 (7) of the UN Charter does not apply to genocide precisely because genocide is not a matter of ‘domestic jurisdiction’. Accordingly, Pogge draws light to the somewhat strange fact that Franck analyses the problem of genocide but fails to factor the Genocide Convention into his understanding of the sovereignty-intervention debate. The premise of this paper is that Franck viewed the problem of genocide through the prism of the UN Charter because this frame had become so ingrained in the post-Cold War discourse that alternative legal frameworks were excluded. This process of emphasis and exclusion leads to the somewhat bizarre situation in which the Rwandan genocide is analysed without reference to the Genocide Convention. This is, as the title of this chapter suggests, quite simply strange. This peculiarity raises the question of why scholars such as Franck would chose to ignore the Genocide Convention when analysing genocide. Franck raises a series of empirical developments from colonialism through to international terrorism in order to put forward his central claim Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d Framing the sovereignty intervention dilemma 133 that the UN Charter should be overhauled in order to make it more morally compatible with the needs of the twenty-first century. This in itself seems quite reasonable and straightforward. However, Franck specifically uses genocide, rather than any of the other problems he lists, in order to highlight the moral deficiencies of the UN Charter, which in turn opens the door for a broader remit of UN Charter reform to be put forward. It is important, therefore, to consider that the exclusion of the Genocide Convention does serve a purpose as one could not use genocide to highlight the moral deficiencies of the UN Charter if one included the Genocide Convention. Thus, one begins to see that the process of emphasis and exclusion that underpinned the construction of the UN Charter frame had a functional utility. To consider the marginalization of the Genocide Convention further, let us turn to a more complex example. J.L. Holzgrefe and Robert O. Keohane’s (2003) edited volume, Humanitarian Intervention: Ethical, Legal, and Political Dilemmas, is one of the leading texts in the humanitarian intervention debate. It brings together a wide range of authors. Fernando Tesón and Allen Buchanan contribute separate chapters on the ethics of humanitarian intervention, while Thomas Franck, Jane Stromseth, Michael Byers and Simon Chesterman (as co-authors) provide three chapters on law and humanitarian intervention, leaving Robert Keohane and Michael Ignatieff to add a chapter each on the politics of humanitarian intervention. However, despite the diversity and expertise of the scholars involved, many of whom analyse the Rwandan genocide, the Genocide Convention is mentioned just once in the entire volume. This sole citation (Holzgrefe and Keohane 2003: 44) does allude to the potential magnitude of the Genocide Convention: Holzgrefe acknowledges that the Convention may open the door to non-UN-authorized intervention in order to prevent genocide. This is a profoundly important issue that goes right to the very heart of the sovereignty-intervention authority dilemma, but is given fleeting reference and not even mentioned by any other author. The outcome of this is that if the reader does not pay close attention to this single citation, they could read one of the leading texts in the humanitarian intervention debate and not even know that the Genocide Convention exists. Notably, Byers and Chesterman (2003: 177–203) analyse the legality of humanitarian intervention and conclude that the principle of non-intervention is firmly established in both the UN Charter and customary international law, which leads them to claim that any moral justification for genuine humanitarian intervention should be understood as ‘exceptional illegality’ (ibid.: 195–201). Yet quite bizarrely the authors analyse the rules set out in the UN Charter and go on to analyse subsequent treaty interpretations, but never mention the Genocide Convention despite the fact that they raise the Rwandan genocide. Thus, we are left with an analysis that suggests that all forms of intervention are illegal but at no point do the authors even acknowledge that the Genocide Convention exists. If one introduces the Convention into their frame of analysis, the picture presented becomes somewhat muddied. For instance, are we to conclude that an intervention to prevent genocide that was in accordance Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 134 Adrian Gallagher with the Genocide Convention would constitute an ‘exceptional illegality’? If so, on what grounds would this intervention be illegal? If not, then the authors have to accept that this form of intervention is legal, which brings their whole argument into question. In other words, the conclusion put forward is built upon skewed foundations which emphasize the UN Charter and exclude alternative legal frameworks that may in fact challenge the norm of non-intervention. As Franck’s (2003: 204–31) chapter in this same volume rightly notes, such approaches attempt to ‘freeze-frame’ the UN Charter and in so doing, claim that Article 2 (4) should be interpreted through a commitment to the letter, rather than the spirit, of the law (204). In sharp contrast, Franck claims that international law should be understood as an evolving process which is not captured accurately by such freeze-frame approaches. Yet despite upholding a commitment to international law and claiming that it is important to acknowledge how it changes over time, Franck never mentions the Genocide Convention despite raising the Rwandan genocide. The strange nature of this omission raises the question of why the Genocide Convention failed to be considered within the frame of analysis. I argue that the marginalization of the Genocide Convention serves the needs of both critics and advocates of humanitarian intervention. For critics, the omission helps distance the sovereignty-intervention debate from the understanding of conditional sovereignty and pro-interventionism embodied in the Genocide Convention. This allows scholars such as Byers and Chesterman to load the dice in favour of an anti-interventionist position as they frame the dilemma by emphasising the UN Charter and excluding the Genocide Convention. The very same method also serves pro-interventionists because although they favour humanitarian intervention, they support a broader spectrum of intervention than just genocide prevention. Jack Donnelly (2003: 241) is one of very few scholars to actually engage with this issue, as he weighs up the legal, moral and political controversy that surrounds humanitarian intervention to conclude that the ‘least indefensible’ option may be to advocate humanitarian intervention only to stop or prevent genocide. At present it seems that advocates do not want even to engage with this issue as they try to expand the remit of humanitarian intervention. Thus, the fact that the marginalization of the Genocide Convention served the needs of both advocates and critics of humanitarian intervention in the post-Cold War era further explains why the UN Charter frame became so entrenched Let us turn to the final example, which notably excludes both genocide and the Genocide Convention while upholding the UN Charter frame in its analysis of post-Cold War humanitarian crises within states. In Thierry Tardy’s (2007: 49–70) analysis on ‘The UN and the Use of Force’, the author interprets the dilemma as Mayall did, arguing that the sovereignty-intervention dilemma exposes fundamental contradictions in the UN Charter. Whereas Mayall describes this as a clash between pluralism and solidarism, Tardy categorizes this in terms of realism versus liberalism. Tardy uses the examples of Iraq, Somalia, Bosnia, Kosovo, Srebrenica, the Democratic Republic of the Congo, Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d Framing the sovereignty intervention dilemma 135 Cambodia, El Salvador and Mozambique, but at no point does the author mention the Rwandan genocide or the Genocide Convention.11 With regard to emphasis and exclusion, why emphasize the numerous examples above in a discussion on post-Cold War humanitarian crises within states and exclude the Rwandan genocide? This, again, just seems strange. The outcome of this is that Tardy frames the entire sovereignty-intervention dilemma in a way that not only emphasizes the UN Charter, but excludes the problem of genocide altogether. There is a second and more important point raised in Tardy’s analysis, however, which notably helps to tie the different examples outlined in this section together. Intriguingly, Tardy states: In a way, the liberal-realist dichotomy is overcome by the fact that the various interpretations justify putting the UN aside when dealing with the legalization of the use of force: the realist approach – because the Security Council should not hinder state action when such action is considered necessary; the liberal and constructivist approaches – because the protection of civilian populations, whose rights are massively scoffed at, should justify the provisional and exceptional bypassing of the Security Council. (Tardy 2007: 61) Tardy’s analysis is important because it highlights that mainstream IR theorists frame the sovereignty-intervention dilemma against the backdrop of the UN Charter – just as Tardy does – yet at the same time claim that the UN Charter is morally deficient (whether from a realist or liberal perspective), in order to justify putting the UN Charter to one side. With regard to the issue of framing, it seems that the UN Charter serves a crucial purpose as it provides a common reference point that enables scholars to make a case in favour of fundamentally opposing positions as they attempt to put the UN Charter to one side. Again, this helps, at least in part, to explain why the Genocide Convention found itself marginalized as the introduction of the Convention into the discourse substantially alters the very frame that suits both the advocate and critic of humanitarian intervention. Whether intentional or unintentional, the exclusion of the Genocide Convention helps critics to oppose all forms of humanitarian intervention, but at the same time enables advocates to expand the remit of humanitarian intervention to more than just genocide alone. It is the process of emphasis and exclusion, therefore, that is key. Having provided a series of examples that all uphold the UN frame I am conscious that the idea that the Genocide Convention was marginalized in the humanitarian intervention debate needs more elaboration and illustration than can be given here. With this in mind I offer some general examples. For example, this can be seen in Stanley Hoffmann (ed.), The Ethics and Politics of Humanitarian Intervention, published in 1996, which makes reference to the Rwandan genocide but not the Genocide Convention. At a time when political Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 136 Adrian Gallagher elites were distancing themselves from even using the word genocide, one would have hoped that scholars could have drawn attention to the legal obligation set out in the Genocide Convention. Second, Robert Jackson’s The Global Covenant: Human Conduct in a World of States (2000), which is widely regarded as the leading contemporary defence of English School pluralism (state sovereignty and non-intervention), fails to index the Genocide Convention altogether. Again, this omission supports the argument that the non-intervention position is aided by the marginalization of the Genocide Convention. This is part of a broader problem within pluralism, for as Richard Shapcott claims, ‘[b]ecause of their assumptions of limited interaction, pluralists are at best silent and at worst indifferent to the extent of transnational ethical problems that face modern communities’ (Shapcott 2008: 192). Third, Ronald Tinnevelt and Gert Verschraegan’s (2006) edited volume, Between Cosmopolitan Ideals and State Sovereignty, is a widely cited cosmopolitan take on the meaning of sovereignty and the debate over humanitarian intervention (as well as many other things), but this, too, fails to index any mention of the Genocide Convention. This is despite the fact that leading cosmopolitan thinkers such as Andrew Linklater (Linklater and Suganami (2006: 181) and Richard Shapcott (2008: 198) recognize the Genocide Convention as a cosmopolitan harm convention. Finally, from a ‘genocide studies perspective’, Amitai Etzioni’s (2005) Genocide Prevention in the New Global Architecture, does not mention the Genocide Convention once, despite looking at the global architecture that surrounds genocide prevention. Again, one struggles to conclude anything but that such omissions within the discourse are quite simply strange. To bring this section to a close, I return to the issue of framing and raise the idea that ‘[f]rames serve multiple functions for different actors’ (Norris et al. 2003: 11). Having surveyed the above examples, what is striking is that through a process of emphasis and exclusion, scholars constructed a UN Charter frame which serves a range of objectives and arguments despite the fact that these are not always compatible with one another. Consider the following three perspectives that have been raised above: i) those that want radically to overhaul the UN Charter; ii) those that advocate a broader spectrum of intervention; and iii) those that reject all forms of intervention. All appeal to the UN Charter as their central reference point. In essence, this single frame serves multiple purposes. It also allowed scholars to load their belief system, by which I mean in this context their IR tradition, into their interpretation of the frame. Thus, as demonstrated, realists, liberals and English School scholars all appeal to the same frame in order to put forward radically different arguments. The utility of the UN Charter frame helps to explain why scholars, whether intentionally or unintentionally, excluded the Genocide Convention from their analysis. Essentially, the R2P discourse over the last decade has attempted to alter the humanitarian intervention frame. While this is understandable considering the divisive nature of the humanitarian intervention debate, one cannot help but think that ideas such as prevention, protection and conditional sovereignty that lie at the heart of the R2P were Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d Framing the sovereignty intervention dilemma 137 evident in 1948. For example, Bruce Cronin (Cronin and Hurd 2008), who specializes in the UN Security Council, interpreted the Genocide Convention in the following manner: ‘[t]he conclusion of the 1948 UN Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide (UNCG) created a legal framework for states to override the rights of sovereignty whenever genocide was committed’ (Cronin 2008: 147). Although one can understand why the Genocide Convention was marginalized within the extremity of the Cold War, further research and reflection is needed on how and why it was marginalized within the post-Cold War humanitarian intervention debate as scholars and policy makers tried to resolve the sovereignty-intervention dilemma. Conclusion Using an interpretivist approach, this chapter argues that scholars framed the post-Cold War sovereignty-intervention dilemma through a process of emphasis and exclusion which emphasized the UN Charter frame to the point that the Genocide Convention was excluded – even when the issue of genocide was being discussed. The strange nature of this omission raises questions over the intentional and unintentional exclusion of the Genocide Convention, with the latter asking us to consider how scholars unconsciously construct and reproduce the frames that underpin their search for meaning in international relations. This, of course, is not to suggest that including the Genocide Convention in the humanitarian intervention debate will suddenly resolve the sovereignty-intervention dilemma. After all, there were many humanitarian crises in the post-Cold War era that had nothing to do with genocide. Furthermore, there are many issues at stake (other than whether the Genocide Convention gets mentioned) that impact on international society’s willingness and ability to prevent genocide. Obviously, debates over sovereignty, intervention, abuses of power, rightful authority, to name just a few, are all important factors involved in resolving the sovereignty-intervention dilemma. However, this chapter has also highlighted that reflecting on how scholars interpret this dilemma is another important factor that needs to be given further consideration. When one considers that the lives of potentially millions of people remain dependent on how political elites interpret the sovereignty-intervention dilemma on a case-by-case basis, it is extremely important that scholars begin to reflect on this issue. With this in mind, the hope here is that through further research scholars may begin to get to grips with how the UN Charter frame may or may not have shaped political decision making. For example, a senior peace-keeping official at the UN admitted that it was only after the Rwandan genocide had taken place that he found out that the Genocide Convention existed (cited in Jones 2001: 121). At first, this statement seems unbelievable, yet one can begin to understand this tragic reality when one considers how the Genocide Convention found itself banished to the periphery of the post-Cold War discourse. It is the interpretivist approach, Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 138 Adrian Gallagher therefore, that helps us to make sense of the strange omission that lies at the heart of this chapter. This is beneficial in that it helps us to address the skewed foundations of the humanitarian intervention debate, but also illustrates the significant value of the interpretivist method. Notes 1 I would like to take this opportunity to thank Ian Hall, Mark Bevir, Oliver Daddow, Paul Behrens, Chris Kitchen, Emma Anderson and Matthew Lipmann for their comments on earlier versions of this chapter and valuable help in the research process. 2 I am drawing here on the idea of an ‘Intervention Dilemma’ as set by the International Commission for Intervention and State Sovereignty (2001: part one). 3 This chapter uses the phrase the Genocide Convention as this is a common shorthand. 4 I would like to thank Paul Behrens for this insightful point. It seems that this is part of an ongoing debate in international law; see Shaw (2008) and Werle (2005: esp. part 1d). 5 This author carried out primary research on the drafting of the Genocide Convention at the United Nations Archive (8–11 June 2009). 6 For a discussion on the complexities here, see Moses (2004). 7 There remains an unresolved ambiguity regarding Article VIII of the Genocide Convention, which stipulates: ‘Any Contracting Party may call upon the competent organs of the United Nations to take such action under the Charter of the United Nations as they consider appropriate for the prevention and suppression of genocide or any other acts enumerated in Article III’; see Quigley (2006: 85–87). 8 In the contemporary debate on the Responsibility to Protect it is clear that the humanitarian intervention frame has been re-cast in broader terms with a focus on prevention, reaction and rebuilding. As part of this process some scholars, though still not many, have included the Genocide Convention in their analysis: see Arbour (2008), Bellamy and Reike (2010), Glanville (2010) and Hehir (2011). Accordingly, this chapter calls for further analysis on the relationship between the R2P and the Genocide Convention. 9 The piece in question is T.M. Franck, ‘Legality and Legitimacy in Humanitarian Intervention’, in Terry Nardin and Melissa S. Williams (eds) NOMOS XLVII Humanitarian Intervention, vol. 47, New York: New York University Press, 2005. 10 As Pogge points out, despite Franck’s long list of empirical developments, it is the crime of genocide that Franck uses to illustrate the moral failings of the UN Charter. 11 One is reminded of the fact that in 1999, the Review of International Studies published a special edition journal on the post-Cold War decade which failed to provide any analysis on the Rwandan genocide or, for that matter, any analysis on genocide at all (see Shaw 2003: 269). References Arbour, L. (2008) ‘The Responsibility to Protect as a Duty of Care in International Law and Practice’, Review of International Studies 34(3): 445–58. Bellamy, A. and Reike, R. (2010) ‘The Responsibility to Protect and International Law’, Global Responsibility to Protect 2(3): 267–86. Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d Framing the sovereignty intervention dilemma 139 Bevir, M. (1999) The Logic of the History of Ideas, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bevir, M., Daddow, O. and Hall, I. (2013) ‘Interpreting British Foreign Policy’, British Journal of Politics and International Relations 15(2): 163–74. Bevir, M. and Rhodes, R.A.W. (1999) ‘Studying British Government: Reconstructing the Research Agenda’, British Journal of Politics and International Relations 1(2): 215–39. ——(2003) Interpreting British Governance, London: Routledge. ——(2005) ‘Interpretation and its Others’, Australian Journal of Political Science 40(2): 169–87. Booth, K. (1999) ‘Three Tyrannies’, in T. Dunne and N.J. Wheeler (eds) Human Rights in Global Politics, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 51–64. Byers, M. and Chesterman, S. (2003) ‘Changing the Rules about Rules? Unilateral Humanitarian Intervention and the Future of International Law’, in J.L. Holzgrefe and R. Keohane (eds) Humanitarian Intervention: Ethical, Legal, and Political Dilemmas, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Cooper, R. (2004) The Breaking of Nations, Order and Chaos in the Twenty First Century, London: Atlantic Books. Cronin, B. (2008) ‘The Tension between Sovereignty and Intervention in the Prevention of Genocide’, in S. Totten (eds) The Prevention and Intervention of Genocide, Genocide: A Critical Bibliographic Review, vol. 6, London: Transaction Publishers, 145–61. Cronin, B. and Hurd, I. (2008) The United Nations Security Council and the Politics of Authority, New York: Routledge. Donnelly, J. (2003) Universal Human Rights, in Theory and Practice, London: Cornell University Press. Dunne, T. and Kroslak, D. (2001) ‘Genocide: Knowing What it is that we Want to Remember, or Forget, or Forgive’, in K. Booth (ed.) The Kosovo Tragedy, Human Rights Dimensions, London: Frank Cass, 27–46. Edwards, R.W. (1981) ‘Contributions of the Genocide Convention to the Development of International Law’, Ohio Northern University Law Review 8: 300–15. Etzioni, A. (2005) ‘Genocide Prevention in the New Global Architecture’, British Journal of Politics and International Relations 7(4): 469–84. Evans, G. (2008) The Responsibility to Protect, Ending Mass Atrocity Crimes Once and for all, Washington: Brookings Institution Press. Falk, R. (2009) Achieving Human Rights, London: Routledge. Farer, T.J. (2003) ‘Humanitarian Intervention before and after 9/11: Legality and Legitimacy’, in J.L. Holzgrefe and R. Keohane (eds) Humanitarian Intervention: Ethical, Legal, and Political Dilemmas, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 53–89. Finch, G.A. (1949) ‘The Genocide Convention’, The American Journal of International Law 43(4): 732–38. Fournet, C. (2009) ‘The Universality of the Prohibition of Genocide, 1948–2008’, International Criminal Justice Review 19(2): 132–49. Franck, T.M. (2003) ‘Interpretation and Change in the Law of Humanitarian Intervention’, in J.L. Holzgrefe and R. Keohane (eds) Humanitarian Intervention: Ethical, Legal, and Political Dilemmas, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 204–31. Glanville, L. (2010) ‘The International Community’s Responsibility to Protect’, Global Responsibility to Protect 2(3): 286–306. Hay, C. (2011) ‘Interpreting Interpretivism Interpreting Interpretations: The New Hermeneutics of Public Administration’, Public Administration 89(1): 167–82. Hehir, A. (2011) ‘The Responsibility to Protect and International Law’, in P. Cunliffe (ed.) Critical Perspectives on The Responsibility to Protect, New York: Routledge, 84–100. Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 140 Adrian Gallagher Heidenrich, J.G. (2001) How to Prevent Genocide: A Guide for Policymakers, Scholars, and the Concerned Citizen, London: Praeger. Hoffmann, S. (ed.) (1996) The Ethics and Politics of Humanitarian Intervention, University of Notre Dame Press. Holzgrefe, J.L. and Keohane, R. (eds) (2003) Humanitarian Intervention: Ethical, Legal, and Political Dilemmas, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Hurd, I. (2011) ‘Is Humanitarian Intervention Legal? The Rule of Law in an Incoherent World’, Journal of Ethics and International Affairs 23(3): 293–313. International Commission for Intervention and State Sovereignty (2001) The Responsibility to Protect, Ottawa: International Development Research Centre. Jackson, R. (2000) The Global Covenant: Human Conduct in a World of States, Oxford: Oxford University Press. ——(2007) Sovereignty, Cambridge: Polity. Jones, B.D. (2001) Peacekeeping in Rwanda: The Dynamics of Failure, Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner. Kissinger, H. (2002) Does America Need a Foreign Policy? New York: Simon & Schuster. Linklater, A. and Suganami, H. (2006) The English School of International Relations: A Contemporary Reassessment, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Lippman, M. (2002) ‘A Road Map to the 1948 Genocide Convention’, Journal of Genocide Research 4(2): 177–95. Luard, E. (1967) The International Protection of Human Rights, London: Thames and Hudson. Mayall, J. (ed.) (1994) The New Interventionism, 1991–1994: United Nations Experience in Cambodia, former Yugoslavia and Somalia, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. McDougal, M.S. and Arends, R. (1950) ‘The Genocide Convention and the Constitution’, Vanderbilt Law Review 3(4): 683–710. Moses, D.A. (2004) ‘The Holocaust and Genocide’, in D. Stone (ed.) The Historiography of the Holocaust, New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 533–51. Norris, P., Kern, M. and Just, M. (eds) (2003) Framing Terrorism: The News Media, the Government and the Public, London: Routledge. Pogge, T. (2010) Politics as Usual, Cambridge: Polity Press. Quigley, J. (2006) The Genocide Convention: An International Law Analysis, Hampshire: Ashgate. Schabas, W.A. (2000) Genocide in International Law, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Shapcott, R. (2008) ‘Anti-cosmopolitanism, Pluralism and the Cosmopolitan Harm Principle’, Review of International Studies 34(2): 185–205. Shaw, M. (2003) ‘Strategy and Slaughter’, Review of International Studies 29(2): 269–77. Shaw, M.L. (2008) International Law, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Shue, H. (2006) ‘Limiting Sovereignty’, in J.M. Welsh (eds) Humanitarian Intervention in International Relations, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 11–29. Tardy, T. (2007) ‘The UN and the Use of Force: A Marriage Against Nature’, Security Dialogue 38(1): 49–70. Tinnevelt, R. and Verschraegan, G. (eds) (2006) Between Cosmopolitan Ideals and State Sovereignty, Basingstoke: Palgrave. United Nations (1947) Discussion on the Draft Convention on the Crime of Genocide (A/362, A/401, A/401.Add.1, A/C.6/147, A/C.6/149. A/C.6/151, A/C.6/155, A/C.6/ 159 and A/C.6/160). Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d Framing the sovereignty intervention dilemma 141 ——(1948) ‘Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide’ (A/Res/3/260). United Nations General Assembly Resolution (1946) The Crime of Genocide A/RES/96(I). Werle, G. (2005) Principles of International Criminal Law, Cambridge: Asser Press. Wheeler, N.J. (2000) Saving Strangers: Humanitarian Intervention in International Society, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 9 Writing the threat of terrorism in Western Europe and the European Union An interpretive analysis Christopher Baker-Beall Since the events of 11 September 2001, Western liberal democratic states have come to view terrorism as one of the most prescient threats to their security. This chapter focuses on the threat of terrorism as it has been perceived in Europe, drawing attention to its relationship to the establishment of new practices of governance designed to address terrorism and other ‘interrelated’ security issues since the 1970s. The chapter builds on the idea that there is a linkage between the new practices of governance utilized by Western liberal democratic states, the associated narratives that provide the justification for the development of those practices of governance and the advent of a new ‘joined-up’ approach to global security that relies on new institutions and transnational networks of scholars and practitioners (see Chapter 2, this volume). In particular, the chapter focuses on the European interpretation of and response to two dilemmas involving terrorism. First, it investigates the ways in which the European Community (EC) interpreted and responded to a wave of ‘international terrorism’ that afflicted Western Europe during the 1970s. Second, it turns to the European Union’s (EU) response to the dilemma posed by the events of 11 September 2001 and the so-called rise of the ‘new terrorism’, which was thought to be confirmed by the events in Madrid on 11 March 2004, and in London on 7 July 2005. The chapter is divided into three sections. The first section provides an historical analysis of the emergence and evolution of the concept of terrorism. The purpose of this is to help reveal how certain beliefs about terrorism (what terrorism is and who the terrorists are) have come to dominate how terrorism is understood. In turn, it is argued that these beliefs about terrorism have helped to shape or influence the types of policies that have been formulated in response to the perceived threat of terrorism. The second section extends the interpretive analysis of the concept of terrorism to its emergence and functioning in Western European and EC/EU security discourses from the 1970s until the events of 11 September 2001. It is argued that the dilemma posed by the threat of ‘international terrorism’ helped to change the way in which European governments responded to certain security issues; terrorism came to be understood by European governments as a specific type of threat, one that would require a particular type of response. It is argued that beliefs about the Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d Terrorism in Western Europe and the EU 143 potential threat of terrorism provided the basis for a response that would first require the development of a transnational framework for cooperation on matters of cross-border law enforcement (Trevi), and later the formulation of a holistic system of governance for the provision of internal security under the auspices of the EU’s Area of Freedom, Security and Justice (AFSJ). The analysis conducted here contends that this framework has come to represent the established governmental tradition through which counter-terrorism policy is formulated at the EC/EU level. The third section explores the impact of the events of 11 September 2001 on the EU’s policy response to terrorism, focusing on the ways in which the EU’s counter-terrorism meta-narrative, the ‘fight against terrorism’, has shaped the formulation of policy. It is argued that the dilemma posed by terrorism in the post-9/11 world can only be understood with regard to the wider narrative of ‘new terrorism’, which provides the context within which responses to terrorism are being developed in the early twenty-first century. However, this analysis also contends that EU counter-terrorism responses (and its more general internal security policies) are still largely guided by the role of the interior ministers of the member states; this, it is argued, can in large part be attributed to the governmental tradition established during the 1970s. The chapter concludes by arguing that the EU’s ‘fight against terrorism’ functions primarily as a legitimizing narrative in support of the new practices of internal security governance at the European level that have been developed since the 1970s. Throughout the chapter, due attention will be paid to the three theoretical concepts that inform the interpretive theory that underpins the research conducted in this book: beliefs, traditions and dilemmas (see Chapter 1, this volume). Interpreting terror: dominant beliefs about terrorism The purpose of this section on interpreting terrorism is not to provide a conclusive definition of the concept. The definitional question is one that has preoccupied scholars of terrorism studies for many years without resolution. Indeed, in his 1984 monograph Political Terrorism, Alex Schmid documented over 100 different definitions of terrorism, yet still reached the conclusion that ‘the search for an adequate definition of terrorism is still on’ (Schmid and Jongman 1988: 1). Bruce Hoffman (2006: 3) has argued that perhaps the most compelling reason for this difficulty in reaching an acceptable definition ‘is because the meaning of the term has changed so frequently over the past two hundred years’. With this in mind, the purpose of this analysis is instead to chart the emergence and evolution of the concept of terrorism, demonstrating how its meaning has changed across different historical periods and how the term has been applied in different contexts. This is done for a particular reason. Although it is recognized that our understanding of terrorism should always be considered contingent and contextual, charting the evolution of the concept of terrorism allows us to trace the emergence of certain beliefs about Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 144 Christopher Baker-Beall terrorism, which it is argued have come to dominate how terrorism is understood. The three most dominant beliefs identified in this analysis are: first, that terrorism represents an extreme threat to either an individual or a community; second, that terrorism should be viewed as an intrinsically immoral activity; and third, that terrorism is an act perpetrated predominantly by non-state actors. It is argued that in order to explain how politicians and policy makers interpret terrorism, ‘we must explore the beliefs and meanings through which they construct their world’ (Bevir et al. 2003: 4). In order to do this, the analysis in this chapter seeks to draw out these dominant beliefs about terrorism and demonstrate how they help to guide policy makers in the formulation of counter-terrorism responses. This section will begin by charting the emergence and evolution of the political terrorism discourse. The terms ‘terrorism’ and ‘terrorist’ first emerged during the French Revolution. However, according to Michael Blain (2009), an analysis of the etymology of the term ‘terror’ reveals that its conceptualization as a political act was predated by its association with religion and the Divine Right of the Sovereign to take life. The Oxford English Dictionary (OED) notes that the term ‘terror’ is derived from the Anglo-Norman term ‘terrour’, the Middle French term ‘terreur’ and the Latin noun ‘terror’. The earliest concept of terror referred to an individual’s state of being: a ‘state or quality of causing intense fear or dread’ (c.1400). Early examples of the use of the term terror revealed certain religious connotations, as in The Bible (Geneva): ‘the terrors of death have fallen upon me’ (c.1560). Significant to this prerevolutionary conceptualization of terror was the phrase ‘king of terrors’, which according to the OED literally meant ‘death personified’. It came from the Bible, Job 18:14, in which it stated: ‘His confidence … shall bring him to the king of terrours’ (c.1611). At this point, terror was understood as something imposed by God and the Sovereign. As such, it can be argued that in the period before the French Revolution, terror was understood as a sovereign right of death or a Monarch’s right to take or give life in defence of sovereignty: ‘terror’ was considered to be the personification of death. Blain has argued that this ‘pre-revolutionary’ concept of ‘terror’ had a different meaning to the political connotations that it carries in the early twenty-first century: it was associated with a politics of death, ‘the right to take or give life, dramatized in the spectacular victimage rituals of public torture and pre-modern forms of warfare’ (Blain 2009: 108). A new political concept of ‘terror’ entered the English language during the period of the French Revolution (1789–94). As Igor Primoratz (2004: 113) explains, when terrorism first entered political discourse ‘it was to describe a case of state terrorism’. The imposition of terror was an instrument of governance wielded by the newly established Jacobin regime that sought to secure the revolutionary state against its enemies.1 The OED contains two references to terror and its association with the French Revolution. The first reference contextualizes the concept of terror in an historical sense: ‘the period of the French Revolution from about March 1793 to July 1794, marked by extreme Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d Terrorism in Western Europe and the EU 145 repression and bloodshed; a similar period of violent repression occurring in other countries, esp. the former Soviet Union during the first half of the 20th cent.’ The second reference defines the concept of a ‘Reign of Terror’, specifically associated with the French Revolution, as ‘a period of remorseless repression or bloodshed during which the general community live in constant fear of death or violence … the period of the First Revolution from about March 1793 to July 1794’ (OED, 2012: emphasis added). There are several points that need to be highlighted in relation to this discursive shift in the conceptualization of terror that followed the French Revolution. First, there was a broadening of the term in that it was now used to refer to the state of the ‘general community’ rather than the individual. Second, a political dimension to terrorism was constructed because this ‘general community’ was thought to live in ‘constant fear of death or violence’ or ‘repression’, as delivered through or by the agents of the political system, and occurring at other points in history (France during the Revolution, Russia during tsarist rule). Finally, as Blain (2009) has pointed out, the earlier associations to the word did not disappear, but rather accumulated. It can be argued, therefore, that the term terrorism, as a suffix of the term terror, has remained wedded to the earlier association with a state or quality that can cause ‘intense fear or dread’. In this sense, the belief that terrorism can represent an extreme threat to the individual or to a community has remained constant throughout its history. Although the term terrorism was originally used to give meaning to acts of repression carried out by the state, since its emergence during the French Revolution terrorism has been used as a label with which to describe political violence in a wide range of differing historical contexts. In the middle-to-late nineteenth century the term terrorism shifted from its original revolutionary conceptualization, as a form of state terrorism, and was instead used to describe the activities of groups of Russian anarchists, such as the Narodnaya Volya and its various successor organizations, which emerged to challenge tsarist rule in Russia (Hoffman 2006). Likewise, the challenge to British rule in Ireland by ethno-nationalist, separatist organizations such as the Fenian Brotherhood (which incidentally also began towards the end of the nineteenth century), has also been described as an instance of terrorism (Richardson 2006: 50–52). Following the Second World War, the meaning of terrorism changed once more. As Bruce Hoffman (2006: 16) explains, terrorism ‘regained the revolutionary connotations with which it is most commonly associated’, in that it was used to describe ‘the various indigenous nationalist/anticolonialist groups that emerged in Asia, Africa, and the Middle East during the late 1940s and 1950s to oppose continued European rule’.2 By the 1970s the meaning of terrorism had undertaken another discursive shift, with numerous terrorism studies scholars crediting 1968 as the advent of the modern era of ‘international terrorism’ (Hoffman 2002, 2006; Cronin 2003). According to David Rapoport (2002), the modern era of ‘international terrorism’ was characterized by the emergence of a wave of ‘New Left’ terrorist organizations, which took their inspiration from the activities of the Palestinian Liberation Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 146 Christopher Baker-Beall Organization (PLO), including groups in Europe such as the Red Brigades (Italy) and the Red Army Faction (Germany). Thomas J. Badey (1998: 92) contends that what differentiated ‘international terrorism’ from earlier forms of terrorism was its transnational nature, noting that it can be best understood as ‘the repeated use of politically motivated violence with coercive intent, by non-state actors, that affects more than one state’. By the mid-1990s, beliefs about what constitutes terrorism had evolved once more. Debates about terrorism began to focus on the idea that the phenomenon had somehow changed – it was now thought to be ‘new’ and different from ‘old’ forms of terrorism (Laqueur 1999; Lesser et al. 1999). It has been argued that the idea of ‘new’ terrorism is characterized by three main beliefs (Crenshaw 2008). First, that the goals of terrorist organizations have changed: they are thought to derive from religious doctrine and contain millenarian objectives. Second, the methods of ‘new’ terrorism have been transformed: whereas the ‘old’ terrorists groups engaged in targeting their enemies for strategic purposes, it is argued that the ‘new’ terrorists are committed to causing the largest possible number of casualties amongst their enemies. Third, the structures of terrorist organizations are now considered to be different. Whereas the ‘old’ terrorist groups of the past were thought to be hierarchical, the ‘new’ terrorism of the early twenty-first century is thought to resemble more closely a ‘network’. The rise of terrorist organizations such as Al-Qaida and the events of 11 September 2001 have reinforced this perception that terrorism in the early twenty-first century is qualitatively different from the terrorism of the past. Having charted this evolution in how terrorism has been conceptualized, it can be argued that what unites all of these examples is that terrorism has primarily been thought of as an activity carried out by non-state actors against the state. It will be argued in the following section that this belief helped to shape European responses to terrorism in the 1970s and later influenced EU counter-terrorism policy after 9/11. Although there has been work done to challenge this belief (see George 1991), it remains the case that one of the dominant beliefs about terrorism, which influences policy makers, is that the state cannot be thought of as an actor that engages in activities that could otherwise be defined as terrorist. This can in part be explained by the important role that terrorism plays as a normative label. Linked to the notion that terrorism is an activity carried out primarily by non-state actors is the belief that terrorism is in some way an inherently immoral activity. Indeed, Louise Richardson has argued that the only certainty about terrorism is the pejorative nature with which the word is used (cited in Horgan 2005: 1). ‘Terrorist’ is a description that has almost never been voluntarily adopted by an individual or group. It is a label that is applied to an individual or a group by others – first and foremost by the governments of the states they attack (Townshend 2002). Indeed, for governments the label of terrorist serves a particular function, by branding violent opponents with this title, with its clear implications of inhumanity and criminality, it can help to convey ‘a lack of real political support’ (ibid.: 3). However, as was Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d Terrorism in Western Europe and the EU 147 explained at the start, terror is a description of a particular kind of fear. Therefore it must follow that terrorism refers to the creation, or attempted creation, of that sense of fear. Semantically speaking, then, the term is descriptive rather than constitutive. Yet this belief that terrorism is inherently immoral has endowed it with constitutive properties. As Peter R. Neumann and M.L.R. Smith explain, the belief that terrorism is an inherently immoral activity has come at a price: it has meant that ‘the word terrorism has become infused with negative moral connotations that undermine its descriptive utility’ (Neumann and Smith 2008: 2). It is argued here that accompanying this descriptive price is also a practical one, because terrorism has come to be understood as something inherently immoral; when the threat of terrorism is invoked the potential for a rational response is undermined. Furthermore, the belief that terrorism is immoral has played a significant role in legitimizing or justifying responses to terrorism. This first section has sought to chart the evolution of the concept of terrorism since it first emerged as a label for a particular type of political violence during the French Revolution. It has been argued that the meaning of terrorism has changed dramatically in the past 200 years. As such, the meaning of terrorism should always be considered contingent and contextual. Although the way terrorism is understood has changed, it was also argued that three dominant beliefs about terrorism can be identified that have remained constant since the emergence of the term. These three beliefs are: that terrorism represents an extreme threat to either an individual or a community; that terrorism is an act perpetrated predominantly by non-state actors; and that terrorism should be viewed as an intrinsically immoral activity. The next section will highlight how these beliefs about terrorism shaped European responses to terrorism during the 1970s. The dilemma of terrorism in Western Europe and the establishment of new structures of security governance This section analyses the establishment of new practices of internal security governance at the European level, since the 1970s, which it is argued were created primarily as a response to the threat of terrorism. Three main arguments are put forward here. First, the dilemma posed by the threat of ‘international terrorism’ helped to change the way in which European governments responded to certain security threats. Terrorism alongside organized crime and immigration had until this point traditionally been perceived as threats to the security of individual states. From the 1970s onwards, European governments began to develop intergovernmental structures to coordinate and cooperate on matters of internal security – a development that was initiated as a response to a wave of ‘international terrorism’ that afflicted European states during this period. Second, this transnational framework for cooperation on matters of cross-border law enforcement (Trevi) that was developed during the 1970s, which has since evolved into a holistic system of governance for the Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 148 Christopher Baker-Beall provision of internal security under the auspices of the EU’s AFSJ, represents a particular governmental tradition that has also influenced the type of counter-terrorism policy response that has been formulated by the EU.3 Third, although initially the threat of terrorism was invoked to legitimize a much wider range of internal security measures than solely counter-terrorism policies, as the EC/EU’s internal security governance structure has evolved the threat of terrorism was thought to have reduced in importance. At the outset of this analysis it is important to note that one of the defining features of the EU response to terrorism, the ‘fight against terrorism’, has been to treat it as primarily (although not exclusively) an internal security threat. This reflects the experience of Western European governments who since the 1970s have dealt with instances of terrorism as predominantly a domestic security issue, albeit with certain transnational dimensions. Traditionally, at both national and European level, it has been interior ministers who have taken the lead in the formulation of counter-terrorism policy. This helps to explain why the EU has developed a deeply embedded perception of terrorism as crime, or as a form of criminal activity (Jackson 2007; Edwards and Meyer 2008). Initially, cooperation between European states in matters of internal security governance was limited to the strictly intergovernmental framework of the Council of Europe. There are a number of Council of Europe conventions that the EC/EU considered so important to the development of its internal security sphere that they have been defined as part of the acquis communautaire. These include the European Convention on Extradition (1957) and the European Convention on the Suppression of Terrorism (1977). Valsamis Mitsilegas et al. (2003: 20) note that these conventions have ‘become points of departure for the more comprehensive measures adopted by the EC member states or (later) by the EU’. However, greater incentives for cooperation on internal security policy were needed. These incentives arrived in the 1970s with Western Europe plagued by a significant degree of ‘international terrorism’, carried out by transnational terrorist organizations, effectively ‘catapulting it to the top of all world regions in incidence of terrorist activity’ (Corrado and Evans 1988: 373). The murder of 11 Israeli athletes by terrorists at the Olympic Games in Munich in 1972, combined with heightening tensions in the Middle East, drastically increased the perceived threat from transnational terrorist networks in Europe. For example, during this period groups such as the Irish Republican Army (IRA), the West German Red Army Faction (the Baader-Meinhof group), the Italian Red Brigades (Brigate Rosse) and the Basque separatists ETA, intensified their activities. Thus it was a dilemma involving terrorism, and more specifically the threat of further incidents of terrorism, that provided the motivation for greater cooperation amongst European states on matters of internal security. At a Council of Ministers meeting in December 1975, a proposal by the UK Prime Minister Harold Wilson ‘that Community Ministers for the Interior (or Ministers with similar responsibilities) should meet to discuss matters coming within their competence, in particular with Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d Terrorism in Western Europe and the EU 149 regard to law and order’, was adopted (European Council 1975). Tony Bunyan (1993) notes that at the same meeting a proposal for the establishment of a specific working group to combat terrorism was also agreed. This led to the formal establishment of the Trevi Group by the nine members of the EC in June 1976, with the aim of countering transnational terrorist activity and improving coordination between police forces of EC member states.4 The establishment of these new intergovernmental practices of European internal security cooperation was accompanied by a justificatory narrative emphasizing the threat of terrorism, reflected in a series of statements made at the time by both the European Council and by European politicians. In his opening address to the European Parliament, in January 1975, the President Cornelius Berkhouwer (European Parliament 1975) commented that ‘the Western world is afflicted with a number of diseases that are a serious threat to its continued existence’, of which he identified a ‘constant increase in terror and aggressiveness’ as one of the most prevalent concerns that ‘threaten to destroy the structures of Western society’. He warned that all EC member states could potentially ‘fall victim to this terrorism’, precipitating a need for EC member states to work together to ‘jointly protect ourselves, put a stop to this terror and destroy it root and branch’. The perceived threat of terrorism led the European Council, at a meeting in July 1976, to issue a declaration on combating terrorism that was unequivocal in its condemnation of terrorists, and which emphasized the need for cooperation to counter the threat (European Council 1976). The statement declared that the taking of hostages, for the purpose of putting political pressure on whichever state or government had been targeted, to be an ‘inhuman practice’ that was ‘completely unacceptable’. It further noted that it was ‘in the interests of all governments to cooperate in combating the evil of terrorism’. In a speech to the United Nations (UN) in September 1976, addressing the General Assembly in his role as the President of European Political Cooperation, the Dutch Foreign Minister Max van der Stoel made reference to the threat of ‘international terrorism’ as a matter of deep concern for the nine members of the EC. Van der Stoel (1976) echoed many of the claims made in the earlier European Council (1976) declaration on terrorism, arguing that Europe had begun to witness an ‘increasing frequency of acts of violence which endanger or take innocent human life’, noting that what was particular about these incidents was their ‘international dimension’. Acts of ‘international terrorism’, such as hostage taking, were described as ‘one of the most heinous crimes against human life’ and a form of ‘insidious violence against the innocent’, whilst the actors who engaged in this type of activity were thought to be ‘evil’ or ‘inhuman’. This narrative on the dilemma posed by terrorism was accompanied by a belief amongst EC politicians that there were ‘serious indications that … [they were] confronted with a growing danger of a worldwide network of professional criminal terrorism ready to strike at any moment against any state and its citizens’ (van der Stoel 1976). This perception of the threat of terrorism, as ‘international’ in dimension, shaped the counter-terrorism Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 150 Christopher Baker-Beall response of European governments and necessitated the creation of intergovernmental structures designed to facilitate cooperation in this policy area. The murder of Aldo Moro by terrorists in 1978 led the nine members of the EC to argue once more for ‘intensification of cooperation’ in order to combat terrorism, agreeing that ‘the relevant Ministers will increase their mutual cooperation and will as soon as possible submit their conclusions on the proposals before them for a European judicial area’ (European Council 1978). It is quite clear that the threat of terrorism, as interpreted by the EC/EU and EC politicians, provided the rationality for increased cooperation amongst EC member states through the formation of a new (informal) internal security framework designed to counter that threat. The creation of new modes of security governance at the EC/EU level was to a certain degree contingent on and driven by instances of terrorism across Europe during the 1970s. Likewise, it can be argued that the creation of these new security practices was inextricably linked to the accompanying narrative on terrorism. Indeed, the comments of the EC politicians highlighted above demonstrate the way in which they rearticulated and drew upon the dominant beliefs about terrorism that were identified in the first section. For the representatives of the EC, terrorism was identified as the activity of ‘criminals’, with the use of the terms ‘evil’ and ‘inhuman’ demonstrating a belief that terrorism should be seen as a morally repugnant activity. Likewise, the argument that terrorism should be viewed as a threat to ‘any state and its citizens’, can be interpreted as a re-articulation of the belief that terrorism is an act perpetrated predominantly, if not solely, by non-state actors. Importantly, running throughout this narrative on terrorism, was the belief that terrorism should be viewed as a massive and potentially existential threat to the security of the EC and its member states, thereby providing purpose for the establishment of a new transnational, intergovernmental security framework. It has been argued thus far that beliefs about terrorism played a key role in the creation of new modes of security governance at the European level; it has also been argued that these structures have played a key role in the formation of a particular governmental tradition of how best to respond to the perceived threat of terrorism (through internal security measures). This chapter will now briefly consider the way in which the threat of terrorism has been invoked to legitimize the expansion of this security framework to include a much greater range of internal security issues. Although initially it was the threat of terrorism that provided the sole justification for the establishment of these new security practices, a transformation in the accompanying narrative occurred as the security structures became more entrenched. Terrorism was no longer referred to as a single, identifiable threat but was invoked as one of a number of interlinked threats, alongside ‘organized crime’, ‘drug trafficking’ and ‘illegal immigration’. In successive policy documents released after 1987, when terrorism was referred to, it was as one of these interlinked threats. Meetings in this area were conducted in secrecy between 1976 and 1986.5 Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d Terrorism in Western Europe and the EU 151 As such, it was not until 1987 with the Declaration of the Belgian Presidency that the work of the opaque framework of intergovernmental cooperation that had been created up until this point, particularly in response to terrorism, became slightly clearer. A number of policy documents outlining the work of the Trevi Group, including the work to be done in the future, were released. These included: the ‘Palma Document’ (Madrid, June 1989); the ‘Declaration of Trevi Group Ministers’ (Paris, 15 December 1989); and the ‘Programme of Action’ (Dublin, June 1990).6 In particular, the release of the Palma document in June 1989 marked the beginning of a transformation from ad hoc structures of cooperation, to the more permanent structure of intergovernmental cooperation created with the establishment of the EU in 1993. The document highlighted the progressive development of policies designed to combat terrorism, organized crime and drug trafficking, establishing their association with policing and immigration control. The repetitive and frequent reference to the series of interlinked threats (terrorism, crime, drug trafficking and illegal immigration) and the perceived need for coordination and cooperation of policy responses, demonstrated the constitutive relationship between the articulation of security threats and the development of new security practices. In late 1993 the Trevi Group was subsumed into the K4 committee, established under Title VI of the Treaty on European Union (TEU), giving it for the first time an institutional basis (Benyon 1994). In the TEU, where it made reference to terrorism, it did so as part of one ‘area of common interest’, below asylum and immigration policy, control of external borders and judicial cooperation in civil and criminal matters, and as part of ‘police cooperation for the purposes of preventing and combating terrorism, unlawful drug trafficking and other serious forms of international crime’ (TEU, 1992: Article K. 1). Having provided the rationality for the development of these new internal security practices from the mid-1970s through until the late 1980s, references to the threat of terrorism became less frequent in the period thereafter. In the 1990s the focus of the EU turned to other problems such as ‘organized crime’ and ‘immigration’. As part of its goal of ‘ever closer union’ (European Council 1995), the EU continued to advocate increased cooperation in the internal sphere of security policy. The Amsterdam Treaty (1997) was particularly important with regard to this aim. It included an objective to ‘facilitate the free movement of persons [between member states], while ensuring the safety and security of their peoples’, through the establishment of an ‘area of freedom, security and justice’ (AFSJ). As part of the process of implementing this objective, the European Council at Vienna (European Council 1998) set out a ‘plan of action’ to ensure the successful development of the AFSJ; this plan contained no references to terrorism as an aspect of this policy. It did, however, establish ‘judicial cooperation’, ‘immigration policy’, ‘police cooperation’ and ‘the fight against all important forms of organised crime’ as important issues in this area. Similarly, the EU’s first multi-annual internal security programme, the Tampere Programme Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 152 Christopher Baker-Beall (European Council 1999), which established a whole raft of policy proposals and initiatives in this area, contained only a passing reference to terrorism. Monica den Boer’s (2003a: 1) assessment that the EU, in the period before 11 September 2001 and in relation to the development of internal security governance at the EU level, was primarily focused on other security problems seems particularly apt. She notes that terrorism was ‘demoted to a position amidst other internal security concerns’, alongside ‘illegal immigration and organised crime’, with the EU rarely making reference to the threat of terrorism during this period – thereby creating the impression that ‘the issue of terrorism had temporarily disappeared from the stage’ (den Boer 2003a: 1). This second section has put forward three main arguments. First, the dilemma of ‘international terrorism’ that afflicted Western European states during the 1970s facilitated a change in the way in which European governments responded to terrorism. Second, beliefs about terrorism, including the type of threat it was thought to represent, shaped beliefs about how best to respond to terrorism, playing a key role in not only the formulation of transnational counter-terrorism responses but also the creation of an intergovernmental framework for cooperation on a range of issues related to cross-border law enforcement. Third, as the EC/EU’s internal security governance structure has evolved, the threat of terrorism, although initially invoked to justify or legitimize a much wider range of internal security measures, was during the 1980s and 1990s thought to have reduced in importance. The ‘fight against terrorism’ and the strengthening of new modes of security governance in the EU This section investigates the way in which the threat of terrorism has, since the events of 11 September 2001, re-emerged as a serious concern for the EU. Importantly, it is argued that the threat of terrorism has been invoked by the EU to justify or legitimize the continued strengthening of new modes of internal security governance within the EU area. The section aims to demonstrate how the EU’s ‘fight against terrorism’ is constituted through the re-articulation of a number of dominant beliefs about terrorism identified in the previous two sections, including the belief that terrorism represents an extreme threat to the EU and its member states. In particular, it is argued that the dilemma posed by terrorism in the post-9/11 world has led policy makers to interpret the threat as somehow ‘new’ or different to the terrorism of the past. However, although the threat is thought to have changed, it remains the case that the EU counter-terrorism response is still largely guided by the role of the interior ministers and this, it is argued, can in large part be attributed to the governmental tradition established during the 1970s. The events of 11 September 2001 pushed terrorism back to the top of the political agenda for most Western states. This was especially the case in the EU, where ‘terrorism was resurrected with all its political salience after this date’ (den Boer 2003a: 1). However, whereas the United States chose to frame its Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d Terrorism in Western Europe and the EU 153 response to the events of 9/11 as a ‘war on terror’, the EU advocated a quite different approach. This response was revealed in the ‘joint declaration’ by the heads of state, the European Parliament, the Commission and the high representative on 14 September 2001, which reintroduced the idea of a ‘fight against terrorism’ (European Union 2001). Like the ‘war on terror’, the ‘fight against terrorism’ can be understood as a meta-narrative through which particular security practices are constituted and counter-terrorism responses formulated. With striking similarity to the way in which the threat of terrorism had been interpreted in Western European security discourse(s) during the 1970s and 1980s, the EU meta-narrative on terrorism tapped into and rearticulated the ideas of (non-state) terrorism as both a major threat to its member states and to its citizens, as well as an inherently immoral activity. The language of the ‘joint declaration’ was particularly revealing in this respect, in that it spoke of the 9/11 terrorist acts as ‘acts of savagery’, an ‘assault on humanity’, an attack ‘against us all, against open, democratic, multicultural and tolerant societies’, as well as a threat to ‘global solidarity’ (European Union 2001). This condemnatory moral narrative could also be detected in the Conclusions and Plan of Action of the Extraordinary European Council Meeting, released on 21 September by the European Council (2001), which stated that the attacks on 11 September were ‘barbaric acts’ that represented a threat to ‘our common values’, and which emphasized that the threat of terrorism, in the early twenty-first century, would provide a ‘challenge to the conscience of each human being’. Whereas in the 1970s the dilemma posed by terrorism was interpreted as being ‘international’ in dimension, in the post 9/11 era the dilemma posed by terrorism was interpreted as being somehow ‘new’ and different from the ‘old’ forms of terrorism. What has underpinned this idea that terrorism should be seen as ‘new’, in the context of EU counter-terrorism policy, is the belief that the main threat to the EU comes from terrorist organizations such as Al-Qaida, including groups that are inspired by Al-Qaida. This belief was thought to have been confirmed by the events in Madrid on 11 March 2004, and in London on 7 July 2005. Indeed, the first time the EU explicitly revealed that its response to terrorism was influenced by the idea of ‘new’ terrorism was in the European Security Strategy (European Council 2003). The document stated that ‘increasingly, terrorist movements are well resourced, connected by electronic networks, and are willing to use unlimited violence to cause massive casualties’. The threat of the ‘new’ terrorism was argued to be ‘global in scope’, to pose ‘a growing strategic threat’ and having links to ‘violent religious extremism’. The ‘new’ terrorism was described as ‘dynamic’; it was argued that ‘left alone, terrorist networks will become ever more dangerous’. The document also linked this ‘new’ form of terrorism to the threat posed by weapons of mass destruction (WMD), stating that ‘we [the EU] are now … entering a new and dangerous period in which a proliferation of these weapons may occur’, and furthermore ‘the most frightening scenario is one in which terrorist groups acquire weapons of mass destruction’. Since its re-emergence Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 154 Christopher Baker-Beall after 9/11, the ‘fight against terrorism’ meta-narrative has continued to emphasize the idea that terrorism should be perceived as a ‘new’ and ‘constantly evolving’ threat (Council of the European Union 2009: 50). Importantly, the perceived threat of the ‘new’ terrorism was utilized in order to provide the justification and rationality for increased cooperation between member states in this policy area, as well as agreement on a whole raft of policy initiatives. The Extraordinary European Council Meeting (European Council 2001) outlined a five-step plan to combat terrorism, which included: enhancing police and judicial cooperation; developing international legal instruments; putting an end to the funding of terrorism; strengthening air security; and coordinating the EU’s global action. Possibly the most significant of these steps was the objective of ‘enhancing police and judicial cooperation’, which highlighted an intention on the part of the EU to reach agreement over the introduction of the European Arrest Warrant (EAW) and adoption of a common definition of terrorism. It also included a recommendation to the JHA Council that member states be encouraged to ‘implement as quickly as possible the entire package of measures decided on at the European Council meeting in Tampere’ (European Council 2001). Given that terrorism had barely featured in any of the policy discussions in the run up to the completion of the AFSJ, this assertion that the measures contained within the Tampere policy document would need to be implemented ‘as quickly as possible’, in response to just one terrorist attack (albeit a particularly devastating one), reflected what can be interpreted as an EU predilection towards ‘matching pre-existing policy proposals to new problems’ (Bossong 2008: 36). Indeed, Raphael Bossong (2008) has outlined how the ‘window of opportunity’ (see den Boer 2003b) provided by the attacks in New York and on the Pentagon, allowed for an acceleration of agreement over the Framework Decisions on the EAW (2002) and on Combating Terrorism, establishing them as central elements of the ‘fight against terrorism’.7 Significantly, the European Commission (2001) also took the opportunity to extend its influence over the development of EU counter-terrorism policy by presenting an internal strategy paper that was released three days prior to the Extraordinary European Council Meeting. As well as placing agreement on the two framework decisions at the heart of the plan – the internal strategy, entitled ‘Increasing the Capacity of the EU to Fight International Terrorism’, listed 18 proposals designed to maximize the role of the EU in relation to the member states. This included an expanded role for agencies such as Europol and Eurojust, development of cooperation in other international forums (UN, G8, etc.) and increased border control, with Bossong (2008: 35), arguing that ‘at least 14 of the 18 proposals went clearly beyond, or had rather tenuous links to, counter-terrorism, such as the review of EU visa or sanctions policy’. This subtle expansion of the counter-terrorism policy agenda gives credence to Geoffrey Edwards and Christoph O. Meyer’s (2008: 15) observation that the Commission was ‘able to use its expertise and strategic role in the policy process during a short period of uncertainty and intense pressure for political Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d Terrorism in Western Europe and the EU 155 action to advance a range of long-standing but stalled legislative initiatives in the area of JHA’. Instead of being a stand-alone policy, den Boer (2003a: 1) contends that actually EU counter-terrorism policy represents a conflation of policy agendas, with concern about terrorism providing the catalyst for ‘the Europeanisation of crime control policies’. The framing of the EU response to terrorism post-9/11, as predominantly an internal security issue, can in part be explained by the dominance of a particular policy community. Whilst the US response, the ‘war on terror’, reflected the strength of the foreign and defence policy community in the policy process, the EU’s response, the ‘fight against terrorism’, reflected the strength of the justice and home affairs (JHA) policy community. The previous experience of EC/EU member states in dealing with terrorism through cooperation between interior ministries during the 1970s had played a key role in the establishment of this position of strength. As Edwards and Meyer (2008: 14–15) have explained, in national and European security cultures, situational threat analysis has been influenced by traditions of past strategic action on the part of self-interested political actors and institutions. These actors mould, instrumentalize and securitize threat perceptions for unrelated motives that involve an increase in general influence (over the policy area) or an increase in allocation of resources. As they confirm in relation to EU counter-terrorism policy: Pre-existing superior expertise, administrative capability and strategic interests also explain why the EU’s counter-terrorism efforts were subsequently led by JHA ministers and related working groups/committees, not foreign ministers as originally envisaged. JHA ministers were able to position themselves as competent interpreters and actors in counter-terrorism. From that position they were able to link the terrorist threat with other issues on their agenda, including illegal migration and transnational crime. (Edwards and Meyer 2008: 15) This point is of particular importance in that it helps to reveal one of the key functions of the ‘fight against terrorism’ meta-narrative, which until this point in this analysis has remained understated. The primary function of the ‘fight against terrorism’ has not necessarily been about developing an effective counter-terrorism response per se; rather, its primary function has been as a narrative drawn upon by the EU, its institutions and its agencies, as well as by politicians and policy makers, as a way of legitimizing the expansion and further coordination of a whole raft of JHA and more general crime-control policies, many with tenuous links actually to combating terrorism. Conclusion This chapter has sought to support one of the main premises of this book, most notably the idea that ‘beliefs are central to explanation in social science Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 156 Christopher Baker-Beall and that international theorists should not be so wary of interpreting beliefs and explaining actions by reference to beliefs’ (from Bevir, Daddow and Hall’s conclusion to Chapter 1, this volume). It has done this by engaging with a case study of terrorism and responses to terrorism in Europe during the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries. The analysis conducted in this chapter highlighted the importance of two dilemmas involving terrorism, a wave of ‘international terrorism’ during the 1970s and the rise of the ‘new terrorism’ during the 2000s, upon which EC/EU politicians and policy makers have drawn to support and provide legitimacy for the creation of new modes of transnational security governance at the European level, at first developed in order to respond to terrorism. The chapter began by arguing that since its emergence, the meaning of terrorism has shifted many times, and as such its meaning remains contextual and contingent. However, although the meaning of terrorism was demonstrated to be highly contingent, it was argued that understandings of terrorism are characterized by a number of dominant beliefs about what terrorism is and who the terrorists are. These ideas about terrorism include the beliefs that: terrorism represents an extreme threat to either an individual or a community; terrorism is an act perpetrated predominantly by non-state actors; and terrorism should be viewed as an intrinsically immoral activity. In turn, it was argued that these beliefs about terrorism are inextricably linked to, and help to shape, responses to terrorism. Having established the importance of beliefs about terrorism in the context of emerging forms of ‘joined-up’ security governance, the chapter focused specifically on the EC/EU as a case study in support of this idea. First, it was argued that the wave of terrorism that afflicted Europe during the 1970s provided the basis for the creation of intergovernmental structures designed to facilitate cooperation in this policy area. This framework became the established governmental tradition through which future responses to terrorism and other internal security issues would be interpreted and organized. Importantly, although the threat of terrorism provided the sole justification for the establishment of these new security practices, a transformation in the accompanying narrative occurred as the security structures became more entrenched. Terrorism was no longer identified as a specific threat, but instead was identified as one of a number of ‘new’ security issues, alongside ‘illegal immigration’ and ‘organized crime’. Second, it was argued that in the aftermath of the 11 September 2001 attacks, the threat of terrorism was once again identified as the most prescient threat to the EU, leading to the development of the EU counter-terrorism response: the ‘fight against terrorism’. However, as it has been demonstrated, although the EU put forward a number of measures designed to combat the threat, the primary function of the ‘fight against terrorism’ meta-narrative, in much the same way as when the threat of terrorism was invoked during the 1970s, has been to legitimize or justify the formulation of a holistic system of governance for the provision of internal security. Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d Terrorism in Western Europe and the EU 157 Notes 1 About 17,000 legal executions occurred under the ‘Reign of Terror’, and around 23,000 occurred illegally (Greer 1935, cited in Tilly 2004: 9). 2 Hoffman (2006) notes that countries as diverse as Algeria, Cyprus, Kenya and Israel owe their independence at least in part to nationalist political movements that employed terrorism as a tactic against the ruling colonial powers. 3 In essence, then, it is argued that counter-terrorism responses are shaped by two key factors: first, a belief about what terrorism is, as well as who the terrorists are; second, the established governmental tradition through which the response has been coordinated. 4 The Trevi group was the first of a number of informal, ad hoc groups covering terrorism, immigration, asylum, policing and law that were formed under the umbrella of intergovernmental cooperation between 1976 and 1993, before the creation of the EU. 5 Incidentally, it should be noted that the first time the EC mentioned the phrase ‘fight against terrorism’ in an official policy document was in the conclusions of the London European Council meeting of 5–6 December 1986 (European Council 1986). 6 These documents can be found in Tony Bunyan’s (1997) book, Key Texts on Justice and Home Affairs in the European Union. 7 According to Hans G. Nilsson (2002), the Framework Decisions on the EAW and on Combating Terrorism had been prepared, within the Commission, for two years prior to 9/11. References Badey, T.J. (1998) ‘Defining International Terrorism: A Pragmatic Approach’, Terrorism and Political Violence 10(1): 90–107. Benyon, John (1994) ‘Policing the European Union: The Changing Basis of Cooperation on Law Enforcement’, International Affairs 70(3): 497–517. Bevir, M., Rhodes, R.A.W. and Weller, P. (2003) ‘Traditions of Governance: Interpreting the Changing Role of the Public Sector’, Public Administration 81(1): 1–17. Blain, M. (2009) The Sociology of Terrorism: Studies in Power, Subjection and Victimage Ritual, Boca Raton: Universal-Publishers. Bossong, R. (2008) ‘The Action Plan on Combating Terrorism’, Journal of Common Market Studies 46(1): 27–48. Bunyan, T. (1993) ‘Trevi, Europol and the European State’, in T. Bunyan (ed.) Statewatching the New Europe – A Handbook on the European State, London: Statewatch. ——(1997) Key Texts on Justice and Home Affairs in the European Union: Volume 1 (1976–1993) From Trevi to Maastricht, Nottingham: Russell Press. Corrado, R.R. and Evans, R. (1988) ‘Ethnic and Ideological Terrorism in Western Europe’, in M. Stohl (ed.) The Politics of Terrorism, 3rd edn, New York and Basel: Marcel Dekker, 373–444. Council of the European Union (2009) ‘The Stockholm Programme – An Open and Secure Europe Serving and Protecting the Citizen’, Brussels, 2 December, 17024/09. Crenshaw, M. (2008) ‘“New” vs. “Old” Terrorism: A Critical Appraisal’, in R. Coolsaet (ed.) Jihadi Terrorism and the Radicalisation Challenge in Europe, Aldershot: Ashgate, 25–36. Cronin, A.K. (2003) ‘Behind the Curve: Globalization and International Terrorism’, International Security 27(3): 30–58. Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 158 Christopher Baker-Beall den Boer, M. (2003a) ‘9/11 and the Europeanisation of Anti-Terrorism Policy: A Critical Assessment’, Notre Europe Policy Paper, No. 6. ——(2003b) ‘The EU Counter-Terrorism Wave: Window of Opportunity or Profound Policy Transformation’, in M. Van Leeuwen (ed.) Confronting Terrorism: European Experiences, Threat Perceptions and Policies, New York: Kluwer Law International. Edwards, G. and Meyer, C.O. (2008) ‘Introduction: Charting a Contested Transformation’, Journal of Common Market Studies 46(1): 1–25. European Commission (2001) ‘Increasing the Capacity of the EU to Fight International Terrorism’, 1429/3, 18 September. European Council (1975) ‘Summary of the Conclusions of the Meeting of the European Council held in Rome on 1 and 2 December’, www.european-council.europa.eu/ media/854718/1975_december_rome-eng_.pdf (accessed 12 February 2013). ——(1976) ‘Session of the European Council: Conclusions’, Brussels European Council, 12–13 July. ——(1978) ‘Session of the European Council: Conclusions’, Copenhagen European Council, 7–8 April. ——(1986) ‘Session of the European Council: Conclusions’, London European Council, 5–6 December. ——(1995) ‘Presidency Conclusions’, Madrid European Council, 16 December. ——(1998) ‘Presidency Conclusions’, Vienna European Council, 10–11 December, 00300/1/98 REV. ——(1999) ‘Presidency Conclusions’, Tampere European Council, 15–16 October. ——(2001) ‘Conclusions and Plan of Action of the Extraordinary Meeting on 21 September 2001’, SN140/01. ——(2003) ‘A Secure Europe in a Better World – European Security Strategy’, Brussels, 12 December. European Parliament (1975) ‘Twenty-First Joint Meeting of the Members of the Parliamentary Assembly of the Council of Europe and the Members of the European Parliament’, Strasbourg, 21 January, aei.pitt.edu/34159/1/A643.pdf (accessed 12 February 2013). European Union (2001) ‘Joint declaration by Heads of State and Government of the European Union, President of the European Parliament, President of the European Commission, High Representative for the Common Foreign and Security Policy’. George, A. (1991) Western State Terrorism, London: Polity. Hoffman, B. (2002) ‘Rethinking Terrorism and Counterterrorism Since 9/11’, Studies in Conflict & Terrorism 25: 303–16. ——(2006) Inside Terrorism, 2nd edn, New York: Columbia University Press. Horgan, J. (2005) The Psychology of Terrorism, London and New York: Routledge. Jackson, R. (2007) ‘An Analysis of EU Counterterrorism Policy Discourse’, Cambridge Review of International Affairs 20(2): 233–47. Laqueur, W. (1999) The New Terrorism: Fanaticism and the Arms of Mass Destruction, London: Oxford University Press. Lesser, I.O. et al. (1999) Countering the New Terrorism, Santa Monica: RAND. Mitsilegas, V., Monar, J. and Rees, W. (2003) The European Union and Internal Security: Guardian of the People? Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Neumann, P.R. and Smith, M.L.R. (2008) The Strategy of Terrorism: How it Works, and Why it Fails, Routledge: London and New York. Nilsson, H.G. (2002) ‘Decision-Making in EU Justice and Home Affairs: Current Shortcomings and Reform Possibilities’, SEI Working Paper, No. 57. Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d Terrorism in Western Europe and the EU 159 Primoratz, I. (2004) Terrorism: The Philosophical Issues, Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Rapoport, D. (2002) ‘The Four Waves of Rebel Terror and September 11’, Anthropoetics 8(1). Richardson, L. (2006) What Terrorists Want: Understanding the Terrorist Threat, London: John Murray. Schmid, A.P. (1984) Political Terrorism: A Research Guide to Concepts, Theories Data Bases and Literature, Amsterdam: North Holland Publishing Company. Schmid, A.P. and Jongman, A.J. (1988) Political Terrorism: A New Guide to Actors, Authors, Concepts, Data Bases, Theories and Literature, New Jersey: Transaction Publishers. Tilly, C. (2004) ‘Terror, Terrorism, Terrorists’, Sociological Theory 22(1): 5–13. Townshend, C. (2002) Terrorism: A Very Short Introduction, New York: Oxford University Press. van der Stoel, M. (1976) ‘Speech by Mr van der Stoel, Netherlands Foreign Minister, at the Thirty-first General Assembly of the United Nations (New York, 28 September 1976)’, European Political Co-operation, 3rd edn, Press and Information Office, Federal Republic of Germany, Bonn. Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 10 Security politics and public discourse A Morgenthauian approach Hartmut Behr Deconstructing the narrative about ‘realism’ is not about rehabilitating Morgenthau. Rather, this chapter argues that we find in Morgenthau’s work valuable epistemes for a critical analysis of international and global security and foreign politics, and an avenue to interpretative political science. This tradition is sensitive to spatial and temporal contingencies of political order and knowledge, a position that he has in common with traditions of Continental European philosophy. In this sense, the following discussions refer to all three questions raised by the editors of this volume about beliefs and traditions of security policy as well as about dilemmas that might have changed respective beliefs and traditions. Two points are with regard to Morgenthau and the conclusions we can draw from his approach for our analysis of global security are of great importance – as it is hoped will become clear during the following discussions. First, Morgenthau’s beliefs about foreign and security policies find their background in a tradition that has been critical, for epistemological and practical reasons, of the nation-state and its role in European (and later on world) history. As he explained, he saw himself not as an advocate of national and power politics, but as an analyst (this certainly has been confused in his appropriation in wide circles of the discipline of International Relations – IR). Second, this belief has been confirmed in his writings in the wake of the global dilemma of nuclear weapons from the 1950s onwards and the nuclearization of the Cold War conflict. In this regard, there is more continuity than change in his thinking. Morgenthau understood ‘realism’ (and likewise the adjective ‘realist’) as the characterization of an epistemological position which entails his well-known criticisms of ‘idealism’ and his anti-positivist dismissal of ‘empiricism’ and ‘rationalism’ (as in Morgenthau 1962a, 1962b, 1946, 1944). This understanding communicates most clearly from a lecture he gave on Aristotle in the winter term of 1947 at the University of Chicago, when he described ‘realism’, but also ‘rationalism’, ‘empiricism’ and ‘idealism’ as epistemologies. ‘Realism’ means for him primarily the social, political and historical contextualization of theory and human agency and, at the same time, the acknowledgment of mind-independent patterns of politics,1 instead of analysing, and acting in, ‘reality’ due to abstract principles, due to some, as he argues insignificant, Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d Security politics and public discourse 161 knowledge claims gained through the collection of data bruta, or due to idealized wishful thinking. His understanding of ‘realism’ as epistemology entails five commitments which are: the ‘Standortgebundenheit’ of political theory, knowledge and agency; the question of objectivity; the human condition of politics; a twofold concept of power; and finally an epistemological ethics of anti-hubris. I will discuss those commitments in the remainder of the chapter and then ask how they inform our understanding and interpretation of global security. The ‘Standortgebundenheit’ of political theory, knowledge and political agency Throughout his oeuvre Morgenthau argues that all theory and theoretical analysis are contingent upon factors the occurrence of which we had no knowledge and the consequences of which we could not foresee. However, it was not until a talk at the University of Maryland in 1961, with the title ‘The Intellectual and Political Functions of a Theory of International Relations’ (Morgenthau 1962b), that he used the precise term ‘standortgebunden’ to describe the spatial and temporal contingency of political and social theory and knowledge. The term ‘standortgebunden’, or ‘Standortgebundenheit’, is from sociologist Karl Mannheim (1936, 1984) and is a key concept of his sociology of knowledge. It describes the circumstance that social theory always depends upon the social and political environment in which it has been formulated and in which it is supposed to operate. This term endorses a relationist and perspectivist understanding of objectivity (more on that below in the next section). Accordingly, all social and political knowledge is historical and spatial in its essence. In Morgenthau’s third of his ‘Six Principles of Political Realism’ from his Politics Among Nations, we find no fewer than three paragraphs that explicitly explain this position in relation to the concepts of power and interest:2 [The] kind of interest determining political action in a particular period of history depends upon the political and cultural context within which foreign policy is formulated. The goals that might be pursued by nations in their foreign policy can run the whole gamut of objectives any nation has ever pursued or might possibly pursue. The same observations apply to the concept of power. Its content and the manner of its use are determined by the political and cultural environment … Power covers all social relationships which serve that end, from physical violence to the most subtle psychological ties by which one mind controls another. What is true of the general character of international relations is also true of the nation state as the ultimate point of reference of contemporary foreign policy … [The] contemporary connection between interest and the nation state is a product of history, and is therefore bound to disappear in the course of history. (Morgenthau 1978) Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 162 Hartmut Behr Morgenthau’s epistemological position of ‘Standortgebundenheit’ thus coincides with his criticism of the rationalist and positivist ideas of historical progress, techniques of social engineering and the rationality of the ‘Age of Reason’, which all require a universal standpoint of knowledge from which to derive those ideas and respective political strategies for their realization. Such a standpoint, however, does not and cannot exist according to the notion of ‘Standortgebundenheit’. Further to his publicized oeuvre, we have additional evidence from his lectures of 1949 and 1952, called ‘Philosophy of International Relations’ (particularly that of 31 January 1952) as well as most from letters between Morgenthau and Gottfried Karl Kindermann, a PhD student of Morgenthau at the University of Chicago and later Professor of International Relations at the University of Munich. In a letter from June 1961 Kindermann suggests and Morgenthau agrees on a large chapter of a German edition of Morgenthau papers with the title Realismus als Revolte gegen den historischen Optimismus (Realism as revolt against historical optimism). The question of objectivity A second philosophical commitment resonating with realist epistemology is to be learned from Morgenthau’s very first of his ‘Six Principles … ’, which contains a terminologically difficult, because most mistakable sentence: Political realism believes that politics, like society in general, is governed by objective laws that have their roots in human nature. (Morgenthau 1978) What could open the door to a mistaken positivist interpretation of Morgenthau more than this sentence, especially in an intellectual climate of US Political Science in the 1950s and 1960s that was obsessed with finding objective social laws, their representation in theory, and the predictability of politics according to such laws? However, when we contextualize this statement, we decipher a thoroughly hermeneutic position. Our attention has to be placed here on Morgenthau’s use of ‘objective’ and ‘objectivity’ when he states that politics were governed by ‘objective laws’. It is helpful to consult here another quotation, now from the third of his ‘Six Principles … ’: Realism assumes that its key concept of interest defined as power is an objective category which is universally valid, but it does not endow that concept with a meaning that is fixed once and for all. (Morgenthau 1978) As we can see here, objectivity does not refer to an eternal sameness of reality, i.e. to a reality of never-changing characteristics which would be knowable and describable on the basis of ever-valid, truthful sentences; rather, objectivity is understood by Morgenthau in the philosophical tradition of Friedrich Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d Security politics and public discourse 163 Nietzsche, Max Weber and Heinrich Rickert as an analysis based upon explicitly formulated conceptual distinctions in order to identify, recognize and analyse qualities of an object in question; thus of qualities which form part of the object studied itself and which reveal themselves from the object (i.e. ex re, emanating from the object/thing). They become cognizable only by clear and elaborated concepts applied to our attempts to understand and analyse the object in question. This is a very different understanding of objectivity than the understanding promoted by positivist science and everyday language; it is an understanding of objectivity that Nietzsche describes as ‘our concept of this thing’, which would be more complete the more ‘different eyes we can use to observe the thing’ (Nietzsche 1969: 19; also Nietzsche 1990; for the influence of Nietzsche on Morgenthau, see Frei 2001).3 Finally, we see that Morgenthau describes ‘interest defined as power’ as such an epistemological concept that would deliver an ‘objective [in the sense explained above] category’, and which would be ‘universally valid’, but only as an epistemological tool to identify, recognize and analyse reality and not as an empirical or ontological statement about, or a representation of, reality.4 The human condition of politics If we reconsidered the fundamental realist epistemological view of the existence of a mind-independent reality – or mind-independent aspects of reality – the question arises of what this exactly means in relation to political realism. A metaphor used by Morgenthau points to political anthropology as he writes in the second of his ‘Six Principles’: The difference between international politics as it actually is and a rational theory derived from it is like the difference between a photograph and a painted portrait. The photograph shows everything that can be seen by the naked eye; the painted portrait does not show everything … , but it shows, or at least seeks to show, one thing that the naked eye cannot see: the human essence of the person portrayed. (Morgenthau 1978) This metaphor suggests that a photograph would show political reality as it were, whereas a painting would lose out against the photograph in terms of the resolution of the object portrayed, but would add a new aspect that the photo would not (be able to) show: he calls it ‘the human essence’, also ‘human nature’, and we can translate this into human imagination and agency and their impact on, and constitution of, political reality. It is about political theory and the conceptual perspectives applied to decipher this component and impact, both of which neither representation, nor description, nor (a priori) rationalizations or idealist visions of reality, could identify or portray. However, how is human agency to be construed in its relation to Morgenthau’s main analytical concepts, i.e. those of interest and power? Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 164 Hartmut Behr We here have to understand Morgenthau’s threefold conceptualization of the relations between power, interest and morality (as discussed in ‘Commitments of a Theory of International Relations’, 1959; here Morgenthau 1962c: 59): First, morality can limit ‘the interests that power seeks and the means that power employs to that end’; second, ‘morality puts the stamp of its approval upon certain ends and means’; and third, ‘morality serves interests and power as their ideological justification’. In conclusion, Morgenthau argues that all manifestations of politics and their multiple empirical forms (as political institutions; systems of representation, decision making, diplomacy and negotiation; war and peace; international organizations; the international system of states; etc.), which are to be seen as expressions and creations of human agency, could best be made visible, cognizable and studied through the application of the concepts of power, interest and morality, and their interrelation. It is of great interest here to see (and to correct) the confusion which Morgenthau’s concepts of power, interest and morality could, and did, cause in the discipline of IR when taken as ontological statements about reality, rather than as epistemological concepts. A striking example, which tells a whole story about the mistaken image of Morgenthau as a defender and promoter of the nation-state, ‘its’ raison d’état and power politics can be learned from a correspondence with Henry Kissinger during the 1950s. In 1949, Morgenthau published an article called ‘The Primacy of National Interest’, in which he describes ‘national interest’ as a heuristic device, criticizing all attempts to essentialize, reify or define national interest, what it is or of what it may consist. He writes that national interest is ‘the standard of evaluation of foreign policies planned and pursued’ (Morgenthau 1949a: 208), and thus would operate as a critical device for reflecting upon foreign policy. ‘National interest’ is hence not to be seen as some sort of statement on what the interest of the nation is, rather than as a synonym for critical reflection upon foreign politics. This synonym is called ‘national interest’ not for any substantive or substantializable reasons, but in opposition to universal moral standards according to Morgenthau’s anti-idealist criticism and his warning of moral crusade(r)s.5 Insofar, national interest comprises and ‘solders’ interest, power and morality into one concept; however, not in an ontological sense as raison d’état6or in a normative sense as a claim for power politics, but as an historically contextualized epistemological concept and heuristic tool for the analysis and critique of a distinct, contingent political environment, namely that of the nineteenth- and twentieth-century world of nation-states and its fragmentation into particularistic actors.7 Linking this back to the question of what Morgenthau’s talk of political ‘facts’ precisely means, we now see that all kinds of different political constellations and their spatio-temporally divergent forms are – and exactly this represents the perennial ‘fact’ of politics – created through human agency. This circumstance remains the same throughout human history in that man is ‘not simply a product of nature, but both the creature and creator of history and Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d Security politics and public discourse 165 politics in and through which his individuality and freedom of choice manifest themselves’ (Morgenthau 1962a: 16); in brief, man is an Aristotelian ‘zoon politikon’,8 the creator of political order. With regard to this perennial factor, Morgenthau speaks quite ineptly of a ‘law’. Even if his actual writings are very concise and clear, he appears quite often to have used terminology, as in this case, that was prone to become mistaken and which sounded occasionally even positivist. Regarding his use of ‘law’, we find, however, more clarification in his 1944 article ‘The Limitations of Science and the Problem of Social Planning’, where he writes that social laws were on a level that is not ‘the mythological level of absolute certainty and predictability, but that of statistical averages and probability’ at best (Morgenthau 1944: 79). Morgenthau’s philosophical commitment of men being the creator of political order and this being a perennial factor of politics consists of a political anthropology that construes men as constituted by a natural desire of sociability, power and love.9 Most revealing in this case is his short article ‘Love and Power’ (1962d) and his argument that both grow from the basic anthropological condition of loneliness. In the effort and struggle to overcome loneliness, humans engage in three activities, or better forms of agency: religion, love and power, since the condition of loneliness would be unbearable. Religion, love and the desire for sociability and power in their role to transcend loneliness hence become the forces and faculties for creation of community and political order – and remain this role as creative sometimes also destructive, however perennial forces of politics.10 According to these views, power appears not as social and political domination or a materialist capacity, but rather as humans’ puissance and potency to act in order to transcend their own natural limitations.11 In his lectures from the winter terms of 1949 and 1952 we read the very instructive formulation of power as ‘a pluralism of antagonisms’. Ultimately, the emphasis on power in Morgenthau and his philosophical commitment to a political anthropology of human beings as creators and creatures of politics is the attempt to bring man and the human factor back into politics and is thus to be seen as intertwined with his criticism of rationalism, empiricism and idealism, and all attempts to rationalize, measure and fabricate political order. As such, power itself is neither good nor bad: it can be both productive and destructive; what is more or less justified, thus judgeable in a moral sense, are the means to accomplish and exert power. A twofold concept of power12 In his early European works Morgenthau distinguished meticulously between two concepts of power – an empirical and a normative concept – while he missed out to make this important distinction explicit in his English, postemigration writings even though it is still visible to an informed reader. We have no concrete evidence as to why Morgenthau did not define his concept of power in his English writings as sharply as he did in his German and French ones.13 Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 166 Hartmut Behr Generally, Morgenthau understood power not in terms of material capabilities. Power was for him a psychogenic (i.e. mentally and intellectually originated, but materially manifesting) condition which rested on inter-subjective relations. It could not be acquired through an endogenous accumulation of financial means and/or weaponry; rather power was for Morgenthau created through the interaction of people: as a result and quality of human action. The distinction he made in his European writings between ‘Macht’ and ‘Kraft’ (Morgenthau 1930a: 9; 1934b: 33), and ‘pouvoir’ and ‘puissance’ (i.e. between ‘power’ and ‘puissance’, the latter being understood as the faculty and capability to act, to express oneself and to be creative) rested, therefore, not on power being the means to some kind of end, but on power being an end in itself. In Scientific Man vs. Power Politics, Morgenthau put the distinction between power more figuratively: ‘(man) is the victim of political power by necessity; he is a political master by aspiration’ (Morgenthau 1946: 153). ‘Pouvoir’: the empirical concept of power In modern societies, Morgenthau argued, power, evoked through the drive to prove oneself, was predominantly empirically traceable in the form of the animus dominandi, ‘the desire for power’ (1946: 165), which literally means the lust for domination among people. Morgenthau was aware of the necessity to deal with this concept analytically as socio-political developments in modern societies had reduced power to a political tool of domination. Ideologies had gained momentum in the nineteenth century with nationalism, liberalism, conservatism and socialism, and climaxed in the early twentieth century with fascism and communism. The rise of ideologies concerned Morgenthau as they restricted human drives and deprived people of their capacities. Nationalism was particularly at the centre of Morgenthau’s attention as the principle of sovereignty provided nation-states with the means to enforce homogeneity domestically through the institutionalization of education, a re-interpretation of history through which history was narrated as a teleological process, and the standardization of language (Snyder 2011: 58). Further, ideologies promoted mediocrity as humans were not able fully to utilize their creative abilities within an ideological framework such as the nation-state. Ideologies are established to create a discourse of legitimacy for the current political order, but they also provide ‘ontological security’ (Giddens 1984: 375). Retaining the social structures is, therefore, a vital expression of this legitimacy and security. An alteration of these structures through the creative abilities of humans ultimately means that people are threatened with losing their creative abilities which would only be used to support the ideologized reality by constraining them into bureaucratic order. For Morgenthau, in this ideologized environment, the drive to prove oneself had to exhaust itself in the form of the animus dominandi. Morgenthau’s use of terminology reveals that this empirical concept of power rested on Weber’s well-known definition of power. He defined power as ‘the probability that one actor within a social Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d Security politics and public discourse 167 relationship will be in a position to carry out his own will despite resistance, regardless of the basis on which this probability rests’ (Weber 1978: 53). Indeed, in Politics Among Nations we find a similar definition by Morgenthau. He remarked that ‘[p]olitical power is a psychological relation between those who exercise it and those over whom it is exercised. It gives the former control over certain actions of the latter through the impact which the former exerts on the latter’s minds’ (Morgenthau 1985: 32). This understanding of empirical power led numerous IR scholars across otherwise divergent fields of disciplinary thinking such as from neo-realism, neo-liberalism, but also post-structuralism (e.g. George 1994, 1995; Tickner 1991, 1992, 2005), to see in Morgenthau the supporter of power politics while they nearly exclusively referred to Morgenthau’s Politics Among Nations. Yet, Politics Among Nations cannot be read as a theory, let alone a grand theory as some argue (such as Jervis; see critical of this understanding Behr 2010: 215). The concept of power he presented here was understood by Morgenthau as the empirically dominant version in an ideologized world, but equally we see that he was fundamentally opposed to such an understanding of power, which reduced power to an unhindered lust for domination.14 ‘Puissance’: the normative concept of power Normatively, Morgenthau aspired to a different kind of power than the ‘pouvoir’ that prevailed in the ideologized world of the early and mid-twentieth century. This is the case because ‘[to] say that a political action has no moral purpose is absurd’, as ‘political action can be defined as an attempt to realize moral values through the medium of politics’ (Morgenthau 1962d: 110). Puissance as normative power ought to be the defining factor in politics, i.e. people are empowered to act together through the alignment of their antagonism of interests in order to create their life-worlds in self-determination. Puissance was for Morgenthau also the self-capability to create identity because it is not achieved through the distinction from ‘otherness’, but in togetherness. With reference to Nietzsche’s concept of the Übermensch as the one who is able to create his/her own identity without invoking ideologies and homogenizing morale (Nietzsche 1969: 111), politics was for Morgenthau a social realm in which people would not have to succumb to structural obligations manifested in ideological dichotomies of good and bad, right and wrong, or friend and foe, but puissance enabled people to follow their interests and participate in the collective and public creation of their own life-worlds and political orders. To sum up: on his way to establishing a positive connotation of power Morgenthau relied primarily on Nietzsche. It was he who showed Morgenthau that the will to power rested on the ability to discern. The will to power finds its expression in the ability to understand nihilism and to overcome it by attaching value to initially insignificant moments. Morgenthau picked up this ‘facteur psychologique, la volonté de puissance’ (Morgenthau 1933: 43) already in the Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 168 Hartmut Behr 1930s and even as late as the 1970s, when he acknowledged – referring to Hannah Arendt’s distinction – that being a homo faber rather than an animal laborans enables the human to imbed ‘his biological existence within technological and social artefacts that survive that existence. His imagination creates new worlds of religion, art, and reason that live after their creator’ (Morgenthau 1972: 146). The ‘thinking partnership’ (Young-Bruehl 1982: xv) between Morgenthau and Arendt offered Morgenthau the opportunity to consider the effects of power on a society at large. For Arendt ‘[power] corresponds to the human ability not just to act, but act in concert. Power is never the property of an individual; it belongs to a group and remains in existence only so long as the group keeps together’ (Arendt 1970: 44). Hence, power signifies the consent of people to come together in discourse and action by creating institutions, laws and norms (Arendt 1970: 41). Power then became for Morgenthau a collective affair which enabled people to strive for the constant construction of their life-worlds and political order by forming societies as temporal manifestations of the common good in relation to which the integrity and dignity of human life were considered. An epistemic ethics of anti-hubris Finally, we can conclude an epistemologically based realist epistemic ethics of anti-hubris. This ethics speaks out strongly against definite knowledge claims about, and representational reifications of, the political à la, for example, ‘neo’-’realism’. This ethics is aware of the limits of the know-ability of the political; it is careful with explaining causes and effects of political occurrences; with presuming rationalist relations between cause and effects; with concluding predictions of political events; with essentialist statements about the nature and identity of events and actors (and as such is anti-essentialist); and finally with definite policy conclusions deduced from such claims and/or statements. Claiming knowledge of the political, which would allow all this, appears from a Morgenthauian perspective as hubris. It is an important part of Morgenthau’s realism, which culminates in this epistemic ethics of anti-hubris, not only to have elaborated philosophical commitments discussed for a critical political analysis, but further to have emphasized the circumstance – which is inherent most explicitly in his reference to Mannheim’s concept of ‘Standortgebundenheit’ – that theoretical explication, analysis and understanding depend on spatio-historical constellations and their contingencies that bear on how one frames the problems, concepts and perspectives of analysis, and how one creates the field in which knowledge and interpretation even take place. Consequently, also the concept of ‘national interest’ in Morgenthau is ‘standortgebunden’ itself, thus historically contingent, ephemeral and transient, as are his ‘Six Principles of Political Realism’ themselves.15 Nevertheless, they both establish and provide a regime of knowledge (production) and critical analysis of international politics. Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d Security politics and public discourse 169 Each of the five epistemological commitments discussed translates into one interpretative theorem when applying to questions of international and global security. ‘Standortgebundenheit’ and the dynamics of security The ‘Standortgebundenheit’ of political theory and agency leads to a perception of security which emphasizes its dynamics, transformations, shifts – perspectivism, in short. On this view, security can neither be defined, nor conceptualized, nor accomplished as one fixed, determined and definite situation, but is different and transformative in different social, political, cultural, historical, etc., contexts. This insight is akin to the constructivist belief as communicated by Alexander Wendt that, for example, during the Cold War Soviet missiles had a different threat potential and perception to people in the German Democratic Republic (GDR) than in the Federal German Republic (FRG), and that one would need to explore security cultures and respective perceptions of security; however, we can share, or could have shared, this insight not only with Wendt in the 1990s (see Wendt 1992), but already with Morgenthau since the 1960s, or even, given interdisciplinary openness, from the constructivist writings from sociologists Georg Simmel, Alfred Schütz or Peter L. Berger and Thomas Luckmann (Morgenthau 1965). Without this openness, however, Wendt comes indeed as a surprise and innovation to IR, although he admits himself in the ‘Preface’ to his Social Theory of International Politics (Wendt 1999) that his theory would have become more elaborate if he had only known Simmel’s and Schütz’s writings. Security as an ‘objective’, i.e. perennial concern of politics As changing and transforming as security may appear, be conceived of and defined in relation to cultural, historical, political, etc. perceptions, it is nevertheless to be acknowledged as a perennial factor in international politics; i.e. security is something with which people and politics will always be concerned. This appears to be the case the more security is dynamic, transformative and perception-dependent. This fact that security is of perennial concern to people and politics may be highlighted by the simple fact that it is a major topic, though very divergently constructed, from Thucydides, over Hobbes to Kant, up to present-day international and global politics and IR. The topic of interpreting global security importantly acknowledges this inherently constructivist, but ‘factual’ character of security. Humans as subjects and objects of security In relation to the constructivist and anti-essentialist character of security, humans appear as subject and objects of security. Thus security and insecurity, are – irrespective of their perceptual character – a product of human will and Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 170 Hartmut Behr political agency. According to a Morgenthauian understanding, there are no references possible to some kind of parochial ‘national interest’ or raison d’état according to which security and security politics would abide by a certain, determined rationale and according to which security and security policies could be essentialized. This means, however, that not only security changes over time and in relation to political, social, etc. circumstances and perceptions, but, too, security frameworks and institutions – or what is perceived as such – change and can be changed with regard to their members, focus, policies and context (such as the North Atlantic Treaty Organization – NATO – after the Cold War). According to the above-discussed interpretative theorems of security – the constructivist nature of security as well as security being of perennial importance to international and global politics – we can now formulate two of the most distinct Morgenthauian approaches to security: how to define what security ‘is’ for a society; and how to act upon it. The question of security as public discourse about political order The development of perceptions of security and of security politics is, according to Morgenthauian thinking, a matter of public debate, rather an undertaking of so-called foreign policy elites. We need here to refer to Morgenthau’s concept of normative power as discussed above, according to which the development of each political order should be a question of the peaceful contestation of the antagonism of interests which is elementary of politics (see further on this Schou Tjalve 2008). This position may be somewhat puzzling since, on the other hand, we know of Morgenthau’s criticism of mass politics and of the mediocrities of democratic politics, especially when he emphasizes politics and particularly international politics as an art rather than a simple technique, including the art of diplomacy and negotiation. However, we have to contextualize this criticism in his wider criticism of modernity, modern rationality and ideologies. In this wider context we indeed need to admit a certain quandary of Morgenthau’s position which on the one hand, promotes an open and wide public discourse about political order, including security, and on the other hand, the existence of certain disqualifying attitudes towards the public and the public’s foreign politics judgement leading such a discourse. A close look into his writings, however, does not disqualify the public per se to engage such a discourse and people being competent political actors, but does so ‘only’ under the conditions of modernity and bureaucratic politics which would have subjected the general public to ideologies, indoctrination and domination through modern rationalities of the state and nationalism. We thus run into the problem in Morgenthau which seems to be characteristic of a wide spectrum of critical theories – from Herbert Marcuse and the Frankfurt School, to Arendt, to Michel Foucault to Michael Shapiro and post-structuralism more generally – and which consists of the following, Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d Security politics and public discourse 171 widely unresolved questions: when the political subject is conditioned and indoctrinated by ideologies, discourses, narratives, rationalities, etc., what then is to be seen as the source of criticism of exactly those ideologies, discourses, etc? Is there a space for criticism and what is called ‘resistance’ beyond those ideologies, narratives, etc. accessible to the subject? What if ‘the’ subject is abolished? Who is becoming aware and critical of the conditioning and indoctrinating character of ideologies, discourses, narratives, etc. and their dominating influences when, at the same time, the individual appears to be determined by those ideologies, discourses, etc? Who has the intellectual and material abilities and capabilities to resist and to create alternatives? It appears that in most oeuvres we encounter the idea, even if hidden, that it is the intellectual, the academic, maybe the sophisticated literate, art director or journalist – the intelligentsia – who are thought of as having those abilities and capabilities. This may be so, but it has some dissatisfying taste to it, I would think. Following the idea of the public creation of interpreting, developing and acting upon security, the question of how to emancipate and educate a critical public would be of primary concern, as well as the conceptual elaboration of such ‘spaces of criticality’ beyond ideologies, indoctrination and domination. The avoidance of irreversible risks Finally, the practical implications of a Morgenthauian epistemological ethics of anti-hubris result in the avoidance of irreversible risks produced by (ostensible) ‘security’ policies. This means that security policies have to avoid that their consequences may be worse than the initial insecurity they were supposed to counter. In this theorem, we find Morgenthau’s discharge of all kinds of ‘security’ strategies built upon nuclear weapons deployed by the United States during the Cold War, such as nuclear deterrence. Rather than taking the risk of the complete annihilation of humanity through the deployment of nuclear weapons, Morgenthau favoured a Kennanian version of Western economic containment against the Soviet Union and the Warsaw Pact. For the same argument and theorem, he dismissed US backyard politics towards Latin and South America as well as international alliance building invoking Truman’s ‘domino theory’. For Morgenthau, such policies would essentialize some kind of ‘national interest’ and develop strategies in functional linearity from this ideological belief and often hypocrisies (allying with dictatorships, for instance), instead of carefully contextualized analyses of distinct constellations and judicious and prudent action.16 Notes 1 This position is informed by the hermeneutic axiom of the mutual constitution between observer and the thing being observed, and was evident for Morgenthau Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 172 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 Hartmut Behr through his early readings of Continental European philosophy, most importantly here of Friedrich Nietzsche, Wilhelm Dilthey, Georg Simmel, Alfred Schuetz and Karl Mannheim. Most pronounced here may be Schütz and his differentiation between two levels of social ‘reality’ and respective constructions (see Schütz 1962). I quote here from his ‘Six Principles … ’ although there would be many other references to his oeuvre. I have chosen to interpret his ‘Six Principles … ’ for the following reason: these few pages from Politics Among Nations are often misread as his most ‘realist’ remarks and as the canon of ‘realism’ in the sense of ‘Realpolitik’. Quoting here and in the following from this source will demonstrate that this understanding is clearly mistaken and that we find (even) in his ‘Six principles’ very clear hermeneutic and interpretative epistemological commitments. See also very instructive here the entry ‘Max Weber’, Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, 2007; also Ringer (1997) on Weber’s epistemology. Interesting here is Morgenthau’s discussion of objectivity in an unpublished manuscript – written in German (from the late 1920/early 1930s) – on Metaphysik and ethics where he distinguishes between three types of objectivity: scientific, normative and empirical. All three forms are to be understood as categories of knowledge (‘Eigenschaft der Erkenntnis’), thus objectivity depends upon which concepts we use to recognize and analyse qualities of an object, which are, however, inherent in and emerging from the object and which are made visible (only) in relation to the concepts analytically applied. This critique of Morgenthau is similar to Max Weber’s critique of ‘ethics of conviction’ (‘Gesinnungsethik’) opposite an ‘ethics of responsibility’; however, Morgenthau does not refer to Weber as his references to Weber are generally very rare. Herein consists my critique of Ashley’s epistemologically oriented discussion of realism and Morgenthau’s as ‘technical realism’; see Ashley 1981. Despite these very clear statements, Morgenthau’s article on the ‘Primacy of National Interest’ (1949) contributed heavily to Morgenthau’s (mis)reception as Realpolitiker by policy makers and academic colleagues alike. Thence this paper became embraced last but not least by Henry Kissinger. As we know from many letters between Morgenthau and Kissinger during the 1950s, Morgenthau distanced himself from Kissinger’s embrace, emphasized his actual understanding of ‘national interest’ and criticized Kissinger for a lack of political judgement. Morgenthau’s opposition against his reception of realism as Realpolitik and respective ontological assumptions communicates further from his correspondence with Gottfried-Karl Kindermann from the early 1960s regarding a German translation of Politics Among Nations. We learn from respective letters the attempt to dispel all eventualities that this book might be received as Realpolitik (as it had occurred in a German review of the Politics Among Nations by Werner Link). Morgenthau notes in a letter from 5 April 1961, regarding an imputed proximity between his book and Heinrich Treitschke: ‘This is a complete misunderstanding of my position. Treitschke was the ideologue of the nation state … and of power. I am an analyst of the nation state and of power and have emphasized time and again their negative moral connotations. More particularly, I have emphasized the obsolesce [sic] of the nation state as a principle of political order.’ See here also Morgenthau’s (2004) lectures on Aristotle, given in 1970–73 at the New School; also his unpublished Aristotle lectures at the University of Chicago already from winter 1947. He explicitly argues against the Hobbesian picture of ‘homo homini lupus’; see Morgenthau 1945, and an unpublished manuscript in German (1930a) on Die Herkunft des Politischen aus der Natur des Menschen (i.e. The derivation of the political from human nature; translation by Morgenthau himself noted on the manuscript in handwriting). Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d Security politics and public discourse 173 10 The modern mind in its attempts to rationalize, measure and fabricate human agency and politics would have become blind to those perennial forces and their significance for human life and politics. Morgenthau refers metaphorically to figures like Shakespeare’s Richard III or Don Juan, and narrations such as Aristophanes’s Symposium, which would represent men’s struggle for love and power and the tragedy of failure. He writes: ‘Of all creatures, only man is capable of loneliness because only he is in need of not being alone … It is that striving to escape his loneliness which gives the impetus to both the lust for power and the longing for love … ’ (Morgenthau 1962d: 247). 11 In manuscripts written in German, such as Der Selbstmord aus gutem Gewissen (1930b; Suicide with good consciousness) or Die Herkunft des Politischen aus der Natur des Menschen (1930a), Morgenthau speaks of ‘Kraft’ and ‘Tatkraft’ when referring to men’s longings regards religion, love and power. 12 I owe much insight in the following to intense and fruitful discussions with Felix Rösch. 13 One reason might be related to the unfavourable climate towards Germany during and shortly after the Second World War, which is certainly why Morgenthau attempted to separate himself from his past, including from his intellectual legacies. As we know from his former student Richard Ned Lebow, ‘questions about his German past were taboo’ (2003: 219). A second reason was presumably the shift of interest from purely theoretical towards works with a higher focus on contemporary policy issues (Guzzini 1998: 24), such as ‘The Problem of German Reunification’ (1960) or Vietnam and the United States (1965). Still, this does not settle the question why Morgenthau did not attempt to improve the clarity of his concepts after his emigration to the United States, especially since he seemed to have realized this problem very clearly. To Michael Oakeshott, Morgenthau wrote in 1948: ‘I can now see clearly that my attempts to make clear the distinctions between rationalism and rational inquiry, scientism and science, were in vain. I think I was fully aware of the importance and difficulty of these distinctions when I wrote the book, and it is now obvious to me that I have failed in the task to make my meaning clear’ (Morgenthau 1948, HJM-Archive Box 44). 14 In the aforementioned letter to Oakeshott, Morgenthau (1948) argued that this ideologization had reduced the creative abilities of humans because they were unaware of their capacity to create their life-world (HJM-Archive Box 44). 15 As I have also argued elsewhere; see Behr 2005, 2010; Behr and Heath 2009. 16 We find those criticisms by Morgenthau in his 1949 article ‘The Primacy of National Interest’ (Morgenthau 1949a, discussed above), throughout his several editions of Politics Among Nations, and his argumentation in favour of international law and the United Nations, as well as most explicitly in his contributions to the Salzburger Humanistengespräch throughout the 1970s (Morgenthau 1970). References Arendt, H. 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(2003) The Tragic Vision of Politics: Ethics, Interests, and Orders, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Mannheim, K. (1936) Ideology and Utopia, London: Routledge. ——(1984) ‘Die Methoden der Wissenssoziologie’, in K. Lenk (ed.) Ideologiekritik und Wissenssoziologie, Frankfurt am Main: Campus, 203–12. Morgenthau, H.J. (n.d.) Metaphysik, unpublished manuscript, Hans J. Morgenthau Archive, Library of Congress, Washington, DC, Box 112. ——(1929) Internationale Rechtspflege, ihr Wesen und ihre Grenzen, Leipzig: R. Noske. ——(1930a) Ueber die Herkunft des Politischen aus dem Wesen des Menschen, unpublished manuscript, Hans J. Morgenthau Archive, Library of Congress, Washington, DC, Box 199. ——(1930b) Der Selbstmord aus gutem Gewissen, unpublished manuscript, Hans J. 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Morgenthau Archive, Library of Congress, Washington, DC, Box 97, various dates. Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d Security politics and public discourse 175 ——(1955) ‘Reflections on the State of Political Science’, The Review of Politics 17(4): 431–60. ——(1958) Dilemmas of Politics, Chicago: Chicago University Press. ——(1959a) ‘The Nature and Limits of a Theory of International Relations’, in W.T.R. Fox (ed.) Theoretical Aspects of International Relations, Notre Dame: Notre Dame University Press, 15–28. ——(1960) ‘The Problem of German Reunification’, Annals of the American Academy of Political and Social Science 330: 124–32. ——(1961) Letter to Gottfried-Karl Kindermann, 5 April, Hans J. Morgenthau Archive, Library of Congress, Washington, DC, Box 33. ——(1962a) ‘The State of Political Science’, in H.J. Morgenthau, Politics in the 20th Century, Vol. I, The Decline of Democratic Politics, Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 16–35. ——(1962b) ‘The Intellectual and Political Functions of a Theory of International Relations’, in H.J. Morgenthau, Politics in the 20th Century, Vol. I, The Decline of Democratic Politics, Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 62–78. ——(1962c) ‘The Commitments of a Theory of International Politics’, in H.J. Morgenthau, Politics in the 20th Century, Vol. I, The Decline of Democratic Politics, Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 55–61. ——(1962d) ‘Love and Power’, Commentary: 247–51. ——(1965) Vietnam and the United States, Washington, DC: Public Affairs Press. ——(1968) Letter to Henry Kissinger, 22 October, Hans J. Morgenthau Archive, Library of Congress, Washington, DC, Box 76. ——(1970) ‘Der Friede im nuklearen Zeitalter’, in O. Schatz (ed.) Der Friede im nuklearen Zeitalter. Eine Kontroverse zwischen Realisten und Utopisten, 4, Salzburger Humanismusgespräch, Munich: Manz Verlag, 34–62. ——(1971) ‘Power as a Political Concept’, in R. Young (ed.) Approaches to the Study of Politics, Evanston: Northwestern University Press, 66–77. ——(1972) Science: Servant or Master? New York: New American Library. ——(1978) ‘Six Principles of Political Realism’, Politics Among Nations. The Struggle for Power and Peace, New York: Knopf, 4–15. ——(1985) Politics Among Nations. The Struggle for Power and Peace, New York: Knopf. ——(2004) Political Theory and International Affairs: Hans J. Morgenthau on Aristotle’s The Politics, Westport, Conn.: Praeger Publishers. Nietzsche, F. (1969) On the Genealogy of Morals (with Ecce Homo), trans. by W. Kaufman, New York: Vintage. ——(1990) On the Advantages and Disadvantages of History for Life, Hackett: Indianapolis. Ringer, F. (1997) Max Weber’s Methodology: The Reunification of Cultural and Social Sciences, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Snyder, J. (2011) ‘Tensions with Realism: 1945 and After’, in N. Guilhot (ed.) The Invention of International Relations Theory. Realism, the Rockefeller Foundation and the 1954 Conference on Theory, New York: Columbia University Press, 54–58. Schou Tjalve, V. (2008) Realist Strategies of Republican Peace. Niebuhr, Morgenthau, and the Politics of Dissent, New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Schütz, A. (1962 [1932]) ‘The Problem of Social Reality’, in his Collected Papers I, The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff. ——(1967) The Phenomenology of the Social World, London: Heinemann Educational Books. Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 176 Hartmut Behr Tickner, A. (1991) ‘Hans Morgenthau’s Principles of Political Realism: A Feminist Reformulation’, in R. Grant and K. Newland (eds) Gender and International Relations, Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 28–40. ——(1992) Gender in International Relations: Feminist Perspectives on Achieving Global Security, New York: Columbia University Press. ——(2005) ‘Gendering a Discipline: Some Feminist Methodological Contributions to International Relations’, Signs: Journal of Women in Culture and Society 30(4): 2173–90. Weber, M. (1978) Economy and Society. An Outline of Interpretative Sociology, Volume I, Berkeley: University of California Press. Wendt, A. (1992) ‘Anarchy is What States Make of it: The Social Construction of International Politics’, International Organization 46(2): 391–425. ——(1999) Social Theory of International Politics, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Young-Bruehl, E. (1982) Hannah Arendt. For Love of the World, New Haven: Yale University Press. Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d Index 9/11 14, 35–52, 65–66, 142, 152 Afghanistan 20 al-Qaida 146, 153 Arafat, Y. 57, 61, 64, 65, 66 Aksenyonok, A. 101 Anti-Ballistic Missile (ABM) Treaty 118, 119 Arendt, H. 168, 170 Attlee, C. 80, 81 Augustine of Hippo 62 AusAID 20 Australia 20, 28, 29, 76 Axworthy, L. 20 balance of power 1, 66 beliefs 2–5 Bevin, E. 110 Biden, J. 38 Blair, T. 21, 77, 85, 86, 87, 88 Blue Streak missile 82, 111 Bosnia 21, 84, 85 Britain, see United Kingdom British Commonwealth 76, 80, 81, 88, 111 Bush, G. W. 14, 35, 36, 40, 41, 47, 49, 53–72, 65–66 Bush. G. H. W. 41 Buzan, B. 19 Cambodia 132 Cameron, D. 87, 88 Canada 20, 76 Carr, E. H. 15 Carter, J. 40 Chechnya 99, 101 Cheney, Dick 37, 38, 60 Churchill, W. S. 75, 77, 78, 79, 81, 83, 88 China 28, 29, 30 classical realism 3 climate change 18 Clinton, B. 41 Common Foreign and Defence Policy (EU) 27, see also European Security and Defence Policy Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament, 112 Chirac, J. 114 Comprehensive Test Ban Treaty 114 Conservative Party (UK) 83, 87, 112 constructivism 3, 9, 10, 19 Cook, R. 84, 85, 86 Copenhagen school 19 Council of Europe 148 critical theory 3, 5, 19 Darwin, C. 58 Decolonization 79 Department for International Development (UK) 20, 27 dilemmas 2, 7–9, 35–36 Douglas-Home, A. 111 East Timor 21 Enlightenment 56 epistemic communities 17 epistemology 160–61 European Coal and Steel Community 80 European Commission 27, 154 European Defence Community 80 European Economic Community 74, 80, 82, 83 European Neighbourhood Policy 27 European Parliament 78, 149, 152 European Security and Defence Policy 27, see also Common Foreign and Security Policy Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d 178 Index European Union (EU) 27, 28, 88, 142–59, see also European Economic Community (EEC) Evans, G. 128 Evatt, H. V. 126 Falk, R. 19 feminist theory 3, 19 Foreign and Commonwealth Office (UK) 20, 76 France 14, 77, 81, 107, 108, 111, 112–15, 116, 117, 118, 119, 120–21, 145 Freedom Agenda 54, 56, 66 French Revolution 58, 144–45, 147 Fukuyama, F. 54, 55 de Gaulle, C. 112, 113 see also Gaullism Gaullism 113 genocide 125–41 Genocide Convention 14, 125–41 Germany 14, 77, 81, 107, 108, 109, 115–18, 119, 120–21, 169 global governance 9, 11, 92 globalization 8, 9, 21, 23, 84, 86, 87 Gref, G. 99 Haiti 21 Heath, E. 83 Hitler, A. 59 Hollande, F. 120 Holocaust 59, 65, 128 humanitarian intervention 20–21, 22, 125–41 human security 19–20, 22 India 28, 29, 30, 81 Indonesia 28, 29 interpretive theory 2–14 institutionalism 3–4, 9, 10, 24 see also liberalism International Criminal Court 130 International Commission on Intervention and State Sovereignty 22, see also Responsibility to Protect International Court of Justice 129, 130 international humanitarian law 127 International Monetary Fund (IMF) 82–83 Iraq 53, 57, 64, 66, 77, 86, 87, 101 Iran 57, 64 Islamist terrorism, 86, see also terrorism Israel 28, 59, 60, 61, 65 Israel-Palestine conflict 53, 64, 66 Ivanov, I. 97, 99 Japan 28 Johnson, L. B. 45 Kant, I. 58 Kennan, G. 62–63, 117, 171 Kennedy, J. F. 45, 48, 82, 117 Kissinger, H. 164, 172 Kosovo 21, 84, 85–86, 87, 97 Labour Party (UK), 112, see also New Labour Lauterpacht, H. 130 Lavrov, S. 100, 102 Lebanon 66, 67 liberalism 17, 18, 19, 135, 136 Liberal Democrats (UK) 87 Libya 21, 87 Lisbon Summit, 107 Lugar, R. 38 McMahon Act 110 Macmillan, H. 80, 82 Manhattan Project 110 Mannheim, K. 161, 168 Marx, K. 55, 58–59 Mayall, J. 131 Middle East 53, 56, 57, 58, 63, 64, 67 Milosevic, S. 84 missile defence 14, 107–24 money-laundering 26 Morgenthau, H. J. 1, 14, 15, 62–63, 160–76 McNamara, R. 117 narratives 9, 13 Nassau Agreement 82 national interest 1 Nazism 55 neoclassical economics 23 neoliberalism 24, 84, 86, 87 New Labour 10, 87, see also Labour Party Niebuhr, R. 62 Nietzsche, F. 59, 167 nongovernmental organizations (NGOs) 10, 11, 17, 25, 26, 27 North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) 27, 28, 78, 80, 81, 88, 96, 97, 100, 107, 114, 115, 116, 117, 119, 120, 170 nuclear weapons, 107–24, 160 Nuremberg Trials 129 Obama, B. 40 Template: Royal A, Font: , Date: 12/07/2013; 3B2 version: 9.1.470/W Unicode (Jun 2 2008) (APS_OT) Dir: P:/eProduction/WIP/9780415825375/dtp/9780415825375.3d Index Pakistan 29, 81 Palestine 53, 57, 60, 61, 66, 67 Papua New Guinea 30 peace research 18 Portillo, M. 83 positivism 2–3, 4, 5 postmodern theory 3, 5, 19 Powell, C. 38, 63, 65 power 165–68 Primakov, E. 96 private military and security companies 25, 30 public diplomacy 28, 29–30 Putin, V. 14, 93, 94, 95, 102–3 rational choice theory 3, 4, 24 rationalities 9, 13 Reagan, R. 40, 50, 117, 118 realism 3; 10, 17, 18, 19, 61–64, 87, 135, 136, 160 see also classical realism; structural realism resistance 9, 13 Responsibility to Protect 22, 129 Revolution in Military Affairs (RMA) 21, 77 Rice, C. 56, 57, 66 Robertson, Lord 39 Rousseau, J.-J. 58 Rumsfeld, D. 38 Russia 14, 28, 92–106, 145 see also Soviet Union Rwandan genocide 84, 125, 130, 132, 133, 134, 136, 137 Sandys, D. 110 Safonov, A. 101 Second World War 74, 82, 87, 115 securitization 19 security governance 10, 17–34 Shanghai Cooperation Organization 28 Shawcross, Sir Hartley 129 Shue, H. 131 Singapore 29, 30 Skybolt missile 82 Solomon Islands 20 Somalia 21, 132 Soviet Union 18, 63, 81, 83, 95, 111, 118, 145, 171 179 Sredina, V. 96 standortgebunden 14, 161, 168, 169 state terrorism 145 statism 19 Strategic Defence Initiative 118, 119 structural realism 3, 9 structural violence 18 Suez crisis 75, 81, 83 Syria 57 terrorism 14, 26, 125, 142–59, see also Islamist terrorism Thatcher, M. 78 traditions 2, 5–7, 35–52, 108–10 Truman, H. S. 171 Universal Declaration of Human Rights 126 United Kingdom 14, 19, 73–91, 107, 108, 110–12, 115, 117, 118, 119, 120, 121 United Nations 65, 96, 127, 149 United Nations Charter 14, 125–41 United Nations Development Programme 19 United Nations General Assembly 22, 128, 149 United Nations Security Council 80, 84, 88, 97, 129 United States 20, 35–53, 53–72, 76, 78, 80, 82, 83, 97, 100, 101, 107, 110, 111, 112, 114, 116, 117, 118, 119, 129, 152 Vietnam 28, 63 War on Terror 37, 56, 99, 152 Weber, M. 166, 172 Wendt, A. 169 Wilson, H. 82, 83, 148 Wolfowitz, P. 38 Yeltsin, B. 94, 96, 99 Yugoslavia 130, 132 Zubov, V. 100