The Oxford Handbook of International Political Theory 9780198746928, 019874692X

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T h e Ox f o r d H a n d b o o k o f

I N T E R NAT IONA L P OL I T IC A L T H E ORY

THE OXFOR D H A NDBOOK S OF

INTERNATIONAL REL ATIONS General Editors: Christian Reus-​Smit of the University of Queensland and Duncan Snidal of the University of Oxford

The Oxford Handbooks of International Relations is a multi-​volume set of reference books offering authoritative and innovative engagements with the principal sub-​fields of International Relations. The series as a whole is under the General Editorship of Christian Reus-​Smit and Duncan Snidal, with each volume edited by a distinguished pair of specialists in their respective fields. The series both surveys the broad terrain of International Relations scholarship and reshapes it, pushing each sub-​field in challenging new directions. Following the example of the original Reus-​Smit and Snidal Oxford Handbook of International Relations, each volume is organized around a strong central thematic by a pair of scholars drawn from alternative perspectives, reading its sub-​field in an entirely new way, and pushing scholarship in challenging new directions.

The Oxford Handbook of

INTERNATIONAL POLITICAL THEORY Edited by

CHRIS BROWN and

ROBYN ECKERSLEY

1

3 Great Clarendon Street, Oxford, ox2 6dp, United Kingdom Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers the University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education by publishing worldwide. Oxford is a registered trade mark of Oxford University Press in the UK and in certain other countries © Oxford University Press 2018 The moral rights of the authors‌have been asserted First Edition published in 2018 Impression: 1 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of Oxford University Press, or as expressly permitted by law, by licence or under terms agreed with the appropriate reprographics rights organization. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside the scope of the above should be sent to the Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the address above You must not circulate this work in any other form and you must impose this same condition on any acquirer Published in the United States of America by Oxford University Press 198 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016, United States of America British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data Data available Library of Congress Control Number: 2017958156 ISBN 978–​0–​19–​874692–​8 Printed and bound by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, cr0 4yy Links to third party websites are provided by Oxford in good faith and for information only. Oxford disclaims any responsibility for the materials contained in any third party website referenced in this work.

Acknowledgements

We wish to thank our series editors, Chris Reus-​Smit and Duncan Snidal, for entrusting us with the task of putting together this Handbook, and for providing enthusiastic encouragement and feedback on our chosen theme of International Political Theory in the Real World. We also wish to thank Hamza Bin Jehangir for his invaluable and cheerful assistance in preparing the manuscript for submission. Thanks also to Dominic Byatt, Olivia Wells, and their colleagues at Oxford University Press, especially Sarah Barrett, the best copy-​editor either of us has worked with. We have learned the hard way that rounding up 50 stellar contributors, coaxing them with our brief, providing our editorial feedback, and ensuring that they all deliver is not a task for the faint-​hearted. We are delighted that our contributors have all risen to the occasion, and we wholeheartedly thank them for their excellent efforts and the innumerable ways in which they have each enriched the field of International Political Theory. Chris Brown Robyn Eckersley

Contents

List of Contributors 

xiii

PA RT I   I N T RODU C T ION 1. International Political Theory and the Real World  Chris Brown and Robyn Eckersley

3

PA RT I I   H I STORY, T R A DI T ION S , A N D P E R SP E C T I V E S 2. History of International Thought: Text and Context  David Boucher 3. The Slow Normalization of Normative Political Theory: Cosmopolitanism and Communitarianism Then and Now  Peter Sutch

21

35

4. International Relations and International Political Theory  Chris Brown

48

5. International Law and International Political Theory  Gerry Simpson

60

6. Critical International Political Theory  Anna Jurkevics and Seyla Benhabib

74

7. Feminist International Political Theory  Laura Sjoberg

87

PA RT I I I   I N T E R NAT IONA L J U S T IC E 8. Global Distributive Justice: Seven Theses about Facts and Empirical Research  Simon Caney

103

viii   Contents

9. Real-​World Global Egalitarianism  Darrel Moellendorf

118

10. Moral Responsibility—​and Luck?—​in International Politics  Toni Erskine

130

11. International Law and International Justice  Hilary Charlesworth

143

12. Transitional Justice  Susanne Buckley-​Zistel

153

13. Minority Rights  Will Kymlicka

166

14. Environmental Justice and Sustainability  Edward Page

179

PA RT I V   I N T E R NAT IONA L P OL I T IC A L T H E ORY OF V IOL E N C E A N D C ON F L IC T 15. Violence and International Political Theory  Anthony F. Lang, Jr

195

16. The Historical Just War Tradition  Cian O’Driscoll

209

17. Just War Theory in Times of Individual Rights Janina Dill

221

18. Moral Dilemmas of Asymmetric Conflict  Michael L. Gross

233

19. Ethics, Drones, and Killer Robots  Christopher Coker

247

20. International Relations Theory and Cyber Security: Threats, Conflicts, and Ethics in an Emergent Domain Brandon Valeriano and Ryan C. Maness 21. The Ethics and “Realism” of Nonviolent Action  Mary Elizabeth King

259 273

Contents   ix

PA RT V   H UM A N I TA R IA N I SM A N D H UM A N R IG H T S 22. Humanitarianism and Human Rights  Michael N. Barnett

289

23. Human Rights in the Real World  Stephen Hopgood

304

24. Humanitarian Actors and International Political Theory  Jennifer M. Welsh

316

25. The “Responsibility to Protect” and International Political Theory  James Pattison

330

26. Multiculturalism and Women’s Rights  Denise Walsh

343

27. The Human Right to Health and the Challenge of Poverty  Patrick Hayden

357

28. International Political Theory and LGBTQ Rights  Anthony J. Langlois

370

PA RT V I   DE M O C R AC Y, AC C OU N TA B I L I T Y, A N D G L OBA L G OV E R NA N C E 29. Democracy and Global Governance  Carol C. Gould

385

30. Sovereignty, Democracy, and Global Political Legitimacy  Terry Macdonald

400

31. The Ethical Limits of Global Democracy  Eva Erman

414

32. The Contested Ethics of Democracy Promotion  Milja Kurki

427

33. Deliberation and Global Governance  Jens Steffek

440

x   Contents

34. Accountability in Global Economic Governance  Kate Macdonald

453

35. Global Governance in the “Anthropocene”  Frank Biermann

467

PA RT V I I   E T H IC S A N D I N T E R NAT IONA L P U B L IC P OL IC Y 36. International Political Theory Meets International Public Policy Christian Barry

481

37. Ethical Foreign Policy in a Multipolar World  Tim Dunne

495

38. Fair Trade Under Fire: How to Think about Fair Trade in Theory and Practice  Nicole Hassoun

508

39. International Migration and Human Rights  Luara Ferracioli

520

40. Climate Equity in the Real World  Steve Vanderheiden

533

41. The Ethical Foundations of Aid: Two Duties of Rescue  Paul Collier

546

42. A Feminist Practical Ethics of Care  Fiona Robinson

559

PA RT V I I I   N E W DI R E C T ION S I N I N T E R NAT IONA L P OL I T IC A L T H E ORY 43. Judgement: A Conceptual Sketch  Friedrich Kratochwil

575

44. Virtues and Capabilities  Steven Torrente and Harry D. Gould

587

45. Emotions and International Political Theory Renée Jeffery

600

Contents   xi

46. The Ethics of Recognition in International Political Theory  Anna Geis

612

47. Republicanism and International Political Theory Steven Slaughter

626

PA RT I X   F OR A N D AG A I N S T R E A L P OL I T IC S A N D I N T E R NAT IONA L P OL I T IC A L T H E ORY 48. Realist Challenges  Duncan Bell

641

49. The Marxist Critique of International Political Theory  Andrew Davenport

652

50. The Case for Ideal Theory  Laura Valentini

664

Index 

677

List of Contributors

Michael N. Barnett is Professor of International Relations and Political Science in the Institute for Security and Conflict Studies, Elliott School of International Affairs at George Washington University. Christian Barry is Professor of Philosophy and Director of the Centre for Moral, Social and Political Theory in the School of Philosophy, Research School of Social Sciences at the Australian National University. Duncan Bell is a Reader in Political Thought and International Relations in the Department of Politics and International Studies at the University of Cambridge. Seyla Benhabib is the Eugene Meyer Professor for Political Science and Philosophy in the Department of Political Science at Yale University. Frank Biermann is Professor of Global Sustainability Governance at the Copernicus Institute of Sustainable Development, Utrecht University. David Boucher is Professor of Political Philosophy and International Relations in the Department of Politics and International Relations, Cardiff University, Wales, and Distinguished Visiting Professor, University of Johannesburg. Chris Brown is Emeritus Professor of International Relations in the Department of International Relations at the London School of Economics. Susanne Buckley-​Zistel is Professor for Peace and Conflict Studies at the Center for Conflict Studies, Philipps University Marburg. Simon Caney is Professor of Political Theory in the Department of Politics and International Studies, University of Warwick. Hilary Charlesworth is a Laureate Professor in the Melbourne Law School, University of Melbourne, and Professor of International Law at the Australian National University. Christopher Coker is Professor of International Relations in the Department of International Relations at the London School of Economics. Paul Collier is the Co-​Director of the Centre for the Study of African Economies and Professor of Economics and Public Policy at the Blavatnik School of Government at the University of Oxford. Andrew Davenport is Lecturer in International Politics in the Department of International Politics at Aberystwyth University.

xiv   list of Contributors Janina Dill is Associate Professor in the Department of Politics and International Relations at the University of Oxford. Tim Dunne is Professor of International Relations and Executive Dean of the Faculty of Humanities and Social Sciences at the University of Queensland. Robyn Eckersley is Professor of Political Science in the School of Social and Political Sciences at the University of Melbourne. Eva Erman is a Professor of Political Science in the Department of Political Science at Stockholm University. Toni Erskine is Professor of International Politics and Director of Research in the School of Humanities and Social Sciences at the University of New South Wales. Luara Ferracioli is Lecturer in Philosophy in the Philosophy Department at the University of Sydney. Anna Geis is Professor of International Security and Conflict Studies in the Institute of International Politics at Helmut-​Schmidt-​Universität/University of the Federal Armed Forces, Hamburg. Carol C. Gould is Distinguished Professor in the Philosophy Department at Hunter College at the Graduate Center of the City University of New York. Harry D. Gould is Associate Professor and Director of IR Graduate Programs in the Department of Politics and International Relations at Florida International University. Michael L. Gross is Professor and Head of School in the School of Political Science at the University of Haifa. Nicole Hassoun is Associate Professor of Philosophy in the Department of Philosophy at Binghamton University. Patrick Hayden is Professor of Political Theory and International Relations in the School of International Relations at the University of St Andrews. Stephen Hopgood is Professor of International Relations at SOAS, University of London. Renée Jeffery is Professor of International Relations in the School of Government and International Relations at Griffith University. Anna Jurkevics is Assistant Professor in the Department of Political Science at the University of British Columbia. Mary Elizabeth King is Professor of Peace and Conflict Studies at the United Nationsaffiliated University for Peace and Distinguished Rothermere American Institute Fellow at the University of Oxford. Friedrich Kratochwil is Professor of International Relations at the Central European University, Budapest.

list of Contributors    xv Milja Kurki is Professor in International Relations Theory in the Department of International Politics at Aberystwyth University. Will Kymlicka is Professor and Canada Research Chair in Political Philosophy in the Department of Philosophy, Queen’s University Canada. Anthony F. Lang, Jr is Professor of International Political Theory in the School of International Relations, University of St Andrews. Anthony J. Langlois is Associate Professor and Head of the Discipline of International Relations in the School of International Studies at Flinders University, Adelaide. Kate Macdonald is a Senior Lecturer in Political Science in the School of Social and Political Sciences at the University of Melbourne. Terry Macdonald is a Senior Lecturer in Political Science in the School of Social and Political Sciences at the University of Melbourne. Ryan C. Maness is Assistant Professor, Defense Analysis Department, Naval Postgraduate School. Darrel Moellendorf is Professor in International Political Theory at the Cluster Normative Orders at Goethe Universität, Frankfurt am Main. Cian O’Driscoll is a Senior Lecturer in Politics in the School of Social and Political Sciences at the University of Glasgow. Edward Page is Associate Professor of Political Theory in the Department of Politics and International Studies at the University of Warwick. James Pattison is Professor of Politics in the School of Social Sciences at the University of Manchester. Fiona Robinson is Professor of Political Science in the Department of Political Science at Carleton University, Ottawa. Gerry Simpson is Professor of Public International Law in the Law Department at the London School of Economics. Laura Sjoberg is Associate Professor of Political Science in the Department of Political Science, University of Florida. Steven Slaughter is Associate Professor in International Relations in the Faculty of Arts and Education at Deakin University, Melbourne. Jens Steffek is a Professor of Transnational Governance and Head of the Department of History and Social Sciences, Technische Universität Darmstadt, Germany. Peter Sutch is Professor of Political and International Theory in the Department of Politics and International Relations, Cardiff School of Law and Politics, Cardiff University.

xvi   list of Contributors Steven Torrente is Affiliate Instructor in Political Science at the Metropolitan State University of Denver. Laura Valentini is Associate Professor of Political Science in the Department of Government at the London School of Economics. Brandon Valeriano is Donald Bren Chair of Armed Conflict, Marine Corps University. Steve Vanderheiden is Associate Professor in the Department of Political Science at the University of Colorado Boulder. Denise Walsh is Associate Professor in the Departments of Politics and Women, Gender & Sexuality at the University of Virginia. Jennifer M. Welsh is Professor of International Relations at the European University Institute in Florence.

Pa rt I

I N T RODU C T ION

­c hapter 1

In ternational P ol i t i c a l Theory an d t h e Real Worl d Chris Brown and Robyn Eckersley

In this introduction we set out the underlying rationale of the Handbook, introduce and contextualize the two core questions we posed to our contributors, and explain why we believe them to be important and timely. We reflect on the meaning and scope of International Political Theory (IPT), the nature of normative theorizing, and the challenges raised by our emphasis on “real politics.” Finally, the chapter provides an overview of the volume, setting out the way in which we have broken down the subject matter of IPT. IPT focuses on the point where two fields of study meet—​International Relations and Political Theory. It takes from the former a central concern with the “international” broadly defined; from the latter it takes a broadly normative identity. IPT studies the “ought” questions that have been ignored or sidelined by the modern study of International Relations, and the “international” dimension that Political Theory has in the past neglected. A central proposition of IPT is that the “domestic” and the “international” cannot be treated as self-​contained spheres, although this does not preclude states and the states system from being regarded by some practitioners of IPT as central points of reference. International Political Theory has a history which is as extensive as that of both Political Theory and International Relations, and certainly predates the so-​called “Westphalian” System (Brown, Nardin, and Rengger 2002). Still, the last three decades have been an active period for scholarship in this field. It has seen the revival of “Just War” thinking, the emergence of post-​Rawlsian global justice theory, new thinking about democracy and accountability beyond the nation-​state, the further development of English School theorizing, and a new interest in issues of intervention, non-​intervention, and sovereignty. Perhaps most important of all has been the collapse of the notion of a self-​contained discipline of International Relations as a result of the challenges of

4    Chris Brown and Robyn Eckersley constructivism, critical theory, feminist and gender theory, green political theory, and post-​structuralism in all its forms. Not all of these changes have directly supported the field of IPT—​post-​structuralist thinking, for example, is often hostile to normative theorizing—​but all have contributed to an intellectual atmosphere that has been conducive to a sustained assault on normative questions; and such an assault has taken place, with a burgeoning of literature in the field, the establishment of new journals, and the ubiquitous presence of IPT in university programmes in both International Relations and Political Theory. In short, IPT has been mainstreamed, and whereas as recently as the 1990s a Handbook of International Political Theory might have been expected to proselytize for the field, we are now in a position to take stock of what is a healthy enterprise, looking at where we are today, where the discipline is heading, and, equally important, where the development that has taken place has neglected certain issues. This agenda mandates an engagement with “real politics,” and this engagement provides the overarching theme for the Handbook. Our aim is to provide an authoritative account of the field, guided by focusing on two basic questions concerning its purposes and methods of inquiry. First, how does IPT connect with real-​world politics? In particular, how does it engage with real-​world problems, and position itself in relation to the practices of real-​world politics? And second, following on from this, what is the relationship between IPT and empirical research in international relations? These two questions are closely related, but nonetheless distinct. The first question invites renewed reflection on the vocation and basic purpose of IPT. We do not doubt that it is important to preserve our understanding of past theories, and to track shifts in our theoretical understandings over time; but if the central purpose of IPT is to engage with normative questions, then these tasks cannot be allowed to dominate the field—​ and, in any event, there are good reasons to doubt whether past theories are adequate to the task of grappling with complex contemporary problems. If IPT is concerned not only with reflecting on, and refining, existing ideas, norms, and practices in real-​world politics but also with challenging and transforming them according to desired ideals and goals, then it is important and necessary to understand how IPT is positioned vis-​ à-​vis the real world. In our first question therefore, we invite consideration of the history, potential, and limits of IPT in influencing international debates in general, and international public policy in particular. This entails an examination of the relationship between ontology and ethics, and a clarification and justification of the role of ideal vs non-​ideal theory, and practical vs applied theory. This question also provides an opportunity for International Political Theorists to revisit and confront the many different faces of power, and to reflect on the relationship between morality, legitimacy, and international law. Our second question asks whether, to what extent, and how IPT should be informed by empirical research. In the general field of political theory, a growing frustration with what has been seen to be an overly abstract and idealist form of moral theorizing, too introspective and narcissistic, has arisen; a similar charge could be levelled at much IPT, hence our desire in this volume to focus on establishing a proper relationship between

Introduction   5 theoretical endeavour and empirical investigation. It should be noted that we are not suggesting that normative IPT theory must be led by empirical research (and the questions asked by empirical researchers)—​rather, we invite those engaged in normative IPT to explain and justify to what extent, and how, their theorizing is informed by empirical research in International Relations and other fields. Our aim in this Handbook, therefore, is not simply to provide an authoritative survey of the field as it stands, although that was, of course, part of the mandate we gave to our authors. Rather, like the Oxford Handbook of International Relations, we aim to provide an intervention in the field by investigating the potential for a closer engagement with real politics, and to that end we have asked our contributors to reflect on our guiding questions in approaching their topics. But, of course, we have not demanded that they all address both questions systematically, since not all topics in the volume can be made to connect directly with real politics, or to touch upon them in the same way or to the same degree. Nor have we set out to narrow or even bridge the divide between the real and the ideal, or the normative and the empirical, since this is not always desirable or indeed possible in some cases, as we explain below. Rather, our aim is to encourage greater reflexivity about the various points at which IPT has, or should have, contact with real politics and/​or empirical research, to explore how that contact has been negotiated and whether it could be better negotiated, to draw out in greater relief the distinctive virtues of IPT, and to showcase the diversity of IPT approaches.

Modes of Normative Inquiry Before engaging further with the themes of our Handbook, it may be helpful to explore the range of different approaches that fall under the rubric of IPT. While the field of IPT is typically dissected along the lines of different traditions of political thought or different topics, we stress that it can also, and perhaps more fruitfully, be approached in terms of the different modes of normative inquiry, modes which can cut across traditions and topics. Here we single out four analytically distinct but, as we will demonstrate, often very closely related modes: interpretation; critique; evaluation and prescription; and meta-​normative reflection. Interpretation is a mode of normative inquiry that seeks to reveal and illuminate normative meaning. Interpretation is not unique to IPT, and it is undertaken in different ways by different traditions of IPT. Its most specialized expression is the interpretation of historical, canonical, and contemporary texts on international politics and international law. Interpretation entails exegesis, but it may also include comparison with other texts to reveal and illuminate different normative and legal understandings in the past and the present, and it may extend to locating texts in their historical or contemporary contexts—​and here the term “text” should be understood as widely as possible, and not restricted to written materials. Interpretation may, and frequently will, blend into Critique but is, nonetheless, analytically distinct from that mode of inquiry.

6    Chris Brown and Robyn Eckersley Critique also seeks to reveal meaning, but in ways that expose and criticize rather than simply illuminate and enrich understanding. This mode of inquiry can operate at many different levels and, again, it is not unique to IPT. Nonetheless, critique is widely recognized as forming part of the core business of IPT when it takes the form of exposing self-​serving, unjust, harmful, or wrongful ideas and practices in world politics, and in particular political ideologies, traditions, texts, and discourses. For some IPT traditions, critique is a necessary preliminary to Prescription, but it may also be the case that critical interpretation is seen as the central task of the critical theorist, with prescription very much a secondary activity, albeit one that is at least implicit in any developed critique. Critique may be conducted from a vantage point that is external or internal to the subject of critique; while external critique often takes a more radical form than internal critique, this is not always the case. Evaluation and prescription provides answers to normative questions such as what is good or bad, how we should be and act in the world, and how we should order and regulate relations between sovereign or corporate entities, communities, or individuals. While critique is a form of evaluation that entails judging, here we understand evaluation to include a more explicit set of normative standards by which to judge not only what is bad, wrong, or unjust but also what is good, right, or fair, etc. Not all evaluation of this kind necessarily entails prescription, understood as recommendations for action or policy change. However, prescription presupposes a prior evaluation, which is why we have paired them here. Like critique, evaluation and prescription are widely considered to be defining concerns of IPT, irrespective of whether they take the form of defending rules of right conduct, or elaborating principles of institutional design, procedural justice, legal or policy reform, or approaches to making practical judgements. In many IPT traditions, “morality” and “ethics,” and “moral” and “ethical,” are used interchangeably, but in some traditions they have distinct meanings. For some, moral principles are duties of proper conduct whereas ethical decisions are situated, practical judgements about how to act, all things considered. Against both these approaches, political theorists working in the realist tradition eschew a particular focus on the “ethical” or the “moral” and focus on what is unique about “the political.” As will be apparent in our discussion of “real politics” below, this realist tradition is not necessarily opposed to the tasks of evaluation or prescription, though it is opposed to a moralism that assumes away questions of order, conflict, and applicability in particular contexts. Meta-​normative reflection covers inquiry into the foundations of morality and ethics, and how we know when something is right, valid, good, or bad, and the sources of normative legitimacy. This includes critical reflection on methods of normative inquiry, including how norms are justified (for example, by reference to the virtues or to thought experiments to draw out, appeal to, or test different moral intuitions), the processes of practical judgement, and different types of moral, ethical, and legal reasoning. It also includes comparison and debates on the strengths and weaknesses of different traditions of normative inquiry in world politics and international law, whether between traditionalists and revisionists, cosmopolitans and communitarians, or deontologists, consequentialists, and/​or virtue ethicists, to name only a few.

Introduction   7 Given our focus on “real politics,” it may be helpful if we compare this way of conceptualizing the four different modes of inquiry with the much-cited distinction between “critical theory” and “problem-​solving theory” set out in Robert Cox’s influential paper “People, States and World Order: Beyond IR Theory” (Cox 1981). Cox begins with his famous pronouncement that “theory is always for someone and for some purpose,” although he qualifies this by saying that “sophisticated theory is never just the expression of a perspective” (p. 128). From this starting point he identifies two distinct kinds of theory: on the one hand, theory can attempt to be “a guide to solve the problems posed within the terms of the particular perspective which was the point of departure.” This is problem-​solving theory, which “takes the world as it finds it with the prevailing social and power relationships and the institutions into which they are organized, as the given framework for action” (p. 128). On the other hand, there is critical theory, which does not take institutions and power relations for granted, but calls them into question, examining their origins and the interests they serve. The framework for action, taken for granted by problem-​solving theory, is here appraised and subjected to critique. The ceteris paribus assumptions and fixed limits which characterize problem-​solving theory are here set aside—​critical theory is concerned with historical change and a world in which all things are not considered equal or held in suspension for the purposes of analysis. The distinction between problem-​solving and critical theory has been central to the development of critical theory and indeed of IPT, but it is, arguably, much misunderstood. Partly Cox himself is responsible for this misunderstanding; although he states clearly that both modes of theorizing have their uses, he leaves the impression that problem-​solving theory is a distinctly second-​rate activity. The suggestion is that problem-​solving theory is in some sense subsumed by critical theory; once the importance of critical theory is understood, the biases of problem-​solving can be described as conservative and revealed as ideology (Cox 1981: 129). But this is unsatisfactory, because it implies that whereas problem-​solving is ideological and based on a particular perspective, critical theory is not—​which clearly goes against the proposition that “all theory is for someone and for some purpose.” More accurately, both problem-​solving and critical theory reflect a perspective—​indeed may represent different responses to the same perspective, different moments in the life of a theory. The legitimacy of problem-​solving theory is particularly important in the context of this Handbook, in which the engagement of IPT with real politics is a central theme and the proposition that there is something uncritical about attempting to solve problems must be resisted. In some respects, a distinction drawn by Stephen K. White in his Political Theory and Postmodernism is more to the point (White 1991). Contrasting the driving force—​moral, political, and aesthetic—​behind the work of the leading Frankfurt School critical theorist of our day, Jürgen Habermas, with that which animates post-​ structuralists and post-​modernists such as Michel Foucault, Jacques Derrida, and Jean-​ François Lyotard, he distinguishes between “[a]‌sense of ‘responsibility to act’ and a sense of ‘responsibility to otherness.’ Corresponding to this distinction is one relating to language: its ‘action-​coordinating’ function and its ‘world-​disclosing’ function” (White 1991: x). Taking these terms out of their original context, world-​disclosing theory

8    Chris Brown and Robyn Eckersley is clearly an important part of contemporary IPT, central to both Interpretation and Critique; but action-​coordinating, problem-​oriented theory, leading to Prescription, is every bit as important, and provides the focus for much of the material we present here. Of course, this type of theory necessarily entails judgements about what aspects of the world should be bracketed, and what aspects should be called into question in order to decide how best to respond to particular problems. Critical theorists should be able to justify what and what not to bracket, and also to reveal and understand the implications of these judgements. Each of the modes of inquiry set out above can stand alone, but they are often combined. Prescription—​ particularly when it involves the defence of action-​ guiding norms—​is typically preceded by evaluation and critique, which prepares the ground for reform by exposing problems, injustices, or harmful practices that prescription seeks to rectify. Indeed, some critical traditions of IPT seek to combine all or most of these modes while also crossing into the realm of positive/​explanatory theory. The important point we want to make here is often missed by those who are too quick to condemn IPT for its failure to engage with the real world—​namely, that not all these modes of inquiry necessarily depend on, or need to have any direct engagement with, real politics or empirical inquiry. For example, such an engagement is not necessary for the interpretation of historical or contemporary texts, or for certain kinds of meta-​ethical reflection. But when it comes to identifying real-​world problems and criticizing real-​world practices, then empirical research on such problems and practices does become relevant. Likewise, when it comes to the development of action-​guiding prescriptions that seek to change existing practices, then empirical research and feasibility constraints must be taken on board, although exactly how they are taken on board remains to be seen.

Political Realism and IPT Our concern with real politics requires us to explore the relationship between the real and the ideal, and the often fraught relationship between realists and idealists. One useful entry point into this relationship is offered by the sustained critique of “normative political theory” mounted by the so-​called “new realists” in political theory (e.g. Williams 2005; Geuss 2008; Runciman 2012; Rossie and Sleat 2014; Sleat 2016). By “normative political theory” these critics have in mind what they see as an excessively abstract style of liberal moral and political philosophy in the Anglo-​American tradition, much of which focuses on justice and follows in the footsteps of Rawls, although the argument is sometimes directed also at Habermasian critical theory. For the new realists, this body of political theory (and its international and global extension) fails to grasp the distinctiveness of “the political,” the conditions of possibility for the success of normative prescriptions, the centrality of power in its many dimensions, and the ineradicable nature of disagreement and conflict. This critique includes, but goes well beyond, a critique of the political feasibility of such theories. Indeed, it is primarily a

Introduction   9 methodological critique that takes issue with putting morality and ethics first in political theory. This is done when political theorists begin with what are seen to be “pre-​political” moral norms (such as justice or autonomy) or the ultimate desired ethical end-​ states (happiness), assign them a foundational role in ordering political life, and then offer prescriptions that seek to realize or apply these norms. For the new realists, this is starting in the wrong place. The central feature of the new political realism is an assertion of the autonomy of the political; contra much modern analytical political theory, politics is not a branch of applied ethics, and political theory should focus on real political actors and institutions. That is, any political theory worth its name must start with the real world of politics, where disagreement (including moral disagreement) is rife, the need for stability and order is paramount, and coercion is therefore necessary. In a key statement of the new realism, “Realism and Moralism in Political Theory,” Bernard Williams (2005) critiques two accounts of the relationship between politics and ethics. First, he identifies the enactment model whereby principles, concepts, ideals, and values are formulated in theory, and politics is given the task of enacting what has been formulated, using persuasion or exercising power; utilitarian thought often takes this form. Then he outlines the structural model, in which theory lays down the conditions under which power can be justly exercised; unlike the enactment model, this account of morality doesn’t directly tell us what politics must achieve, but rather sets constraints on what politics can rightly do—​the classic illustration here is Rawls’s A Theory of Justice (1970). In both these models the moral is prior to the political—​Williams terms this “political moralism” and contrasts it with “political realism,” which reverses priorities. The first, unavoidable political question is that of securing order, and the “basic legitimation demand” is that order be secured in a way that is acceptable to all. The new realists draw no sharp distinction between the domestic and the international spheres of politics, since in both worlds morality and ethics can provide only a weak source of political motivation, and therefore play at best only a minor role. Instead of engaging in abstract theorizing, political theorists should focus on the struggle for the legitimation of political power, and should recognize their own roles as agents in this struggle (Rossi and Sleat 2014: 693). This necessarily requires a turn to the political sources of normativity, including the procedures by which political authority is acquired and collective decisions made, and the contexts, contingencies, and constraints that shape real-​world decisions. The new realist critique is not to be conflated with non-​ideal normative political theory, but it shares with non-​ideal theory a sensitivity to feasibility constraints, which means that what is desired or prescribed must be something that can be brought about by capable agents with the necessary motivation (Gilabert and Lawford-​Smith 2012). Likewise, for realists, the most important question is not who is causally or morally responsible for a harm or problem but rather who has the power and will to fix it. This is not to suggest that realists do not have ethical concerns, do not wish to see pressing global problems resolved, or do not wish to make normative interventions. It simply means that if capable and motivated social agents are missing, then the problem will remain unaddressed. To the extent that normative political theorists fail to address these

10    Chris Brown and Robyn Eckersley questions, they are engaging in no more than wishful thinking that represents an escape from, rather than engagement with, politics. To what extent does the new realism share attributes with the realism familiar to students of IR theory? The simple answer is: more than many new realists are prepared to admit. Figures such as Hans J. Morgenthau, George Kennan, and Reinhold Niebuhr are quite close in spirit to figures such as Geuss and Williams. Part of the problem here is to be found in the ambiguities associated with the term “realism” in the discourse of International Relations; Morgenthau et al. were concerned to find the right place for morality, but structural realists such as Kenneth Waltz and John Mearsheimer are much more inclined to reject normative concerns altogether. Duncan Bell in Chapter 48 goes into these issues in greater depth. Clearly the new realists raise important questions, and given our interest in real politics these questions cannot be swept under the carpet, nor would we wish to do so. Indeed, from one perspective, the chapters in this Handbook represent a collective response to the new realist perspective, a demonstration of how it is possible for IPT to engage with real-​world problems without losing its sense of self, or its focus on normativity and prescription. As the Handbook unfolds it will, we hope, become clear that the more compelling aspects of the new realist critique address a very narrow target, in particular theories of global justice, and leave much of the rest of the discourse unscathed. As to the general critique of “ideal theory,” it will become apparent that, contra the new realists, this is a term which has a number of different meanings, only one of which involves a rejection of feasibility constraints (on which see Laura Valentini’s Chapter 50). Likewise, others have shown that the new realist critique of moralism does not always hit its mark (e.g. Estlund 2017).

Normative vs Positive/​E mpirical Inquiry In much contemporary literature on IR theory, normative claims are characterized as value-​based, prescriptive claims about what ought to be done, whereas empirical or positive claims are understood to be objective—​descriptions of social facts or social reality. Positive theory and normative theory are understood to be distinct activities: positive theory tells us what can be done, normative theory tells us what should be done. The mainstream discourse of International Relations stresses that these theories involve categorically distinct claims. Normative prescriptions can be justified as appropriate, it is argued, but they cannot be logically “proved” or empirically verified, just as the “social facts” ascertained by empirical inquiry cannot be disputed because they are normatively unsatisfying. These categorical differences are alleged to underpin the development of normative and empirical inquiry as two very distinctive and highly specialized branches of inquiry, with very little interest in or contact with each other.

Introduction   11 Yet normative and empirical inquiry have not always been separated in this way, and many branches of contemporary IR theory—​in particular the “constructivist” movement—​refuse to accept that there is a categorical difference between the normative and the positive. Certainly, the separation of normative and empirical inquiry has a long history reaching its apotheosis with the neo-​positivist revolution in political science, which saw behaviouralist approaches dominate in the second half of the twentieth century, particularly in the US; but the post-​positivist revolution in the social sciences has since challenged this dominance, and neo-​positivism, while still important and perhaps the majority position in contemporary political science, is no longer unchallenged. However, and interestingly, the challenge to the positive–​normative binary has largely focused on positive rather than on normative theory. In other words, while the pretensions to value-​neutrality of positive theory have been extensively critiqued, the empirical insensitivity of normative inquiry has remained relatively unscathed until very recently. It is now widely recognized that ethical issues permeate social scientific research, from the selection of research questions, the conduct of research, the making of assumptions, the development of categories of knowledge to the interpretation and dissemination of research findings. Indeed, one of the tasks set for itself by the Oxford Handbook that stimulated the existence of this series was to highlight how “every international relations theory is simultaneously about what the world is like and about what it ought to be like” either explicitly or implicitly (Reus-​Smit and Snidal 2008: 6). The assumption of normative or value neutrality in social scientific inquiry is no longer sustainable. The second question guiding this Handbook explores whether and how far the charge can run the other way. Is indifference towards “social facts” or empirical research by IPT scholars sustainable? Under what circumstances, if any, can it be excused? The answer, as we have already partly foreshadowed, depends on the mode of normative inquiry. For those engaged in the interpretation of texts or meta-​ethical reflection, this charge may not even be relevant, or may not apply in the same way. However, those engaged in normative critique and the evaluation and reform of real-​world practices should, at the very least, be obliged to get their social facts right if their normative judgements are to have any traction. In principle, all normative theories make assumptions about the nature of the social domain and the nature of individuals as agents within that domain, which suggests an engagement with the empirical is not an option but a necessity (Price 2008; Price et al. 2012). Likewise, while an “ought” cannot readily be derived from an “is,” “ought” nonetheless implies “can,” so those offering real-​world prescriptions in the form of action-​guiding norms should be sure that their interventions can operate and have effect in the world as intended. This should be a simple matter of due diligence, but it is often avoided or evaded. Indeed, critics have lamented what they see as a “dismal disconnection” between political theory and empirical research (Stears 2005: 326). Rawls’s Theory of Justice reignited normative political inquiry in the English-​speaking world and beyond from the 1970s, but it also sent the inquiry down a certain path. Indeed, the Rawlsian industry became excessively preoccupied with ideal, abstract theorizing about justice along with meta-​ normative reflection and was largely indifferent to issues of feasibility, empirical inquiry,

12    Chris Brown and Robyn Eckersley and practical reform at the very time at which the welfare state was being dismantled (Stears 2005: 326). The aforementioned new realist critique was largely generated in response to this preoccupation. Most of those who have addressed the bifurcation between normative and empirical research lament the strict separation but also rightly resist the idea that it can or should be collapsed altogether (e.g. Stears 2005; Bauböck 2008; Price et al. 2012). Academic specialization makes sense, and specializing in any or all of the normative modes of inquiry we have outlined enables greater mastery in certain areas and thereby produces a richer and deeper body of scholarship. But this still begs the question: in what ways can greater attention to empirical research serve to enrich normative inquiry, or is it only necessary to prevent embarrassment? Insofar as action-​guiding prescriptions or meta-​normative reflection rest on assumptions about human motivation and behaviour that are contradicted by theory-​guided, empirical research, then they can be impugned. For just one example, feminist IPT scholars who wish to realize universal human rights for all women by offering action-​guiding norms to end female oppression in its many different guises are well advised to pay heed to empirical research on the consequences of their prescriptions in different social and cultural settings. Indeed, feminist policy interventions of this kind, such as in campaigns to end female genital cutting, have sometimes backfired in harmful ways due to lack of local knowledge (Snyder and Vinjamuri 2012: 441). In summary, these are complex issues, and it is time now for us as editors to turn them over to our contributors. As will be apparent, the forty-​nine chapters that follow this introduction approach IPT from a number of directions; some of the topics addressed, for example on the history of the discourse, do not invite a close engagement with real politics or empirical research; others, for example on international public policy and governance, have no value without such an engagement. Although we have posed the same questions to each of our contributors, we have not attempted to enforce any kind of uniformity in the way in which they answer them. The multiple faces of modern International Political Theory is one of the most attractive features of the discourse, and although the way in which we have organized the Handbook imposes a certain kind of order, we have not looked to stifle this pluralism.

The Organization of the Handbook The rest of this Handbook consists of forty-​nine chapters, arranged in nine parts; following this introduction, Parts II–VII are headed by an “anchor” or lead chapter which provides an overview of the particular dimension of IPT covered therein or addresses overarching themes or issues. Part II, “History, Traditions, and Perspectives,” is designed to situate the discourse of IPT both in terms of its past and in relation to cognate contemporary discourses. In Chapter 2 David Boucher anchors the section with a discussion of the history of

Introduction   13 international thought and an analysis of the process of reading texts in IPT. He distinguishes helpfully between the Emblematic, Practical, and Historical past, defending the central importance of practice in our reading of the classics. This is followed by Chapter 3, in which Peter Sutch explores the recent history of the discourse and the usefulness or otherwise of the binary, cosmopolitanism and communitarianism; he argues that both terms remain relevant insofar as they are linked to an engagement with sociological and constructivist approaches to IR. In Chapter 4 Chris Brown traces the relationship between IPT and the wider discourse of International Relations, arguing that IPT preserves aspects of the discourse which the mainstream turn towards neo-​positivst modes of theorizing has discarded. Gerry Simpson in Chapter 5 explores the relationship between IPT and international law, identifying the split between conceptions of law as the codification of the practice of states and law as a project for international reform, examining the contemporary problems of intervention and the prosecution of international crimes, and noting the turn of international lawyers back to the political and to the history of international thought. Chapters 6 and 7 focus on perspectives that are less linked to tradition and history. In Chapter 6 Seyla Benhabib and Anna Jurkevics examine the evolution of critical theory from its cosmopolitan Frankfurt School roots to its current eclecticism, incorporating deconstruction, feminist approaches, and post-​ colonialism, and a renewed focus on sovereignty. Laura Sjoberg in Chapter 7 explores the contribution of feminism to international political theory, using the issue of male prostitution and the military as an entry point to the discourse. A major focus of contemporary IPT is international justice, covered extensively here in Part III of the Handbook. Simon Caney leads this part by identifying five ways in which empirical evidence is crucial for normative theorizing about international distributive justice. These include but go beyond the usual issue of feasibility to include conceptualizing the subject matter of international justice, formulating the questions that IPT should answer, assessing the desirability of principles of global distributive justice, and assessing their implications. Darrel Moellendorf illustrates many of these arguments in Chapter 9 by providing an account of egalitarian international justice that is dependent on an empirical understanding of real-world practice. In Chapter 10, Toni Erskine examines the complex question of moral responsibility for international justice through the prism of agency, structure, and the neglected dimension of luck. She shows how a deeper reflection on the relationship between agency, chance, contingency, and causal complexity can unsettle established understandings. Hilary Charlesworth explores the relationship between international law and international justice in Chapter 11. She highlights the tensions between the traditional Westphalian conceptions of justice grounded in respect for national sovereignty and the United Nations Charter conceptions of international justice that include a range of universal norms, including respect for human rights. In Chapter 12 Susanne Buckley-​Zistel interrogates the burgeoning field of transitional justice as a response to legacies of violence. She tracks the historical development of transitional justice and teases out its different elements and normative foundations. Will Kymlicka in Chapter 13 examines the “minority question” in international justice debates by examining how minorities came onto the radar of international relations as

14    Chris Brown and Robyn Eckersley a problem to be contained and then evolved into bearers of internationally protected minority rights but not to the point of defending place-​based rights for minorities. In Chapter 14, Edward Page tracks the conceptual development of sustainable development and its relationship to environmental justice, and draws out the normative questions that any theory of sustainable development must address. An aspect of IPT which is both very traditional and very modern is covered in Part IV, “International Political Theory of Violence and Conflict.” In Chapter 15 Anthony F. Lang, Jr anchors the discussion, arguing that violence constrains and enables politics and is constrained and enabled by politics. He focuses on violence and authority, arguing that the latter notion receives too little attention in contemporary thought. This leads into two chapters on the Just War. In Chapter 16 Cian O’Driscoll explores the Just War tradition and its contemporary relevance, raising questions about the very definition of war, and its applicability to acts of force short of war and anticipatory defence. Janina Dill in Chapter 17 explores contemporary, individual rights-​oriented approaches, sometimes know as “revisionist” just war theory. According to this approach it may be impossible to wage war in a morally appropriate way, which raises important questions about the relationship between real and ideal theory. Still in contact with “just war” thinking, in Chapter 18 Michael L. Gross investigates the moral dilemmas of asymmetric conflict, arguing that the conventional unwillingness to accept that non-​state actors could be legitimate combatants is no longer sustainable. Christopher Coker in Chapter 19 assesses the impact of Unmanned Aerial Vehicles (UAVs a.k.a. Drones) and autonomous weapons systems, and their capacity to overturn all previous approaches to the ethics of warfare; Thucydides describes war as “the human thing,” but the rise of killer robots challenges this in a fundamental way. In Chapter 20, Brandon Valeriano and Ryan C. Maness offer an assessment of cyber security, arguing that the common emphasis on technology is mistaken; the appropriate framework for discussing cyber security has yet to emerge, but clearly ethical concerns will be central when it does. Mary Elizabeth King, in Chapter 21, explores non-​violent action in its various forms, stressing, somewhat counterintuitively, the relationship between the core idea and realist political practice. Part V examines “Humanitarianism and Human Rights.” In Chapter 22 Michael N. Barnett anchors the discussion with an exploration of the different mindsets that are associated with these two closely associated concepts and their distinctive relationships to politics, noting that the discourse of humanitarianism is largely historical, while human rights are usually discussed in conceptual terms. Stephen Hopgood in Chapter 23 looks at the real-​world politics of human rights, and anticipates a truncated role for human rights in the future unless they can be divorced from their current Western, liberal foundations. In Chapter 24, Jennifer M. Welsh examines the role played by humanitarian actors in times of conflict, with a particular focus on the UN, which she suggests is developing new understandings of impartiality, which sometimes gel and sometimes clash with the acvtivities of the new “rights-​based” humanitarian NGOs. This leads into James Pattison’s discussion of the “Responsibility to Protect” in Chapter 25, which emphasizes the gaps between theory and practice that have emerged as this attempt to resolve the dilemmas of humanitarian intervention has evolved over the last decade. The

Introduction   15 sometimes vexed relationship between gender, multiculturalism, and rights is explored in Chapter 26 by Denise Walsh, who challenges the common assumption that a concern for gender equality will always clash with the respect for difference that multiculturalism mandates. In Chapter 27 Patrick Hayden examines the recent focus on health as a basic human right, arguing that the foundations for this claim are best found in recognition theory rather than in conventional liberal thinking on human rights. Finally in Part V, Anthony J. Langlois in Chapter 28 focuses on the increasingly salient but highly controversial area of gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender rights, stressing the importance of moving beyond the mere assertion that “gay rights are human rights” to an examination of how these rights operate in real-​world politics, including ways in which they can be misused. Part VI addresses issues of “Democracy, Accountability, and Global Governance,” which are central to the approach to IPT adopted in this Handbook. Carol C. Gould sets the scene in Chapter 29 by exploring the context and the motivation for addressing democratic deficits in global governance. She defends a “common activities” approach, complemented by the “all-​affected” principle, as providing a more dynamic and forwarding-​looking basis for addressing global democratic deficits. In Chapter 30 Terry Macdonald develops a distinctive approach for reconciling global democratic values with the empirical facts of contemporary global governance. Instead of “piggy-​backing” off democratic theories developed at the national level, she develops an approach based on the empowerment of collective agency. In Chapter 31, Eva Erman shifts attention to the empirical and moral constraints on global democracy, understood as the conditions under which democracy should be construed (i.e. formulated and justified) and promoted in the real world of global politics. Milja Kurki continues this line of inquiry in Chapter 32 by examining the contested ethics of democracy promotion. She argues that democracy promotion nowadays tends to treat both democracy and its promotion as largely a “technical” challenge, which obscures liberal ethical commitments and fails to acknowledge the plurality of democratic ethics. In Chapter 33 Jens Steffek examines how ideas of deliberative democracy have been extended to governance beyond the state. He argues that both micro and macro conceptions of deliberation have considerable potential to enhance the epistemic quality of global governance, but that they suffer from an elite bias and need to confront the challenge of developing thicker input and accountability linkages with the lifeworlds of citizens. Kate Macdonald addresses these linkages in Chapter 34 in her examination of accountability norms and practices in global economic governance. She argues that normative analyses of transnational accountability must begin with real-​world accountability problems, and she singles out four: unaccountable power, decentred political authority, adapting to multiple scales, and negotiating social and cultural difference. In Chapter 35 Frank Biermann tackles the daunting challenge of global governance in the Anthropocene, a new and self-​endangering epoch in planetary history where humans have acquired geological (and not just environmental) agency in reshaping Earth systems processes. Part VII takes a more practical turn, focusing on “Ethics and International Public Policy.” Chapter 36 by Christian Barry anchors this section by exploring how IPT should

16    Chris Brown and Robyn Eckersley relate to public policy. Using Rawls’s duty of assistance as an illustration, he examines the degree to which normative principles should be abstract or concrete, and specific or indeterminate, and he shows that abstractness is a virtue when experts disagree. Tim Dunne, in Chapter 37, examines the meaning of ethical foreign policy in a multipolar world. He argues that ethics and foreign policy have always been awkward partners, despite efforts by some realists to sever ethics and efforts by (mostly) liberals to bring ethics more to the fore at various times, and he offers a sober prognosis of a retreating liberalism in an increasingly multipolar world. Nicole Hassoun addresses the question of fair trade in theory and practice in Chapter 38. Arguing against both complete theoretical accounts of fair trade as well as practice-​based approaches, she defends a conditional approach that enables modest progress. Luara Ferracioli in Chapter 39 explores the public policy dimension of international migration and human rights, asking what would be the moral duties of liberal states in relation to different categories of migrant if they were willing to apply liberal cosmopolitan principles of justice, and what institutional changes would help to motivate states to do so. In Chapter 40 Steve Vanderheiden addresses the vexed question of climate equity in the real world in light of the 2015 Paris Agreement. Against the view that commitments to equity in the climate regime have only obstructed progress and that equity should be traded off for an effective treaty, he argues that the inclusion of substantive and procedural equity considerations have focused attention upon subjects and issues that might otherwise have been ignored. The question of the ethical rationale for international aid is taken up by Paul Collier in Chapter 41. He defends minimal obligations that are reducible to two “duties of rescue,” one immediate (in response to catastrophes) and one prospective (development assistance), that seek to ameliorate mass despair for those with no credible hope for a better life, and argues that development assistance based on “mutual aid” rather than charity is ethically permissible if it can be shown to be the most effective means of fulfilling the duty of rescue. Fiona Robinson in Chapter 42 defends a feminist practical ethics of care as an appropriate global ethic, using the challenges of humanitarianism as an illustration. This approach is shown to be context-​specific, relational, and located in the experiences and practices of care-​giving and receiving rather than a priori principles of the right or the good. Parts VIII and IX are somewhat different from the earlier parts of the Handbook, and do not have “anchor” chapters. Part VIII, “New Directions in International Political Theory,” picks out five areas where new perspectives are emerging, or in some cases re-​ emerging. In Chapter 43 Friedrich Kratochwil offers a conceptual sketch of new, and old, thinking on the issue of judgement; he argues that the formal logic of writers such as Kant may be less use than the insights provided by common-​law interpretation, Humean common sense, and Aristotelian phronesis. Continuing this classical theme, in Chapter 44, Steve Torrente and Harry D. Gould consider the impact of virtue ethics on IPT, exploring the renewed interest in Aristotle and, in particular, the capabilities approach associated with Amartya Sen and Martha Nussbaum. Renée Jeffery in Chapter 45 examines and contributes to the new literature on the role of emotions in international political theory; Sen also features in her account of the rise of a “sentimental

Introduction   17 cosmopolitanism,” although she places greater emphasis than he on the combination of reason and emotion in the making of impartial judgements. In Chapter 46 Anna Geis explores the international dimension of recent work on recognition, highlighting the danger that the self-​recognition of the West as a benign force in world politics may not satisfy the need for recognition of non-​Western, non-​liberal actors. Finally, in Chapter 47, Steven Slaughter examines the increasing importance of republican thought for IPT, exploring the different versions of republicanism current in the literature. Non-​domination is central to most versions, but can be pursued in different ways with those versions of republicanism influenced by critical theory offering a different model to that of globalized sovereignty. Part IX, “For and Against Real Politics and International Political Theory,” is an exercise in self-​criticism in which the core themes of the Handbook are challenged from three different directions. In Chapter 48 Duncan Bell explodes a number of common myths about realism—​that it is amoral, necessarily state-​centric, and conservative—​ and shows that realists can be conservative, liberal, or radical, even utopian in certain senses. What unites realists is their rejection of “moralism” and their attentiveness to the hard and soft political constraints on efforts to realize normative arguments for a just international order. Continuing the themes of power and conflict, albeit from a different angle, Andrew Davenport offers a Marxist critique of IPT in Chapter 49. He argues that IPT, both in its conceptualization of the international space and in its ideas of how to address and resolve problems such as inequality and violence, rests on an essentially liberal experience of the world and therefore on a critique of distributive justice that fails to comprehend the depth and extent of the power of capital. In Chapter 50 Laura Valentini rounds out the debate by providing a defence of “ideal theory,” understood either as idealizations or as normative theories that are insensitive to feasibility constraints. She concludes that most criticisms miss their mark, either because they mistake the role that idealizations play, or mistake purely evaluative theories as offering prescriptions rather than standards of evaluation. In addition to providing an authoritative survey of the issues, debates, and traditions that preoccupy contemporary IPT scholarship, this Handbook seeks to prod IPT scholars to engage with the new realist turn in political theory as well as the turn to non-​ideal theory in normative theory, and to reflect more generally on the multi-​faceted relationship between normative theory, empirical research, and the so-​called real world. IPT scholars have tended to avoid any critical engagement with IR realist theory, mistakenly assuming the entire tradition to be, at best, purely explanatory rather than normative or, at worst, amoral. Meanwhile, the new realist assault on idealistic or “moralistic” liberal political philosophy has not been especially preoccupied by what is distinctive about the international or the global compared to the domestic political sphere. Our view of the timeliness of this engagement is shared, it seems, by others. Since the chapters for this Handbook were commissioned, two special journal issues have appeared that engage with these or similar questions (see Floyd 2016 and Sabl and Sagar 2017 for introductions to each issue). We hope the engagement in this Handbook will encourage greater

18    Chris Brown and Robyn Eckersley reflexivity regarding what is unique about IPT so that it may be better appreciated, and about the interrelationships and dependencies between IPT, other modes of inquiry, and the real world of international politics.

References Bauböck, R. (2008). Normative Political Theory and Empirical Research. In D. Della Porta and M. Keating (eds), Approaches and Methodologies in the Social Sciences: A Pluralist Perspective (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press), 40–​60. Brown, C., Nardin, T., and Rengger, N. J. (eds) (2002). International Relations in Political Thought:  Texts From the Ancient Greeks to the First World War (Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press). Cox, R. (1981). Social Forces, States and World Order: Beyond IR Theory. Millennium: Journal of International Politics 10(2): 126–​55. Estlund, D. (2017). Methodological Moralism in Political Philosophy. Critical Review of International Social and Political Philosophy 20(3): 365–​79. Floyd, J. (2016). Should Global Political Theory Get Real? An Introduction. Journal of International Political Theory 12(2): 93–​95. Geuss, R. (2008). Philosophy and Real Politics (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press). Gilabert, P., and Lawford-​Smith, H. (2012). Political Feasibility: A Conceptual Exploration. Political Studies 60(4): 809–​25. Price, R. (2008). Moral Limit and Possibility in World Politics (Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press) Price, R., Snyder, J., Vinjamuri, L., Erskine, T., and Rengger, N. (2012). Special Forum on Moral Limit and Possibility in World Politics. International Theory 4(3): 430–​92. Rawls, J. (1970). A Theory of Justice (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press). Reus-​Smit, C., and Snidal, D. (2008). Between Utopia and Reality: The Practical Discourses of International Relations. In C. Reus-​Smit and D. Snidal (eds), The Oxford Handbook of International Relations (Oxford: Oxford University Press), 3–​37. Rossi, E., and Sleat, M. (2014). Realism in Normative Political Theory. Philosophy Compass 9(10): 689–​701. Runciman, D. (2012). What is Realistic Political Philosophy? Metaphilosophy 43(1/​2): 58–​70. Sabl, A., and Sagar, R. (2017). Introduction. Critical Review of International Social and Political Philosophy 20(3): 269–​75. Sleat, M. (2016). The Value of Global Justice: Realism and Moralism. Journal of International Political Theory 12(2): 169–​84. Snyder, J., and Vinjamuri, L. (2012). Principled Pragmatism and the Logic of Consequences. International Theory 4(3): 434–​48. Stears, M. (2005). The Vocation of Political Theory:  Principles, Empirical Inquiry and the Politics of Opportunity. European Journal of Political Theory 4(4): 325–​50. White, S. K. (1991). Political Theory and Postmodernism (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Williams, B. (2005). In the Beginning Was the Deed:  Realism and Moralism in Political Argument, ed. G. Hawthorn (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press).

Pa rt I I

H I STORY, T R A DI T ION S , A N D P E R SP E C T I V E S

­c hapter 2

H istory of Int e rnat i ona l Thoug h t Text and Context David Boucher

The history of thought in International Relations is integral to international political theory; it was always an activity fully immersed in immediate political events, and was frequently explicit about offering analyses and inferring conclusions for statesmen to draw upon in their foreign encounters. Herodotus, for example, tells us that he preserved the memory of the past by recording “the astonishing achievements both of our own and other peoples; and more particularly, to show how they came into conflict” (Herodotus 1972: 41). The whole range of “literature,” including ephemera, epic poems, plays, speeches, and other utterances ranging from the stray observation to the ideological and philosophical, are available for us to invoke in explaining and understanding past and contemporary problems in International Relations. It is important, however, to distinguish the level of analysis at which such reflection was conducted. Each utterance implicates a world of ideas, within which it acquires greater intelligibility (Boucher 2016). At the lower levels of abstraction, it is we who have to do the work of relating various statements of policy or passing observation to the world of ideas in which its force, or point, is realized. Such intelligibility is an achievement rather than a given, and the higher we ascend the scale of abstraction the more adept the thinker, or theorist, at providing the principles and arguments that underpin the conclusions. While Sophocles’ Antigone relies upon the conception of a world in which there are universal duties relating to natural law, and Cicero provides glimpses of its implications for men and citizens generally, it is the likes of Grotius and Pufendorf who synthesize and provide the philosophical justifications for how individuals and states should conduct themselves in their relations with each other. It may well be the case that one of the difficulties of studying Grotius (2005), for example, in Martin Wight’s view, is the Dutchman’s “ambiguity [which] stems not least from his inaccessibility” (Wight 2005: 31). If we are to bring Grotius into service, and

22   David Boucher assess the importance of his attempt to subject international relations to the rule of law, it is incumbent upon us to overcome the barriers to intelligibility by identifying the worlds of ideas his words invoke. Indeed, if we are to understand Grotius’s importance, in the history of both political and international thought, we must not only understand his achievement in his own time but also his relation to the voluminous classic sources he cites. His contemporary relevance is comprehensible only when we understand the Grotian revival following the First Hague Conference of 1899 (Jeffery 2006). Furthermore, there are many worlds of ideas which Thomas Hobbes’s thought implicates, not all of which are relevant to International Relations, and what we now regard as his seminal contribution has not always been acknowledged. For example, his equation of international relations with the state of nature and the war of all against all, i.e. international anarchy, was eclipsed for his immediate contemporaries and successors by his contribution to the natural law tradition, represented by Pufendorf, Wolff, and Vattel, in expounding the basic principles of international law (Covell 2004; Boisen and Boucher 2011; Armitage 2013; and see Chapter 5). In response to the frequent lament that there was an actual, or imagined, paucity of classic texts to which to introduce putative students of International Relations (Mackintosh 1843 [1799]; Wight 1966; 1987; 1991; Forsyth et al. 1970; Parkinson 1977; Williams 1990; Knutsen 1992; Pangle and Ahrensdorf 1999; Keene 2005; Armitage 2013), a veritable avalanche of studies in books and learned journals has brought to light a rich and fascinating array of international relations thought. The reader will immediately be struck by the variability of the quality of this thought, and the range of uses for which it is employed.

The Emblematic, Practical, and Historical Pasts There is a need to distinguish between the purposes for which texts in international thought were written, and these may be differentiated by the attitudes each text has to the past and its relation to the present. There is a past with which we are familiar, populated by significant events, heroes and villains who are emblematic of character traits, vices, and virtues, and momentous occasions. They represent shorthand evocations of a position or idea, which often does not, and need not, stand up to critical scrutiny—​or is indeed impervious to it (Oakeshott 1983: 40–​4). Despite what revisionists may say (Walker 1993), in this past such figures as Machiavelli, Mussolini, or Hitler maintain their places unvarnished, while others, such as Augustine, Francis of Assisi, and Winston Churchill, irrespective of repeated exposure of their flaws, remain untarnished. More generally in the literature, this emblematic past manifests itself in the form of significations, in which a thinker, such as Bodin, or an event, encapsulated by the term “Westphalia” (Osiander 1994) represents the idea of sovereignty (e.g. Waltz 1959; Wight 1966; 1987; Bull 1977; Bietz 1999; Wendt 1999).

History of International Thought    23 In this vision of the past—​the emblematic past—​Machiavelli represents the personification of evil (Strauss, 1978), or at the very least is the most ruthless exponent of the doctrine of raison d’état (Meinecke 1997). One might even call it a mythic past, used for purposes of valorization, inspiration, or vilification. It is a world of simple contrasts with few shades of grey, in which Hitler is a demonic villain, Chamberlain a weak appeaser, and Churchill and Roosevelt heroic saviours. Chamberlain’s speech in front of 10 Downing Street, for example, following the Munich Conference of 30 September 1938, is emblematic of self-​delusion and failure: “for the second time in our history, a British Prime minister has returned from Germany bringing peace with honour. I believe it is peace for our time” (Montefiore n.d.: 85). Gandhi’s speech on the eve of his “Salt March” on 11 March 1930 is emblematic of non-​violent civil disobedience against colonialism (see Chapter 21): “let there be no semblance of breach of peace even after all of us have been arrested. We have resolved to utilize all our resources in pursuit of an exclusively non-​violent struggle [ . . . ] I have faith in the righteousness of our cause and the purity of our weapons” (Montefiore 2014: 66–​8). The emblematic past comprised not only statesmen and women who had made an indelible mark, but also political thinkers who were taken to represent, or were unequivocally hailed to be indicative of, a position or state of affairs. Both Machiavelli and Hobbes, for Leo Strauss, epitomize the first wave of modernity and the advent of relativism in morals by rejecting the classical tradition (Strauss 1988; 1963). The use of traditions in International Relations itself is emblematic (Walker 1993: 27–​31; Der Derian 1988: 190; Clark 1996: 1; Jeffery 2005: 57–​84; 2006: 17–​25). Of the realist or Hobbesian tradition, Donald Hanson (1984: 331) complains: “There is, in any case, a recognisable ‘Hobbesian tradition’ in the study of international relations, whether it has been faithful to Hobbes or not” (Malcolm 2002: 433). Even though Martin Wight is the great exponent of traditions in the history of thought in International Relations, he was not oblivious to their shortcomings. He acknowledges that when a proper name becomes an adjective attached to a manner of thinking, “it falsifies the man possessing the name [ . . . ] Grotius was not a Grotian [ . . . ] Machiavelli was not a Machiavellian simply” (Wight 2005: 5). Such events and persons, invoked for their practical purpose in contemporary politics, are “abstracted from record in a reading which divests them of their contingent circumstances and their authentic utterance; symbolic and stereotypic personae, actions, exploits and situations” (Oakeshott 1983: 38). Such events or persons are on permanent loan to the present as symbols of all the vices and virtues of humanity. The emblematic past shares with the practical past a didactic character: while the former has achieved almost mythic status, the latter is more sensitive to historical interpretation, and critical of caricatures, with the purpose of shedding light on our present states of affairs. Because of its emphasis upon the usefulness of the past, the practical past is often open to the charge of anachronism, i.e. looking at the past through the wrong end of the telescope, not for its own sake, but because of its significance for the present. The predominant attitude of commentators on the history of thought in International Relations is practical. The ideas of the past are explored in relation to present problems to help us understand them better, or to help extract us from intractable predicaments

24   David Boucher (e.g. Linklater 1990; Brown 1992; 2010; 2012; Williams 1992; Walker 1993; 2010; Onuf 1998; Rawls 1999; Pangle and Ahrensdorf 1999; Jahn 2000; Anghie 2004; Schmitt 2006; Pateman and Mills 2007; Boucher 2009; Rengger 2013; Lang 2015). This doesn’t mean that principles or rules are simply applied to contemporary problems in order to arrive at resolutions. The relation between theory and practice is more complicated than that. As R. G. Collingwood (1993) indicates, theory arises out of practice, and to practice returns for its resolution. The study of the past is not for its own sake, but for self-​knowledge of the mind. Knowing of what human beings are capable; what achievements are attainable, somehow vicariously experiencing what they experience, enables us better to think through our own problems (Collingwood 2013). Using Aristotle and Nussbaum, and rejecting (as Collingwood did) Kant’s regularian or rule-​based practice, is called by Chris Brown the “Practice Turn,” or phronesis, in International Relations Theory (Brown 2012: 448). He denies, for example, the Western hegemony of cosmopolitan values: they do not exist, nor could they be created, because of the cultural pluralism of the modern world. Any such project rests on a misunderstanding of the variety of cultures that constitute the contemporary world, and a misreading of what the Enlightenment was all about. Using the infamous “Requirement” (Council of Castile 1513)—​which is indicative of the most significant meeting of cultures in the modern world, between European Christians and American infidels—​to help him think through the modern-​day tension between universal values and cultural heterodoxy, Brown (2010: 19–​20) contends that it is testimony to the need for normative theory in International Relations. Because of the linguistic incomprehension between the New World and the Old, and the frequently cynical manner of its reading, the juridical act of ordering indigenous peoples to submit to the dominion of the king of Spain has often been ridiculed as absurd. The point that Brown wants to make with respect to the reading of the “Requerimiento” to the Indians, which offered them an opportunity to submit to the Spanish Crown and receive the Gospel or be responsible for the catastrophe that would befall them, was that it was an act of self-​justification and moral absolution, and in this it was an abject failure. There was no moral dialogue between the conquistadors and the Indians, but nor did it satisfy critics at home, because it failed to allay subsequent debate about the moral status of the Indians (Brown 2010: 20). Brown uses the “Requerimiento” not to attain a better understanding of the relationship between the Spanish and American Indians for its own sake, but instead to pose and answer a practical problem: “The key question is whether at the end of the Vasco da Gama epoch it is possible to come closer to a real moral conversation than it was at the beginning” (2010: 21). The reason is to avoid rerunning the “farce” of the “Requerimiento” in the twenty-​first century (Brown 2010: 27). R. B. J. Walker, for example, attempts to rescue Machiavelli from the caricature that the idealists vilify and the realists deify, not because he wants to make claims about what Machiavelli really thought, but “rather, to indicate one way of identifying some of the discursive practices that have turned an historical problematic into an ahistorical apology for the violence of the present” (Walker 1993: 31). Some are of the view that we may even ask of past theorists what view they would take of specific events if they were alive today (Lebow, Schouten, and Suganami, 2016).

History of International Thought    25 The third attitude towards the past is the Historical. It claims to be a purer attitude in its faithfulness to the purposes and intentions of the authors it takes as its subject matter (Muldoon 1979; Pagden 1993; Tuck 1999; Boucher 1998; Keene 2005; Bell 2002, 2007; Covell 2009; Armitage 2000; 2013; Boisen 2013; Christov 2015). David Armitage, for example, self-​consciously attempts to elevate the study of thought in International Relations to parallel the level achieved in the history of political thought as a consequence of the methodological debates precipitated by Peter Laslett, J.  G. A.  Pocock, John Dunn, and Quentin Skinner (Boucher 1985; Tully 1988; Hall 2015). Armitage claims, somewhat hyperbolically, that up until the 1990s historians of political thought tended to ignore the international dimension, while students of International Relations “remained largely uninterested in historicising the theories invoked in their field” (Armitage 2013: 4). In order to differentiate this attitude to the past from what I have called the emblematic and practical, Armitage refers to “international intellectual history” whose subject matter is “international thought.” Theodore Christov (2015: 4) designates it “modern international thought,” a term that was in vogue in the 1920s. The purpose of such history is to locate the foundations, or origins, of international thought in the early modern period, and by implication subject to scrutiny the claims made by contemporary scholars of International Relations about the foundational status to the discipline of such thinkers as Hobbes, Burke, and Bentham (Armitage 2013: 13; Boucher 2015). Armitage argues that Hobbes’s canonical position among the progenitors of international thought, standing between Grotius and Kant, contrasts starkly with the relative silence of his philosophical commentators on the external relations of Leviathan. Indeed, among international theorists writing on Hobbes, Armitage dismissively claims: “there is little of genuine historical character” (Armitage 2013: 60). Armitage contends that, pace the view of International Relations theorists, Hobbes’s adoption as the paramount theorist of international anarchy is of recent origin.

The Space of Experience, Horizons of Expectations, and Levels of Analysis Reinhart Koselleck makes a useful conceptual distinction between the “space of experience” and “horizon of expectation.” The expressions “experience” and “expectation” are formal categories and do not in themselves convey any substantive content. What is experienced and what is expected may not be deduced from the categories themselves, but no history is possible without the experiences and expectations of human agents. The concepts are mutually dependent: “No expectation without experience, no experience without expectation” (Koselleck 2004: 257). Koselleck refers to the “space of experience” and the “horizon of expectation” in order to distinguish between the presence of the past (experience) and the presence of the future (expectation). The space

26   David Boucher of experience, i.e. the range of experiences open to us, gives rise to the possibility of differing expectations, which may in certain circumstances encourage the creation of concepts that contain a prognostic potential, and which no longer “register experience” but instead generate it (p. 272). Koselleck argues: “when considered with respect to their temporal extension, the manner in which these concepts are formed testifies to a conscious separation of space of experience and horizon of expectation, and it becomes the task of political action to bridge this difference” (p. 272). Thinking about International Relations, and most other practices, such as art, ethics, or religion, may take place at different levels of abstraction, which have their own distinctive characters. Bernard Bosanquet’s History of Aesthetic (1922) divides the study of aesthetics into three main pursuits. In the first place we have the works of art themselves, incorporating the experiences, thoughts, and feelings they presuppose. Secondly, Bosanquet designates criticism, including writings on art that aim to improve it, attempt to describe particular works, or attempt to direct what the artist should produce. Thirdly, there is aesthetic theory, “the aim of which is neither to describe, to improve, or direct, but simply to theorize, to put this art experience into relation with the whole” (Oakeshott 2010: 131). Translating these categories into the history of thought in International Relations, we may distinguish the type of thinking that relates immediately to circumstances; attempts to synthesize experience into principles and recommendations, or guides to action; and the philosophical consideration of the place of International Relations in experience more generally. None of these levels of consideration is immune from being invoked emblematically, practically, or historically. At the level of immediate experience, the student of International Relations may be provided with invaluable insights by memoirs of participants; contributions to foreign policies; records of state affairs, which contribute to policy; minutes; policy papers; legislation; or records of speeches encompassing the political activity and office of governing. We may expect to find certain recommendation about ends to be pursued and means to achieve them. At this level the student of international thought attempts to discover how people thought when they addressed pressing political problems, i.e. their space of experience. In this respect, Thucydides, rather than Plato, reveals how ancient Athenians thought about political problems (Thucydides 1972; cf. Herodotus 1972). The codices, which include the icnocuicatl (Songs of Sorrow) which together constitute The Broken Spears (Leon-​Portillo 1992), give us the point of view of the vanquished Aztecs, the other side of the story from that of the “Requerimiento.” Tenochtitlan (Mexico City) fell not so much because of Iberian cultural and military superiority, but because of the thousands of native warriors who joined Cortés against the Aztecs; the devastating European diseases; and the belief that Cortés was the returning man-​god Quetzalcoatl, god of wisdom (Leon-​Portillo 1992: 23–​4, 92–​3, 132–​4). The Codex Florentino tells how the Spaniards were sickened by the sacrificial blood sprinkled over their food on the orders of Motecuhzoma Xocoyotzin, ruler of the Mexica (Aztecs) between 1502 and 1520, because he “ ‘believed in them” and worshipped them as deities. That is why they were called ‘Gods who have come from heaven’ ” (Leon-​Portillo 1992: 93–​4), and that is why they were welcomed at first with little resistance.

History of International Thought    27 Other such materials may include, for example, the texts of international treaties and agreements (Roberts and Guelff 2010; Brownlie and Goodwin-​Gill 2006). Three documents in particular, collectively known as the Peace of Westphalia, have a central place in the study of International Relations thought; they are the answers to practical problems, and for modern commentators convey a horizon of expectation which contemporaneously they did not have. The terms and formal language of the treaties have to be distinguished from what they came politically to signify. The emblematic view of the Peace of Westphalia identifies the occasion of the acceptance of self-​imposed constraints by states out of enlightened rational self-​interest, signifying for the first time the formal recognition and equality of state sovereignty. The Peace of Westphalia has long become emblematic of formal recognition of sovereignty and the emergence of a society or system of European states of whose legal framework Grotius is the founding father (Manning 1839: 21; Covell 2009: 2). David Held, for example, contends that the Peace of Westphalia “entrenched, for the first time, the principle of territorial sovereignty in inter-​state affairs” (1995: 77). Its importance, we are told, was that it embodied an “early formalisation of the idea that sovereignty was not simply a characteristic of individual states, but was also a principle that should govern relations between states” (Murphy 1996: 92). The historical character of the Peace of Westphalia was quite different from, and significantly more complex than, its emblematic or practical character (Keene 2005: 240–​3; Walker 2010: 130–​5). The issue of sovereignty serves to illustrate the difference between the emblematic and the historical characters of the Peace of Westphalia. The legal concept of sovereignty, however, although widely discussed among political theorists for more than a century before the Peace, was not central to the negotiations, except perhaps in Spain’s recognition of the United Provinces. Instead, non-​legal autonomy was the idea that dominated thinking that addressed the aspirations of states. This included self-​determination of states within the German empire, as well as for the major states of Europe. The German principalities, for example, claimed their autonomy as a matter of ancient right, and looked to the settlement to acknowledge rather than grant it. The Peace reflected the interests of its architects, France, Sweden, and Holland, and did not represent the conscious establishment of a new system or state-​centred international society. The predominant view was that the settlement should re-​establish the status quo that prevailed before the Thirty Years War. The second level of thinking about International Relations takes the form of reflection in terms of general principles that arise from the immediate context but nevertheless recommend themselves as guides to political conduct, typically in the form of precepts for action, or ideological principles. Here the thinker rises above the immediate concerns of international politics, and draws general conclusions from his or her observations and reflections. In considering thought of this kind, the historian of political thought has to identify how and why these general ideas emerged and came to be erected into general principles, understand what forms of behaviour they represent, and consider the role they play. Among such “ideological” texts are those of Confucius (1989), Sun Tzu (1993), Machiavelli (2003), and Clausewitz (1993). Machiavelli, operating at this second level,

28   David Boucher exhibits a practical attitude towards the past, but not for the reasons that are usually attributed to him. He thought lessons could be learnt from the past because “men have, and always have had, the same passions, whence it necessarily comes about that the same effects are produced” (Machiavelli 2003: bk III, ch. 43, 517). When Machiavelli offered his Prince to Lorenzo de’ Medici, it contained a distillation of his experience in foreign affairs, comprising maxims by which the prince could mitigate caprice in his internal and external relations. He didn’t suggest that the answers are timeless, but instead that the manner of thinking and engaging with a world in continuous flux is indicative of the universal predicament of the quest for security in a dangerous and unpredictable world. Necessity, chance, and individual personality affect circumstances, and circumstances have a tendency to deceive us. As Machiavelli admitted, “one never finds any issue that is clear cut and not open to question” (Machiavelli 2003: bk I, ch. 6, 121). He was himself recommending the “practice” turn in conceptualizing the space of experience, and realistically constraining the horizon of expectation of the prince. That does not imply, however, that we ourselves are limited to his horizon of expectation: “Machiavelli poses questions about political community and practice that may still be pursued even though his answers expose his own limited historical and conceptual horizon” (Walker 1993: 31). In addition, thinking about politics may lend itself to philosophical reflection, the impetus for which is to place governments and their relations, and political activity in general, in the landscape of human activity as a whole, in order to identify their distinctive postulates. We expect something different from Pericles’ funeral oration and Plato’s Republic, and we do not judge them by the same criteria. For Michael Oakeshott this is political philosophy proper, and it is the sort of thinking that we encounter in Plato’s Republic, Spinoza’s Ethics, Hobbes’s Leviathan, and Hegel’s Elements of the Philosophy of Right (Oakeshott 1975: 3). They constitute the highest achievement in Western political thought. These are examples of grand theory, in which international relations are located within the widest possible explanatory frameworks, rooted in the development of the mind, psychology, theology, society, and human flourishing, and more often than not in a cosmology. Even though Hobbes represents the highest level of abstract thinking, he is not immune from occupying a place in the emblematic past:  “Describing International Relations (IR) as a realm of Hobbesian anarchy” remains one of the most popular shorthand descriptions of the nature of world politics. To invoke Hobbes is to call forth the image of a world of conflict and perpetual danger, a “Realist vision of international politics as a ‘state of nature’ defined by continual insecurity, competition and conflict” (Williams 2006: 253). In addition, some historians, such as Quentin Skinner, want to deny the character of political philosophy. No piece of political writing, Skinner claims, can rise above the second level of reflection. We must bring political philosophers back down to earth from the realms of philosophical abstraction, and acknowledge that even the most abstract are never above the fray and always part of the ideological battle itself (Skinner 2008: xv).

History of International Thought    29 Authors of philosophical systems are of less significance and importance, for Skinner, than their contributions to ideological debates surrounding, for example, the moral sciences in Renaissance culture, political obligation during the Engagement Controversy, or liberty during the English Civil Wars (Skinner 1996: 6). Carl Schmitt takes Hobbes to be intervening in the political and opening a new horizon of expectation, one which was eventually to lead to the age of the neutralization and depoliticization of politics. Genuine political theories, he argues, presuppose that man is dangerous (Schmitt 2006: 95; 2007: 61). But man is no ordinary animal, because his weapons are far more lethal than those of any beast. This is the “Hobbesian Dangerousness-​Relation” (Schmitt 2015: 44). Humanity is able to overcompensate for its biological weaknesses in monstrous ways by technological inventions. Hobbes’s horizon of expectation could hardly have envisaged the human capacity to develop weapons of annihilation on the modern scale. The space of experience in terms of which Hobbes comprehended the state was already a superhuman superpower, an artificial man, the machine that superseded all machines, and exceeding all consensus. Today, Schmitt argues, power is beyond the control of anyone, greater than the will to power, stronger than the goodness of humanity and also stronger than human evil (Schmitt 2015: 47). The key nexus in Hobbes was for Schmitt that of “protection-​obedience.” Schmitt made the bold claim: “No form of order, no reasonable legitimacy or legality can exist without protection and obedience” (2007: 52). The state machine guarantees an individual’s physical security and in return demands “unconditional obedience to the laws by which it functions” (Schmitt 2008: 45). The Leviathan was not the defender, but the creator of peace. If protection ceases, the obligation to obey ceases, and the individ­ ual’s natural freedom reverts to him. The state possesses the right of war, the power to require of its citizens that they are ready to sacrifice their lives and without reservation kill the state’s enemies. It is in this respect that “the political community transcends all other associations or societies” (2007: 47). Hobbes’s sovereign stands above society, and is able to make genuine decisions about the exceptional; he is able to distinguish friends from enemies; and he has the monopoly on the right of war. It was in the sphere of International Relations that the Leviathan reached its highest level of mythical force. Constant danger characterized the sphere in which the mighty Leviathans wrestled with each other. It was a technically neutral state in which the values of truth and justice were absorbed by abolishing the distinction between auctoritas and potestas. The supreme power became the supreme authority. Auctoritas non veritas facit legem: authority and not truth makes the law. In summary, although Hobbes had his faults, he attracted Schmitt because he emphasized the importance of fear as a motive for the establishment of political authority, and had understood what was intrinsically political about the arena of political action, namely the ability to distinguish between friends and enemies. Conflict played a vital role in establishing the state and guaranteeing its validity. The legitimacy of the state lay in the eternal principle of protection/​obedience, and failure to uphold it was fatal to

30   David Boucher any nation. Of particular importance, Hobbes identified the crucial distinction between the political and all other particular interests in civil society, excluding them, in his qualitative conception of the state, from political interference. He saw the need for the sovereign to exercise a form of authority unconstrained by rules, or the rule of law, in moments when decisiveness was of the essence, in circumstances for which there were no rules for guidance. In other words, Hobbes was important because he was very like Schmitt himself! For Noel Malcolm, Hobbes’s place in the emblematic and ideological pasts are inappropriate, and has resulted in the Hobbes of modern International Relations Theory becoming ossified, rendering him at best an ideal type and “at worst as a caricature” (2002: 433). Malcolm rejects the depiction of Hobbes as a portrayer of an amoral state of nature. Instead, Hobbes is claimed to envisage each individual, and by implication each state, having to examine the circumstances of each decision in relation to natural law. Hobbes’s international agents are completely devoid of any of the characteristics that Machiavelli attributes to the Prince, and are “strongly against wars of aggression or aggrandisement” (p. 441). Political practices generally require to be legitimated, which entails being able to demonstrate that Hobbes’s actions could be characterized with reference to accepted values or principles.

Conclusion Attitudes to the history of thought in International Relations have been divided into the emblematic, practical, and historical, while the levels of thinking about such relations were conceived in terms of their immediacy to events; reflections which distilled principles or formulated recommendations for general guidance; and the philosophical. None of which, I suggested, was immune from being brought into service by any of the three specified attitudes to the past. Furthermore, I contended that the “practice” turn was exactly what many of the great theorists anticipated, i.e. not the application of a set of rules or principles for the resolution of present practical problems, but a set of procedures and considerations that we might employ to think our own way through the problems, cognizant of the fact that their space of experience, and horizon of expectation, could not help but be more limited than our own. All this points to a methodological pluralism, an essential tension, that invites each student of the history of thought in International Relations to test the manner of his or her use of the past against that of others, and to justify the methods of enquiry employed within the heterodoxy of reasons and uses for which the thought of past figures in International Relations is brought into service. As a consequence of this methodological pluralism, the caricatures of “great thinkers” that once populated the pages of tracts of international political theory in the postwar years are much less acceptable; they have to meet far greater degrees of academic rigour, and at the very least exhibit a methodological self-​consciousness, or awareness, of interdisciplinary criteria.

History of International Thought    31

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32   David Boucher Confucius (1989). The Analects of Confucius (New York: Vintage Books). Council of Castile (1513). Requerimiento 1513. Available from: http://​nationalhumanitiescenter. org/​pds/​amerbegin/​contact/​text7/​requirement.pdf. Accessed 10 April 2017. Covell, C. (2004). Hobbes, Realism and the Tradition of International Law (London: Palgrave Macmillan). Covell, C. (2009). The Law of Nations in Political Thought: A Critical Survey from Vitoria to Hegel (London: Palgrave Macmillan). Christov, T. (2015). Before Anarchy: Hobbes and His Critics in Modern International Thought (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Der Derian, J. (1988). Introducing Philosophical Traditions in International Relations. Millennium: Journal of International Studies 17: 189–​93. Forsyth, Murray, F. M. Keens-​Soper, and H. M. A. Savigear (1970). The Theory of International Relations from Gentili to Treitschke (London: Allen and Unwin, 1970). Grotius, H. (2005). The Rights of War and Peace (Indianapolis: Liberty Fund). Hall, I. (ed.) (2015). Radicals and Reactionaries in Twentieth-​Century International Thought (London: Palgrave Macmillan). Hanson, D. W. (1984). Thomas Hobbes’s “Highway to Peace.” International Organization 38(2): 329–​54. Held, D. (1995). Democracy and the Global Order:  From the Modern State to Cosmopolitan Governance (Cambridge: Polity Press). Herodotus (1972). The Histories (London: Penguin). Jahn, B. (2000). The Cultural Construction of International Relations: The Invention of the State of Nature (London: Palgrave Macmillan). Jeffery, R. (2005). Traditions as Invention: The “Traditions of Tradition” and the History of Ideas in International Relations. Millennium: Journal of International Studies 34: 57–​84. Jeffery, R. (2006). Hugo Grotius in International Thought (London: Palgrave Macmillan). Keene, E. (2002). Beyond the Anarchical Society:  Grotius, Colonialism and Order in World Politics (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Keene, E. (2005). International Political Thought: A Historical Introduction (Cambridge: Polity). Keens-​Soper, F. M., and H. M. A. Savigear (1970). The Theory of International Relations from Gentili to Treitschke (London: Allen and Unwin). Knutsen, T. (1992). A History of International Relations Theory (Manchester:  Manchester University Press). Koselleck, R. (2004). Futures Past: On the Semantics of Historical Time (New York: Columbia University Press). Lang Jr, A. F. (2015). International Political Theory: An Introduction (London: Palgrave Macmillan). Lebow, R. N., P. Schouten, and H. Suganami (eds) (2016). The Return of the Theorists: Dialogues with Great Thinkers in International Relations (London: Palgrave Macmillan). Leon-​Portilla, M. (ed.) (1992). The Broken Spears: The Aztec Account of the Conquest of Mexico (New York: Beacon Press). Linklater, A. (1990). Men and Citizens in the Theory of International Relations, 2nd edn (London: Macmillan). Machiavelli, N. (2003). The Discourses (Harmondsworth: Penguin). Mackintosh, J. (1843 [1799]). A Discourse on the Study of the Law of Nature and Nations (Boston: Pratt and Company). Malcolm, N. (2002). Aspects of Hobbes (Oxford: Oxford University Press).

History of International Thought    33 Manning, W. (1839). Commentaries on the Law of Nations (London: Sweet). Meinecke, F. (1997). Machiavellism:  The Doctrine of Raison d’Etat and Its Place in Modern History (Piscataway, NJ: Transaction). Montefiore, S. S. (ed.) (2014). Speeches That Have Changed the World (London: Quercus). Muldoon, J. (1979). Popes, Lawyers and Infidels (Pennsylvania:  University of Pennsylvania Press). Murphy, A. B. (1996). The Sovereign State System as Political-​Territorial Ideal: Historical and Contemporary Considerations. In T. J. Biersteker and C. Weber (eds), State Sovereignty as Social Construct (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press), 81–​120. Oakeshott, M. (1975). Hobbes on Civil Association (Oxford: Blackwell). Oakeshott, M. (1983). On History and Other Essays (Oxford: Blackwell). Oakeshott, M. (2010). A Discussion of Some Matters Preliminary to the Study of Political Philosophy. In L. O’Sullivan (ed.), Early Political Writings: 1925–​1930 (Exeter: Imprint). Onuf, N. G. (1998). The Republican Legacy in International Thought (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Osiander, A. (1994). The States System of Europe, 1640–​1990: Peacemaking and the Conditions of International Stability (Oxford: Clarendon Press). Pagden, A. (1993). European Encounters with the New World (Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press). Pangle, T. L., and P. J. Ahrensdorf (1999). Justice Among Nations: On the Moral Basis of Power and Peace (Lawrence: University of Kansas Press). Parkinson, F. (1977). The Philosophy of International Relations: A Study in the History of Thought (Beverly Hills, Calif.: Sage). Pateman, C., and C. Mills (2007). Contract and Domination (Cambridge: Polity Press). Rawls, J. (1999). The Law of Peoples (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press). Rengger, N. (2013). Just War and International Order: The Uncivil Condition and World Politics (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Roberts, A., and R. Guelff (2010). Documents on the Laws of War (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Schmitt, C. (1995). The Concept of the Political (Chicago: Chicago University Press). Schmitt, C. (2006). The Nomos of the Earth in the International Law of the Jus Publicum Europaeum (New York: Telos Press). Schmitt, Carl (2007). Concept of the Political, expanded edn, trans. with an introduction by George Schwab (Chicago: Chicago University Press). Schmitt, C. (2008). The Leviathan in the State Theory of Thomas Hobbes: Meaning and Failure of a Political Symbol (Chicago: Chicago University Press). Schmitt, C. (2015). Dialogues on Power and Space (Cambridge: Polity Press). Skinner, Q. (1996). Reason and Rhetoric in the Philosophy of Hobbes (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Skinner, Q. (2008). Hobbes and Republican Liberty (Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press). Strauss, L. (1963). The Political Philosophy of Hobbes (Chicago: Chicago University Press). Strauss, L. (1978) Thoughts on Machiavelli (Chicago: Chicago University Press). Sun Tzu (1993). The Art of War (Ware, Hertfordshire: Wordsworth Reference). Thucydides (1972). The Peloponnesian War (Harmondsworth: Penguin). Tuck, R. (1999). The Rights of War and Peace: Political Thought and the International Order from Grotius to Kant (Oxford: Oxford University Press).

34   David Boucher Tully, J. (ed.) (1988). Meaning and Context:  Quentin Skinner and his Critics (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Walker, J. B. J. (1993). Inside/​Outside: International Relations as Political Theory (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Walker, J. B. J. (2010). After the Globe, Before the World (London: Routledge). Waltz, K. (1959). Man the State and War:  A Theoretical Analysis (New  York:  Columbia University Press). Wendt, A. (1999). Social Theory of International Politics (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Wight, M. (1966). Why Is There No International Theory? In H. Butterfield and M. Wight (eds), Diplomatic Investigations: Essays on the Theory of International Politics (London: Allen and Unwin), 17–​34. Wight, M. (1987). The Anatomy of International Thought. Review of International Studies 13: 221–​7. Wight, M. (1991). International Theory: The Three Traditions, ed. Gabrielle Wight and Brian Porter (Leicester: Leicester University Press). Wight, M. (2005). Four Seminal Thinkers in International Theory: Machiavelli, Grotius, Kant, and Mazzini (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Williams, H. (1992). International Relations in Political Theory (Milton Keynes:  Open University Press). Williams, M. C. (2006). The Hobbesian Theory of International Relations: Three Traditions. In B. Jahn (ed.), Classical Theory in International Relations (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press), 253–​76.

­c hapter 3

T he Sl ow Norma l i z at i on of Norm at i v e P olitical T h e ory Cosmopolitanism and Communitarianism Then and Now Peter Sutch

This chapter focuses on attempts to link the normative criticisms and prescriptions of International Political Theory (IPT) with the critical, empirical, and sociological ambitions of International Relations (IR). Revisiting the cosmopolitan/​communitarian debate might seem an unlikely vehicle for such an enterprise. The description of IPT that divided normative scholarship into cosmopolitan and communitarian camps drew much criticism and, arguably, reinforced the divide between IR and political theory. The debate put political theorists into conversation with political theorists on the theme of global or international justice, rather than putting political theory in conversation with other aspects of IR. Yet reflection upon the twenty-​five years since the cosmopolitan/​ communitarian distinction provided initial focus to the (re)emergence of IPT shows that two things stand out. First, despite the many well-​founded criticisms of the way the cosmopolitan/​communitarian debate conceived of the theoretical debates in IPT, and of the ways political theorists conducted those debates, it has proven remarkably difficult to escape or transcend the core features of cosmopolitanism and communitarianism in IPT. Attempts to qualify or hyphenate core terms, and to abandon them altogether to find new ones, have not really recast the core concerns of IPT. Second, notwithstanding this first claim, the critical work done in response to the challenges of the early debates has left a more mature and refined IPT, one less insistent on drawing sharp lines between cosmopolitanism and communitarianism (or their various progeny) or between IPT and IR. There is still real critical merit in conversations between cosmopolitans and non-​cosmopolitans on matters of meta-​ethics and global justice, but some of

36   Peter Sutch the most interesting and important work is now happening at the interface between IPT and empirical, sociological, and legal studies in IR. It is here, this chapter contends, that the contemporary debates between cosmopolitans engaging with the socio-​legal fabric of international society and new communitarians engaging with the normative implications of evolving transnational and global communities are effecting the normalization of IPT. Chris Brown’s critique of his own presentation of the cosmopolitan/​communitarian debate captures the peculiar relationship many political theorists have with the distinction. Although these terms will turn up quite frequently in what follows, this distinction is not, in fact, a suitable basis for classification. It obscures more than it clarifies; too many writers who seem to be in one camp cross over to the other at crucial points. There is a real distinction to be made between cosmopolitan and communitarian thought, but it cannot be made to bear too much weight—​and there is no other classification that does much better in this respect. (Brown 2002: 17)

While we have learned much from attempts to amend and transcend the terms of the debate, there is something fundamental about these broadly drawn categories that means they still structure moral reflection on international affairs. Nevertheless, all the critical work in response to the limitations of the cosmopolitan/​communitarian debate has not been in vain. The second claim this chapter defends is that the cutting edge of contemporary cosmopolitan theory and new ​communitarian theory (the phrase comes from Emmanuel Adler’s 2005 collection) is working to transcend the divisions between empirical and sociological (including critical) IR and normative IPT, and in doing so, is bringing IPT to bear on the core questions of international law, diplomacy, and public policy. Not all IPT has this focus; some forms of cosmopolitan thought in particular value the critical distance that abstraction or ideal theory afford the normative theorist. But the real potential lies in the emergent debates between cosmopolitans and communitarians engaged with normative challenges thrown up by the international legal order. In general terms the debate between cosmopolitans and communitarians has lessened. This is partly because some communitarians have rebranded as weak cosmopolitans, but also because the distance between the traditions has widened, with analytic political theorists pursuing moral philosophical arguments between themselves and constructivists and historicists pursuing social-​theoretic arguments in the pages of a distinct literature. But the big ideas that provide the basis for a critical understanding of the normative still matter, even if the fact that the core division between contemporary cosmopolitans and communitarians is not really about the moral equality of humans has drawn some of the sting from the early debates. As Risse notes, “we have learned the basic cosmopolitan lesson: moral equality is an essential part of any credible theory of global justice” (2012: 10; see also Brock and Brighouse 2005: 3). What is key, however, is the distinctive ways in which these scholars reason about the normative and particularly about the relationship between the moral and political.

Cosmopolitanism and Communitarianism    37 This chapter draws attention to the ways that some cosmopolitan theory and some varieties of non-​cosmopolitanism, having learned from the critique of the cosmopolitan/​communitarian distinction and having matured as a sub-​discipline, are re-​ engaging with the fundamental institutions of global politics and asking the critical and praxeological questions that make ethical enquiry relevant to the world (Linklater 1998). There is a symmetry here in that IPT, once so keen to push past what Wight once pointed to as IR theory—​the historical interpretation of law and diplomacy—​in a bid to assert the centrality of normative enquiry is now returning to these fundamental sites of international political practice in order to realize the potential of the field. In order to explore these claims, this chapter examines the institutional or practical turn in the work of key cosmopolitans such as Charles Beitz and Allen Buchanan. Their work shows the development of cosmopolitanism from the early critique of the work of scholars such as John Rawls and Michael Walzer to the institutionally and legally focused work that enables them to address, in moral and political terms, vital socio-​normative questions from secession to environmental or humanitarian protection. Thereafter the chapter explores the work of scholars who, despite acknowledging the normative force of universal and global moral claims, do not identify with cosmopolitanism as a theoretical tradition. This group, which includes scholars such as Christian Reus-​Smit and Andrew Hurrell, is influenced by English School and constructivist scholarship, and stresses the need to consider the normative and sociological context in which norms operate in a highly legalized world order. There is no strong binary division between the political positions of cosmopolitans and communitarians here. It could be argued that there never really was, and that focus on the opposition between cosmopolitans and communitarians was a distraction. Nevertheless, at moments of great political crisis the theoretical approaches that underlie normative claims really matter. Even if, as Buchanan has recently argued, “ideal theory’s principles can be satisfied or at least seriously approximated through a process that begins with the institutions and culture that we now have” (Buchanan and Keohane 2004: 28), we still need to understand the implications and structure of communitarian and cosmopolitan moral arguments in order to make clear and well-​reasoned ethical judgements.

Part 1 The first claim is not simply an attempt to resurrect the terminology of the cosmopolitan/​communitarian distinction, but an argument that different terminology still references the same broadly drawn but central features of normative debate in IPT. Cosmopolitanism certainly has a clearly defined place in the literature. The critical response of liberal cosmopolitans to Rawls’s Law of Peoples, and the establishment of the then quite radical proposition that moral concern for individuals ought to transcend geopolitical space (particularly the bonds of citizenship) and generational time

38   Peter Sutch (see e.g. Pogge 1994; Beitz 2000; Buchanan 2000), established the tradition at the heart of contemporary IPT. It is easy, from the vantage point of 2016, to underestimate the resistance to the ways in which cosmopolitanism insisted on the existence of universal moral principles and the ways in which such principles ought to feed into global politics. The Rawlsian assumption that IPT should focus on a society of peoples founded on a shared history of international law, as developed after the Second World War (Rawls 1993; 1999), may have put the question of international justice back on the agenda for Anglo-​American analytic political thought, but it reinforced the statism of the realist and pluralist traditions in IR. The trajectory of the work of the early critics of Rawls’s work to their current contributions to the debates tells its own story about the rise and rise of cosmopolitanism. This is true in two ways. First, the initial work criticized Rawls for not seeing the international implications of the moral egalitarianism that was at the heart of liberal political theory (e.g. Pogge 1994; Buchanan 2000). The successes of these arguments were such that Michael Blake’s claim, “We are all cosmopolitans now,” is entirely credible (Blake 2013). Few who fail to identify with cosmopolitan political theory would deny the central tenets of cosmopolitan thought. The commitment to a moral conception of the equal worth of human beings and new understandings of the multiple ways in which human beings are connected with each other and with future generations mean that Pogge’s famous description of the basic elements of cosmopolitanism is now applicable to almost all normative IPT (Pogge 2002: 169). Blake argues that this makes the term overdue for retirement—​it is a frame that did important work when moral egalitarianism was disputed but cannot help when the arguments have moved on (Blake 2013: 52; see also Risse 2012: 17). This point is important but, while bearing in mind the earlier injunction to be aware that the categories we employ to simplify our field cannot bear too much weight, there are at least two reasons to continue to employ the term as part of an attempt to survey the field. First, the term is a key part of the self-​description of a significant section of the field. Cosmopolitanism is, without doubt, the major tradition to emerge from the early debate, and the centrality of cosmopolitanism can blind us to its radical and critical nature, which still needs to be defended and elaborated. Secondly, it is still important to distinguish between the ways that cosmopolitan IPT thinks about moral egalitarianism and the very different ways that non-​cosmopolitan traditions do so. The cosmopolitan tradition has become much more able to engage with the inherent statism of international law and institutions, and more tolerant of the nuances of ethical theories that have a place for the state and the international more broadly. This moral confidence has led key scholars including Pogge and, more recently and more completely, Buchanan, Beitz, and Risse to focus on the institutional and practical implications of cosmopolitan and non-​cosmopolitan “grounds of justice” (Risse 2012: 16–​17) that exist side by side in the global order. The headline here is that the cosmopolitan voice can now be heard as a key interlocutor in legal and policy debate. Rather than attacking the foundations of an international order that failed to take distributive justice, environmental justice, and human rights seriously as a basis for political action, the implications of cosmopolitan ethics on immigration, trade law, secession, environmental governance, and humanitarian action are now the everyday subjects of cosmopolitan

Cosmopolitanism and Communitarianism    39 IPT (see Chapters 39 and 40). Such confidence is best expressed, I will argue below, in the practical turn in the recent work of Buchanan and Beitz. Here, the question of how moral theory can engage with the fragmented and often institutionally compromised global legal order is at the centre of debate, and it is an engagement born of confidence rather than compromise. Communitarianism, on the other hand, has had rather different fortunes. The term was often used pejoratively to imply a denial of universal or global moral norms, and to link non-​cosmopolitan scholarship with parochialism and realism. In part, the dynamics noted above led early cosmopolitan theorists to overstate the flaws in non-​ cosmopolitan work. Michael Walzer’s work was the clearest example of this phenomenon. Walzer’s communitarian position was portrayed as both conservative and statist. His critique of the amoralism of realism and his elucidation of universal moral and legal rules notwithstanding, Walzer’s argument for limited humanitarian warfare, respect (born of solidarity and awareness of the dangers of domination) for cultural difference, and respect for the ways in which the state protected the ways of life created by humans (Walzer 2006; 1994: 16; 1990: 23) came in for strident criticism. Walzer’s self-​description of his project as the desire “to take my place among the universalists [ . . . ] to explain the appeal of moral particularism” (1990: 509) was barely heard in the early debates. It is telling that a symposium in Ethics & International Affairs (Beitz 2009; Doyle 2009; Kymlica 2009) that revisits the debates in Philosophy & Public Affairs between Walzer and his critics (Beitz 1980; Doppelt 1980; Luban 1980; Walzer 1980) puts much more emphasis on the implicit internationalism of Walzer’s work (Beitz 2009: 325). In part this is due to the new confidence in cosmopolitan theory in engaging with the centrality of states in law and politics. It also has to do with the broader acceptance by those outside the cosmopolitan tradition of the range of global injustices, and the moral resources at hand to help critically approach those injustices. Nevertheless, the early debates effectively neutered the viability of the term as it became associated with a conservative agenda in IPT. The reason this chapter argues for the preservation of the term draws on work in another subfield of IR theory. In 2005 Adler published a collection of essays entitled Communitarian International Relations in which he develops a constructivist account of the “communities of practice” that transform ideas into social practices. In the introductory essay he makes two moves that point us to a body of scholarship that has the potential to be a vital interlocutor with cosmopolitanism in the more practice-​oriented debates that characterize some of the most interesting developments in IPT. First, Adler contrasts normative and constructivist communitarianism. For Adler, the flaws of normative IPT include foundational accounts of the priority of community interests over individual interests and the priority of the good over the right. Constructivist communitarianism, or “new communitarianism” as he terms it, is more explicit about the role of power in international politics and concerned with constitutive mechanisms of community such as “narrative, discourse and practice” that can link theory with practice (Adler 2005: 13–​14). He is also clear that the new communitarian account of communities of practice “cuts across state boundaries and mediate between states, individuals and human agency, one one hand, and social structures and systems on the other”

40   Peter Sutch (p. 15). His approach has helped link theorists of international society/​community with other debates in empirical and sociological IR. While Adler is clear that new communitarianism has not provided a real engagement with the core normative question that has held the attention of IPT—​“whether the construction of governance institutions and practices should aim, as Hedley Bull argued, at maintaining international order or, as Beitz held, at achieving global justice” (p. 13)—​more recent work by scholars including constructivists such as Richard Price and political theorists such as Reus-​Smit has addressed this lacuna, bringing communitarianism back into dialogue with IPT on key questions of the justice of international practices. If it were the case that all cosmopolitans were universalist and all communitarians statist, the distinction would have been less problematic; but most communitarians argue in favour of at least some global moral obligations, and most cosmopolitans recognize at least some special obligations among fellow-​citizens and/​or between members of religious, ethnic, or cultural groups. Yet even taking this into account the debate remains focused on “the moral value to be credited to particularistic collectivities as against humanity as a whole or the claims of individual human beings” (Brown 1992: 12). The main “flaw” that Brown saw in the distinction, that “too many writers who seem to be in one camp cross over to the other at crucial points” (p. 17), is not a flaw in the distinction itself but a flaw in the way scholars viewed cosmopolitanism and communitarianism as mutually exclusive. Moral reasons for valuing human beings as human beings and moral reasons for valuing social and political communities are not always theoretically incompatible, but there is something important about the ways in which we assign moral priority to the global or the local when making policy recommendations. At issue between cosmopolitans and communitarians were the ways in which universal moral principles arise and become normative for actors in the world. Communitarians tended to draw on more historicist and phenomenological traditions of moral philosophy, and it is this that is represented in contemporary or new communitarian thought. As with the contemporary cosmopolitans, much of the focus is now on how global moral principles manifest on the international plane. It is here, in the theoretical and empirical work in the social constructivist and English School traditions, that the distinction is and remains useful. Replacing the terms with “pluralist” or “solidarist” or with “internationalist” or “globalist” does not really change this, and to ignore this central challenge is to ignore a core dynamic of IPT. Even if the terms themselves are at least minimally plausible, much of the criticism of the distinction focused on deeper concerns. The cosmopolitan communitarian debate was critiqued as being too limited a basis for normative reflection on IR. The purpose of the initial presentation of the distinction was to provide an intellectual starting point for thinking about questions of international and global justice. In the postwar struggle to banish utopianism from the science of IR, moral theory, and the classical canon of political theory that was the historical core of normative social and political thought, was excised from the discipline either because it was hopelessly idealistic or because it was thought to be a fitting subject for (domestic) political rather than international reflection. The project outlined in International Relations Theory: New Normative Approaches

Cosmopolitanism and Communitarianism    41 (Brown 1992) and in other works such as Janna Thompson’s Justice and World Order: A Philosophical Inquiry (1992) or Andrew Linklater’s earlier Men and Citizens in the Theory of International Relations (1982), which came out in second edition in 1990 as the debate took form, was to re-​establish the relevance of political theory (particularly in the Western Anglo-​American and European traditions) to IR as field of study. The initial claim that the history of political thought was also, contra Wight (Wight 1966; see Brown 1992: 4–​8; Linklater 1990: 4–​5; Boucher 1998: 8), the classical resource for IPT had rather divergent receptions. On the one hand it opened up the field to “a powerful and neglected literature” (Smith 1992). On the other, in appealing to the classic Western canon it was accused of reinforcing the distinction between empirical and normative IR. This latter critique has several relevant variants, all of which focus on the relation between politics and ethics. Communitarians, critical theorists, feminists, postcolonial theorists and post-​structuralists challenged the ways in which IPT treated “ethics as a potential ‘doctor’ for IR, a body of principles that can imported from outside, once they are finally agreed” (Walker 1993: 50, cited in Brasset and Bulley 2007: 1, emphasis original; see Chapter 42). For these scholars, the problematic philosophical foundations of ethics as presented in the classical canon obscured the deeply political nature of moral claims in global affairs. There are more or less radical versions of this critique. For the post-​ structuralists, reliance on moral foundations that are “always-​already political,” and the intellectual certainty that such principles are free of the taint of politics, inevitably “enacts a violence towards alternative possible futures” (Brasset and Bulley 2007: 2), and the project becomes a sustained critique of the ways these violences manifest. Without embracing the full extent of the critique offered by post-​structuralist theorists such as Kim Hutchings and Chris Reus-​Smit, both express concerns at the ways that the cosmopolitan/​communitarian distinction tends to isolate IPT from IR, and thus the normative from the empirical. When IR scholars place normative enquiry in a separate scholarly universe—​in the realm of political theory or philosophy—​they are working with this narrow conception of what constitutes ethical reasoning. And because students of international ethics have themselves internalized this understanding, they too contribute to the ongoing bifurcation of studies of international relations. Profound differences separate students of international ethics, fuelling debates between cosmopolitans and communitarians, deontologists and consequentialists, and Kantians, Grotians, and Hobbesians. But underneath these differences lies an unstated consensus as to the narrowly defined nature of ethical reasoning; and this unstated yet powerful consensus reinforces the divide between scientists and ethicists, but this time from the other direction (Reus-​Smit 2008: 65–​6; Hutchings 1999: 30) The way IPT often conceives of the normative, its moral foundationalism, its reliance on the classical Western canon, pushes all IPT away from the critical and praxeological projects of IR. Yet, fuelled by the positive reception of the core idea that morality matters and that individual moral wellbeing matters whether we are thinking about life in a state, a shared transnational context (such as the economy or the environment), or just as human moral agents, several pioneering scholars have taken the plunge and sought

42   Peter Sutch to open up normative thinking to the political. The watchword of this development is “moral accessibilty,” the attempt to gain some critical purchase for ethical reasoning by consciously situating ethical reasoning in the political and institutional context of global affairs. In this enterprise, scholars in the neo-​Kantian liberal tradition often associated with cosmopolitanism and scholars in more historicist traditions are moving from different directions towards a similar goal—​morally accessible, institutionalized moral reasoning.

Part 2 Cosmopolitans and communitarians have different reasons for seeking moral accessibility. For the latter, doubts about the fact/​value distinction and a critical or interpretive concern for the ways that politics informs ethics pushes theorists to consider the ways that moral reasons manifest in social and political contexts (Hurrell 2002: 139–​42). For the former, a recognition that global institutions embody at least some universal principles designed to promote the equal moral worth of all humans has prompted an engagement with the institutional and brought with it a sense that such an engagement changes the nature of the theoretical enterprise. These intellectual patterns once again bring cosmopolitans and communitarians into debate—​this time over what institutional moral reasoning is and what moral prescriptions flow from it. The key claim here is that once again we are finding fruitful ground for a renewed debate between the two camps, and one that is of significance to an intellectual constituency beyond political theory. It is unsurprising that communitarianism might find an ally in constructivist IR theory. A focus on the creation and evolution of communities that create meaning, and on the co-​constitutive ways in which ideas, norms, and institutions develop, is the natural extension of the tradition. Indeed, the broad historical claims about the evolution of international society and the ways that communities mediate morality found in the work of communitarians, the English School, and in that of constitutive theorists such as Mervyn Frost gains much from the empirical and sociological research programmes of the constructivist approach. Richard Price notes that “much constructivist work was itself a response to scepticism that moral norms matter in world politics” (Price 2008: 3). But an understanding of the relationship between the empirical revelation that moral norms do matter and the question that critical and normative political theorists want to ask is a vital project still under development. The new communitarians (and here the description casts off the imprimatur of Adler) pursue moral accessibility through locating stable, public and shared vocabularies of justice that can serve as a medium for argumentative exchange across the world as a whole and not simply within the confines of the Western world, or the still more limited confines of liberal political theory [ . . . ] the core focus, then, should be on the idea of a moral community, not

Cosmopolitanism and Communitarianism    43 as posited, or imagined, or argued for by human reason alone, but as reflected in the shared practices, shared understandings and broader moral consciousness of international and global society. (Hurrell 2007: 303)

We need to bear in mind that what we are seeking access to is a site of moral debate. It is not possible to read off the answer to the question “What ought we to do in context x?” by simply describing context x. Nor can communitarians avail themselves of the empirical findings of the constructivists and then simply apply existing moral theories found in IPT. As Price argues, “normative theory and ethical prescriptions cannot completely eschew their own empirical assumptions even as they rarely develop them as thoroughly as has constructivism” (Price 2008: 7). At the same time, empirical accounts of the normative cannot and ought not to eschew normative theorizing. The praxeological question that animates this work is simply “How should we act?” and, as Reus-​Smit argues, this question necessarily brings empirical inquiry into dialogue with normative theory. Pure empirical analysis or positive theory can never, in and of itself, tell us how we should act, as it can never tell us our purposes. And purely normative, philosophical enquiry can tell us nothing about the parameters of action, about the constraints and opportunities provided by the context—​material and non-​material—​in which we seek to act. The purely empirical is as mythological and naive as the purely philosophical. (Reus-​Smit 2008: 57)

The key challenge of this new communitarianism is to elaborate the relationship between the empirical and the normative, and to show how that helps us answer the praxeological question. One example of how this might be done can be seen in Reus-​Smit’s argument about the “interstitial” structure or “holistic” nature of ethical reasoning, and how practices discipline normative arguments (Reus-​Smit 2004: 24–​38; 2008: 74–​9). Cosmopolitans, by contrast, appear to have less natural affinity with practice-​based approaches to normative reasoning. Yet much early work recognized the important ways in which the development of (for example) human rights institutions provides the basis for individualized moral claim rights that serve to restrict the rights of states in their dealings with those in their jurisdiction and, more tentatively, generate obligations to those whose state cannot provide appropriate fulfilment of those rights. This enabled some scholars to pursue a cosmopolitan agenda on the basis of an apparent consensus already reached in practice. Thomas Pogge’s unpacking of the moral and practical consequences of taking Article 28 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights (UDHR) seriously provides a powerful case (Pogge 2002; 2007). In this case the institutional implications of the UDHR stood in as little more than a proxy for the moral argument that underpinned Pogge’s cosmopolitanism. More recently, however, Buchanan and Beitz have gone much further, seeking to engage more completely with practices. In doing so they recognize both the advantages and compromises entailed in such an enterprise (Buchanan 2004; 2010; Beitz 2010). The practical turn in liberal IPT (if indeed it is developed enough to be so called) recognizes that if we are to take practices seriously we

44   Peter Sutch have to permit the practice some authority in the argument we present. Institutions matter. Norms require institutionalization in order to be effective and so, at the very least, we need to be cognizant of the effects institutionalization will have. Equally importantly, we must realize that it is the practices themselves, rather than philosophical arguments about practices, that are normative for actors. Buchanan’s recent work develops arguments about the vital role of institutional moral reasoning in IPT. Studying the practices of international human rights law (or, in the earlier work, of international law more generally) is to study the “universally accessible authoritative version of the global lingua franca” (Buchanan 2013: 7). Studying these institutionalized practices and ideas also enables us to focus on the question of the feasibility (in practical and moral terms) of getting from where we are to where we want to go (Buchanan 2004: 18–​22). Buchanan makes clear that “international legal human rights are not the legal embodiment of a subset of moral human rights. Rather, they are what they are: legal rights; and legal rights need not be the embodiment of corresponding moral rights. Nor need legal rights be justified by appealing to moral rights. Legal rights, as instrumental human creations, can serve a number of different purposes and can be justified by appeal to a number of different kinds of moral considerations” (Buchanan 2013: 11, emphasis original). In the earlier work he describes his project as developing a moral theory of international law. The practice has rules that make the lingua franca intelligible to and legitimate in the eyes of actors. Buchanan, drawing on Samantha Besson, argues that the law is an institutionalized form of practical reasoning that serves moral values while at the same time managing moral disagreement by constraining the types of reasons and evidence it admits as relevant. (Buchanan 2013: 8)

Buchanan is not renouncing his moral philosophy (which he describes a natural “duty of justice” argument) but, in turning to practices, he is limiting its role in the recognition that “institutionalized public normative reasoning plays an ineliminable role” (Buchanan and Keohane 2004: 5–​6). Beitz pushes in the same direction. His practical approach “aims to exploit the observation that the human rights enterprise is a global practice” (Beitz 2010: 8). In doing so, he argues that as political theorists we are obliged to allow the practice some authority in our thinking. the practice exists: it is elaborate both doctrinally and politically, it consumes a considerable amount of human and other resources, and people tend to regard its norms with great seriousness. If the focus of critical interest is the idea of human rights as it exists in public reflection and argument about global political life, then it seems self-​ evident that we should take instruction from public practice in conceptualizing its central terms. (Beitz 2010: 11)

Both scholars are intent on exploring the justice of the existing normative order. They clearly have some normative commitments that we would describe as cosmopolitan, but

Cosmopolitanism and Communitarianism    45 they are subjecting them to the authority of the practice in order to gain access to the global lingua franca. It is here that we can see the re-​emergence of a more mature, institutionally nuanced debate.

Conclusion The potential to bring moral debate to the centre of debates about institutions, legal reform, and power by opening IPT to conversation with other scholarly traditions in IR and beyond is immense. Here the strengths of critical and sociological IR theory, of legal scholarship, and of IPT re-​engage in a conversation that situates ethical reflection as a part of politics rather than as something outside it. The cosmopolitan communitarian debate on the relationship between ethics and politics, the normative, and the empirical is a significant part of this development, but the whole thrust of the practical turn is the recognition that moral theory alone does not have the answers to our real-​world dilemmas. It is worth remembering that the cosmopolitan/​communitarian distinction was intended as a textbook introduction to ethical issues in IR, and it is a distinction that most textbooks have struggled to transcend. Good textbooks capture the essence of disciplinary evolution, speaking both to what is happening in the best scholarship and to what the next stage of scholarly debate should be. The volumes that established and developed the cosmopolitan/​communitarian distinction did just that, and provoked important work by scholars in IPT. Whether IPT sustains or abandons the terminology, it is clear that the core ideas are still relevant, and that opening out that conversation to learn from other traditions of scholarship is vital. It is significant then that Anthony Lang’s recent introduction to IPT finds four stands of IPT in political theory—​IR theory, international legal theory, and moral and ethical philosophy—​noting that while most scholars in these strands do not see themselves as contributing to IPT, we should ignore sub-​disciplinary boundaries and work with all who engage with issues of normativity at the international level (Lang 2015: 8). This thought will influence the scholarship of students who read the book, and who are taught that IPT is a vital part of IR more broadly, and of scholars in empirical, legal, and philosophical disciplines for whom the subject matter of IR—​the question what ought we to do in the face of global challenges—​is more important than intellectual boundaries.

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46   Peter Sutch Beitz, C. (2009). The Moral Standing of States Revisited. Ethics & International Affairs 23(4): 325–​47. Beitz, C. (2010). The Idea of Human Rights (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Blake, M. (2013). We Are All Cosmopolitans Now. In G. Brock (ed.), Cosmopolitanism versus Non-​Cosmopolitanism (Oxford: Oxford University Press), 35–​54. Boucher, D. (1998). Political Theories of International Relations (Oxford:  Oxford University Press). Brasset, J., and D. Bulley (2007). Ethics in World Politics:  Cosmopolitanism and Beyond. International Relations 44: 1–​18. Brock, G., and H. Brighouse (2005). The Political Philosophy of Cosmopolitanism (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Brown, C. J. (1992). International Relations Theory:  New Normative Approaches (Brighton: Harvester Wheatsheaf). Brown, C. J. (2002). Sovereignty, Rights and Justice:  International Political Theory Today (Cambridge: Polity Press). Buchanan, A. (2000). Rawls’s Law of Peoples: Rules for a Vanished Westphalian World. Ethics 110(4): 697–​721. Buchanan, A. (2004). Justice, Legitimacy and Self Determination:  Moral Foundations for International Law (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Buchanan, A. (2010). Human Rights, Legitimacy and the Use of Force (Oxford:  Oxford University Press). Buchanan, A. (2013). The Heart of Human Rights (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Buchanan, A., and R. Keohane (2004). The Preventative Use of Force:  A Cosmopolitan-​ Institutional Proposal. Ethics & International Affairs 18(1): 1–​22. Doppelt, G. (1980). Statism without Foundations. Philosophy & Public Affairs 9(4): 398–​403. Doyle, M. (2009). A Few Words on Mill, Walzer and Non-​Intervention. Ethics & International Affairs 23(4): 349–​69. Hurrell, A. (2002). Norms and Ethics in International Relations. In W. Carlsnaes, T. Risse, and B. A. Simmons (eds), The Handbook of International Relations (London: Sage). Hurrell, A. (2007). On Global Order: Power, Values and the Constitution of International Society (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Hutchings, K. (1999). International Political Theory (London: Sage). Kymlica, W. (2009). Categorizing Groups, Categorizing States: Theorizing Minority Rights in a World of Deep Diversity. Ethics & International Affairs 23(4): 371–​88. Lang, Jr, A. (2015). International Political Theory: An Introduction (London: Palgrave Macmillan). Linklater, A. (1990). Men and Citizens in the Theory of International Relations (London: Macmillan) Linklater, A. (1998). The Transformation of Political Community (Cambridge: Polity Press). Luban, D. (1980). The Romance of the Nation-​State. Philosophy & Public Affairs 9(4): 392–​7. Pogge, T. (1994). An Egalitarian Law of Peoples. Philosophy & Public Affairs 23(3): 195–​224. Pogge, T. (2002). World Poverty and Human Rights (Cambridge: Polity Press). Pogge, T. (2007). Freedom From Poverty as a Human Right (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Price, R. (2008). Moral Limit and Possibility in World Politics (Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press). Rawls, J. (1993). The Law of Peoples. In S. Shute and S. Hurley (eds), On Human Rights: The Oxford Amnesty Lectures (New York: Basic Books), 41–​82.

Cosmopolitanism and Communitarianism    47 Rawls, J. (1999). The Law of Peoples (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press). Reus-​ Smit, C. (2004). The Politics of International Law (Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press) Reus-​Smit, C. (2008). Constructivism and the Nature of Ethical Reasoning. In R. Price (ed.), Moral Limit and Possibility in World Politics (Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press), 53–​82. Risse, M. (2012). On Global Justice (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press). Smith, S. (1992). The Forty Years Detour: the Resurgence of Normative Theory in International Relations. Millennium 21: 489–​508. Thompson, J. (1992) Justice and World Order: A Philosophical Inquiry (London: Routledge). Walzer, M. (1980). The Moral Standing of States: A Response to Four Critics. Philosophy & Public Affairs 9(3): 209–​29. Walzer, M. (1990). The Communitarian Critique of Liberalism. Political Theory 18(1): 6–​23. Walzer, M. (2006). Just and Unjust Wars: A Moral Argument with Historical Illustrations, 4th edn (New York: Basic Books). Walzer, M. (2008). Arguing about War (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press). Wight, M. (1966). Diplomatic Investigations:  Essays in the Theory of International Politics (London: Allen and Unwin).

­c hapter 4

In ternationa l Re l at i ons a nd Internat i ona l P olitical T h e ory Chris Brown

The modern idea that International Relations Theory (IR Theory) could be, and should be, distinguished from International Political Theory (IPT) would have been confusing to most of the founders of the discipline or field of International Relations, and indeed to their pre-​disciplinary forebears. Insofar as they recognized the terms at all, they would have assumed them to be synonymous or, perhaps, that the latter, IPT, was simply a subset of the former. Most of the founders believed that theorizing about international relations ought to be explanatory, normative, and prescriptive, and would have resisted the idea that one or more of varieties of theory should be privileged over the others, or isolated from them. Now, however, things have changed. Since the 1980s the term “IR Theory” has been mostly understood as designating explanatory theory, and as a result, IPT has come to refer more specifically to normative and prescriptive theorizing. The purpose of this chapter is to explain how this state of affairs came to be, and to criticize the thinking that lies behind such a division of labour. If IPT is to develop its engagement with “real politics” and to provide fruitful avenues for empirical research, an artificial divide between explanatory and normative theory cannot be allowed to persist—​the goal must be to return to the more comprehensive account of theory espoused by the founders.

Before “International Relations” and the Early History of the Discipline Books on “International Relations” or “International Politics” begin to appear in the quarter-​century before 1914, along with a small number of university courses similarly

International Relations and IPT    49 titled, mostly in Political Science departments and almost exclusively in the United States (Schmidt 1997)—​but the emergence of International Relations as an academic discipline (or at least a separate field of study) is a product of the two World Wars. The First World War and the formation of the League of Nations stimulated systematic study of international relations, centred around a number of research institutes (e.g. the Council for Foreign Relations in New York and the (later Royal) Institute for International Affairs, Chatham House, in London) and university chairs; the Second World War, the United Nations, and the Cold War produced a reboot of the field and substantial expansion. As a result, what we think of today as “International Relations” is a product of the period from c.1918 to c.1955; but many of the ideas that it worked with had been first proposed in the three centuries before 1914, before “International Relations,” by a mix of lawyers, philosophers, and historians as well as political scientists (see Chapter 2). Most of the individuals concerned—​a small sample of whose work will next be examined—​did not think of themselves as International Relations theorists, but together they laid the basis for the later study, and did so without clearly demarcating separate roles for explanation, normative analysis, and prescription. One obvious group of past thinkers who contributed to the new discipline comprises theorists of Natural Law and the Law of Nations, thinkers who between the sixteenth and eighteenth centuries developed the notion that the emerging system of states in Europe constituted a norm-​governed international society. Numerous individuals contributed to this notion, from Vitoria in the sixteenth century, via Grotius and Pufendorf in the seventeenth, to Emerich Vattel in the early eighteenth. The latter was in some respects the least intellectually interesting of this galaxy of stars, yet his text The Law of Nations or Principles of International Law (1758) gives the fullest account of the principles of international society, and, crucially, is grounded not just in the principles of natural law, but also in the practices of international society (Brown, Nardin, and Rengger 2002). Accordingly, his account of the law of nations describes the condition of the European states system, but it also explains how that condition is arrived at—​through the operation of the balance of power—​and why the resultant international society is normatively desirable. A stable balance of power allows independent, legally equal but materially unequal states to maintain their liberty, which is a key aim of statecraft. Maintaining independence in this way could sometimes involve war, and for that reason Vattel and his colleagues were described as “sorry comforters” by Immanuel Kant, the philosopher who at the end of the eighteenth century produced the most elaborate and sophisticated account of the conditions of peace of his age. Kant’s primary goal in Perpetual Peace: A Philosophical Sketch (1795) was prescriptive—​his tract takes the form of a “peace project,” a popular literary genre of the eighteenth century—​but his prescriptions are firmly based in an account of how the current order worked and what would be needed to change it (Kant 1983). Although Kant did not describe his work in the terms of today’s social science, Michael Doyle was able to use his account of the preconditions for a perpetual peace to produce a highly influential version of “democratic peace theory,” the notion that stable democracies do not fight each other (Doyle 1983). Kant would have been surprised, and rather shocked, by the idea that his desired “republican”

50   Chris Brown states could be described as democratic, but would surely have approved of the idea that explanatory theory and normative theory are inevitably intertwined. Lawyers and philosophers approached international relations with a focus on norms and values, with explanatory theory a necessary but secondary feature of their work; proponents of raison d’état or realpolitik reversed this order, beginning with power and its operation and then moving to normative prescription. Machiavelli is the paradigm figure here, the inspiration for a clutch of Machiavellians (Meinecke 1924/​1997; 1962). His handbook for rulers, The Prince (1532), is for the most part a work about the nuts and bolts of power, how to achieve it, how to hang on to it, how to extend it (Machiavelli 1988). But even in this short work the final chapter (“Exhortation to Seize Italy and Free Her from the Barbarians”) is clearly prescriptive, and in his longer work The Discourses (1531) values and norms come to the fore—​this is a passionate defence of republican principles (Machiavelli 1996). This combination of the explanatory and the normative is common to later Machiavellians and “realists,” writers on the balance of power such as Friedrich von Gentz, or theorists of the rational state such as G. F. W. Hegel (Brown, Nardin, and Rengger 2002). None of the writers discussed above would think of themselves as contributing to the discipline of International Relations—​indeed, their writings precede the late nineteenthcentury subdivision of social thought into separate academic discourses—​but when, after 1918, such a discipline emerged it took over the aspiration, common to its predecessors, of creating theory that was normative as well as explanatory and that engaged with the real politics of its era. The thinkers of the “twenty years’ crisis” were later accused by realist thinkers of neglecting the explanatory and the engagement with real politics in favour of utopian thinking, but an examination of their work refutes this characterization (Long and Wilson 1995). Conversely, realist critics such as E. H. Carr and, a little later, Hans J. Morgenthau were accused of neglecting the role of values and norms and overemphasizing pure power politics, but again the charge does not stick. A closer reading of Carr’s Twenty Years’ Crisis (1939) makes it clear that, although he rightly criticized “utopians” for substituting their hopes and fears for a rigorous analysis of the reality of the politics of the 1930s, it was not his intention to exclude utopian thought altogether from the study of world politics—​rather, he believed that an International Relations that did not incorporate normative thinking would be sterile and impotent (Carr 2001 [1939]; Booth 1991). The most important British postwar realist, Martin Wight, took a similar position; he was very clear that in titling his pamphlet/​book Power Politics he was not endorsing a crude realpolitik but sketching the politics of the powers—​although in his case the relationship between his own Christian pacifism and his normative prescriptions was not as clear as one might have hoped (Wight 1978 [1946]; Bull 1976; Hall 2006). Again, although Morgenthau believed that interest defined in terms of power was, or should be, at the centre of the study of International Relations, he was very much aware of the importance of the moral dimension of political life. Two of his famous “Six Principles of Political Realism” concerned this dimension; the Fourth notes that political realism is aware of the moral significance of political action, and accompanying tensions between “moral command and the requirements of successful political action,”

International Relations and IPT    51 while the Fifth insists that “Political realism refuses to identify the moral aspirations of a particular nation with the moral laws that govern the universe” (Morgenthau 1954). This latter point is of particular interest in the context of the relationship between American realists and US foreign policy over the last fifty years. In the 1960s Morgenthau was a leading critic of America’s war in Vietnam, while in the 2000s, figures such as John Mearsheimer and Stephen Walt, using new social media, were very effective realist critics of neo-​conservative thought on international relations (Morgenthau 1970; Mearsheimer and Walt 2003). To summarize the argument so far, the academic discipline of International Relations which finally came to a kind of maturity in the 1950s and 1960s was committed to what one might call a full-​spectrum approach to theorizing international relations. IR Theory was expected to be explanatory and prescriptive, causal and normative. The main theory of the post-​1945 world was, in broad terms, realist, informed and shaped by figures such as Carr, Morgenthau, and Wight—​and, in France, Raymond Aron, in America, George Kennan and Reinhold Niebuhr—​but this was a version of realism that was unafraid to address norms. And, in any event, there were other, non-​realist theories on offer, such as that associated with the “world peace through world law” movement promoted by Grenville Clark and Louis B. Sohn, along with other UN-​oriented ideas (Clark and Sohn 1958). It would be a mistake to overstate the pluralism of the discipline of International Relations in this period—​for example, the contribution of classical political theory to an understanding of International Relations was seriously underplayed as the new discipline asserted the sui generis nature of its subject matter (Wight 1960)—​but at least the separation of IPT from IR Theory, characteristic of a later period, was not a feature of the 1950s and 1960s. So, what happened?

The “Scientific Study of IR” and the Marginalization of Normative Theory In the 1930s, Carr was clear that International Relations ought to be studied “scientifically”; in the 1940s Morgenthau wrote of laws of politics, concerning, for example, the balance of power, in such a way that a casual observer might imagine that he too aspired to promoting the scientific study of international relations. So, indeed, he did—​but the model of science that he and Carr adhered to was very different from that of the “natural sciences.” In Anglo-​American usage the term “science” immediately conjures up the disciplines of Physics, Chemistry, and Biology, whereas in Morgenthau’s native German the nearest corresponding word is Wissenschaft, which does not have such connotations—​ Wissenschaft essentially designates systematic and rigorous study. Geisteswissenschaft designates philosophy, history, and the social sciences, and there is no implication here that these subjects are to be studied in the same way that one might study Physics or

52   Chris Brown Chemistry. In one of his best books, Scientific Man vs. Power Politics, Morgenthau explicitly confronts those who aspire to study the social sciences in the same way that the natural sciences are studied (Morgenthau 1947). Such an aspiration was, however, a feature of what began as a minority movement within American Political Science in the 1940s and 1950s and gradually came to achieve the status of an orthodoxy. In International Relations the move towards the scientific study of the subject was led by the comparatively large number of ex-​natural scientists who were attracted to the field. These people were sometimes former physicists with a guilty conscience over nuclear weapons, or systems analysts employed by bodies such as the RAND Corporation to improve the quality of United States policy-​making in the area of defence. They were joined by imports from the behavioural sciences, who were attuned to a version of the social sciences that involved an attempt to study the actual behaviour of actors rather than the meanings they assigned to this behaviour. The aim of these “behaviouralists” (as the movement came to be called) was to replace what they called the “wisdom literature” and “anecdotal” use of history represented by Morgenthau and other traditional realists with rigorous, systematic scientific concepts and reasoning. There were various dimensions to this. It might involve casting old theories in new, rigorous forms—​as with Morton Kaplan’s “balance of power” models (Kaplan 1957). Or it might involve generating new historical databases and time-​series to replace the alleged anecdotalism of traditional diplomatic history—​as in the “Correlates of War” project directed by J. D. Singer and associates at Ann Arbor, Michigan (Singer et al. 1979), or the use of formal mathematical models for the study of decisions—​as in game-​ theoretic work and early rational choice theory in the hands of people such as Thomas Schelling at Harvard (Schelling 1960). For the purpose of this discussion, the key point about the movement to create what its proponents saw as a genuine science of international politics was the way in which normative and prescriptive work in the field was increasingly marginalized by the “scientists.” Interestingly the aforementioned natural scientists were actually stimulated to enter the field by normative considerations, and were resistant to this marginalization; it was the behavioural scientists and, especially, economists who were more influential in putting normative work to one side. A key figure here was the American monetarist Milton Friedman, whose 1953 essay on “The Methodology of Positive Economics” was enormously influential (Friedman 1966). Friedman draws on the distinction between “is” and “ought” statements probably best set out by the Enlightenment philosopher David Hume in the eighteenth century (Hume 1985). He distinguishes positive economics, which he believes tells us how things actually are, from normative economics, which purports to tell us how things should be. Thus, to take a famous example, the Phillips Curve was an exercise in positive economics which attempted to explain the relationship between the rate of inflation and the level of unemployment in a society—​ essentially, lower unemployment was associated with higher inflation. If the curve is accurately described, it should be possible to predict the level of employment associated with any particular inflation rate—​this is positive economics, but what it cannot tell us is which particular combination of the two variables is desirable; that, according to

International Relations and IPT    53 Friedman’s distinction, is a matter for normative economics. It is not something that can be decided by a fact-​based calculation, because whatever combination is chosen there will be winners and losers, and deciding whether to punish savers with high levels of inflation or disadvantage job-​seekers with low levels of employment is a policy decision that reflects values, not analysis. On the face of it, the distinction between positive and normative theory seems sensible, and has been adopted by some writers who describe themselves as normative theorists (see Chapter 50). Still, this adoption is a tactical mistake, because although according to Friedman both positive and normative theory are in principle seen as legitimate activities, for most social scientists nowadays the former is regarded as more serious, in a sense more real, than the latter. Majority opinion has come to think that “real” theory is explanatory theory—​this is where the rigorous work is done, and normative theory is a decidedly second-​rate activity. In any event, the distinction between the two is not as clear cut as Friedman would have it. Friedman’s account of a positive social science is clearly based on the model of the natural sciences, yet there are important ways in which the natural and social sciences differ. In the natural sciences, non-​reflexivity is the rule—​to put it crudely, the subject matter of a natural science theory is not conscious of the fact that its behaviour or nature is being theorized, and is not capable of reflecting on the implications of this fact. Human beings are so capable; they can adapt consciously in ways that the objects of natural science cannot. Neo-​positivist theorists of international relations are, of course, conscious of this difficulty and do their best to adapt their theories to take it into account, and with some success—​but it remains the case that the distinction between normative and positive theory is always blurred. Norms and values permeate human behaviour and the behaviour of states, and while it is not necessary to go as far as those who argue that as a result all theory is normative, it is clearly a mistake to think that there is a clear dividing line between the normative and the positive (Frost 1996). Mistaken as this belief may be, the aspiration to create positive theory has been very influential in Political Science and in International Relations, especially in the United States, which in quantitative terms (number of scholars, quantity of work produced) is the home of the discipline. As an aside, in the UK, where International Relations emerged not out of Political Science but out of Law, Philosophy, and History, there has been greater resistance to the siren call of positivist social science, but even here the trend is in that direction (Brown 2011). The drive to push the American social science of International Relations in the direction of marginalizing normative considerations was reinforced by the success of Kenneth Waltz’s 1979 book Theory of International Politics—​ somewhat ironically, because Waltz himself was by no means a positivist social scientist (Waltz 1979; Booth 2011). Waltz’s book was instrumental in establishing the centrality of economic reasoning, i.e. rational choice theorizing, neo-​utilitarianism, and analogies from neoclassical economics, for the study of International Relations. Although he described his work as “structural realism,” he is in fact offering a “rational choice” version of the balance of power in which states are assumed to be self-​interested egoists existing under anarchy, who can be treated as though they were determining their strategies by

54   Chris Brown choosing that which maximizes their welfare. From this basic position can be derived a distinction between “defensive realists” such as Stephen Van Evera, who look simply for states to maintain their position within the system, and “offensive realists” such as John Mearsheimer, who assume that states attempt to achieve as much power as possible, via at least regional hegemony (Van Evera 1999; Mearsheimer 2001). Equally importantly, some liberal thinkers accepted the two basic assumptions of international anarchy and the rational egoism of states; the aim of their analysis was to show that it was possible for rational egoists to cooperate even in an anarchical system, given a sufficiently high level of institutionalization (Keohane 1984; Axelrod and Keohane 1985). Structural Realism and Liberal Institutionalism have been the dominant IR theories of the last thirty years, and each has achieved this position by abstracting the normative and prescriptive dimensons from broader notions of realism and liberalism, dominant in the interwar and immediate post-​1945 period. IR Theory came to be understood as positive theory—​explanatory in nature. Norms were acknowledged by some as contributing to the causal account of the world that was sought, “accounting for a small part of the variance,” as a causal theorist might put it, but normative analysis as such was given secondary status. IR Theory’s loss, however, was to provide a stimulus to IPT.

Bringing Political Theory Back In At the very point at which mainstream IR Theory was moving away from normative analysis, for the first time in the post-​1945 world normative Political Theory was developing an interest in the international. The stimulus to this shift was the publication in 1970 of John Rawls’s A Theory of Justice; Rawls’s work was, by common consent, a masterpiece, the most important work of Anglo-​American political theory of the century, radical in its implications for social policy—​but it was also, in one respect, very conservative (Rawls 1970). Rawls’s contract theory drew a sharp distinction between justice in domestic society and international justice; domestic societies were assumed to be self-​contained cooperative schemes for mutual advantage in which principles of distributive justice were required—​no such cooperative society existed internationally, so only the formal justice provided by international law was appropriate for relations between states. Social justice operated at the domestic level only. From the outset this position was regarded as unacceptable—​perverse even. The refusal to theorize international inequalities seemed wrong even (perhaps especially) to those who accepted the basic model of justice proposed by Rawls, and soon writers who were, as it were, more Rawlsian than Rawls himself were providing readings of international society that made space for principles of redistribution and social justice. The most important of these readings was Charles Beitz’s Political Theory and International Relations, which appeared in 1979, coincidentally the same year as Waltz’s masterpiece (Beitz 1979). There is no space here to go into all the ins and outs of post-​Rawlsian theories of international justice (on which see Brown 2006; 2015); the key point is that in the 1970s and

International Relations and IPT    55 1980s political theorists began to focus on the international in a way that had not been seen since the time of Kant and Hegel. Post-​Rawlsians were only part of this story, albeit an important part. Alternative readings of international society were provided by Terry Nardin, employing an Oakeshottian framework, and Mervyn Frost, whose “constitutive theory” had Hegelian roots (Nardin 1983; Frost 1986). Perhaps of greater long-​run significance was the revival of Just War theory in the aftermath of the Vietnam war; here Michael Walzer’s Just and Unjust Wars is a landmark, the work that more than any other took Just War thinking out of theological colleges and into the mainstream of political theory (Walzer 2015). Walzer’s defence of political communities in that book, from a perspective that owed much to John Stuart Mill, stimulated an engagement with more cosmopolitan liberals such as Beitz and David Luban, usefully collected in Beitz’s edited collection International Ethics (Beitz, Alexander, and Scanlon 1985). Here was the origin of the cosmopolitan/​communitarian debate in IPT (on which see Chapter 3 of this Handbook). Add to this the fact that in the 1970s human rights attracted more interest than they had for decades, partly as a result of their role in the East–​West détente marked by the Helsinki Accords, partly because of the emergence of a non-​communist discourse on economic rights (Moyn 2010; Shue 1980). In summary, a discourse of IPT began to take shape in this period, not so much in opposition to mainstream IR theory as in parallel to it. In many respects writers in the post-​Rawlsian wing of the new discourse were similar in their methodological assumptions to the rational-​choice theorists who were taking over mainstream IR theory—​they accepted the distinction between normative and positive theory and were content to provide the former. But more significant was the fact that the new discourse provided a home for many writers who would previously have been happy to think of themselves as IR theorists but who now felt marginalized by structural realism and liberal institutionalism. The most obvious group who fell into this category are the students of international society, who in 1981 were characterized by one of their fiercest critics as the “English School,” a label they soon accepted as a badge of honour (Jones 1981). The leading figure of the English School of the time, the Australian Hedley Bull, had in 1977 produced an account of what he called The Anarchical Society that would have been recognizable to a figure such as Morgenthau as congruent with his own theoretical work—​ but Bull was also a fierce critic of what he regarded as American scientism, and had little time for the way the discipline was going in the United States (Bull 1966; 2012). The relationship between English School writers and theorists of global justice was by no means always easy. Charles Beitz had directed some of his most trenchant criticisms of conventional IR theory in Political Theory and International Relations at English School writers, and from the point of view of the post-​Rawlsians, John Rawls himself added insult to injury by restating his views on the distinctive nature of international society in a book that owed much to the English School—​The Law of Peoples (Rawls 1999; Brown 2002). Still, even though English School writers and post-​ Rawlsians disagreed about many matters of substance, they at least agreed that what they were disagreeing about was important. Thus, for example, most of the English School were very sceptical about violations of the norm of non-​intervention for

56   Chris Brown humanitarian reasons or to promote regime change (and were joined in this scepticism by Michael Walzer), whereas most post-​Rawlsians regarded this norm as of little importance, to be violated in the interests of universal values whenever it seemed prudent to do so; but both camps agreed that intervention posed important normative and moral questions—​questions which mainstream IR theory had become incapable of posing let alone answering. A second category of theorists who now found IPT to be more hospitable than IR theory, overlapping somewhat with the English School, is made up of historians of international thought. In the 1950s and 1960s there was comparatively little work being done on the history of international thought, and what there was was not of the highest quality; Martin Wight’s description of communists and Nazis as the children of Kant and Hegel is an extreme example of a dubious historical judgement from this period—​extreme but not wholly uncharacteristic of the age (Wight 1960). By the 1980s, however, the quality of work on the history of international thought had risen quite dramatically—​see for example Andrew Linklater’s Men and Citizens (1982). Here Kant’s cosmopolitanism is liberated from the charge of utopianism, Hegel’s account of the rational state is no longer seen as a cover for German nationalism, and Marx’s thought is studied in its own terms and not through Leninist lenses. But such work was little valued by mainstream IR theorists; as IR theory took over from Economics its conception of formal theory, and from econometrics its quantitative techniques, so it also took over the lack of interest in its own history that characterizes the modern discipline of Economics. If, as Waltz would have it, the “anarchy problematic” has the same characteristics in all non-​hierarchical international orders, that is those where the units that compose the system are differentiated by capabilities not functions, then there is no advantage to the study of history save perhaps the collection of anecdotes for heuristic purposes. The new discourse of IPT at least provided a home for new high-​quality historical work. Less easy to fit within the new discourse was the work of critical theorists, post-​ modernists, and feminists (see e.g. Cox 1981; Der Derian and Shapiro 1989; Tickner 1992). It is difficult to generalize here, because these labels cover three very wide fields—​ some writers who self-​identify as feminists or critical theorists are certainly engaged in IPT, as other chapters of this Handbook testify—​but the main emphasis of work in these fields lies elsewhere, and this is almost exclusively the case for post-​modernist and post-​ structuralist work. The reason for mentioning their work in this context is that these approaches have defined themselves in opposition to the IR mainstream in much the same way as IPT has—​they are, if not companion, at least cognate discourses.

Conclusion This chapter has traced the origins of the separation between IR Theory and IPT, origins that still influence the shape of these discourses, even though some of the sharper edges of the distinction between them have been smoothed out. For example, the rise

International Relations and IPT    57 of constructivist IR Theory, albeit still a minority discourse, has improved the status of normative thinking within the mainstream, while internal critiques of theories of global justice such as that of Thomas Nagel have challenged the readiness of some International Political Theorists to disregard political realities (Nagel 2005). As the contents of this Handbook illustrates, International Political Theorists are now engaged with “real politics” at a number of different levels, and via empirical research; as a result, and more or less inevitably, the distinction between normative and positive theory, always dubious in principle, becomes more difficult to sustain in practice. Perhaps the long-​term future involves a return to the situation in the early years of the discipline when “International Relations Theory” and “International Political Theory” were synonymous?

References Axelrod, R., and R. O. Keohane (1985). Achieving Cooperation under Anarchy: Strategies and Institutions. World Politics 38(1): 226–​54. Beitz, C. R. (1979). Political Theory and International Relations (Princeton, NJ:  Princeton University Press). Beitz, C. R., L. A. Alexander, and T. Scanlon (eds) (1985). International Ethics (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press). Booth, K. (1991). Security in Anarchy: Utopian Realism in Theory and Practice. International Affairs 67(3): 527–​45. Booth, Ken (ed.) (2011). Realism and World Politics (London: Routledge). Brown, C. (2002). The Construction of a Realistic Utopia. Review of International Studies 28(1): 5–​21. Brown, C. (2006). From International to Global Justice? In J. Dryzek, B. Honig, and A. Phillips (eds), The Oxford Handbook of Political Theory (Oxford: Oxford University Press), 621–​35. Brown, C. (2011). The Development of International Relations Theory in the UK: Traditions, Contemporary Perspectives, and Trajectories. International Relations of the Asia-​Pacific 11(2): 309–​30. Brown, C. (2015). International Society, Global Polity: An Introduction to International Political Theory (London: Sage). Brown, C., T. Nardin, and N. J. Rengger (eds) (2002). International Relations in Political Thought:  Texts from the Ancient Greeks to the First World War (Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press). Bull, H. (1966). International Theory:  The Case for a Classical Approach. World Politics 18(3): 361–​77. Bull, H. (1976). Martin Wight and the Theory of International Relations. British Journal of International Studies 2(2): 101–​16. Bull, H. (2012). The Anarchical Society:  A Study of Order in World Politics, 4th edn (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan). Carr, E. H. (2001[1939]). The Twenty Years’ Crisis (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan). Clark, G., and L. B. S. Sohn (1966). World Peace through World Law (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press). Cox, R. (1981). Social Forces, States and World Order: Beyond IR Theory. Millennium: Journal of International Politics 10: 126–​55.

58   Chris Brown Der Derian, J., and M. Shapiro (eds) (1989). International/​Intertextual Relations: Postmodern Reading of World Politics (Lexington, Mass.: Lexington Books). Doyle, M. (1983). Kant, Liberal Legacies and Foreign Policy, pts I and II. Philosophy & Public Affairs 12: 205–​35, 323–​53. Friedman, M (1966). The Methodology of Positive Economics. In Essays in Positive Economics (Chicago: University of Chicago Press), 3–​16, 30–​43. Frost, M. (1986). Towards a Normative Theory of International Relations (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Frost, M. (1996). Ethics in International Relations (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Hall, I. (2006). The International Thought of Martin Wight (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan). Hume, D. (1985). Essays: Moral, Political and Literary (Indianapolis: Liberty Classics). Kant, I. (1983). Perpetual Peace and other Essays (Indianapolis: Hackett) Jones, R. E. (1981). The English School of International Relations: A Case for Closure. Review of International Studies 7(1): 1–​13. Kaplan, M. (1957). System and Process in International Politics (New York: Wiley). Keohane, R. O. (1984). After Hegemony (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press). Linklater, A. (1982). Men and Citizens in the Theory of International Relations (London: Macmillan). Long, D., and P. Wilson (eds) (1995). Thinkers of the Twenty Years’ Crisis: Interwar Idealism Reassessed (Oxford: Clarendon Press). Machiavelli, N. (1988). The Prince (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Machiavelli, N. (1995). The Discourses (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press). Mearsheimer, J. (2001). The Tragedy of Great Power Politics (New York: W. W. Norton). Mearsheimer, J., and S. Walt (2003). An Unnecessary War. Foreign Policy 134: 50–​9. Meinecke, F. (1924/​1997). Machiavellianism:  The Doctrine of Raison d’Etat and its Place in Modern History (Piscataway, NJ: Transaction). Morgenthau, H. J. (1947). Scientific Man vs. Power Politics (London: Latimer House). Morgenthau, H. J. (1954). Politics Among Nations: The Struggle for Power and Peace, 2nd edn (New York: Alfred P. Knopf). Morgenthau, H. J. (1970). Truth and Power (New York: Praeger). Moyn, S. (2010). The Last Utopia:  Human Rights in History (Cambridge, Mass.:  Harvard University Press). Nagel, T. (2005). The Problem of Global Justice. Philosophy & Public Affairs 33(2): 113–​47. Nardin, T. (1983). Law, Morality, and the Relations of States (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press). Rawls, J. (1970). A Theory of Justice (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press). Rawls, J. (1999). The Law of Peoples and the Idea of Public Reason Revisited (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press). Schelling, T. (1960). The Strategy of Conflict (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press). Schmidt, B. (1997). The Political Discourse of Anarchy: A Disciplinary History of International Relations (Albany: State University of New York Press). Shue, H. (1980). Basic Rights :  Subsistence, Affluence, and U.S. Foreign Policy (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press). Singer, J. D. et al. (1979). Explaining War (London: Sage). Tickner, J. A. (1992). Gender in International Relations (New York: Columbia University Press). Van Evera, S. (1999). Causes of War:  Power and the Roots of Conflict (Ithaca, NY:  Cornell University Press).

International Relations and IPT    59 Waltz, K. (1979). Theory of International Politics (Reading, Mass.: Addison-​Wesley). Walzer, M. (2015). Just and Unjust Wars: A Moral Argument with Historical Illustrations, 5th edn (New York: Basic Books). Wight, Martin (1960) Why Is There No International Theory? International Relations 2(1): 35–​48. Wight, M. (1978 [1946]). Power Politics, 2nd edn (Leicester: Leicester University Press).

­c hapter 5

Internationa l L aw and Internat i ona l P olitical  T h e ory Gerry Simpson

Why Is There International Thought? Pupils of international law inevitably encounter, early in their study, a field-​defining split between international law’s two most pervasive self-​images: as a field of norms derived from the scientific (Kelsen 1934) or empirical (Simmons 2010) study of the practice of states, and as a project of reform or radical transformation grounded either in aspirational humanitarianism (Weston, Falk, and D’Amato 1990) and normative theory (McDougal, Lasswell, and Reisman 1968) or in assemblages of post-​Enlightenment critical thinking (Boyle 1985; Beckett 2012). In this chapter, I will consider historically law’s receptiveness (and sometimes lack of receptiveness) to political theory (via Kant and Hobbes and, later, Schmitt and Rawls) and consider too the way in which description, prescription, and critique form a congeries of approaches that together, in turn, produce an intellectual field that might be described as the political theory of international law (though it is hardly one thing, and some of it refuses altogether the injunctions of traditional political theory). All of this will lead to a consideration of two particular problems of international diplomacy to which political theories of international law appear to have responded: namely, intervention and war crimes trials, and then, finally, to an engagement with two interdisciplinary turns through which international law has enlivened its habits of thought and theoretical inclinations. It is by now a commonplace that political theory has been largely associated with—​ indeed has dedicated itself to—​the study of state formation, authority, legitimacy, and resilience as a matter of internal or domestic politics (Wight 1960).1 The question, from Aristotle and Plato through to Hobbes and Bodin and then on to Rawls and Skinner,

International Law and IPT    61 largely concerned how a good (Plato) or tolerable (Hobbes) life is to be constructed within the polis. This attention to the construction of sovereign space can be understood, then, as a kind of inattention to that other sphere in which political life is conducted—​namely, the sphere of the international or the space in which sovereigns and others engage with each other beyond the boundaries of the provincial or local or sovereign. Indeed, that space itself, and therefore what counts as local or global, has been partly defined by the sorts of choices and intellectual commitments made by both the political and philosophical classes (Eslava 2016). This is why the Scottish nineteenth-​century international lawyer James Lorimer felt free to assert the proposition that no man of first-​class intellectual abilities had ever devoted himself to the study of the law of nations (Lorimer 1883; Knop 2016), why Martin Wight was able to ask “Why is there no international theory?” (1960), and why David Armitage, as recently as 2013 and in direct homage to Skinner’s earlier Foundations of Political Thought, could devote a book to retrieving the foundations of modern international thought (Armitage 2013: 1–​13). Two separate arguments are being made here about international political theory. One arises from a sense that philosophers of the international were somehow mediocre or scatter-​brained or unsystematic or parasitic or engaged in what Kenneth Waltz described mordantly as “the puerile task of telling men of affairs to stop behaving badly” (Waltz 1962: 331). The other is a converse belief that when the great philosophers studied the world of sovereigns they tended to produce second-​class or derivative work. Richness of thought and revolutionary originality (political theory in the polis) is replaced by tired formulas and shallow diagnosis (political theory among states). According to this view, political theorists have turned to the international space either in a state of late-​career exhaustion or torpor (The Law of Peoples after A Theory of Justice) or before they have produced more foundational work (Walzer, Just and Unjust Wars before Spheres of Justice) or as a coda to brilliant lifelong interrogations of the constitutional life of the state (Dworkin 2013). To interrogate the international is either to take a break from the central work of figuring out how a state is meant to manage its internal affairs or to indulge a hobby or sideline. This image of the field requires significant revision in light of several developments including: the turn to international history in historical studies in general (Mazower 2012) and in intellectual history in particular (Moyn and Sartori 2013); the sense that political theories—​if they are to have any purchase—​need to confront the conditions of global life; and the (re)turn to theory in the work of international lawyers themselves. All of this has produced important work but also opportunities for interdisciplinary cross-​fertilization. An important aspect of this work has been the reinterpretation of political thought as international. Here, the likes of Hobbes, Hume, Arendt, and Foucault (Dyzenhaus 2014; Gillroy 2007; Golder 2015; Whitehall 2016; Roele 2012) have been revived or reconfigured as theorists of international politics and law. At the same time, Suarez, Vitoria, and Grotius have been reread as political theorists engaged in internal politics and polemic contestation (Hunter 2010). So perhaps, at least, we can say that Wight’s goal to overcome “the unhappy partition that had divided

62   Gerry Simpson philosophically minded international lawyers and internationally minded political philosophers” (Lawson 2012: 31) has been achieved. But why did this state of affairs arise in the first place? Interestingly, the problem of political theory’s domesticity is mirrored by the obstacles international law has encountered in having itself regarded as law “properly so-​called” (Austin 1954; Bentham, 1789). If—​and to return to Wight—​the international space is indeed a realm of “repetition and recurrence,” where a set of unchanging iron laws of history dictate what is possible or, more pertinently, impossible (Wight 1960), it would make sense for political theorists to devote attention to normative projects related to the internal workings of the state and descriptive projects concerning the endlessly variable machinations of political agents within the state. To put this aphoristically, national sovereign space becomes the sphere of political theory, while the international is the sphere of (mere) history and necessity. The political theory of international law suffers from the obvious problem that, from a certain angle, the international order is incapable of being understood as either juridical (laws between nations in an anarchical system?) or political (politics among nations in a world of survival, insecurity, and war?). In the rest of this chapter, I want to offer a tentative (and positive) response to these concerns by arguing that there is a lively and substantial political theory of international law constituted by what political philosophers have said about international law and by what international lawyers have said about themselves (or their field), and that this political theory has had two separate tendencies. In the first, the classical political theory of international law is a set of reflections (often quite disparate) about the possibilities of a life among sovereign states in a space we think of as international or anarchical. In the second mode (let’s call it “the modern conception”), the international feels more like some national political spaces: a polity in which there is a quite thick and lawful order. The subjects (or “legal persons”) within this legal order are much more diverse and diffuse than in the classical conception of international law (Krisch 2010). In this second mode, political theory either becomes a normative project that seeks (in its most sophisticated version) to advance a framework of norms and institutions designed to govern this world fairly or efficiently or democratically in the presence of the interpenetration of local and international space and the profusion and multiplicity of legal regimes, and law-​bearing and receiving actors within this space (Young 2012), or becomes a critical project that thinks of international law as a language or space or terrain in which our political, cultural, and ethical lives are articulated and contested: a law, not above the political realm taming or managing it, but imbricated within it (Koskenniemi 1989; Cass 1996; Shklar 1964) and helping to constitute what counts as law and non-​law in the first and last place (Johns 2012).

Classical International Law: Anarchy and Cooperation The Hobbesian image of autonomous, sometimes nasty, alienated agents weighed heavily on classical international lawyers, who developed various species of positivism

International Law and IPT    63 to accommodate or (partially) counteract it. International legal positivists were responding to the assumptions of anarchy that provoked generations of international relations realists, but their idealized sovereigns were not violent and insecure but instead capable of engaging in limited cooperation defined by legal rules to which they themselves had agreed. The eighteenth-​century Swiss lawyer Emmerich Vattel brought this inter-​sovereign order into relief with his focus on agreement, self-​help, self-​defence, and auto-​interpretation, and this idea of an international order composed of self-​constraining sovereigns and horizontal legal agreement was very influential on nineteenth-​century international lawyers (Holland 1898; Westlake 1894) as well as late twentieth-​century international society thinkers. Legal positivism, for all its updatings (Weil 1983; d’Aspremont 2011; and judicial re-​elaborations (The Lotus Case)) has remained tied to this idea of law as a kind of anti-​normative (or, better, norm-​generating) description of what states do and what they believe and what they feel obliged to do in future.

Modern International Law I: Normativity and Centralization What, then, is the modern political theory of international law? From within the discipline, two main approaches can be discerned: a progressive-​humanitarian orthodoxy that has tried to conceptualize international law as a combination of social contract (Rawls 1996) and moral norm or communitarian value (Tasioulas 1996), and a more disillusioned, heterodox tradition that either tends to read international law as philosophically unstable (Koskenniemi 1989) or historically culpable (Craven 2007) or politically (Beckett 2012) and economically (Lang 2011; Pahuja 2011) complicit or excessively progressivist (Skouteris 2010), or seeks to understand international law as a way of thinking embedded in particular cultural formations (Berman 2011; Simpson 2015). To begin with the first of these, international law has always possessed an explicitly normative aspect. This political theory of international law is often traced back to the early international lawyers who adopted forms of naturalism that gelled nicely with moral prescription. In Vitoria, for example, a Christian ethic underpins both a commitment to charity or equality but also various forms of violent evangelical empire. It was, of course, Immanuel Kant who offered up the most famous and explicitly normative international law in his Articles on Perpetual Peace. This work greatly absorbed international relations theory after Michael Doyle’s revival of Kant via the democratic peace, and international lawyers continue to rely on and contest (Koskenniemi 2012; Howse and Teitel 2013) Kant. A recent effort to bring some of these tendencies together and to weld them to a normative and institutional thickening in the human rights and international criminal law fields is found in the recent work of Ruti Teitel (2016). She has argued for a “humanity’s law” in which certain moral prohibitions have become universalized and concretized in institutions like the International Criminal Court or in norms like the prohibition on “crimes against humanity.”

64   Gerry Simpson Of course, there are many different stripes of liberal theory in international law and at least two apparently opposed liberal projects at the heart of the discipline: one applying liberal normativism to international law, the other accentuating the cooperative, agnostic face of liberal thought. An important, if flawed, attempt to bring these under some sort of philosophical structure is found in the work of John Rawls. Rawls has been widely regarded as the pre-​eminent liberal scholar of his generation, and yet his major works (Theory of Justice, Political Liberalism) each contained only the odd aside about global politics. Initially, a Rawlsian international law consisted either in cataloguing these asides or in imaginative reconstructions of his central claims as international law (Franck 1989). When Rawls himself came to international law, the results were decidedly mixed. The Law of Peoples applies one of the boldest contemporary restatements of liberal theory to international law, but the combination yields a rather banal set of principles (many of which are found in the UN Charter already) as well as a tripartite distinction (between outlaw states, decent but illiberal states, and liberal states) that resembled some of the more regressive nineteenth-​century ideas about political community (Lorimer 1883), and have been subjected to a fair bit of criticism from within international law (Varaki 2016) and political philosophy. This raises a question about the whole political theory of international law. Why does it sometimes feel so thin? In the case of Rawls, there is clearly a sense that possibilities are foreclosed by the nature of international politics, and that accordingly ambition has to be curtailed and the range of political choices rendered smaller. The parsimony of these late-​style career swerves, though, has not prevented international lawyers from developing richly imagined forms of liberal legalism which seek to thicken out international law’s constitutional (Klabbers et al. 2012) or administrative (Hovell 2016) frameworks by treating the political theory of the international as an analogue to the political theory of the state. Meanwhile, cosmopolitan thinking has not entirely run out of steam, and normative individualism is now reflected in the work of international criminal courts as well as in the human rights movement. In the end, though, if there is a liberal political ideal that has flourished since the end of the Cold War, it lies in the belief that that judicial and quasi-​judicial institutions can promote a liberal or decent international order through the proliferation (Alter 2014), fragmentation (Young 2012), or constitutionalization of liberal norms. Alongside this liberal revival, there have been efforts to reconstruct a natural law among nations (Tasioulas 1996) or recuperate an idealist tradition in the radical rethinking of the international political and social order (Allott 1990). And, of course, the political theory of international law has also responded to specific problems of international ordering and disordering. These projects have encompassed climate change, poverty, self-​determination, and fragmentation and two problems I will discuss shortly: intervention and punishment (see Chapters 9 and 25). Perhaps these liberal, post-​positivist efforts can all be understood as an attempt to dissolve sovereignty and establish a single juridical space by building cooperative institutionalisms (Kennedy 1987) or by designing systems of consensual and non-​consensual (judicial and arbitral) adjudication (Lauterpacht 1933).

International Law and IPT    65

Modern International Law II: Critique These normative political theories have not lacked detractors, of course. The great classical realists had issued warnings about the tendency to imagine humanity’s law as a law somehow free of ideological contestation. A relatively recent revival of interest in Carl Schmitt, the German constitutional theorist, has provoked a fresh round of scepticism among lawyers (Howse 2016). Schmitt’s anxieties that international law might be transformed from an (idealized) inter-​sovereign order (the great achievement of the European ius publicum) to a repressive criminal law or policing order with its centre in Washington or New York have influenced a generation of international lawyers (Simpson 2007; Koskenniemi 2002). But this has been part of a broader resistance to normative (liberal) political theory itself on the part of critical international lawyers. This critical scholarship has tended, instead, to celebrate the work of anthropologists (Eslava 2016), geographers, science and technology scholars, and feminist theorists (Otto 1999) to rethink the international legal order not as a normative structure or basket of rules but as a terrain of expert struggle (Kennedy 2016) or a language and practice of empire (Anghie 1999; Becker-​Lorca 2015; Miles 2015) or an encounter of jurisdictions (drawing on the work of McVeigh 2007) or as a literary (Berman 2011), sentimental (Simpson 2015), acoustic (Parker 2015), or gendered (Heathcote 2011) enterprise. This can be thought of as pre-​normative legal theory: a sweeping away of some unfortunate habits and dispositions in order to move to a thoroughly historicized and politically responsible practice of international law. The politics of international law, then—​by rejecting the siren song of abstract normative theorizing from universal positions—​ becomes a way of bringing out the choices made by international lawyers in fully situated moments of decision.

War and Crime: Two Interventions in Practice In each case these various traditions in international political theory have engaged in, sometimes charged, debates about the shape and purpose of international order, and have played out in particular in relation to the juridical status of “humanity.” For state-​ oriented conceptions of international law, humanity had very little status as a moral or political agent. Political theories of global life (from Vattel to Morgenthau and on to Waltz and Kissinger) emphasized the ethical priority of the national interest or the need for international law to be founded on the inclinations and practices of states. More latterly, this became a concern for protecting “domestic jurisdiction” or a prohibition on intervention. On the whole this sovereignist credo had little truck with grand schemes to remake the world under the banner of “mankind” or even “civilization.” Bismarck’s

66   Gerry Simpson scepticism towards leaders who invoked “Europe” belongs firmly in this camp. It’s not as if this tradition lacks radical potential, however. It was precisely the sovereigntist claims of the Third World that helped undercut the project of Empire during the period of decolonization. Self-​determination—​first invoked by John Stuart Mill in the late nineteenth century—​was in effect a claim to remake the imperial world as a collection of free sovereigns. This suspicion of “humanity” has carried over into critical approaches to intervention and punishment where the concept of “humanity” is disentangled to reveal a form of politics both imperial and violent. In the case of intervention, the classical conception of war was understood as a clash of sovereignties in which either international law was absent from any final reckoning about the war (that would occur at the level of ethics or religion or prudence) or it was engaged only at the level of applying a legalized ethics of war to the conduct of the armed conflict itself (ius in bello) (see Chapter  16). The position of the nineteenth-​century international lawyer was not so different from that of the mid-​to late twentieth-​century realist in that regard. War was a matter for the political realm and not the legal. But by the middle of the twentieth century, the inter-​sovereign war had been subjected to quite an extensive network of legal rules found in the UN Charter and in customary international law (Nicaragua v. United States, 1986) (see Chapter 17). These rules were agreed to by states and were largely adhered to or subject to widespread breach depending on whom one consulted in the pages of the American Journal of International Law. These rules had been laid down, however, under a largely positivistic conception of international law—​states had agreed to the prohibition on the use of force and on the narrow exceptions to it. The normative theory of force was developed by both political theorists (e.g. Wheeler 2002) and by international lawyers frustrated by the constraints of this legal regime. If anything, the normative turn was aimed at loosening or liberalizing the Charter regime in favour of allowing more force. Normative political theory very often argued for the right to defend vulnerable communities from oppressive or violent or genocidal local regimes. More recently, critical scholarship has come to this problem by noticing the way in which law and war have become entwined in a “humanitarianization” of war and a militarization of humanitarian action (Kennedy 2006), by pointing to the roots of humanitarian intervention in a history of executive action in the international realm (Orford 2011)  or by showing how the hegemons have traditionally projected power through ethical programme (Simpson 2004). In the case of war crimes trials, similar patterns can be observed. The pre-​twentieth century can be seen as somehow pre-​normative. Impunity was the rule and international law was a law of impunity. So, if a reader picks up, say, a history of the Concert of Europe 1815–​1914 and reads its passages on war crimes trials or looks for a reference to ending impunity, such references are simply absent: there are ellipses where there should be trials. Instead of thunderous calls for retribution, we have a gentler language of diplomatic nicety. “The object of this union is as simple as it is great [ . . . ] calm and consistent in its proceedings, it has no other object than the maintenance of peace” (Declaration of the Five Cabinets, Aix-​la-​Chapelle, 15 November 1818).

International Law and IPT    67 The high-​point of impunity—​perhaps also a turning point—​came when Hitler celebrated, and provoked the end of, this impunity with his famous question: “Who remembers the Armenians?” This was, more or less, the sort of amnesia demanded by the Treaty of Munster back in 1648: That there shall be on the one side and the other a perpetual [ . . . ] Amnesty, or Pardon of all that has been committed since the beginning of these Troubles, [ . . . ] but that all that has pass’d on the one side, and the other [ . . . ] during the War, shall be bury’d in eternal Oblivion.

International law, then, was—​to restate the position—​the law of oblivion. International law’s classical tradition was one in which the priority of sovereignty meant that there was no point from which to declare an inter-​sovereign armed conflict legal or illegal, and no locus in which an international war crimes trial might take place. Criminal law was a matter for the domestic sovereign space. The early twentieth century, then, marks a moment when international law engaged in a normative turn, the juncture when a political theory of punishment and retribution, deplored by Schmitt and American Wilsonians, began to dominate our thinking about the moral and legal consequences of defeat in war (Simpson 2007). As the prime minister of Italy, Vittorio Orlando, put it in 1919: “It is only from today that the laws of peoples begins” (Papers Relating to the Foreign Relations of the United States, 183). By the middle of the twentieth century, the Westphalian fusion of sovereignty and amnesia had become deeply unfashionable. Oblivion has given way to war crimes trials—​all this in the midst of a fetishistic culture of compulsory commemoration. The rise of retributive legalism, or the application of a theory of criminal punishment to international affairs, begins at Versailles with the decision to indict the Kaiser for offences against international morality (a phrase reminiscent of Bentham’s dismissal of international law itself) and the sanctity of treaties. Meanwhile, the war’s winners were no longer simply the temporary beneficiaries of fate but the guardians and creators of a new legal order. This was the politico-​juridical background to the momentous decision on the part of the Allies in Moscow, implemented later at Nuremberg, to charge the Nazi leadership with the crime of aggression, crimes against humanity, and war crimes. Needless to say, this transformation has given rise to a flourishing sub-​field of theorizing about war crimes trials, some of which seeks to place trial and punishment on a firmer philosophical footing, or at least subject it to some sort of analysis from the perspective of political theory (Shklar 1964), international relations (Ralph 2007), or history (Sands 2016). But alongside this political theory of international criminal justice is a more self-​consciously critical tradition (sometimes drawing on Arendt or Shklar) that situates war crimes trials in a history of hegemonic ordering (Krever 2014), judicial theatre (Simpson 2007), justifications for punitive sanction (Tallgren 2002), and didactic legalism (Douglas 2001). It is obvious, even from these brief surveys, that the applied political theory of international law is multiple, varied, and very often interdisciplinary. It is appropriate, then, to finish this chapter on a cross-​disciplinary note.

68   Gerry Simpson

Political, Historical: Two Interdisciplinary Turns From the perspective of an audience of political theorists or international relations scholars, two interdisciplinary moments seem particularly salient and emblematic. The first goes back to the various prospectuses for a relationship between international law and international relations. The second refers to a much more recent encounter between historians (especially intellectual historians) and public international lawyers.

International Relations and International Law It would be foolish to assert the existence of a single strand of contemporary international relations that advances, or is grounded in, an implied political theory of international law. But excluding obvious denialists (e.g. Waltzians, who had nothing much to say about international law) and scholars for whom international law is entirely marginal, there exists a liberal-​constructivist centre in which there is a surprising degree of continuity about how international law works in the world. One powerful re-​ theorization of international law has been an approach that emphasizes the way in which local arrangements within states will define the shape and content of international legal norms (Moravcsik 1997). Others have focused on the vulnerable (Clark 2013) or harmed (Linklater 2011) to produce accounts of an international order that might redistribute resources through international legal norms. There was then a tremendous flourishing in the early 2000s, with the publication of work calling for a new research agenda (Byers 1999) bringing the two fields into some sort of harmony, followed by work that applied a rather disharmonious rational choice theory to international law (Guzman 2011). This has been supplemented, in turn, by a series of critical explorations of “the politics of international law” both reconstructive (Scott 2004) and sceptical (Kennedy 1999).

Turn to History The politics of international law has now become a kind of historiography of international law. This is, after all, a peculiarly anti-​historical field in some respects. Some have argued that the history of international law really only began with Robert Ward’s An Enquiry into the Foundation and History of International Law in Europe (1795) (Craven 2016); and certainly since then there have been precious few histories of international law (Grewe 2000; Schmitt 2006). The publication of Anthony Anghie’s Sovereignty, Imperialism and International Law, Martti Koskenniemi’s Gentle Civiliser of Nations, Richard Tuck’s Rights of War and Peace, and a series of revisionist histories by David Kennedy (Anghie 2007; Koskenniemi 2002; Tuck 1999; Kennedy 1980; 1988; see

International Law and IPT    69 too Bederman 2001) transformed the scene, and since then there have been a number of further historical studies (e.g. Becker Lorca 2015; Craven 2007; Pahuja 2011). Every sub-​field now has its history and then its counterhistory, and then its anxiety that perhaps all these previous histories were methodologically suspect or even inept—​a mere writing down of some things that happened and then some other things that happened but weren’t noticed the first time round. We now seem to be in a third stage, in which unusually sophisticated accounts of international legal episodes or developments are the subject of criticism on the grounds of flawed or unconvincing historical method. And this attention—​mostly sympathetic, robust, friendly—​has come both from within the discipline and from outside it. This international history displays a willingness to see the power of international law as an organizing idea of international political life, an international law that matters hugely in determining how certain worlds were constructed, how certain practices were named and renamed, how certain possibilities were closed, perhaps forever (Brett 2011; Hull 2014; Pedersen 2015). The easy clichés of an international law somehow always on the outside of a politics or a social practice is less present in this work. All of this, to take us full circle, has resulted in a sophisticated and substantial dialogue between historians of political thought and international legal historians that has at the same time provoked fresh and illuminating contributions to a now historically conscious political theory of international law.

Note 1. With thanks to Anna Saunders for expert research. I use the terms “political philosophy” and “political theory” interchangeably throughout the chapter.

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70   Gerry Simpson Berman, N. (2011). Passion and Ambivalence: Colonialism, Nationalism and International Law (Leiden: Martinus Nijhoff). Boyle, J. (1985). Ideals and Things: International Legal Scholarship and the Prison-​House of Language. Harvard International Law Journal 26(2): 32–​369. Brett, A. (2011). Changes of State: Nature and the Limits of the City in Early Modern Natural Law (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press). Byers, M. (1999). Custom, Power and the Power of Rules: International Relations and Customary Law (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Cass, D. (1996). Navigating the Newstream: Recent Critical Scholarship in International Law. Nordic Journal of International Law 65(3): 341–​83. Clark, I. (2013). The Vulnerable in International Society (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Craven, M. (2007). The Decolonization of International Law: State Succession and the Law of Treaties (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Craven, M. (2016). Theorising the Turn to History in International Law. In A. Orford and F. Hoffmann (eds), The Oxford Handbook of the Theory of International Law (Oxford: Oxford University Press), 212–​30. d’Aspremont, J. (2011). Formalism and the Sources of International Law:  A Theory of the Ascertainment of Legal Rules (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Douglas, L. (2001). The Memory of Judgment:  Making Law and History in the Trials of the Holocaust (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press). Dworkin, R. (2013). A New Philosophy for International Law. Philosophy & Public Affairs 41(1): 2–​30. Dyzenhaus, D. (2014). Hobbes on the International Rule of Law. Ethics & International Affairs 28(1): 53–​64. Eslava, L. (2016). Local Spaces, Global Life (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Franck, T. (1989). Is Justice Relevant to the International Legal System? Notre Dame Law Review 64(5): 945–​63. Gillroy, J. M. (2007). Justice as Sovereignty: David Hume and the Origins of International Law. British Yearbook of International Law 78(1): 429–​79. Golder, B. (2015). Foucault and the Politics of Rights (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press). Grewe, W. (2000). The Epochs of International Law, trans. M. Byers (Berlin: De Gruyter). Guzman, A. (2011). How International Law Works: A Rational Choice Theory (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Heathcote, G. (2011). The Law on the Use of Force: A Feminist Analysis (London: Routledge Cavendish). Holland, T. E. (1898). Studies in International Law (Oxford: Clarendon Press). Hovell, D. (2016). The Power of Process: The Value of Due Process in Security Council Sanctions Decision-​Making (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Howse, R. (2016). Schmitt, Schmitteanism and Contemporary International Legal Theory. In A. Orford and F. Hoffmann (eds), The Oxford Handbook of the Theory of International Law (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Howse, R., and R. Teitel (2013). Does Humanity-​Law Require (or Imply) a Progessive Theory of History? (And Other Questions for Martti Koskenniemi). Temple International and Comparative Law Journal 27: 377–​97. Hull, I. (2014). A Scrap of Paper: Breaking and Making International Law during the Great War (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press).

International Law and IPT    71 Hunter, I. (2010). Global Justice and Regional Metaphysics: On the Critical History of the Law of Nature and Nations. In S. Dorsett and I. Hunter (eds), Law and Politics in British Colonial Thought: Transpositions of Empire (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan), 11–​20. Johns, F. (2012). Non-​Legality in International Law:  Unruly Law (Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press). Kelsen, H. (1934). Pure Theory of Law (Vienna: F. Deuticke). Kennedy, D. (1980). Theses about International Law Discourse. German Yearbook of International Law 23: 353–​91. Kennedy, D. (1987). The Move to Institutions. 8 Cardozo Law Review 841. Kennedy, D. (1999). Background Noise? The Politics Beneath Global Governance. Harvard International Review 21(3): 52–​7. Kennedy, D. (2006). Of War and Law (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press). Kennedy, D. (2016). A World of Struggle: How Power, Law and Expertise Shape Global Political Economy (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press). Klabbers, J., A. Peters, and G. Ulfstein (2012). The Constitutionalization of International Law (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Knop, K. (2016). Lorimer’s Private Citizens of the World. European Journal of International Law 27(2): 447–​76. Koskenniemi, M. (1989). From Apology to Utopia: The Structure of International Legal Argument (Helsinki: Finnish Lawyers Publishing Company). Koskenniemi, M. (2002). The Gentle Civilizer of Nations: The Rise and Fall of International Law 1870–​1960 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Koskenniemi, M. (2012). Book Review:  Ruti Teitel, Humanity’s Law. Ethics & International Affairs 26: 395–​8. Krever, T. (2014). Dispensing Global Justice. New Left Review 85: 67–​97. Krisch, N. (2010). Beyond Constitutionalism:  The Pluralist Structure of Postnational Law (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Lang, A. (2011). World Trade Law after Neoliberalism: Reimagining the Global Economic Order (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Lauterpacht, H. (1933). The Function of Law in the International Community (Oxford: Clarendon Press). Lawson, G. (2012). The Eternal Divide. European Journal of International Relations 18(2): 203–​26. Linklater, A. (2011). The Problem of Harm in World Politics:  Theoretical Investigations (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Lorimer, J. (1883). The Institutes of the Law of Nations: A Treatise of the Jural Relations of Separate Political Communities (Edinburgh: Blackwood). Mazower, M. (2012). Governing the World: The History of an Idea (New York: Penguin Press). McDougal, M., H. Lasswell, and W. M. Reisman (1968). Theories about International Law:  Prologue to a Configurative Jurisprudence. Virginia Journal of International Law 8(2): 188–​299. McVeigh, S. (ed.) (2007). Jurisprudences of Jurisdiction (Oxford: Routledge Cavendish). Miles, K. (2015). The Origins of International Investment Law: Empire, Environment and the Safeguarding of Capital (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Moyn, S., and M. Sartori (2013). Global Intellectual History (New York: Columbia University Press).

72   Gerry Simpson Orford, A. (2011). International Authority and the Responsibility to Protect (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Otto, D. (1999). Subalternity and International Law: The Problems of Global Community and the Incommensurability of Difference. Social & Legal Studies 5(3): 337–​64. Pahuja, S. (2011). Decolonising International Law:  Development, Economic Growth and the Politics of Universality (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Parker, J. (2015). Acoustic Jurisprudence: Listening to the Trial of Simon Bikindi (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Pedersen, S. (2015). The Guardians: The League of Nations and the Crisis of Empire (New York: Oxford University Press). Ralph, J. G. (2007). Defending the Society of States: Why America Opposes the International Criminal Court and Its Vision of World Society (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Rawls, J. (1993). The Law of Peoples (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1993). Roele, I. (2012). We Have Not Seen the Last of the Rogue State. German Law Journal 13(4): 560–​78. Sands, P. (2016). East West Street: On the Origins of Genocide and Crimes against Humanity (London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson) Schmitt, C. (2006). The Nomos of the Earth in the International Law of the Jus Publicum Europaeum, trans. G. Ulmen (New York: Telos Press). Scott, S. (2004). International Law in World Politics: An Introduction (Boulder, Colo.: Lynne Rienner). Shklar, J. (1964). Legalism:  Law, Morals and Political Trials (Cambridge, Mass.:  Harvard University Press). Simmons, B. A. (2010). Treaty Compliance and Violation. Annual Review of Political Science 13: 273–​96. Simpson, G. (2004). Great Powers and Outlaw States (Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press). Simpson, G. (2007). Law, War and Crime (Cambridge: Polity Press). Simpson, G. (2015). The Sentimental Life of International Law. London Review of International Law 3(1): 3–​29. Skouteris, T. (2010). The Notion of Progress in International Law Discourse (The Hague: T. M. C. Asser). Tallgren, I. (2002). The Sensibility and Sense of International Criminal Law. European Journal of International Law 13(3): 561–​95. Tasioulas, J. (1996). In Defence of Relative Normativity:  Communitarian Values and the Nicaragua Case. Oxford Journal of Legal Studies 16(1): 85–​128. Teitel, R. G. (2014). Globalizing Transitional Justice:  Contemporary Essays (Oxford:  Oxford University Press). Tuck, R. (1999). The Rights of War and Peace: Political Thought and the International Order from Grotius to Kant (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Varaki, M. (2016). The Second Part of the Ideal Theory of John Rawls in The Law of Peoples: Transplanted and Revisited. Baltic Yearbook of International Law 15(1): 45–​54. Waltz, K. (1962). Kant, Liberalism and War. American Political Science Review 56(2): 331–​40. Weil, P. (1983). Towards Relative Normativity in International Law? American Journal of International Law 77(3): 413–​42. Westlake, J. (1894). Chapters on the Principles of International Law (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press).

International Law and IPT    73 Weston, B., R. A. Falk, and A. D’Amato (1990). International Law and World Order: A Problem-​ Oriented Coursebook (St. Paul, Minn.: West Publishing Company) Wheeler, N. (2002). Saving Strangers (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Whitehall, D. (2016). Hannah Arendt and International Law. In A. Orford and F. Hoffmann (eds), The Oxford Handbook of the Theory of International Law (Oxford: Oxford University Press), 231–​56. Wight, M. (1960). Why Is There No International Theory? International Relations 2: 35–​48. Young, M. (ed.) (2012). Regime Interaction in International Law:  Facing Fragmentation (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press).

­c hapter 6

Critical Internat i ona l P olitical T h e ory Anna Jurkevics and Seyla Benhabib

The end of the Cold War ushered in a lively revival of political theory. During the 1990s, Europe advanced from economic unification to a nascent post-​national political form. As rapid globalization deepened economic, legal, and administrative ties beyond the state, cosmopolitanism no longer seemed a matter of mere speculation. The novelty of a world order beyond state sovereignty started to come into view, and with it, ambitious and optimistic gestures towards political possibilities for the new millennium suggested themselves. Critiques of Westphalian sovereignty abounded alongside hopes that justice would extend across borders, and that International Human Rights Law (IHRL) might rival the power of states. One of the most influential voices to emerge during this period was the critical theorist Jürgen Habermas, who called for post-​national democracy and the constitutionalization of international law (Habermas 2001). Habermas’s turn from domestic to international politics helped to initiate critical theory’s sustained engagement with issues related to sovereignty, human rights, and world order. This chapter will explore the conversations that resulted from this turn. The optimism of the 1990s was short-​lived, as September 11, 2001 and its aftermath opened a new era of international crises. Critical Theory’s response to post-​9/​11 crises—​ from the ascendance of American hegemony and “war on terror” to exclusions in the face of mass migrations, environmental degradation, and the accumulation of power by transnational corporations—​exposes an uneasiness, an ambivalence at the core of the post-​national project. Where some view cosmopolitanism as an emancipatory project, offering solutions to the aforementioned crises, others call it the façade of neo-​liberal empires. A divide has come into focus among critical theorists between sovereigntists and cosmopolitans. At stake is Critical Theory’s normative stance toward the nation-​ state itself: is the sovereign state a source of emancipation or emancipation’s greatest obstacle? In what follows, we take account of the fact that Critical Theory has migrated over the last half-​century away from its origins in the work of the Frankfurt School alone, and is

Critical International Political Theory    75 a title now claimed by theorists who employ deconstruction (à la Jacques Derrida), psychoanalysis, feminist, and post-​colonial forms of critique. There have also been scholars in international relations who have adopted these methods of analysis, thus leading to a novel convergence between Critical Theory and international relations studies. We begin by outlining Critical Theory’s history and recent convergence with international political theory. We then survey the field through engagement with three central moments in the debate over sovereignty. First, we consider arguments, bourgeoning in the 1990s, in favour of cosmopolitanism (see Chapter 3). Next, we explore critical re-​ evaluations of sovereignty in the wake of 9/​11 and the American “war on terror.” Finally, we discuss the recent return to sovereignty within Critical Theory. With Britain’s exit from the EU now pending, the idea of turning from cosmopolitan integration back to sovereignty has become all too real. We conclude by considering current approaches that call for a nuanced evaluation of the relationship between sovereignty and cosmopolitanism in order to rethink the institutional configuration of a world order that is already decidedly post-​national.

Critical Theory and International Relations Critical theory describes a broad methodological tradition of interdisciplinary social and political theory and research. It finds its roots in the Frankfurt School, which originated in 1923 at the University of Frankfurt in association with the Institute for Social Research. Figures like Max Horkheimer, Theodor Adorno, Friedrich Pollock, Herbert Marcuse, and Walter Benjamin were early members, while Jürgen Habermas has exercised the greatest influence from among the second and third generations of Frankfurt School scholars. Initially, Critical Theory did not take international relations, institutions, and politics as its subject. Critique was aimed primarily at forms of domination inscribed in the economic, cultural, and psycho-​social conditions of domestic, i.e. national society, understood as the “social totality.” Early critical theorists were particularly interested in the authoritarian tendencies of putatively liberal societies. They employed immanent critique in order to understand historical trajectories and conditions that shaped the social totality and its contradictions. Such contradictions produced crisis, which in turn opened possibilities for transformation and emancipation. The goal of the theorist was to explicate the contradictory totality of conditions through immanent critique in order to reveal how things could be otherwise; the critical theorist always sought emancipation from contemporary conditions of domination (Devetak 2009). The shift away from the nation-​state viewed as the “social totality” toward international and transnational spheres should come as no surprise. Kant and Marx, forerunners in the tradition of critique, were both concerned with the international conditions

76    Anna Jurkevics and Seyla Benhabib of possibility for political emancipation (Devetak 2009). Karl Marx’s critiques laid bare the transnational structures of capitalism that cause domination (see Chapter  49). Immanuel Kant, on the other hand, had outlined international constitutional conditions for domestic republican freedom; he also formulated the original proposal for “cosmopolitan right” (Kant 1991 [1795]). While some critical theories of recognition have retained a primarily domestic scope, much of contemporary Critical Theory has returned to the projects proposed by Kant and Marx. Furthermore, contemporary international political theorists such as Robert Cox, Andrew Linklater, Cynthia Weber, and Kimberly Hutchings follow an approach that reflects Horkheimer’s (1999 [1937]) distinction between traditional and Critical Theory. Traditional theory seeks generalizations and law-​like regularities, which make society’s pathologies appear natural and immutable, thus precluding the possibility of critique. Traditional theories engage in “problem-​solving” within a given framework, rather than questioning the framework itself (Cox 1981). Realism is a traditional theory: it makes fundamental assumptions about a law-​like balance of power that emerges from natural anarchy among states. Linklater (1998) has done much to debunk the Realists’ assumption that the state is a natural and immutable form. He argues that this assumption unwittingly upholds the status quo, making us overlook opportunities for emancipation and the fulfilment of rights made possible by post-​Westphalian political forms. At the same time that scholars were incorporating Critical Theory into international relations, many critical theorists followed Habermas’s lead in extending immanent critique to international affairs. In the next section, we consider how debates over the end of sovereignty and rise of cosmopolitanism changed the landscape of Critical Theory.

The End of Sovereignty: Habermasian Critical Theory It is widely recognized that in the last thirty years, the forces of globalization have begun to overtake the boundaries of the Westphalian nation-​state, resulting in what Habermas (2001) calls “the post-​national constellation.” While the modern nation-​ state has enabled the actualization of valuable social ideals, such as solidarity and self-​determination, the task ahead is to incorporate them into projects for global governance. For Habermas, cosmopolitanism offers possibilities for the “inclusion of the other” which go beyond the singularly national sovereigntist imaginary with its own forms of domination and exclusion. Thus, one important direction taken by Critical Theory is to theorize the politics of international human rights. Linklater (1998) also points out that the totalizing project of the sovereign state shuts out other possibilities for political community, including regional and global governance; and so another direction of cosmopolitan Critical Theory has been to address how governance changes as sovereignty wanes.

Critical International Political Theory    77 The cosmopolitan project is, first and foremost, a legal project that aims to extend rights to all persons regardless of national belonging. The imperative of cosmopolitan right revealed itself in the aftermath of the atrocities and displacements of the Second World War. The unprecedented crisis of statelessness wrought by the War revealed an irony, namely that the promise of universal rights accruing to us in virtue of our humanity alone seemed an empty one. Our bare humanity guaranteed us nothing at all, in the absence of institutions and binding treaties to compel states to respect the rights of the “stateless.” Hannah Arendt, who in response declared that there must be a “right to have rights,” was the first to comprehend the conundrum of rightlessness in a world of sovereign states (Arendt 1976 [1951]). Arendt’s influence on contemporary Critical Theory is strong in discourses about the rights of migrants and refugees (e.g. Balibar 2004; Benhabib 2004; Gündogdu 2015). In 2014, the UN declared that for the first time since the Second World War, the number of refugees in the world has exceeded 50 million; in 2016, that number stood around 65 million. In the context of growing crisis, the assignment, as well as enactment, of rights have become primary objectives of normative reconstruction within Critical Theory. As Arendt understood, state-​centred solutions to rightlessness are inadequate. New possibilities have been opened up by waning sovereignty and the development of international human rights law (IHRL). Including the other in an age of mass migration and multiculturalism requires rethinking the relationship between cosmopolitanism and democratic self-​governance (see Chapter 13). Benhabib (2006) suggests that universal human rights should be implemented within states and municipalities through the jurisgenerative process of democratic iterations, in which democratic majorities reiterate universal norms, rights, and principles and incorporate them into democratic will-​formation through argument, contestation, and revision. Etienne Balibar’s (2004) Critical Theory of immigration is more sceptical about cosmopolitan inclusion. He worries that cosmopolitan integration brings with it a residue of exclusion against non-​European foreigners, migrants, and refugees. In order to avoid the rising “apartheid in Europe,” Balibar calls for the democratization of bordering practices related to those others—​aliens, migrants, refugees—​ who reside within Europe. His suggestion that borders be democratized is not far from Benhabib’s, yet there is a substantial difference in their optimism about cosmopolitan integration on the European level. Discourses about the “rights of others” have harked back to Critical Theory’s Marxian roots by attending to the ways in which the human rights regime is itself the product of power, politics, and history. For example, scholars are coming to grips with the ways in which cosmopolitanism is historically linked to the spread of commercial capitalism (Douzinas 2007). The EU, for example, originated as a trade community, and its courts are committed to upholding the “free movement of goods, services, capital and persons,” sometimes at the cost of democratic politics. The idea that protections for capital and human rights spread together is a problem for Critical Theory. In response, Nancy Fraser (2009) and others are committed to understanding the ways in which global

78    Anna Jurkevics and Seyla Benhabib capitalism undermines the project of emancipation, and in this context, she has called for a return to grand social theorizing in the tradition of Marx and Karl Polanyi. More sceptical lines of critique against cosmopolitanism have turned disillusionment into the wholesale abandonment of human rights as a political programme. Sam Moyn (2012) claims that human rights as we understand them now are an invention of the 1970s. Human rights are an anti-​political last utopia, a poor replacement for the failed politics of the past. Moyn’s history papers over alternative narratives of the politicization of human rights. Sociologists of law, for example, have taken interest in social movements, democratic constituencies, and individuals who, enabled by the human rights regime, have risen from below in order to make claims, sparking politics by demanding rights (de Sousa Santos and Rodriguez-​Garavito 2005). A critical theoretical approach to human rights is necessarily democratic. According to Habermas, rights and democracy are co-​original. They require one another, and therefore, universal human rights and democratic governance beyond the state are inextricable components in any normative reconstruction of the post-​national constellation. Current modes of transnational decision-​making and policy have carried on largely without democratic legitimation, fracturing and obscuring accountability (see Chapters 30 and 34). This also means that under conditions of globalization many communities have no political efficacy vis-​à-​vis the transnational forces, strong states, and international players who impact their lives. Nancy Fraser (2009) calls this problem “abnormal justice,” and it requires that Critical Theory work to reframe justice, i.e. to rethink democracy in cosmopolitan form. Habermas’s proposal for cosmopolitan democracy is a three-​tiered system of “global governance without a world government,” which features state, supranational, and transnational institutions (Habermas 2008). The supranational level comprises a reformed UN, which preserves peace and guarantees human rights. At the transnational level, heterarchical relations among domain-​specific organizations and states are bolstered by increased democratic legitimacy from regional governance institutions (e.g. EU and NAFTA). States are retained as the bastions of democratic legitimation; they work to maintain the functions of welfare in conjunction with regional governance organizations. This model proposes a conception of world politics which takes not only states but also individuals as the founding subjects of a world constitution. Postwar Europe has provided Habermas an example of a cosmopolitan model, and it has also been an experiment in the expansion of the deliberative public sphere beyond the nation-​state. In a Habermasian model of democracy, which relies normatively on discourse ethics, deliberation in the public sphere is a source of legitimation. As publics overtake the boundaries of their own legislative institutions, the simple correspondence between deliberation and domestic legislatures has to be amended. In his theory of “republican cosmopolitanism,” James Bohman (2007) argues that Habermas’s state-​centric conception of the demos cannot accommodate emerging transnational publics. By contrast, he has suggested that we shift the conception of demos to transnational demoi (Bohman 2007)—​an idea that embraces the plural nature of emerging global publics and draws attention to global legal pluralism, itself

Critical International Political Theory    79 an emerging theme of interest (Cohen 2012; Teubner 1997). He is optimistic that, as deliberation overtakes national boundaries, so too will corresponding legal and political institutions. For Hauke Brunkhorst (2005), solidarity motivates civic and legal unity in post-​ national deliberating publics. In our age, only solidarity—​not nationalism or other particularist ties—​can form the basis of the formal legal-​constitutional recognition that underpins cosmopolitan citizenship. Indeed, constitutional and legal themes have come to the forefront of Habermasian Critical Theory. William Scheuerman (2016) has even spoken of a “legalization of Critical Theory” that has taken place since the publication of Between Facts and Norms (1996), and which can be found in the development of global constitutionalism as both a normative ideal and a field of study. As a field, global constitutionalism considers the ways in which transnational norms and international law crystallize into a constitutional order beyond the nation-​state, an order that impinges on state sovereignty. The constitutions of nation-​states exist alongside, and sometimes in a productive tension with, international constitutions. Isiksel (2016) argues that Europe already, in fact, has a functional constitution, albeit one that is neither liberal nor democratic in the sense of state constitution. But can functional constitutions obtain the democratic legitimacy that state constitutions have? This debate, under way and growing in urgency, is far from settled. The indeterminate relationship between functional supranational constitutions, international law, and state constitutions is obscure at the moment and has added to the rise of global legal pluralism, a topic whose surface critical theorists have only begun to scratch. Habermasian Critical Theory remains optimistic about these developments, and this optimism has not gone unchallenged. It is on exactly these topics that the gap between the Frankfurt School and post-​structural approaches is at its widest. In the next section, we will see that the crisis of sovereignty following 9/​11 has created strange bedfellows and new divisions within the field of Critical Theory.

Sovereignty at its Limit:  Post-​structural Responses to  the American War on Terror While a number of critical theorists had embarked on international political theory in the 1990s, it was the events of September 11, 2001 that gathered the field en masse around topics of international terror and American foreign policy. The politics of the George W. Bush administration exposed the dark side of globalization, bringing forth trenchant and vociferous critiques of purportedly false universals, including cosmopolitanism itself (Douzinas 2007). Furthermore, American actions in “war on terror” and abuses of executive prerogative have called into question the waning of sovereignty assumed by early international Critical Theory.

80    Anna Jurkevics and Seyla Benhabib In the immediate wake of the 9/​11 attacks, Habermas and Derrida sat separately with Giovanna Borradori to give interviews on terror and terrorism (Borradori 2003). Given their previous disagreements on fundamental philosophical issues, the Borradori interviews represent a remarkable convergence in which the two leading critical theorists, as representatives of Europe, respond to oncoming geopolitical crisis. For Derrida, terrorism is the outgrowth of “autoimmunarity,” i.e. the self-​defeating nature of Western power turned back on itself. Habermas points to the extreme inequality wrought by globalization, which leads to discontent and violence, exposing the unfinished nature of the Enlightenment project. Worried about excessive American sovereignty, both direct their hopes to the possibility of strengthening international law and creating cosmopolitan conditions of hospitality. Amidst the US invasion of Iraq in 2003, they also penned a joint letter in the Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung in which they identified Europe as specially positioned to advance “a cosmopolitan order on the basis of international law” against American unilateralism (Derrida and Habermas 2003). They were right to fear that an attack on US soil would cause the American sovereign to rear its head. Ironically, waning sovereignty and new, insidious exertions of sovereignty have appeared to develop in tandem. For example, Wendy Brown (2010) has noted that the waning of sovereignty has been accompanied by a vast proliferation of border walls and the securitization of borders. Nationalists, backed into a corner by globalization, lash out at foreigners and attempt to fortify the crumbling borders of their world against forces of change. Post-​structuralist scholars have focused intensely on issues of sovereign violence (Bargu 2014; Hutchings and Frazer 2011a; 2011b), and Derridian and Lacanian variations of psychoanalysis have assumed prominence among responses to millennial geopolitics (Butler 2016; Zizek 2002). The dark side of sovereignty reveals itself in extra-​legal abuses of executive power, such as the extra-​territorial detention and torture of “enemy combatants” at Guantanamo Bay. For Agamben (2005), sovereignty is part of a system in which extra-​legal action is already inscribed into the liberal constitutional order. Following Carl Schmitt’s theory of the “state of exception,” he shows how the sovereign is able to impose its will beyond the pale of the law. In Political Theology (1985 [1922]), Schmitt had claimed, among other things, that the sovereign reveals itself by claiming the power to make a decision during a state of exception. Accordingly, Agamben observes the revelation of sovereignty when states enact violence in extra-​legal spaces like Guantanamo. Agamben is not the only one to draw influence from the brilliant and infamous Nazi legal theorist. Schmitt has enjoyed an ebb and flow of popularity among political theorists since his works started to appear in English translation in the 1980s. His oeuvre, often controversially, has lent itself to the zeitgeist on a number of topics in Critical International Political Theory. Marxist scholars who have employed his concept of the political to critique liberalism have been termed “Left-​Schmittians.” In particular, Chantal Mouffe (2000) has advocated using Schmitt’s (1996 [1927]) concept of the political—​the antagonistic distinction between friend and foe—​as the basis of agonistic democratic theory. Carl Schmitt was an ardent critic of liberalism, calling it a depoliticizing façade that masks real power. For Mouffe, this critique can be extended not only to the disingenuousness of American liberal internationalism but also to liberal cosmopolitanism per se.

Critical International Political Theory    81 The Schmittian critique of liberal cosmopolitanism is that, like US hegemony, it creates unipolarity. Cosmopolitans seek to unify the world order under international law—​a move that some think masks the ambitions of power-​players behind the seemingly benign mission of human rights. Even those wary of Schmitt’s politics have at times invoked his account of the “pluriversum,” in which powers on the world stage balance each other out (Buck-​Morss 2008). If American sovereignty will not submit to the constraints of international law, perhaps it could at least be balanced out. Jean Cohen has suggested that such a pluriverse of equal sovereignty could be achieved in conjunction with international law (Cohen 2012). Schmitt himself would have contested the compatibility of a political pluriversum and international law. He hoped that balance would be reinstated after the War through the division of the world into great spaces (Großräume), which would counteract the disproportionate accumulation by any one power block (Schmitt 2006 [1950]). Scholars have noted that through his influence on Hans Morgenthau and other early IR theorists, Schmitt’s ideas about the geopolitical balance of power have been influential for theories of Realism (Koskenniemi 2002; Scheuerman 1999). Therefore, the popularity of Schmitt among critical international political theorists is surprising, considering their opposition to Realism (e.g. Linklater 1998). In the end, the turn to Schmitt cannot help but be a turn against cosmopolitanism. The theme that unifies his enormous oeuvre is his critique of liberal universalism. Universalism lies at the heart of cosmopolitanism, even when cosmopolitanism is conceived as a political project of democratic movements claiming and reiterating rights from below. As Jurkevics (2016) points out in a comparison with Arendt’s geopolitics, the Schmittian worldview is not compatible with critical theories of cosmopolitanism. In The Divided West, Habermas poses the future world order as a choice between Schmitt and Kant, between the unbounded competition for power among hemispheric powers on the one hand, and the constitutionalization of international law on the other (Habermas 2006). The choice that Habermas presents is, in essence, between preserving state-​centred sovereignty or surpassing it. There is yet another dimension to the critique of cosmopolitanism, which we explore in the next section, and that is the critique of international law as a project of empire. We will see that, within Critical Theory, some have moved from the critique of cosmopolitanism as empire to the claim that preserving (equal) sovereignty is, in fact, the route to emancipation.

Return to Sovereignty: The Equal Sovereignty of States against Empire The critique of empire brings together critical and post-​colonial theory, the latter understood as a broad set of literatures interested in imperialism and the fate of formerly colonized societies. One of the best-​known critiques of empire comes from Michael Hardt and Antonio Negri (2000). Hardt and Negri differentiate between imperialism and

82    Anna Jurkevics and Seyla Benhabib empire in order to capture the logic of the international system. Imperialism is a violent and exploitative system which enables alien power to impose its will on (and plunder) another society. “Empire,” on the other hand, refers to an anonymous network of rules, regulations, and structures that serve global capitalism. The creeping power of empire threatens to undermine other social logics; it puts into place a seemingly immoveable structure of domination, against which diffuse peoples, understood as “the multitude,” must rebel. But which institutions are not complicit in empire? By including all current forms of international law and post-​national governance, Hardt and Negri make the emancipatory aspect of their programme questionable. Other theorists have investigated the history of imperialism and its implications for Western emancipatory philosophy. For example, Thomas McCarthy shifts Frankfurt-​ style theory away from Western societies with his careful history of the co-​implication of liberalism and imperialism in his work Race, Empire, and the Idea of Human Development (2009). While Habermas focuses on Kant’s legal thought, McCarthy reminds us of Kant’s insidious writings on race and hierarchy. The historical interrelatedness of liberalism and racist imperialism does not deter McCarthy from emancipatory possibilities—​he formulates a Critical Theory of development against imperialism. Susan Buck-​Morss (2009) has also shed light on the connections between European philosophy and the legacies of imperialism. She brings Hegel’s master–​slave dialectic to bear on an analysis of revolutions, engaging in what she calls “universal history.” She considers how the ideals of the French Revolution—​liberty, equality, fraternity—​only first actualized in the Haitian revolution. Buck-​Morss’s study is important because it brings our attention to domination as a literal problem of slavery in colonial societies. One response to the critique of empire has been to embrace the sovereign equality of states. The origins of sovereign equality can be found in the era of decolonization, at a time when the guarantee of a formal equality of states on the world stage—​and the concomitant seat in the general assembly of the UN—​was a vast improvement for formerly colonized states. The principle of sovereign equality entails respect for self-​ determination and non-​intervention. Jean Cohen (2012) measures this principle, which aims to secure a seat at the bargaining table for weak states, against the imperial dimensions of international law. For her, sovereign equality is an indispensable bastion of self-​ determination against the encroachment of empire. According to Cohen, instead of overcoming sovereignty, we should embrace it. However, this does not amount to the abandonment of international law. Christina Lafont (2015) has also argued that it is possible to conceive of sovereign equality and international law as mutually reinforcing. She shows how the Responsibility to Protect doctrine (R2P) has been invoked by domestic populations as a defence against encroachments from transnational corporations and the WTO. Domestic actors have claimed that enforcing transnational regulations, which are adopted to serve the interests of global capital, can undermine their ability to protect their own populations. Such cases show that the interventionist intentions of R2P can be subverted by domestic actors in the name of self-​determination. Lafont’s contribution points to the idea that we need not abandon the growing human rights regime in order to preserve

Critical International Political Theory    83 self-​determination. New theories in this vein have helped to break down the exaggerated dichotomy between sovereignty and cosmopolitanism (Benhabib 2016). While international law may weaken state sovereignty, it can enhance popular sovereignty within states. Benhabib has emphasized that transnational human rights can be claimed by marginalized and excluded groups and individuals to make a state more democratic, thus strengthening the ability of the people to govern themselves under conditions of globalization (Benhabib 2016). While popular sovereignty and cosmopolitanism need not be at odds, external state sovereignty and post-​national integration are not as easily reconciled. In the context of Europe, the call for a return to sovereignty is particularly loaded, as it would be tantamount to the dissolution of the EU. Nowhere is this tension more apparent than in the controversy over Brexit. The stakes of this debate are brought into relief in the recent debate between Wolfgang Streeck and Habermas over the future of Europe in the wake of monetary crisis. Streeck (2013) calls for the dissolution of the European Monetary Union (EMU), which tethers states together through shared currency and monetary policy. He claims that when strong states, i.e. Germany, implement austerity and control inflation rates, it causes weaker states to lose control of their welfare states, since they cannot engage in inflationary measures to maintain their levels of social spending. The southern European governments are strapped by the union, and lose control of domestic democratic politics. Habermas’s (2013) response is to hold steadfast: the EU should be democratized through the strengthening of the European legislature and by moving from a monetary to a fiscal union. A return to state sovereignty is nostalgic, and underestimates the inability of contemporary states to maintain democracy apart from post-​national integration. As the democratization of the European Union stalls, questions about post-​national integration are left troublingly unanswered.

Reconfiguring Sovereignty: Critical Theory at a Crossroads Globalization has forced international issues onto Critical Theory’s agenda, and they are unlikely to abate. Where is Critical International Political Theory headed? With regard to the debates outlined in this chapter, the discord in responses to the crises of the twenty-​first century suggests that state sovereignty may be neither the promise nor the pathology of our era. The split between sovereigntist and cosmopolitan camps might soften in normative theories, as we see in the latest research (Benhabib 2016). Yet the praxis of sovereignty and post-​national integration will likely remain controversial, and disagreements over the praxis of post-​national politics are likely to proliferate. What is clear is that state sovereignty is no longer monolithic. The complete return to a pre-​globalized world is not possible, and a more fruitful route for theory/​practice lies

84    Anna Jurkevics and Seyla Benhabib in rethinking the institutional configuration of a world order that is already decidedly post-​national. Cosmopolitanism from below is promising in this respect. Sociologists of law have paid special attention to social movements that strategically target national and sub-​ national democratic institutions for the implementation of human rights norms (Benhabib 2011; de Sousa Santos and Rodriguez-​Garavito 2005). Critical Theory’s interdisciplinary methodology lends itself to the incorporation of new empirical research on grassroots cosmopolitanism. International law is an important resource for social movements in weak states, and its capacity to strengthen democratic self-​ determination—​along the lines of Lafont’s suggestion—​deserves more attention. If we resist the temptation to understand sovereignty as assigning a jurisdiction the last and final say, and instead look to state boundaries as sites of implementation and iteration, it is possible to see how the relationship between states and international law can be normatively reconstructed towards emancipation. A Critical Theory of international affairs demands attention to law, but does continued focus on the legal dimensions of globalization lead Critical Theory too far from the original project of theorizing the social totality? Some worry that contemporary Critical Theory suffers from a lack of social theory, and has given itself over to “legalism” and “moralism.” However, sociologists of law would not agree that to study law is necessarily to abandon social theory. A critical approach requires an eye to the social and economic conditions that both determine law’s structure and, in turn, are influenced by law. It is true that most contemporary Critical Theory has not engaged in a total critique of capitalism. Compared to earlier generations of the Frankfurt School, current theory has a subdued tone with regard to the seemingly untamable ravages of global capitalism. Emancipation as the complete transformation of the economic order is no longer on the agenda. In lieu of such possibilities, emancipation has been sought in the transformation of legal orders and democratic control over transnational institutions. As the EU matures, international courts continue to develop, and international human rights law (IHRL) increasingly binds the actions of states, it is no wonder that critical theorists have focused on the emancipatory potential of law. Still, with regard to cosmopolitan, post-​national integration, Critical Theory stands at a crossroads, and the road forward is indeed unclear. The challenge is to establish whether principles and values associated with democracies housed in nation-​states—​ i.e. self-​government, transparency, accountability, and solidarity—​can be extended to transnational institutions increasingly spreading in our world. Critical Theory’s self-​ reflexive impulse—​to inspect the conditions of critique itself—​turns critique back on itself. Is Critical Theory capable of overcoming “methodological nationalism,” in Ulrich Beck’s (2006) words, and moving toward a Critical Theory of the transnational and the new global? If the proliferation of different modes of critique and debates over the future of the sovereign state persist, then this may simply be a sign that the tradition of the Frankfurt School—​its heirs and opponents alike—​is flourishing in response to the continued differentiation of system, lifeworld, and the global public.

Critical International Political Theory    85

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86    Anna Jurkevics and Seyla Benhabib Habermas, J. (2008). The Constitutionalization of International Law and the Legitimation Problems of a Constitution for a World Society. Constellations 15: 444–​55. Habermas, J. (2013). Demokratie oder Kapitalismus? Blätter für deutsche und internationale Politik 5: 59–​70. Horkheimer, M. (1999 [1937]). Traditional and Critical Theory. In M. O’Connell (ed.), Critical Theory: Selected Essays (New York: Continuum Press), 188–​243. Hutchings, K., and E. Frazer (2011a). Avowing Violence:  Foucault and Derrida on Politics, Discourse and Meaning. Philosophy and Social Criticism 37(1): 3–​23. Hutchings, K., and E. Frazer (2011b). Remnants and Revenants:  Politics and Violence in the Work of Agamben and Derrida. British Journal of Politics and International Relations 13(2): 127–​44. Isiksel, T. (2016). Europe’s Functional Constitution: A Theory of Constitutionalism Beyond the State (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Jurkevics, A. (2017). Hannah Arendt Reads Carl Schmitt’s The Nomos of the Earth: A Dialogue on Law and Geopolitics from the Margins. European Journal of Political Theory 16(3): 345–​66. Kant, I. (1991 [1795]). Perpetual Peace:  A Philosophical Sketch. In H. S. Reiss (ed.), Kant: Political Writings (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Koskenniemi, M. (2002). The Gentle Civilizer of Nations: The Rise and Fall of International Law 1870–​1960 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Lafont, C. (2015). Human Rights, Sovereignty and the Responsibility to Protect. Constellations 22(1): 68–​78. Linklater, A. (1998). The Transformation of the Political Community: Ethical Foundations of the Post-​Westphalian Era (Cambridge: Polity Press). McCarthy, T. (2009). Race, Empire, and the Idea of Human Development (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Mouffe, C. (2000). The Democratic Paradox (London: Verso). Moyn, S. (2012). The Last Utopia:  Human Rights in History (Cambridge, Mass.:  Harvard University Press). Negri, A., and M. Hardt (2000). Empire (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press). Rodriguez-​Garavito, B., and C. A. de Sousa Santos (2005). Law, Politics, and the Subaltern in Counter-​ hegemonic Globalization. In B. Rodriguez-​ Garavito and C. A. de Sousa Santos (eds), Law and Globalization from Below:  Towards a Cosmopolitan Legality (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press), 1–​26. Scheuerman, W. (1999). Carl Schmitt: The End of Law (Lanham, Md.: Rowman and Littlefield). Scheuerman, W. (2017). Recent Frankfurt Critical Theory:  Down on Law? Constellations 24(1): 113–​25. Schmitt, C. (1985 [1922]). Political Theology:  Four Chapters on the Concept of Sovereignty (Chicago: University of Chicago Press). Schmitt, C. (1996 [1927]). Concept of the Political (Chicago: University of Chicago Press). Schmitt, C. (2006 [1950]). The Nomos of the Earth in the International Law of the Jus Publicum Europaeum (New York: Telos Press). Streeck, W. (2013). Gekaufte Zeit (Berlin: Suhrkamp). Teubner, G. (1997). Global Bukowina: Legal Pluralism in the World Society. In G. Teubner (ed.), Global Law without a State (Brookfield, Vt.: Dartmouth), 3–​28. Zizek, S. (2002). Welcome to the Desert of the Real! Five Essays on September 11 and Related Dates (London: Verso).

­c hapter 7

F em inist Inte rnat i ona l P olitical T h e ory Laura Sjoberg

“Historians have found scattered evidence of male prostitutes in brothels and military camps,” many of whom “may have managed to keep their sex concealed” (Ringdal 2004: 278). Browyn Winter (2011: 376) notes that male prostitution around US military bases in the Philippines has become more prevalent as female prostitution (though not soliciting or pimping) has been made illegal, while there is “no law against male prostitution as prostitutes are defined as female.” In Thailand, Sevil Sonmez, Eugenia Wickens, and Yorghos Apostolopoulos (2007: 222) note that “there is widespread male prostitution [ . . . ] which is numerically nearly as extensive as female prostitution,” and that it is used significantly by US military installations. John Lie (1995: 322) suggested that male prostitutes have become visible around US military bases in Hong Kong, Japan, and Korea, and that their number is growing. Joseph Sheley (1995) accounts for fully a third of arrests for near-​base prostitution being of male prostitutes, but wonders why they receive comparatively little attention in either criminology or policy work. Some work has suggested (e.g. Jackson 2010) that some (male) members of the service have engaged in prostitution, serving other (male) members of the military for money. Katz (1976: 78) details that this can be a quite complex situation, telling stories of encounters with soldiers across the United States and around the world. This story is repeated around a number of military bases. What we do know, then, is that male military prostitution exists, both where male members of the military prostitute themselves and where male civilians serve as prostitutes for the male members of the military. What there is less information about is how frequent that prostitution is, local dynamics about how it works around different bases around the world, and how and why it comes to happen. We know little about any prostitutes or prostitution industries, but even less about the ways that male prostitution functions within and around military bases. So, what does the existence of male prostitution around United States military bases in the US and abroad have to do with thinking about feminist International Political Theory (IPT)? This chapter structures its explorations of feminist IPT around the

88   Laura Sjoberg questions brought up by recognizing male prostitution around military bases, looking simultaneously at the content of feminist IPT and its applicability. These questions include asking where men and women are in global politics, thinking about what gender means, analysing significations of gender and sexuality, and engaging the implications of those significations for militarism specifically and global politics generally.

Where Are the Women in Global Politics? While a significant amount of feminist political theorizing has always been international in scope explicitly (talking about women’s needs or rights around the world) or implicitly (concerned with gender in a universal sense), gender and feminism came to the body of scholarship identifiable as international political theorizing both later than it came to political theorizing more generally and after the development of many strands of IPT. In the late 1980s and early 1990s, feminist thinkers like J. Ann Tickner, V. Spike Peterson, Anne Sisson Runyan, Christine Sylvester, Cynthia Enloe, and Jan Jindy Pettman started explicitly asking about gender biases in International Relations Theory (IRT), with an eye towards a normative feminist IPT. One of the directions that this early work shared was calling attention to the omission of women in IR’s empirical work, and in IPT’s normative work. Cynthia Enloe’s (1983) simple but catchy phrasing of this concern—​“Where are the women?”—​captured many complex concerns. The question “Where are the women?” was a representational concern—​suggesting that women had been neglected in IR analyses. But what was phrased as a representational concern was also both a substantive concern and a normative one. The substantive concern was that work that neglected locating and paying attention to women failed to tell a comprehensive story of whatever phenomenon was being studied. The normative concern was that the omission of women from the stories of global politics is not incidental—​it is a structuring of social and political theorizing around masculine ideas and masculine subjects, resulting in the subordination of and marginalization of women and sites associated with femininity in global politics. As J. Ann Tickner (1988) pointed out, “international relations is a man’s world, a world of power and conflict in which war is a privileged activity.” As Joan Acker (1990: 142) has argued “as a relational phenomenon, gender is difficult to see when only the masculine is present” so “men [ . . . ] take their behavior and perspectives to represent the human.” This concern with what happens to people who do not receive attention in thinking about what is and/​or should be going on in global politics led feminist theorists to a methodological interest in searching for silences in IPT (e.g. Charlesworth 1999), and focus on the power relation of gender representation in global politics. As Jill Steans (1998: 5, emphasis original) once described “to look at the world through gender lenses is to focus on gender as a

Feminist International Political Theory    89 particular kind of power relation [ . . . ] focus on the everyday experiences of women as women and highlight the consequences of their unequal position.” Highlighting the inequality of women as women in early feminist IPT has broadened as feminist IPT work has evolved. For example, the question posed at the beginning of this chapter about male military prostitution is not about women, but I would argue that it has a place not only in feminist IPT, but in the logic of the feminist IPT that asked questions about women’s representation. As many feminist theorists have pointed out, the under-​representation of women in IPT is not just incidental—​its an under-​representation based on them being women. Yet the focus of IR theory and IPT specifically on men (either explicitly or by implication) has largely been treating men as gender-​neutral representatives of the human instead of analysing men as men. Asking “Where are the men?”, then, is mundane if it means looking for the male bodies that receive attention. But if it means looking for what happens to men as men—​masculinity, sexuality, and power in politics, that is different. And, I would argue, such an approach furthers the goals of feminist inquiry interested in looking at gender as a power relation. The analysis, then, would not be about the relative disempowerment of male prostitutes vis-​à-​vis female prostitutes, but instead about the ways that sex, gender, and gender expectations constitute and are constituted by military prostitution assemblages.

Thinking About What Gender Means Thinking about the ways that sex, gender, and gender expectations constitute and are constituted by military prostitution assemblages requires both theoretical and normative understandings of sex, gender, and gender expectations. As traditionally understood, sex is the biological maleness and biological femaleness of bodies. My explorations of male bodies in military prostitution started out as an exploration of sex. I had read Katherine Moon’s (1997) book on base prostitution, and Aaron Belkin’s (2012) book on homoeroticism in an avowedly straight US military. I wondered about the lack of male prostitutes in Moon’s analysis of prostitution, and the lack of prostitution in Belkin’s analysis of male bodies in militaries. So I started looking for brothels with male prostitutes. My original (over-​simple) assumption was that male brothels would be like female brothels—​perhaps one right next to another, functioning in similar ways, for different groups of potential patrons. This assumption was based on two parallel underlying assumptions: that there is nothing essentially different about men and women because they are men and women, and that gender dynamics did not play a significant role in constructing male prostitution as different from female prostitution. The first assumption was rooted in feminist theory; the second was the result of inadequate reflection. Feminist theorists have held very different views on the question of whether or not there is an essential difference between people who are women and people who are men based on biological differences. Some have argued that women are inherently more

90   Laura Sjoberg peaceful or more passive than men, and that men are inherently more aggressive, or even sex-​seeking. Others have suggested that the biological differences between men and women, to the extent that they exist, do not constitute men and women as different sorts of people. Still others have argued further that even sex is performative—​that is, that there is no such thing as settled biological maleness or femaleness (e.g. Butler 1990; 1993). It is safe to say that a non-​essentialist view of sex has come to be dominant, though not exclusive, in feminist IPT. So if men and women are not essentially different, then some in IPT (male and female alike) make the baseline assumption that men and women will behave the same way and be similarly situated—​the assumption that started out my inquiry into male military prostitution. That ignores, however, the presence of gendering in those dynamics—​ assumptions about both relative value and differing essential characteristics of men and women, masculinities and femininities—​that govern how people and institutions treat, manage, and position people. In Laura Shepherd’s (2010: 5) description, “gender” is a noun (identity), a verb (action), and “a logic which is product/​productive of performances of violence and security.” Gender as an identity is attributed to people—​they are labelled male, female, masculine, feminine, etc. Gender as an action is events and processes where people, ideas, data, research, and places are gendered—​associated with masculinities and femininities. Gender as a logic is the deployment of masculinities and femininities in narratives that justify violence, hierarchy, and subordination. A significant amount of feminist IPT has focused on questions of why and how women (and other people and actors) come to be associated with femininity in global politics, and how that feminization is a tool of devalorization (e.g. Peterson 2010). A significant amount of queer IPT has focused on the ways that logics of feminization have been overlaid with assumptions of heteronormativity and related heterosexism (e.g. Picq and Thiel 2015). This work has suggested that it is impossible to understand the major concepts in global politics—​from sovereignty to development to war—​without understanding the role played by the logics of sex, gender, and sexuality (Sjoberg 2013; Weber 2016). Returning, then, to male prostitution in militaries, these insights might be applied. Aaron Belkin recently provided compelling evidence for the thesis that (presumed straight and pure) US military masculinity relies on a homoerotic subculture of endurance and penetration in order to construct the idealized militarized masculinity that many feminists (e.g. Enloe 2010; Goldstein 2001) have recognized as crucial to the ability and willingness of militaries to fight. Belkin argues that the conventional wisdom that such a stark, hypermasculine image of the ideal soldier must be constructed with a disavowal of the othered, queer masculinities that might get in its way is an oversimplified understanding. It has been assumed that this disavowal is an outsiders’ disavowal—​one that requires a lack of experience with, and a disgust for, the homoerotic masculinities that would seem to be diametrically opposed to idealized militarized masculinity. Instead, Belkin (2012: 4) suggests that soldiers “enter into intimate relationships with femininity, queerness, and other unmasculine foils, not just to disavow them.” In other words, it is an insiders’ disavowal—​a disavowal through the practice, endurance, and

Feminist International Political Theory    91 internal rejection of the homoerotic other in self. Belkin suggests that this subculture of the construction of US militarized masculinity on and through acts which would initially seem antithetical to it is often invisible on the surface (2012: 43). Belkin (2012) pays attention to male-​on-​male rape, homoerotic hazing, and other “bonding” activities between male soldiers. Like Belkin, Paul Higate (2012) argues that the heteronormativity of military hazing is affirmed, not deconstructed, by a limited amount of homoerotic interaction. To understand this, then, one has to understand relationships between militarism and masculinity, where full masculinity is often related to either willingness to engage in military action or actual engagement in that action (e.g. Elshtain 1985; Tickner 1992; Sjoberg 2006). Once soldiers are members of militaries, standards of performance are often enforced by feminization of under-​performers, and soldiers are encouraged to engage in killing and life-​risking behaviour on a chivalrous logic of masculine responsibilities to provide protection (Goldstein 2001; Young 2003). Men, then, are not just gender-​neutral soldiers who happen to be men—​they are soldiers as men with expectations of masculinity that influence both their engagement in militaries and their performance therein. One of those expectations has more often than not been the expectation of heterosexuality. The male “just warrior” (Elshtain 1985) is expected to defend his “beautiful soul” woman (wife, daughter, mother) back “home,” and with her, other innocent women and children (Enloe 1990). It is therefore expected that the male “just warrior” have a “beautiful soul” back home, either in practice or in aspiration—​he is expected to be straight. In fact, in the United States military, homosexuality was explicitly banned but officially ignored-​until-​noticed under a 1993 policy called “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” (which replaced a full ban) through 2011. While it was then formally illegal to be a US soldier and gay, the penalty for homosexual behaviour arose only when such behaviour was caught. The US military’s position on prostitution was, for a long time, less clear than its position on homosexuality. While, regardless of the level of ban, the US military’s position on homosexuality had largely been derogatory and/​or exclusive, its response to prostitution (especially outside the US borders) had not been as negative. In fact, as Moon (1997) noted, there have been a number of times that the US military has explicitly endorsed and/​or demanded the legality of prostitution. While the US military declared an official ban on prostitution in 2008, many considered that to be a reversal of then-​existing policy, and many suggest that not a lot of progress has been made living up to that ban. This makes one of the differences between male prostitution and female prostitution around military bases make more sense. While female prostitution is largely if not exclusively civilian prostitutes servicing soldier clients, male prostitution finds a sizeable number of soldier prostitutes serving civilian clients as well. I suggest that the gendered expectation of the straightness of dominant militarized masculinities channels homoerotic behavior to the appearance of paid labour. Historians who have studied male members of the US military prostituting themselves in the 1950s and 1960s focused heavily on definitions of straightness and gayness—​where men who took money for sex with other men were more likely to be identified as straight than men who had sex with other men without money being

92   Laura Sjoberg exchanged, and men who were “tops” were more likely to be identified as straight than men who were “bottoms,” regardless of whether money changed hands. In other words, a man taking money for sex with another man could use the money as cover to preserve his straightness—​he was having sex with men for money and not for enjoyment—​which, while it makes him a prostitute, does not make him gay. In discussions with soldiers who have been involved in these acts, this distinction was important both in perception in peer relationships and in perception about the possible consequences of the behaviour. In other words, expectations about masculinity for men as men influences patterns of sex-​for-​money exchanges between men on military bases—​patterns which cannot be understood without understanding gendering as a verb. Militarized masculinity is a particular sort of gendered expectation of men as men which structures political and social rewards as varied as citizenship and honour. Understanding both individual and collective efforts to deal with and live up to that expectation helps show how different patterns of prostitution arise among men and between men and women around military bases.

Analysing Significations of Gender and Sexuality Gender matters in accounting for how these patterns in military prostitution come to be, but it also matters in interpreting how and why these patterns are significant for either descriptive or prescriptive theorizing of global politics. Enloe suggests that standing in the middle of base towns can tell one about “the history of the relationship between militarism, sexuality, and military policy” (Enloe 2010: 50): Track down the retired men who, when they were colonels, commanded this base: how did they handle their troops’ sexual expectations in a way that maintained town-​base harmony? [ . . . ] Ask local “respectable” women what neighborhoods they still tell their daughters to avoid. [ . . . ] Have conversations with the women who make their living working in bars and hotels; ask them what services off-​duty male soldiers—​or sailors or airmen—​have expected. It will take a multipronged investigation to piece together the town’s history of militarized prostitution—​and the decisions the town has taken to create and maintain it. (Enloe 2000: 51)

These decisions taken mean that “together, ideologies of militarism and sexuality have shaped the social order of military base towns and the lives of women in those towns” (Enloe 2010: 51). Enloe (p. 52) explains that such prostitution is prevalent, and treated as “simultaneously a resource and a threat.” This is because “masculinity of troops is [ . . . ] deliberately created by militaries through the provision of prostitution and pornography, which enable men to ‘other’ women” (Jeffreys 2008: 108). Jeffreys suggests that this serves an important purpose, given that “the othering of women is fundamental to basic training, in which men are accused of being women in order to toughen them

Feminist International Political Theory    93 up.” The buying of prostituted women allows soldiers to “differentiate themselves from women and to develop the aggressive masculinity which will enable them to kill others” (Jeffreys 2008: 108–​9). The gendered signification(s) of military prostitution where women are the prostitutes and men are the purchasers of sexual services, then, are many—​where the “othered” woman signifies the defeated opponent, the excitement to fight, the person it is desirable to screw but undesirable to be, and the inequality of the relationship between soldiers and communities that they inhabit. While the military prostitution where men (either soldiers or civilians) are the prostitutes may share some of those significations, it also reveals others—​norms of compulsory heterosexuality for soldiers, homoerotic subtexts to sexuality and violence in militaries, and the contradictions and tensions between expectations of militarized masculinities and soldiers’ lived experiences. The relative invisibility of civilian male prostitutes suggests a comfort with the language of feminized victimization and a difficulty dealing with the more complicated gender-​based stories that would come with male prostitutes; the relative invisibility of male soldier prostitutes suggests comfort dealing with militaries as consumers of sold sex alongside discomfort with militaries as providers of sold sex. These dynamics tell us about the complexities of the relationships between sexuality, gender, militarism, and conflict. The utility of exploring gendered significations, however, is not limited to telling us about what gender means in militarism. As feminist scholars have detailed, the co-​ constitution of gender and militarism is bidirectional, where militarized expectations of gender matter for what expectations about gender are more generally. Looking at online ads posted by male members of the US military selling sexual services, one of the more frequently appearing predications is about the appealing nature of penetrating and/​or being penetrated by soldiers in uniform. The signification of these advertisements is that the idealized masculinity is military; therefore, penetrating a soldier in uniform is a transgression of that masculinity; being penetrated by one is being fucked by it; both are a fetishization of a particular masculinity read onto and thought about in a soldier. This fetishization is readable by both the soldier engaging in the advertisement and the soldier and/​or civilian responding to it. Thinking about sex, gender, and global politics, then, is not just about asking about sex/​gender as a noun (who is assigned what identity?) or as a verb (what genderings are brought up with, make possible, or are made possible by, certain distributional layouts of politics?), but also about understanding it as a logic (in what positions are actors placed or understood as a result of gender and genderings, and what normative values are assigned to it?).

Engaging the Implications of Significations of Gender and Sexuality Thinking about the normative value assigned to actors in the global political arena based on relations and engaging normative possibility has been one of the strong suits

94   Laura Sjoberg of feminist and gender work in IR. Feminist work in IR has began suggesting that all IR theorizing is IPT theorizing—​that no work can escape either normative impact or normative implication. Suggesting that work is either explicitly or implicitly political theorizing—​that “feminism is a political theory that prioritizes protecting women from harmful differential treatment” (Sjoberg 2006: 32)—​feminisms have been understood to be both a political theory and a political movement. This has led feminists in IPT to think about what it means that people, states, and even behaviours associated with femininities in global politics are accorded less notice and less value than people, states, and behaviours associated with masculinities. As V. Spike Peterson (2010) has argued: Not only subjects (women and marginalized men), but also concepts, desires, tastes, styles, “ways of knowing” can be feminized—​with the effect of reducing their legitimacy, status, and value. Importantly, this devalorization is simultaneously ideological (discursive, cultural) and material (structural, economic) [ . . . ] This devalorization normalizes—​with the effect of “legitimating” the marginalization, subordination, and exploitation of feminized practices and persons [ . . . ] the “naturalness” of sex difference is generalized to the “naturalness” of masculine (not necessarily male) privilege, so that both aspects come to be taken-​for-​granted “givens” of social life. (p. 19, emphasis original)

Feminist work in IPT, then, has come to critique the problematic manifestations of gender as a signifier of both expected behaviour and value in the global political arena. Expectations of men as men and of women as women exist, and are differentiated—​ feminist work suggests that both existence and differentiation are normatively problematic. But it does not stop there. The normative problems relate to when we understand both the existence and differentiation of those gender stereotypes as power relations. When I suggest that gender is a power relation, I mean it in three senses: first, association with masculinities and association with femininities carries with it power for the former and disempowerment; second, gender-​based expectations hold power over social and political actors’ decision-​making; third, arrangement along gender-​based hierarchies matters for position and distribution across a wide variety of axes in global politics. Recognizing these things, then, feminist IPT has had a political interest in finding the margins in global politics and foregrounding them; in finding gender subordination and redressing it; and in seeing the intersections between sexisms, heterosexisms, classisms, racisms, and colonialisms in global politics. This gives feminist IPT a critical function—​looking for those axes of subordination in both global politics and in existing political theories. This has led feminisms to provide critical approaches to emancipatory theory (e.g. Basu 2011), just war theorizing (e.g. Sjoberg 2006; Peach 1994; Young 2003), democratic theory (Ackerly 2000), and a number of other approaches and pieces of work in IPT. But it also gives feminist IPT space to formulate and reformulate ethical approaches to studying and acting in global politics.

Feminist International Political Theory    95 Feminist ethical formulations have not been uniform. As Susan Hekman has pointed out, “even a cursory examination of the literature on feminist ethics reveals that there is no single feminist moral theory.” Instead, a number of different feminist moral theories share a desire to deconstruct the dominance of hegemonic masculinities in both practising and theorizing what global politics is, how it works, and how it should work. Accordingly, some feminist work in IPT has focused on care ethics, where care “is an activity that pre-​supposes needs that a person cannot meet by him-​or herself where needs are conventionally defined” (Dahl 2000: 477) and “can be both moral principle and practice in global politics” (Robinson 1999: 31; see Chapter 42). Using care as an emotional pull and care labour as an act, this approach suggests that ethics of care could have “the capacity to transform our understanding of both morality and politics, and ultimately, the relationship between them.” Other feminists in IPT have focused on empathetic cooperation (Sylvester 1994; 2001). Empathy is the willingness to enter into the feeling or spirit of something and appreciate it fully—​to hear others’ stories and be transformed by our appreciation of their experiences (Sylvester 1994: 96). While these different approaches and a number of other feminist approaches to ethics in IPT use different principles, sometimes even towards different ends, what they share is that they are “committed to re-​drawing the line between ethical and unethical in ways that are not anchored in gendered relations of power” (Hutchings 2007: 91). What this means is that feminist IPT shares a “need to interrogate and reflect upon the role of the politics of gender in how the line between the ethical and unethical is drawn in practice as well as principle” (p. 91). As Hutchings (p. 91) explains, “this approach to ethics in world politics shifts attention from the project of determining what is ethically right [ . . . ] to the task of deconstructing the interconnection between gender and ethics.” In other words, feminist interventions in IPT occur on three levels: trying to disconnect ethical thinking about global politics from its gendered foundations, engaging in normative critique of gendered power structures in global politics, and engaging in normative critique of gender essentialisms in global politics. So what does this mean for theorizing about male prostitution around militaries? Well, first, it means no one thing for understanding, accounting for the normative implications of, or ethnically analysing this phenomenon or others. Second, though, a number of realizations and/​or implications can be drawn from the variety of feminist analytical tactics and ethical positions in IPT. Feminist ethical work has critiqued the securitization of sexuality, the normalization of conflict sexual violence in militarized times and places, the instrumentalization of women’s bodies in the name of national security, the slavery-​like conditions in which many sex workers who serve militaries live and work, the prevalence of rape (along with STDs and other forms of abuse and torture) that surround military prostitution—​all while engaging the gendered conditions of possibility of each of these situations surrounding military prostitution. We do not know enough right now about male prostitution in and around militaries to know how many, if any, of these dynamics it replicates. We can know about some of the ethical dynamics surrounding specifically male prostitution (standards of militarized masculinity and

96   Laura Sjoberg complex expectations/​layers of heterosexuality), but until further research is done, we cannot know about all of them, or even have a real sense of the complex constellation of ethical issues. Still, feminist IPT gives a roadmap to deal with the ethics of researching, researching the ethics of, and possibly even dealing with on a policy level, even this niche issue.

The Applicability of Feminist IPT? When I suggest that feminist IPT can provide a roadmap for the ethics of researching male military prostitution, I mean that it provides a set of questions and assumptions that are important to think about and address—​what sex, sexual, and gender identities are being assigned to people? What power dynamics do those sex, sexual, and gender identities generate? What actors are assigned, assumed to have, or are expected to have what traits associated with masculinities and femininities? What are the pressures and effects that those assignments, assumptions, and expectations might have? How do the logics of gender distribute relative power, resources, and/​or legitimation? Who benefits from, and who is subordinated by, particular organizations along gender hierarchies? Applying this set of questions to male military prostitution is an important part of many feminist approaches to IPT, which understand that research has politics in the questions it asks and the subjects it investigates—​and choose to carry with them the politics of gender lenses, prioritizing seeing, understanding, and deconstructing gender subordination. Feminist IPT, though, shows that these questions need not be applied only to the subject matter of male military prostitution (or any other area of feminist research), but can also be applied to the process of research. What gender dynamics are going on in the standards set for research? In the methods assumed to be useful and those assumed to be less useful? What assumptions about knowledge that we make are associated with traits understood to be masculine (rationality, autonomy, independence, objectivity), privileged over traits associated with femininity (emotion, relationality, interdependence, positionality) in the research process? How does this impact the substance of the research? How does it impact the ethics of the research process? The realization in feminist IPT that the approach is best equipped to supply process-​ based ethics for research and analysis—​an approach to how to think about ethics instead of producing an ethical framework—​has implications for if and how feminist IPT is applicable to the “real world” out there. If there are those who doubt the applicability of IPT generally, certainly there are those who doubt the applicability of feminist IPT as a subfield/​subset of IPT. If there are those who think that IPT takes risks compromising its frameworks to engage with the messy complications of the “real world,” the concern is all the more valid for feminist thinking, which would be faced with intervening in necessarily gender-​unjust structures in piecemeal rather than directly transformative ways. The example of research on male military prostitution raises both these potential pitfalls. There is not a feminist ethical position on male military prostitution, even if

Feminist International Political Theory    97 we currently had all the information required to formulate coherent ethical positions. Further, any given situation is a small subset of interlaid matrices of gender injustice and war injustice in militarized societies, the structures of which could not be dismantled solely for the purpose of a pure, feminist ethical approach to male military prostitution. Above and beyond either of those concerns, there is a concern for focus: it would be politically problematic, at least in my view, to give disproportionate attention to the level of the problem of male military prostitution, especially with all the known ethical problems with, and humanitarian effects of, military-​related prostitution of women. A process-​based understanding of feminist IPT provides both a potential way around these problems and a potentially fruitful path to applicability. If feminist IPT is not meant to provide answers to what’s right and what’s wrong about male military prostitution, but instead to provide a roadmap for ethical ways to research ethical implications of sex, gender, sexuality, and their significations in that military prostitution, then the process for approaching the policy problem is much like the process for approaching the research problem. Relatedly, there is not a position on how a feminist should approach issues of how global politics works, or how it ought to work. Instead, feminist IPT provides a set of orientations to guide the process of how to orient oneself towards these issues. It suggests different ways of thinking about sex and gender, and different ways of applying considerations of sex and gender to causal and constitutive analytical frameworks. Feminist IPT can help analyse sex representation, gendered signification, gendered history, and gendered power, among other dynamics. The applicability of feminist IPT is, in Hutchings’s words, de-​coupling the gender and ethics—​gender and research ethics, and gender and policy ethics. It aims to do that de-​ coupling by exploring the sexed and gendered assumptions that underlie how knowledge is produced about the subject and how produced knowledge is consumed and acted on. A policy reaction to male military prostitution—​or even more mainstream issues of security, economics, or the like—​could take as a guiding principle the divorce of gender and ethics, representationally and substantively. That is both applicable and operationalizable—​two potential indicators both of its success and its necessity.

References Acker, J. (1990). Hierarchies, Jobs, Bodies: A Theory of Gendered Organizations. Gender & Society 4(2): 139–​58. Ackerly, B. (2000). Political Theory and Feminist Social Criticism (Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press). Basu, S. (2011). Security as Emancipation:  A Feminist Perspective. In J. A. Tickner and L. Sjoberg (eds), Feminism and International Relations: Conversations About the Past, Present and Future (New York: Routledge), 98–​114. Belkin, A. (2012). Bring Me Men (New York: Columbia University Press). Butler, J. (1990). Gender Trouble (New York: Routledge). Butler, J. (1993). Bodies that Matter (New York: Routledge).

98   Laura Sjoberg Charlesworth, H. (1999). Feminist Methods in International Law. American Journal of International Law 93(2): 379–​94. Dahl, H. M. (2000). A Perceptive and Reflective State? European Journal of Women’s Studies 7(4): 475–​94. Elshtain, J. B. (1985). Women and War (Chicago: University of Chicago Press). Enloe, C. (1983). Does Khaki Become You? The Militarization of Women’s Lives (Boston, Mass.: South End Press). Enloe, C. (1990). Women and Children: Making Feminist Sense of the Persian Gulf Crisis. The Village Voice, 25 Sept. 1990. Enloe, C. (2010) Nimo’s War, Emma’s War:  Making Feminist Sense of the Iraq War (Berkeley: University of California Press). Goldstein, J. (2001). War and Gender (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Higate, P. (2012). Drinking Vodka from the “Butt-​Crack”: Men, Masculinities and Fratriarchy in the Private Militarized Security Company. International Feminist Journal of Politics 14(4): 450–​69. Hutchings, K. (2007). Feminist Ethics and Political Violence. International Politics 44(2): 90–​106. Jackson, P. (2010). One of the Boys:  Homosexuality in the Military During World War II. Montreal: McGill-​Queen’s University Press. Jeffreys, S. (2008). The Idea of Prostitution (North Melbourne: Spinifex Press). Katz, J. (1976). Gay American History: Lesbians and Gay Men in the USA (New York: Discus/​ Avon Books). Lie, J. (1995). The Transformation of Sexual Work in 20th Century Korea. Gender & Society 9(3): 310–​27. Moon, K. (1997). Sex Among Allies (New York: Columbia University Press). Peach, L. J. (1994). An Alternative to Pacifism? Feminism and Just-​War Theory. Hypatia 9(2): 152–​72. Peterson, V. P. (2010). Gendered Identities, Ideologies, and Practices in the Context of War and Militarism. In L. Sjoberg and S. Via (eds), Gender, War, and Militarism: Feminist Perspectives (Santa Barbara, Calif.: Prager Security International), 7–​29. Picq, M., and M. Thiel (eds) (2015). Sexual Politics in International Relations (New  York: Routledge). Ringdal, N. J. (2004). Love for Sale: A Global History of Prostitution (New York: Atlantic Books). Robinson, Fiona (1999). Globalizing Care: Ethics, Feminist Theory, and International Relations. Boulder, Colo.: Westview Press. Sonmez, S., E. Wickens, and Y. Apostolopoulos (2007). In Search of the Exotic: Sex Tourism and Disease Risks. In Y. Apostolopoulos and S. Sonmez (eds), Population Mobility and Infectious Disease (New York: Springer), 215–​44. Sheley, J. F. (ed.) (1995). Criminology: A Contemporary Handbook (New York: Wadsworth). Shepherd, L. (ed.) (2010). Gender Matters in Global Politics (London: Routledge). Sjoberg, L. (2006). Gendered Realities of the Immunity Principle: Why Gender Analysis Needs Feminism. International Studies Quarterly 50(4): 889–​910. Sjoberg, L. (2013). Gendering Global Conflict (New York: Columbia University Press). Steans, J. (1998). Gender and International Relations (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press). Sylvester, C. (1994). Feminist International Relations in a Postmodern Era (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press).

Feminist International Political Theory    99 Sylvester, C. (2001). Feminist International Relations:  An Unfinished Journey (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Tickner, J. A. (1988). Hans Morgenthau’s Principles of Political Realism: A Feminist Reformula­ tion. Millennium: Journal of International Studies 17(3): 429–​40. Tickner, J. A. (1992). Gender in International Relations (New York: Columbia University Press). Weber, Cynthia. (2016). Queer International Relations (New York: Oxford University Press). Winter, B. (2011). Guns, Money, and Justice: The 2005 Subic Rape Case. International Feminist Journal of Politics 13(3): 371–​89. Young, I. M. (2003). The Logic of Masculinist Protection: Reflections on the Current Security State. Signs: Journal of Women in Culture and Society 40(1): 1–​25.

Pa rt I I I

I N T E R NAT IONA L J U ST IC E

­c hapter 8

Gl obal Distri bu t i v e Ju stic e Seven Theses about Facts and Empirical Research Simon Caney

This chapter explores the relevance of facts and empirical enquiry for the normative project of enquiring what principles of distributive justice, if any, apply at the global level. Is empirical research needed for this kind of enquiry? And if so, how? As a starting point we might observe that claims about global distributive justice often rest on factual assumptions. For example, some argue that members of affluent countries have responsibilities to eradicate poverty in developing countries because they caused it (Pogge 2008), whereas others are sceptical of the underlying factual claims (Risse 2005). Some, such as Rawls, think that the extent to which societies succeed in promoting development depends on their culture (Rawls 1999b), whereas, again, some may dispute the empirical assumptions. These examples show some ways in which an understanding of world politics and global political economy might be relevant for the evaluation of competing theories of global distributive justice. They are, however, far from exhaustive. In this chapter I examine seven different ways in which facts about national, regional, and global politics (and hence empirical research into global politics) might inform accounts of global distributive justice. I begin by examining two widely shared normative claims, both of which would require the use of empirical data if they were to be endorsed. However, I raise questions about both of these views (and thus call into question the case for the role of empirical evidence that is grounded in these two views). I then outline five ways in which, I claim, empirical evidence is crucial. A deep understanding of the nature of global politics and the world economy (and thus empirical research on it) is, I submit, needed: to grasp the implications of principles of global distributive justice; to evaluate such principles for their attainability and political feasibility; to assess their desirability; and, at a prior level, to conceptualize the subject matter of global distributive justice and to formulate the questions that accounts of global distributive justice need to answer.1

104   Simon Caney

Thesis I: The Scope of Distributive Justice 1. According to many, one important way in which factual considerations are decisive concerns what is commonly termed the “scope of distributive justice,” where this phrase refers to who is included within a scheme of distributive justice. To illustrate: many people think that principles of distributive justice apply solely within states (Nagel 2005). Others maintain that principles of distributive justice apply within nations (Miller 1995). Still others maintain that some principles of distributive justice apply within transnational systems of cooperation such as the European Union. Finally, some hold that principles of distributive justice apply at the global level (Beitz 1999; Caney 2005; Pogge 2008; see Chapter 9). How might we determine which of these views is correct? Some hold the following view: (P1) The Associational Argument:  The scope of some, or all, principles of justice depends on the extent to which persons are members of certain social, economic or political relationships.

Now if this is true then it follows that we should accept: Thesis I: The Scope Claim. Identifying the scope of distributive justice requires empirical evidence to determine which persons are members of the relevant social, economic or political relationships.

To gain a fuller understanding of (P1) (and thus also the Scope Claim) we need to examine what social, economic, or political relationships might be said to be relevant to the scope of distributive justice. I have defined (P1) in a broad and inclusive way because, whilst many political theorists stress the relevance of membership in social, economic, and political relationships to the scope of distributive justice, they employ different concepts—​such as the “basic structure” (Rawls 1999: 6–​10) or “institutional schemes” (Pogge 1989: 8)—​and they have different kinds of relationships in mind. Different associational theories diverge on the question of which specific kinds of associations determine the scope of distributive justice, and thus would diverge as to what kinds of facts they should think are relevant. 2. Consider, for example, Rawls’s claim that principles of distributive justice apply to a “basic structure,” understood to refer to a system of rules and institutions that have a major effect on people’s lives (Rawls: 1999a: 6–​7). Some who draw on this framework argue that if this assumption is correct, then the scope of distributive justice is global in nature, for there is now a global basic structure (Beitz 1999: pt III; Pogge 1989: pt III, 2008). What is at stake here is the extent to which all persons are members of a common

Global Distributive Justice    105 system of interdependence where the fate of everyone is shaped by a common set of rules and institutions. Beitz, for example, draws extensively on the literature about interdependence in Political Theory and International Relations (1999: pt III). Pogge too is keen to show, in his influential World Poverty and Human Rights (2008), that the poverty that blights the world stems not from purely local factors but from the policies and practices of affluent countries. More recently, however, others have argued that other kinds of relationship matter. Some, for example, emphasize the moral significance of coercion. They maintain that the scope of distributive justice is determined by whether persons are subject to a common coercive power (Valentini 2011). Michael Blake, for example, has argued that all persons throughout the world are entitled to attain a certain threshold standard of living. However, he adds that egalitarian principles of distributive justice only apply among those who are subject to a system of coercion, and he further argues that since we lack a world state these egalitarian principles apply within the state but not at the global level (Blake 2013). Nagel has defended a related but more radical view. He holds that principles of distributive justice should operate within the state because the latter is a coercive power that acts “in the name of ” its citizens (Nagel 2005: 121, 128, 129, 130, 138, 140, 142). Since there is no global analogue, he concludes that there are no global principles of distributive justice, only humanitarian duties. Both views hold, then, that the scope of some (or all) principles of distributive justice depends on who is subject to a system of coercion. Hence both require us to examine the empirical evidence to see whether there is a global coercive order in some sense, and thus whether there are egalitarian principles of global distributive justice or not. Empirical data here is, thus, necessary to determine the scope of distributive justice. The same conclusion is affirmed by other thinkers who draw attention to other kinds of relationships. For example, Andrea Sangiovanni (2007) holds that egalitarian principles of justice only apply within systems of reciprocity, and since he holds that this applies within the state but not globally, egalitarian principles of justice only apply within the state. Global justice, on this view, does not require equality. However, as this brief summary brings out, his argument against egalitarian principles of global distributive justice rests on the factual assumption that there is not a worldwide scheme of reciprocity in the relevant sense. On each of these views described so far, then, ascertaining the scope of some or all principles of distributive justice requires an understanding of world politics and the global economy. 3. Should we endorse (P1) and thus the Scope Claim about the relevance about facts to debates about global distributive justice? It is not possible in the space available to do justice to all the reasons that one might have for endorsing (P1). It is, however, worth drawing attention to one widely recognized problem, namely, that none of the arguments that have been presented so far for the various associational theories (whether their emphasis is on coercion or reciprocity or something else) has succeeded in showing that egalitarian or other principles of distributive justice apply only where the relationships already exist.

106   Simon Caney Consider, for example, Blake’s defence of the coercion view. It is worth unpacking the argument more fully. Blake reasons thus: The Coercion Argument:

(Pi) The state exercises coercion over its citizens (Blake 2013: 91–​3). (Pii) Since coercion is prima facie wrong, the state has a duty to justify its policies to those subject to its coercive power (Blake 2013: 93–​4). (Piii) The state’s justification of its coercive power requires egalitarian principles of distributive justice (Blake 2013: 95–​97). (Piv) There is no coercive body at the global level (Blake 2013: 97–​8). From this, Blake infers that: (C) Egalitarian principles of distributive justice do not apply at the global level. They only apply at the state level.

However, the relevant point to note here is that, as many have observed, the conclusion does not follow from the premises.2 At most, this argument shows that one reason one might think that equality is justified does not apply at the global level: it does not show that no reason does. (Pi)–​(Piii) give us no reason to think that egalitarian principles of distributive justice only apply between persons who are both subject to coercion; and accordingly (Pi)–​(Piv) give us no reason to think that there are no egalitarian principles of global distributive justice. The same point can be made about other associational theories. Consider Sangiovanni’s argument. The Reciprocity Argument:

(Pi) States provide a legal framework and a set of opportunities that enable people to develop (Sangiovanni 2007: 25–​6). (Pii) If persons benefit from others, then they are under a duty of reciprocity to give back to the system that has benefited them: they owe society a “fair return” (Sangiovanni 2007: 26–​7). (Piii) The duty of reciprocity owed to one’s fellow citizens requires an egalitarian principle of justice. Sangiovanni’s thought is that since citizens receive benefits from their state, then they have a duty of justice to reciprocate and pay back their debts to their co-​citizens, and this, he surmises, means sharing out benefits between co-​citizens on an equal basis. Since persons are not, so Sangiovanni maintains, part of a global system of reciprocity, then the analogous reason does not apply at the global level. Sangiovanni concludes, on this basis, that global egalitarianism is false, and that equality only applies within the state. Again, however, it is worth noting that the argument given above does not entail that egalitarian principles of justice cannot apply outside a scheme of reciprocity. All that

Global Distributive Justice    107 (Pi)–​(Piii) entail is that if there is reciprocity then egalitarian justice applies among the co-​operators. It does not show that egalitarian justice applies only if there is reciprocity (Caney 2011). 4. To sum up so far, then: some hold that the scope of principles of distributive justice is determined by the extent to which there are existing social, economic, and political relationships of a certain type, and thus hold that facts about the extent to which these apply at the national or transnational or global level are crucial to determining the scope of justice. I have argued that we lack reason to endorse such strong associational claims about the scope of distributive justice. Does this show that empirical data is irrelevant for determining the scope of distributive justice? No. That would be a non sequitur. Such data may be relevant if we appeal to the principle that “ought implies can.” The argument would run as follows: Since “ought implies can,” agents can have duties of justice to others only if they can affect them in some way. From the point of view of “ought implies can,” the scope of distributive justice is not determined by whether there are existing social relationships, but by whether it is the case that either there are such relationships or there could be. Suppose that there is a remote island that is cut off from humanity; but suppose further that it is possible to assist the inhabitants of that island. In such a case, according to the “ought implies can” principle, outsiders could be under duties of justice to the inhabitants (even though there are no existing relationships with them) because it is possible for them to assist islanders. Facts, thus, can matter to the question of the scope of justice even if they do not play the central role ascribed to them by theorists like Beitz, Blake, and Sangiovanni.

Thesis II: Facts and the Content and Justification of Principles of Distributive Justice 1. Having discussed the scope of distributive justice, I turn now to a second area in which factual considerations might be thought to be central. Recently some have argued that the content of principles of distributive justice is shaped, at least in part, by the nature of existing social practices (James 2012; Ronzoni 2009; Sangiovanni 2008). They adhere to what Sangiovanni terms a “practice-​dependent” approach to distributive justice, where this holds that “[t]‌he content, scope, and justification of a conception of justice depends on the structure and form of the practices that the conception is intended to govern” (Sangiovanni 2008: 138). So, on this view, what principles of global justice apply in any given situation depends on what social practices there are. Thus the principles for international trade will depend on the nature of the social practice of international trade. Similarly, the principles for climate change governance will depend on the existing practices surrounding the protection of the climate system. The general point, then, is that on this approach the content of justice depends on the character of existing social practices.

108   Simon Caney Furthermore, practice-​dependent theorists argue, the derivation of these principles requires the interpretation of the nature and point of the social practice (Sangiovanni 2008: esp. 142ff.). Now if the practice-​dependent view is correct, then facts about the global economy and international practices have deep moral significance. For to apply this view we have to identify what social practices there are and what their nature and underlying goals are; and this requires empirical research. As Sangiovanni makes clear, the practice-​dependent approach requires description and interpretation of social practices—​ detailing, for example, the rules, conventions, norms, and institutions that constitute the practice, and the underlying values, goals, and normative commitments (Sangiovanni 2008, 142–3). With all this in mind, we can now formulate a second thesis. Some hold the following view: (P1) The Practice-​Dependent Argument: The content of some, or all, principles of justice depends on the nature of existing social practices.

Now if this is true then it follows that we should accept: Thesis II: The Content Claim. Identifying the content of global principles of distributive justice requires empirical evidence to determine the nature and point of existing international social practices.

2. Given this, it is of paramount significance to know whether we should accept the starting point, namely (P1). Should we attribute normative significance to existing social practices? Such a position is not obviously correct. Why ascribe such moral relevance to the social practices that exist in our world? After all, if we reflect on the genesis of these practices we can see good reason to be sceptical of their normativity. Existing social practices are highly likely to reflect the interests of participants over and above non-​ participants, and within the category of participants they are surely likely to bear the imprint of the powerful rather than the marginalized. Sangiovanni (2008) and other practice-​dependent theorists like James (2012) are keen to argue that there is more to their approach than interpretation. However, to the extent that interpretation plays a role, it will be problematic if the raison d’être of the practice privileges insiders and the powerful. Those who employ a practice-​dependent approach have often not given direct arguments in favour of their approach, preferring to put their theory into practice (James 2012; Ronzoni 2009). One exception is Sangiovanni. In his influential paper “Justice and the Priority of Politics to Morality” Sangiovanni appeals to the “priority of politics,” and claims that a practice-​dependent approach is superior because it recognizes the importance of politics and the historical processes by which order is secured (Sangiovanni 2008). A practice-​independent approach, Sangiovanni maintains, stands free from the contingent “arbitrary historical contingency,” and thus cannot recognize the normative

Global Distributive Justice    109 significance of the political process (Sangiovanni 2008:  158). What does this mean? Sangiovanni’s reasoning unfolds as follows. First, he begins by saying that practice-​dependent accounts recognize the importance of political “order”: The first aim of any social or political institution is to secure conditions of order, trust, cooperation, and security among human beings. Political authority is necessary because without it, distrust, insecurity, and the desire for recognition—​“you must recognize that our party is justified and therefore submit”—​will thwart any possibility of cooperation or render it incredibly fragile. (Sangiovanni 2008: 157)

Depending on how we interpret the notion of a “first aim,” there need be nothing here that a practice-​independent theorist should disagree with. Assuming that what is meant by these terms is that we need first to secure order and stability (in a chronological or temporal sense) because, and to the extent that, this is needed to realize some further goal, then this claim is uncontroversial. Someone who holds that the content of principles of justice need not be derived from existing practices can accept that it is important to “secure conditions of order, trust, cooperation, and security” (Sangiovanni 2008: 157) first. In the ensuing discussion Sangiovanni then introduces a second, different point. He says that a practice-​dependent theorist recognizes the normative significance of the political process, but that [t]‌he practice-​independent theorist, on the other hand, believes that the way in which actual political institutions solve the first political question—​and hence how questions of justice emerge within specific institutions—​is irrelevant to the justification and formulation of a conception [of—​SC] justice. The task of the theorist of justice is to look beyond arbitrary historical contingency, and seek a general and overreaching view. (Sangiovanni 2008: 157–​8)

Sangiovanni’s claim here, then, seems to be that practice-​independent theorists must dismiss the existing political practices and conventions which are employed to deal with the first political question as not relevant for the nature of justice. A practice-​independent theorist can, however, make two replies. One is to enquire why we should ascribe normative significance to the political process. Sangiovanni writes: “Once we have the circumstances of politics in focus, it becomes clear why it is a mistake to conceive of political and social institutions solely as instruments in the realization of justice” (2008: 158). But it is not at all clear why it is a mistake to conceive of political and social institutions solely as instruments in the realization of justice. Sangiovanni’s argument here rests upon an unargued assumption. At this point, however, someone might argue that the political process does have normative significance because it reflects the choices and agreements made by different political actors. I think that this is a promising line of argument. However, it is one

110   Simon Caney that a practice-​independent theorist can make. Sangiovanni assumes in the above argument that practice-​independent approaches are entirely forward-​looking and adopt an exclusively “instrumental” approach. However, there is no reason why a practice-​ independent theorist cannot adopt a voluntarist approach. Consider for example the following principle: The Consent Principle: Justice requires that people’s contracts should be honored subject to:

(a) conditions that need to be met for contracts to be binding; and (b) normative constraints on what people can or cannot commit themselves to.

This principle is a practice-​independent principle, for it ascribes no deep significance to all existing social practices in and of themselves. It does not instruct us to interpret any or all existing social practices for their telos. It simply holds that, made under certain conditions and hedged in by certain normative constraints, what political actors agree to has normative implications, and can create rights and responsibilities. As such it is a practice-​independent principle. With this in mind, there is no reason why a practice-​independent theorist cannot attribute moral significance to the political process (and so “the way in which actual political institutions solve the first political question”). Reflecting on the Consent Principle further brings out the importance of a practice-​ independent approach. For if we are to ascribe normative significance to what people or governments agree to—​the promises they make, and the undertakings they commit themselves to—​then, as I have mentioned above, this requires that they have a genuine choice. This, in turn, requires some practice-​independent conditions—​such as rights of freedom of choice, information, and expression, as well as socioeconomic rights to be met (condition (a) above). Moreover, there are moral limits on what people are empowered to agree to (condition (b) above). They cannot, for example, make political settlements that are committed to acts of aggression against innocent neighbouring peoples or to colonial expansion. The appeal to political process thus brings out the importance of practice-​independent principles of justice. We reach the following conclusion. Sangiovanni maintains that practice-​independent principles are flawed, for they do not recognize the normative significance of the political process and the political agreements reached to answer the question of order. I have argued that we have not been given reason to endorse this claim; and, moreover, the best explanation of the normative significance of political processes draws on a practice-​ independent principle (the Consent Principle) and requires—​ to be normatively binding—​a set of background rights and limits. The upshot of this, then, is that we have yet to be given a reason to accept the practice-​ dependent contention that justice requires conforming to the values given by existing social practices. Given this (and without any other further argumentation), we lack reason to accept the second thesis. If Sangiovanni were right, we would have good reason to think that identifying principles of justice requires an empirical and interpretive

Global Distributive Justice    111 enquiry into the nature of the social practices that exist at the transnational and global level. However, we have yet to be given compelling reasons to accept the starting point. Having criticized two accounts of the ways in which an understanding of global political and economic relations bear on our account of global distributive justice, I now wish to draw attention to five ways in which empirical considerations about the nature of global political and economic relations are pivotal for determining the nature of global distributive justice.

Thesis III: Application of Principles of Distributive Justice to  the Global Context First, and least controversially, factual considerations will normally be necessary to gain a full understanding of the practical implications of principles of global distributive justice. Many principles of distributive justice are such that we can only know what they entail in practice if we have a good understanding of the empirics. To see this, consider one of the leading theories of global justice—​Thomas Pogge’s account of global justice and the duty to eradicate global poverty. Pogge’s argument starts from the normative assumption that agents are under a negative duty not to uphold and maintain institutions that harm others. Harm, for Pogge, is defined in terms of causing human rights deficits that are foreseeable and known to be avoidable at reasonable cost (Pogge 2008: 26). We might call this his “fundamental moral principle.” He then adds the empirical claim that the citizens and governments of affluent countries systematically violate this negative duty, and that this results in global poverty. On the basis of his fundamental moral principle and his empirical claims, Pogge then reaches what we might term “derivative moral conclusions” concerning who has the duty to eradicate global poverty. Now as this makes clear, Pogge’s conclusion depends on whether his claims about the causes of global poverty are correct or not. If these factual assumptions are incorrect, then his argument does not establish his conclusion. Given this we have good reason to accept the following: Thesis III: The Application Thesis. What implications principles of fundamental distributive justice have depends on facts about world politics and the global economy.

To understand what global distributive justice requires in reality at a concrete level thus requires empirical research into the implications of the core fundamental principles of global distributive justice. Political theorists thus need to consult the work of scholars such as Paul Collier (2007) and John Gallup, Jeff Sachs, and Andrew Mellinger (1999), who argue that the extent of

112   Simon Caney a country’s development depends on geographical factors (such as whether a country is landlocked and whether its climate leaves it more vulnerable to disease and reduced agricultural productivity). And they need to engage also with the work of Daron Acemoglu, Simon Johnson, and James Robinson (2002) on the effects of colonialism on contemporary standards of living in former colonies, as well as with Acemoglu, Johnson, and Robinson’s argument (2001) that different environmental conditions led colonial powers to adopt different kinds of strategy (essentially creating extractive institutions in hostile climates and inclusive ones in more hospitable climates), and that this has led to differential standards of living today.3 They need to consider the emphasis on “institutions” given by Dani Rodrik, Arvind Subramanian, and Francesco Trebbi (2004); as well as the arguments of Joel Mokyr (2017) (who emphasizes culture as a determinant of development); and the emphasis on geography made by Kenneth Pomeranz (2000) (who argues that the great divergence between China and Europe arose in part because of Europe’s good luck—​what Pomeranz calls a “geographic accident” (2000:  62)—​in having extensive coal reserves in Britain.4

Thesis IV: Evaluation for Possibility and Political Feasibility If we reflect on Thesis III then we are led, I think, to consider two further ways in which factual considerations about the world economy play a crucial role for theorizing about global distributive justice. The first concerns the extent to which given principles are attainable (by which I mean possible to achieve). Suppose that one endorses a certain principle of global distributive justice, P. Suppose further that we then consider what it would take to apply this principle, we might discover that it is impossible to realize P. Suppose, for example, someone holds that all current and future persons are entitled to enjoy the consumption patterns of a contemporary affluent American citizen. And, suppose that that lifestyle is ecologically unsustainable in the sense that, if everyone seeks to enjoy that standard of living now, it will result in such high greenhouse gas emissions, and ecological harm more generally, that many people in the future cannot enjoy the same standard of living. In such a case, the proposed principle of global (and intergenerational) justice asks for what is unattainable. Here factual considerations reveal that what the theorist calls for is impossible, and hence they call for a revision of the initial principle, P (Caney 2012). Thus far I have been conceiving of “possibility” and “attainability” simply to mean “it could be achieved (even if it is very unlikely).” Suppose, however, that our focus is on campaigning for change in our very non-​ideal world. In such circumstances we might think that focusing on what is possible is not that useful: rather our focus should be on what is politically feasible. The concept of political feasibility is complex and needs elucidation (see Chapters 31 and 48). I here use it in the following rather rough

Global Distributive Justice    113 sense: political proposals are politically feasible to the extent that agents are motivated to bring about the reforms, and if they seek to do so they are likely to succeed.5 I do not think that it is a necessary condition of a political principle being correct that it is politically feasible. (A practice of killing young women whose conduct departs from communal norms is unjust no matter how politically infeasible it might be to change it.) Nonetheless, one might reasonably hold that if we are to campaign for a specific policy or set of proposals, then we should care, among other things, about which is the most politically feasible. With these two notions on hand, we can now formulate a fourth thesis, Thesis IV: The Possibility and Feasibility Claim. The extent to which (a) principles of global distributive justice can be realized and (b) policies that further global distributive justice are politically feasible can only be ascertained on the basis of empirical research.

Again, facts play a crucial role, and empirical political research, on both what is in principle possible and the prospects for reform and change, is essential.

Thesis V: Evaluation for Desirability If we return now to Thesis III, we can see a further way in which factual considerations about the global economy can play a significant role in theorizing about global distributive justice. For when we analyse the empirical implications of realizing a principle P, we may discover that that principle has, in practice, undesirable side effects that cast doubt on the principle. Suppose, for example, that the only way to secure global equality is to institute a world state, and suppose further that this would be intolerant. We might in light of this revise the initial moral commitment to global equality. I do not endorse the factual assumption made here, but that is not to the point: the point is that if we examine what is required to realize a given principle, then we may learn of harmful side effects which are such that we now have reason to reject or qualify our endorsement of the first principle. Alternatively, we might find that P has desirable side effects that make aiming for P even more desirable than we thought. To give an example: policies for mitigating dangerous climate change may have co-​benefits (such as cleaner air because there are more efficient motor vehicles). In both cases, we can only ascertain this by engaging in an empirical analysis of what realizing P would entail in practice. In the light of this we should endorse: Thesis V: The Desirability Claim. The extent to which a proposed principle of global distributive justice is desirable can only be ascertained on the basis of empirical research.

114   Simon Caney

Thesis VI: Formulation of Questions The three preceding theses have focuses on what answers we might arrive at—​i.e. the nature, possibility, feasibility, and desirability of proposed principles. However, empirical research is also needed at a prior stage, namely the construction of the questions. The sixth thesis about the role of empirical research that I propose to examine concerns what we might term the “formulation of questions of global distributive justice.” An adequate formulation of the questions that should be at the heart of the study of global distributive justice must, I submit, be informed by empirical research. To see why, note two problems that may arise if those engaged in international political theory are unaware of the empirical research on the global economy. The first is the problem of badly formulated questions. By this I mean questions that mischaracterize the normative issues and misconceive what is at stake. To give an example, suppose that someone is concerned about the fact that some in the world have dire prospects for leading healthy lives. And suppose that her response to this is to focus on how to distribute health care equitably—​her assumption being that this will address the problem. Suppose, however, that, as many argue, the factors that determine people’s level of health are not the amount of health care spent on people but the so-​called “social determinants of health” (where these include disparities in power, wealth, and income).6 In such a case, her question is a badly formulated one because it misunderstands what is at stake. It only makes sense given empirical assumptions that do not in fact hold. Her question tacitly presupposes an understanding of the world that turns out to be inaccurate. A second problem with conducting research into global distributive justice without a deep grasp of the facts about the global economy is the problem of unasked questions. In particular, emerging problems can be missed without a good grasp of the changing nature of the world economy. In light of these two arguments, we reach the following conclusion: Thesis VI: Formulation of questions. The formulation of questions concerning the nature of global distributive justice should be informed by empirical research into the nature of the world economy.

Thesis VII: Conceptualization of the Subject Matter We can, and should, go further than this. My last thesis concerns the prior question of how we conceptualize the subject matter of global distributive justice. At stake is the question of how we individuate the topics to which principles of global distributive justice apply. Some adopt what I have termed an “integrationist” view which applies

Global Distributive Justice    115 principles of global distributive justice to all major socioeconomic burdens and benefits considered together. Others, however, have adopted what I term an “isolationist” approach, and have treated certain topics—​like trade or climate or development—​in isolation from each other. That is, they maintain that there are principles of justice that apply specifically to climate change, say, and that this should be done by bracketing out other concerns (Caney 2012). Now what stance one takes on this issue will be guided, at least in part, by empirical factors. This holds for two reasons. First, whether it makes sense to treat a topic (like international trade, say) in isolation depends to some extent on whether it constitutes a relatively autonomous realm of activity. The less it does, the less plausible is the claim that it constitutes a specific domain that should be governed by its own principles. Furthermore, only through empirical enquiry can we determine whether it is relatively freestanding or is simply one part of a wider set of relationships. Second, some have argued for an isolationist approach on pragmatic grounds.7 They maintain that there is so much disagreement about what constitutes global justice in general that if we tried to treat an issue (such as trade justice) in conjunction with other issues (such as global poverty, labor rights, gender inequalities, ownership of natural resources, human rights, and climate change), then we would reach deadlock. Treating trade in light of a general theory of global distributive justice, on this argument, would preclude getting anything done at the international level. For this reason we should treat separate issues in isolation. Now, again, whether this is a good argument or not depends on its empirical premise that treating issues in isolation facilitates securing agreement; and thus determining whether this is true requires looking at the empirical literature on linkages (e.g. Sebenius 1984: ch. 6; Caney 2012: 278ff.). In light of these two arguments, we reach the following conclusion: Thesis VII: Conceptualization of the subject matter. The conceptualization of the subject matter of global distributive justice should be informed by empirical research into the nature of the world economy.

Concluding Remarks In this chapter I have argued against two ways in which one might think that the facts play a central role. I have challenged the assumption that the scope of global distributive justice is defined by social, economic, and political relationships, and hence the claim that empirical research is needed to establish whether these relationships exist at the global level or not (Thesis I). And I have challenged the assumption that which principles of justice are correct should be determined by an empirical investigation into the nature of social practices (Thesis II). I have, however, argued that empirical research is required to ascertain the practical implications of principles of global distributive justice

116   Simon Caney (Thesis III), the possibility and political feasibility of principles of global distributive justice (Thesis IV), as well as their desirability (Thesis V). Furthermore, I have argued that a good empirical grasp of the nature of the global economy is required both to guide the formulation of the questions we ask about the world economy (Thesis VI) and also to enable us to have an adequate conceptualization of the subject matter of global distributive justice (Thesis VII).

Notes 1. It is perhaps worth noting that none of the five theses that I defend is incompatible with G. A. Cohen’s arguments to the effect that there are fact-​independent principles (Cohen 2008: 6). 2. This point is one that has often been made against Blake’s earliest work on coercion (2001: 257–​96). See e.g. Abizadeh (2007: 353–​6), Caney (2008: 502–​3), Gilabert (2012: 172), and Moellendorf (2009: 25). 3. More generally, see Acemoglu and Robinson’s work (2012) on the role of “inclusive” and “extractive” institutions. 4. Philosophical treatments of global distributive justice rarely engage with such sources. One exception is Risse (2005), which engages with a number of these. 5. This account is very rough. For a much more developed account see Stemplowska (2016). 6. For information see http://​www.who.int/​social_​determinants/​en/​. 7. This argument has been given in the context of climate change by Meyer and Roser (2006: 239).

References Abizadeh, A. (2007). Cooperation, Pervasive Impact, and Coercion: On the Scope (not Site) of Distributive Justice. Philosophy & Public Affairs 35(4): 318–​58. Acemoglu, D., S. Johnson, and J. A. Robinson (2001). The Colonial Origins of Comparative Development: An Empirical Investigation. American Economic Review 91(5): 1369–​1401. Acemoglu, D., S. Johnson, and J. A. Robinson (2002). Reversal of Fortune: Geography and Institutions in the Making of the Modern World Income Distribution. Quarterly Journal of Economics 117(4): 1231–​94. Acemoglu, D., and J. A. Robinson (2012). Why Nations Fail: The Origins of Power, Prosperity, and Poverty. London: Profile Books. Beitz, C. (1999). Political Theory and International Relations. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Blake, M. (2001). Distributive Justice, State Coercion, and Autonomy. Philosophy & Public Affairs 30(3): 257–​96. Blake, M. (2013). Justice and Foreign Policy. New York: Oxford University Press. Caney, S. (2005). Justice Beyond Borders: A Global Political Theory. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Caney, S. (2008). Global Distributive Justice and the State. Political Studies 56(3): 487–​518. Caney, S. (2011). Humanity, Associations and Global Justice: In Defence of Humanity-​Centred Cosmopolitan Egalitarianism. The Monist 94(4): 506–​34.

Global Distributive Justice    117 Caney, S. (2012). Just Emissions. Philosophy & Public Affairs 40(4): 255–​300. Cohen, G. A. (2008). Rescuing Justice and Equality. Cambridge, Mass.:  Harvard University Press. Collier, P. (2007). The Bottom Billion: Why the Poorest Countries Are Failing and What Can Be Done About It. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Gallup, J. L., J. D. Sachs, and A. D. Mellinger (1999). Geography and Economic Development. International Regional Science Review 22(2): 179–​232. Gilabert, P. (2012). From Global Poverty to Global Equality:  A Philosophical Exploration. Oxford: Oxford University Press. James, A. (2012). Fairness in Practice: A Social Contract for a Global Economy. New York: Oxford University Press. Meyer, L. H., and D. Roser (2006). Distributive Justice and Climate Change: The Allocation of Emission Rights. Analyse und Kritik 28(2): 223–​49. Miller, D. (1995). On Nationality. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Moellendorf, D. (2009). Global Inequality Matters. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Mokyr, J. (2017). A Culture of Growth:  The Origins of the Modern Economy. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Nagel, T. (2005). The Problem of Global Justice. Philosophy & Public Affairs 33(2): 113–​47. Pogge, T. (1989). Realizing Rawls. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Pogge, T. (2008). World Poverty and Human Rights: Cosmopolitan Responsibilities and Reforms, 2nd edn. Cambridge: Polity. Pomeranz, K. (2000). The Great Divergence:  China, Europe, and the Making of the Modern World Economy. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Rawls, J. (1999a). A Theory of Justice, rev. edn. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Rawls, J. (1999b). The Law of Peoples with “The Idea of Public Reason Revisited”. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press. Risse, M. (2005). How Does the Global Order Harm the Poor? Philosophy & Public Affairs 33(4): 349–​76. Rodrik, D., A. Subramanian, and F. Trebbi (2004). Institutions Rule: The Primacy of Institutions over Geography and Integration in Economic Development. Journal of Economic Growth 9(2): 131–​65. Ronzoni, M. (2009). The Global Order:  A Case of Background Injustice? A  Practice-​ Dependent Account. Philosophy & Public Affairs 37(3): 229–​56. Sangiovanni, A. (2007). Global Justice, Reciprocity, and the State. Philosophy & Public Affairs 35(1): 3–​39. Sangiovanni, A. (2008). Justice and the Priority of Politics to Morality. Journal of Political Philosophy 16(2): 137–​64. Sebenius, J. K. (1984) Negotiating the Law of the Sea. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press. Stemplowska, Z. (2016). Feasibility: Individual and Collective. Social Philosophy and Policy 33(1–2): 273–​91. Valentini, L. (2011). Justice in a Globalized World: A Normative Framework. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

­c hapter 9

Real-​W orld G l oba l Egalitaria ni sm Darrel Moellendorf

Thirty years ago there was no sub-​discipline of political theory called “international justice.” Charles Beitz’s hugely influential book Political Theory and International Relations had been published (Beitz 1979). And there was a scattering of important publications by Brian Barry, Thomas Pogge, Henry Shue, and others (Barry 1981, 1982; Pogge 1988; Shue 1980). But the main normative debates in political theory were about issues of domestic justice. The end of the Cold War, the increasing globalization of trade and investment, increasing appeals to human rights in foreign policy, and the broadening of appreciation of the existence of a major global ecological crisis helped to bring about a significant change in the interests of many people working in political theory, especially young people. The rise of international justice to a major area of focus in political theory, then, seems to be the result of the discipline responding to major changes that made clear the importance of issues of justice between states and between people across state borders (see Chapter 11). One important way in which International Political Theory (IPT) connects to international practice, then, is by responding to questions posed by political and social developments. Hegel famously claimed that theory always follows events: “When philosophy paints its grey in grey, a shape of life has grown old, and it cannot be rejuvenated, but only recognized, by the grey in grey of philosophy; the owl of Minerva begins its flight only at the onset of dusk” (Hegel 1991: 23). In contrast, Marx’s 11th Thesis on Feuerbach has a much more ambitious role for philosophy: not just to interpret the world but to change it (Marx 1972: 145). The explosion of normative theorizing about international justice in the last two decades not only tracks developments in the world but, in virtue of being normative, has posed important questions regarding whether and how the world should be changed. And any credible account of how the social and political institutions or policies should be changed will have to rely on information from the social sciences both about how existing institutions work and about how new ones might work. This chapter presents an account of global justice that is both empirically rooted and critical of

Real-World Global Egalitarianism    119 existing practices and arrangements. It is an account that requires the input of empirical social science in order to support the claim of duties of egalitarian distributive justice. It is in that sense necessarily sensitive to empirical conditions. And it also can lend support to recommendations that policies and institutions should be changed so as to promote greater equality globally.

Global Inequality The World Bank identifies two goals to be of the utmost importance. The first echoes the first Sustainable Development Goal: to end extreme poverty. The second, however, is to promote shared prosperity as a mean of addressing inequality (World Bank 2016). How unequal is the world? Across various measures there is deep, persistent, and in some cases growing global inequality. A recent study conducted by Oxfam found that by 2016 the combined wealth of the richest 1 per cent of the world’s population reached an amount greater than the combined wealth of the remaining 99 per cent. Recently, global inequality of wealth has been growing. In 2016 the richest 1 per cent’s share of wealth was over 50 per cent, while in 2009 it was about 44 per cent (Oxfam 2016). Within the wealthiest group there is also an incredible concentration of wealth. Thomas Piketty estimates that the wealthiest 0.1 per cent owns about 20 per cent of all wealth globally (Piketty 2014: 438) and he conjectures that their wealth has grown 6–​7 per cent per year over the past three decades (p. 435). These can only be rough conjectures based on uncertain evidence, because the wealthy resist having their treasure officially documented. Although wealth inequality is an important measure of private power differentials, there are other measures of inequality with moral salience. For example, global health inequalities are deep. According to the World Health Organization, the average life expectancy in low-​income countries is just 57 years, while in high-​income countries it is 80 years: one gets an average life-​bonus of about 23 years just for living in a high-​income country. Children in the poorest quintile globally are nearly twice as likely to die before their fifth birthday than children from the richest quintile (WHO 2001). Inequalities in education are also bleak. In the wealthiest countries almost no one aged 20–​24 has less than four years of schooling. In many of the poorest countries of the world, the majority of the population of that age has had less than four years of schooling. In Niger, the worst case, fully 78 per cent of the population aged 20–​24 has had less than four years of schooling (WIDE 2016). Not all political theorists condemn global inequality as an injustice. Thomas Nagel argues that the circumstances of justice do not exist globally. We cannot condemn existing inequality or even poverty as unjust, but the latter is nonetheless deplorable on humanitarian grounds (Nagel 2005). Many others argue that the deprivations at the bottom end of global inequality are morally objectionable, but inequality as such is not. Some condemn global poverty on human-​rights grounds (Pogge 2002). And among those theorists who think that judgements of distributive justice apply globally, and who

120   Darrel Moellendorf are committed to egalitarianism domestically, some argue that it is only poverty, not inequality, that justice condemns (Blake 2001). Rawls argues that peoples have only a duty of assistance to help other peoples who due to poverty are not able to form well-​ ordered societies (Rawls 1993; 1999). There are various lines of disagreement among egalitarian political theorists. Some argue that egalitarianism is not owed to everyone simply in virtue of their humanity, but is on the contrary justified only within special social or political relations. For some theorists, coercion is necessary (Blake 2001; 2011; Nagel 2005; Valentini 2011); for others, reciprocity is required (Sangiovanni 2007). And sometimes the claim is that the special conditions exist only within the state. Others favouring global justice argue that justice necessarily applies to all persons in virtue of their humanity (Tan 2004; Caney 2005a; Gilabert 2011; 2012). Even some who affirm that humanity alone is a sufficient condition for justice deny that principles of egalitarian distributive justice should guide international institutions, because of the range of disagreement about those principles (Caney 2006).

Membership-​Dependent Cosmopolitanism Two broad positions have been briefly surveyed: that egalitarian distributive duties exist only between persons within institutional circumstances of the kind characterized by the state, and that they exist between all persons of the world in virtue of their common humanity. In this section I defend a third position, which holds that although egalitarian duties require more than mere humanity, they exist nonetheless among all persons globally as co-​members of a common economic association (Moellendorf 2009; 2011). The humanity-​centred position might seem counterintuitive. If we imagine some society with which we have no significant interaction, is it really plausible that we could owe duties to its members to establish institutions securing egalitarian distributive justice? Even if we do not, it does not follow that such duties do not exist between all persons under contemporary conditions of globalization. I begin with the assumption that persons have a morally basic duty of equal respect to everyone. This is a pre-​institutional duty, and a basis of moral duties to everyone in virtue of their common humanity. That need not entail that there are duties to establish institutions of egalitarian justice covering everyone. Membership dependence is the view that duties of egalitarian social justice exist only among members of associations of the required kind (Moellendorf 2009: 40). Membership dependence requires a criterion or set of criteria that determine when associations are such that they give rise to duties of social justice. The criteria that govern when such duties arise can plausibly be adumbrated in the principle of “associational justice” (Moellendorf 2006: 608; 2009: 33). People must be members of an association that satisfies the following four conditions: it

Real-World Global Egalitarianism    121 must be (1) relatively strong, (2) largely non-​voluntary, (3) constitutive of a significant part of the background rules for the various relationships of members’ public lives, and (4) governed by norms subject to human control. There is no bright line distinguishing when duties of justice are generated by associations. Not all are sufficiently strong, nor do all generate effects with sufficient scope and force to structure a person’s membership in public life, and nor do all render a person’s participation sufficiently non-​voluntary. So application of the principle of associational justice requires considerable attention to empirical detail. If individuals are assumed not to owe duties of egalitarian distributive justice to all persons, why would the above conditions establish duties of justice between some subset of persons? Morally basic respect for human dignity is the basis of the account. Equal respect for the inherent dignity of persons requires taking them as co-​authors of a common life. Respect constrains the rules of an association (Moellendorf 2006: 610). Persons must be offered a justification, which in principle they could accept, for the rules of associations, which satisfy the above conditions. There is no genuine co-​authorship absent such a justification. This is the demand of “justificatory respect” (Moellendorf 2009: 11). To impose rules that could not in principle be justified to those governed by them is to disrespect those persons. It is to fail to treat them as co-​authors of the common association. On the universalist basis of equal respect for the inherent dignity of everyone, justificatory respect establishes special duties of social justice. Now, justificatory respect establishes a presumption of egalitarianism under the rules, regardless of whether the rules are directed towards determining how to live together in political community or towards how to distribute the goods and powers of our joint efforts. For any rule that establish members of the association as possessing special privileges or powers will be initially suspect. This is not to claim that differences would be impossible to justify on grounds of, say, need, desert, or advantage to the least advantaged; but no principle establishing powers on the basis the standing of one’s family, social class, gender, or race will be plausible. Someone might assert entitlements to wealth on the basis of a natural property right in their persons and products. Defeating such claims requires saying much more about why the natural-​rights account employed to defend entitlement fails. For now, we assume that natural-​rights accounts are not compelling. The associations that we consider are “common-​good associations,” in the sense that no one has a pre-​associational claim on the goods, powers, and opportunities that the norms of the association assign. The defence of an egalitarian presumption requires considering what members of an association could justify to one another. For this reason it might be rejected out of hand as an instance of what Amartya Sen calls “transcendental institutionalism” (Sen 2009). Sen’s favoured alternative is a realization-​focused comparison, “interested primarily in the removal of manifest injustice from the world” (p. 7). But in many important cases it is not manifest injustice that concerns us. In a great many cases, such as global inequality, whether there is an injustice is the most important question. A more sophisticate normative account is needed when the question is not how to remove manifest injustices but whether particular institutional arrangements productive of inequality are unjust.

122   Darrel Moellendorf Now consider whether the global economic association satisfies the conditions of the principle of associational justice. The first condition concerns the strength of the association. There are various measures of the strength of an association, but the following three seem relevant: the duration of the association, the comprehensive character of its norms, and the effects of the association on the moral interests of its members. Strength is a matter of degree. The longer the association has endured, the more comprehensively it guides members’ lives, and the more profound the effects are on persons’ interests, the stronger it seems to be. Let us consider, then, three characteristics of strength. First, from early in the history of capitalist economic development there has been a tendency in the direction of globalization. It has been observable since colonialism, but speeded up in the second half of the twentieth century with technological changes. Second, the global economic association is comprehensively governed by the norm of competition for market share. Firms must ceaselessly innovate and reduce production costs. Moreover, norms governing most international trade are also in place through the regulatory framework of the WTO. Third, the globalization of trade, investment, and finance has had profound effects on the highest-​order moral interests of persons. Export-​led development strategies have produced significant gains for the human development of some countries (Chang 2002). But job insecurity around the world has increased as a consequence of globalization (Standing 1999). And as the Great Recession painfully demonstrated, speculative international investing has increased the danger of generalized global economic crises. The second condition of the principle of associational justice is non-​voluntariness. An association is not non-​voluntary if there is no alternative at all to membership in it. That would be unreasonably demanding. Rather, an association is non-​voluntary to the extent that there is no reasonable alternative to participating in the association. Now, although state leaders are formally free either to deepen engagement with the global market or not, the fact that nearly every country in the world is a member of the WTO is evidence that there is no reasonable alternative development path. Moreover, there is no successful case of autarkic advanced economic development. The third condition is that the association constitutes a significant part of the background rules for the various relationships of members. Whether one can find employment and under what terms is part of that background affected by globalization. The fourth and final condition of the principle of associational justice is that the association must be governed by norms that are subject to human control. Market competition can be limited, directed, or counterbalanced by deliberate public policy; and WTO rules can in principle be amended. There is no doubt that the global economic association satisfies this condition.

Egalitarian Reforms A justified principle of egalitarian distributive justice will depend on the kind of association that exists and the policy options available. Different kinds of associations will

Real-World Global Egalitarianism    123 distribute different goods, and quite possibly according to different egalitarian principles. Political associations must aim for equal and inclusive political membership (Moellendorf 2009: 54); and economic associations must aim for reciprocal relations characterized by equality in productive, ownership, and distributive relations (pp. 58–​ 61). Although global egalitarians are sometimes criticized for simply extending to the globe principles of justice applicable in the state (Valentini 2011: 61), that is not a feature of the present account. On the contrary, both the principles of justice and the goods they govern are likely to be different globally from how they are in the state, according to the present account. If the capacity for governance is less well developed globally than in the state, that will also affect the kind of principle parties are duty-​ bound to follow in institutional reform or development (Moellendorf 2009:  63–​7; 2011: 548–​51). A defence of particular egalitarian principles for a partially globalized world would be extensive (see Moellendorf 2009: 40–​68). Here I set that aside to focus on the theme more central to practice. Which reforms to the global economic order might promote equality? Empirical study also tells us how global egalitarianism could inform political practice (see Chapters 8 and 9). Consider a very brief sketch of five kinds of egalitarian reforms. The first reform would be to liberalize immigration policies in developed countries. Immigration liberalization would advance the goal of equalizing opportunities globally. Branko Milanovič’s studies of global income distribution demonstrate that at least half the variability in a person’s global income percentile rank can be explained by the level of human development and inequality of income in her country of birth (Milanovič 2015). There seem then to be three means by which one’s income rank might be improved if one were born in a country plagued with inequality and low levels of human development. First, one could advance one’s career to receive greater than average remuneration in one’s country. Second, a country’s macroeconomic policy might lead to human development improvements there. Finally, one might emigrate in search of better income opportunities in more highly developed countries. Liberalizing immigration policies would make the third option more widely available. It would not equalize opportunities between people born in wealthy and poor countries, but it would narrow the gap between unequal opportunities. Liberalizing immigration policies would also be likely to bring material gains to people who remain in the poor countries. According to a World Bank report, increased immigration from developing to high-​income countries would increase the labour force of the latter by 3 per cent from 2002 to 2025, and would generate large aggregate increases in global welfare (World Bank 2006). When adjusted for prices, the increase in aggregate global income would be $356 billion or 0.6 per cent. And the gains would go disproportionately to developing countries, where incomes would increase by 1.8 per cent, compared to 0.4 per cent in high-​income countries. The increased income would result from decreased labour market competition (due to emigration) and increased remittances (from those who have emigrated). In confirmation of Milanovič’s claim about the value of emigrating, the World Bank also finds that there would be considerable gains to new immigrants in the high-​income countries. The cost-​of-​living-​adjusted

124   Darrel Moellendorf income gains would increase on average by nearly 200 per cent, due primarily to differences in wages between the countries of origin and destination. A second reform would be to prohibit IMF loan conditionality that requires labour market liberalization. Often a country’s access to crisis assistance from the IMF has been conditional on increasing retirement ages, weakening collective bargaining agreements, lowering minimum wages, reducing unemployment benefits, and loosening firing procedures. About one quarter of all IMF loans between 1987 and 2012 required liberalization (Caraway et al. 2012). The IMF justifies labour market liberalization as promoting growth and employment (Fuceri et al. 2012). This justification is made primarily on the basis of computer modelling exercises for the purpose of making long-​term prognoses, despite the well-​known short-​term risks of increased unemployment, reduced growth, and even recession. Some analysts support IMF-​required liberalization as means by which to enhance borrower credibility and lender confidence, the impact of which on growth and employment materialize over the medium-​to long-​term horizon (Barkbu et al. 2012). But even if the medium-​term growth projections were certain, egalitarians would have reason to reject liberalization policies because they tend to increase inequality within countries. A regression analysis over a 32-​year period of a sample of 110 countries offers significant evidence to this effect (Vreeland 2012: 121–​39). Liberalization programmes lead to greater class polarization. Labour’s income decreases, while capital’s increases (p. 133). A change to IMF policy, to prohibit making access to finance during economic crises conditional on labour market liberalization, would be a gain for egalitarianism. A third global reform would be for the WTO to require sequencing trade liberalization in order to support developing countries. A central aim of the WTO is to liberalize multilateral trade. And although WTO agreements often give greater adjustment time to less developed countries, nonetheless the WTO does not require sequencing trade liberalization such that developed countries must reduce their trade barriers first. Historical evidence suggests that achieving significant economic development requires that developing countries support and protect their industries, especially industries producing for export. Ha-​Joon Chang argues that Japan and the newly industrialized countries of East Asia all recently followed the well-​established strategy of infant industry protection pursued some time ago by North America and Europe (Chang 2002). As we have noted, Milanovič defends the importance to an individual’s income of the level of human development of her country of birth. Hence, a trade regime that promoted development by allowing developing states to protect and support their infant industries would also promote more equal opportunities for income among persons regardless of their country of origin. Unlike the previous three reforms, the fourth aims to redistribute from the global rich to the global poor by means of a new tax facility. The Financial Transaction Tax or Tobin Tax was initially proposed by James Tobin as a disincentive to international currency speculation (Tobin 1982: 43). The Financial Transaction Tax targets short-​term speculative investments in international money markets. Currency speculation can produce wild fluctuations in the value of currencies in developing countries. Such fluctuations

Real-World Global Egalitarianism    125 can affect the ability of a country to export its goods, to pay for imports, and to pay its debts. One potential benefit of an appropriately designed Financial Transaction Tax would be the protection of the development aims of poor countries by softening fluctuations caused by currency speculations. Insofar as no great social good is served by short-​term currency speculation, if the tax can be fine-​tuned in a way that does not deter long-​term investment, it would be morally costless. Tobin and colleagues also suggest that the proceeds that the tax generated could be used for global poverty reduction (Eichengreen et al. 1995: 161–​72). A very low tax could be effective in generating considerable revenue. Experiments thus far, however, do not offer full support for the effectiveness of the tax. A Swedish tax on the sale and purchase of equity securities and fixed-​income securities was dropped after a few years because revenues were low and the volume of trading had declined significantly. But the explanation of these outcomes is disputed (Wroebel 1996). A possible European-​wide experiment would be more instructive. Initially eleven EU states agreed to implement a financial transaction tax in early 2016 under an EU provision known as “enhanced cooperation.” But Estonia pulled out and Belgium and Estonia began expressing serious reservations. Under the plan at least nine participants are required. The June 2016 deadline for an agreement about the plan came and went. Although more experimentation is needed, there is little enthusiasm in Europe at the moment for initiatives in pursuit of greater cooperation. The fifth reform is the global wealth tax proposed by Thomas Piketty. The central attraction of Piketty’s proposal for a global tax on capital is that such a tax could get to the main source of inequality far more effectively than an income tax. Because the very wealthy only take a very small proportion of their wealth as income, typically much smaller than the percentage by which their wealth grows, inequality of wealth can grow even with a progressive income tax (Piketty 2014: 525). What is more, given the high levels of private wealth, even a tax at a modest rate would bring in significant revenue for social-​welfare policies that support people living in poverty and with low incomes. In Europe, a tax of 2.5 per cent would generate revenues equivalent to 2 per cent of Europe’s GDP (Piketty 2014: 528). If a modest tax were to be implemented that did not address inequality much, it would nonetheless generate valuable information about the global distribution of wealth by requiring the reporting of wealth (pp. 518–​19) and by requiring states to broaden their agreements about sharing banking data (p. 520). The latter would remove the possibility of hiding money away in remote countries, since it would require all countries to cooperate by agreeing to, and enforcing, a tax schedule applicable to wealth everywhere. The idea of a global, progressive wealth tax seems utopian under current conditions. But the proposal is nonetheless useful as a standard against which to measure the effectiveness of other proposals to reduce global inequality (p. 515). The five reforms sketched above indicate how global egalitarianism might guide international practice, as well as the extent to which normative theories must draw on research in the social sciences in order to have practical relevance within the context to which they apply.

126   Darrel Moellendorf

Practice, Context, and Critique The membership-​dependent account of cosmopolitanism presented above is empirically rooted in three ways. First, the principle of associational justice applies if and only if the association satisfies certain empirical conditions. We do not owe duties of egalitarian social justice to everyone, but only to co-​members of associations of the requisite kind. Second, the nature of the association determines the metric of justice. If there is a justificatory presumption of equality, consideration of the context is necessary to determine what egalitarianism concerns. Third, the changes supported by the account take into consideration the existing empirical literature on how the association might be reformed. But unlike some contextualist accounts of justice, the present membership-​dependent account also provides the basis for a critical theory. Although the account bears a resemblance to Michael Walzer’s account of justice, which takes principles to be dependent on different spheres of social life (Walzer 1983), it is better able to support criticisms of the distributive principles governing the spheres of social life. Contrary to Walzer, the present membership-​dependent account is founded on equal human dignity, which is the basis of justificatory respect. Such respect establishes a justificatory presumption of equality in all associations in which duties of justice exists. Goods might vary according to associations, and principles might too, but the justificatory presumption makes egalitarianism the benchmark against which departures must be justified reciprocally. Walzer seeks to ensure the critical capacity of his account by insulating spheres from one another. The membership-​dependent account presented above ensures critical capacity by means of the demands of justificatory respect. Respect for the equal dignity of all persons requires that the rule of the relevant associations be justifiable to them. Such requirement establishes the justificatory presumption of equality. There could be version of membership dependence for which, in David Miller’s words, the “context dependence of principles goes all the way down” (Miller 2002: 7). Such accounts would be altogether too conventionalist. Accounts without leverage on the norms of existing associations could be widely accepted, but they would lack the basis upon which to criticize that acceptance (Williams 2005). A critical theory must be able to do that. In the membership-​dependent account presented above, the principles are not context-​dependent all the way down. On the contrary, although they apply only in certain contexts and their metrics are context-​sensitive, the egalitarian justificatory presumption of justificatory respect has nothing to do with existing conventions. The critical force is based there. The empirical rootedness of the theory plus its critical force should appeal to some versions of contemporary realism in political theory, which stress the importance of such features (Stears 2005). Other realist accounts criticize normative theories that fail to begin by offering an understanding of politics (Rossi and Sleat 2014; see Chapter 48). Politics is not central to the present account; rather, associational features are. Indeed, it is a virtue of the present account that it takes concerns of justice to

Real-World Global Egalitarianism    127 apply in cases, such as the global economy, in which political governance is not strong. Once again, this aspect of the critical force of the account is lacking in more conventionalist accounts.

Concluding Remarks The discussions of global inequality and global egalitarianism offered in this chapter provide evidence that normative political theory can both be rooted in empirical understandings of the world and existing problems and still have the capacity to apply principles that offer a critical normative perspective on the world and its problems. I hope that the examples nonetheless provide some reason to believe that normative theorists of international justice often do well to develop accounts that are informed by empirical accounts both in the development of the relevant normative principles and in the discussion of how progress in light of those principles might be made. The world must be understood. But accounts of normative theory do not aim simply to interpret the world; they aim to change it.

Acknowledgements I would like to thank Robyn Eckersley for advice in the development of this chapter, Eszter Kollar for comments on the penultimate version of the chapter, and Lukas Sparenborg for applying the proper format.

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­c hapter 10

Moral Resp onsi bi l i t y—​ and Luc k ?—​i n Internationa l P ol i t i c s Toni Erskine

International politics is a realm in which deprivation, disadvantage, and harm are all-​too-​common phenomena. Justice, we argue, demands a response. Such a response generally takes one of two forms. We may place the burden of performing preventive or remedial actions on particular agents. We may also evaluate the wrongdoing, recklessness, or neglect that led to the injustice and apportion blame (and possibly punishment) accordingly. To complicate matters, both moves reasonably follow from different interpretations of a single question: Who is responsible? Indeed, in the context of considerations of global justice, focused on what the multifarious agents in international politics owe each other and why, both moves follow from the desire to locate specifically moral responsibility. In order to understand international politics, and the powerful judgements that are made in the course of its conduct and analysis, an appreciation of the complex terrain of moral responsibility is essential. Unfortunately, the study of international politics, in the guise of the academic discipline of International Relations (IR), has largely eschewed questions of moral responsibility—​at least in the prescriptive and evaluative senses just highlighted. Indeed, mainstream IR is methodologically predisposed to be wary of such endeavours (Erskine 2012: 459–​60). By contrast, International Political Theory (IPT)—​understood here as an extension of moral and political philosophy beyond their traditional focus within the political community, and as a subfield of IR (Erskine 2008a: 9–​10)—​explicitly and unapologetically explores the ethical dimension of international politics. Importantly, IPT’s value lies not merely in taking the tools of moral and political philosophy and expanding the scope of analysis from the community or state to the globe—​not at its best and most provocative, anyway. Even while IPT takes inspiration from these branches of philosophy—​borrowing theories of justice, duty, and rights, and adopting a methodology (foreign to social scientific IR) that employs

Moral Responsibility—and Luck?   131 hypothetical examples in order to single out variables and interrogate our intuitions—​ it is also influenced by IR’s concern with concrete cases and empirical research, and is able to draw on the theoretical frameworks that mainstream IR has developed to explain them. By bringing together insights from disciplinary perspectives that are too often treated in strict (and even antagonistic) isolation, work in IPT has the potential to challenge the limitations of each—​and thereby explore concepts such as moral responsibility anew. One way of exploring questions of moral responsibility in international politics is to address the distinct yet interrelated factors of agency, structure, and (more controversially) luck. Agency and structure receive valuable, ongoing attention in relation to questions of moral responsibility in international politics, with analyses benefiting from IPT’s particular constellation of influences. The role of luck in attributions of moral responsibility at the international level has, however, been ignored. The purpose of this chapter is to begin to redress this neglect and, in the process, to demonstrate how IPT is uniquely placed to do so. An ancillary aim is to consider whether the subtle influence of chance not only unsettles our understanding of moral responsibility but also, concomitantly, disturbs common accounts of other concepts in ways that have implications across any proposed division between normative and empirical approaches to international politics. I will start by returning to the two forms that judgements of moral responsibility take, highlighting fundamental philosophical assumptions common to both, and briefly touching on how these assumptions enrich, and are enriched by, mainstream IR’s prominent understandings of agency and structure when ethical scrutiny shifts from the domestic to the international sphere. I will then turn to “moral luck”—​a concept that has been invoked in philosophical debates as a foil to largely Kantian conceptions of moral responsibility, but hitherto sorely neglected in analyses of international politics. While introducing three variations on moral luck, I will suggest that chance and contingency already infuse ethical analyses of practical problems ranging from climate change to protecting vulnerable populations from mass atrocity. The crucial question that accompanies this proposal is whether acknowledging this presence threatens to shift the ground on which our ascriptions of moral responsibility rest, or instead simply affords a more nuanced and accurate account of the existing landscape.

Judgements of Moral Responsibility To be morally responsible for a particular act or outcome is usefully described as being answerable for it. Indeed, “responsibility” comes from the Latin respondeo, “I answer” (Lucas 1993: 5). Significantly, this description can cover two divergent yet equally legitimate understandings:  prospective and retrospective moral responsibility.1 When one claims that an agent is morally responsible for an act or an outcome, answerability is conceived in terms of the agent either being the one expected to perform or achieve

132   Toni Erskine it or, alternatively, being the object of blame (or possibly praise) for what has already occurred. Calls of prospective moral responsibility entail ex ante judgements regarding acts that ought to be performed or forbearances that must be observed. These are regularly voiced in the language of duties, responsibilities, and obligations.2 Assertions of retrospective moral responsibility involve ex post facto assessments of a particular event or set of circumstances for which an agent’s acts or omissions were such that the agent is deemed deserving of blame or praise. These are articulated most often in the language of blame, culpability, guilt, and accountability, and are frequently linked to calls for reparation or punishment. Both are potentially powerful judgements that appeal to what we understand to be moral requirements. To be coherent, such judgements must satisfy two criteria. First, they must be directed towards moral agents, or actors that possess capacities for understanding and reflecting upon moral requirements, and for acting in such a way as to conform to these requirements. Second, the moral agent must experience some degree of “independence from other forces and agents” (O’Neill 1986: 51). Put differently, ascriptions of duty and blame must attach to those agents who not only possess the capacities to respond to moral requirements but also enjoy the freedom to act or to have acted. Each assumption provides an important starting point for assessing moral responsibility in international politics. Each also connects with insights from mainstream IR’s dominant focus on causal analysis, and, specifically, from respective sides of its well-​ rehearsed opposition between theoretical frameworks that concentrate on (corporate) autonomous agents and those that champion the explanatory power of global structures.3 Who—​or what—​we recognize as moral agents has a profound effect on our scope for moral assessment in international politics. Valuable philosophical studies that shed light on the nature of moral responsibility often depict moral agents exhaustively in the guise of individual human beings, yet this fails to support compelling accounts of our expectations and failures in international politics (Erskine 2008b). Positions that defend the inclusion of corporate entities within the class of moral agent (e.g. French 1984; O’Neill 1986; Erskine 2001; List and Pettit 2011) therefore have particular salience. Indeed, the idea that formal organizations can qualify as moral agents—​what we might label “institutional moral agents” (Erskine 2001)—​has become increasingly accepted within IPT, with recent work often starting from this assumption (e.g. Bukovansky et al. 2012; Karp 2014). Attention to global structures is also crucial to analyses of moral responsibility. Structures variously constrain and enable moral agents acting within them, thereby limiting or enhancing the freedom of these agents to choose and to act—​and affecting what they can reasonably be considered answerable for (Erskine 2001: 183–​6). Global structures also represent objects of reform in pursuit of a more just world. Important work within IPT addresses the moral responsibilities of both flesh-​and-​blood and institutional moral agents to reform global structures that cause or perpetuate harm and injustice (e.g. Pogge 2002; Young 2011). In short, both agency and structure inform our judgements of moral responsibility in international politics. Luck complicates these ostensibly familiar themes.

Moral Responsibility—and Luck?   133

The Neglected Role of Luck Luck is oddly overlooked in most analyses of international politics—​and as a concept worthy of attention in IR.4 Yet luck has potentially profound implications for both theory and practice. It is particularly relevant, and potentially unsettling, with respect to our assessments of moral responsibility. The controversial idea of “moral luck” was introduced by Bernard Williams (1976) and extended in a response by Thomas Nagel (1976).5 Since then it has been variously debated, refined, and rejected by philosophers (see Statman 1993b; Nelkin 2013). According to standard accounts in contemporary ethical thought, an agent cannot be morally accountable for what is outside the agent’s control. In the words of Joel Feinberg (1970, 32), “[m]‌oral responsibility [ . . . ] must be something one can neither escape by good luck nor tumble into through bad luck.” Yet, the possibility of moral luck boldly contradicts the conviction that our moral appraisals are immune to the influence of chance. As defined by Nagel (1979: 66), moral luck occurs “[w]here a significant aspect of what someone does depends on factors beyond his control, yet we continue to treat him in that respect as an object of moral judgement.” In such instances, our moral judgements are subject to fickle fate. Drawing on the seminal contributions of Williams and Nagel, I will outline three distinct types of moral luck—​often labelled “circumstantial luck,” “resultant luck,” and “constitutive luck”6—​and explore whether and how each affects our judgements of moral responsibility. In this endeavour, I will depart from standard philosophical interrogations of moral luck in two respects. First, my focus will be on institutional moral agents in international politics as the objects of moral responsibility judgements, rather than on individual human agents in a domestic context. Second, while the idea of moral luck is understood in relation to assessments of retrospective moral responsibility, or evaluations of praise and blame, I will also question what each of the three conceptions might contribute to considerations of prospective moral responsibility, or assessments of what particular agents ought to do in specific contexts. My aim in this section is to uncover instances of moral luck in the assessments that we already make in international politics, and ask what they mean for the account of moral responsibility sketched above.

Circumstantial Luck Nagel (1976: 140) introduces the idea of “luck in one’s circumstances”—​simply, the elem­ ent of chance involved in being confronted by particular situations and dilemmas that test one and ultimately result in judgements of praise or blame. His example takes us back to Germany in the 1930s (Nagel 1976: 145–​6). “Ordinary citizens of Nazi Germany had an opportunity to behave heroically by opposing the regime,” he observes. “They also had an opportunity to behave badly, and most of them are culpable for having failed this test.” Significantly, “it is a test to which the citizens of other countries were not subjected, with the result that even if they, or some of them, would have behaved as badly as

134   Toni Erskine the Germans in like circumstances, they simply did not and therefore are not similarly culpable.” Nagel concludes that “[w]‌e judge people for what they actually do or fail to do, not just for what they would have done if circumstance had been different.” In this respect, “one is morally at the mercy of fate.” The point is not that there is anything amiss with judging moral agents for their acts and omissions, but, rather, with the relative assessment of moral agents—​as culpable and estimable—​when they would have likely behaved indistinguishably had they been subject to the same circumstances. Circumstantial luck may seem at first glance to have some affinity with considerations of structure. Yet the perceived challenge to moral responsibility judgements is not the constraining force of the circumstances in which the agent is situated. As alluded to above, when structures circumscribe agents’ choices, attributions of moral responsibility are commonly mitigated accordingly. Instead, the concern is with the capriciousness of circumstance. The agents in Nagel’s example could have acted otherwise and so are appropriate objects of moral censure, yet—​unlike other agents—​were placed in a situation where failure was possible, and indeed likely. Other examples of circumstantial luck, which involve institutional rather than flesh-​ and-​blood moral agents, include the uniquely challenging demands currently faced by some states in the context of refugee flows and climate change. To address the latter, I take it as uncontroversial that states cannot coherently be blamed for releasing harmful greenhouse gas emissions into the atmosphere prior to the point at which knowledge of the causal link between carbon dioxide (CO2) emissions and global warming became widely accessible (perhaps from about 1990 with the publication of the first Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change Assessment Report). States can, however, be blamed for the harm caused by high levels of emissions after this point. Yet, enlightened states (about the effects of greenhouse gases) have found themselves facing radically different choices. Developing states that had not industrialized when this causal link became apparent confront a singularly difficult dilemma. They have a strong incentive to increase rather than decrease their emissions (if they wish to avoid being left behind economically), despite knowledge of the harm that this would do to the environment. States that industrialized “innocently” (at least with reference to carbon emissions) do not face the same dilemma. A couple of things are important here. First, and crucially, recognition of circumstantial luck does not undermine the understanding of moral responsibility judgements already addressed. Polluting states that baulk at sacrificing their own development to prevent increases in global warming, like Nagel’s “ordinary citizens” who refused to accept risk to themselves by opposing the Nazi regime, are morally responsible for the harm that they reasonably could have been expected to prevent. Second, acknowledging circumstantial luck (of the type presented in Nagel’s example) nevertheless appears to lobby for some attenuation of the blame directed at the agent facing trying circumstances. Significantly, Nagel’s example invokes the majority of “ordinary citizens” who failed “to behave heroically” by opposing the Nazi regime. (I do not understand this reference to be to those who perpetrated crimes, but rather to those with knowledge of harm being done who opted for self-​preservation over taking action to try to stop it.)7

Moral Responsibility—and Luck?   135 His suggestion that others would have also failed if they had experienced these circumstances is compelling, even if we each might like to believe that we would be the shining exception. States that refuse to jettison their own development can be seen to follow an understandable—​although hardly ideal or heroic—​path. There seems to be a process of tempering expectations, an acknowledgement of the fallibility of agents in a “there but for the grace of God go I” qualification of blame that accompanies such revelations of circumstantial luck. Practically, this might have the potential to push those agents who did not face this test to qualify their condemnation, and even consider a more just distribution of the costs of hard circumstantial luck.8 The realization of circumstantial luck might also move these situationally fortunate agents in another direction. Embracing an understanding of what is morally required while acknowledging that they would likely derogate from this standard if they faced similar circumstances might prompt these agents to see themselves as sharing in blame for contributing to a normative structure in which such dissonance is possible (and self-​preservation can so easily trump moves toward the protection of others and the prevention of broader harm). This could, in turn, inform our forward-​looking responsibilities by pushing us either to reassess or to articulate more strongly what we understand to be moral requirements, so that it is not as easy to attribute wrongdoing to the circumstances that the agent happens to encounter.

Resultant Luck Resultant luck draws our attention to how the contingency of outcomes can influence our moral assessments. Nagel (1976:  141) illustrates two types of resultant luck:  one involves negligence and recklessness; the other attaches to decisions made in the face of uncertainty. As an example of the first, Nagel describes someone driving under the influence of alcohol whose car swerves onto the sidewalk. If there happens to be no one on the sidewalk at the time, Nagel suggests that “he can count himself morally lucky.” Had there been people on the sidewalk, “he would be to blame for their deaths, and would probably be prosecuted for manslaughter.” Yet, “his recklessness is exactly the same in both cases.” Nagel suggests that this is another example of moral luck because our different moral assessments in the respective scenarios are due to their divergent outcomes, and these outcomes depend on something beyond the agent’s control. Behaving recklessly is under one’s control; the other factors that contribute to blame in the latter case are not. Comparable cases in international politics are easily uncovered. Transnational corporations, like BP, face sanctions, fines, and widespread condemnation of moral failure when their flouting of safety procedures results in environmental disaster, such as the 2010 Deepwater Horizon oil spill. Corporations that may be equally negligent and reckless, but—​through nothing more than their own (and others’) good fortune—​avoid having this translated into catastrophic harm might seem to be let off the moral hook in terms of being spared these responses. Yet, unlike Nagel, I am not convinced that

136   Toni Erskine our moral assessments of the agents in the two cases would (or should) be different if it were clear that their intentions and (unmediated) deeds are indistinguishable. As such, this type of resultant luck does not seem to offer a great challenge to our moral-​ responsibility judgements. In each scenario, we simply morally assess what we know. As Norvin Richards (1986: 199) observes, different judgements across these cases “reflect our epistemic shortcomings.” Nagel’s hypothetical pedestrian deaths were harms that would have triggered an investigation and punitive action; the 2010 oil spill indicated possibly negligent and reckless practices, which were confirmed in subsequent reviews. Different moral assessments in such cases are not obviously due to our understanding of moral responsibility being surreptitiously skewed by luck but, rather, to practical impediments to forming and expressing these judgements. The reality of divergent responses to the same negligent behaviour usefully points to constraints on what we can know, and to related limitations on the conditions under which we can consistently and fairly express condemnation and punish wrongdoing. Nagel’s second variation on resultant luck, inspired by Williams (1976), involves decisions under uncertainty. Like the first, the agent in question contributes to an outcome, this time in the form of a decision to take a particular course of action when the consequences cannot be foreseen. Again, there are also contributions to the outcome that are beyond the agent’s control. Such elements of chance, Nagel observes, can be pivotal to our moral assessment of the decision. He illustrates this with counterfactual examples, including the following (1976: 142): “[i]‌f the American revolution had been a bloody failure resulting in greater repression,” then Jefferson, Franklin, and Washington would have been blamed for the suffering that “they had helped to bring on their compatriots” and certainly would not have been deemed worthy of the praise that came with their actual success. As Nagel acknowledges, we can evaluate the decision to act in advance of knowing the outcome; however, our moral evaluations of such choices are, in fact, often informed subsequently by the actual results. “The same degree of culpability or estimability in intention, motive, or concern is compatible with a wide range of judgements, positive or negative, depending on what happened beyond the point of decision” (Nagel 1976: 143). Contingency thereby creeps in as an object of moral assessment. Deferred assessments of the decisions of states and intergovernmental organizations to engage in military interventions for human protection purposes are invitations to this type of resultant luck. The widely endorsed “responsibility to protect” demands careful consideration of when and how members of the international community can legitimately respond to a state’s manifest failure to protect its populations from mass atrocity (Ban Ki-​moon 2009; see Chapter 25). Invoking, among other cases, NATO’s 1999 intervention in Kosovo and a counterfactual, timely intervention in Rwanda in 1994, the drafters of the 2001 International Committee on Intervention and State Sovereignty Report proposed that decisions to discharge this responsibility through military means be evaluated after the fact in those controversial cases in which UN Security Council authorization is lacking (ICISS 2001: 48, 54). In practice, such judgements unavoidably take account of outcomes in evaluating decisions to intervene. Indeed, this is exactly

Moral Responsibility—and Luck?   137 what happened in the retrospective assessment of NATO’s decision to intervene in Kosovo (IICK 2000: 4). Leaving moral responsibility judgements wide open to luck in this way represents a great gamble. Yet, rather than chipping away at our conventional understanding of moral responsibility, this variation on resultant luck cautions against avoidable error. Backward-​looking evaluations of a decision to act (or refrain from acting) should be judged according to what it was possible for agents to know at the time. Although subsequent acts and omission are also open to evaluation, the merit of a decision—​to engage in humanitarian intervention, for example—​should not be vulnerable to negation by an unintended and unforeseeable calamitous result. Likewise, contra the argument of Nicholas Wheeler (2000: 38–​9), a serendipitous humanitarian outcome that follows an otherwise-​intended military intervention should not retrospectively rescue the legitimacy of a state’s decision to engage in the action. This variation on resultant luck speaks to considerations of prospective moral responsibility by reinforcing the imperative to act only when it is possible to offer a fully informed, compelling justification of the decision to do so, which heeds clear precautionary principles and will withstand any result. It also warns of the folly in allowing the morality of a decision to be either held hostage to or redeemed by fortune.

Constitutive Luck “Constitutive luck” is potentially more disruptive to standard conceptions of moral responsibility. Here, I adopt the label coined by Williams (1976; 1981) and (in the absence of an explicit treatment by Williams) construct an account that is inspired by his reflections on moral luck as they relate to the impact of events beyond the agent’s control on the agent’s own sense of moral responsibility and identity.9 Constitutive luck, as I understand it, can be summed up by the idea that one’s “sense of who one is in terms of what one has done and what in the world one is responsible for” is shaped, at least in part, by the unintended aspects of one’s actions (Williams 1981: 29–​30). Constitutive luck thus conceived can accompany the types of resultant luck just addressed but, in its starkest and most unsettling form, also involves cases where the agent contributes to some outcome yet the agent is entirely without fault and the contribution is completely accidental. One of Williams’s examples is crucial to this understanding. He describes an unfortunate lorry driver who happens “through no fault of his” to run over a child—​perhaps a child who suddenly ran into the street to retrieve a ball. The driver could not possibly have anticipated the accident. Unlike the example above, he was neither negligent nor reckless. Yet, in strict terms, his action caused the child’s death. Williams (1981: 27) observes that the driver will feel a particular “species of regret” that he labels “agent regret,” which “a person can only feel towards his own past actions (or, at most, actions in which he regards himself as a participant).” Even though the driver unintentionally and faultlessly caused the death of the child, he is tormented by the thought that he could have acted otherwise; moreover, he is motivated to make some reparation. The

138   Toni Erskine notion of “agent regret” is not, then, only a response to what one has intentionally done, but can also extend to “deeply accidental and non-​voluntary levels of agency” (Williams 1981: 28). Indeed, Williams maintains that it would be impossible to “entirely detach ourselves from the unintentional aspects of our actions” and “still retain our identity and character as agents” (p. 29). Although he is concerned primarily with the agent’s self-​assessment of his actions, it is clear that Williams thinks both that the agent should feel this way and that others expect the agent to feel this way: “[w]‌e feel sorry for the driver, but that sentiment co-​exists with, indeed presupposes, that there is something special about his relation to this happening, something which cannot merely be eliminated by the consideration that it was not his fault” (p. 28). Williams goes as far as to maintain that we would be critical of the driver if he did not experience this regret. There are two distinct ideas that come out of Williams’s example. First, neither what we accept (some degree of) retrospective moral responsibility for, nor the prospective moral responsibilities deemed to be incurred as a result, are quite so tightly tied to what is within our control as we might like to assume. Although he does not engage with Williams’ argument explicitly, this is surely the point that David Miller (2001: 458) has in mind when he writes of “innocent causation” and its mysterious tendency to generate not only regret (and the appropriateness of apology), but also “some special responsibility” for remedial action on the part of an accidental agent. Second, an agent’s critical self-​assessment for something that was unintended and, indeed, beyond the agent’s control can nevertheless inform the very identity of the agent going forward—​and even contribute to the agent’s future choices and actions (which will, in turn, be subject to moral assessment). Alluding to exactly this argument, Peter Euben (2012: 88) observes that “what we have done constitutes our character which in turn establishes the kinds of actions that we will and can do.” There are clear cases of both ideas complicating assessments of moral responsibility in international politics. An example of “innocent causation” that seems nonetheless to carry a sense of moral responsibility can be found in some defences of the “polluter pays principle,” according to which states that produced the most emissions have the greatest responsibility to remedy the current crisis. A state that generated harmful emissions prior to there being general knowledge that greenhouse gases produce climate change provides an example of “innocent causation”; contingency placed the agent in the role of perpetrator of unintended and unforeseeable harm.10 To the extent that there is some intuition that such a state should nevertheless bear a burden of responsibility for this historical harm—​independent of considerations of having benefited and the capacity for remedial action—​this broader conception of moral responsibility holds sway. As Janna Thompson (2016: 3) argues in the context of climate change, “excusably ignorant agents can do injustice and thus be liable for reparations.”11 Again, innocent causation is linked to what we understand to be an agent’s remedial responsibilities. Moreover, there is a perverse sense in which the agent is seen as somehow deserving the costs of remedial action. One can also talk about the character of particular corporate entities in international politics, and their subsequent actions, being affected by their involvement in

Moral Responsibility—and Luck?   139 unintended, calamitous outcomes. Chris Brown (2008) explores whether Western states’ roles in humanitarian interventions, such as Somalia in 1992–​3, and the apparent resulting sentiments of guilt and responsibility, affected their policies in responding (or not) to future crises, such as the 1994 Rwandan genocide. Admittedly, Miller’s phrase “innocent causation” is not appropriate here. Military intervention, even if we could assume consistently laudable intentions, is always going to result in foreseeable, if unintended, deaths (unlike driving a lorry). But, to invoke a phrase used by Williams (1981: 29), there will be consequences for which the agent was “unintentionally responsible”—​indeed, consequences beyond the agent’s control. I hesitate to talk about Williams’ agent-​regret in the context of corporate entities if this might be seen to imbue them with emotions, and thereby anthropomorphize states and other institutional actors in a way that I argue is unnecessary for recognizing them as moral agents and unhelpful in practice (Erskine 2008c).12 Yet, the degree to which this aspect of constitutive luck can be applied to corporate entities in international politics is an intriguing question. We can talk about unintended harm—​and accompanying censure, including self-​censure—​informing the character and identity of the institutional moral agent that caused it without venturing into the contentious territory of ascribing emotions to the agent that are not reducible to its individual human constituents. There will, after all, be consequences for the corporate agent in such cases, both in terms of reactions from other agents—​condemnation and demands for redress—​and (perhaps less tangibly but no less powerfully) in terms of the dissonance between how it presents and perceives itself and the actual effects of its actions. In contrast to the observation earlier in this chapter that our understanding of agency informs our moral assessments, constitutive luck subverts the relationship and suggests that moral responsibility judgements—​even those that rely, perhaps problematically, on much that is beyond the control of the object of assessment—​can inform, and reconstitute, agency.

Conclusion “Moral luck” is a provocation and a puzzle—​one that takes us beyond IPT’s current focus on agency and structure in analyses of moral responsibility in international politics. It suggests that chance and contingency can variously infiltrate our moral responsibility judgements, and even lead them astray, by affecting the nature of agents’ choices, the consequences of their actions, and, perhaps most profoundly, their very character and the way they define themselves. By drawing on philosophy’s seminal contributions to this purposely paradoxical notion, and applying a typology extracted from these early contributions to cases involving corporate actors in international politics, this chapter has sought to explore whether this influence undermines or can be accommodated by our understanding of moral responsibility—​and what we can learn from it. The respective categories of moral luck elicit different responses.

140   Toni Erskine Epiphanies of circumstantial luck can hold heuristic value. They prompt us to revisit—​or, alternatively, more forcefully articulate—​the shared understandings that underpin what we deem to be moral requirements. As for the mirage of resultant luck in differential moral assessments of cases of negligence or recklessness, it encourages us to distinguish between when, in theory, a moral agent deserves blame, and when, in practice, we can confidently make this judgement and respond. Instances of resultant luck that taint our assessments of decisions under uncertainty warn against allowing decisions to be judged based on their outcomes—​a move that the causal complexity of global structures renders particularly risky. None of these manifestations of moral luck provides a knockdown blow to conventional understandings of moral responsibility judgements. Rather, they have the potential to sharpen our moral assessments of international politics. The idea of constitutive luck, however, is more unsettling. One cannot completely extricate luck from agency. Williams (1981: 29–​30) maintains that it is possible to draw from this one of two conclusions: “that responsible agency is a fairly superficial concept, which has a limited use in harmonizing what happens,” or, alternatively, “that it is not a superficial concept, but that it cannot be purified.” He comes out on the side of the latter. For Williams, an agent’s sense of self, acceptance of responsibility, and reasons for acting are coloured and conditioned by contingency and chance events. This conception of “impure agency,” to borrow Margaret Urban Walker’s felicitous phrase (1991), not only complicates notions of moral responsibility in international politics but also speaks to assumptions within mainstream IR. “Impure agency” matters for IPT’s evaluative and prescriptive endeavours in relation to questions of global justice because it fosters rogue intuitions that agents can be accountable for events beyond what they could have foreseen or controlled—​and that they may therefore bear some reparative cost. It matters for mainstream IR’s causal analyses because luck enters the fray as an unmapped, external determinant that can reconstitute agents and their preferences—​ and thereby casts doubt on both accepted causal narratives and the explanatory and predictive value of its model of the ideal, rational actor. Both sets of challenges invite further attention.

Acknowledgements This chapter was drafted while I was Visiting Research Fellow in the Department of Politics and International Relations at Oxford University. I am grateful to the Department for providing a stimulating environment in which to write. I am also indebted to Peter Balint, Ned Dobos, John Dryzek, Cian O’Driscoll, David Miller, Jonathan Pickering, and Ana Tanasoca for detailed feedback on earlier drafts, and to Alex Bellamy and Simon Caney for valuable discussions of particular points

Notes 1. I owe this distinction to past discussions with Onora O’Neill. See also Feinberg (1970: 25–​ 6, 26n.) with reference to legal responsibility, and Erskine (2003: 8).

Moral Responsibility—and Luck?   141 2. I will treat these interchangeably for the purposes of this chapter. 3. See e.g. Wight (2006). 4. Work within IPT that invokes “luck egalitarianism”—​the idea that advantages and disadvantages arising from accidents of birth and natural talent are not deserved and therefore should be subject to a more egalitarian (and just) redistribution—​is an important exception, and distinct from this chapter’s focus. 5. These arguments were revised in Williams (1981) and Nagel (1979), respectively, and touched on previously by Feinberg (1970: 31–​2, 34–​7). 6. See e.g. Statman (1993a: 11). Nagel (1976/​1979) also describes a category that Statman has called “causal luck”; however, I take this to be encompassed within the other categories. 7. A passing remark in his revised essay (Nagel 1979: 26) confirms that Nagel also contemplated the case of Nazi war criminals; yet they do not fit his description of “most” “ordinary citizens” in the current example. 8. Of course, that the erstwhile innocent polluters are causally responsible for the lack of absorption capacity left to those facing the dilemma and, moreover, benefited from this excusable harm are also potential considerations in the emissions vs development example. 9. Nagel (1976: 140) articulates a narrower notion of “constitutive luck” as luck in “the kind of person you are [ . . . ] your inclinations, capacities and temperament.” 10. Of course, chance might also make agents accidental providers of good (like the fortuitous agents of humanitarian outcomes, noted above). 11. Emphasis mine. For an objection, see Caney (2010: 209). 12. Notably, Brown (2008) avoids this conundrum by referring to the guilty feelings of individual decision-​makers and state leaders.

References Ban Ki-​Moon. (2009). Implementing the Responsibility to Protect, A/​63/​677. [Online (United Nations General Assembly); accessed 19 Apr. 2017.] http://​www.un.org/​en/​ga/​search/​view_​ doc.asp?symbol=A/​63/​677 Brown, C. (2008). “Delinquent” States, Guilty Consciences and Humanitarian Politics in the 1990s. Journal of International Political Theory 4(1): 55–​7 1. Bukovansky M., I. Clark, R. Eckersley, R. Price, C. Reus-​Smit, and N. Wheeler (2012). Special Responsibilities: Global Problems and American Power (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Caney, S. (2010). Climate Change and the Duties of the Advantaged. Critical Review of International Social and Political Philosophy 13(1): 203–​28. Erskine, T. (2001). Assigning Responsibilities to Institutional Moral Agents: The Case of States and Quasi-​States. Ethics & International Affairs 15(2): 67–​85. Erskine, T. (2003). Making Sense of Responsibility in International Relations: Key Questions and Concepts. In T. Erskine (ed.), Can Institutions Have Responsibilities? Institutional Moral Agency and International Relations (New York: Palgrave Macmillan), 1–​16. Erskine, T. (2008a). Embedded Cosmopolitanism: Duties to Strangers and Enemies in a World of “Dislocated Communities” (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Erskine, T. (2008b). Locating Responsibility: The Problem of Moral Agency in International Relations. In C. Reus-​Smit and D. Snidal (eds), The Oxford Handbook of International Relations (Oxford: Oxford University Press), 699–​707.

142   Toni Erskine Erskine, T. (2008c). Responding to “Delinquent” Institutions. Journal of International Political Theory 4(1): 1–​8. Erskine, T. (2012). Whose Progress, Which Morals? Constructivism, Normative IR Theory and the Limits and Possibilities of Studying Ethics in World Politics. International Theory 4(3): 449–​68. Euben, P. (2012). The Tragedy of Tragedy. In T. Erskine and R. N. Lebow (eds), Tragedy and International Relations (New York: Palgrave Macmillan), 86–​96. Feinberg, J. (1970). Doing and Deserving (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press). French, P. (1984). Collective and Corporate Responsibility (New  York:  Columbia University Press). ICISS (International Commission on Intervention and State Sovereignty) (2001). The Responsibility to Protect (Ottawa: International Development Research Centre). IICK (Independent International Commission on Kosovo) (2000). The Kosovo Report (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Karp, D. (2014). Responsibility for Human Rights (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). List, C., and P. Pettit (2011). Group Agency (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Lucas, J. R. (1993). Responsibility (Oxford: Clarendon Press). Miller, D. (2001). Distributing Responsibilities. Journal of Political Philosophy 9(4): 453–​7 1. Nagel, T. (1976). Moral Luck. Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society 50: 137–​51. Nagel, T. (1979). Mortal Questions (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Nelkin, D. K. (2013). Moral Luck. Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy. [Online; accessed 19 Apr. 2017.] https://​plato.stanford.edu/​entries/​moral-​luck/​ O’Neill, O. (1986). Who Can Endeavour Peace? Canadian Journal of Philosophy 12(1): 41–​73. Pogge, T. (2002). World Poverty and Human Rights (Cambridge: Polity Press). Richards, N. (1986). Luck and Desert. Mind 65: 198–​209. Statman, D. (1993a). Introduction. In D. Statman (ed.), Moral Luck (Albany: State University of New York Press), 1–​34. Statman, D. (1993b). Moral Luck (Albany: State University of New York Press). Thompson, J. (2016). Should the Polluter Pay? Historical Responsibility, Reparative Justice and Climate Change. ABC Religion and Ethics. [Online; accessed 19 Apr. 2017.] http://​www.abc. net.au/​religion/​articles/​2016/​02/​02/​4399017.htm Walker, M. U. (1991). Moral Luck and the Virtues of Impure Agency. Metaphilosophy 22: 14–​27. Wheeler, N. (2000). Saving Strangers:  Humanitarian Intervention in International Society (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Wight, C. (2006). Agents, Structure and International Relations (Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press). Williams, B. (1976). Moral Luck. Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society 50: 115–​35. Williams, B. (1981). Moral Luck:  Philosophical Papers 1973–​1980 (Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press). Young, I. M. (2011). Responsibility for Justice (Oxford: Oxford University Press).

­c hapter 11

In ternationa l L aw a nd Internationa l J u st i c e Hilary Charlesworth

If international political theory involves “normative and prescriptive theorizing” as well as the study of political phenomena, debates about international justice are central to the field (see Chapter 4). This chapter investigates one particular aspect of international justice—​its relationship with international law. From a legal perspective, this relationship is critical, as lawyers regard justice as their particular province. A sense of commitment to improving the world and a deep faith in the humanitarian powers of legal rules seems to be heightened in the international legal profession, even if it is sometimes inflected with a resigned realism about the impact of law internationally. The purpose of the international legal system is generally understood in ambitious terms as the achievement of international justice (Koskenniemi 2001). While this term is constantly invoked by international lawyers, they have only rarely ventured to theorize the concept of international justice. It appears as a fluffy cloud of aspirations hovering over the international legal system, including notions as disparate as allocation of responsibility for breaches of international legal standards by one state against another, compensation for economic disparities between states and adverse colonial legacies, redress for human-​rights violations of groups and individuals, and justification for international intervention. Over the past few decades, however, international lawyers have come to associate the idea of international justice largely with the work of international criminal tribunals. This association has constricted accounts of international justice in the international legal order, leaving questions of structural inequality untouched. The focus of this contribution is international justice. Over the past two decades the term “global justice” has become popular (e.g. Brilmayer and Shapiro 1999). Sometimes the latter term is simply a synonym for the former, but it may also signal particular attention to redressing economic imbalances between states. In any event, the idea of justice, whether characterized as international or global, resists theorization. As Iris Marion Young has pointed out, a theory of justice implies a universally applicable normative account of social life. To be generally applicable, such an account risks being too abstract

144   Hilary Charlesworth to evaluate real institutions and practices; if, on the other hand, it contains substantive commitments, it is likely to reflect the specific social and economic context in which it was devised (Young 1990: 3–​4). Using notions of oppression and domination to identify injustice, Young proposes reflective discourse about justice as an alternative to a search for a theory, involving the clarification of concepts, the description of social relations, and the articulation of ideals (Young 1990: 5). Following this proposal, in this chapter I offer an account of some intersections of the international legal system with notions of justice.

International Law The term “international law” usually refers to the system of rules that governs relationships between states (see Chapter 5). Matters such as the exchange of diplomats, the negotiation of treaties, and the use of force by one state against another are the classical concerns of international legal regulation. Since the adoption of the United Nations Charter in 1945, however, international law has developed to encompass not only states but also individuals as potential subjects. For example, the Charter commits UN member states to protect human rights and fundamental freedoms (Article 1). The Italian jurist Antonio Cassese has described two opposing tendencies in the international legal order that influence ideas of international justice. Cassese terms the first tendency “Westphalian,” a reference to the 1648 treaties of Westphalia associated with the inception of a European state-​based international order. The major features of the Westphalian order, according to Cassese, are: an emphasis on national sovereignty and a reluctance to acknowledge external powers; the use of force viewed as the primary source of legitimation; and the decentralization of legal functions, such as dispute resolution and law enforcement. Cassese has said of the Westphalian model: “The resulting picture is that of a community where law does not place any restraint on power [. . . and] [e]‌conomic, social and military inequalities fail to be taken into account” (Cassese 1986: 396–​9). In the Westphalian world, then, centred on the maintenance of state sovereignty, the idea of justice has limited purchase. The second tendency identified by Cassese is the Charter order, shaped by the principles of the UN Charter. The Charter order is replete with justice projects. It is characterized by the development of universal norms of conduct and a concern with justice rather than power; attention to the human rights of individuals; the growth of international institutions; and sweeping restrictions on the use of force. The discourse of the UN Charter gives prominence to justice as a distinct category of international law. Thus the opening words of the Charter’s Preamble identify the establishment of “conditions under which justice and respect for the obligations arising from treaties and other sources of international law can be maintained” as one of the primary rationales for the UN (see also Article 1.1). The Charter promotes justice, along with peace and security, as touchstones for the settlement of international disputes (e.g. Article 2.3).

International Law and International Justice    145 Cassese has observed that the Charter order has not completely displaced the Westphalian order, and that the two coexist in uneasy tension in international society. This can be seen in the various eras of modern international law since 1945, and it is possible to identify both Westphalian and Charter accounts of international justice weaving through the international system. During the Cold War, the institutions of international law appeared largely irrelevant to international politics. However, in the period between the 1950s and the mid-​1970s, decolonization radically changed international institutions, such as the UN General Assembly, by increasing their Third World membership and altering the balance of power. A post-​Cold War revival of international law beginning in 1989 heralded an era of institution-​building and what has been called “triumphant legalism” (Simpson 2012: 42). The development of international criminal law in the 1990s is an example of this, culminating in the adoption of the Rome Statute of the International Criminal Court in 1998, further discussed below. In this period there was renewed enthusiasm about the power of international law, as these institutions offered recognizable forms of enforcement. Since the turn of the century, however, a certain disillusionment with and marginalization of international law has emerged, especially relating to the collective use of force through international institutions. The 2003 invasion of Iraq exemplifies this partial return to Westphalian politics, with a perception of international legal standards as dispensable ideals, obstacles to world order if taken too seriously. At the same time, the Iraq invasion illustrates the porousness of the Westphalian model of statehood, suggesting that its applicability in the European empire is reduced. The UN has regularly endorsed the idea of an international rule of law as part of its mandate, but this has tended to be built on a rather thin account of justice. The UN Millennium Declaration in 2000, for example, presented the international rule of law as centring on ensuring compliance with decisions of the International Court of Justice (United Nations 2000). Third World scholars of international law have pointed to the weak connections between international law and a substantive conception of justice. In this vein, B. S. Chimni has observed that, while the development of international human rights law has assisted democracy movements in post-​colonial states, generally, international legal rules “codify the interests of powerful states and social classes in the international system” (Chimni 2012: 294). In other words, the formal structure of international law sustains fundamental inequalities and injustice (Gathii 2000). One strategy to achieve justice in this context was the elaboration of a “new international economic order” (NIEO) in the 1970s. The NIEO movement was led by the G-​ 77, the coalition of developing countries at the UN. Its goal was to support Third World states’ economic sovereignty by strengthening their economic standing through reform of the structure and norms of the international economic order (Gilman 2015: 3). The UN General Assembly adopted a Declaration on the Establishment of a NIEO in 1974 which invoked the language of justice. It endorsed, among other things, the principle of permanent sovereignty over natural resources and the eradication of all forms of foreign occupation and exploitation, a “just and equitable relationship” between the prices paid for export of primary commodities from the Third World and

146   Hilary Charlesworth the costs of imports from developed countries, transfer of resources to developing countries, and regulation of the activities of transnational corporations. The NIEO movement was sceptical about the capacity of the international legal system to foster its agenda. Indeed, its proponents argued that developing countries should not be bound by treaty obligations assumed by colonial administrations (Gathii 2000). In the end, the push for a NIEO petered out, although its central claim—​that justice requires developed countries to compensate for the economic advantages they achieved through exploitation of others—​remains powerful. It is evident, for example, in global climate change negotiations in which binding obligations attach only to developed states (Gilman 2015: 10). Feminist international lawyers have also criticized the masculine structures and norms of international law which fail to acknowledge the realities of many women’s lives (e.g. Kouvo and Pearson, 2011). They have argued for forms of substantive justice that go beyond a call for equal representation of women in international institutions, including the legal recognition of harms characteristic of women’s lives. One manifestation is campaigns for the acknowledgment of violence against women as a matter of international concern. The Council of Europe’s Convention on Preventing and Combating Violence against Women and Domestic Violence, adopted in 2011, is an example of such a feminist project, although it does not explicitly use the language of justice. Its Preamble presents violence against women as a “manifestation of historically unequal power relations between women and men,” and such behaviour is defined as “a violation of human rights and a form of discrimination against women” (Article 3(a)).

International Justice Many understandings of international justice are inflected by the Westphalian underpinnings of international law which emphasize state sovereignty. In theory at least, international legal rules bind because states have consented to them—​an international adaptation of social contract theory (Franck 1995: 26–​7). This is most obvious in the case of treaties which require specific forms of adherence and are governed by the principle of pacta sunt servanda. It is also built into the theory of customary international law, by which legal principles are generated through a combination of state practice and a belief that that course of action is legally required (opinio juris). There are however some international legal concepts that gesture at ideas of justice transcending state consent. One is the category of the jus cogens, peremptory norms of international law to which no exception can be made. They are defined in the Vienna Convention on the Law of Treaties of 1969 as “a norm accepted and recognized by the international community of States as a whole as a norm from which no derogation is permitted and which can be modified only by a subsequent norm of international law having the same character” (Article 53). Examples of such norms include prohibitions of slavery,

International Law and International Justice    147 genocide, and racial discrimination (Charlesworth 2012: 191). The traditional accounts of the sources and binding nature of international law are not particularly coherent, and, as David Kennedy has pointed out, taking them too seriously “places you outside the terrain of a professional practice that moves easily among consideration of policy, ethics, and realpolitik strategy in arguing about what norms to follow when” (Kennedy 2016: 157). For similar reasons, international lawyers have shied away from explicit accounts of international justice. Few scholars have addressed the nature of international justice in an abstract sense and how it can be bolstered by legal rules. One exception is Thomas Franck’s work on fairness, which he presents as a product of both distributive justice (allocating the burdens and benefits of legal rules equitably) and legitimacy (adherence to proper processes with respect to the formation and interpretation of the law) (Franck 1995). Franck describes the expectation that decisions about distributive and other entitlements will be made by those duly authorised, in accordance with procedures which protect against corrupt, arbitrary, or idiosyncratic decision-​making or decision-​executing. The fairness of international law, as of any other legal system, will be judged, first by the degree to which the rules satisfy the participants’ expectations of justifiable distribution of costs and benefits, and secondly by the extent to which the rules are made and applied in accordance with what the participants perceive as right process. (Franck 1995: 7)

Franck’s understanding of distributive justice is both vague (“broadly conceived equity”) and relatively narrow, skirting the issue of the deep economic and social divides in the international community. In a similar vein, Steven Ratner has offered a sustained account of what he terms the “thin justice” of international law, based on his observations of its “real word” operation: justice is “a process or outcome that assigns rights and responsibilities to global actors so that it is clear what each such actor is entitled to do or have” (Ratner 2015: 45). Ratner imports some generalized substantive values into his procedural account by insisting that justice also requires promotion of both peace (defined as the absence of armed conflict) and “basic” human rights (a selection of civil, political, and some social rights), although he acknowledges the inevitable tensions between them. On this analysis, he endorses the justice of many foundational international legal rules, such as the qualified prohibition on the use of force, but finds others—​for example the unrestricted veto power of the current permanent members of the UN Security Council and international law’s hostility to secession—​unjust. Ratner’s theory takes the existing state system as a given, and resists endorsing larger justice schemes for international law, such as global economic redistribution. Apart from the rare excursions into theories of justice, the emphasis of international lawyers has been on designing institutions to resolve disputes and to provide accountability for particular categories of actions. Justice, then, has become a particularized

148   Hilary Charlesworth commodity in the international legal system, the product of specific institutional processes. The voluntarist current in international law is evident in the largely optional nature of international adjudication. Thus the International Court of Justice (ICJ), established by the UN Charter as “the principal judicial organ of the United Nations” (Article 92), can assert jurisdiction in disputes between states only when all parties to the dispute have agreed to it. In 2017, fewer than half the members of the UN (72), including only one of the permanent members of the Security Council (the United Kingdom), had accepted the Court’s jurisdiction generally. On the other hand, the world’s most populous states and the largest economies have been quite willing to accept adjudication of trade disputes by the World Trade Organization and of disputes over the law of the sea by the UN Tribunal on the Law of the Sea (Kingsbury 2012: 212–​15). The Statute of the ICJ provides that the Court can, if the parties agree, decide cases not on the basis of principles of international law but ex aequo et bono (Article 38(2)) or on the basis of right and good, or equity and conscience as the phrase is sometimes translated. This possibility acknowledges that legal rules do not always deliver a just outcome. The fact that the ICJ has never been asked to decide a case ex aequo et bono nevertheless illustrates the reluctance of states to allow international courts to venture outside the confines of legal principle into the uncharted realms of substantive justice. Overall, international courts and tribunals have followed the approach of Hugo Grotius set out in De jure belli ac pacis in 1625 that international law should deliver (using Aristotelian terms) corrective justice, or the reinstatement of the position of the parties before the disputed transaction, as opposed to distributive justice, which would entail attention to broader inequalities between the parties (Kingsbury 2012: 221). There are also striking examples of international injustice associated with international adjudication, such as the ICJ’s 1966 decision in the South-​West Africa cases. Here the ICJ held that it did not have the power to adjudicate challenges by Ethiopia and Liberia to South Africa’s imposition of apartheid in South-​West Africa in its capacity as Mandatory Power under the League of Nations (ICJ Reports 1966: 6). The decision, ostensibly made on procedural grounds, effectively allowed institutionalized racial discrimination to escape legal challenge. While pointing out both the culturally specific, rather than universal, roots of human rights as well as their lack of efficacy in changing state behaviour, Stephen Hopgood’s contribution to this Handbook describes the domination of international justice talk by the human rights movement (see Chapter 23). From an international legal perspective, however, the development of the international human rights system has shaped international lawyers’ ideas about justice only in a tentative and halting manner. Justice and the protection of human rights are not regarded as synonymous. This may be because the global institutions that monitor human rights commitments by states, such as the UN Human Rights Council and the specialized human rights treaty bodies, are based on processes of dialogue and pressure rather than traditional adjudication.

International Law and International Justice    149

International Justice as International Criminal Justice In the twenty-​first century, the concept of international justice has become associated largely with international criminal law. This area of law breaks from the traditional mode of regulation of state conduct characteristic of international law to regulate the behaviour of individuals. It developed from the Nuremberg and Tokyo trials, organized by the Allies at the end of the Second World War, which attributed responsibility to individuals for actions deemed international crimes. While some international lawyers were troubled by the sense that these trials constituted a form of victors’ justice, the Nuremberg and Tokyo precedents provided a foundation for the UN Security Council to establish two specialized criminal tribunals almost half a century later to deal with atrocities committed by all sides during particular armed conflicts: the International Criminal Tribunal for the Former Yugoslavia (1993) and the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda (1994). The work of these tribunals in turn laid the foundation for the adoption in 1998 of the Rome Statute for the International Criminal Court (ICC). The Statute established a permanent judicial institution, based in the Hague, which has jurisdiction over three categories of crimes designated as international crimes because of their seriousness: war crimes, crimes against humanity, and genocide. A fourth category of international crimes, crimes of aggression, was added to the Court’s jurisdiction in 2010. The motto of the ICC is “Peace through justice.” The form of justice envisaged in the Rome Statute is limited in the sense that it applies mainly when states agree to its jurisdiction, although it is also possible for the UN Security Council to refer cases directly to the Court. The Statute relies on the principle of complementarity. This means that parties to the Court’s Statute are obligated to criminalize the designated behaviour in their national legal systems and to prosecute those responsible for these crimes. The ICC has jurisdiction only when a state is unable or unwilling to prosecute breaches of the crimes. The work of the ICC has become the modern embodiment of international justice, and it has been widely accepted that “‘passing sentence’ equals ‘doing justice’” (Nouwen 2012: 343). Its practitioners often place great faith in the law as a vehicle for justice (Tallgren 1999; Koller 2008). But a lively critical tradition in international criminal law has drawn attention to the limits of the Court (e.g. Burgis-​Kasthala 2017; Mégret 2016; Tallgren 2002). For example, there is little empirical evidence to suggest that the development of international criminal law and its institutions, with their retributive model of justice, has deterred international criminal behaviour. A politically sensitive aspect of the work of the ICC is that, in the fifteen years of its existence, the only cases that it has presided over come from Africa. In 2016 three African states, Burundi, Gambia, and South Africa, withdrew their acceptance of the ICC Statute because of the perception of bias. Moreover, the limited number of crimes addressed by the Court

150   Hilary Charlesworth allows contributing dynamics such as extreme poverty and inequality to be factored out of judicial deliberations (Nouwen 2012: 343–​4). Indeed, Sarah Nouwen has argued that institutions of international criminal justice have become instruments of therapeutic governance, providing an acceptable compromise between despicable apathy and authorisation of military interventions that UN members are unwilling or unable to carry out: if not peace, then justice. [ . . . ] Complex conflicts with intractable structural causes are distilled to individual agency. Those who are not convicted, for instance those who stood by or benefited, are absolved by the law’s silence. (Nouwen 2012: 343)

Many groups affected by violence within the ICC’s mandate also regard the ICC’s punitive Western style of justice as undermining the possibility of peace within their communities, supporting instead restorative forms of justice (Nouwen 2016:  757–​9). For all these reasons, the accounts of justice generated by international criminal law often reproduce imperial images of a crusading global North prosecuting crimes committed in the uncivilized global South (Clarke, 2009).

Conclusion It is striking that international political theorists often reach to the law to frame justice projects. Jürgen Habermas’s faith in the international legal system is an example (Habermas 2001), as is Jean Cohen’s call to strengthen international law and its institutions (Cohen 2012). For their part, international lawyers, while attached to the language of justice, tend to be less optimistic about the capacity of law to deliver substantive forms of justice. The rhetoric of international law places international justice at its heart, but the forms of justice envisaged in the international legal system are circumscribed. The forums for the delivery of justice in international law are largely adjudicatory bodies. While there has been a proliferation of international tribunals and courts over the last few decades, they have limited jurisdiction in terms of parties and subject matter. Many issues, such as military and intelligence matters, the governance of the global financial system, the environment and social violence, are unlikely to attract international judicial attention (Kingsbury 2012: 212). There is, then, a dissonance between the promise and performance of international law. In the fields of human rights and transitional justice, scholars have articulated the concept of “transformative justice,” emphasizing local agency, fair and open processes, and challenges to unequal and exclusive structures, in order to signal a move away from the legal arena to the political and social as sites for justice (e.g. Fredman, Kuosmanen, and Campbell 2016; Gready and Robins 2014). They have also investigated the ways in which ideas about justice are negotiated in everyday contexts, though contestation and debate (Clarke 2009: 28). This decentring of law reflects empirical research on its

International Law and International Justice    151 impact at the international level, showing that law is one among many regulatory influences in international society (Braithwaite and Drahos 2000: 550–​63). It gains strength from being woven with other strands to form a web of regulation that can be animated by networks of actors, but by itself cannot redress injustices based on oppression and domination.

Acknowledgements Thanks to Anna Saunders for her skilful research assistance, and to the Editors and Michelle Burgis-​Kasthala for their helpful comments.

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152   Hilary Charlesworth Kingsbury, B. (2012). International Courts: Uneven Judicialization in the Global Order. In J. Crawford and M. Koskenniemi (eds), The Cambridge Companion to International Law (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press), 203–​27. Koller, D. (2008). The Faith of the International Criminal Lawyer. New York University Journal of International Law 40: 1019–​69. Koskenniemi, M. (2001). The Gentle Civilizer of Nations: The Rise and Fall of International Law 1870–​1960 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Kouvo, S., and P. Zoe (eds) (2011). Feminist Perspectives on Contemporary International Law: Between Resistance and Compliance (Oxford: Hart). Mégret, F. (2016). The Anxieties of International Criminal Justice. Leiden Journal of International Law 29: 197–​221. Nouwen, S. (2012). Justifying Justice. In J. Crawford and M. Koskenniemi (eds), The Cambridge Companion to International Law (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press), 327–​51. Nouwen, S. (2016). International Criminal Law: Theory All Over the Place. In A. Orford and F. Hoffman (eds), The Oxford Handbook of the Theory of International Law (Oxford: Oxford University Press), 738–​61. Ratner, S. (2015). The Thin Justice of International Law: A Moral Reckoning of the Law of Nations (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Simpson, G. (2012). International Law in Diplomatic History. In J. Crawford and M. Koskenniemi (eds), The Cambridge Companion to International Law (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press), 25–​46. Tallgren, I. (1999). We Did it? The Vertigo of Law and Everyday Life at the Diplomatic Conference on the Establishment of an International Criminal Court. Leiden Journal of International Law 12: 683–​707. Tallgren, I. (2002). The Sense and Sensibility of International Criminal Law. European Journal of International Law 13: 561–​95. United Nations (2000). United Nations Millennium Declaration, UN General Assembly. [Online] Resolution A/​55/​L.2 [Accessed 19 Apr. 2017.] http://​www.un.org/​millennium/​declaration/​ares552e.htm Young, I. M. (1990). Justice and the Politics of Difference (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press).

­c hapter 12

T r ansitiona l J u st i c e Susanne Buckley-​Z istel

A central concern of International Political Theory (IPT) is to reflect on possibilities and limits of justice on a global scale. Can notions of justice that work nationally easily be transferred? Are there shared moral values beyond a locally confined community? Are there global normative orders which define what counts as just? If yes, where do they come from and what are their boundaries? These questions are inter alia pertinent in cases where repression, dictatorship, or violent conflict have led to atrocities that are perceived as major injustices. Mass killings, torture, sexual violence, ethnic cleansing, disappearances, and abductions are deeds which offend prevailing moral but also legal notions of what counts as just. In order to redress these injustices, since the early 1990s there have been numerous efforts to deal with the legacy of violence. This is commonly referred to as “transitional justice”—​justice in a phase of political and social transition—​ which incorporates measures to uncover the truth about past crimes, hold perpetrators accountable, and vindicate the dignity of victims. Transitional justice has become a global project. With the end of the Cold War, the opportunity presented itself to generate the normative foundations and institutions to deliver justice. Since the early 1990s, the quest for accountability for human-​rights abuses has become enshrined in national institutions, international criminal law, as well as in the “global consciousness” (Sikkink 2011: 96; see Chapters 22 and 23). The signing of a peace accord or the end of a dictatorship are often followed by the establishment of tribunals, truth commissions, memorials, reparation schemes, or lustration processes. Yet even where these institutions are established and carried through by national governmental or civil-​society actors, there is an important relation between this national scale and global dynamics, in terms both of what transitional justice on the national level should look like and of how it can prevail on a global scale. Reading transitional justice through IPT requires investigating if and how the notion of justice in transitional justice is embedded in particular normative frameworks, as well as how it relates global and local understandings of justice. To this end, this chapter follows two interrelated trajectories. On one hand, it analyses what ideas of justice underlie the concept of transitional justice and its application in societies of transition. One

154   Susanne Buckley-Zistel central contention is that transitional justice is made, not found. Its normative foundations are the result of historical developments as well as cultural preferences, and reflect a series of beliefs which are sometimes in conflict and which often pull in different directions. On the other hand, this chapter situates transitional justice between the local and the global by connecting normative assumptions which derive from a concrete locality with concepts at a global scale, and vice versa. This is in line with the concerns of IPT (moving the discussion of justice from the national to the global), but it also questions the meaning of the scales national (local)/​global in and of themselves. In the following, I first historicize transitional justice in order to illustrate how its norms have developed over space and time, often due to changing external circumstances such as changing forms of violence. I then draw out the normative foundations of different approaches to justice as central to transitional justice, highlighting how they relate local (often meaning national) and global scales. This discussion is organized around three conceptions of justice:  retributive, restorative, traditional. I  chose retributive and restorative justice since they are currently the dominant concepts. Yet I also investigate traditional justice in order to point to more recent developments of localizing transitional justice, both in academia and practice, as well as to move beyond so-​called Western normative frameworks.

Historicizing Transitional Justice In her conceptual history of transitional justice, Paige Arthur dates the emergence of transitional justice to the late 1980s/​early 1990s when the term was first used, i.e. to a climate where transition to democracy was the dominant normative perspective from which to analyse political and social change (Arthur 2009: 325). In this first phase, transitional justice was mainly concerned with the legacy of authoritarian, repressive regimes so that transition to democracy seemed appropriate. Due to this focus on democracy, a particular understanding of justice emerged amongst an epistemic community of practitioners and academics from around the world who met at many conferences and conventions, promoting some measures such as truth-​seeking and retributive punishment while excluding others such as redistribution and other forms of distributive justice. Consequently, transitional justice, at least in its early expressions, was concerned with political and civil rights and not with structural violence or social injustices, or, legally speaking, with violations of economic, social, and cultural rights. In addition to facilitating transitions, one objective of this epistemic community was thus to provide some form of justice for people whose rights had been abused by repressive regimes. This emergence goes hand in hand with the increasing importance of human rights from the 1970s onwards (Moyn 2010), replacing earlier left-​wing political activism which had declined due to an disillusionment with revolutionary political projects in the Americas, Africa, and the Soviet Union, and prompting a turn to individual rights in lieu of socialist ideologies (Arthur 2009: 339.). This has given way to a strong

Transitional Justice   155 court-​centred, legalistic orientation of the field and, eventually, to the establishment of various ad hoc, hybrid, and international tribunals, most noticeably the permanent International Criminal Court (ICC), to punish so-​called international crimes including crimes against humanity, war crimes, genocide, and the crime of aggression. This focus on prosecuting and punishing individual perpetrators has, in many ways, eventually led to a depoliticizing of human rights (Hopgood 2013). Changes in the forms of violence led to changes in the forms of transitional justice. With the increase of civil wars in the 1990s, the field was confronted with new dilemmas of war-​torn and deeply divided societies, requiring new orientation. Questions of justice were not easily solved in contexts where all parties committed human-​rights abuses, and, while democracy remained an end of transition, reconciliation, and nation-​building became important objectives too. This led to the expansion from retributive justice through tribunals—​which continue to play an important role—​and the uncovering of truth in cultures of impunity, to the designing of truth commissions with a strong focus on national reconciliation, as well as a growth of measures such as apologies and reparations. In short, it expanded retributive justice with restorative justice. Importantly, this shift ties in with wider notions of liberal peace-​building of which transitional justice is now an essential component. The context of post-​conflict societies has often sparked debates about peace vs justice, for in some cases these goals seemed incompatible—​for instance when rebel leaders refused to attend the signing of a peace accord for fear of being arrested by the ICC (such as the case in Uganda) or the political climate seemed too fragile for a rigorous prosecution of perpetrators (such as the case of post-​apartheid South Africa). This shift to restorative justice has turned the field more local, away from grand institutionalized structures to the concerns of people directly affected by violence, and especially to the concerns of victims who did not feature much in the early phases (Bonacker 2013). Furthermore, due to some disillusionment with the reach of externally induced or imported transitional justice mechanisms such as retributive tribunals or restorative truth commissions, as well as a trend to promote local ownership, there has been a turn to assess and promote justice mechanisms that already exist within the particular society concerned. This is often referred to as “traditional justice,” and finds expression inter alia in the Gacaca tribunals in Rwanda and Mato Oput in the Acholi region of northern Uganda. Observing the evolution of transitional justice, Thomas Obel Hansen suggests that the field has recently experienced two significant expansions:  horizontal and vertical (Hansen 2014). Horizontally, it has become increasingly more international—​or global—​in particular due to the establishment of the ICC. At the same time, it has turned more local to consider the perspective from below, from places where individuals and groups live with the legacy of violence, indicating a spatial expansion. Vertically, transitional justice now does not only comprise transitions to liberal (or in some cases illiberal) regimes; it also functions as a vehicle for peace-​building and reconciliation, indicating a conceptual or normative expansion. Both normative and spatial aspects will be considered in the following.

156   Susanne Buckley-Zistel

Retributive Justice Retributive justice holds that a particular (violent) action needs to be responded to by punishment, and that this breach of a law requires the offender to suffer in return. Importantly, the action is considered to offend a law, not the person who has been harmed. The definition of the offence and the social reaction to it are based on codified law, rendering this approach highly legalistic. For Ruti Teitel, the birthplaces of international retributive justice are the tribunals of Nuremberg and Tokyo following the Second World War (Teitel 2003: 70); it is here where this form of international legalism emerged. Subsequently, a number of courts and tribunals have been set up and international criminal law has been refined and progressively codified, finding its current expression in the Rome Statute of 2002 on which the ICC is founded. Despite its global reach, retributive justice is, however, not universal but originates from a particular geographic location commonly referred to as “the West.” In other words, it is the projection of a particular locality, situated in particular traditions, experiences, and cultural milieus, onto a global scale (Gibson-​Graham 2003: 51). Yet what does legalism signify? For Judith Shklar, it is “the ethical attitude that holds moral conduct to be a matter of rule following, and moral relationships to consist of duties and rights determined by law” (Shklar 1964: 1). Legalism is enshrined in personal behaviour, philosophical thought, political ideologies, and social institutions; it is often unarticulated, but shapes conduct. Critically she thus points to the often-​ universalized logic of law by the legal profession and its efforts in promoting universal justice, unmasking it as one ideology amongst others (p. 3). From this perspective, it is appropriate to create tribunals in order to enforce international criminal law, to uphold criminal accountability even to the detriment of peace processes, and to trust that elites and masses can be persuaded to comply with its international norms (Vinjamuri and Snyder 2004: 346). The crucial aims of legalism are to set, enforce, and further develop international law, to demonstrate the force of law, and to expand the global reach of judicial institutions such as the ICC. What is pervasive about this approach—​and what Shklar unmasks—​is that its universalist aspiration makes it appear to be free of ideology (a mere following of rules) and thus apolitical. Responding to atrocities through legalism is thus a must; it is beyond political calculations and interests; justice is isolated and immune from power and politics. Regarding its normative foundations, this legalist form of justice can be subsumed under the heading of liberalism and liberalism’s teleological assumptions about its potential for fostering cooperation, building international institutions, and, ultimately, providing peace. Liberal approaches argue that regimes and institutional cooperation “constrain state behaviour by formalizing the expectations of each party to an agreement where there is a shared interest. [ . . . ] Regimes also enhance trust, continuity and stability in a world of ungoverned anarchy” (Burchill 2013: 65). The signing of multilateral

Transitional Justice   157 treaties such as the Rome Statue of the ICC by 139 states,1 the creation of various international and hybrid courts and tribunals, and the growing network of international governmental and non-​governmental organizations, it is assumed, assist in enhancing the cooperation between states and non-​state actors in order to reduce conflict. This goes hand in hand with the striving for one particular political order—​democracy—​with strong institutions and the rule of law as guarantees for national and international peace. According to Teitel, there has been a normative shift in the focus of the legal tradition from the state as a reference object to the human, giving way to what she calls “humanity’s law” (Teitel 2008: 677). She refers to the influence of global legalists who seek to move beyond the nation-​state and traditional sovereignty through law, and to deterritorialize legal norms, putting the individual, rather than the state, centre stage. The emergence of international criminal justice is seen as an important element of such “humanization” of international relations (IR). She further argues that “[t]‌he drive to normalize and generalize international criminal responsibility of individuals reflects a faith in the possibility of international law to reflect and to realize foundational social morality” (p. 668). Despite the supposedly apolitical and positivist framing by legalism, the spread of international criminal justice—​and by implication transitional justice—​is thus also highly moralistic. In IR, legalism and liberalism have been accused of being ignorant of political interests and power—​an argument which has recently been expanded to include international criminal law on which much retributive justice in transitional justice is based (Keohane 2012: 129). Without wanting to rehearse IR’s big debates, it is instructive to explore how transitional justice by legal means is framed normatively and used politically. This is, for instance, apparent in the often-​cited aims of retributive justice and their curative powers (Andrieu 2014: 91): to establish the truth, to educate the public about past abuses, to promote a shared understanding, to (re)build the rule of law, to produce a societal consensus regarding the intolerability of the atrocities, to end human-​rights violations, to promote national reconciliation, and to (re-​)establish the dignity of the victims. In this sense, Kora Andrieu argues, transitional justice trials do not correspond to a legalistic neutral stance but are rather a means towards an end, namely, promoting a democratic transition (Andrieu 2014). They are used in societies in transition in order to further a concrete aim which is political, not legal, but which is rarely recognized. Legalism and its liberal premises have also been criticized for focusing too much on institutions to the detriment of social actors (Andrieu 2010), and for being state-​centric and top-​down rather than emerging from below (McEvoy 2007: 421). This might be in conflict with the ambition of courts and tribunals to have some effect on social relations in a divided society—​both within the country and abroad—​for they might not receive much attention from the people concerned (Pham and Vinck 2007). Another related criticism against retributive justice relates to its geographic origin, and concerns its appropriateness for different cultural contexts, i.e. it is critical of its universalistic tendency. Legal proceedings in particular, it is contended, have little relevance for the people for whom justice has a different meaning (as discussed below), which influences if and how such proceedings are accepted (Buckley-​Zistel et al. 2016; Mieth 2016).

158   Susanne Buckley-Zistel Moreover, it has been remarked that this form of transitional justice seeks to turn people into liberal subjects in form of autonomous citizens imbued with freedom, equality, and rights who engage in democratic, juridical, and political practice (Hinton 2011: 8). The privileging of individual over group rights as enshrined in a liberal approach might, however, not be appropriate for non-​Western cultures (Sriram 2009: 199). Scholarship on and from the global South cast doubt on the appropriateness of this individualistic element of retributive justice in contexts where restorative justice might be more culturally suitable, and where the objective of justice is less the punishment of the perpetrator than the restitution of social and community relations (Mani 2002), to which we turn below. This brief analysis shows how retributive justice is firmly embedded in a legalistic and liberal tradition with merits and limits in dealing with the legacy of a violent past. Despite its universalistic aspirations and global reach, it is rooted in time and space. This provides important insights into how global and local relate to each other since, instead of being a global phenomenon, retributive justice is merely the projection of a local idea onto a global scale. This suggests that what we consider to be global is simply the hegemony of a particular locality (Ernesto Laclau, referred to in Gibson-​Graham 2003: 52).

Restorative Justice A second understanding of justice in the context of transitional justice is restorative. In contrast to retributive justice, restorative justice does not seek to punish but to (re-​) establish the relationships between victims and perpetrators (if they can be easily differentiated); it considers a crime to be an offence against a person (not a law), and in contrast to a criminal case it is not necessarily formalized or adversarial. It aims for reconciliation, as well as the rehabilitation of victim and perpetrator, and often involves the wider community. Its merits, it is argued, are that due to the direct encounter victims have their suffering recognized by the perpetrators, which leads to some form of personal healing and possibly closure, while perpetrators understand their wrongdoing and will refrain from repetition. Advocates of restorative justice hold that these characteristics make it particularly suitable for transitional contexts of divided societies in which mending relations—​both interpersonal and societal—​is a requirement for supporting a peace process (Lambourne 2009). Similar to the liberal notion of legalism discussed above the objective is thus to contribute to peace, here by focusing not on the individual but on communities. Although other transitional-​ justice mechanisms can also be categorized as restorative—​such as symbolic and material reparations—​for the sake of clarity in the following I shall mainly refer to truth commissions. Many (though not all) truth commissions have a focus on restoration, and some even carry the word “reconciliation” in their title, as in South Africa, Colombia, Chile, or the Democratic Republic of Congo. Truth commissions are temporary institutions which collect testimonies of people who

Transitional Justice   159 have either experienced or observed violence, in order to identify patterns of atrocities and to publish them in form of a final report, often with recommendations for preventing future violence. One outcome of the encounter between victims and perpetrators is “the truth.” While it is a commonplace to argue that there is no such thing as the truth, the South African commission has identified four different kinds of truths that emerged in its process: factual or forensic truth; personal or narrative truth; social or dialogue truth; and healing and restorative truth (TRC 1998). As a concept of justice, restorative justice is hence strongly constructivist: it seeks to construct a new social reality through the encounter of victims and perpetrators who transcends their animosity. For Christine Bell and Catherine O’Rourke, it can be understood as a form of Habermasian discourse ethics (Bell and O’Rourke 2007: 40) in which a shared reality (truth) emerges in an undisturbed communication. Since they highlight the benefits of the approach from a feminist perspective (see Chapter 42), they focus on women who have experienced violence. They stress the accessibility and flexibility of truth commissions (in contrast to courts) and their ability to address victims needs which might reduce the threshold for women to participate. The constructivist element of restorative justice opens a window for constructing a more gender-​just society in the future (for instance through recommendations in the final report of the commissions). Yet they also emphasize that this attempt might go wrong, and that the restoring aspect runs the risk of restoring previous asymmetrical gender structures in the society. As often argued in the context of IR and communicative ethics, there is no such thing as an undisturbed communication (Hutchings 2005), and in divided societies in particular the political, social, but also economic asymmetries might manifest themselves in mandates, target groups, selection of time-​ frame and rights to be addressed, and so on, giving some groups the opportunity to engage while excluding others. Due to the ambition of restorative justice to have a societal impact, the question emerges: transition to what? The early truth commissions had a strong focus on political and civil rights which led to much criticism, particularly in contexts such as South Africa, where the violence during Apartheid was strongly structural, depriving the majority of the population of basic rights. This has given rise to a vibrant debate about distributive justice as part of transitional justice and the increasing inclusion of economic, social, and cultural rights in truth commissions. Morocco (2004–​5) was the first commission to issue reparations not to individuals but collectively to social groups, recognizing their previous marginalization and boosting their economic status to render them more potent actors on the national level. As stated in the introduction, even though measures such as truth commissions are implemented on a national scale, they have a strong global dimension, for they are firmly anchored in international institutions such as UNDP which fund them, as well as in an epistemic community consisting of donors, academics, consultants, and think-​ tanks from around the world. Their exchange encourages a form of collective learning which establishes truth commissions as the adequate cultural model to address human rights abuses globally (Krüger 2014:  18–​19). For instance, transitional justice experts

160   Susanne Buckley-Zistel often travel from one truth commission to another, carrying with them their normative agendas and their (supposedly) technical approaches to establishing such an institution, which informs the work of the succeeding commission (Buckley-​Zistel 2016a). This example thus also prompts reflection on how global/​local (national) relate to each other, for here too the boundaries between the scales are fluid. As stated with reference to retributive justice, the local (national) strongly informs global norms, while at the same time transferring global norms to the local level.

Traditional Justice “Traditional justice” refers to alternative dispute resolution as grounded in the customs of a particular society or social group where it has been practised for some time. It resembles the logic of restorative justice in that it strives to mend the relationships between the parties to the conflict. Often, it consists of informal consultations by a council of elders who meet when called for, and it is mainly oral. The counsel might call for some form of material compensation to the victim (e.g. an animal) and/​or initiate a ritual in which the parties to the conflict engage with each other (e.g. eating or drinking out of the same bowl) or in which they are purified or cleansed (e.g. ritual washing, stepping on eggs). Importantly, and in contrast to the retributive justice outlined above, much (yet not all) traditional justice is highly spiritual, and attributes the higher power of justice to gods or deities which have to be pleased in form of sacrifices, rituals, or ceremonies which follow a particular cultural code and are thus not transferable. The term “traditional” is somewhat misleading, for it suggests that customary law is frozen and does not change over time (Huyse and Salter 2008: 8). Like all social practice, though, it is not immune from internal and external influence—​for instance from colonialism to the current practices of international donors—​and thus highly dynamic. To illustrate, institutions such as the Gacaca tribunals in Rwanda that deal with the legacy of the 1994 genocide have changed considerably, and today resemble hybrids between the (still operating) initial forms on one hand and formal legal proceeding on the other. They differ from mechanism of traditional justice in the narrow sense, since they present case files for the accused and punish according to a national legal code. Traditional justice has gained some traction in the context of transitional justice for a number of reasons. For a start, it is much more accessible to people who cannot afford to go through legal processes or formalized procedures of restorative justice, both monetarily and due to the remoteness of their place of residence. In some contexts corruption abounds, and initiating court cases (and sometimes, prior to this, filing a complaint by the police) requires bribes and/​or clientelist relationships. In addition, it is an alternative to Western legalism, and potentially more suitable for local contexts where it ties to prevailing norms and cultural knowledge. Low in costs and spontaneous to set up, customary law is accessible to a wider range of people. Based on the criticism against tribunals and courts as stipulated above, traditional justice is a means to make visible resources already present in post-​violence societies to deal with its legacy. Rather than being

Transitional Justice   161 inposed from the outside, people affected can draw on their own resources, enhancing their sense of ownership and potentially the impact of the justice measure. There is a risk, though, of romanticizing the local and seeing it as the panacea for all problems relating to externally induced justice post-​violence (Björkdahl and Höglund 2013: 290; Boesenecker and Vinjamuri 2011). It is important to note that the judging body—​the council of elders—​is not beyond social and political influence, and that its decisions might reflect community tensions and power asymmetries. In contrast to retributive justice, people involved have no legal code or procedural guarantees to turn to in order to have their voices heard and their concerns considered. Also, many councils comprise of elderly men—​wise persons of integrity—​reflecting wider gender and other power imbalances in the societies. Moreover, customary dispute resolution is generally made for smaller offences like theft of cattle or individual murder, and not for the enormity of violations that are committed in the context of civil or insurgency wars, let alone genocide. International transitional-​justice entrepreneurs as well as scholars have been drawn to traditional justice due to its promise to go beyond a Western-​centric notion which is considered to be culturally inappropriate, marking a moment of resistance against the constitutive effect of global norms. They adopt a research and advocacy position from below (McEvoy and McGregor 2008; Mieth 2016) so that place-​based approaches have become popular in some corners of transitional-​justice research (Shaw and Waldorf 2010). This view is in congruence with the post-​colonial critique of power and representation in North–​South relations more generally, where Eurocentric models are put under scrutiny (Dhawan et al. 2016; Sabaratnam 2013), leading to an almost sudden discovery of the local. Importantly, the criticism suggests that the local remains important for people, in the context of transitional justice and beyond, and that they have the potential to offer solutions out of their own resources, providing them with agency rather than pathologizing their war-​torn condition. That the local is never without global influence—​and vice versa—​is also apparent regarding traditional justice, where international donors fund some of the customary dispute resolution projects, heavily influencing their practices (Meier 2011). This leads to hybrid forms of justice, in terms of both process and outcome. “Hybridity” refers to the “composite forms of practice, norms and thinking that emerge from the interaction of different groups, worldviews and activity” (Mac Ginty and Sanghera 2012: 3). It stresses that societies are the result of complex processes of negotiation, mainly in a subtle, long-​term fashion in everyday life. Importantly, it implies that global and local cannot be maintained as discrete entities but that, as in our particular case, traditional justice is the result of numerous internal and external influences.

Conclusions This chapter followed two objectives:  to disclose the normative assumptions underlying transitional justice—​ represented by retributive, restorative, and traditional

162   Susanne Buckley-Zistel approaches—​and to illustrate how these approaches continuously interlink the local (or national) and the global in their strife for justice. Regarding the first, all three versions of justice discussed are based on a particular understanding of what justice should look like and how it should be achieved. In retributive justice, an offence is equalized with punishment and there is a strong adherence to law, rendering the process supposedly apolitical. Even though it is firmly based in Western liberal thought, it claims universality, rendering global that which derives from a particular place. In terms of its application, it is also truly global through its codification in international criminal law and its materialization in form of international courts and tribunals that prosecute serious human rights abuses. Restorative justice, in contrast, aims at repairing and (re-​)establishing the relationship between the parties to the conflict, and hence at some form of reconciliation. Often associated with truth commissions, it has a strong constructivist orientation, since it seeks to establish the truth about the past in form of an encounter between the parties. Even though they are carried out nationally, truth commissions are tightly knitted into an international network of consultants and advisers who travel from one commission to another, carrying with them a set of norms that can be traced from one commission to the next. Traditional justice, finally, has some similarities with restorative justice regarding its objectives of restoring community relations, but is often couched in spiritual terms. It takes place in the small confines of local communities, yet remains connected to the global through international donor networks and academic interests that see it as a local solution for local problems. Concerning the second objective, the discussion illustrates that the scales of local/​ global cannot be delineated and separated out as ahistorical container concepts, but that they mutually influence each other (Buckley-​Zistel 2016b). It also illustrates that what has sparked off the initial endeavours of International Political Theory—​i.e. to discuss if and how there can be a normative framework of justice beyond the state (Caney 2006; see Chapters 8 and 9)—​is now called into question by looking at transitional justice as an empirical phenomenon, contributing to our understanding of notions of justice beyond the state. Rather than one justice, a number of different (transitional) justices abound, and even in cases where they appear to deliver justice in a locally confined space, they are always already situated in global structures through both the influence on the normative foundations and the actual implementation of the measures. Reading transitional justice through the lens of IPT illustrates that there are different, competing notions of what counts as just. Even though nationally emerging conceptions may reach a global relevance, they merely elevate the hegemonic understanding of this particular locality so that local and global normative orders of what counts as just cannot be delineated but always stand in a relation to each other. In the aftermath of repression, dictatorship, and violent conflict, they are negotiated between here and there—​they are in a constant flux. As I draw this conclusion to a close (November 2016), Russia has withdrawn its signature from the Rome Statute, and Burundi, South Africa, and Gambia are also turning their backs on the ICC. This rupture in what was considered the triumph of retributive

Transitional Justice   163 transitional justice—​prosecuting international crimes on a global level, a global court—​ testifies to the ambivalences such processes entail, and to their constant flux.

Note 1. Coalition for the International Criminal Court, “A Universal Court with Global Support,” , accessed 13 Oct. 2016.

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164   Susanne Buckley-Zistel Gibson-​Graham, J. K. (2003). An Ethics of the Local. Rethinking Marxism 15(1): 49–​74. Hansen, T. O. (2014). The Vertical and Horizontal Expansion of Transitional Justice. In S. Buckley-​Zistel et al. (eds), Transitional Justice Theories (Abingdon: Routledge), 105–​24. Hinton, A. L. (2011). Introduction: Towards an Anthropology of Transitional Justice. In A. L. Hinton (ed.), Transitional Justice: Global Mechanisms and Local Realities after Genocide and Mass Violence (Piscataway, NJ: Rutgers University Press), 1–​24. Hopgood, S. (2013). The Endtimes of Human Rights (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press). Hutchings, K. (2005). Speaking and Hearing: Habermasian Discourse Ethics, Feminism and IR. Review of International Studies 31(1): 155–​65. Huyse, L., and M. Salter (2008). Traditional Justice and Reconciliation after Violent Conflict: Learning from African Experiences (Stockholm: International IDEA). Keohane, R. O. (2012). Twenty Years of Institutional Liberalism. International Relations 26(2): 125–​38. Krüger, A. K. (2014). Wahrheitskommissionen:  Die Globale Verbreitung Eines Kulturellen Modells (Frankfurt a.M.: Campus Verlag). Lambourne, W. (2009). Transitional Justice and Peacebuilding after Mass Violence. International Journal of Transitional Justice 3(1): 28–​48. Mac Ginty, R., and G. Sanghera (2012). Hybridity in Peacebuilding and Development:  An Introduction. Journal of Peacebuilding and Development 7(2): 3–​8. Mani, R. (2002). Beyond Retribution: Seeking Justice in the Shadows of War (Cambridge: Polity Press). McEvoy, K. (2007). Beyond Legalism:  Towards a Thicker Understanding of Transitional Justice. Journal of Law and Society 34(4): 411–​40. McEvoy, K., and L. McGregor (eds) (2008). Transitional Justice from Below: Grassroot Activism and the Struggle for Change (Oxford: Hart). Meier, B. (2011). Mato Oput: Karriere eines Rituals zur sozialen Rekonstruktion in Norduganda. In S. Buckley-​Zistel and T. Kater (eds), Nach Krieg, Gewalt und Repression: Vom schwierigen Umgang mit der Vergangenheit (Baden-​Baden: Nomos), 185–​204. Mieth, F. (2016). Acceptance of International Criminal Justice:  A Review. In S. Buckley-​ Zistel, F. Mieth, and M. Papa (eds), After Nuremberg:  Exploring Multiple Dimensions of the Acceptance of International Criminal Justice (Nuremberg:  International Nuremberg Principles Academy). [Online; accessed 19 Apr. 2017.] https://​www.nurembergacademy.org/​ resources/​acceptance-​online-​platform/​publications/​online-​edited-​volume/​ Moyn, S. (2010), The Last Utopia (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press). Pham, P., P. Vinck, et al. (2007). When the War Ends: A Population-​Based Survey on Attitudes About Peace, Justice, and Social Reconstruction in Northern Uganda (New York: International Centre for Transnational Justice). Sabaratnam, M. (2013). Avatars of Eurocentrism in the Critique of the Liberal Peace. Security Dialogue 44(3): 259–​78. Shaw, R., and L. Waldorf (2010). Introduction: Localizing Transitional Justice. In R. Shaw, L. Waldorf, and P. Hazan (eds), Localizing Transitional Justice: Interventions and Priorites after Mass Violence (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press), 3–​26. Shklar, J. N. (1964). Legalism: Law, Morals, and Political Trials (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press). Sikkink, K. (2011). The Justice Cascade: How Human Rights Prosecutions Are Changing World Politics (New York: W. W. Norton).

Transitional Justice   165 Sriram, C. (2009). Transitional Justice and the Liberal Peace. In E. Newman, O. Richmond, and R. Paris (eds), New Perspectives on Liberal Peacebuilding (New York: United Nations University Press), 112–​30. Teitel, R. (2008). Humanity Law:  A New Interpretive Lens on the International Sphere. Fordham Law Review 77(2): 667–​702. TRC (1998). Truth and Reconciliation Commission of South Africa Report, vol. 1. [Online; accessed 19 Apr. 2017.] http://​www.justice.gov.za/​trc/​report/​finalreport/​Volume%201.pdf Vinjamuri, L., and J. Snyder (2004). Advocacy and Scholarship in the Study of International War Crime Tribunals and Transitional Justice. Annual Review of Political Science 7: 345–​62.

­c hapter 13

M inorit y Ri g h ts Will Kymlicka

Throughout much of the twentieth century, international political theory (IPT) focused on the debate between realists and moralists about whether normative principles could sensibly be applied to international relations, or whether international relations were ultimately a matter of realpolitik and “might makes right.” In his prescient 1992 book International Relations Theory, Chris Brown argued that IPT needed to move beyond that debate, to instead focus on what sorts of normative principles can illuminate international relations, and more specifically, on the choice between “cosmopolitan” and “communitarian” conceptions of international justice. This has indeed come to pass: the field of IPT today is dominated by debates between cosmopolitans and their statist critics (see Chapter 3).1 The issue of minority rights, however, provides an exception to this trajectory. Minority rights are largely ignored by both cosmopolitans and statists. This is partly because international debates on minority rights remain driven by raison d’état: even those who agree that international relations should generally be guided by normative principles tend to revert to a realist framework when discussing minority rights. But it is also partly because neither cosmopolitanism nor statism as currently theorized is well equipped to evaluate the normative claims at stake in many minority rights issues. To incorporate minority rights within IPT may require overcoming blind spots within both frameworks. Or so I will argue. I will begin by discussing how the “minority question” arose as an issue within international relations—​that is, why minorities have been seen as a problem and a threat to international order—​and how international actors have historically attempted to contain the problem, often in ways that were deeply unjust to minorities. I will then consider recent efforts to advance a pro-​minority agenda at the international level, and how this agenda helps reveal some of the limits of both cosmopolitan and statist approaches to IPT.

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The Minority Question in International Relations The rise of the nation-​state has often been catastrophic for ethnic and religious minorities. Consider the Balkans and the Middle East. For some 1,500 years, a panoply of ethnic, linguistic, and religious communities lived side by side under both the Byzantine and Ottoman empires. Yet ever since these empires were replaced with nation-​states, we have witnessed a terrible “unmixing of peoples,” due to civil wars, ethnic cleansing, genocide, and forced assimilation. Inter-​communal relations of tolerance and conviviality that had survived for centuries were torn apart in a few short decades under the nation-​state.2 These conflicts are often described as evidence of “ancient ethnic hatreds,” but in fact they are the result of the rise of the modern nation-​state, whose very logic turns “minorities” into a “problem.” It is worth noting that none of the ethnic or religious groups in the Byzantine and Ottoman empires were considered “minorities,” in part because there was no “majority.” These empires did not rule in the name of a particular majority nation, but rather ruled as a dynasty over all their diverse subjects. These multi-​ethnic dynastic empires have now been swept away by the rise of nation-​states, each of which claims to rule in the name of a particular people or nation. (What was once the territory of the Ottoman empire now comprises 43 such nation-​states.) Romania, for example, gained independence in the name of the self-​determination of the Romanian nation. The Romanian people were seen as having a legitimate right to govern themselves and their national territory, and the Romanian state is the means through which the Romanian people exercise those legitimate aspirations. And the creation of a Romanian nation-​state meant, inevitably, the creation of “minorities”—​namely, all those living on the territory of the Romanian state at the time of independence who were not seen as members of the Romanian nation, such as the ethnic Hungarians and Ukrainians.3 This new status—​being a minority within someone else’s nation-​state—​has proven to be precarious. Minorities pose a persistent existential threat to state legitimacy. Each nation-​state’s claim to sovereignty flows from the claim that it represents “the people” in whose name it governs. It is therefore destabilizing of a state’s legitimacy to have a group within the boundaries of the state who think of themselves as forming or belonging to a distinct people. If the boundaries of Romania incorporate territory that is traditionally settled by Hungarians or Ukrainians, and is part of the historic homeland of the Hungarian and Ukrainian people, what gives Romania the right to rule those inhabitants and those territories? Minorities, therefore, are a “problem” in a world of nation-​states: they pose a challenge to a nation-​state’s legitimacy. Nor is this unique to Europe. Consider New World states in the Americas. These states are the products of settler colonialism, built on the lands of indigenous peoples. What gives settler states the right to rule over indigenous peoples and their historic homelands? Virtually all countries around the world face

168   Will Kymlicka some version of this challenge—​the state governs in the name of a particular people but includes communities and territory that could be seen as belonging to another people or nation. As a result, minorities are “marked” citizens: they don’t fully belong to the nation, and may be deemed presumptively disloyal. This is particularly true where minorities share an ethnic identity with a neighbouring state, such as the ethnic Hungarians in Romania. They are often assumed to be a fifth column whose true loyalty lies with their “mother country.” This fear of minority disloyalty is often deliberately whipped up by political actors—​scapegoating “aggressive” and “disloyal” minorities is a staple of populist politics around the world. But it is also true that minorities have been used as tools of inter-​ state rivalry: states often try to weaken a neighbouring state by fomenting discontent and rebellion amongst its minorities. And minorities have sometimes collaborated with this external manipulation: the ethnic Germans in the Sudetenland were enthusiastic supports of Nazi aggression against Czechoslovakia. From the beginning of the era of nation-​states, therefore, the minority question has been a concern of the international community, primarily for realpolitik reasons. Minorities pose a threat to state legitimacy and to international peace, and the task has been to contain this threat. But what can the international community do to manage the minority question? There is no single answer to this question. Views about the appropriate role of international actors in addressing state–​minority relations have evolved over time, often in ad hoc ways in response to specific crises, with little consistency. But we can identify a shift over the twentieth century in a pro-​minority direction, tied to broader developments in international norms, including the human-​rights revolution.

From Minority Problem to Minority Rights When the minority question first arose at the international level, the initial reaction was to strengthen the hand of the state and to weaken minorities. Since minorities were a stain on state legitimacy, and a potential threat to inter-​state peace, the obvious solution was to eliminate, or at least to weaken, these minorities. And if necessary, coercive means could be employed to achieve this, including expulsions, population exchanges, or other forms of “demographic engineering” (e.g. encouraging large numbers of the majority group to settle in the minority’s homeland), or forced assimilation—​in short, the “unmixing of peoples.” This approach dominated international relations in the first half of the twentieth century. Some of these measures were acknowledged to be harsh, even inhumane. The population exchange between Greece and Turkey after the First World War, or the expulsion of ethnic Germans from Czechoslovakia and Poland after the Second World War, involved uprooting centuries-​old communities. Few denied that this involved injustice

Minority Rights   169 to minorities, who were sacrificed in the name of stabilizing the international order. However, it was widely felt that the needs of minorities must be subordinated to the larger interest in “making the national state secure, and its institutions stable, even at the cost of obliterating minority cultures and imposing homogeneity upon the population” (Claude 1955: 80–​1). It was seen as essential to weaken the capacity of minorities to challenge state power, either domestically or internationally (Jackson-​Preece 1998: 43). And so the international community generally condoned coercive measures to weaken minorities, on the ground that there was no other way to stabilize nation-​states. And since virtually every state faced some version of this challenge, states accorded each other wide latitude in deciding how to address their “minority problem.” States did not want to tie each other’s hands too tightly in determining how best to do so.4 Over the past 50 years, however, we can see a shift towards a more minority-​friendly approach. This is partly due to broader changes in international norms, including the human-​rights revolution and the decolonization movement. Treating minorities as marked citizens to be contained and suppressed conflicted with evolving ideas about the rights of individuals and communities. For one thing, many anti-​minority policies violated basic individual civil and political rights (e.g. bans on the use of minority languages). These policies also conflicted with evolving international ideas about the equality of races and peoples, tied to decolonization struggles, the African-​American struggle for desegregation, and the struggle against apartheid in South Africa. What all of these struggles had in common was the repudiation of ideologies of ethnic and racial hierarchy: a legitimate state cannot espouse supremacist ideologies about the superiority of some people over others. The coercive suppression of minorities was often intimately tied up with such supremacist ideologies. This is clearest in the way settler states justified their rule over indigenous peoples, which rested on claims about the superiority of “civilized” whites over “backward” indigenous peoples. But this is hardly unique: dominant groups around the world have claimed some form of civilizational superiority over minorities, in part to justify their right to rule over them. In short, older models of minority suppression became increasingly untenable, at odds with emerging ideas of individual human rights and the equality of races and peoples. And so, the 1960s and 1970s witnessed efforts to formulate new approaches to minorities, at both the domestic and international level. Domestically, various countries started to experiment with models of multiculturalism, which granted official recognition to minorities and accepted that they are a permanent and valued part of the political community.5 Internationally, proposals were made to formulate new international standards of minority and indigenous rights. Proposals to establish new international standards for the treatment of minorities initially ran into strong headwinds in the 1970s and 1980s, due to lingering fears that recognition of minorities destabilized state claims to legitimacy. But by the early 1990s, a wide range of international organizations came to believe that the tendency of states to try to secure their legitimacy by suppressing minorities was counterproductive, generating cycles of instability and violence. This seemed particularly true of newly independent or newly democratizing states (Snyder 2000). To preserve international peace and security, new approaches were needed, in

170   Will Kymlicka which minorities would be accepted and could feel a sense of belonging, rather than being marked as disloyal outsiders. This has led to the proliferation of new international declarations, conventions, and recommendations regarding minority and indigenous rights. A partial list would include: • UN Declaration on the Rights of Persons Belonging to National or Ethnic, Religious or Linguistic Minorities (1992) • UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (2007) • International Labour Organization Convention 169 Concerning Indigenous and Tribal Peoples in Independent Countries (1989) • Council of Europe European Charter for Regional or Minority Languages (1992) • Council of Europe Framework Convention for the Protection of National Minorities (1995) • Organization of American States Proposed American Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (1997) • OSCE Lund Recommendations on Effective Participation of National Minorities (1999) • UNESCO Universal Declaration on Cultural Diversity (2001) Taken together, these international instruments represent a radical rethinking of one of the most fundamental features of the international order: a shift from seeing minorities as a threat to state legitimacy to seeing them as the bearers of internationally protected rights. And this in turn has required articulating new models of political community and of citizenship, in which diversity is seen, not as a liability, but as a constitutive feature of a truly “modern” state. In its flagship Human Development Report in 2004, for example, the United Nations advocated for models of “multicultural democracy” (UNDP 2004) as the framework within which to promote development, peace, and justice. While other actors prefer other terms—​in Latin America, “intercultural” and “plurinational” are preferred to “multicultural”—​the basic idea remains: to be accepted as a member in good standing of the international community today, a state must affirm both the diversity of its citizens and the equality of its races and peoples. Indeed, we can say that these pro-​minority and pro-​diversity ideas are now part of “world culture,” in the sense popularized by Meyer. According to Meyer, the postwar period has witnessed the “rise of global models of nationally organized progress and justice” which articulate the appropriate goals of state action, such as economic development and individual rights, while delegitimizing older goals, such as the pursuit of divine missions, or racial and religious purity (Meyer et al. 1997). While Meyer did not include respect for diversity in his original account of the core values of world culture, others have shown that it has indeed become equally pervasive—​as measured, for example, by the spread of ideas of multiculturalism and minority rights in school textbooks around the world (Terra and Bromley 2012).

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Minority Rights within IPT Viewed from a distance, all these international instruments reflect a general pro-​ minority trend, but viewed more closely, they are puzzling both in the categories they use and in the rights they attribute. For example, these instruments rely heavily on a distinction between “indigenous peoples” and “national minorities,” but it is not clear why these two types of groups are so sharply distinguished, or whether it is even possible to draw the distinction in various regions of the world (Kymlicka 2011). There are also seeming inconsistencies in the ways particular rights are discussed—​for example, it is notoriously difficult to figure out what these instruments actually imply about language rights or autonomy rights. I discuss these conceptual puzzles elsewhere (Kymlicka 2007), but for our purposes, what is striking is how little these developments have entered mainstream IPT. It is difficult to think of any major work in IPT—​cosmopolitan or statist—​that has grappled with international norms of minority or indigenous rights, or explored how they relate to broader theories of international justice. These norms address fundamental issues about rights of self-​government, political participation, territorial rights, and control over resources, and as such, are potentially relevant to a wide range of IPT debates on issues such as global democracy, global distributive justice, human rights, migration and refugees, and war and peace. Yet few if any IPT authors writing on these issues consider how minority and indigenous rights fit into their theories. This absence is revealing. International norms of minority and indigenous rights are passed over in silence, I believe, because they do not fit well into either statist or cosmopolitan frameworks. Let’s start with cosmopolitans. Cosmopolitans often cite the mistreatment of minorities and indigenous peoples as evidence of the flaws of the existing world order of sovereign nation-​states. They argue—​as I argued earlier—​that organizing the world on the principle that “nations” or “peoples” have inherent rights to sovereign statehood will inevitably put minorities in a vulnerable position. But while cosmopolitans express sympathy with minorities, and use their plight to condemn the statist status quo, it’s not clear that they can endorse the remedies that minorities and indigenous peoples themselves seek, including the sorts of international protections listed earlier. Much depends on how we define cosmopolitanism. One strand of cosmopolitanism is what Kolers calls “terrestrial cosmopolitanism”: the idea that the world was given in common to all human beings, and that all individuals therefore have an equal right to the global commons (Kolers 2013). This typically generates very strong individual rights to mobility, and only weak collective rights to territory. Everyone has the right to move freely across the globe, in part because no one has the right to exclude them: no individual or group can claim exclusive possession of territory. Kolers distinguishes this terrestrial cosmopolitanism from what he calls “right to place” theories. The latter idea, on Kolers’ definition, is not “an equal right to the whole world, but an equal right, individual or collective, to possess a particular place” (Kolers 2013).

172   Will Kymlicka As Kolers notes, this contrast between terrestrial cosmopolitans and “right to place” theorists is a fundamental dividing line in contemporary political philosophy. The debate is not about whether we have obligations of justice to consider the interests of non-​members outside our territory. The debate, rather, is about what those interests are. On the one hand, we have interests as individuals in unhindered mobility, including the right to move out of our existing community and into the territory of another community—​an interest that can only be satisfied if we prevent communities from restricting in-​migration. On the other hand, we have interests as members of bounded communities in being able to effectively govern ourselves and pursue our shared way of life on our territory—​an interest that can only be satisfied if bounded communities are able to regulate entry into their territory. Terrestrial cosmopolitans believe that the interest in individual mobility trumps the interest in collective autonomy, such that universal rights to individual mobility trump collective claims to territory. Existing international norms of minority and indigenous rights, however, fall on the “right to place” side of the debate: they highlight the importance of people’s interest in maintaining a particular way of life on a particular territory. This is especially clear in the case of indigenous rights, which emphasize the importance of securing indigenous people’s possession and management of their traditional territories.6 But it also true of international norms of minority rights, which link particular rights (such as bilingual street signs, or the right to use one’s language with public officials) to areas where minorities have traditionally resided,7 and which forbid state policies that seek to weaken a minority’s power in those areas (e.g. by encouraging people from the dominant group to move into areas of traditional minority settlement).8 The core of both indigenous and minority rights are rights to place.9 Indeed, many of the gravest historic injustices inflicted on indigenous people and minorities have involved violating rights to place. Consider European invasion and colonization of the Americas. It’s important to remember that these actions were often justified by appeal to terrestrial cosmopolitanism (Kolers, 2013). The interests that Europeans had in gaining access to indigenous peoples’ territory were granted weight by theories of terrestrial cosmopolitanism, exacerbated by prejudice about the value of the indigenous ways of life that were radically disrupted by European settlement. Terrestrial cosmopolitanism does of course give weight also to the interests of the original inhabitants; but without recognition of an antecedent right to place, these interests are all too easily trumped by the interests of larger or stronger groups seeking new territories for their pleasure or profit. Nor is this just a matter of historic wrongs. It remains a sensitive point of contestation between migrant justice groups and indigenous justice groups. In Canada, for example, migrant justice groups such as “No Borders,” “No One Is Illegal,” and “Shelter, Sanctuary, Status” have sometimes advanced an open-​borders argument, based on the idea that the world belongs to all, and that we are all commoners with rights to access to the global commons (Sharma 2003). This is explicitly offered as an anti-​nationalist or “counter-​ national” position, challenging ideas that any nation-​state can claim sovereign rights over territory that properly belongs to all. But in the process of challenging state sovereignty,

Minority Rights   173 this argument also threatens the territorial claims of Canada’s indigenous peoples. If Canada adopted open borders, much of the territory where newcomers would settle is on unceded indigenous lands, and some indigenous advocates argue that the open-​borders movement is therefore complicit in colonization (Lawrence and Dua 2005). To avoid this, many cosmopolitans today disavow terrestrial cosmopolitanism in favour of newer ideas of “rooted cosmopolitanism.” According to rooted cosmopolitanism, while the interests of all people matter morally no matter where they live, we must include amongst these interests the importance of membership in bounded communities which exercise control over themselves and their territories, and hence the necessity for rights to place.10 Moral cosmopolitanism, in other words, does not require terrestrial cosmopolitanism, but is consistent with—​and indeed best served by—​recognizing place-​based rights to territory and to autonomy.11 If cosmopolitanism is understood as rooted rather than terrestrial, it may be more compatible with emerging norms of minority and indigenous rights. Minority and indigenous rights can be seen as spelling out some of the place-​based rights that set limits on terrestrial cosmopolitanism. But, to date at least, rooted cosmopolitans have not offered a clear account of what these place-​based rights are, and have not explicitly asked whether they include the sorts of rights captured in recent international instruments of minority and indigenous rights. So, at present, the consistency of minority/​indigenous rights with (rooted) cosmopolitanism remains uncertain.12 Let us turn now to the statist/​nationalist alternative. Insofar as statists/​nationalists accept that rights to place limit terrestrial cosmopolitanism, they seem better equipped to endorse international norms of minority and indigenous rights. But whether statism/​ nationalism can make sense of these norms depends on how we identify the bearers of these place-​based rights. And here we see a lingering debate about the role of nationhood. For some authors, such as Walzer and Miller, nation-​states are indeed national states, expressing and enacting a sense of shared nationhood based on a sense of shared history, attachment to a national homeland, and a shared public culture (Miller, 1995). For other statists, particularly in the republican tradition, states need not, and indeed should not, appeal to pre-​political nationhood, but can instead be grounded in practices of democratic self-​government and loyalty to a constitution, without any assumption of shared nationhood (see Chapter 47). I will not parse that debate here, but will only note that neither approach provides a clear basis for endorsing place-​based rights for minorities and indigenous peoples. In fact, both tend to render invisible the entire question. The nationalist approach tends to simply assume the coincidence of national identity and state boundaries. Walzer famously said: “The political community is probably the closest we can come to a world of common meanings. Language, history, and culture come together (come more closely together than anywhere else) to produce a collective consciousness” (1983: 28). Passages such as these render the phenomenon of minorities and indigenous peoples invisible. If a theory of justice presupposes that citizens share a “language, history and culture,” then the question of how to justly treat those with a different language, history, and culture can’t arise, except as an afterthought or anomaly.

174   Will Kymlicka Both Miller and Walzer acknowledge that some nation-​states incorporated the historic homeland of other peoples, and that these minorities and indigenous peoples sometimes resist assimilation and defend their rights to place. But their solution is to suggest that if a common sense of nationality cannot be developed, then partition is the best option—​i.e. the creation of two or more states that more closely match the ideal of unified nationality. In my view, this is a counsel of despair. For many minorities and indigenous peoples, forming a separate state is neither feasible nor desirable. Minorities and indigenous peoples differ enormously in their size, territorial concentration, and institutional completeness, as well in their level of interdependence with the larger state. Telling them all in effect to either “fit in or leave” is unfair. What they need—​and what existing international norms seek to codify—​is recognition of their place-​based rights within the framework of existing states. Many liberal and republican statists avoid the appeal to nationhood, and instead tie a state’s legitimacy to standards of democracy and public justification. This seems more hospitable to minorities and indigenous peoples, since it does not require the state to assert that “language, history, and culture come together” in order to claim state legitimacy. On these proceduralist accounts, claims to legitimacy are not grounded in facts about history and culture, but in practices of public justification. But here again, this not only undermines nationalist defences of state sovereignty, but also undermines most arguments for minority and indigenous rights, since they too are based on language, history, and culture. From the perspective of minorities and indigenous peoples, the problem with nationalist conceptions of the state is not that they ground place-​based rights in appeals to language, history, and culture, but rather that they privilege the majority nation’s language, history, and culture and render invisible the claims of minority and indigenous peoples.13 In short, the idea that minorities and indigenous peoples have place-​based rights that predate the state and constrain its legitimacy does not fit neatly into either cosmopolitan or statist approaches. And so, predictably, both approaches have ignored the international legal norms that codify these rights. If we look farther afield within IPT—​ beyond dominant liberal cosmopolitan and liberal statist approaches—​we can find more openness to the issue amongst various radical, critical, and anarchist approaches. But their remedy is often to abolish the existing system of territorially bounded nation-​ states entirely, and replace it with various non-​territorial models (Young 2000)  or with anarchism (Gordon 2016). It is certainly worthwhile to explore what such non-​ territorial or non-​state models of politics would look like, and whether they can provide stable structures of democratic decision-​making.14 But these alternatives are remote from current realities, and in the meantime, we need to ask how to secure justice for minorities and indigenous peoples in the world order as it exists. This is the goal of existing international norms, which start from the premise that it is possible, and necessary, for existing states to develop just relations with their minorities and indigenous peoples. Unfortunately, the main strands of IPT seem neither equipped nor disposed to tackle that question.15

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Minority Rights as Matters of International Concern? But why should minority and indigenous rights be seen as an issue of international relations in the first place? Why isn’t this best left to the deliberation of individual countries, as a matter of domestic justice rather than international relations? There are in fact diverse motives for international concern,16 but I would highlight one: namely, that international law is largely responsible for creating the injustices facing minorities and indigenous peoples, and so must take responsibility for addressing them. This is clearest in the case of indigenous peoples. International law, far from protecting native populations against foreign rule, has historically served as a handmaiden of European imperialism. International law not only historically supported the colonization of indigenous peoples, but emerged precisely in order to facilitate European imperialism (Anghie 2004). Europeans in effect started a worldwide race war with their imperial projects, and developed international law as a weapon in this war. International law was, therefore, in danger of being discredited in the postwar period, and its very legitimacy—​and the legitimacy of the international order more generally—​ depended on its ability to reform itself. In particular, it needed to show that it could address the injustices that it itself created, not least the massively unjust distribution of sovereignty that resulted from the way international law denied self-​determination to indigenous peoples while awarding it to European colonizers. This is clear in relation to the UN’s Declaration of the Rights of Indigenous Peoples. As Macklem notes, the Declaration can best be understood, not as responding to some exogenous injustice out in the world, but rather as rectifying injustices that international law itself created: “international indigenous rights mitigate some of the adverse consequences of how international law validates morally suspect colonization projects that participated in the production of the existing distribution of sovereign power” (Macklem 2008a).17 In this sense, if the UN Declaration helps to legitimize indigenous demands, it is equally true that the Declaration helps re-​legitimize international law itself in a post-​colonial era (Xanthaki 2007: 6, 285). This re-​legitimation of international law is an unfinished project, and major challenges remain. I have elsewhere discussed the difficulties in formulating international norms of minority and indigenous rights, and in particular the problem that international norms are currently committed to an unworkable distinction between “minorities” and “indigenous peoples.” I suspect we will ultimately need to replace this dichotomy with a more sophisticated categorization that better tracks the diversity of place-​based rights claimed by diverse types of groups (Kymlicka 2007; 2011). If IPT is to contribute this task, we must move beyond current formulations of cosmopolitanism and statism, which are largely silent on the pressing issues of ethnocultural injustice that the international order has not only inherited, but itself helped to create.

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Notes 1. Critics of cosmopolitanism tend to avoid the label “communitarian”, in part because this term has become associated with a particular set of authors (Sandel, MacIntyre, Taylor), and their perfectionist critiques of Rawls’s theory of liberal egalitarian justice. Many who reject cosmopolitan conceptions of international justice do not endorse these communitarian critiques of Rawls, and indeed may self-​identify as Rawlsian liberals (e.g. Blake 2013; Nagel 2005). In that sense, the debate over cosmopolitanism is often a debate within liberalism—​between liberal cosmopolitans and liberal statists or liberal nationalists—​rather than a debate between liberals and communitarians. For that reason, I will use the term “statist” or “nationalist” to denote the non-​cosmopolitan position. 2. On the unmixing of peoples in the transition from empires to nation-​states, see Brubaker (1995). 3. It is common in the international law literature to distinguish “minorities” present at the time of independence from “migrants” who enter a country after its independence. Migrants are assumed to understand that they are entering a state as foreigners. Minorities, by contrast, wake up one day to find themselves within someone else’s state due to the way international boundaries are drawn at the time of independence. Whether this distinction between minorities and migrants is morally significant is a source of debate (Medda-​ Windischer 2009). However, since this volume includes a chapter on migration (see Chapter 39), I will focus on minorities in the traditional sense of groups present on the territory of the state when it gains independence. 4. Some minorities were too large—​or had sufficiently powerful protectors—​for states to be able to impose these anti-​minority strategies. In these cases, the international community helped negotiate bilateral treaties in which a particular state would agree to respect the rights of those minorities with powerful international friends. Several of these “minority protection” treaties were negotiated in the inter-​war period (Jackson-​Preece 1998). But they did little to change the anti-​minority tenor of international relations. Indeed, by connecting minority rights with foreign protectors, they confirmed the suspicion that minorities are presumptively disloyal, with greater loyalty to some kin-​state or imperial power than to their own country. And they offered no generalized principle of respect for minorities: those minorities which lacked foreign protectors, such as the Roma, were ignored. 5. For an overview of such experiments in multiculturalism, see the “Multiculturalism Policy Index” that I developed with Keith Banting, available at: www.queensu.ca/​mcp, and Banting and Kymlicka (2013). 6. e.g. Article 26 of the Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples states: “Indigenous peoples have the right to the lands, territories and resources which they have traditionally owned, occupied or otherwise used.” 7. e.g. Article 11.2 of the Framework Convention for the Protection of National Minorities states: “In areas traditionally inhabited by substantial numbers of persons belonging to a national minority [. . . states should] display traditional local names, street names, and other topographical indications intended for the public also in the minority language.” 8. See Article 16 of the FCNM: “The Parties shall refrain from measures which alter the proportions of the population in areas inhabited by persons belonging to national minorities and are aimed at restricting the rights and freedoms flowing from the principles enshrined in the present framework Convention.”

Minority Rights   177 9. Or rather, they are the core of what is distinctive about minority and indigenous rights. International declarations regarding minority and indigenous rights often begin by restating guarantees of civil liberties and anti-​discrimination principles found in other international law instruments, but then add novel place-​based rights. I note again that I am relying on the traditional distinction between minorities and migrants. International norms regarding migrants and refugees follow a different logic (see Chapter 39). 10. On rooted cosmopolitanism—​ also called “vernacular,” “embedded,” or “situated” cosmopolitanism—​see Kymlicka and Walker (2012). 11. Animals also arguably have place-​based rights which set limits on human terrestrial cosmopolitanism—​see Donaldson and Kymlicka (2011). 12. We might also ask how rooted cosmopolitanism differs from liberal statism/​nationalism. Insofar as both endorse a combination of moral cosmopolitanism with place-​based rights to territory and autonomy, the differences appear to be largely semantic. 13. We can think of republican statism as a form of levelling-​down: in response to the unfair privileging of the majority’s language, history, and culture, it prevents anyone from making claims based on language, history, and culture. 14. For doubts about the alternatives to territorial statehood, see Song (2012). 15. In this respect, the case of minority rights nicely illustrates Sutch’s argument that both statist and cosmopolitan IPT should learn from constructivist IR about the nature of the international norms that are actually at work. 16. For an attempt to map the motives for international involvement in state-​minority relations, see Boulden and Kymlicka (2015). 17. Macklem (2008b) discusses how this argument also justifies international norms of minority rights.

References Anghie, A. (2004). Imperialism, Sovereignty and the Making of International Law (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Banting, K., and W. Kymlicka (2013). Is There Really a Retreat from Multiculturalism Policies? Comparative European Politics 11(5): 577–​98. Blake, M. (2013). Justice and Foreign Policy (New York: Oxford University Press). Boulden, J., and W. Kymlicka (eds) (2015). International Approaches to Governing Ethnic Diversity (New York: Oxford University Press). Brown, C. (1992). International Relations Theory:  New Normative Approaches (New  York: Columbia University Press). Brubaker, R. (1995). Aftermaths of Empire and the Unmixing of Peoples. Ethnic and Racial Studies 18(2): 189–​218. Claude, I. (1955). National Minorities: An International Problem (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press). Donaldson, S., and W. Kymlicka (2011). Zoopolis:  A Political Theory of Animal Rights (New York: Oxford University Press). Gordon, U. (2016). Anarchism and Multiculturalism. In L. Cordeiro-​Rodrigues and M. Simendic (eds), Philosophies of Multiculturalism (New York: Routledge), 63–​79. Jackson Preece, J. (1998). National Minorities and the European Nation-​ States System (New York: Oxford University Press).

178   Will Kymlicka Kolers, A. (2013). Terrestrial Cosmopolitanism and the Right to Place. American Political Science Association Annual Meetings, Chicago, IL [online; accessed 19 Apr. 2017]. https://​ www.academia.edu/​1600410/​Borders_​and_​Territories_​Terrestrial_​Cosmopolitanism_​vs._​ A_​Right_​to_​Place Kymlicka, W. (2007). Multicultural Odysseys (New York: Oxford University Press). Kymlicka, W. (2011). Beyond the Indigenous/​Minority Dichotomy? In S. Allen and A. Xanthaki (eds), Reflections on the UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (Oxford: Hart, Oxford), 183–​208. Kymlicka, W., and K. Walker (eds) (2012). Rooted Cosmopolitanism (Vancouver: University of British Colombia Press). Lawrence, B., and E. Dua (2005). Decolonizing Antiracism. Social Justice 32(4): 120–​43. Macklem, P. (2008a). Indigenous Recognition in International Law. Michigan Journal of International Law 30(1): 177–​210. Macklem, P. (2008b). Minority Rights in International Law. International Journal of Constitutional Law 6(3): 531–​52. Medda-​Windischer, R. (2009). Old and New Minorities: Reconciling Diversity and Cohesion (Baden-​Baden: Nomos). Meyer, John, et al. (1997). World Society and the Nation-​State. American Journal of Sociology 103(1): 144–​81. Miller, D. (1995). On Nationality (Oxford: Clarendon Press). Nagel, T. (2005). The Problem of Global Justice. Philosophy & Public Affairs 33(2): 113–​47. Sharma, N. (2003). No Borders Movements and the Rejection of Left Nationalism. Canadian Dimension 37(3): 37–​9. Snyder, J. (2000). From Voting to Violence (New York: W. W. Norton). Song, S. (2012). The Boundary Problem in Democratic Theory: Why the Demos Should Be Bounded by the State. International Theory 4(1): 39–​68. Terra, L., and P. Bromley (2012). The Globalization of Multicultural Education in Social Science Textbooks. Multicultural Perspectives 14(3): 136–​43. United Nations Development Program (2004). Human Development Report 2004:  Cultural Liberty in Today’s Diverse World (New York: United Nations). Walzer, M. (1983). Spheres of Justice (Oxford: Blackwell). Xanthaki, A. (2007). Indigenous Rights and United Nations Standards (New York: Cambridge University Press). Young, I. M. (2000). Self-​Determination and Global Democracy. In Inclusion and Democracy (Oxford: Oxford University Press), 236–​76.

­c hapter 14

E nvironm enta l J u st i c e and Su staina bi l i t y Edward Page

There is accumulating evidence that human activities since the beginning of the Industrial Revolution are now changing the global environment. Deforestation, species and biodiversity loss, land degradation, air pollution, and global warming are disrupting a broad range of natural systems that are crucial determinants of health and welfare (Griggs et al. 2013: 305; Rockström et al. 2009; Stefan et al. 2015). Such disruptions affect the health and wellbeing of all populations, but in most cases it is the citizens of developing states that are most vulnerable due to their reliance on ecosystem services and lack of resilience in the face of environmental change (IPCC 2014: 16–​21). International cooperative environmental efforts—​in the form of climate change negotiations, the creation of specific sustainable development goals (SDGs), and Agenda 21 activities across the globe—​are underpinned by the view that economic practices driving global environmental change must be reformed. However, it remains unclear how a transformation in these practices can be achieved that will balance the interests and claims of members of different states and generations (see Chapter 40). Over the past three decades, a discourse of “sustainable development” has emerged as a response to this challenge. The central idea underpinning the concept of sustainable development, which has been in constant development since its articulation in the influential World Commission on Environment and Development (WCED) report of 1987, is that human development that improves the lives of existing and future generations is desirable and achievable only if it is compatible with the stability and integrity of environmental systems on which rich and poor populations depend (WCED 1987: 43; Curren 2011: 308). The concept of sustainable development raises many substantive and conceptual questions for normative theorists. Given that the causal origins of, and economic benefits associated with, practices driving ecological change are so widely dispersed—​and given that the costs of taking action to reduce the associated adverse impacts are also widely dispersed—​ideas of sustainable development are intimately connected to wider

180   Edward Page discourses of justice, fairness, and legitimacy. The sustainable development debate, that is, is primarily one of values—​of what should be done to reconcile goals of human development and environmental protection—​even if a range of natural and social science disciplines also play a critical role in this question (Stefan et al. 2015; IPCC 2014). In this chapter, we examine how normative political theory has attempted to clarify, and answer, these questions and by doing so has helped shape the contested discourse of environmental justice and sustainability.

The Concept, Meaning, and Politics of Sustainable Development Sustainable development has two core components:  sustainability and development. The sustainability component has been defined as the “capacity to be practiced or maintained indefinitely” (Attfield 2003:  127). This concise definition raises a number of normative questions: what to sustain, for whom, how, at what cost? The development component, by contrast, has been defined as the “satisfaction of human needs and aspirations” (WCED 1987: 43). This concise definition raises a further, if connected, set of normative questions: which needs, whose aspirations, at whose cost? Rather than being seen as a unified concept with a settled meaning, then, sustainable development may usefully be understood as a “discourse” that frames the debate concerning how its two central components should be balanced. This discourse is a hotbed of contested meanings and struggles over the definition and application of environmental sustainability, sustainable development, and environmental justice, with different agents stressing different meanings, implications, and policies (Dryzek 2005: 142–​7; Hopwood, Mellor, and O’Brien 2005). Sustainable development, in this way, is conceived not as a value-​neutral description or explanation of how economic development and environmental systems may coexist, but rather an “ethico-​political objective” that expresses “key ideas about how society—​including the economy—​should be governed” (Jacobs 1991: 60). It is this inherent normative element (combining an openness to a plurality of meanings) that has fuelled the influence of sustainable development across many spheres of activity (Dobson 1998: 60; Hopwood et al. 2005: 40).

An Anatomy of Sustainable Development According to the most influential conception of sustainable development, it is development that “meets the needs of the present without compromising the ability of future generations to meet their own needs” and requires “meeting the basic needs of all and

Environmental Justice and Sustainability    181 extending to all the opportunity to fulfill their aspirations for a better life” (WCED 1989: 8, 44). Although the source of great debate and controversy, the core idea is that every community is permitted to pursue economic development so long as it does not damage the integrity of the environmental systems upon which the development of existing and future populations rely. As such, the WCED conception of sustainable development contains a diagnosis of current development (economic growth has pulled many millions out of poverty while its environmental impact is unsustainable) and a normative prescription (a reformed approach to growth and development is necessary to transform the global economy so that it remains sustainable from the environmental perspective) (Baker 2016: 2–​7; Beckerman 1994: 193). Whilst a useful starting point, this conception of sustainable development raises what Jordan (2008: 17) usefully calls the “riddle of sustainability”: how, in theory and in practice, can economic prosperity and environmental protection be reconciled? In order to address this riddle, it is useful to observe that competing conceptions and discourses of sustainable development are characterized by how they address a series of normative challenges (Dobson 1998: 36–​8; O’Neill 2007: 95ff.). The key challenges can be usefully captured in the following puzzle: who should sustain what for the sake of whom and to what end?

Scope To recap, sustainability has been defined as the “capacity to be practiced or maintained indefinitely” (Attfield 2003: 127), and sustainable development has been defined as development that “meets the needs of the present without compromising the ability of future generations to meet their own needs” (WCED 1987: 47). These general statements that development must respect the interests of members of different states and generations are complicated by the severe difficulties in developing a coherent theory of intergenerational and international equity so that we can answer the question “whose sustainability guaranteed by whom?”

Metric What should sustainable development aim to sustain? Normative theorists refer to this as the problem of identifying the metric (or “currency”) that sustainable development should appeal to in determining which activities and policies are sustainable and which are unsustainable. The answers to the “sustainability of what?” question are diverse (O’Neill 2007: 93; Attfield 2003: 133; Dobson 1998: xx). Should the metric of sustainable development be welfare, resources, basic needs, capabilities, ecological space, natural capital, or some other metric? The WCED (1987) adopts a pluralist approach concerning what component of human wellbeing should be sustained (metrics of need, welfare, resources, and opportunities are given particular emphasis), and more recent attempts to specify the appropriate metric have not settled this debate (Beckerman

182   Edward Page and Pasek 2001: 72; Barry 1999; Daly 1995: 50; Griggs et al. 2013). This metric question matters because each metric will lead to a distinct set of human practices being viewed as either unsustainable or sustainable, since these practices will alter the present and distribution of each metric. Consider, as a concrete example, how to protect the nitrogen cycle. Industrialized agricultural practices have led to vast quantities of nitrogen being released into the environment, causing coastal soil and water pollution that harms the affected populations (Stefen et al. 2015). But what should be the metric by which to evaluate measures to reverse the anthropogenic distortion of the nitrogen cycle? Is it to maintain a certain level of welfare (across space and time) or to maintain a certain level of income, or wealth, over time and space—​or to sustain some other metric? Next, consider the problem of realizing sustainable development once a particular metric, or plurality of metrics, has been selected. How can the present generation pass on to future generations what it believes it has good reason to sustain when it clearly lacks the capacity to impose a sustainable level of the preferred metric?

Pattern Often confused with the metric puzzle is the problem, familiar to all distributive justice theorists, of what the distributive goal of sustainable development should be. Should it be to equalize the preferred metric, give priority to the worst off in the distribution of the metric, guarantee a basic minimum level of welfare for all, or seek some other pattern of wellbeing across and between generations? The alternative views may converge on the judgement that present development practices are unsustainable but diverge on why exactly these practices are unjust and how this injustice should be remedied (Page 2006: 78–​91). One such pattern is equality. The idea is that benefits and burdens pertaining to any human activity should be distributed so that undeserved inequality is minimized. Since global environmental change has the potential to exacerbate existing inequalities within and between countries, the global egalitarian will expect the developed world (as the home of substantial numbers of the better off) to fund generous measures to alleviate losses and damages arising in the developing world (as the home to substantial numbers of the worse off). This is not because of what these countries or their citizens have done in the past, or because they are wealthy as such, but rather because this is the most efficient way of achieving the desired outcome of greater equality amongst nations. A second pattern is priority. Prioritarians reject the idea that it is always bad that some people are undeservedly worse off than others, since they do not think that comparative properties of distributive outcomes have normative relevance. Instead, they think it regrettable that people are badly off as such: the lower a person’s wellbeing, the stronger our duty is to benefit them. A third pattern, sufficiency, holds that benefits and burdens should be distributed so that people have sufficient capacity to pursue the values they care about. Attaining what we really care about, for sufficientarians, requires a certain level of wellbeing, but once this level is reached there is no further relationship between

Environmental Justice and Sustainability    183 how well off a person is and whether they discover and fulfil what it is that they really care about. The WCED, like many conceptions of sustainable development, appeals to a plurality of alternative patterns—​with sufficiency, equality, and priority all being given some weight (WCED 1989: 43–​4). However, as with the metric question, normative theorists have shown that the selection of any particular pattern is controversial, since different patterns will require different policies of sustainable development to be implemented (O’Neill 2007: 97).

Weak and Strong Conceptions of Sustainable Development Sustainable development has often been viewed in terms of equitable maintenance of different forms of capital (Ekins et al. 2003: 167). As a result, conceptions of sustainable development have typically been distinguished in terms of how stringent a constraint the maintenance of different forms of capital should be for human development. The two most common positions discussed in the literature are strong and weak sustainable development (Jacobs 1991; Attfield 2003: 132–​3; Baxter 1999: 197ff.; Costanza and Daly 1992: 44–​5; Reid 1995: 102–​3; O’Neill 2007: 100–​5; Ekins et al. 2003: 167–​9).1 In fact, these conceptions appear at different positions along a continuum of positions according to how sustainability deals with different forms of capital input from which economic growth is possible, and each has a number of sub-​variants. They are best conceived, therefore, as types of sustainable development rather than as tokens of a particular type of sustainable development.

Capital A highly contested concept within and beyond economics, “capital” has been defined as “a stock that possesses the capacity of giving rise to flows of goods and/​or services” (Ekins et al. 2003: 166). Building on this definition, we can say that “natural capital” refers to stocks of natural resources that produce a flow of goods and services (Ekins at al. 2003: 166; see also O’Neill 2007: 105). Natural capital can be distinguished from “human” and “produced” (or “manufactured”) capital, where the former is a community’s stock of raw labour and of social and human capital, and the latter is its stock of machinery, equipment, buildings, and urban land (Ekins et al. 2003: 166–​7; World Bank 2011: 4–​5). Where natural capital generates flows of benefits for humans through important and irreplaceable functions that, if damaged, cannot be easily replaced by substitutions of human or manufactured capital, this capital is referred to as “critical natural capital” (O’Neill 2007: 105–​6; Chiesura and Groot 2003: 219). Natural capital

184   Edward Page encompasses raw materials used in production processes (such as agricultural land, oil, coal, metals, and minerals); natural processes that mediate processes of production (such as waste absorption); “basic life-​supporting functions” (such as the ozone layer and a stable climate system); and “amenity services” (such as wilderness areas) (Ekins et al. 2003: 167). Each form of capital can be maintained in isolation of the other forms, with the essential difference between the two rival accounts of sustainability being the extent to which the loss of one form of capital can be offset by enhancements in other forms of capital.

Weak Sustainability According to this approach, there are no intrinsic limits to the substitution of human and natural capital so long as the total sum of capital that remains is not diminished. The upshot is that losses in natural capital are compatible with sustainable development so long as they are offset by gains in human capital or technology with the same or greater function in terms of providing a stream of benefits into the economy (O’Neill 2007: 105–​ 6). Since natural and human capital are here viewed as substitutes, neither is a limiting factor in human development—​or demands to be maintained intact—​considered in isolation (Chiesura and Groot 2003: 219). Instead, the idea is to maintain the combined stock of both types of capital viewed as close substitutes, thereby permitting “some natural resources to be run down so long as adequate compensation is provided by enhancements in other resources” (Beckerman and Pasek 2001: 75). The basis of such compensation being “adequate” (and thus sustainable) is that increases in man-​made capital compensate future generations “for any fall in their welfare that might have been caused by the depletion of natural capital” (Beckerman 1994:  195). Strictly speaking, weak sustainability does not require that the total stock of natural resources is undiminishing (a feature of the stronger sense of sustainable development), but rather that the flow of human benefits required to sustain justice and equity across and between generations is non-​diminishing (Beckerman 1994: 195–​6; see also Pearce et al. 1989: 37; Reid 1995: 102). As Baxter puts it concisely, “an economy can be considered weakly sustainable if it saves more than the combined depreciation of natural and man-​made capital” (Baxter 1999: 197). It is useful to explore an example of how a weak sustainability functions. Climate change threatens a wide range of human interests (IPCC 2014; Rockström et al. 2009; Stefan et al. 2015) and is one of nine major planetary boundaries—​the environmental systems which together “define the safe operating system for humanity with respect to the Earth system and are associated with the planet’s biophysical subsystems or processes” that, if crossed, together or in isolation, “could generate unacceptable environmental change” (Rockström et al. 2009: 472). The human interests at risk should be protected, according to weak sustainable development, through a combination of prevention and adaptation that offsets damaged natural resource systems by exploiting new technologies, practices, and norms that serve the same function as these resource

Environmental Justice and Sustainability    185 systems. Because natural capital and human capital are substitutes, however, there is no strong argument for an extremely ambitious climate change mitigation regime if losses in human welfare from damaged natural resources can be offset either by compensating present and future generations by developing new resources that generate the same flows of benefits or by investing in measures of adaptation or geo-​engineering that adjust behaviour and institutions to new environmental realities while sustaining the level of welfare prior to the disruption. The goal of achieving a “safe operating space for humanity” (Rockström et al. 2009: 472) in the face of climate change may instead be achieved by exploiting substitutive properties of natural and human capital rather than attempting to prevent adverse changes in natural environmental processes through aggressive mitigation, as recommended by “stronger” accounts of sustainability (Stefan et al. 2015; Rockström et al. 2009: 473). One complication with weak sustainable development is its account of resource substitution. The account of substitution at the core of weak sustainability seems problematic, as it assumes a priori that all, or most, depletions of natural capital can be offset by accompanying gains in human or manufactured capital. Not only is there little empirical evidence for this strong claim in the face of the diversity of natural capital components mentioned above (Ekins 2003: 169), but it also ignores the consideration that some natural capital is used in the production of all flows of benefits (Costanza and Daly 1992: 41). A useful illustrative example of this critique is stratospheric ozone depletion (Rockström et al. 2009: 473). It is practically impossible to offset negative effects of ozone layer depletion with human capital, given the limits of current technology and the potential adverse side-​effects of such substitutions if it were possible. The ozone layer, that is, cannot be replaced by human or manufactured capital; instead, human behaviour can be modified so that the consequences of the depletion are reduced while the ozone layer is repaired naturally as the human practices that damaged it are phased out. Interestingly, planetary boundary researchers point to the case of ozone as being one of the very few cases where a strong sustainability approach—​which advocates the repair of damaged natural resources so that they regain their prior functioning instead of attempts to replace this functioning with other forms of capital—​was adopted by policymakers (Stefan et al. 2015). The strong sustainability approach, in this way, reflects a change in thinking that crossing from the Holocene into the Anthropocene triggers the need for a stronger set of safeguards for the “Earth’s life support system” (Griggs et al. 2016: 306; see Chapter 35). A second complication is that the very idea of weak sustainability as a normative constraint on the pursuit of current and future welfare through economic development seems problematic, for it does not seem to prohibit any practices that mainstream theories of environmental economics would authorize. Note here that the puzzle is not that weak sustainability appears to permit significant continuing environmental destruction if human needs or welfare do not suffer (Jacobs 1995: 61–​2), but rather the prior thought that it is not a logical constraint on maximization of welfare to say that policies should take account of environmental externalities if they are to result in maximization of welfare (Beckerman 1994: 201).

186   Edward Page

Strong Sustainability In response to concerns about weak sustainability, such as those outlined above, strong sustainability has been developed in a number of different forms. The key idea is that the productive activities of earlier generations should leave undiminished the total stock of natural capital inherited by later generations, with the highest priority being given to the preservation of critical natural capital (Daly 1995: 50; Chiesura and de Groot 2003: 220). “Undiminished,” in this context, does not mean “completely untouched” or “identical in every respect” but rather “capable of supporting a broadly equivalent range of opportunities for well-​being.” In more concrete terms, this objective requires that each generation (i) does not pollute the environment beyond the ability of natural systems to absorb this pollution (the “output rule”) and (ii) only consumes renewable resources within their rate of natural regeneration, and only depletes non-​renewable resources at a rate equal to the creation of renewable substitutes for these resources (the “input rule”) (Daly 1995: 50–​1). As Daly (1995) and Jacobs (1995) observe, the key conceptual tool of strong substitutability is limited substitutability. For Jacobs, sustainable development assume that “natural and human-​made capital—​and their benefit streams—​are not infinitely substitutable [for] there are some valued functions of and services provided by the natural environment which are not exchangeable however much human-​made capital is offered in return” (Jacobs 1995: 63). Put simply, natural and human capital are, on this view, not substitutes but complements, such that losses in the one type of capital cannot be fully offset by gains in the other (Daly 1995: 51–​2; Jacobs 1995: 59–​60; see also Constanza and Daly 1992: 41). There are two parts to this claim. First, natural and non-​natural capital fulfil different functions and provide different sorts of benefits to their users; since they provide different returns “in kind”—​and not merely different returns “in size”—​they cannot be traded off against each other without some remainder. There is a very real sense, for proponents of strong sustainability, that being better off financially is qualitatively separate from being better off environmentally (Jacobs 1995: 59–​60). Second, natural resources are a “non-​eliminable” component in all instances of production, so it is simply not the case that natural and non-​natural capital are infinitely substitutable, as proposed by the weak sustainability approach (Daly 1995: 51).2 The claim that natural and non-​natural capital are complements and not substitutes, however, does not mean that human-​made capital cannot sometimes offset (or compensate for) losses in natural capital, for to deny this would be to endorse an “absurdly strong sustainability” (Daly 1995: 49) that endorses “a requirement to preserve intact the environment as we find it today in all its forms” (Beckerman 1994: 194). Instead, natural capital may sometimes be depleted, but this has strict limits, since some natural capital is critical to the health of the biosphere and cannot be offset by a greater amount of human capital. Nevertheless, strong sustainable development is, broadly speaking, an enlightened anthropocentric view, since it sees the value of sustainability through the lens of human wellbeing rather than the wellbeing of natural objects, non-​human animals, or the biosphere.

Environmental Justice and Sustainability    187 Again, an example of how the strong sustainable approach works is useful. One of the planetary boundaries highlighted by Rockström et al. (2009: 473) as existing in a state of serious overshoot is biodiversity loss. According to the strong-​sustainability approach, such losses cannot be offset by gains in human capital, since the pervasive effects on human and natural systems of loss of genetic diversity cannot be offset by gains in human capital given existing human knowledge—​with the result that a substitution approach could not replicate the critical role of biodiversity in preventing natural and human systems tipping over into irreversibly damaged states. Such systems must, therefore, be protected by targeting the causes of these losses (e.g. over-​reliance on fossil fuels and industrialized agriculture practices) rather than through adaptations in practices or institutions (through resource substitutions such as crop-​switching or dietary changes) that appear to play a similar functional role in sustaining human welfare (Rockström et al. 2009: 474). Strong sustainability raises a number of puzzles. The approach recommends the preservation of irreplaceable components of nature, but does not give a full account of to whom this duty is owed or what should be done when different groups benefit from, and value, different features of natural capital in different ways (Chiesura and de Groot 2003: 220). Consider the seventh and eighth “planetary boundaries”: fresh water and land use (Rockström 2009: 473). How should conflicts between users of these different natural resource systems be resolved if only some of these systems can be preserved? More generally, the strong-​sustainability approach raises the question of what the acceptable limits of natural capital depletion are, given that tensions arise between development and sustainability that are absent in weak sustainability and traditional development accounts, which evaluate sustainability and development according to a common standard of welfare maximization. An optimal strategy for a community, just as within an individual life (so the arguments goes) would be to rule out some development opportunities as sub-​optimal due to their adverse environmental impacts; but there is little reason to prefer environmental protection over optimization when they conflict (Beckerman 1994: 193–​5).3 Finally, the approach, in common with weak sustainability, appears to endorse an economic-​monetary concept at its core (“capital”), whereas many argue that the value of sustainability cannot be fully captured in monetary terms, so this focus on capital is incoherent (Dobson 1998; O’Neill 2007).

Questioning Sustainable Development As we have seen, there is a broad range of conceptions of sustainable development, and as a result objections can be made to each conception. Nonetheless, it is possible to classify objections to the underlying concept; and a useful categorization distinguishes objections according to whether what is at stake is normative desirability, conceptual

188   Edward Page coherence, or practical application. Here I  sketch three areas of critique commonly directed towards the sustainable development concept rather than to distinctive interpretations of it.

Unjustified Anthropocentrism The WCED assumes that “[human] wellbeing is the ultimate goal of all environment and development policies” (WCED 1987: xiv). This anthropocentric assumption is common to almost all conceptions of sustainable development, whether weak or strong, which are often pluralist in content but highly restrictive in terms of scope. This “anthropocentric” starting point has been widely criticized by normative environmental theorists for endorsing an unjustified “species chauvinism” (Routley and Routley 1995: 104). Theories of environmental ethics such as zoocentrism (Singer 1993: 21ff.), “ecologism” (Baxter 1999: 197), biocentrism (Taylor 1986: 124), and ecocentrism (Callicott 2001) all converge in rejecting the philosophical basis of this assumption. Consider Ekins et al.’s (2003) highly cited account of strong sustainability. The authors argue that “from a human point of view, what matters about the environment is not particular stocks of natural capital per se, but the ability of the capital stock as a whole to be able to continue to perform the environmental functions which make an important contribution to human welfare” (pp. 172–​3). The question is: why make this assumption when anthropocentric assumptions about economic growth appear to have resulted in the crisis that sustainable development seeks to solve (Hayward 1998: 4)?

Too Economic The anthropocentric critique is related to a further challenge that sustainable development, weak and strong, incorporates an overly “economic” approach to global environmental change. In valuing natural capital only in instrumental human terms, sustainable development appears to reduce the ethical importance of such capital to the benefit streams their use, and conservation, provide for humans. In this sense, it has been argued that both strong and weak sustainable development fail to capture the true value of the natural environment (Dobson 1998: 40–​1), and this in turn leads to an excessive optimism concerning the compatibility of economic development and environmental sustainability. As O’Neill puts it: “we do not live in capital or stocks or bundles of assets. We live in places that are significant in a variety of ways for different communities and individuals. And the natural world in which humans have entered and will one day leave is that, a natural world with its own history: it is not ‘capital’ ” (O’Neill 2007: 108). In response, it might be claimed that “natural capital” is—​at least for strong sustainable development—​merely a useful metaphor that captures the importance of the life supporting functions of nature which are “critical for the well-​being of and the sustainability of human society” (Chiesura and de Groot 2003: 221). That is, natural capital can be

Environmental Justice and Sustainability    189 seen as a concept whose scope extends beyond the realm of monetary evaluation. It is unclear how to evaluate these rival perspectives.

Loss and Damage While all conceptions of sustainable development, as we saw above, are at bottom grounded on an analysis of environmental disruption dating back to the Industrial Revolution, the concept itself is inescapably “forward-​looking.” The idea (to put it in terms of modern thinking about global environmental change) is that planetary boundaries have been surpassed, and the unsustainable development that threatens further overshoots of these boundaries must be curbed. But recent research in the arena of climate change and other environmental boundaries has shown that significant loss and damage have already occurred as a result of environmental change, and much more is expected and may not be preventable even if a swift transformation towards sustainable development is achieved. The concept of sustainable development has little to say about remedying or correcting the injustices connected to such losses and damages.

Insensitivity to Justice in Recognition In prioritizing a distributive approach to environmental sustainability, sustainable development has been criticized for lacking a strong theory of democracy and participation (Schlosberg 2006: 104ff.) while also overstating the value of development as critical for human wellbeing. Sustainable development, that is, as an extension of “green capitalism,” legitimizes institutions and market practices in responding to global environmental degradation—​rather than offering a critique of capitalism and the inequality it generates (Barry 1999; see Chapter 49)—​and is insensitive to cultural differences in the way human development is conceived (Connelly and Smith 1999: 58–​9). Consider the metric problem discussed earlier. The idea of sustainable development is essentially distributive, but at least some components of wellbeing cannot be easily reduced to a single metric that can be distributed across populations. Equality of recognition, tolerance, respect, and dignity are examples (O’Neill 2007: 95). The debate concerning the appropriate metric of sustainable development, according to this line of thought, also downplays socio-​cultural perspectives on sustainable development, which emphasizes nature’s “immaterial and intangible services such as mental health, recreation, or heritage values, but also the cognitive and emotional aspects of people’s relationship with nature” (Chiesura and de Groot 2003: 228). These are not things, external objects, or resources which can be distributed from one person, community, or generation to another in order to sustain the preferred metric, or should be if they could; neither can their value to people be reduced to welfare, wellbeing, quality of life, all things considered. As O’Neill puts it, “Equality is concerned with the nature of the social relationships between individuals. It is concerned with issues of power, of relationships

190   Edward Page of super-​ordination and subordination, and with issues of recognition, of who has standing in a community and what activities and attributes are acknowledged as having worth” (2007: 95). What if sustaining these non-​distributive values requires a deviation from the sustaining of our preferred distributive metric in the face of the global, regional, and local effects of environmental degradation such as climate change? Which should be prioritized if and when they conflict?

Conclusion In this chapter I have explored the conceptual development of environmental sustainability, in particular the influential conception of sustainable development developed by the WCED, and tried to show how normative theory can enrich the discussion of sustainable development. Rather than defend a particular approach to sustainability, I set out to show how normative theory can make sense of the contestable terrain of environmental sustainability while outlining some of the key normative issues at stake and how they might be solved. Environmental sustainability and sustainable development are complex, contested concepts, and each has generated a set of complex, contested debates. This inherent complexity does not mean that these concepts and discourses are not meaningful or do not have policy relevance. The concept of sustainable development, in particular, has inspired a range of fascinating debates in normative theory concerning the appropriate scope, site, metric, and pattern of justice; and sustainable development has been pursued in concrete activities and policies, from Agenda 21 activities at the local level to the formulation of global sustainable development goals.

Notes 1. These are also sometimes referred to as “narrow” and “broad” sustainable development (Pearce et al. 1989: 37; Reid 1995: 102). 2. A claim that is hotly contested by those who argue that the distinction is illusory, and that acting as if it were meaningful would result in existing global poverty reduction measures being undermined (see Beckerman 1994: 193–​5). 3. The veracity of this objection is highly contested in the literature, given that many strong sustainability advocates hold that it rests on an implausible interpretation of their view as prohibiting any depletion of any resource, when the requirement is merely that the loss of some natural components cannot be compensated for by the provision of human-​created substitutes.

References Attfield, R. (2003). Environmental Ethics: An Overview for the Twenty-​First Century (Cambridge: Polity). Baker, S. (2016). Sustainable Development, 2nd edn (London: Routledge).

Environmental Justice and Sustainability    191 Barry, B. (1999). Sustainability and Intergenerational Justice. In A. Dobson (ed.), Fairness and Futurity (Oxford: Oxford University Press), 93–​107. Baxter, B. (1999). Ecologism (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press). Beckerman, W. (1994). “Sustainable Development”:  Is it a Useful Concept? Environmental Values 3(1): 191–​209. Beckerman, W., and J. Pasek (2001). Justice, Posterity and the Environment (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Callicott, J. B. (2001). The Land Ethic. In J. Dale (ed.), A Companion to Environmental Philosophy (Oxford: Blackwell), 204–​17. Chiesura, A., and R. de Groot (2003). Critical Natural Capital: A Socio-​cultural Perspective. Ecological Economics 44: 219–​31. Connelly, J., and G. Smith (1999). Politics and the Environment:  From Theory to Practice (London: Routledge). Costanza, R., and H. E. Daly (1992). Natural Capital and Sustainable Development. Conservation Biology 6: 37–​46. Curren, R. (2011). Sustainable Development. In D. K. Chatterjee (ed.), Encyclopedia of Global Justice (New York: Springer), 1048–​50. Daly, H. (1995). On Wilfrid Beckerman’s Critique of Sustainable Development. Environmental Values 4: 49–​55. Dobson, A. (1998). Justice and the Environment: Conceptions of Environmental Sustainability and Dimensions of Social Justice (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Dryzek, J. (2005). The Politics of the Earth: Environmental Discourses, 2nd edn (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Ekins, P., et al. (2003). A Framework for the Practical Application of the Concepts of Critical Natural Capital and Strong Sustainability. Ecological Economics 44: 165–​85. Griggs, D., et  al. (2013). Sustainable Development Goals for People and Planet. Nature 495: 305–​7. Hopwood, B., M. Mellor, and G. O’Brien (2005). Sustainable Development: Mapping Different Approaches. Sustainable Development 13(1): 38–​52. Hayward, T. (1998). Political Theory and Ecological Values (New York: St. Martin’s Press). IPCC (Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change) (2014). Summary for Policymakers. In C. B. Field (ed.), Climate Change 2014: Impacts, Adaptation, and Vulnerability. Working Group II Contribution to the IPCC 5th Assessment Report (Geneva: United Nations), 1–​44. Jacobs, M. (1991). The Green Economy: Environment, Sustainable Development and the Politics of the Future (London: Pluto). Jacobs, M. (1995). Sustainable Development, Capital Substitution and Economic Humility: A Response to Beckerman. Environmental Values 4(1): 57–​68. Jordan, A. (2008). The Governance of Sustainable Development: Taking Stock and Looking Forwards. Environment and Planning C: Government and Policy 26(1): 17–​33. O’Neill, J. (2007). Markets, Deliberation and Environment (London: Routledge). Page, E. A. (2006). Climate Change, Justice and Future Generations (Cheltenham:  Edward Elgar). Pearce, D., A. Markandya, and E. B. Barbier (1989). Blueprint for a Green Economy (London: Earthscan). Reid, D. (1995). Sustainable Development: A Introductory Guide (London: Earthscan). Rockström, J., et al. (2009). A Safe Operating Space for Humanity. Nature 461: 472–​5. Routley, R., and V. Routley (1995). Against the Inevitability of Human Chauvinism. In R. Elliot (ed.), Environmental Ethics (Oxford: Oxford University Press), 104–​28.

192   Edward Page Schlosberg, D. (2006). Defining Environmental Justice: Theories, Movements, and Nature (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Singer, P. (1993). Practical Ethics (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Stefan, W., et al. (2015). Planetary Boundaries: Guiding Human Development on a Changing Planet. Science 347(6223): 736–​46. Taylor, P. (1986). Respect for Nature (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press). WCED (World Commission on Environment and Development) (1987). Our Common Future (Oxford: Oxford University Press). World Bank (2011). The Changing Wealth of Nations: Measuring Sustainable Development in the New Millenium (Washington, DC: World Bank).

Pa rt I V

I N T E R NAT IONA L P OL I T IC A L T H E ORY OF V IOL E N C E A N D C ON F L IC T

­c hapter 15

Violenc e a nd Internati ona l P olitical T h e ory Anthony F. Lang, Jr

Consider three instances of violence: First, on 1 February 2002, Daniel Pearl, a journalist with the Wall Street Journal was beheaded by Islamic extremists in Pakistan. Since his death, others have been decapitated by Islamic extremists, the videos of which are then released and available on social media. Second, on 21 January 1793, Louis XVI was executed on the guillotine in Paris. This moment of violence established a new constitutional and democratic order in France. Executions had up to this point been a means by which “sovereignty is restored” (Foucault 1977 [1975]: 48) or a way for the sovereign to inscribe its power on the populace. In this case, the execution created a new form of sovereignty, one based on the people rather than the divine rights of kings. Third, in the mid-​nineteenth century, collecting and examining shrunken heads became a part of Victorian-​era science. Though the practice of headhunting was condemned by European colonial authorities, it also demonstrated to the civilized world the barbarity of the peoples who needed to be governed, especially as these heads ended up in museums and personal collections throughout Britain. As a recent study points out, “While headhunting defined ‘primitive’ man’s base condition, collecting other people’s heads bolstered ‘civilized’ man’s cultural ascendency” (Larson 2014: 39). The violence bound up with colonialism merged with a set of “civilized” practices that played a crucial role in shaping the modern conception of science and the museum. These three instances of violence are political. The first two are more obviously so, i.e. efforts to publicly demonstrate power and simultaneously create new authority structures. The third is not a single overt act (though the original act of creating the shrunken head by the tribe had a political purpose—​to take the spiritual power of the enemy defeated in battle). Cutting off heads is not the only form of violence: humans have developed too many forms to address in a single chapter. A focus on the head, however, connects violence to the political because of the metaphorical link between heads

196   Anthony F. Lang, Jr and political leadership and the scientific link between reason and the brain.1 It is no accident, in other words, that violence to the head is highly politicized. This chapter will explore violence through the lens of International Political Theory (IPT). In so doing, the three seemingly disparate forms of violence noted above can be interpreted through a single lens that directs our attention to political concepts such as authority, rights, and rules (Lang 2014: 3). Moreover, this chapter will address the ways in which international and global practices of violence raise new questions because authority, rights, responsibilities, and rules are not so clearly fixed at levels beyond the nation-​state. The argument of the chapter is, very broadly, that violence constrains and enables politics at the same time that politics constrains and enables violence. IPT can provide a critical and historical perspective on the intersection of violence and the political while also providing some normative valuation of this intersection. More specifically, I highlight one dimension of IPT as it relates to violence more than others: the question of authority. This runs counter to certain strands in philosophical thought about the use of force, which tend to privilege the idea of just cause (Fabre 2012; McMahan 2009). A focus on authority helps to explain and evaluate uses of force in the modern international order, for authority is that which defines community, that which authorizes war, and that which creates the rules that govern force. A focus on authority is also not limited to the sovereign state, but instead allows us to explore a range of different structures and institutions, from religious to social to legal. In a sense, authority provides a key through which to politicize our reflections on war and violence (Lang, O’Driscoll, and Williams 2013). And, as noted above, metaphors for political authority are most often located in the head, making the removal of heads a political act in large part because it is a challenge to existing forms of authority—​a point I will return to in the conclusion.2

Violence and Authority Authority does not sit well within modern liberal and democratic thought. As Hannah Arendt explained, its meaning is rooted in history and religion, which renders it difficult for those within liberal and democratic political systems to accept (Arendt 1963). At a deeper level, standards arising from history, religion, or other traditional forms of governance stand in opposition to the ideal of rational deliberation which is at the heart of modern democratic theory (see Chapter 33): “To be subjected to authority, it is argued, is incompatible with reason, for reason requires that one should always act on the balance of reasons of which one is aware. It is of the nature of authority that it requires submission even when one thinks that what is required is against reason” (Raz 1979: 3). Yet authority, while problematic for liberal democracies, is central to practices of violence. Four political theorists of violence bring out the centrality of authority, though they approach it in different ways. That is, these are not theorists who defend authorities

Violence and IPT   197 using violence; rather, reading their work through the lens of the problem of authority illuminates the diverse ways in which violence and authority intersect to create our global political life. Frantz Fanon’s The Wretched of the Earth served as a clarion call to many revolutionary movements upon its publication in 1961 (Fanon 2001 [1961]). His analysis of violence in the context of colonialism explored how violence can free the individual from the domination of the powerful. This domination is partly the result of political structures of authority, but this formal political authority relies upon forms of knowledge and power that give authority to the colonizer over the colonized. As a result, the political act of violence is not just about overthrowing formal authority; rather, it creates new ways of knowing, giving back to the colonized a deeper kind of authority, over how they understand themselves in relation to their world. Violence alone, violence committed by the people, violence organized and educated by its leaders, makes it possible for the masses to understand social truths and gives the key to them. (Fanon 2001 [1961]: 118)

Violence, then, provides a bridge between two forms of authority; being “in authority” or being “an authority”; the former is authority that comes from a political procedure, while the latter is a form of authority that comes from knowledge or experience (Flathman 1980). Fanon articulates a justification for violence that creates not only new politics but new ways of knowing, a deeper emancipation than a simple revolution could provide. Opposed to Fanon’s valorization of violence is Arendt’s On Violence, in which she argues that violence will not contribute to political knowledge or authority but will only enable the continuing use of more violence. Arendt’s overriding concern in this essay was to decouple the concepts of violence and power that had become linked in various Third World and Marxist discourses (Owens 2008). She argues that, while war has long been part of the human condition, the advent of nuclear weapons has created a world in which any link between power and violence has been severed: “The technical development of the implements of violence has now reached the point where no political goal could conceivably correspond to their destructive potential or justify their actual use in armed conflict” (Arendt 1972: 105). She compares this technological power of the state with the student movements that had taken up violence in their revolutionary efforts. She suggests that to better understand violence, we need a better understanding of power, which she supplies: Power corresponds to the human ability not just to act but to 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 1972: 143)

As opposed to this understanding of power, violence is the utilization of implements to coerce others.

198   Anthony F. Lang, Jr This distinction speaks to the question of authority. For Arendt, power is the foundation of government, but it does not give legitimacy. Violence, on the other hand, can never be legitimate, it can only be justified (Arendt 1972: 151). Arendt argues that to engage in violence is not irrational or even inhuman; she points out that at times violence is the only way to set things right, to achieve justice. But violence is always just a means, and a short-​term means for Arendt. It is the most dangerous of means, for political action is about the action itself, not about its consequences, according to Arendt’s conception of political action. While she argued in her essay on authority that it has disappeared from the modern world, her conception of power and politics described in this essay on violence provides a corrective (Arendt 1963). If power is defined as the ability to act together to create new beginnings and realities, it provides an alternative to violence, even that espoused in Fanon’s account. Power creates authoritative institutions and frameworks in ways that violence can never accomplish. While Fanon and Arendt address the links between violence, politics, and authority, other theorists link violence to law. Walter Benjamin was a cultural and literary theorist rather than someone who thought of himself as a political theorist, but in a short essay published in 1920 he offers an important perspective on the nature of violence, which he sees as intimately connected to law and political institutions by “expounding its [violence’s] relation to law and justice” (Benjamin 1978 [1920]: 277). He goes on to argue that both natural and positivist law seek to interpret and contain violence. Natural law accomplishes this task by claiming that violence, particularly self-​defence, is something that is natural and so can be justified if put into accordance with reason. Positivist law, he argues, justifies violence in the name of law by means of its consequentialist character, i.e. that it seeks to advance a just end (see Chapter 5). Benjamin suggests that violence has a law-​making character built into it, meaning that the law is a form of coercive action on persons not just in pursuit of specific ends, such as winning a war or controlling a strike, but in safeguarding the very nature of political life. That is, law must of necessity be violent, for in so doing it controls political life. In reflecting on the existence of capital punishment, he notes that “law reaffirms itself ” (Benjamin 1978 [1920]: 287). But it is not just in the act of execution that violence constitutes the law; indeed, this can be found in Arendt. Benjamin argues that even the existence of the police is a form of violence, for its constant background conditions of coercion inflict violence, often on the poor or marginalized in society. Benjamin does not stop at just the legal and political nature of violence. He suggests that violence is to be found in the very nature of literary acts such as myth-​making (and, by implication, religion-​making). Myths instantiate violence and link it to the powerful, to those who govern in an ultimate sense: “Lawmaking is power making, and, to that extent, an immediate manifestation of violence. Justice is the principle of all divine end making, power the principle of all mythical lawmaking” (Benjamin 1978 [1920]: 295). He argues that this religious act of power through violence is translated into law in the state, resulting in an intimate relationship between law, politics, and violence. In a sense, then, like Fanon, Benjamin turns from the formal dimension of law’s authority to its

Violence and IPT   199 underlying theoretical dimension; the authority of law lies in the authority of its myth-​ making potential, its ability to create new worlds through narrative. Moving from the critical theory of Benjamin to the post-​structural theory of Michel Foucault reinforces the “structural” account of violence.3 The very name “post-​ structural” points us to the way Foucault does not rest his analysis upon identifiable institutions or laws. Instead, throughout his work, Foucault was interested in identifying the ways in which discourses and socio-​political practices rely on violence and reinforce the centrality of violence to political life. For instance, in his account of genealogy, he suggests what can be found when one pays attention to these underlying discourses and practices: Humanity does not gradually progress from combat to combat until it arrives at universal reciprocity, where the rule of law finally replaces warfare; humanity installs each of its violences in a system of rule and thus proceeds from domination to domination. (Foucault 1977 [1971]: 151)

In his 1975–​6 lectures at the Collège de France, which have been published under the title Society Must Be Defended, he extends this to suggesting how all of political life is, in some way, fundamentally structured by practices that parallel war, explicitly invoking the work of the Prussian theorist of war Carl von Clausewitz (Foucault 2004 [1997]). Political life is both strategic and violent in important ways. In these lectures and elsewhere Foucault develops the idea of biopolitics, which he defines as the set of practices designed to control life, by taking and creating it. Unlike direct forms of violence undertaken by formal authorities, these practices are more nuanced and seem perfectly benign. They include such things as regulating public health and efforts to map and control demographic changes. In this way, Foucault reveals how law and social norms rest upon a deeper set of ongoing conflicts, even violent conflicts, asking if beneath the “peace, order, wealth and authority, beneath the calm order of subordinations, beneath the State and State apparatus, beneath the laws, and so on, will [we] hear and discover a sort of primitive and permanent war?” (Foucault 2004 [1997]: 46–​7). Foucault’s account speaks directly to the multiple forms of authority identified in this section. At one level, he is concerned with formal structures of authority and suggests ways to resist them. At the deeper level which we find in all four of these theorists, his understanding of authority looks to the theoretical foundations upon which authority claims are made. This takes us back to Arendt’s essay concerning authority (1963), in which she posits that authority today cannot be so easily translated into something like a social contract, but requires some discursive context in order to function. Foucault’s work highlights the pervasiveness of that context and also links it directly to violence. Violence, according to Fanon and Benjamin, is political. Fanon suggests how violence can be seen as a way to achieve and advance political agency. Arendt’s account challenges this in some important ways, though she also relates violence to politics, even as she seeks to keep violence distinct from her ideal form of political life—​that of deliberation in the public sphere. Benjamin’s account helps us to see how legal, philosophical,

200   Anthony F. Lang, Jr and religious means for limiting violence may well be violent in and of themselves. And Foucault points to deeper forms of violence. Not one of these four theorists addresses the international dimension of violence directly, though in all four cases their concerns and insights speak across the domestic and international boundary. What they demonstrate is that the domestic realm, which one would assume is a space where violence is limited and constrained, is just as violent as the international realm. Having set out these perspectives, let me now turn to some of the ways in which structures of authority and systems of rules have sought to control and constrain violence. They have, in a sense, been designed to keep violence out of the political realm. But, as we shall see, violence and the political cannot be so easily kept distinct, particularly if our understanding of the political is kept open ended.

Regulating and Governing Violence Over time, there have been numerous efforts to regulate and govern violence. As we look more carefully at these efforts, however, it soon becomes clear that regulating violence may well generate new forms of violence. Such efforts should not be denigrated for this reason; rather, it is important to emphasize that political life means that efforts to control violence often lead to new forms of violence. A focus on authority highlights how these dynamics operate. In this section, I look to three different efforts to regulate and govern violence: religion, society, and law.

Religion and Violence Religious traditions have enabled and constrained violence through institutions of authority (both divine and otherwise) and rule systems generated by those authority structures. Importantly, those practices of restraint and enablement result in large part from the diversity of authority structures that shape the context in which religious practices operate. To highlight those authority structures means moving away from a simple rule-​based approach to religious texts in understanding the political nature of these practices. Within the Judeo-​Christian tradition, there are rules and rule-​like statements about violence and war (Exod. 20:14; Num. 21:1–​54). But extracting rules from the biblical texts fails to appreciate how they events they describe and the interpretations of those events arose in contexts shaped by competing authority structures. For instance, during a period when the Israelites were trying to establish their dominance in the region of Canaan, described in the Book of Judges, killing through deception and trickery became more common because, without established authorities and rule-​makers, any form of violence was justified in advancing what was thought to be a just cause. The authors of this book were aware of how authority shaped such practices, for the book

Violence and IPT   201 famously ends with the lamentation: “In those days, there was no king; all the people did what was right in their own eyes” (Judg. 21:25). The arrival of Jesus of Nazareth produced a new tradition, that of Christianity. The stories of Jesus, found in the Gospels, describe an individual who refused the dominant religious and political modes authority, including the use of violence. One reading of Jesus that brings out his pacifism can be found in The Politics of Jesus by John Howard Yoder, who argued that Jesus’ choice not to associate himself with the zealots who surrounded him demonstrates his pacifist credentials (Yoder 1994). This pacifism then persists into the early Christian Church due largely to that community’s attempts to hide itself from persecution (Bainton 1961). But when the Roman emperor Constantine adopted Christianity after a mystical experience in the mid-​fourth century, Christianity moved away from its pacifist origins. The shift away from pacifism was best articulated by Augustine of Hippo (ad 354–​430), who served as a bishop in north Africa. His attitude toward war is that it is necessary for the creation of an acceptable order on earth; but this earthly order can never match the heavenly order, which is where the only true justice is to be found. Even more importantly, he sees war as an evil that must never be embraced but should be undertaken reluctantly, so that mercy and justice discipline war. He argues that the authority of a heavenly kingdom is not possible on earth, so violence can be used to move the world toward a more just system. Augustine remains a touchstone for those seeking to understand the Judeo-​Christian heritage as it relates to violence and war. For instance, Jean Bethke Elshtain at first interpreted Augustine as a theorist of limits who can help to moderate war’s excesses by bringing forth the lessons of the early Church (Elshtain 1995). Some years later, however, Elshtain drew on Augustine in arguing that the de facto authority of the great powers gives them justification to use war to punish terrorists (Elshtain 2003). An alternative but connected religious tradition (as both have their roots in the Jewish tradition) is that of Islam (Kelsay 1993; 2009). To understand the Islamic approach to war and peace, a focus on authority is once more helpful. First, unlike Christianity, the founder of Islam was the leader of a political community. When Mohammed immigrated to Medina at the invitation of the elites of that city in ad 622, he inaugurated the beginnings of a formal political community which rapidly expanded (Watt 1961: 82–​ 101). This expansion does not necessarily make Islam more violent than Christianity, but it means that understanding the ways in which Islamic theorists construct their political ideas concerning violence are intimately connected to the fact that they are basing that construction on someone who had a formal authority role. The second important feature of Islam is the centrality of law. Most debates about specific norms, rules, and laws in Islam are based upon the interpretation of legal texts (see Schacht 1979; al-​Azami 1996). The teachings of the Qur’an and the example of Muhammad’s life as found in the hadith have led to the creation of sharia, the body of Islamic law that governs the life of the individual Muslim and the Islamic ummah. This legalism also needs to be understood through authority structures, which can be found in Mohammed Shaybani’s Sharia Kitab As-​Siyar, one of the first texts on international

202   Anthony F. Lang, Jr law in the Islamic tradition (Khadduri 1961; see also Khadduri 1955). This eighth-​century text explores not only questions of war and peace but how the Islamic empire should relate to other communities through diplomacy. For Shaybani, the use of military force was allowed, but it was to be moderated by concerns about innocents and by injunctions not to force conversions of individuals to Islam. Contemporary efforts to apply the Islamic ethics of war also result from particular configurations of authority. When Osama bin Laden presented his interpretation of the tradition in a fatwa that justifies violent actions, he challenged legal and scholarly authority structures. Traditionally, only the ulema, or scholars of the law, could undertake such authoritative interpretations, ones that took place within the confines of the four traditional schools of Islamic law. While interpretations such as these have received the most interest of late, the power to interpret these sacred texts has been altered in recent years by the emergence of new communities of young Muslims and the increased salience of social media (Mandaville 2007). Without the formal authority of the caliphate, similar to the example of the Hebrew Book of Judges, modes of violence do not conform to rules that protect civilians, but rather generate acts of violence that find their justification in the cause alone. Yet, in the case of Christianity, the figure who challenged established authority—​Jesus—​was perhaps more of a pacifist than those figures—​such as Augustine—​who saw a closer connection between order and violence. A focus on authority does not provide a single conclusion, but it does reveal the different ways in which violence connects to political dynamics.

Society and Violence It is mistaken to claim that “society” has clearly defined views on violence, or that societal norms shape and structure theories of violence. Rather, social norms arise in ways that cannot be identified with any one individual theorist or even a clearly defined tradition. Instead, over time, norms concerning violence have emerged that result from socioeconomic contexts which, as a result of international and global political configurations, become more and more influential. Yet even in contexts such as these that lack a clearly defined authority structure, the lens of authority can help us to understand how such norms function. Steven Pinker, a neurobiologist, argues that over the history of human existence, violence has declined. In The Better Angels of Our Nature (Pinker 2011), he presents a wealth of data in support of his hypothesis. Some of this data has been disputed, and one can respond to his case with examples of war, terrorism, and conflict that might seem to counter his hypothesis. But Pinker’s account is not simply one of science; it is a political argument, one that relies heavily on Enlightenment liberalism. For instance, in one chapter entitled “The Rights Revolutions” Pinker argues that violence based on race, gender, sexual orientation, age (i.e. against children), and species (i.e. against animals) have all decreased over time. He concludes the chapter by suggesting that the idea of

Violence and IPT   203 rights within these different categories is a key contributing factor to the lessening of violence. A second sociological argument that has become prominent across a number of different disciplines comes from the work of Norbert Elias. A German sociologist, Elias wrote a two-​volume work on what he called the “civilizing process” (Elias 1994 [1939]). He focused on manners and personal behaviour in various European contexts as evidence of how people have become more “civilized.” This process, he suggests, is not just one of manners, however, but has a great influence across society. Robert Muchembled, a French social historian, draws on Elias to demonstrate how and why violence in Europe has declined since the medieval period (Muchembled 2012 [2008]). According to Muchembled, personal violence had historically been the preserve of adolescent males. He combines Elias with insights from Foucault, identifying how both of their frameworks of analysis reveal important developments in the lessening of violence. Across his examples, it is not religion or law that lead to the decrease in violence, but social practices and assumptions such as local fairs and literature, not even clearly articulated at times, which lead to the creation of a more peaceful social order across Europe. Some in the study of International Relations have drawn on these sociological accounts of how violence is regulated. Andrew Linklater’s recent work on harm conventions is directly indebted to Elias (Linklater 2011). Linklater points to the various ways in which harm—​a term which overlaps with but is not parallel with “violence”—​has been contained within structures of global governance. Adham Saouli has extended Elias’s ideas into the Middle East context, where he finds two instances of a lessening of violence. First, he suggests that Hezbollah, a Lebanese group that is usually seen as a terrorist organization, can be seen as lessening its inclinations to use violence as it engaged more directly in the Lebanese political process (Saouli 2011). Second, he points to how the eruption of protests in Egypt as part of the Arab Spring uprisings, particularly the formation of an activist community in Tahrir Square in the centre of Cairo, exhibited strong civilizing tendencies. In a protest movement that could have easily become violent, and whose activists were subject to a great deal of violence by the Egyptian authorities, there developed instead a rather orderly community in the square, one in which individuals sought to keep the space cleared of rubbish, to provide food, and to organize themselves peacefully (Saouli 2015). These examples of decreases in violence as a result of a socialization process can also be found in certain strands of constructivist IR theory. Constructivism as a theoretical tradition arises from a sociological framework, one that seeks to locate the power of “norms” as ideational factors within international politics. One recent norm that has become prominent in discussions of human rights and humanitarian intervention is the Responsibility to Protect (R2P) (see Chapter 25). This topic is dealt with elsewhere in this volume, but it is interesting to note that most of the advocates of this principle—​that when states fail to care for their populations or actively harm them, the international community has a responsibility to protect—​argue that it is a social norm that has become more and more effective over time. Alex Bellamy has argued that the normative structures that R2P generates throughout international organizations are evidence of its

204   Anthony F. Lang, Jr influence (Bellamy 2015). Kurt Mills has supplemented this account by proposing three modes of responsibility that are operative in the international order: responsibility to prosecute, responsibility to palliate, and responsibility to protect (Mills 2015). To accept that R2P is a social norm that has influenced a wide range of institutions and actors in the international order, however, ignores the politics that underlie its invocation. Anne Orford, for instance, has argued that R2P may well appear in an innocuous and normatively positive way, but at the same time it forces us to consider the authority structures that underlie it. Indeed, for Orford, R2P undermines the traditional authority of international law and gives more power to the UN Security Council (Orford 2011). Aidan Hehir has argued that R2P means nothing until it becomes legalized, i.e. until its influence is beyond just a set of social norms but more binding rules (Hehir 2012).

Law and Violence Law is essentially a body of rules which have a different status from other rules either because they can be formally enforced (Austin 1995 [1832]) or because they arise from a more formalized political process (Hart 1994). But no matter how they differ, laws are ultimately a form of rules. This point is important to emphasize at the international level, especially as international law is sometimes questioned as “real law,” largely because it lacks a formal enforcement mechanism and because it does not arise from a representative political structure such as a parliament. There exist a wide range of rules governing the international order. One could argue that there are, in fact, two types of rules: formal (or legal) and informal (Lang, Rengger, and Walker 2005). Informal rules derive from traditions of statecraft, such as the principle that allies should work together and not betray each other in order to balance against an adversary. Formal rules derive from nineteenth-​century positivist international law, and in the current international security order have coalesced around the UN Charter. Both types of rules play an important role in the international order by providing guidelines and patterned behaviour (Arendt 2000). Rules, however, can not only create security; they can also close off certain types of political engagement. Rules occlude the role of power, conflict, and violence in the practices of politics, giving a positive sheen to activities that are, in fact, quite contested. Many have argued that in the current international order the sole authority for declaring war should be the UN Security Council. But turning to the Security Council actually reinforces the powerful, as it does not challenge the veto power of the five permanent members. By giving these five states more power in the institution, the UN system was designed to avoid the weakness and indecision that plagued the League of Nations. Importantly the UN was constructed from the ashes of the Second World War, as a means to decisively end war in the future; indeed, Article 1 of the Charter states clearly that the purpose of the UN is to secure international peace and security. One can read the creation of the United Nations, especially the Security Council, as simply a continuation of World War II, a continued violence inflicted upon politics. A peace

Violence and IPT   205 settlement is not really the end of war, for war continues in the construction of rules and modes of political order. The framers of the UN Charter hoped to create what appeared to be a rule-​governed order by giving these states the ability to control the international security order. Not only is the existence of rules and laws an instance of power, but their interpretation reveals modes of violence as well, as described by Robert Cover: “Legal interpretive acts signal and occasion the imposition of violence upon others: A judge articulates her legal understanding of a text, and, as a result, someone loses his freedom, his property, his children, even his life” (Cover 1986: 1601). Jacques Derrida furthers this point, suggesting that any rule or law has within it violence, the violence of enforcement. That violence is revealed in moments of interpretation, when those who must articulate the meaning of the rule enforce it upon others (Derrida 1992). For instance, consider how international legal decisions and practices rely on a type of interpretation that reinforces violent practices. In the lead up the 2003 Iraq War, interpretations of Resolution 1441 and of the two UNMOVIC reports by the US reveal a type of violence, a punitive violence. The US insisted that if it did not punish Iraq for its violations of the resolutions concerning its WMD programmes, the authority of the UN would be undermined. Their punitive arguments were extended to upholding human rights norms, those that had been violated by the regime of Saddam Hussein during his rule. Connecting Iraq to 9/​11 added a further reason to punish. Note that all these punitive dimensions to the war depend on a particular type of interpretation of international law, a body of law that traditionally does not allow for punishment (Lang 2008; Gould 2010). But punishment, for the Bush administration, arises naturally from the law, and America nominated itself to be the judge, jury, and executioner when the rules were not followed to the letter by the Iraqi regime. The violence of interpretation hides power and political conflict. Of course, rules cannot function without interpretation, so this is a violence that is a necessary part of politics. Yet violence is the one thing that an international security order is seeking to prevent. A tension arises, then: on the one hand, international security rules are designed to create stability, certainty, and peace by giving some predictability about the future and holding all actors to the same standards. On the other hand, rules have within them violence, a violence that appears in both interpretive attempts to match the interests of the powerful and the violence of enforcement, a punitive violence rooted in the very nature of a rule-​governed political system.

Conclusions This chapter has suggested that the lens of IPT opens up our efforts to understand violence at the global level. It highlights some theorists whose works explore the political dimensions of violence and, crucially, our efforts to moderate violence. In concluding this chapter, let me return to the example of beheading with which I began.

206   Anthony F. Lang, Jr Muchembled’s history of violence notes that in European records of fights and duels from the medieval period up until the present, the head was the part of the body most commonly subject to violence (Muchembled 2012 [2008]: 174–​5). The head is not simply a vulnerable part of the body, but a symbol of power, authority, and individualism. As such, to strike at the head was not just a way to kill or harm another person, it was a way to dehumanize them. To cut off the head, then, both ended a life and made a political statement. The first two examples noted in the introduction—​modern-​day terrorist beheading journalists and revolutionaries beheading kings—​are political statements meant to be seen by a wide audience as an effort to establish new forms of authority. Some, including some of the figures explored here, suggest that political society can only be created through an act of violence; as Benjamin suggests, this goes back to the authority of the divine which only comes into existence through some violence imposed on the other. The case of the shrunken heads is more complex, though it also links politics and violence. As noted, obtaining shrunken heads in the nineteenth century came out of an effort to “understand” and “explain” native populations, and to demonstrate the innate civilized properties of those who did not need to resort to such methods. These assumptions about the colonizer and the colonized are ones that Fanon tried to reverse in his ideas about the uses of violence. It was no longer the case that only the powerful could inflict violence or reap the benefits of the natives’ violence; rather, violence is something that creates new forms of agency for those long deprived of it. Further, the underlying scientific and historical benefits that come from studying shrunken heads suggests that even the most professed rational and enlightened ideals may be part of a set of political practices steeped in violence. The review of different ways to moderate violence, from religion to social norms to law, should not be seen as fruitless, however. The point of subjecting some of these approaches to a critical analysis is not to suggest that we cannot moderate violence, for we most certainly can. The point is that in so doing, being attentive to the political dimensions of these practices means demonstrating the ways in which they can control violence while also enabling it. Other chapters in this section of the Handbook look to more detailed efforts to understand and moderate violence (see Chapter 17). This chapter can help in orienting us toward how we need to be continuously aware of the political dimensions of these and other efforts to address violence.

Notes 1. This chapter is drawn from some of my previous writings, including Lang (2007), Lang (2010), and Lang (2014: 121–​54). A number of individuals read through earlier drafts and gave me helpful insights:  Patrick Hayden, Mihaela Mihai, Andreas Papamichail, and Mathias Thaler. Thanks as well to the Editors of this Handbook for their helpful insights. 2. e.g. military strikes against leadership targets are often referred to as “decapitation strikes.” 3. See Johann Galtung’s famous essay (1969) on structural violence for the origins of this term, though this is not the way Foucault understands it.

Violence and IPT   207

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208   Anthony F. Lang, Jr Kratochwil, F. (1989). Rules, Norms, and Decisions: On the Conditions of Practical and Legal Reasoning in International Relations and Domestic Affairs (Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press). Lang, A. F. Jr, (2007). The Violence of Rules: Rethinking the 2003 War against Iraq. Contemporary Politics 13(3): 257–​76. Lang, A. F. Jr, (2008). Punishment, Justice and International Relations: Ethics and Order after the Cold War (London: Routledge). Lang, A. F. Jr, (2009). Ethics, Justice and Security. In R. Denmark (ed.), International Studies Encyclopaedia, vol. 3 (New York: Wiley Blackwell), 1619–​38. Lang, A. F. Jr, (2014). International Political Theory: An Introduction (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan). Lang, A. F. Jr, C. O’Driscoll, and J. Williams (eds) (2013). Just War: Authority, Tradition, Practice (Washington, DC: Georgetown University Press). Lang, A. F. Jr, N. Rengger, and W. Walker (2006). The Role(s) of Rules: Some Conceptual Clarifications. International Relations 20(3): 274–​94. Larson, F. (2014). Severed: A History of Heads Lost and Found (New York: W. W. Norton). Linklater, A. (2011). The Problem of Harm in World Politics:  Theoretical Investigations (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Mandaville, P. (2007). Global Political Islam (New York: Routledge). Mills, K. (2015). International Responses to Mass Atrocities in Africa: Responsibility to Protect, Prosecute and Palliate (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press). Muchembled, R. (2012 [2008]). A History of Violence from the End of the Middle Ages to the Present (Cambridge: Polity Press). Onuf, N. (1989). World of Our Making:  Rules and Rule in Social Theory and International Relations (Columbia: University of South Carolina Press) Orford, A. (2011). International Authority and the Responsibility to Protect (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Owens, P. (2008). Between War and Politics: International Relations and the Thought of Hannah Arendt (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Pinker, S. (2011). The Better Angels of Our Nature:  A History of Violence and Humanity (New York: Penguin). Ramadan, T. (2004). Western Muslims and the Future of Islam (Oxford:  Oxford University Press). Reichberg, G., H. Syse, and E. Begby (eds) (2006). The Ethics of War: Classic and Contemporary Readings (London: Blackwell). Saouli, A. (2011). Hizbullah in the Civilizing Process: Anarchy, Self-​Restraint and Violence. Third World Quarterly 32(5): 925–​42. Saouli, A. (2015). Performing the Egyptian Revolution: Origins of Collective Restraint Action in the Midan. Political Studies 63(4): 730–​46. Schacht, J. (1979). The Origins of Mohammedan Jurisprudence (Oxford: Clarendon Press). Watt, M. W. (1961). Muhammed: Prophet and Statesman (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Yoder, J. H. (1994). The Politics of Jesus: Vicit Agnus Noster (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans).

­c hapter 16

The Historica l J u st Wa r Traditi on Cian O’Driscoll

In the preface to the first edition of Just and Unjust Wars, Michael Walzer (2015: xxvii) declares that his interest lies “not with the making of the moral world but with its present character.” It would be a better use of our time, Walzer implies, to devote ourselves to navigating the ethical challenges that confront us today rather than contemplating their provenance. Other theorists have echoed this call. Uwe Steinhoff (2007: 1) bids scholars to “advance philosophical analysis against common points of view and to question pre-​ existing, socially established frameworks of discussion and prejudices.” Jeff McMahan (2009: vii) is critical of what he calls the obvious absurdities of “the received wisdom about the morality of killing in war.” His preference, discussed in greater detail by Janina Dill in Chapter 17, is to forsake traditional shibboleths and advance a revisionist account of the ethics of war in their place. These views evoke a deeper scepticism regarding the study of the past. “History is more or less bunk,” Henry Ford (Butterfield: 1965) told the Chicago Tribune in 1916. “We won’t want tradition. We want to live in the present, and the only history that is worth a tinker’s damn is the history we make today.” Why, then, should we care about the historical just war tradition, by which is meant the tradition of thinking about the ethics of war that commenced in the sunset years of the Roman empire, carried on through the medieval and early modern period, and was formative to the development of international law? And, if indeed we should care about it, how should we pursue that concern? This chapter treats these questions.

“Just” The locus of the just war tradition is the eminently practical challenge of discerning whether and in what circumstances the recourse to war might ever be justified, and what if any restrictions should attach to its prosecution. Where “revisionists”

210   Cian O’Driscoll take Walzer’s answers to these questions as their point of departure (see Chapter 17), the approach set out here is different. Delving further back in time, it asks what, if any, light the full sweep of the historical just war tradition can cast upon the same questions. The resulting challenge is similar to that described by David Boucher in Chapter 2 of this volume. The just war scholar is enjoined to treat the formative texts of the just war tradition as a resource to be consulted. These texts reflect the combined efforts of the great and the good of previous generations to grapple with the normative questions posed by war. As such they constitute a “fund of practical moral wisdom, based not in abstract speculation or theorisation, but in reflection on actual problems encountered in war as these have presented themselves in different historical circumstances” (Johnson 1984: 15). It would be foolish to neglect such a store of communal experience. This would be an act of folly akin to discounting the wisdom of the ages. For even if we discover that our predecessors asked the wrong questions, or arrived at the wrong answers, their example (negative or otherwise) helps us better formulate our own questions and avoid repeating their mistakes. In other cases, a particular passage from a classic text, or way of framing a matter, may even cast a perspicacious light on present-​day matters and ways of thinking. The best way to develop this point is to present brief synopses of the contributions made to the just war tradition by arguably its most influential exponent, St Augustine. Augustine was born in 354 bce in Thagaste, now Souk Ahras in Algeria. The fundaments of his just war thinking can be glossed briefly. It was directed toward making the case that Christians are permitted by their faith to discharge military duties and serve their states in the occasion of just wars. The crucial statement in this respect derives from Book VI of Questions on the Heptateuch (2006: 82): “As a rule just wars are defined as those which avenge injuries, if some nation or state against whom one is waging war has neglected to punish a wrong committed by its citizens, or to return something that was wrongly taken.” According to this way of framing the matter, it is “the iniquity of the opposing side” that creates the grounds for a just war (1998: 29). This being the case, Augustine elaborated (2006: 83), “the only thing a righteous man has to worry about is that the just war is waged by someone who has the right to do so because not all men have that right.” This way of conceiving of just war presents it as a punitive activity that is necessarily directed toward vindicating the order when it has been violated by an act of malfeasance. Seen through Augustine’s eyes, the world was a violent place, populated by people who, despite their best efforts, were naturally inclined toward sinfulness. In order for any semblance of civility to be attained, it was essential that their wrongdoing be checked, by force if necessary (1998: 933–​8). In a manner of speaking, then, the act of just war reflected an extension of the state’s juridical powers. Augustine (2001a: 80) alludes to this in a 413/​14 ce letter to Macedonius: All this does not mean that institutionalised force has no point—​the might of the emperor, the judge’s power of the sword, the executioner’s hooks, the soldier’s

The Historical Just War Tradition    211 weapons [ . . . ] They inspire fear and thus put a check on the bad, so that the good may live peacefully among the bad.

Augustine’s imagery is to the point. If the executioner was a grim figure whose grisly work nevertheless did society a service by ensuring the given order could not be violated with impunity, the soldier waging a just war fulfilled a similar function. At the same time, Augustine imposes constraints on how agents of the state should discharge their responsibilities. He wrote (2001a: 81) that it is imperative that the soldier and executioner alike wield force with the correct intention. This took both a negative and a positive form. The negative form is intuitive: any acts of war that were not waged in a spirit of benevolence were proscribed. What is it about war that is to be blamed? Is it that those who will die someday are killed so that those who conquer might dominate in peace? This is the complaint of the timid, not of the religious. The desire for harming, the cruelty of revenge, the lust for dominating, and similar things—​these are what are justly blamed in wars. (1994: 221–​2)

This is the doctrine of the libido dominandi. It supposes that what is truly harmful in war is the cruelty it can unleash in men. What matters, then, is that men do not wage war with hatred in their hearts, or with a desire to exact suffering merely for its own sake. The positive form taken by Augustine’s requirement of right intention is more puzzling. He argues that the recourse to force should be undertaken in a benevolent spirit and with regard for the wellbeing of everyone involved, even the person warred against. Augustine explains this by an analogy to parental discipline (2001b: 38). If a father may strike his wayward son with a view to correcting the error of his ways, the same logic can be applied to warfare. War, on this view, is an act of love, and should be waged accordingly. But is it really possible to wage war in a spirit of benevolence? Augustine’s emphasis on interiority resolves this tension. Both the negative and positive forms of right intention indicate that what matters for Augustine were not the actual physical acts one undertook, but the will that animated them. So long as one’s actions were guided by love for one’s fellow man and for God, it is permissible for Christians to wage just war. What, if anything, can Augustine tell us about the ethics of war in the twenty-​first century? The answer, for the careful reader, is quite a lot. The trick is not to expect Augustine to furnish ready-​made answers to present-​day questions, or to supply a seedbed from which we can abstract universal principles. Rather, one must read Augustine on his own terms, that is, with his own intentions in mind and against the backdrop of his own context. The reader who does so will acquire a novel perspective on how just w ​ ar ideas are framed today. For instance, the scholar who has familiarized herself with the writings of Augustine is uniquely placed to examine both the linkages between the ideas of punitive and just war and the question of what is lost when contemporary just war frameworks omit any reference to right intention.

212   Cian O’Driscoll The point is not, as it is for the foremost historian of the tradition, James Turner Johnson (2006: 195; 2011: 3), to discipline contemporary just war scholarship by referencing it to its classical antecedents. Instead, it is a horizon-​expanding exercise that is designed both to acquaint us with the real diversity of imaginaries that prevailed at different historical junctures and to alert us to the degree to which they have coloured (or been excluded from) subsequent just war thought. Further, it encourages scholars to reflect upon the contextual character of today’s just war discourse with a view to acquiring a clearer sense of the assumptions, conceits, and omissions that may have heretofore appeared natural and beyond question but which nevertheless have delimited our efforts at ways of thinking ethically about war.

“War” Buried within this discussion is the thorny issue of what is meant by “war.” While some might assume that the object of discussion is necessarily conventional inter-​state warfare, this would not, strictly speaking, be correct. Most just war scholars would instead contend that “war” encompasses a much broader range of phenomena, including military contests that involve non-​state actors (e.g. Gross 2015). This enables just war scholars to maintain that the categories and principles they propound remain relevant even in an era that has witnessed a sharp decrease in conventional warfare. Yet it also raises a profound problem: how exactly to define a term—​“war”—​that appears both central to our concerns and to have slipped its traditional moorings. This problem is especially acute in light of what some scholars (Strachan and Scheipers 2011) have called the “changing character of war.” The effect of various revolutions in military affairs has been to call into question the enduring viability of the category of “war,” understood as a unified concept. As Ian Clark (2015:  34) puts it, the question today is whether “our concept of war is recognizably the same” as that of earlier periods. Some, such as retired general Rupert Smith (2006: 2–​3), assert that it is not (also Enemark 2014: 6). This is not merely a matter of nomenclature. As Clark (2015: 6–​7, 14, 17–​19) explains, ethical arguments about the justness of “war” are “framed by prior assumptions about the ‘essential nature’ of the violence that is under discussion.” What this means, in effect, is that we cannot sensibly determine whether a given war is justified or not until we have a clear sense of what “war” encompasses. When we undertake this task, we discover that the concept of war “already entails a broad set of assumptions about its nature and conduct,” and about how it is to distinguished from other forms of violence such as terrorism, criminality, piracy, and so on (Clark 2015: 137). Accordingly, it matters how war is defined, for it front-​loads our ethical analysis, creating the conditions of possibility for some claims while marginalizing or even precluding others. If we wish to gain a better understanding of what the concept of war encompasses, and how it primes our ethical analysis of the use of force, it is helpful to observe its usage over time. One could begin, for example, by unpacking the distinction Plato (1989: 199)

The Historical Just War Tradition    213 drew between “war” and “civil strife,” move on to Cicero’s contention (1991: 17) that wars fought for imperial dominance and glory are qualitatively different from those fought for a polity’s survival, account for Isidore of Seville’s (2006:  359) delineation of four types of war (just, unjust, civil, and uncivil), and so on, till one has worked one’s way through the ages in this fashion. A brief exegesis of how one medieval thinker, Giovanni da Legnano, conceived of war will provide a flavour of what work of this kind would look like, as well as some measure of insight into what it can reasonably be expected to achieve. Giovanni was born in Legnano, Italy, early in the fourteenth century ce, and first came to prominence in the 1350s in the context of Bologna’s fractious political scene. He enjoyed close relations with several popes, but is best remembered for his 1360 text, Tractatus de Bello, de Represaliis et de Duello (1917), which would prove to be a masterly influence upon no less than Honore Bouvet and Christine de Pisan, and would attract the interest of Alberico Gentili and Hugo Grotius. As the title of the book suggests, Giovanni’s first step is to differentiate war from reprisals and duels. Subsequent to this, he establishes that wars were introduced not only with the permission, but by the positive allowance of the Christian Lord, and cites St Augustine to the effect that, as the true end of a war is peace, so war (properly employed) must be a good thing. As he puts it (Legnano 1917: 224), “The end of war, then, is the peace and tranquillity of the world. Therefore we conclude that it proceeded originally and positively from God.” It is Chapter LXXXVI of the Tractatus that is of most interest here (275–​7). It begins with a question: how many are the kinds of corporeal wars? Giovanni identifies seven. The first is “Roman war,” which is waged by the faithful against infidels. The second is “made on the authority of a lawful judge” and it is waged, not against “enemies” per se, but against the “contumacious and rebellious.” The third is “presumptuous war.” It is war that is undertaken without the authorization of a judge. Unless one is a specialist in medieval canon law, the typology becomes even more difficult to follow from this point on. The fourth kind of war is that “which is lawful whenever it is allowed by authority of the law.” Giovanni stipulates that the title to levy war in this case falls only to the person specified by the authority and his or her friends and neighbours. It can be inferred that the opponent in this case is an enemy, properly understood, not rebels or wayward subjects. The fifth kind of war is the mirror image of the fourth. It is “war made against the authority of law, as where a man defends himself contrary to the authority of a judge and of the law.” The sixth is “voluntary” war, waged by secular princes without the authority of the emperor. Giovanni denounces wars of this kind as illicit. The seventh and final type of war is “necessary” war, which Giovanni, following the lead of Hostiensis, endorses as lawful. This is “war made by the faithful, when they defend themselves by the authority of the law against those who attack them; for to repel force by force is lawful.” These categories are quite alien to how we habitually talk about war today. Nevertheless, for Giovanni, they enable us to distinguish wars that are lawful from those that are unlawful. In making this case, he furnishes an articulation of the licence to war that is redolent of Thomas Aquinas’s statement of the jus ad bellum (2002: 239–​42). Giovanni (1917: 276) writes:

214   Cian O’Driscoll For wars are said to be lawful by reason of the person declaring them, the person against whom they are declared, the thing, and the cause, and the law which allows them; and they are unlawful in converse cases. But generally there is one justifying cause, the contumacy of one who resists unlawfully. For when justice cannot be had from one who is liable, then war may be declared, for recourse is had to that instrument for help.

This framework extends into Giovanni’s account of war waged in self-​defence. He sets out seven questions that ought to guide analysis of the legitimacy of wars of self-​defence (p. 276). First, what kind of defence is it? Second, on whose authority is it undertaken? Third, who is conducting it? Fourth, against whom? Fifth, on whose behalf? Sixth, in what manner? And seventh, to what end? The answers to these questions bear on a wide range of issues, from whether defence of property is licit to archaic matters such as whether it is permissible for a monk to use force against an abbot. They also elucidate certain concepts, such as “incontinenti defence” and “anticipation” (pp. 303–​4) that fell out of fashion until recent times but resonate with contemporary debates pertaining to the “War on Terror.” Thus, rather than positing a one-​size-​fits-​all account of war as the basis of his reasoning, Giovanni advocates different strictures for different forms of warfare. The general insight that follows from this is that different forms of warfare may require different sources of authorization, permit different levels of force, incur different limitations, and generate different legal effects. This casts an interesting light on debates about the ethics of humanitarian intervention (see Chapter 25), anticipatory defence, and indeed the uses of force short of war. Where, for instance, Daniel Brunstetter and Megan Braun (2013) submit that traditional just war principles (based on a traditional understanding of conventional war) do not account for the particularities of uses of force short of war, we might, following Giovanni, extend this argument to incorporate the entire range of forcible options available to a society. Beyond this, we might conclude that how we think about the ethics of war at any given time is coloured by how we think about war, which in turn is conditioned by the ideas and material practices of the time. The response, then, to our initial question of how to define “war” is instead to historicize it. Indeed, it is only by so doing that we may acquire a clearer sense of the nature of the challenge posed by the changing character of war to contemporary just war reasoning.

“Tradition” If the term “war” is troublesome, the idea of “tradition” is even more so. Terry Nardin (1982: 28) charges that it is prone to be misused, while Eric Hobsbawm (1983) and Renée Jeffery (2006) warn that it is often a misnomer, and that many seemingly venerable traditions are actually recent inventions. In Hobsbawm’s words (1983: 2), they reflect “responses to novel situations which take the form of reference to old situations, or

The Historical Just War Tradition    215 which establish their own past by quasi-​obligatory repetition.” The provenance of the terms jus ad bellum and jus in bello furnish an apposite example. Although one might assume that these designations boast a long and illustrious history, they date only to the 1920s, and were seldom invoked in either doctrine or practice until the late 1940s (Kolb 1997). The story of any tradition worthy of the name is one of development and revision over time. Traditions are, to quote Nardin (1992: 3), “resilient but not immutable practices that are constantly modified in use.” Thus to engage with a tradition is necessarily to “move back and forth between the general and the particular—​to draw upon general principles in reaching particular judgements and decisions and, at the same time, to revise those principles in light of the circumstances in which they are used.” Accordingly, every time we draw on a tradition, we are partaking in an “on-​going debate about where to draw the lines of that tradition, and how it might properly be interpreted and applied given changing circumstances.” A tradition, on this view, is a site of inquiry whose form and substance reflect the sum of its own contestation. To think about just war as a tradition entails a rejection of the idea that it denotes a single, monolithic theory. Instead, it involves conceiving of it as a multiplicity of closely related but competing voices that, when combined, constitute a unified field of inquiry and practical judgement. Johnson (2009: 252) captures this when he likens the just war understood as a tradition to “a stream that moves through history like a river, remaining the same yet putting down elements, and picking up others as it flows, from time to time dividing into different channels and then, perhaps, recombining.” The implication of this is that a tradition should, so far as possible, be viewed in its totality, as a rolling story, the sum of its parts, rather than as an index of individuated contributions. This raises the vexed questions of how we determine where that story begins (O’Driscoll 2015) and whose voices to include (and exclude) as contributors to the tradition in our summations of the just war (Reichberg, Syse, and Begby 2006: x–​xi). There are no easy answers to these questions. They do, however, invite us to consider the perils of thinking about the ethics of war in light of the historical just war tradition. Most notably, it is all too easy to drift toward a facile conservatism that, on the one hand, discounts new thinking on the grounds that it marks a departure from the teachings of our forefathers, and on the other, festishizes “classic” categories as abiding truths. This is a charge that can be laid against the late Jean Bethke Elshtain (2001: 18), and George Weigel (2009), and the aforementioned Johnson (1991: 16). The problem is compounded by the fact that, with the honourable exception of Christine de Pisan, the figures usually identified as the luminaries of the just war tradition all happen to be dead white Christian males (Kinsella 2011; Sjoberg 2013). Consequently the vitality of the tradition—​its flexibility, self-​reflexivity, and relevance—​risks being diminished, overpowered by a propensity for closure and reification. In this way a tradition that, to borrow Jaroslav Pelikan’s (1984: 65) pleasing turn of phrase, ostensibly stands for the “living faith of the dead” flirts with a form of sclerotic traditionalism that is better described as “the dead faith of the living.” The corollary of this is that the history of the just war tradition is reduced to a singular narrative that is then presented as the only narrative. The development of the tradition

216   Cian O’Driscoll is all too frequently boiled down to a story that runs from Augustine, straight to Gratian and Thomas Aquinas, from there to the Spanish neo-​scholastics, before turning to the pioneers of early modern rights theory and international law, Hugo Grotius, Samuel Pufendorf, and Emmanuel de Vattel. Almost as striking as the ubiquity of this potted history is its sameness across various iterations. The difference from one telling to the next is usually little more than a matter of accent or an enhanced level of detail. This overlooks an array of different figures, issues, and possibilities. The result of this is a discourse that both repeats and reproduces itself at the expense of fresh thinking. While this promises rich fodder for exegetical debates, it channels just war thinking into a constrictive spiral that, to paraphrase G. Kitson Clark (1967: 7) both exhibits and enforces existing prejudices. When it comes to this point, tradition has been abridged into ideology (Pocock 2009: 193). Related to this, there is always the concern that any time spent on the history of the just w ​ ar tradition is time away from the pressing issues of the day. While, for instance, one is busy researching the medieval distinction between holy war and just war, one is distracted from more urgent matters such as how to tackle a violent insurgency (see Chapter 18) or what constitutes a legitimate defensive response to a cyber attack (see Chapter 20). Historical writings may fascinate the antiquarians among us, but they have little application in today’s world. The charge here is that the study of history is an academic indulgence akin to a form of nostalgia that cannot really be afforded. These perils associated with thinking about the ethics of war in light of the just war tradition are, however, avoidable. There is, as Chris Brown (2013: 38) argues, no reason for one’s ethical analysis of war to finish with Augustine simply because it begins there. Engagement with the history of the tradition can enrich our ethical reasoning without taking it hostage. The work of Alex Bellamy (2006), Nigel Biggar (2013), John Kelsay (2007), and Larry May (2012) attests to this. On the one hand, their writings indicate that while just war principles are certainly not empty shells to be filled however one chooses, without any regard for their provenance, nor are they entirely determined by their past usage. It is possible to refashion them to meet new demands. On the other, they also demonstrate that some knowledge of how these principles evolved over time can be helpful when thinking about how they should be interpreted and applied in today’s world. We will turn to an example of this shortly. Before that, the lesson to glean from this is that developing a sense of the past need not enslave us to it, but, rather, should furnish us with a more variegated perspective on the challenges we confront today and some ideas about how we should address them. The charge of irrelevance is also wide of the mark. While it may be true that the world Augustine and others were talking about is different from the one we know today, this does not strip their writings of instructive value. On the contrary, it is the key to their worth. The “strangeness” of old ideas, as G. E. R. Lloyd (2004: 11) argues, “can be turned to advantage. We can study bewilderingly diverse worldviews.” And, he continues, we can use these worldviews as a critical mirror to reflect upon the limitations and contingencies of prevailing ways of thinking about the world. March Bloch (1954: 35) reflects this view when he quotes Jules Michelet, “He who would confine his thought to present time will not understand present reality.”

The Historical Just War Tradition    217 This presupposes a further point, which is that, insofar as it is the necessary background to the present, history is “inescapable” (Hall and Bevir 2014:  828). History, assuming the form of legacies, path dependencies, and inheritances, is pervasive. It colours and conditions how we think about the world (Clark 1967: 4–​5, 196). For instance—​ and here we conclude with the example promised previously—​it would be impossible to apprehend (or challenge) the full implications of the Bush administration’s moves to conflate the categories of pre-​emptive self-​defence and preventive strikes without some prior knowledge of the historical relation between them (Totten 2010). Without an adequate understanding, not only of the Caroline Incident and its later significance in international law but also of the context-​specific character of the principles derived from it, one cannot grasp what is at stake when discussing whether the requirement of “imminent threat” should continue to function as a limiting condition of the right to national self-​defence. Accordingly, just as one requires a modicum of historical knowledge to comprehend the daily news, a familiarity with “just war past” is essential to a full understanding of “just war present.”

Conclusion Writing in the early 2000s, Michael Walzer (2004) pronounced the “triumph of just war theory.” The idiom of just war, he argued, had, from obscure origins, assumed the mantle of the pre-​eminent discourse of war and peace in the Western world. It is now, he wrote, the lingua franca, not just of Catholic theologians but also of generals, prime ministers, and presidents. Confluent with this, there occurs now, in the lead-​up to each and every war in which Western powers engage, discussions regarding whether or not the military action in question can be classified as a just war. For example, in advance of the 1991 Gulf War, Richard Harries, then bishop of Oxford, proclaimed that Allied action to eject Iraq from Kuwait would satisfy the requirements of a just war, while his colleague Rowan Williams, then a professor of divinity at Oxford University, and later the archbishop of Canterbury, countered that it would not (on this debate, see Brown 2013: 36). More recently, President Obama’s decision to drape the mantle of just war over United States policies and wars in the Middle East (2009) provoked heated debates in the op-​ed pages of broadsheets across the world, while Whitley Kaufman (2006) departed from mainstream opinion (e.g. Bellamy 2006: 158–​80) to claim that preventive war is compatible with the classical understanding of just war. The root of these controversies is a growing awareness of the rhetorical power of labelling a given war as just or unjust. It signifies the high moral ground in any debate about the prospective use of force. It follows from this that how we frame the idea of “just war” matters a great deal. If, for instance, Harries could appeal to one account of the just-​war tradition to sanctify the 1991 Gulf War, Williams could disavow it by reference to another. The contest then becomes one of who commands a more persuasive account of the tradition. It is at this point that having a sense of the tradition’s history and development becomes essential.

218   Cian O’Driscoll It enables us to discern the reasonableness (or tendentiousness) of the claims proffered in its name. This can go a long way in bringing order to the messy debates that even the prospect of war occasions. Above and beyond this, insofar as it reflects a common Western heritage and set of moral experiences, the just war tradition tells us a lot about who we—​as Western societies and as active citizens—​are, what values we subscribe to, and how we have come to be where we are. It reflects the workings out over time of how humankind has sought to reconcile the requirements of survival in this fallen world with the aspiration to lead a life that is in harmony with the quest for the right and the good. From Cicero and Augustine to Walzer, Elshtain, and Johnson, the variegated history of the tradition offers an acute insight into the ideals espoused by human communities and the lengths that they have been willing to go to secure them. If we are serious about understanding where we are as a society and how we got here, this is material we must engage.

References Aquinas, T. (2002). Summa theologiae IIaIIae 40: On War. In R. W. Dyson (ed.), Aquinas: Political Writings (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press), 239–​47. Augustine of Hippo (1994). Contra Faustum. In Augustine: Political Writings (Indianapolis: Hackett), 220–​9. Augustine of Hippo (1998). The City of God Against the Pagans (Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press). Augustine of Hippo (2001a). Letter 153: To Macedonius. In E. M. Atkins and R. J. Dodaro (eds), Augustine, Political Writings (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press), 71–​88. Augustine of Hippo (2001b). Letter 138: To Marcellinus. In E. M. Atkins and R. J. Dodaro (eds), Augustine, Political Writings (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Augustine of Hippo (2006). Questions on the Heptateuch [VI.10]. In G. M. Reichberg, H. Syse, and E. Begby (eds), The Ethics of War:  Classic and Contemporary Readings (Oxford: Blackwell), 83. Bellamy, A. J. (2006). Just Wars: From Cicero to Iraq (Cambridge: Polity). Biggar, N. (2013). In Defence of War (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Bloch, M. (1954). The Historian’s Craft (Manchester: Manchester University Press). Brown, C. (2013). Just War and Political Judgement. In A. F. Lang, Jr, C. O’Driscoll, and J. Williams (eds), Just War: Authority, Tradition, and Practice (Washington, DC: Georgetown University Press), 35–​48. Brunstetter, D., and M. Braun (2013). From Jus ad Bellum to Jus ad Vim: Recalibrating Our Understanding of the Moral Use of Force. Ethics & International Affairs 27(1): 87–​106. Butterfield, R. (1965). Henry Ford, the Wayside Inn, and the Problem of “History is Bunk”. Proceedings of the Massachusetts Historical Society 77: 53–​66. Cicero (1991). On Duties. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Clark, G. K. (1967). The Critical Historian (London: Heineman). Clark, I. (2015). Waging War:  A New Philosophical Introduction, 2nd edn (Oxford:  Oxford University Press). Elshtain, J. B. (2001). Just War and Humanitarian Intervention. Proceedings of the Annual Meeting (American Society of International Law) 95: 1–​12.

The Historical Just War Tradition    219 Enemark, C. (2014). Armed Drones and the Ethics of War: Military Virtue in a Post-​Heroic Age (Abingdon: Routledge). Gross, M. (2015). The Ethics of Insurgency (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Hall, I., and M. Bevir (2014). Traditions of British International Thought. International History Review 36(5): 823–​34. Hobsbawm, E. (1983). Introduction: Inventing Tradition. In E. Hobsbawm and T. Ranger (eds), The Invention of Tradition (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press), 1–​14. Jeffery, R. (2006). Tradition as Invention: The “Traditions Tradition” and the History of Ideas in International Relations. Millennium: Journal of International Studies 34(1): 57–​84. Johnson, J. T. (1984). Can Modern War Be Just? (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press). Johnson, J. T. (1991). Historical Roots and Sources of the Just War Tradition in Western Culture. In J. T. Johnson and J. Kelsay (eds), Just War and Jihad: Historical and Theoretical Perspectives on War and Peace in Western and Islamic Traditions (Westport, Conn.:  Greenwood Press), 3–​26. Johnson, J. T. (2006). The Just War Idea: The State of the Question. Social Philosophy & Public Affairs 23: 167–​95. Johnson, J. T. (2009). Thinking Historically about Just War. Journal of Military Ethics 8(3): 246–​59. Johnson, J. T. (2011). Ethics and the Use of Force: Just War in Historical Perspective (Aldershot: Ashgate). Kaufman, W. (2006). What’s Wrong with Preventive War? The Moral and Legal Basis for the Preventive Use of Force. Ethics & International Affairs 19(3): 22–​38. Kelsay, J. (2007) Arguing the Just War in Islam (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press). Kinsella, H. (2011). The Image Before the Weapon: A Critical History of the Distinction between Combatant and Civilian (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press). Kolb, R. (1997). The Origins of the Twin Terms Jus ad Bellum/​Jus in Bello. International Review of the Red Cross 37(320): 553–​62. Legnano, G. da (1917). Tractatus de Bello, de Represaliis et de Duello, ed. T. E. Holland (Washington, DC: Carnegie Institute of Washington). Lloyd, G. E. R. (2004). Ancient Worlds, Modern Reflections: Philosophical Perspectives on Greek and Chinese Science and Culture (Oxford: Oxford University Press). May, L. (2012). After War Ends: A Philosophical Perspective (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). McMahan, J. (2009). Killing in War (Oxford: Clarendon Press). Nardin, T. (1982). Review of Just War Tradition and the Restraint of War. Worldview 25(3): 28–​9. Nardin, T. (1992). Ethical Traditions in International Affairs. In T. Nardin and D.  R. (eds), Traditions of International Ethics (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press), 1–​22. Obama, B. (2009). Nobel Peace Prize Acceptance Speech. [Online; accessed 19 Apr. 2017.] http://​ www.presidentialrhetoric.com/​speeches/​12.10.09.html O’Driscoll, C. (2015). Re-​Writing the Just War Tradition: Just War in Classical Greek Political Thought and Practice. International Studies Quarterly 59(1): 1–​10. Pelikan, J. (1984). The Vindication of Tradition (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press). Plato (1989). The Republic (London: Penguin). Pocock, J. G.  A. (2009). Political Thought and History:  Essays on Theory and Method (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Reichberg, G. M., H. Syse, and E. Begby (eds) (2006). The Ethics of War:  Classic and Contemporary Readings (Oxford: Blackwell).

220   Cian O’Driscoll Sjoberg, L. (2013). The Inseparability of Gender Hierarchy, Just War Tradition, and the Authorization of War. In A. F. Lang, Jr, C. O’Driscoll, and J. Williams (eds), Just War:  Authority, Tradition, and Practice (Washington, DC:  Georgetown University Press), 81–​96. Smith, R. (2006). The Utility of Force: The Art of War in the Modern World (London: Penguin). Steinhoff, U. (2007). The Ethics of War and Terrorism (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Strachan, H., and S. Scheipers (2011). The Changing Character of War (Oxford:  Oxford University Press). Totten, M. (2010). First Strike:  America, Terrorism, and Moral Tradition (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press). Walzer, M. (2004). The Triumph of Just War Theory (and the Dangers of Success). In Arguing about War (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press), 3–​22. Walzer, M. (2015). Just and Unjust Wars: A Moral Argument with Historical Illustrations, 5th edn (New York: Basic Books). Weigel, G. (2009). The Just-​War Tradition. [Online (National Review); accessed 19 Apr. 2017.] http://​www.nationalreview.com/​article/​228786/​just war-​tradition-​george-​weigel

­c hapter 17

J ust War Theory i n T i me s of Individua l  Ri g h ts Janina Dill

Just war theory (JWT) has undergone a radical revision over the last two decades. This chapter discusses the implications of this reformulation from two different vantage points: International Political Theory (IPT) and the real world of war-​fighting. The chapter argues that the reformulation has brought JWT closer in line with contemporary IPT. Revisionists’ more consistent prioritization of individual rights over the rights of states means JWT now follows the currently dominant moral strictures on justified violence. Yet the collective nature of war makes it impossible for anyone but the omniscient attacker to properly protect individual rights on the battlefield and thus to directly implement revisionist prescriptions. JWT’s usefulness in guiding conduct in war has hence declined. The chapter argues that revisionist JWT is nonetheless strategically relevant for the real world not in spite of, but because of its lack of practicability on the battlefield. The impossibility of waging war in accordance with widespread expectations of moral appropriateness is a crucial limitation to the political utility of force in twenty-​ first-​century international relations. The first section contains a brief sketch of JWT. The second and third sections discuss traditional JWT and its revisionist reformulation, each homing in on one crucial dimension of disagreement: what counts as a just cause for resort to war, and who is a permissible target of attack? The final section assesses revisionist JWT’s relevance on the twenty-​first-​century battlefield.

Theorizing the Just War JWT refers to a body of writings combining moral philosophy, political theory, theology, law, and history. It is concerned with the systematic normative enquiry into the conventions, principles, and rules that govern war. As such, JWT occupies the contested

222   Janina Dill space between pacifism and what is often referred to as realism. At the heart of realism is the contention that morality has nothing meaningful to say about when states should resort to war or how military operations should be conducted. At the heart of pacifism is the contention that wartime violence is never fully morally justified. Rather than formulating the parameters under which resort to war or killing in combat are morally permissible, the scholar’s task is hence to formulate compelling prohibitions on war. For some pacifists, these prohibitions are grounded in a principled rejection of all violence. This often religiously driven pacifism suggests that a morally just war is impossible in practice as well as in principle as long as war is violent. In contrast, those whom I refer to as “military pacifists” accept that violence can sometimes be morally justified, just not violence in war. The reason is that the non-​contingent reality of war makes it impossible to properly implement the moral principles that govern the permissibility of violence. A third kind of pacifism, sometimes called “contingent,” holds that violence even in war can in principle be morally justified, but the ways in which the wars we encounter in reality are fought mean that actual wartime violence never is (May 2015). In other words, contingent pacifists are prepared to accept the possibility, however small, of a just war. Non-​contingent military pacifists, to the contrary, believe that the outbreak of war denotes a rupture in human affairs significant enough to render unintelligible the moral principles that circumscribe and justify violence in peacetime interactions. Realists share non-​contingent military pacifists’ intuition that morality cannot successfully govern war. Yet they draw the opposite conclusion, rejecting not the permissibility of war, but the pertinence of morality. Realists emphasize that war is a state of exception, yet they rarely give reasons for why it should be impossible to formulate moral principles that govern the exception. Often realists contest the relevance of moral considerations to public, political, and scholarly contemplations of war based on the observation that belligerents in fact follow prudential rather than principled imperatives once war breaks out. This is captured with the ancient adage inter arma silent leges. This form of “naturalist realism” simply derives an “ought” (we ought to disregard moral principles when it comes to war) from an “is” (when it comes to war, belligerents in fact never heed the strictures of morality). As such, it is more a diagnosis than a properly grounded philosophical position. Navigating between the devil of realism and the deep blue sea of pacifism, JWT has two central tasks: first, to articulate under what circumstances it is morally justified to start a war, and second, to determine what conduct is permissible once war has broken out. These two tasks are commonly considered under the two headings of jus ad bellum (JAB), the morality of justified resort to force, and jus in bello (JIB), the morality of justified conduct in war (Lazar 2016; Fletcher and Ohlin 2008: 20). Though the labels are more recent inventions, the theorizations of the underlying concerns boast ancient pedigrees in Western philosophy, with some contemporary theorists identifying their roots in medieval Christian theology (see Chapter 16). Resort to force and conduct in war are governed by a number of interlocking principles. Two principles stand out as constitutive of the very endeavour to subject war to morality. One provides the answer to the first moral question that arises when a state

Just War Theory and Individual Rights    223 contemplates resort to force. What kind of aim is it legitimate to pursue with force? What goal is important enough for unleashing the dogs of war? Once in war, the crucial task of JIB is to determine who among a population at war is a legitimate target of attack. This is the purview of the principle of distinction. Just cause and distinction have taken centre stage in the writings of medieval theologians, such St Thomas Aquinas, in the contemplations of early natural law theorists like Hugo de Groot, and in the works of Michael Walzer, the most influential just war theorist of the last century. Of course, these scholars have given partly diverging answers to the questions of what is a just cause for war and who is a legitimate target of attack. Cian O’Driscoll’s chapter in this volume highlights the diversity of traditional JWT across several centuries. While Walzer’s articulation of JWT in his most influential book, Just and Unjust Wars (1977), can therefore by no means be taken to represent JWT across the ages, it articulates mainstream JWT for much of the second half of the last century until about twenty years ago. Just and Unjust Wars indeed served as the main foil for the revision of JWT that is at the centre of this chapter. It thus provides a useful starting point in the next two sections.

Theorizing Just Resort to War Walzer’s theorization of JAB recognizes one just cause for war: self-​defence against aggression. Political communities hold rights to territorial integrity and sovereignty, and hence a right to defend themselves when either is threatened by aggression. Though he emphasizes the moral value of political communities, Walzer claims that the rights of collectives are derived from the benefits they afford to the individuals constituting them (1977: 53ff.). Walzer denies that safe human life is possible beyond the state. In a hypothetical social contract individuals therefore “concede [ . . . ] aspects of their liberty to the community, to secure greater freedom for all” (Lazar 2016). Respecting political communities, then, means protecting the common life individuals have collectively fashioned for themselves. If the justification for self-​defence is protecting individual rights, are states permitted to resort to force in order to secure individual rights on other states’ territories? In this reading of JWT, humanitarian intervention is a just cause only under exceptional circumstances. While any aggression against a state’s territorial integrity is cause for defensive war, not just any denial of individual rights is cause for intervention. After all, the latter violates another state’s territorial integrity and hence its citizens’ right to self-​determination. This is permissible only if the social contract between the state and its citizens is already manifestly disrupted (1978: 214). This is only ever the case when the deprivation of individual rights is so severe that it “shocks the conscience of mankind” (1977: 107), for instance in “cases of enslavement or massacre” (pp. 90, 101). Revisionist JWT raises three major challenges to what theorists have denounced as a “deficient account of human rights” (Luban 1980: 394) underlying Walzer’s theorization of just cause (also Beitz 1980; Wasserstrom 1978). First, if individual or human rights

224   Janina Dill were the touchstone of Walzer’s theory, he would have to restrict the scope of the right to self-​defence to states that in fact benefit their citizens. Luban maintains that the social contract is often “a myth. It suggests reciprocity, coincident interests, mutual obligation, formal equality of the parties. But the presence of these features is not a conceptual truth about the nation-​state, nor [ . . . ] a factual one” (1980: 394). Walzer accepts that “[t]‌he moral standing of any particular state depends upon the reality of the common life it protects” (1977: 54). Yet he does not articulate exceptions to states’ right to self-​defence against aggression, but simply “assumes the justice of defensive war.” If we take seriously the idea that the individual is the sole locus of moral value and the rights of states are entirely derivative, a defective social contract is not the only possible reason for why resort to war against outside invasion could fail to be justified. For Walzer, “[e]‌very violation of the territorial integrity or political sovereignty of an independent state is called aggression” (1977: 52) and warrants a resort to force in self-​ defence. Revisionist JWT challenges this contention with the scenario of an invasion that violates the state’s territorial integrity but not its citizens’ security (Rodin 2002). Of course, such a “mere” political or bloodless invasion would still interfere with individuals’ exercise of self-​determination. Would that not be enough to ground the state’s right to respond with force? It is crucial here to note a point to which the discussion will return in the next two sections. Revisionist JWT highlights that even a defensive war adhering as best as possible to JIB inevitably ends up harming some individuals who are not fully liable to that fate. Warfare always infringes fundamental individual rights. As a result, establishing a just cause always means calculating which is the lesser evil, resorting to war or refraining from using force. If a bloodless invasion only violates individuals’ political rights, but a response with force would also endanger their physical security, not resorting to war in self-​defence may be the lesser evil. Unless we recognize an independent value in upholding the community’s territorial integrity which could tip the scales in favour of defensive war, self-​defence can fail to be a just cause for war against a bloodless invasion. While revisionists hence suggest that Walzer articulates an unduly broad right to defensive war, they have criticized—​and this is the third challenge—​that he places the threshold for humanitarian intervention too high. As adumbrated, it is only the denial of human rights severe enough to shock the conscience of mankind that warrants outside interference according to traditional JWT. The systematic deprivation of political freedoms, for instance, would not be sufficient, even though political oppression nullifies one justification for a state’s right to territorial integrity according to Walzer—​the protection of political self-​determination. Walzer appeals here to cultural and historical pluralism, and corresponding differences in how societies are governed and how individuals actualize their right to self-​determination (1978: 21). His commitment to pluralism does not only render him sceptical that an outside intervener could judge whether a people without democratic self-​determination welcomes “liberation” by force; he also considers pluralism and diversity values in their own right (p. 21). Some states that fail to grant democratic self-​determination still protect their citizens’ physical security. However, violently oppressive states may well provide no benefits to

Just War Theory and Individual Rights    225 their citizens at all. Yet as long as a state’s unjustified harming of its own citizens remains below the threshold of “shocking the conscience of mankind,” those states retain their right to territorial integrity, or so Walzer argues. This suggests that in his account states’ rights are ultimately not derived from individual rights (see also Doppelt 1980). Indeed, a collective right to territorial integrity can override individuals’ rights to physical integrity when the former is upheld at the expense of the latter below the threshold of permissible humanitarian intervention. Luban correctly observes that Walzer’s “making pluralism the overriding value is incompatible [ . . . ] with a theory that grants universal human rights” (1980: 398). The revision of traditional JAB hence amounts to a reformulation of justified resort to war based on the principle that individuals are the sole locus of moral value. Communities have moral value and hold rights only to the extent that they actually benefit individuals. Individual rights are conceived of as universal rather than subject to a pluralist reservation. A state has a just cause for war (whether in self-​defence or to intervene in another state) if and only if resort to force would be the lesser evil in terms of individual rights infringements. Revisionist just war theorists by no means agree on all aspects of JAB. For instance, whether communities have derivative moral value or whether the right to collective self-​defence is really nothing more than the sum total of the constituting individuals’ rights to self-​defence is controversial. Yet revisionists universally deny that physical integrity rights are culturally contingent and that communities have intrinsic moral value. They hence reject both pluralism and communitarianism. The endorsement of universal human rights is extremely common in contemporary IPT (Durkheim 1973; Elliott 2007; see Chapter 22). Far and few between are communitarian views that conceive of the possibility not only that communities carry independent moral value but that states’ rights might trump individual rights (see Chapter 3). Similarly, pluralism—​specifically, the notion that even physical integrity rights might be culturally contingent—​is a fringe position (Gavison 2013). The move from traditional JWT based on Walzer’s mildly communitarian and definitely pluralist conception of just resort to force to one that is consistently individualist and universalist hence means that the theorization of JAB now tracks the principles dominant in IPT.

Theorizing Just Conduct in War Though the actors, means, and methods of warfare have significantly changed over the course of history, war has always been conceived of as a minimally organized, collective use of violence in which each side tries to achieve its goals by “killing people and breaking things” on the other side. Subjecting warfare to rules amounts to an endeavour to convince belligerents that in this exchange of violence not everyone and everything is fair game. The first task of JIB is therefore to draw a line between individuals who may and those who may not be deliberately attacked. According to traditional JWT

226   Janina Dill this line is between combatants and civilians. All combatants are permissible targets of deliberate attack until they are hors de combat because they are wounded, have surrendered, or have been taken prisoner. In contrast, civilians are prima facie immune from intentional harm. How can this radically different status of individuals be morally justified? Walzer again appeals to individual rights (1977: 135, 137). A combatant has forfeited his right not to be killed because he has “allowed himself to be made into a dangerous man” (1977: 1945). He is part of “a class set apart from the world of peaceful activity: trained to fight, provided with weapons, required to fight on command” (pp. 144f.). Combatants’ ability to threaten the enemy and the fact that they are not themselves defenceless hence account for why they “lose the rights they are supposedly defending,” namely “their title to life and liberty” (pp. 135f.). Crucially, combatants on both sides in a war are equally liable to be killed, as “the rules of war apply with equal force to aggressors and their adversaries” (p. 136). While emphasizing that this is a long-​standing convention, Walzer also maintains that combatants are truly morally equal. The reason is that they waive their right not to be killed by other combatants upon assuming that status. Walzer recognizes that not all combatants voluntarily join a war. He argues that in this case it is the fact that they are equally deprived of their choice that grounds their moral equality: “[W]‌hen soldiers fight freely, choosing one another as enemies and designing their own battles, their war is not a crime; when they fight without freedom, their war is not their crime. [ . . . ] in the first [case] the rules rest on mutuality and consent, in the second on shared servitude” (1977: 36). Revisionist just war theorists have rejected this reasoning as unsound. The most systematic critique maintaining that the distinction between combatants and civilians fails to reflect meaningful differences in individuals’ moral status is elaborated by Jeff McMahan. In his book Killing in War, he points out that it is empirically not true that combatant status systematically denotes an individual’s posing a threat to the enemy (2009: 12f.). Combatants who are behind front lines or are asleep in their barracks are dangerous to no one and may well be defenceless. Just as not all combatants actually even have the ability to harm the enemy, due for instance to incompetence or fear, some civilians do. McMahan points towards the physicists who contributed to the development of the atom bomb. While being civilians, they were much more “dangerous men” to the Japanese than “any ordinary American soldier” (2009). The revisionist critique of traditional JIB is, however, more fundamental than the observation that combatant status does not necessarily reflect an individual’s threat potential. Even if all combatants actually did pose a threat, revisionists argue, they would not in virtue of that fact alone forfeit their right to life. In peacetime an individual is generally considered liable to harm only if she poses an unjustified threat (McMahan 2010: 354). The victim of an assault does not become liable to attack if he threatens his attacker by scratching and biting. The threat the victim of an attack poses to the attacker is morally justified. In war, this means that combatants on opposing sides are not morally equal (Fabre 2012; McMahan 2010: 234). While combatants populating the army

Just War Theory and Individual Rights    227 of an aggressor contribute to an unjustified threat and thus forfeit some of their rights, those contributing to a justified defensive war are prima facie not liable to attack. Are at least all combatants on the unjust side liable to being killed as suggested by Walzer? What if some of them have been coerced into fighting, or act on a reasonable but mistaken belief that their war is just? Traditional JWT acknowledges that it may be impossible for individual soldiers to judge a war’s compliance with JAB. This is one justification for why traditional JWT considers JIB to be independent from JAB. The overall justice of a war does not influence what conduct is permissible on the battlefield. At the same time, traditional just war theorists like Walzer have failed to explore the possibility that these epistemic obstacles to judging the justice of a cause might affect the moral status of combatants. Revisionist JWT suggests that combatants on the unjust side may well be excused for the unjustified threat they pose, in which case their liability to defensive harm is in question. Of course, even responsible unjust combatants do not all forfeit their right to life. If I kill someone who threatens to punch me in the nose, my defence was disproportionate. Killing an attacker whom I can easily disable by locking him in a closet is unnecessary and likewise not morally justified. In their reformulation of JWT revisionists have drawn attention to the fact that defensive killing has to be necessary and proportionate to be justified. Even combatants who knowingly fight for an unjust cause may hence not be liable to lethal attack if the threat they pose is minor or if they could instead be disabled (McMahan 2010: 234). Unlike the reformulation of JAB, the reformulation of JIB is not even partly driven by a substantive disagreement about the relevant moral principles. Walzer and McMahan agree that “[a]‌legitimate act of war is one that does not violate the rights of the people against whom it is directed” (Walzer: 1977: 135, 137). Rather, the reformulation of JIB amounts to the contention that Walzer got it wrong: taking individual rights into account means that the subset of a belligerent society that can justifiably be killed in war is not simply “all combatants.” For McMahan, “[t]o say that a person is morally liable to being harmed in a certain way is to say that his own action has made it the case that to harm him in that way would not wrong him, or contravene his rights” (2010: 11). That means all and only those individuals who through their own actions responsibly contribute to an unjustified threat are liable to defensive harm. Revisionist JWT not only rejects the status-​based distinction between civilians and combatants in traditional JWT. It also unmasks as mistaken the latter’s postulation that combatants equally forfeit their rights.

Just War Theory in the Real World When states contemplate resort to war, the stakes are likely high. Any norm attempting to restrict their freedom of choice in this situation is very likely to be contested. International law (IL), which largely aligns with Walzer’s take on JWT, bears this out.

228   Janina Dill It prohibits the resort to force except in cases of self-​defence against an armed attack. Most appeals to this comparatively straightforward rule of self-​defence against armed attack have been intensely controversial. Debates coalesce around such questions as what kind of action by a state or non-​state actor qualifies as an armed attack. Although they are anything but trivial, most questions arising in the application of IL and thus traditional JAB can in theory be answered with an operationalization of the rule’s elements. Every time the rule meets a real-​world case, open-​ended terms like “armed attack” are concretized. Implementing revisionist JAB may raise similar questions of subsuming real-world scenarios under open-​ended concepts; but it also poses a much more fundamental challenge. As explained above, it demands that a would-​be belligerent engages in a calculation of whether resort to force would entail fewer or more infringements of individual rights than not responding militarily to an aggression or a humanitarian catastrophe. This not merely requires divining the intended and unintended consequences of one’s own actions. The extent to which a defensive war jeopardizes individual rights—​which rights, for how many individuals, and how severely—​also depends on the reactions of the aggressor. In many cases it is therefore simply unfeasible to determine ex ante whether resort to force is the lesser evil. Unlike applying the rule that every armed attack justifies defensive war, a forward-​looking “lesser evil” assessment does not get more concrete and thus easier every time. There may still be cases in which it is relatively safe to assert that resorting to force is the lesser evil compared with letting an aggression or humanitarian catastrophe unfold. Moreover, in case of doubt—​which I have argued elsewhere will be most cases (Dill 2012)—​revisionist JAB would require a state to let people die at the hands of an aggressor or evil regime rather than kill people potentially unjustifiably. The demands of revisionist JAB can hence in principle be met. In contrast, once war has broken out, only an omniscient combatant could directly and faithfully follow the strictures of revisionist JIB. Distinguishing between combatants and civilians amidst the proverbial fog of war is difficult even in a war between two belligerents meticulously adhering to the traditional principle of distinction. Two such conscientious belligerents would not make any more practicable the task of determining the significance, directness, and necessity of an individual’s contribution to the adversary’s fight as demanded by the revisionist reformulation of distinction. Could we enjoin belligerents to put into uniform not combatants, but all and only individuals who make the kind of contribution to the fight that could make them liable to defensive harm? Even if that were possible, it would still be unclear which “contributors” would be responsible for the threat they posed in virtue of their involvement in the fight. Responsibility ultimately hinges on an individual’s state of mind, which is hard enough to determine in a court of law and impossible on the battlefield. Of course, if an individual in war wanted to make sure she did not wrong another by killing them, revisionist JIB would also require that the intended harm was proportionate to the threat posed by the targeted individual, and that it was indeed necessary to harm them in order to neutralize that threat. Killing in war would have to be “completely individuated both

Just War Theory and Individual Rights    229 to the agent and to the specific act” (Lazar 2012: 374). As I have argued in more detail elsewhere, as long as war is a large-​scale, collective exchange of violence, this is certainly impossible (Dill 2012). Killing people who are not liable to that fate can be justifiable as a lesser evil. That means justified killing in bello is still possible as part of a war that is justified ad bellum. However, this simply throws us back to the above problem of establishing in advance whether a defensive war or humanitarian intervention will indeed be the lesser evil. The complexity of determining individual liability on the battlefield just outlined brings into even sharper relief just how high the epistemic obstacles are to establishing how much “evil” any war will end up causing. Forget an ex ante projection of individual rights infringements; even ex post it may never be evident who among the individuals harmed in a defensive war or humanitarian intervention was liable to this fate. The impossibility of faithfully adhering to revisionist JIB compounds the difficulty of adhering to revisionist JAB. That revisionist JWT is too complicated to be directly implemented in war is obvious. Even the staunchest defenders of revisionism as the only proper application of an individual rights-​based morality to war acknowledge that, once war has broken out, JIB is an insufficient guide to the individual choosing to fight (Shue 2010). The question is what follows from that acknowledged impracticability. One conclusion could be to change the rules guiding conduct in war and hence IL to reflect individual rights considerations at least better than they do at the moment. Could we not aim for rules that track those differences in individuals’ liability that are “visible,” so that weapons engineers and political leaders are targeted before lowly coerced conscripts are? Of course, no change to the rules governing warfare is ever trivial. What is at stake is nothing less than belligerents’ belief that compliance with (largely unenforced) rules is not prohibitive of military victory. Moreover, rules that require combatants to make a moral judgement about individuals on the “other side,” namely about their liability to harm, may end up having perverse consequences leading to more rather than less unjustified killing (Dill 2015). So even if we gave up on distributing harm in war fully in accordance with individual rights forfeiture, and settled for rules that just better reflect the prescriptions of revisionist JWT, it would by no means be obvious what those rules would look like. Though traditional JIB may not provide the best possible rules for preserving individual rights in war, it is entirely possible that those rules that do, look nothing like revisionist JIB. The intractability of preserving individual rights while waging war suggests that the relevance of JWT’s reformulation for the real world of international relations does not lie in any sort of direct implication for how attackers should deliver firepower on the battlefield. Rather, its relevance lies in its implications for political attitudes towards war more generally, and the role armed conflict can or cannot play in an international order properly so called. Revisionist JWT is a philosophical argument supporting the insight that fuels both military pacifism and realism: war presents a rupture in human affairs significant enough to make impossible the proper application of moral norms that govern the justification of violence in our peacetime social and political interactions.

230   Janina Dill However, revisionism highlights that this means neither that all wars are equally morally irredeemable (pacifism) nor that morality simply has nothing meaningful to say about war (realism). Rather, the reformulation of JWT affords a powerful caution to political leaders against crossing the Rubicon, because it casts doubt over the notion that war is ever a morally unproblematic means to uphold the rules of international relations. It thereby serves as an important corrective to Walzer’s traditional JWT, which fails to acknowledge that while it can exceptionally be the right thing to do, resorting to war is never more than just the lesser of two evils. The contrast between traditional and revisionist JWT is even more stark in the moral demands they respectively make on the individual would-​be combatant. Traditional JWT absolves “dangerous men” even from the task of enquiring into the justice of their cause, let alone from responsibility for killing in an unjust war as long as they follow JIB. The war, after all, “is not their crime.” Revisionist JWT, in contrast, demands not only that combatants determine the justice of their cause and potentially refuse to join an unjust war. It also requires that just combatants make moral judgements on the battlefield, while highlighting that even a conscientious individual fighting on the right side in war may end up committing a moral wrong by harming another who is neither liable to that fate nor ultimately a means to preventing a greater evil. Beyond calling on the individual moral agent to engage in difficult moral assessments even when it comes to war, does revisionism have real-​world implications, for instance for the conception and study of military strategy? The impossibility of translating revisionist JWT into practicable rules or indeed laws for battlefield conduct casts doubt over its strategic relevance. After all, Walzer’s traditional JWT is reflected in military codes of conduct, taught in military ethics classes and enshrined in IL because it tracks long-​ standing battlefield conventions. It is not only possible to follow, but indeed expresses to some extent how states at war “want” to behave anyway. Yet, somewhat counterintuitively the strategic relevance of JWT’s reformulation lies precisely in the impracticability of what revisionist JIB enjoins combatants to do. Let me explain. Much as individualist, universalist perspectives dominate IPT, individual rights considerations increasingly inform shared normative beliefs in international relations and thus expectations of appropriate state conduct. Specifically, appeals to physical integrity rights, which are more obviously non-​contingent, are increasingly cross-​culturally effective (Dill 2015; Forsythe 2006; Keck and Sikkink 1998; Reus-​Smit 2013). An abundance of research documents this “extraordinarily expansive and authoritative nature of human rights as a globalizing ideology” (Elliott 2007: 344; Dumont: 1986; Waters 1996). Inasmuch as perceived legitimacy now hinges on the preservation of individual rights (Douthat 2015), the impracticability of revisionist JIB is indicative of a prima facie legitimacy deficit of war in the current international order. The extent of revisionist JIB’s divergence from the ethical and legal rules actually guiding the conduct of hostilities is then a measure for the reputational costs incurred by states assuming the role of belligerent. The extent of this legitimacy deficit, and whether or not it indeed affects a state’s reputation and/​or interests in international relations, radically depends on a number of variables the exploration of which is beyond the scope of this chapter. The one that

Just War Theory and Individual Rights    231 deserves highlighting is that not all states seek to be perceived as “good citizens” of the international legal order who are in compliance with international human rights prescriptions. Not all states are therefore equally susceptible to shaming. Russia’s military interventions abroad provide a salient example of a state that readily sustains international condemnation in its quest for traditional material power. While the legitimacy deficit of war is hence more acute for liberal democracies whose identities are closely tied to the international norm against the waste of human life, few state actors can simply disregard public perceptions of legitimacy. Even a cursory glance at typical twenty-​first-​century aims pursued by states with military force highlights the strategic relevance of the impossibility of avoiding large-​ scale infringement of individual rights in war. Take each of the five major international armed conflicts the United States has waged since the end of the Cold War, from the liberation of Kuwait in 1991 to the ongoing offensive against ISIL in Iraq and Syria. Each and every one of them was justified in part with the benefits it was meant to afford individuals in the states that were the primary theatres of military operations. In the two longest and to date costliest military operations, Iraq and Afghanistan, mission success chiefly depended on the local population attributing legitimacy to the invader. Both in Afghanistan and in Iraq, the US sought to defend itself against the perceived threats associated with the “old” Taliban and Ba’ath Party regimes respectively by establishing new friendly, but also stable and thus legitimate, regimes. Of course, not all international armed conflicts follow similar aims. But to put it somewhat crudely, wars in the twenty-​first century are much more rarely waged to conquer territory and much more often to influence what societies do on certain territories. They hence regularly depend on belligerents winning “hearts and minds” on the ground. While not all expectations of appropriateness towards conduct in war are purely a matter of internalized moral norms, and internalized moral norms may well comprise values other than the preservation of individual rights, the conclusion is inescapable that understanding obstacles to following moral norms in war is strategically more important than it has ever been in the history of warfare. Revisionism or the coherent application of an individual rights-​based morality to the justification of wartime violence is a systematic account of just those obstacles. It hence highlights a potentially crucial limitation to the political utility of force in the twenty-​first century: war is an ill-​suited instrument for the pursuit of any goal that crucially depends on perceived legitimacy.

References Beitz, C. (1980). Nonintervention and Communal Integrity. Philosophy & Public Affairs 9(4): 385–​91. Dill, J. (2012). Should International Law Ensure the Moral Acceptability of War? Leiden Journal of International Law 26(2): 253–​70. Dill, J. (2015). Legitimate Targets? Social Construction, International Law, and US Bombing (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Doppelt, G. (1980). Statism without Foundations. Philosophy & Public Affairs 9(4): 398–​403.

232   Janina Dill Douthat, R. (2015). The Liberalism of Adult Autonomy. New  York Times. [Online, 4 June; accessed 19 Apr. 2017.] https://​douthat.blogs.nytimes.com/​2015/​06/​04/​the-​liberalism-​of​adult-​autonomy/​ Dumont, L. (1986). Essays on Individualism: Modern Ideology in Anthropological Perspective (Chicago: University of Chicago Press). Durkheim, E. (1973). Individualism and the Intellectuals. In R. Bellah (ed.), Emile Durkheim on Morality and Society (Chicago: University of Chicago), 43–​57. Elliott, M. A. (2007). Human Rights and the Triumph of the Individual in World Culture. Cultural Sociology 1(3): 343–​63. Fabre, C. (2012). Cosmopolitan War (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Fletcher, G. F., and J. D. Ohlin (2008). Defending Humanity: When Force is Justified and Why (New York: Oxford University Press). Forsythe, D. P. (2006). Human Rights in International Relations (Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press). Gavison, R. (2013). Taking States Seriously. In Y. Benbaji and N. Sussmann (eds), Reading Walzer (London: Routledge), 40–​61. Keck, M. E., and K. Sikkink (1998). Activists Beyond Borders:  Advocacy Networks in International Politics (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press). Lazar, S. (2012). Morality and Law of War. In A. Marmor (ed.), The Routledge Companion to Philosophy of Law (New York: Routledge), 364–​79. Lazar, S. (2016). War. Stanford Encyclopaedia of Philosophy: http://​plato.stanford.edu/​entries/​ war/​ Luban, D. (1980). The Romance of the Nation State. Philosophy & Public Affairs 9(4): 392–​7. May, L. (2015). Contingent Pacifism (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). McMahan, J. (2010). The Just Distribution of Harm between Combatants and Non-​combatants. Philosophy & Public Affairs 38(4): 342–​79. Reus-​Smit, C. (2013). Individual Rights and the Making of the International System (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Rodin, D. (2002). War and Self-​Defence (Oxford: Clarendon Press). Shue, H. (2010). Do we Need a “Morality of War”? in D. Rodin et al. (eds). Just and Unjust Warriors (Oxford: Oxford University Press), 87–​111. Walzer, M. (1977). Just and Unjust Wars:  A Moral Argument with Historical Foundations (New York: Basic Books). Waters, M. (1996). Human Rights and the Universalization of Interests:  Towards a Social Constructionist Approach. Sociology 30(3): 593–​600.

­c hapter 18

Moral Dile mmas of Asym metric C onfl i c t Michael L. Gross

Like generals, lawyers are ready for the last war. The 1949 Geneva Conventions made a concerted effort to protect partisans just as they faded from the scene, while the 1977 Additional Protocols (API) promulgated new rules for colonial warfare just as the colonies of Britain, France, Portugal, and Belgium were breathing their last. Since the collapse of the Soviet Union, asymmetric warfare has dominated the international scene. These wars engage a variety of non-​state actors. Some are international or pan-​national terrorist organizations (e.g. al-​Qaeda and ISIS). Others represent aggrieved peoples fighting for national liberation (e.g. Kurds and East Timorese), or guerrilla organizations wielding some governmental authority (e.g. Hamas or Hezbollah), or the remnants of a defeated government fighting occupation and their own state government (e.g. the Taliban). Elsewhere, the Arab Spring highlighted the demands of people against their own governments where the fight is for self-​determination and regime change. These conflicts are materially, legally, and morally asymmetric. Materially, the state party enjoys a monopoly on sophisticated arms. Guerrillas do not often possess tanks, air defences, or a navy. Legally, sovereign nation-​states are the building blocks of the international order and the only legitimate purveyor of armed force. Non-​states usually lack international standing. The moral asymmetry of modern armed conflict is glaring. Terrorist groups without any agenda to gain self-​determination or ameliorate political and human rights abuses have little moral standing. Many insurgents, on the other hand, aim for these goals precisely. They thereby gain the moral high ground. Fighting for self-​determination, they should expect forbearance and support from the international community. As these struggles play out, the law of armed conflict (LOAC) and international humanitarian law (IHL) should govern state and non-​state behaviour in asymmetric war. But guerrilla organizations and state armies often complain that the law of armed conflict ties their hands unjustifiably. The law, they claim, does not meet the reality of the modern battlefield. States defending themselves from terrorism, and guerrillas defending themselves from brutal states, require more latitude, tools the law cannot currently provide. Resolving the

234   Michael L. Gross tension between the normative demands of law and ethics on one hand and the practice of war on the other is the task of international political theory (see Chapter 17).

Asymmetric War and International Political Theory The normative demands of law and ethics are clear. The principle of humanity (or humanitarianism) emphasizes the obligation to mitigate suffering and protect human rights (see Chapter 22), and informs the two basic principles of LOAC and IHL: 1. Combatants may not suffer superfluous injury or unnecessary suffering. 2. Non-​combatants may not suffer direct harm or disproportionate collateral harm. Combatants are protected from inhuman weapons (such as blinding lasers), torture, and suffering beyond what is necessary to disable them as fighters. Non-​combatants enjoy protection from any form of direct harm, having never lost their right to life or freedom from injury and torture. And, recognizing that non-​combatants inevitably suffer in war, they enjoy protection from collateral death and injury when these harms are not necessary to achieve legitimate military aims or are excessive when compared to the benefits of achieving these same aims. Although the principles are relatively clear, severe difficulties arise in practice. State armies routinely employ aggressive interrogation techniques and targeted killing, while guerrillas assassinate some enemy soldiers and kidnap others. Distinction—​or the obligation to discriminate clearly between combatants and non-​combatants—​is confounded by guerrillas who fight in mufti, use human shields, and operate from dense, urban areas. Non-​combatant immunity—​the obligation to refrain from unnecessary, disproportionate, or direct attacks on non-​combatants—​runs afoul of the crucial role that civilians play in contemporary armed conflict. No party to an asymmetric conflict can prevail without disabling civilian infrastructures that provide crucial war-​sustaining aid. With civilians in the cross-​hairs, humanitarianism and non-​combatant rights may strain and break.

The Challenges of Contemporary Asymmetric War Contemporary asymmetric war presents a number of normative challenges to democratic regimes for whom observing the principles of humanitarianism is a core obligation: 1. The nature of asymmetric conflict: Is it war or law enforcement? Are militants terrorists or guerrillas?

Moral Dilemmas of Asymmetric Conflict    235 2. Lack of uniforms, human shields and the problem of discrimination: How do state armies identify and protect non-​combatants during armed conflict? 3. Civilian participation and the problem of liability:  What is the status of civilians who take an active role in the fighting? At what point do civilians lose their immunity? 4. Soft war: Increasingly, belligerents turn to soft war: nonkinetic tactics that include cyber terrorism, economic warfare, and public diplomacy. Does this level the playing field or offer non-​state actors an advantage? 5. Guerrilla war: What laws and norms bind guerrillas? Answering these questions highlights the close connection between the normative theory and empirical investigation. Normative theory prescribes how the parties to asymmetric war ought to fight. Empirical data demonstrate how they can fight. Relying solely on theory to answer these questions may yield answers that are impracticable; relying solely on practice may yield answers that are ethically unsound. To bridge the gulf between ought and can, international political theory must rely on both (see Chapter 4).

The Nature of Asymmetric Conflict Because nation-​states usually regarded guerrillas, insurgents, and rebels as little more than criminals, asymmetric wars were typically fought in the shadow of the law. Upon capture, guerrillas faced trial, punishment, and often execution. With the passage of the Additional Protocols to the Geneva Conventions in 1977, guerrillas gained recognition as combatants, provided they fought wars of national liberation against colonial, alien, or racist regimes. It is reasonable, therefore, to speak of two types of asymmetric conflict. The first is the war on terrorism, and directed against groups that perpetuate terrorism in the absence of any national agenda. These groups are international criminals, and subject to the rules of international law enforcement that emphasize interdiction, arrest, trial, and punishment. Terrorists are not eligible for combatant status and therefore not eligible for release when hostilities end. The second type of asymmetric conflict embraces wars of national self-​determination in such places as Israel, Chechnya, East Timor, Eritrea, and Kosovo (Gross 2015). While it is common (and easy) to blur the lines between the two groups, it is crucial to see that the practice of terrorism varies widely. National groups do not use terrorism exclusively and, in fact, most prefer to fight state armies rather than target non-​combatants. But this varies considerably. While 68 per cent of Israelis killed by Palestinian guerrillas between 1987 and 2012 were civilians, this number drops to 53 per cent in Northern Ireland and 3 per cent in Chechnya, and virtually disappears in the Western Sahara, East Timor, and Eritrea, where guerrillas disavowed terrorism almost entirely (Guardian Datablog 2010; Gross 2015: 153–​4; Hughes 2007: 150). These data question the old saw “one man’s terrorist is another man’s freedom fighter.” Some non-​state actors are only terrorists, and warrant arrest and prosecution like any criminal. Others are only freedom fighters, whose organizations abjure terrorism and merit recognition under the laws of war. But many

236   Michael L. Gross are terrorists and freedom fighters, whose organizations utilize terrorism as one tactic among many in the pursuit of national liberation. As such, they are akin to state armies that commit war crimes. Both enjoy the protection of the law but remain liable to prosecution and censure when they violate the norms of humanity. In practice, then, the art of classifying asymmetric conflict as war or law enforcement, and distinguishing between terrorist groups, warlords, and national guerrilla organizations, depends crucially on their war-​fighting strategies and tactics and on knowing what goals groups strive for, how they constitute their authority, and the nature of their organization and activities. Even so informed, a neat and dichotomous categorization is not always easy. Where, for example, do civil wars and local insurgencies fall? These are neither wars of national liberation nor terrorism, but violent attempts at regime change. What is the status of the parties to the conflict in Syria or Egypt? Where does a group like ISIS fit in? Its pan-​ national goal and brutal tactics suggest patent rejection of the international order. On the other hand, ISIS seems to aim for some kind of national organization complete with local institutions, a monopoly on power, and territorial control. In the final analysis, modern asymmetric war is both war and law enforcement. It is war when guerrillas fight for just cause—​national self-​determination and a dignified life respectful of fundamental human rights—​and when they respect those same rights among their enemy. It is law enforcement when they fight to undermine international peace and security with terrorism and murder. Given the manifest asymmetry of modern war, questions arise early on about the right of guerrillas to enjoy concessions because of their weaker status. One of the most central is the right to fight without uniforms so that guerrillas are indistinguishable from the civilian population. This concession has led directly to the use of human shields, and has made it difficult to disable militants without harming non-​combatants disproportionately.

Lack of Uniforms, Human Shields, and the Problem of Discrimination How are state armies to identify and protect non-​combatants during armed conflict? Consider the following examples: • “The deliberate strategy of Hamas to blend in with the civilian population made it difficult for the IDF [Israel Defense Forces] to achieve the objective of the Gaza Operation—​reducing the threat of deliberate attacks against Israeli civilians—​ while also avoiding harm to Palestinian civilians.” (Israel Ministry of Foreign Affairs 2010: 26) • “[ . . . ] fixed launching positions [ . . . ] had been built mostly in the orchards of local farmers who were paid for their assistance by Hezbollah [ . . . ] The farmers who operated the systems received their instructions by mobile phones.” (Bar Joseph 2007: 589)

Moral Dilemmas of Asymmetric Conflict    237 Fighting without uniforms offers guerrillas additional protection as they organize, train, and fight. It also puts innocent civilians in danger, as opposing armies cannot easily distinguish between combatants and non-​combatants. How did this radical change in legal norms occur? In one of its more contentious provisions, Protocol I permits fighting without uniforms “where, owing to the nature of the hostilities an armed combatant cannot so distinguish himself ” (API 1977: Article 44(3)). The framers of Protocol I had colonial occupation in mind, where the requirement to wear uniforms would make it nearly impossible for guerrillas to organize, train, collect intelligence, or mount an attack. The right to fight without uniforms confers protection in two ways. First, it renders guerrillas indistinguishable from non-​combatants, thereby allowing them to move freely to and from battle. Second, it makes it more difficult for enemy soldiers to target guerrillas for fear of causing disproportionate casualties among the civilian population. Why do guerrillas gain such a right that not only gives them an advantage when they fight uniformed soldiers but also puts their civilian population at great risk? The answer turns on just cause. Guerrillas earn the right to fight when they pursue national self-​ determination and seek relief from severe human rights abuses. They may shed their uniforms if fighting otherwise would doom them to failure and their people to persecution or genocide. The right to fight without uniforms poses challenges for all sides. For guerrillas, there are constant temptations to utilize human shields. This is unavoidable, because the right to fight in mufti is intrinsically tied to the presence of human shields. Without the constant presence of civilians to shield guerrillas, shedding uniforms cannot serve its purpose of allowing insurgents to move freely and fight. Still, guerrillas must be very careful about exposing the civilian population to undue risk, and must minimize harm to non-​ combatants where feasible. This is their obligation under the principle of humanity. Nevertheless, they do not have an absolute moral obligation to refrain from conscripting human shields or from fighting among the civilian population (Gross 2015: 127–​50). In response to human shields and un-​uniformed combatants, state armies face the difficulty of fulfilling the principles of effectiveness, necessity, discrimination, and proportionality. This lexical ordering is important, because there is often a tendency to jump to proportionality before examining whether an operation is effective, necessary, and discriminate. Much of this is publicity-​driven. Images of dead and wounded women and children are always potent, and it is easy to lay charges of excessive harm. Proportionality, however, only comes into play if an operation is effective and necessary. An unsuccessful or unnecessary military operation can never be proportionate. Effectiveness demands some reasonable expectation that an operation will, in fact, accomplish its goal. This is not always the case. Witness Israeli attempts to destroy Hezbollah headquarters in Beirut in 2006 (Gross 2008). Nasrallah’s bunkers were just too deep. All the resulting civilian casualties were unnecessary once it was clear, or should have been clear, that attacks were futile. Civilian casualties are also unnecessary when they come as the result of operational errors and accidents, or when less destructive means are available to achieve military goals. Artillery, an area weapon, may

238   Michael L. Gross be effective but unnecessary if precision-​guided weapons are practicable or alternative operational plans feasible. In these cases, the accompanying civilian casualties are unnecessary and cause for condemnation. Thus, the first rule of war-​fighting among civilians is to avoid mistakes, unnecessary harm, and ineffective weaponry and tactics. Only then may one speak of the duty to avoid excessive harm to civilians. But asymmetric war, lack of uniforms, and urban warfare impinge upon these imperatives. The response of state armies to the moral imperative of humanitarianism is both technological and tactical, and includes precision-​guided munitions (PGMs), non-​lethal warfare, cyber operations, and targeted killing. None of these is without controversy. PGMs are only as precise as the intelligence behind the choice of targets; non-​lethal warfare runs afoul of international conventions that regulate chemical warfare; cyber operations often target non-​combatants directly; and targeted killing often smacks of extra-​judicial execution (see Chapter 19). None is without remedy. All may be permissible in view of the normative duty to mitigate harm to non-​ combatants and the practical difficulty of battling militants who fight without uniforms and from within the civilian population. This problem is particularly acute in asymmetric war, where, unlike in interstate warfare, belligerents remove their insignia at will and melt away. Nevertheless, and in spite of the standing obligation to mitigate harm to non-​ combatants, one must recognize that not all civilians are non-​combatants. Traditionally, there are two groups of actors during war: armed and uniformed soldiers who fight, and unarmed and un-​uniformed civilians who take no direct role in the fighting. The former are liable to harm, the latter immune. But asymmetric war draws many civilians into the fighting. Not only are civilians outwardly indistinguishable from militants, they are often functionally indistinguishable. Some civilians provide war-​fighting aid: active intelligence gathering and weapon’s operation. But many others, provide war-​sustaining aid without which a guerrilla army or insurgency would certainly collapse. Disabling these targets is essential if state armies are to prevail. The law and ethics of war, however, prohibit direct attacks of any kind against war-​sustaining civilian targets. Rethinking the principles of just war in light of the exigencies of asymmetric war, on the other hand, opens the door for permissibly targeting civilians with moderate levels of force. Here, non-​lethal and cyber weapons are particularly useful when confronting civilians who help sustain the fighting.

Civilian Participation and Participatory Liability Guerrilla military organizations are relatively small. Fighting Israel, Hezbollah and Palestinian forces did not exceed 10,000–​ 15,000 fighters (Arkin 2007:  74; Harel and Issacharoff 2008; International Institute of Strategic Studies [IISS] 2006). In Afghanistan, the Taliban numbered 8,000–​10,000 fighters in 2008 (with 22,000–​32,000 part-​time guerrillas). A maximum of 18,000 guerrillas fought in Kosovo, 20,000 in East Timor, 5,000 in the Western Sahara, and, among the largest forces, 35,000 guerrillas

Moral Dilemmas of Asymmetric Conflict    239 fought for the Taliban in Afghanistan in 2010, 45,000 guerrillas in Eritrea, and 50,000 militants in Southern Sudan (Perritt 2008: 56–​7; Mapping Militant Organizations 2017; Nevins 2005: 29; Pinto and Jardine 1997: 246; Cordesman 2003: 24; Pateman 1990: 81; FAS 2000). Alongside each guerrilla military organization, a political wing provides an extensive range of social services, law enforcement and judicial institutions, telecommunications and transportation infrastructures, and legal, diplomatic, financial, and media facilities to sustain the war effort. In Kosovo, for example, the LDK (Democratic League of Kosovo) emerged as the political and diplomatic force behind the struggle for independence. Financed largely through donations of diaspora Albanians, the LDK operated an entire “parallel structure” that provided for education, medical care, sports, commercial, and diplomatic activities (Clark 2000: 95–​121; Judah 2000: 70–​2). In the Palestinian territories and southern Lebanon, guerrillas provided a similar range of services while also maintaining sophisticated radio, TV, and print media facilities (Love 2010). In East Timor, a “diplomatic front” and a “clandestine front” operated alongside guerrillas. The former pursued diplomatic initiatives and lobbying, while the latter enlisted civilians to “relay messages, smuggle out reports and photographs to Indonesian and international human rights organizations, and launch a number of daring protests” (Stephan 2006: 61; Weldemichael 2013: 195–​217). Elsewhere, insurgent activities put civilians in the middle of the fighting by choice. During the Second Lebanon War (2006), local Lebanese farmers stored, serviced, and operated weapons on a part-​time basis (Bar Joseph 2007). Others provided transport, logistical, and intelligence support, donated money, or sheltered guerrillas. Civilians are not only physically close to and outwardly indistinguishable from guerrillas; many civilians perform war-​related functions. How may states respond to these threats? Answering this question depends on the liability of the actors. When states face armed militants in or out of uniform or civilians who participate directly by operating weapons, law and ethics permit a lethal response. Determining combatant liability can be difficult, since many militants are not in uniform. To meet this challenge, states may employ targeted killing. In the absence of uniforms, states turn to intelligence to determine the combatant status of their enemy. Targeted killing is neither assassination nor extra-​judicial execution. Rather, a targeted killing is the outcome of an operation that utilizes intelligence data rather than uniforms to establish a person’s affiliation and status as a combatant (Gross 2010: 100–​21). The question, of course, is whether such data are reliable. During the Vietnam War, the Americans launched the Phoenix Program to identify and assassinate Viet Cong operatives. But among the more than 10,000 people killed, few were guerrillas (Kalyvas and Kocher 2007). Recent operations by Israel and by the US in Iraq and Afghanistan appear far more discriminating. Although there are still reports of mistaken identity, concerns hinge on collateral harm (Crawford 2013). These concerns are justified but confounded when civilians take a role in the fighting that makes them liable to disabling harm. While states have legal and moral recourse to lethal force when confronting armed combatants or civilians who take a direct, war-​fighting role in the fighting, how may they respond to civilians whose role is indirect but nonetheless essential? One answer is

240   Michael L. Gross to disable “associated targets,” those war-​sustaining facilities associated with a guerrilla organization’s political wing. The United States, for example, permits attacks on “economic objects of the enemy that indirectly but effectively support and sustain the enemy’s war-​fighting capability” (US Department of the Navy 2007). Fighting al-​Qaeda, the Bush administration targeted “al Qaeda leaders responsible for propaganda, recruitment, [and] religious affairs” (Bush 2010: 218). In its 2006 war with Lebanon, Israel exhausted its range of military targets very early in the fighting and then turned to telecommunication, transportation, media, law enforcement, and educational facilities. The legal justification for such attacks is weak. These are, after all, civilian facilities whose employees do not take a direct part in the fighting. As such, they and the places they work are protected from attack. On the other hand, states understand that it is impossible to prevail against insurgents without disabling war-​ sustaining infrastructures and the civilians who operate them. Posing a threat, these civilians should be liable to some measure of disabling force. The underlying moral principle that should guide state behaviour under these circumstances is the principle of participatory liability. By law and ethics the status of all those party to a conflict is dichotomous. Individuals are either combatants and liable to harm or non-​combatants and immune from harm. Reflecting the practice of asymmetric war, participatory liability challenges this dichotomy with a sliding scale that links participation with liability to harm. The more an individual participates and contributes to armed conflict, the greater force an enemy may utilize to disable that participant. Participation reflects both a civilian’s function within the organization and the magnitude of the threat the civilian poses. Each aspect of participation is usually observable, marked by a person’s occupation and the product or service he or she provides. At one end of the scale are non-​combatants who assume no role in any war-​related activity. They are not responsible for any threat and, therefore, immune from direct harm. At the other end are full-​fledged armed combatants liable to lethal (but not inhuman) harm when necessary to disable their person and disrupt their activities. In the vast middle ground are participating civilians, analogous to those civilians working for a guerrilla organization’s political wing and who provide war-​ sustaining services. Commensurate with the threat they pose, participating civilians are liable to disabling force. Understanding participatory liability allows states to modulate force consistent with a target’s liability. While combatants who pose a deadly threat are liable to lethal force, participating civilians are only liable to non-​lethal force. There are, then, two components to participatory liability: liability and force. Liability is a function of participation and permissible force is function of liability. While state armies in the US and Israel, for example, grasp the significance of liability, they often fail to modulate the use of force appropriately. As a result, American and Israeli troops attack many war-​sustaining targets with high explosives; and while the Israelis made some attempts to distinguish between physical infrastructures and those who worked there (by targeting empty buildings), casualties remained high in Lebanon and Gaza (HRW 2007; UNHRC 2009). Applying less-​than-​lethal force requires considerable ingenuity and flexibility on the

Moral Dilemmas of Asymmetric Conflict    241 battlefield and consideration of non-​lethal weaponry, cyber warfare, economic sanctions, and other soft war tactics (Gross and Meisels 2017).

Soft War: The Challenge of Unarmed Conflict Modern asymmetric war is increasingly dependent upon soft or non-​kinetic tactics. Non-​lethal warfare, cyber operations, and economic warfare address the problem of participatory liability. Public diplomacy or media warfare highlights the role of soft power in contemporary warfare.

Non-​lethal Weapons, Cyber Operations, and Economic Warfare Among non-​lethal weapons, calmative agents are chemical substances that depress the central nervous system to incapacitate militants and/​or participating civilians. Once disabled, participating civilians might then be detained or deported. Fears of misuse of calmative agents coupled with legal restrictions posed by the Chemical Weapons Convention (1992) have limited the development of nonlethal chemical weapons. More promising are technologies that are not chemically based. Electromagnetic technologies, such as the US active denial system (ADS), emit very low levels of directed energy that causes sufficient transient pain to cause individuals to flee (Koplow 2006). Models designed for urban use offer a means to prevent civilians from entering facilities or removing them without bodily harm, thereby allowing state armies to arrest and detain participating civilians. Unlike chemical and electromagnetic weapons, cyber weapons target infrastructures not individuals. Cyber operations range from denial of internet service and website overload to identity theft, stolen funds or destroyed data, to the destruction of critical transportation or utility infrastructures (Singer and Friedman 2014). Harm to individuals ranges from inconvenience to hardship to mental suffering, injury, or loss of life (Gross, Canetti, and Vashdi 2017). To date, no cyber attack caused anyone physical harm, yet many attacks have proved capable of disabling war-​sustaining facilities or imposing hardship and financial loss upon the civilian population. Civilian facilities and networks are particularly vulnerable and often the target of choice. Unlike cyber operations, economic warfare is not new. Yet both share a similar goal: to target and squeeze the civilian population. Each targets civilians, often innocent civilians, directly, with the hopes that civilian pressure will compel a government or non-​ state group to cease fighting. But economic and cyber warfare float in a legal vacuum. They are not a form of armed conflict, so the law of armed conflict is not applicable. Instead, vague references to humanitarian duties oblige belligerents to prevent grave suffering among the civilian population when they impose sanctions. Cyber warfare is less regulated still. Efforts to find a legal anchor to regulate cyber war remain a work in progress, and leave ample room for states to wreak havoc as they use cyber operations to disable military and civilian facilities. Nevertheless, and despite the fact they are largely unregulated, cyber operations and economic warfare deserve careful consideration as a

242   Michael L. Gross tool of war. Avoiding physical harm, cyber operations may prove a reasonable and morally permissible method to disable participating civilians and the facilities where they work. Economic sanctions are more problematic. They are indiscriminate by nature and often cause extreme suffering among civilians. In response, smart sanctions that target the financial assets of state/​guerrilla/​terrorist leaders directly and/​or specific technologies (like aviation parts or small arms) are gaining currency (Gordon 2011). They are not without critics, but smart sanctions, like cyber operations and non-​lethal weaponry, hold the potential to target participating civilians proportionately and thereby fulfil the principle of participatory liability. Nevertheless, unarmed tactics remain problematic. Smart sanctions are criticized because they still harm non-​liable civilians. Cyber and non-​lethal technologies target civilian infrastructures directly, and therefore violate the principle of non-​combatant immunity. But the practice of modern war suggests that the principle of non-​ combatant immunity is not always inviolable. There is no reason that international law cannot recognize the liability imposed by civilian participation as well as restrictions on the use of lethal force to disable such civilians. Therefore, when civilians are liable to disabling harm and when states respond with appropriate force, normative theory should adapt itself to the legitimate interests of all parties and make room to target some civilians directly. Assessing liability, legitimate interests, and appropriate force is an ongoing challenge. After wars conclude, such assessments are often the purview of international governmental organizations such as the United Nations. During war, things are considerably murkier, and these assessments become part of public diplomacy.

Public Diplomacy and Media Warfare Public diplomacy and media warfare reflect the battle over imagery: who is right, who is wrong, who kills civilians justifiably and who massacres them (Mor 2007). Many fear that while Western powers win the military battles, they lose the media wars to savvy terrorists and guerrillas. While this is an overstatement, the internet and social media have “mediatized” war and levelled a once-​asymmetric playing field (Kaempf 2017). Once denied access to sophisticated means of communications from telegraphy to television, weak states and non-​states now command effective means to trumpet their cause and denigrate their enemy’s. Sometimes they are truthful, but at other times they fabricate the news from whole cloth. When guerrillas in Afghanistan, Gaza, and Lebanon manipulate the media to exaggerate civilian casualties by enhancing images, moving bodies around, or staging photo opportunities, states are often left to defend themselves against massacres that never occurred or curtail military operations (Peskowitz 2010). In response, some states resort to censorship. By restricting battlefield access and by blocking images of death and destruction, the United States, for example, produced sterile and antiseptic images of a “near-​bloodless” war. But it proved impossible to control the battlefield: images, real or fabricated, leak out and find ample publicity in internet-​based media. States, therefore, intensify media efforts of their own or leverage the soft power of public diplomacy by

Moral Dilemmas of Asymmetric Conflict    243 funding medical care and public works projects in occupied countries (Gross 2015: 213–​ 39). The battle for hearts and minds does not end even when the fighting does. Public diplomacy, media warfare, cyber operations, and economic sanctions sometimes supplement and sometimes supplant armed force. Largely unaddressed by law and ethics, these practices force normative adjustments, and highlight the synergy of normative theory and empirical investigation in international political theory. Similar considerations also compel us to re-​examine the duties of guerrillas and insurgents.

Guerrillas and Insurgents Often painting them as terrorists, many states decry guerrillas and insurgents as unlawful combatants unworthy of any of the rights due to war fighters. This conclusion is premature. Instead, we can think as cogently about just guerrilla war as we can about just state war, and ascertain the rights and duties of guerrillas accordingly. Just guerrilla warfare hinges on the just cause that guerrilla organizations must embrace if they wish to fight. Just cause is not territorial defence but more fundamental: the right to self-​determination and the right to a dignified life anchored in respect for basic human rights. The first, self-​determination, offers grounds for a territorial nation-​state or region of national autonomy within which to realize the second, a dignified life. Denied one or the other by a brutal or occupying regime, a people earn the right to fight. Of course, the right to fight does not allow anyone to fight by any means whatsoever. Political theory makes normative demands upon guerrillas that are consistent with those incumbent on any belligerent. These demands require respect for the principles of humanity outlined at the head of this chapter. Thus, guerrillas incur the very same obligations as state soldiers do. Nevertheless, there is considerable room to test the normative demands of theory against the empirical demands of asymmetric war. We have already seen how the law of armed conflict has bent the rules of uniformed fighting to give national liberation movements a fighting chance against state armies when their cause is just. The right to fight without uniforms also opens the door to human shielding when militants choose to fight among civilians. Like state actors, guerrillas may invoke the principle of participatory liability and target participating civilians, whether through cyber operations or conventional attacks against war-​sustaining facilities following warnings to evacuate (a tactic not uncommon to the IRA in the 1990s, for example: Rogers 2000). Likewise, one may make room for targeted killing, sanctions and boycotts, and concerted media campaigns by guerrilla organizations. If normative theory does not well regulate economic or media warfare (and it does not), then the same leeway accorded to states when they impose blockades or disseminate propaganda should be accorded to guerrillas and insurgents. Provided, of course, that their cause is just. Just cause also imposes certain obligations on bystander states and the international community. In recent years, there has been growing interest in the responsibility to protect (R2P) (see Chapter 25). R2P is a proactive policy that should benefit an oppressed

244   Michael L. Gross people. And, indeed, guerrilla armies in East Timor, Kosovo, and Southern Sudan have benefited from international military intervention during the last quarter century. Whether others merit military aid, in Syria for example, remains an open question. But a prior question is more fundamental: when should states avoid placing impediments in the path of a people waging just guerrilla war? One impediment is material. Removing material impediments requires the international community to refrain from arming states on the wrong side of an asymmetric war. Syria, again, is one recent example; Indonesia (in its fight against East Timor) or Ethiopia (in its fight against the Eritreans) are examples from the not too distant past (Weldemichael 2013). There are good grounds for denying these states arms and condemning the states that shipped them. Another impediment is legal. Legal impediments requiring uniforms, or protecting all civilians from all kinds of harm, or laws prohibiting targeted killings might be just as formidable as material obstacles. All may prevent parties from pursuing just cause by force of arms. Obstacles of this sort are not necessarily bad if they force belligerents to re-​evaluate recourse to war, but they are problematic if they deny a people the ability to fight tyranny. Sorting through these conflicting rights and constraints is far more than a legal issue. The letter of the law must be sensitive to the normative demands of theory and the practicable requirements of waging an asymmetric war when the weaker party’s rights are at risk. Contemporary warfare, therefore, is seriously confounded by its asymmetry. Asymmetry forces states to look beyond the legally, morally, and materially asymmetric condition of their adversaries and recognize their status when legitimate. And, in the course of just war, the weaker parties may deserve a large measure of forbearance that requires nation-​states to reconsider some of the norms governing interstate conflict. In some cases, non-​states are nothing but criminals, but in many other instances, non-​states pursue just cause and earn the right to fight without uniforms, pursue targeted killing, impose economic sanctions, and wage media warfare as they seek self-​determination. In the past, states could brush aside such claims in the name of sovereignty and prosecute these conflicts as internal affairs. Recent changes to the law and practice of war, an increasingly aggressive International Criminal Court and United Nations, and proactive NGOs have put state, and guerrilla, conduct on the front burner and created normative challenges that neither side can ignore.

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­c hapter 19

Ethics, Drone s , a nd Killer Rob ots Christopher Coker

It was the oldest IR “theorist” of all, Thucydides who called war “to anthropon”—​the human thing. It is what we humans do, and we do it with a good deal more inventiveness that any other species. Thucydides wrote his book because he wanted his readers to care about war’s extraordinary moral complexity: what happens when social intelligence breaks down and war degenerates into the senseless warfare from which it had emerged only a few thousand years earlier. He wanted to explain how armies can break down when some instincts get the better of others, when soldiers cease to “network” effectively. War is still at the heart of International Relations Theory (IRT) just as what Michael Howard calls “the Thucydidean coordinates”—​interest, fear, and honour—​are still at the heart of war. But our understanding of war needs rebooting, as too does our understanding of “humanity”—​not only the name we ascribe to a species but also the qualities we deem it to embody, such as the capacity to care about the fate of others. Unless we keep up with these changes, International Political Theory runs the risk of no longer being central to our everyday empirical concerns, the real-​world problems which this volume of essays sets out to engage. My contention is that the concept of humanity that most IR theorists take for granted is deeply flawed; that theorists need to take on board the latest research in fields such as neuroscience, socio-​biology, and even robotics. The best way for theory and reality to serve each other as they should is to reflect more deeply on ontological questions such as what it means to be human, and how conceptions of our humanity are intimately bound up with our use of technology. What Thucydides told us is that war changes in character over time. But I suspect he would have been very surprised at the extent of recent changes. “Men make a city, not walls or ships empty of men,” he wrote (Peloponnesian Wars, 7.17.7). But of course we are planning to take this road. The ramparts of our own cities are now partly “virtual” and vulnerable to cyber attack. Our skies are already full of unmanned aerial vehicles or drones. Even concepts of sacrifice and altruism are changing fast. “I hope

248   Christopher Coker that many more computer chips will lay down their lives for their country,” remarked an American general after a drone was brought down over Bosnia in the 1990s. There may come a point, writes Thomas Adams, when we may regard tactical warfare as the business of machines, and not appropriate to humans at all, and direct human participation on the ground may become rare (Adams 2001: 9). All this is bound to reshape our understanding of our own agency and/​or autonomy. No one is suggesting, by the way, that Autonomous Weapons Systems will take over any time soon, or that humans will be out of the loop altogether, but we will be coexisting with machines more and more in the future. And the greatest change of all may be ethical. “I will stand my Artificial Intelligence over your humanity any day of the week, and tell you that my AI will [ . . . ] create fewer ethical lapses than a human being,” remarked John Arquilla, the executive director of the Information Operations Center at the Naval Post-​Graduate School (Markoff 2010). For IR theorists these changes represent an enormous challenge. The best way to tackle them head on is probably the tradition of American pragmatism. What the pragmatists would argue is that at this preliminary level of development it is probably not only premature but unhelpful to come up, as do the critics of “killer robots,” with prescriptions (especially against their use); it is more important at this juncture to ask the right questions. Theory demands no less.

Revisiting Just War Theory Let me take Just War Theory (JWT) which is now the primary default position when going to war in part because of its pragmatism: it is flexible enough to adjust to changes in the character of war itself. It consists of a historically evolved set of normative principles for determining when resort to military force is just (jus ad bellum) and how war can be justly conducted (jus in bello) (see Chapters 16 and 17). The most important principle of the former is that war must have a just cause, and must be last resort, and must be waged with at least a reasonable prospect of success. The essential principle of the latter is that of discrimination, or non-​combat immunity, which requires that we are able to distinguish between enemy combatants and civilians, and to ensure that due care is taken to minimize civilian deaths. Since drone strikes first became commonplace, there has been a consistent claim that they violate the principal precepts of JWT. Jus ad bellum: Are drone strikes, to begin with, acts of war? Is the use of drones an act of self-​defence? And do drone strikes compromise the sovereignty of states such as Yemen or Pakistan? Jus in bello: Are drone strikes as accurate as the military claim? Civilian casualties are clouded in secrecy; most of the casualty lists are drawn up by civilian groups and think tanks, and they vary enormously. The former US Defense Secretary Leon

Ethics, Drones, and Killer Robots    249 Panetta claimed they were “the most precise weapons in the history of warfare” (Chamayou 2015: 140). If so, is the selection of targets as precise as claimed? Is that the same as “moral accuracy”? Jus ante bellum: Harry van der Linden has recently added a new category of just war thinking that requires the military itself to be part of the equation. It involves issues such as “moral deskilling” (Zygmunt Bauman’s term for what happens when pilots are dissociated from what they are doing). Are they in danger of “moral injury”? Does remote control translate into moral distance, and does that translate in turn into moral indifference (Bauman 2012: 16)? These questions also revolve around an issue central to the jus in bello: that killing is consistent with human dignity. Is there something deeply dishonourable about killing people who cannot fight back? Is targeting a militant similar to killing a soldier who is asleep? What is new in war, adds van der Linden, is watching a soldier asleep for some time and experiencing his humanity rather than his hostile status, and then deciding to pull the trigger. “Isn’t to go after humanity instead of the threat an affront to humanity itself?” (van der Linden 2015: 189). All these questions are increasingly debated. What is missing from the debate is an understanding of the fundamental change in our relationship with the machines we build.

Human–​M achine Interface There are three different schools of thought about what is happening. The first, put forward by writers such as Richard Lewontin, is that our genetic potential is unresolved naturally. The human body is full of possibilities that from the very first have required technology and tools to become manifest and concrete (Lewontin 1982: 169). Timothy Taylor insists that basic biological needs seem to have arisen in tandem with our emergent technology: “The intelligence that makes us inventive is enabled by inventions.” The emergence of the first tools produced an expansion of the mind half a million years later. “The ability to internalise our own creations by abstracting them and converting ‘out there’ tools into a mental mechanism is what allows the entire scientific project” (Taylor 2012: 150–​1). Each of us, in other words, is bound bodily to the tools that we use, in neurological ways we are only just discovering (Moreno 2006: 57). One example is the way in which drone pilots are already coping with cognitive overload—​a term that describes a situation when the amount of information that needs to be processed simply exceeds the mind’s capacity to store or process the information received. In such a situation we either instantly forget the information at hand (which makes it impossible to store or retrieve it later), or we are unable to see whether it contradicts or confirms information we have already stored away. And because we need our memory to concentrate,

250   Christopher Coker we always have to remember what we are meant to be concentrating on. Our attention tends to wander all the time. Indeed, many drone pilots are already suffering from attention problems and low performance as a result of the long hours they put in, sometimes eight hours at a stretch each day. Attention deficit is not yet a “disorder,” but is certainly a challenge. It is one that neuroscientists have been working on for some time. The upshot has been to make pilots more “mindful” of collateral damage by getting them to focus on different things, in effect rewiring the function of their attention system (International Herald Tribune 2011). Monitoring their brain rhythms, heart rate, and eye movements allows supervisors to “scan” their attentiveness and so ensure that they are focusing on the job. A pilot can be “shut off ” if he is getting stressed out, and control transferred to others. Does this make the pilot herself an automaton? Or is it just one of the ways in which, as those who write about machine ethics tell us, machines can help us to act more ethically? A second way of understanding the interface between machines and human beings is to consider the way in which we have co-​evolved from the beginning. For Bruno Latour, the technical is the key to our own cultural evolution. For him history offers a “master narrative” in which human beings are seen not only as the product of social ties but also of their relations with non-​human tools/​technology. From the first use of social tools that we call Machiavellian intelligence (our basic tool kit) we invented material tools that made possible social complexity (the division of labour); we went on to invent intellectual tools (writing/​counting) that made it possible to organize human society into a mega-​machine (civilization) via chains of command and deliberate planning, to assemblies of machines in the industrial era ruled by laws that had a sort of “social life.” Sociology, insists Latour, should be about the science of associations and not the science of the social. It would follow that our social world is not an objective reality with fixed boundaries, but an open space in which boundaries are being pushed ever further. The social, in short, is always being “reassembled,” not merely “redefined” (Latour 1999). This is an area of research that has hardly touched IR theory. Both Human Machine Interaction (HMI) and Actor Network Theory (ANT)—​the former being the academic study of the interaction between humans and computers, the latter the way in which machines form part of our social networks—​largely remain off-​field. ANT theorists reject the idea that either machines or human beings are the dominant actor; instead, they insist that both are inextricably interlinked in each other’s function and fate (Law 1992: 381–​2). It is a radical theory because it suggests that non-​animate machines are not quite the inanimate objects that we like to suppose. The third and most popular way of understanding what is happening to our humanity is that we are about to devolve more and more responsibility for our actions to robots. From supervised or managed autonomy, we will progress to complete autonomy. Will the machines, in other words, eventually divest us of our responsibility and uproot us in the process from the centre of things? Perhaps one day the machines will no longer need the scripts we write for them. Science fiction tells us what might happen next. Our best hope is that will have coded into robots some form of human values so that they will still

Ethics, Drones, and Killer Robots    251 make decisions in our interests. If we don’t, we may find ourselves so wired in that they could probably take over without a shot being fired, and not a Terminator in sight. Given such a radical change in our understanding of what the “human” is, it may be time to redefine what we understand by terms such as “human control,” “human responsibility,” and “human dignity,” some of the concepts that are to be found at the heart of JWT itself.

Human Control The phrase “Meaningful Human Control” (MHC) has been taken up by civil society and some states as a useful framing concept for discussing autonomy in weapons systems. The International Committee for the Red Cross and the Campaign to Stop Killer Robots point to the problems of relying on the concept once war goes autonomous (Article 36, 2013). Human control is in itself a contested concept, however, and its loss has been a permanent feature of history. We find it in revenge attacks for high friendly losses; in the dehumanization of the enemy; in the deployment of inexperienced or poorly trained troops; in the issuing of unclear orders; in the youth or immaturity of soldiers in the field; even, regrettably, in pleasure in killing. To quote Ronald Arkin, “simply being human is the weakest point in the kill chain—​our biology works against us in complying with IHL” (Arkin 2014: 4). In fact, adds Arkin, Autonomous Weapons Systems are likely to outperform humans with respect to adherence to IHL (international humanitarian law) in situations where bounded (i.e. situation-​specific) action applies (see Wallach and Allen 2010). For it is the situation that usually encourages immoral actions. Robots, by comparison, would act consistently because they are not situationists. They would not shoot first and ask questions later because they would not have to wrestle with the fight-​ or-​flight dynamic hard-​wired into the rest of us. Robot sensors would allow a machine to “see” more of a battlespace than a human ever could aspire to. And ongoing technological advances in electro-​optics, synthetic aperture, acoustics, and seismic sensing will make them more resilient still: giving them broader oversight (and possibly even greater insight) into what is actually happening on the ground. Unmanned systems would not suffer from any of the human prejudices that predispose us to see our enemies as “towel heads” or “gooks.” They would not be prone to another psychological problem, that of “scenario fulfilment”—​the way in which cognitive dissonance and confirmation bias reinforce pre-​existing belief patterns. They will be able to process information far faster than humans can; indeed, given the increasing speed and tempo of war, humans are liable to information overload, with all its consequent permutations including premature cognitive closure. The problem with all technophiles, of course, is that they tend to downplay the loss of mechanical control. A 2012 US Department of Defence directive identified a long list of possible causes of failure in autonomous weapons such as human–​machine interaction failure; critical malfunction; communications degradation; software coding

252   Christopher Coker errors; enemy cyber hacking and jamming/​spoofing/​other counter-​measures yet to come on stream. In their book Moral Machines, Wendell Wallach and Colin Allen argue that robotic intelligence need not be “super” or even particularly “smart” in order to be extremely dangerous. It needs only to have authority—​autonomy if you will—​to make important life or death decisions. The real danger may lie in outsourcing more and more key decisions to machines that are not nearly as intelligent as we are. For the IR theorist the main charge against technophiliacs is that they tend to ignore the philosophical challenges. Would a robot that made the right judgement call in the relevant situation have moral standing (as opposed to moral agency)? And what would its moral standing be: consistency (Anderson 2009: 266)? If that is true, it would be a change of the first order, because for us, living ethically has never been about optimizing the good—​it has been much more about the precept of right conduct, for example towards prisoners of war. It has involved cultivating virtues and refusing to perform actions we cannot reconcile with our conscience, or sense of self. Living ethically is rational, not logical: it involves balancing the claims of a variety of goods (winning/​acting correctly), and calculating how different values should be applied in circumstances where there is often no single right or wrong. Surely, however, it is best not to exaggerate either the extent of human control of war or the extent to which we can replace it with mechanical means, but instead to recognize that we will probably always need each other. Machines are still dumb; computers cannot think for themselves; but we might be able to upgrade our moral range by employing technologies that are coming on stream quite soon. What we are giving ourselves, writes Ray Kurzweil, is a moral upgrade (The Times, 2015). It would be a quite different matter if, following my third understanding of human–​machine interaction, we were one day to surrender all human agency, replacing the moral heuristics with which we are wired with the logical codes of artificial intelligence. The human organism evolved from a biochemical platform. The capacity to reason emerged from the emotional brain. In contrast, AI is currently being developed on a logical platform [ . . . ] this suggests some advantages that computers may have over human brains for responding to moral challenges. (Allen and Wallach 2010: 71)

But I don’t think we will be introducing logic into war any time soon. And the reason why is that war is not logical (any more than is life). At a conference in Pasadena on artificial intelligence in 2009, several speakers called for Asimov’s famous Three Laws of Robotics to be immediately adopted (Sunday Times, 2009). What is interesting about Asimov’s laws is that they are not very different from the everyday rules of thumb that we apply to moral questions. In the tale “Evidence” (1946), in which Asimov explored the ethical implications of his laws, he put these words into the mouth of a robot designer: If you stop to think of it, the Three Rules of Robotics are the essential guiding principles of a good many of the world’s ethical systems. Of course, every human being

Ethics, Drones, and Killer Robots    253 is supposed to have the instinct of self-​preservation. That’s Rule 3 to a robot. Also every good human being with a social conscience and a sense of responsibility is supposed to defer to proper authority, to listen to his doctor, his boss, his government, his psychologist, his fellow man, to obey laws, to follow rules, to conform to custom—​even when they interfere with his comfort and his safety. That’s Rule 2 to a robot. Also, every good human being is supposed to love others as himself, protect his fellow man, and risk his life to save another. That’s Rule 1 to a robot. To put it simply, to follow all the rules of robotics you may not be a robot, but simply a very good man. (Warrick 1982: 66)

On that reading, too, of course, you can also be a good soldier. But the difference, of course, between a robot and a human being is that the laws governing the first cannot be broken, unlike the moral heuristics which we employ every day and which we constantly transgress. Asimov’s three laws are not moral heuristics at all, of course. They are part of the engineering; they are intrinsic to its design; they are central to the positronic–​brain circuitry of the robots themselves. It would never enter their mind to break the laws. But could they ever apply them? Asimov spent the rest of his life debating that possibility. Life is inconsistent and contradiction central to it. In his later tales, as robots evolve their own intelligence, they find that exercising laws grounded in un-​human logical structures of thought is almost impossible in a human-​built world. By far the most intelligent exploration of this theme was by a computer scientist called Roger Clarke who published two articles in Computer magazine in 1993, a year before Asimov’s death. Clarke set out a series of challenges that Asimov had to grapple with as his robots evolved in his own imagination, as they became more complex and sophisticated—​in other words as they became more intelligent over time (Clarke 1993; 1994). Clarke found in the end that the laws simply could not be applied logically, and that this was due to no inherent fault of design in the algorithms but to the fact that moral life itself is not algorithmic.

Responsibility At the centre of JWT is the concept of responsibility. An example of what is at stake has been put most famously perhaps by Rob Sparrow: Imagine that an airborne AWS directed by a sophisticated Artificial Intelligence, deliberately bombs a column of enemy soldiers who have clearly indicated their desire to surrender. These soldiers have laid down their weapons and pose no immediate threat to friendly forces or non-​combatants. Let us also stipulate that this bombing was not a mistake; there was no targeting error, no confusion in the machine’s order, etc. The AWS had reasons for what it did [. . . but] they were not the sort to morally justify the action. Had a human being committed the act, they would

254   Christopher Coker immediately be charged with a war crime. Who should we try for a war crime in such a case? (Sparrow 2007: 66–​7)

Who would we hold accountable:  the programmer, the company that designed the machine, or the commander who dispatched it into battle? The question of responsibility (see Chapter 10) revolves around another theme in just war thinking: the least we owe our enemies is allowing their lives to be of sufficient worth that we accept responsibility for their death. And even if it is just a nice just-​so story, we tell ourselves there is a good reason for telling it. You can only espouse JWT if you hold to the concept of ultimate responsibility, and you wouldn’t be able to put a robot on trial for making the wrong judgement call, would you? But the world is changing fast. Take what Andreas Matthias calls “the responsibility gap” which arises when a technological system is designed to adapt its behaviour to its environment (Matthias 2004: 175–​83). His argument is that if “control” is a necessary condition of responsibility, how can you exercise it when you do not know how it is going to act in future? How can you hold a machine to account if you deliberately programme in genetic algorithms that imitate the principle of evolution through variation, genetic recombination, and selection (i.e. when the genetic programmes act themselves as the programmers)? Matthias has in mind adaptive systems that are already in use, such as elevators which are able to analyse human traffic patterns, typically using artificial neural networks and reinforcement-​learning algorithms to minimize transportation and waiting time. If you allow machines to learn, how can you hold a designer responsible for any lethal decisions that they may take? This was the theme of an article which appeared in June 2012 in The Economist which was entitled “Morals and the Machine.” “As robots become more autonomous, the notion of computer-​controlled machines taking ethical decisions is moving out of the realm of science fiction and into the real world.” Its authors urged us to take a leap into the dark; they assumed that we could no longer be fully “in control,” or for that matter that we should even aspire to. Indeed, what was really radical about the piece was that instead of calling upon us to devise ethical rules in advance, it asked the reader to take a leap of faith in the expectation that one day quite soon we would see the emergence of human/​machine decision making systems. “Emergence” is the buzzword of the day. Physicists, for example no longer talk of the basic stuff of life in terms of inert particles; instead they talk of fields and forces—​words that describe their constant interaction rather than their nature. From a biologist’s point of view, living organisms are no longer thought of as composites put together out of separate software and hardware; instead they are seen as working together, capable of generating patterns spontaneously without any specific instructions. There is no plan, or blueprint. They emerge through self-​organization (Goodwin 1994: 49). First-​order emergence is defined as a property not programmed in. Second-​order emergence is a system which uses its own emergent properties to evolve in ways that cannot always be anticipated by the programmer. And this is one of the first-​order challenges for ethics in the future as emergent behaviour becomes as unpredictable as our own. We need to start

Ethics, Drones, and Killer Robots    255 thinking about it now. Scientists are actually doing so. I suggest the IR community needs to wake up.

Human Dignity Three decades and three full-​scale wars separate the movie Top Gun (1987) from Good Kill (2015), and it shows. Where Tom Cruise duelled with enemy pilots in an F-​14, the hero of Good Kill is a drone pilot operating 7,000 miles away, firing missiles at the behest of a CIA Agent in the field. Whereas Maverick in Top Gun spends his spare time playing volleyball and riding horses, Major Thomas Egan in Good Kill goes home and drinks vodka in the bathroom to forget the things he has done. It is a pretty accurate depiction of how we wage war today. It is also a far cry from the past, where pilots saw themselves as knights of the air (like the pilots in James Salter’s seminal Korean War novel, The Hunters). Today they are seen as risk-​free joystick pushers who are liable to find themselves in breach of the additional Protocol 1 to the Geneva Conventions, the “Martens Clause,” that talks about not violating “the dictates of the public conscience” when engaged in killing another human being. Nowhere is the public conscience defined, though it almost undoubtedly exists; it could be said to be a general distaste for “disrespectful killings.” Surely, however, the point is that for those in the firing line one missile is as bad as another, and the idea that the person pulling the trigger may lose sleep at night is the ultimate in First World self-​referentiality. Yes, our first duty is ontological, to recognize that human responsibility matters because the idea of humanity matters and that it is only by relating to others that we remain moral beings at all. But there is nothing inside “humanity” in the abstract, no built-​in human solidarity, no moral core, writes Richard Rorty, which provides any other absolute moral reference point. What is common to us all is our ability to feel pain—​everything else is socialized into us by education (Rorty 1999). Is it any more “disrespectful” to be killed by a drone than by an Apache helicopter? In his account of his experience as an embedded journalist with an infantry unit in the Korengal valley in Afghanistan, Sebastian Junger remarks that seeing a Taliban literally “disintegrated” by the machine gun of an Apache was the most disturbing sight he experienced in a highly disturbing campaign. In this case, the helicopter pilot came up close. With one 30mm round the Taliban fighter literally “exploded.” There was nothing “fair” about his killing, Junger adds, but in modern war, soldiers gravitate towards whatever works best at the least risk to themselves (Junger 2010: 140). We also might ask if it is any more “dehumanizing” to kill a person over the horizon. In what sense do you affirm the humanity of your victim in the first case, but not the second? But unfairness inheres in a second objection to killing by drones or AWS: and that is the belief that such killings are in some way “unfair” (just as in 1909 the idea of dropping a bomb from a biplane was considered by many to be “unsporting”). Metaphors change with the times. The argument has been propounded most eloquently by Paul Kahn in

256   Christopher Coker his discussion of the “moral paradox of war.” On the one hand, we have an obligation to minimize our own casualties by placing soldiers out of harm’s way if we can, and to create thereby what he calls an “asymmetrical situation” in which we have a selective advantage (we could invoke the George Moore defence of the machine gun—​we can kill the natives faster than they can kill us) (Midgley 2007 [1979]: 246). On the other hand, Kahn contends, beyond such a threshold such asymmetry undermines the licence to kill which must be granted in mutual self-​defence. Without a reciprocal imposition of risk, he writes, there is no moral basis for injuring the morally innocent (cited in Statman 2014: 44). It is an interesting argument, but not I  think an ultimately compelling one. Historically, there is an explanation for our seeming aversion (for it is indeed apparently widely held) to being killed by a robot. There is a reason why the Terminator franchise does so well at the box office. The right to be killed only by a fellow human being may be the oldest and most basic of human rights that we still insist upon (long before human wrongs such as slavery were discovered). Barbara Ehrenreich speculates that what turned us into predators against each other was escaping from the fate of being prey. The transformation from prey to predator, she writes, is the central story in the early human narrative, as Darwin was amongst the first to suspect, and the transformation may have been more or less complete only as recently as 25,000 years ago. For thousands of years we were terrorized by the big game that today we have almost hunted to extinction. Finding ourselves hunted left us with another Darwinian algorithm: in the face of danger we had to cleave together, becoming a many-​headed creature larger than our individual selves. We can observe this behaviour in the higher primates, still. Unlike them, however, we have learned to hunt and kill big game using weapons, and we have achieved the speed and lethality of a leopard or lion (Ehrenreich 2011: 83). Now, we are threatened by another non-​ human adversary: robots.

Conclusion What really is at issue was enunciated by the philosopher Alfred Whitehead, who saw the authors of Greek tragedy as the “Pilgrim Fathers” of the scientific imagination. The essence of life, he wrote, is not, as it was for the Greeks, unhappiness, but “the remorseless working of things”; the tragic—​for us, but not them—​arises from the unhappy relationship between knowledge and our unawareness of its consequences (Lawrence 1996: 146) A pragmatist might argue that there is a good case for breaking with the Greeks who still in so many ways have a stranglehold on IR theory. The word “humanity” has two meanings, one ontological and the other axiological. The first refers to the essence of humanity, the other to norms of conduct. As we have seen, many of the norms of conduct are now being automated or programmed into machines in the hope of making

Ethics, Drones, and Killer Robots    257 us better moral agents. But when it comes to defining the essence of humanity, we are a long way behind the curve. We may have escaped some of the rigid distinctions the Greeks drew, such as that between men and women, but we still seem to be in thrall to the distinction they also encouraged us to draw between humans and the tools they use, even though they had no idea of the way in which we would eventually re-​engineer ourselves through technology. So let me give the last word to a Pragmatist, the late Richard Rorty. [T]he Greek description of our situation presupposes that humanity itself has an intrinsic nature—​that there is something unchangeable called “the human” [ . . . ] Pragmatism sets aside this presupposition and urges that humanity is an open-​ended notion, that the word “human” names a fuzzy but promising project rather than an essence. (Rorty 1999: 52)

References Adams, T. (2001). Future Warfare and the Decline of Human Decision-​Making. Parameters 31(4): 57–​7 1. Allen, C., and W. Wallach (2010). Moral Machines:  Teaching Robots Right from Wrong (New York: Oxford University Press). Anderson, S. (2009). Asimov’s Three Laws of Robotics. In S. Schneider (ed.), Science Fiction and Philosophy (Oxford: Blackwell). Arkin, R. (2014). Lethal Autonomous Systems and the Plight of the Non-​combatant. Ethics and Armed Forces 1: 3–​10. Bauman, Z. (2012). Liquid Surveillance (Cambridge: Polity). Bauman, Z. (2013). Moral Blindness (Cambridge: Polity). Chamayou, G. (2015). Drone Theory (London: Penguin). Clarke, R. (1993). Asimov’s Laws of Robotics Part 1. IEEE Computer 26(12): 53–​61. Clarke, R. (1994). Asimov’s Laws of Robotics Part 2. IEEE Computer 27(1): 57–​66. Ehrenreich, B. (2011). Blood Rites (London: Virago). Goodwin, B. (1994). How the Leopard Changed its Spots (London: Phoenix). Junger, S. (2010). War (London: HarperCollins). Latour, B. (1999). Pandora’s Hope:  Essays in the Reality of the Social Sciences (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press). Law, J. (1992). Notes on the Theory of the Actor-​Network. Systems Practice 5(4): 379–​93. Lawrence, W. W. (1996). Modern Science and Human Value (New  York:  Oxford University Press). Lewontin, R. (1982). Organism and Environment. In H. Plotkin (ed.), Learning, Development and Culture: Essays in Evolutionary Epistemology (New York: Wiley), 151–​70. Markoff, J. (2010). War Machines: Recruiting Robots for Combat. New York Times, 27 Nov. [Accessed 17 June 2013.] http://​www.nytimes.com/​2010/​11/​28/​science/​28robot.html?_​ r=1andem=etal Matthias, A. (2004). The Responsibility Gap:  Ascribing Responsibility for the Actions of Learning Automata. Ethics and Information Technology 6(3): 175–​83. Midgley, M. (2007 [1979]). Beast and Man (London: Routledge).

258   Christopher Coker Moreno, J. (2006). Mind Wars: Brain Science in the Military in the 21st Century (New York: Bellevue). Rorty, R. (1999). Philosophy and Social Hope (London: Penguin). Sparrow, R. (2007). Killer Robots. Journal of Applied Philosophy 24(1): 62–​77. Statman, D. (2014). Drones, Robots and the Ethics of War. Ethics and Armed Forces 1: 41–​5. Taylor, T. (2012). Internet Thinking. In J. Brockman (ed.), Is the Internet Changing the Way You Think? (New York: Atlantic). Thucydides (1994). Peloponnesian Wars (London: Penguin). van der Linden, H. (2015). Drone Warfare and Just War Theory. In M. Cohn (ed.), Drones and Targeted Killing (Northampton, Mass.: Olive Branch Press), 169–​94. Warrick, P. (1982) The Cyber Imagination (Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press).

­c hapter 20

In ternational Re l at i ons T heory and C ybe r Securi t y Threats, Conflicts, and Ethics in an Emergent Domain Brandon Valeriano and Ryan C. Maness

Advancements in technology and the rise of networked machines have perhaps led to the most dramatic changes in social interaction and progress for society over multiple generations. These advances have had important implications for security, given that digital connectivity can be seen both as an opportunity to alter the distribution of power to achieve coercive intent and as a factor contributing to vulnerabilities in states and organizations. The importance of cyber security as an emerging issue in International Relations (IR) cannot be overstated; what can be overstated is the novelty of the domain. There is a long history of speculation on the role of digital technology in security studies. To some extent originating with Arquilla and Ronfeldt’s (1993) concept of netwar and cyber war, there has been an extensive history of theoretical and ethical examinations regarding cyber security concerns. The problem with these past examinations is that they often rely on old frameworks to examine new methods of interaction. Scholarly viewpoints on the cyber security debate tend to dominated by the popular media’s concern with the possibility of global catastrophe brought on by our reliance on technology. The focus has been on the consequences of the technology (Domingo 2015) without first understanding the domain, its coercive potential, and usage by actors. Technological improvement is continuous and ubiquitous. It impacts our lives because each new advance alters how we communicate and analyse information; it changes how we interact with the world. Change can lead to dependence, and therefore cyber conflict and cyber war have become dominating issues of concern in the realm of international relations. From the telegraph to the telephone, we become dependent on each technological advance, and this dependency creates a perception of vulnerability.

260    Brandon Valeriano and Ryan C. Maness Dependence on technology tends to drive the discourse of fear, given the complex nature of technologies. Given the connection between technology, politics, and the military in the domain, technological development remains ripe for theoretical, empirical, and critical examination. In this chapter, we will evaluate the scope of IR research on cyber security topics with a focus on frames of threat, conflict, power, and ethics. There has been progress in the field, but much remains to be done, given the domain’s general lack of theoretical coherence, dependence on frames developed for war frameworks, and general resistance to comparative evaluation.

The Gates Are Down? The central contention of many scholars in the cyber security field is that the gates are down. In an era of digital connectivity, the state is incapable of maintaining its monopoly on security. This is true: anything networked can be hacked and is vulnerable to infiltration. Yet this is no different any other form of interaction in international politics. Any leader can be killed, any organization seeking to ensure security for the vulnerable can be brought down through internal weakness, dissension, or inaction. Instead of marvelling at the novelty of the cyber domain, the focus of scholarship needs to be on what we know about the domain, how force can be leveraged in the arena, and how to foster the ethical and considered use of power. Comparative case studies are rare, given the tendency to focus on events that might be outliers, such as the Stuxnet worm (2010), the Sony Hack (2014), and Russia’s denial of service bombardment of Estonia (2007). While the atypical events in cyberspace might enlighten our understanding, explaining the everyday and typical in cyber interactions is often overlooked. The other dominant frame is that of a revolution in military affairs in which technological advances have a dramatic impact on the character and contrast of combat operations. In the cyber context, this is the undertone of Kello’s (2013) work that suggests that the future of cyber war will forever change the way states interact with each other. Lindsay (2013) and Gartzke (2013) counter this by noting that there are many constraints on international actors to fully employ their advanced cyber weaponry. Technological revolutions are never what they seem, and require appropriate integration with existing technologies to make an impact. The controversy extends the idea that technology will add to the power and capacity of small states. There are small states such as Estonia and North Korea where this may be the case, but as a collective this claim may be dubious. Estonia wields disproportionate cyber power because of its experience with being attacked in 2007, and is thus now a major centre for cyber defence for the NATO alliance. Lindsay (2013) and Valeriano and Maness (2015: 27) maintain that it is the great powers that will gain the greatest benefit from cyber technologies. Cyber weapons are not simple and cheap weapons to leverage

IRT and Cyber Security    261 (Valeriano and Maness 2015: 35); they are complicated, expensive, and difficult to utilize for offensive and defense intent. Many suggested that precision weaponry advanced a revolution and provided an offset and advantage during the Gulf War (1991); but studies since have called into the question the efficacy of precision weaponry, primarily in the context of aerial bombing (Pape 2004; Williams 2010). This suggests that rhetorical arguments on the question must give way to fact-​based examinations. There is a great need in the cyber security field to recognize that broad claims without evidence are inadequate, and that the development of theory must be based on more than vague prescriptions for the future.

Definitional Issues Unfortunately, much time and effort has been spent in the cyber security field exploring the definitions and terms used in the field. “Cyber security” refers to the threat opportunities from digital and computational technologies. Like all frames of security, the idea of perfect protection is a myth; but this is especially relevant for computational-​ based systems, which will always have weaknesses. The only way to avoid network-​ based threats is to avoid the drive to network all electronic devices. The more complex question of protection for whom is also often avoided. Most discussions implicitly suggest that the one to be protected is the state, with a focus on critical infrastructure and national industry, but what of the individual or corporation? Nye’s (2011) definition of cyberspace is useful for political analysis: the cyber domain includes the Internet of all networked computers but also intranets, cellular technologies, fiber-​optic cables, and space-​based communications. Cyberspace has a physical infrastructure layer that follows the economic laws of rival resources and political laws of sovereign justification and control. (Nye 2011: 19)

This layering of cyberspace is critical in the political discourse because it is impossible to leave the state out of the analysis. States still control a monopoly on technology and access through such programmes as the Wassenaar Agreement (limiting access to dual use technologies). Institutions also play a role, with the International Corporation for Assignment Names and Numbers (ICANN) governing domains on the internet and the United Nations convening several Group of Government Expert’s (GGE) reports on cyber security. The term “cyber power” highlights the continued political importance of computational technologies. Politics is about the distribution of influence, and cyber power is yet another strain of attempts to control leverage, access, and force in international and domestic settings. Valeriano and Maness (2015: 28) define cyber power as the ability to apply typical forms of control and domination in cyberspace. Resources dictate that

262    Brandon Valeriano and Ryan C. Maness states continue to have the upper hand in terms of leveraging cyber power (Nye 2010). States still maintain a monopoly on digital violence, and efforts by non-​state actors to leverage cyber power often fail. To date, Stuxnet is the most sophisticated cyber incident ever launched. To slow or deter Iran from developing nuclear weapons, in 2010 a joint US–​Israeli effort launched this sophisticated worm in the Iranian Natanz plant, which resulted in the permanent damage of thousands of centrifuges that were enriching uranium. While many take the case of Stuxnet to symbolize the greater vulnerability and power associated with cyber technologies, Lindsay (2013) makes the key point that cyber power is often leveraged by major states to enhance capabilities. This is typical of such states as Russia, China, and the United States, the perceived cyber heavyweights. While other actors like ISIS or Anonymous have been said to leverage cyber capabilities, their ability to demonstrate power has been limited. The term “cyber war,” as used in the discourse, is complicated and loaded. Some, like Lewis (2010), Rid (2013), and Gartzke (2013), argue that cyber war with death associated is unlikely to occur, mainly due to the strategic calculations involved. Valeriano and Maness (2014) observe empirically that cyber war with death as a focus has not occurred and seems unlikely given the general resistance to escalation dynamics (Maness and Valeriano 2016) in cyberspace. If one is going to use the term “cyber war,” it should be used correctly, as Rid (2013) points out. “War” as a term implies the use of violence and death to achieve political ends (Clausewitz 2007). War without violence and death is not a war. We prefer to use the term “cyber conflict” to describe the shape of cyber malice as used in international relations interactions. Cyber conflict is “the use of computational technologies for malevolent and destructive purposes to impact, change, or modify diplomatic or military interactions” (Valeriano and Maness 2015: 21). This definition covers any interactions between entities, including lower levels of malevolence such as disruption and espionage campaigns typical in cyber interactions, all the way to outright cyber warfare—​if it were ever to happen.

Nature of the Cyber Threat Much of the recent trend in cyber security scholarship seeks to evaluate the nature of the cyber threat. As Guitton (2013) notes, accepting the threat inflation framework can have a disastrous effect on policy development. Given that threats seem exaggerated, constructivist frameworks seem to be critical in examining perceptions of cyber threats (Nissenbaum 2005; Hansen and Nissenbaum 2009). The nature of cyber threats and the narratives associated with them are largely socially constructed, and may lead to the securitization of the internet in otherwise free societies. The work of Dunn Cavelty (2008; 2015)  and Lawson (2013) is important in that it reminds us the nature of the cyber threat is often overwhelmed by the extremes in the

IRT and Cyber Security    263 debate; nuances are more critical than the hyped perspectives typical in the discourse. Concentrated government and private action is needed to contain potential damage, but overestimating the threat will have a similar effect as overestimating the terrorism threat. Poll data continues to demonstrate that the perception of cyber threat and vulnerability remain at the forefront of public and elite opinion. In an address to Congress in February 2015, US National Intelligence Director James Clapper declared that cyber attacks are a larger national security threat than Sunni extremists, the nuclear ambitions of Iran and North Korea, and Russian and Chinese operatives trying to penetrate the national security community in the United States. Yet the data collected by Valeriano and Maness (2014) demonstrates a different perspective, observing a low rate of conflict for rival states. Only 20 of the 120 active rival dyads engage in cyber conflict; furthermore, although the number of cyber incidents have been on the rise since 2001, the impact and severity of the incidents have remained constant and at a relatively low level. Nearly three-​quarters of these incidents are not coercive in nature, being espionage or disruption in type (Valeriano, Jensen, and Maness 2016). Axelrod and Iliev (2014) show through game theory and data analysis how one can predict the optimal timing of using cyber resources against adversaries. Certain conditions give states both opportunity and motive to exploit a vulnerability of a target state’s computer system (Axelrod and Iliev 2014:  1298). Using case studies of several high-​ profile cyber incidents, the study demonstrates that states will wait until the conditions are optimal—​but also until stakes are highest—​to utilize a cyber resource. These investigations are important, but they also suggest that context matters. This perspective is that what Langø (2013) calls the environmentalist approach to cyber security, which seeks quantification and analysis in context. The cyber security environment is rich, and deserves scholarship that does not seek to promote an agenda. The overwhelming majority of cyber conflicts occur between long-​standing rivals seeking to harm each other, and exist in the context of regional disputes (Valeriano and Maness 2015). Exploitations between states such as China and Canada are rare, but they do happen. The lesson should be that examinations of the cyber threat and security landscape are hollow without a deep consideration of and accounting for the international processes. One cannot hope to understand the dynamics of the Sony Hack by North Korea without understanding the long history of rivalry and cultural conflict between the United States and North Korea.

The Nature of Cyber Conflict The idea that new technologies or ideas can be transformative is both provocative and misleading. Major advances in technology are rarely completely sufficient to bring about doctrinal change, nor are they the tipping point in altering the calculation of military effectiveness. This promise of the future often colours debates and research.

264    Brandon Valeriano and Ryan C. Maness Nowhere is this made clearer than in Kello’s (2013) piece, which asserts that current IR theories are unable to contribute in any useful way to the study of cyber conflict, and that the cyber threat remains unprecedented because it will expand the range of harm in international interactions. New theories and new ways of thinking are required, and Kello (2013: 8) asserts that the social science field is ill-​equipped to offer anything of value now. The concept of cyber blockades comes from Russell (2014), who likens certain methods of cyber conflict, primarily distributed denial of service (DDoS), to naval blockades, where the victim state can be economically strangled by its attacker. For example, the 2007 series of defacement and DDoS incidents launched on Estonia from Russia interrupted the daily economic life for many ordinary citizens. This attack was launched because the Estonian government removed a Soviet-​era grave-​marker; many Russians saw this as an insult, and Russia retaliated with what has been dubbed the first “cyber war.” Yet this “cyber blockade” was chosen by the defender to protect systems. The Estonians did not capitulate to Russian demands, and the attack was a brief interlude in relations. Gartzke’s (2013) article about cyber threats and the balance between offence and defense is important in this context. The distinction between what is possible versus what is probable is often missed. Given rational calculations, there is little chance that a state will launch a massive cyber operation even against an enemy due to the limitations of the weapon and the consequences for action. This is where theory and IR scholarship can have an impact on cyber security research; use of the rational choice and bargaining framework (Gartzke 2013) can temper many of the more bombastic cyber predictions. Likewise, Choucri’s (2012) work on international cyber politics utilizes lateral pressure theory to predict how different states with different social, political, and economic traits will behave in the digital realm, suggesting that cyber action is much more complex than the simple ability to launch an attack.

Deterrence and Restraint in Cyberspace Instead of suggesting that a revolution in military affairs has occurred, Maness and Valeriano (2015) argue that the domain is dominated by restraint rather than by methods of exploitation and escalation. New technologies require new tactics to be developed, but also require support from older methods to achieve victory or exploit weaknesses. A state can steal petabytes of data, yet without the ability to analyse such data this exploit is near-​useless (Lindsay 2015: 24). Given the limited nature of training and coordination in major Western states, it is little surprise to find that cyber tactics have been rarely used and are ineffective beyond disruption and information-seeking efforts (Valeriano et al. 2016). Just what is restraint? Restraint means much more than deterrence. Deterrence has certain limitations that have been shown to be problematic in cyberspace (Libicki 2009). The problems of information, credibility, and variance of the level of cyber actions make

IRT and Cyber Security    265 it impossible to articulate a system of responses as assured and rigid as deterrence systems built during the Cold War. The connection between cyber security contexts and physical capabilities are said to make deterrence much easier than previously thought (Goodman 2010); yet this frame assumes that conventional deterrence is possible, when many examinations in the past have raised important problems with the theory (George and Smoke 1974; Vasquez 1991). Restraint is a process of self-​containment and straitjacketing that limits the option of response because of consequences of action, not costs as elucidated in deterrence. The flexibility and curve in costs makes defence possible, and the idea that offence is easy when compared to defence depends on the unit under examination. The US government has “made clear that we respond to cyber attacks in the time, manner and place of our choosing.” This is the language of restraint, not deterrence. Deterrence means assured response such that the attacker figures the costs of an attack are too high. In cyber security, there will likely be a response, but it is no means assured, timely, nor in the domain of the operation in the first place. It is nebulous, flexible, and considered given the implications of civilian harm in cyberspace. That cyber-​capable states like the United States and Russia have refrained from engaging in offensive cyber operations in major conflicts such as in Ukraine, Libya, Syria, Iraq, and Afghanistan is telling (Maness and Valeriano 2015; Geers 2015). Too much focus has been directed to cyber power, as opposed to the more typical option of choosing not to act because of humanitarian issues, legal concerns, the nature of the weapon, and the possibility that it might not be effective in achieving coercive intent.

The Nature of Cyber Power and Force A great amount of scholarship in cyber security is focused on what might be considered realist theories or their variants, with the concern for power and balance dominating. The question of deterrence is ubiquitous in the domain. The focus generally is on mass destruction and events generally associated with total war—​a problematic frame given the general lack of outright violence on the cyber domain (Rid 2011). Although the possibility of death and destruction through cyber events exist, new and novel perspectives are needed to evaluate lower-​intensity forms of conflict. Evaluating the nature of cyber power is a key concern, but this is a tricky proposition, since defensive vulnerability is highly correlated with advanced industrialized societies. States like North Korea and China rank high on defensive capabilities given the closed-​off nature of their connections. While the United States is the most powerful cyber state for offensive capabilities, it is also paradoxically the weakest state on the defensive side (Valeriano and Maness 2015: 25). Clarke and Knake (2010: 148) were the first to try to systematically rank cyber power, with North Korea scoring high and the

266    Brandon Valeriano and Ryan C. Maness United States scoring low. Russia, China, and Iran are ranked between these extremes in terms of cyber strength. Valeriano and Maness (2015: 25) standardize and extend this effort with modifications that consider how different sectors are protected, how much states engage with others in cyber conflict, and the ratio of connectivity to successful breaches. This leads us to considerations of the balance of cyber power. Because estimating the nature of cyber power is difficult given the general secrecy in the domain, it is difficult to measure the balance of power, and therefore it is near-​impossible to judge whether there is a stable balance of power. The idea that offence dominates in cyberspace is explicit or implicit in many cyber security research articles. Offence is said to be easy and defence difficult, since exploits are easy to buy on the black market, and when they are connected, avenues of attack manifest. In addition, basic cyber hygiene is almost nonexistent in major industrial targets. This still does not mean that offence dominates, and we prefer to leave this question to empirical evaluation. Some states seem to have mastered defence. Israel is attacked and probed millions of times a day and repels all basic attacks. The United States is likewise probed exhaustively. The violations that do occur tend to come through third-​party vendors or contractors. Lindsay and Gartzke (2015) argue instead that deception may have the advantage in cyberspace. With tactics such as honeypots and traps possible, attackers can be easily tricked. On the other hand, the issue of data integrity is a key future concern, given the possibly that data can be deleted or altered. This idea shifts our conception of power in a new direction, beyond the simple balance between offence and defence, and suggests that these issues are much more complicated in cyber security interactions. Theorizing about the nature of cyber power is therefore in its infancy. Many assumptions are made about the nature of offence and defence, with little connection to the observed. Nye (2010: 5) notes that because the internet was “designed for ease of use rather than security, the offense currently has the advantage over the defense.” Yet as cyber conflict continues to proliferate, this may not always be the case. What does seem probable is the rise of proxy actors in cyberspace. As in the arena of terrorism, state actors can use proxy actors to conduct operations and achieve strategic goals (Conrad 2011; Maoz and San-​Acka 2012). This is where the attribution and responsibility problem in cyberspace comes to the forefront. Our ability to achieve attribution has been greatly enhanced in recent years (Rid and Buchanan 2014), but deniability can be achieved if proxy actors are used to conduct operations. The nebulous and disjointed nature of cyber control does pose problems and possibilities. Many major states like Brazil and those in the European Union focus on strength through resilience rather than through offensive capabilities. Violations in cyberspace will always occur; yet the most common vulnerability in all frames of security is often the human actor, and this necessitates a return to the individual level of analysis and considerations of everyday harm in cyberspace. The fear reaction we have built up in this domain dominates (Gross et al. 2015), but it is not clear if this perception should stand out, given the remarkable amount of stability in the system.

IRT and Cyber Security    267 Moving beyond frameworks of power, fear, and threat might be opportune at this moment in scholarship. There is a great need to evaluate the nature of cyber espionage (Gartzke 2013; Valeriano and Maness 2015: 4), given that cyber conflict more often than not involves information warfare and disruption, rather than coercion. This then connects cyber security scholarship with the discourses on privacy and surveillance—​a needed turn in the field (Rid and Moore 2016).

Cyber Institutions and Governance What tends to be missed quite often in cyber discourse is the perspective of what might be called liberal theories or institutions. Clear theoretical accounts of the development of institutions that govern cyber interactions are sparse and the field would greatly benefit from regime theory (Choucri et al. 2013). A multi-​stakeholder model, where state-​based actors work with corporations and individuals to develop functional models of international governance, does exist, with ICANN being an example (de la Chapelle 2007). Indeed, the interaction between public and private is the key nexus of cyber security relationships in many industrialized economies such as the United States and the United Kingdom. Public–​private cooperation to ensure protection of critical infrastructure goes back to the Marsh Commission in 1997. Yet this relationship is complicated, with the state (the public) having difficulty justifying its role, given concerns about privacy and general misgivings about sharing too much with government. True multi-​level stakeholder methods of governance and representation are needed, especially when many instances of cyber repression, where the state takes actions against individuals, demonstrate the limitations of cooperation between private and public sectors. The promise of the internet as a forum for the development of civil society and democracy promotion has not been achieved, and this might be due to the residual power controls implemented by major powers. Indeed, any model of global governance of the internet must contend with the fact that states are necessary actors in the domain (Cornish 2015). There is a possibly that the nature of sovereignty (Wendt and Duvall 2008)  may change with the introduction of new ideas and concepts. Yet the reality is that the rise of the global internet has not developed into a new global common (Cornish 2015), but instead has prompted extensions of government responsibility and control (Tikk 2011; Demchak and Dombrowski 2011). Maness and Valeriano (2015) begin to articulate what might start to amount to a liberal preference theory (Moravcsik 1997) in cyber interactions in their examination of the impact of cyber conflict and cooperation at the dyadic level. They find that when a state tries to utilize DDoS attacks or change the behaviour of the enemy, the level of conflict between two states increases. All other attacks, such as intelligence operations or disruption tactics, have a varied and unsystematic impact on relationships. Some states,

268    Brandon Valeriano and Ryan C. Maness like China and the United States, seem to cooperate more after an attack; this is probably because the issues at stake in cyber actions are of such low salience that they do not provoke antagonistic reactions. This would suggest some fundamental ordering of preferences surrounding cyber actions: only certain actions, such as those that are remarkably public or seek to force someone to change behaviour, are detrimental to relationships.

The Legalist/​Moralist Debate The call for norms of action in cyber security is strong: just about every major statement on cyber security by state leadership tends to invoke a call for shared norms of behaviour. For example, in September of 2015, when Chinese President Xi Jingping was making his state visit to the United States, President Obama remarked, “We’ll work together, and with other nations, to promote international rules of the road for appropriate conduct in cyberspace.” As the major cyber powers, the United States, China, and Russia, are beginning to formalize agreements on their respective behaviours in cyberspace, empirical analysis (Valeriano and Maness 2015: ch. 4) suggests that informal modes of restrained behaviour have already been employed for at least the last fifteen years. The transition that needs to happen now is to shift these normative outcomes into institutionalized outcomes. What can be achieved now is the continued encouragement of restrained behaviour by establishing and encouraging a system of justice and proportionality, to mitigate escalation between international actors for the foreseeable future. The Just War tradition may be the optimal existing framework for this new and growing domain, given considerations for harm of innocents (almost assured in the cyber domain, where there is no separation between the military and public) and proportionality (Cook 2010; Valeriano and Maness 2015; see Chapter 16). Adding in moral considerations (Fixdal and Smith 1998) is important, given that the possibility for civilian harm is pivotal in cyber security. Legal frameworks are often problematic (Goldstone 1998; Spinello 2010; Dipert 2010:  395) and permissive (Eberle 2012). While international legal frameworks can apply to cyberspace (Schmitt 2013), just how different frameworks apply is the subject of much debate. Many reports and investigators seek either to justify offensive behaviour or to explore the novelty of the domain. The Tallinn Manual released in 2013 (Schmitt 2013) was a promising attempt to forge agreement, but differences of opinion remain between state representatives and even between the various authors. To prevent tragedy (Brown 2007), Valeriano and Maness (2015) propose a system of justice for the use of cyber technologies where states are incentivized to maintain continued restraint. A system of cyber justice can be based on the idea of the Just War tradition, where cyber response is managed and proportional, and where civilian harm is off-​limits (O’Driscoll 2008). These practices need continued reinforcement in international forums such as the UN. The goal is to encourage positive cyber practices as a matter of policy.

IRT and Cyber Security    269

Conclusion While the field of cyber security is not new, the intellectual maturity of the perspective is developing. Much of the work to be done in the future requires greater consideration of methods, empirics, and evidence, as well as critical epistemological approaches that would challenge the nature of the institutional arrangements concerning cyber questions. The ethical limitations of cyber actions seem clear, given the potential harm to both civilians and observers. What is needed is greater care in demonstrating the strategic limitations and positive possibilities of cyber actions. There is much the field can learn from the perspectives of IR theory and ethics. Emerging policy areas need not be filled with reactionary perspectives. Preferring the “island of theory” approach advocated by Guetzkow (1950), no one scholar can attempt to tackle the great majority of cyber security questions. Instead, questions need to be parcelled out and investigated by teams combining skills and abilities. Collaboration and careful relationship-​building is needed to achieve progress in this critical domain. The cyber domain will be an arena continually in need of reset and monitoring, given its importance. International institutions can be a path of stability, as would be controls instituted by hierarchical actors such as the United States, China, Brazil, and the EU. Our evaluation of legal means of control is less hopeful, given the instability of the legal domain and the tendency for legal practices to seek to justify potential offensive actions rather than seeking to limit harms. Given the need to limit harms and violations, ethical perspectives are critical in the cyber domain. The Just War perspective gives us some method of guidance proposing that actions that seek to harm civilians and are not proportional to the violation should be condemned (see Chapter 17). This is the crux of the cyber security debate; there is no separation between civilian space and military targets in cyberspace. Pure military targets are myth: even Stuxnet, an operation directed at a facility in the middle of a desert, was repurposed by non-​originating actors. Due to the importance of the cyber domain to research, education, business, and social interactions, actions in the domain bring great risks but also great possibilities. Anything depended on brings vulnerability, yet vulnerability will not lead to harm in all cases. It can be the path to mutually assured stability, given the importance of digital connectivity. Our cyber futures might not be filled with conflict and violence; as the line between stability and chaos is always in danger of being exploited in cyberspace, the observation that cooperation dominates, despite examples to the contrary, should be reassuring to some extent.

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­c hapter 21

The Ethics and “ Re a l i sm” of Nonviolen t  Ac t i on Mary Elizabeth King

Forms of protest and political pressure now classified as nonviolent action—​for example boycotts, civil disobedience, fasting, public processions, rent refusal, strikes, and vigils—​have been documented in numerous historical periods and varying cultural and social contexts. A recurring, arguably universal phenomenon, nonviolent struggle has occurred under all forms of social and political systems. No type of regime or government is invulnerable to the challenges of what is increasingly called civil resistance. As an active method or technique used by civilians for achieving social and political change, while intentionally abstaining from direct physical force, military tactics, or the threat of violence, it can hold potential for benefiting both parties to a conflict, because it does not achieve its goals by wounding or harming the adversary, except in a political sense. Nonviolent struggles sometimes alter the relationships involved in the underlying dispute; transformation of a conflict is one possible outcome, especially as actual resolution of conflicts is rare and elusive. Contemporary nonviolent campaigns have better odds for transforming authoritarian domination than in the past, partly because of increasing diffusion of power centres in society and the ability of mass media to bring global attention to localized campaigns. These often occur in asymmetrical conflicts, where the power balance is lopsided (see Chapter 18). Although nonviolent action has been associated with pacifism, and pacifists have long used the technique, pacifism is not a prerequisite. It has also been used effectively by adherents of nonviolent philosophies and principles. It can best be understood as a means of collective action used by people who are struggling for rights, seeking justice or an end to oppression, or a change in government, and who adopt nonviolent resistance as an effective strategy. Their choice is either because remaining nonviolent will have the most persuasive force and can mobilize a wide range of resisters, or because resort to armed violence is perceived as dangerous against a heavily armed opponent. As nonviolent action lacks inherent political ideology, individuals may view themselves as

274   Mary Elizabeth King realists, take stands based on philosophical idealism, or be motivated by personal ethics, faiths, or beliefs, but equally are acting from pragmatism. Nonviolent resistance functions outside prevailing institutionalized processes of politics, its campaigns tending to materialize when established political bodies have thwarted or refused to redress injustice, infringements, or denial of rights. This is especially true in a democratic or semi-​democratic context. In other instances, resisters may be seeking support within parliaments or sections of government. Civil disobedience may carry protest or refusal to obey into the law courts. The technique is also studied under contentious politics, which includes a continuum of action from violent to nonviolent. Some predominantly nonviolent movements involve borderline use of physical force, for example in occupying buildings. In large movements, nonviolent discipline can be difficult to maintain over time. Significant use of force can undermine the resistance strategy. Today’s campaigns challenge a widespread view of structural or state-​centred agency in determining political change, partly in their recognition of the function of autonomous human agency. Yet nonviolent struggles can fail, as in Burma (1988) and China (1989), leading to massive crackdowns in both countries. Although often ignored or underrated in political theory and international relations, civil resistance is centrally concerned with the origins of power.

Concept of Civil Resistance Leo Tolstoy’s perception of a link between an ethical stance of nonviolence and the technique of nonviolent action was exceptional at the time. In quoting Éstienne de la Boétie, who hypothesized in 1552 that any form of rule, no matter how tyrannical, is dependent on popular consent and could be withdrawn (Boétie 1552), Tolstoy influenced Gandhi’s comprehension of noncooperation, which is central to the theory and practice of civil resistance. Dismayed by the term “passive resistance” favoured by English speakers, Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi in 1906 in South Africa devised satyagraha, denoting a relentless search for Truth and implying the end or aim, roughly meaning “nonviolent resistance.” Most terminology in the English-​speaking world was coined by Gandhi—​including “civil resistance,” “nonviolence” (used by scholars concerning beliefs rather than action), “nonviolent conflict,” “nonviolent sanctions,” and “nonviolent transformation of conflict.” Gandhi also systematized an alternative to armed insurrections in South Africa (1896–​1914), partly by studying newspapers from Bengal, China, England, Ireland, and Africa. Citing the 1905 Russian Revolution to fellow Indians to show that not even the czar could force people to work if they refused to cooperate, he directly challenged presuppositions about the origins of state power. In 1905 he writes, “even the most powerful cannot rule without the co-​operation of the ruled” (Gandhi 1905: 8). He thus

Ethics and “Realism” of Nonviolent Action    275 differentiated a grasp of power and consent theory that has become central for successor movements worldwide. At Gandhi’s behest, in 1920 the Indian National Congress party adopted noncooperation as its policy for realizing independence. He sought unity on a noncooperation programme: “I admit at once that there is ‘a doubtful proportion of full believers’ in my ‘theory of non-​violence’ [ . . . ] [F]‌or my movement I do not at all need believers in the theory of non-​violence, full or imperfect. It is enough if people carry out the rules of non-​violent action” (Gandhi 1957 [1944]: 138). While profoundly believing in the necessity for human beings to avoid violence in managing what he regarded as an unavoidable human condition of conflict, he believed cowardice to be more abominable than violence—​if the only action an individual could take against injustice was violent. This was because the basic choice for Gandhi was action versus inaction, for the reason that failure to act is unlikely to bring change (Mary King 2015: 247). Stressing appeals to the targeted group and seeking results through “conversion” (in hopes that the adversary would accept the nonviolent protagonists’ viewpoint), Gandhi’s voluminous works reveal both contradictions and his pondering of compelling justice through the pressure of public opinion. His national all-​India civil disobedience movements in 1920–​2, 1930–​4 (excepting portions of 1931), and in 1940–​2 involved tangible disruption and obstruction. Of the weaknesses in Gandhi’s standpoint, the most misguided was his belief that if satyagraha failed it was because its practitioners had been insufficiently disciplined, even when social realities had prevailed. His notion that the self-​suffering of the nonviolent challengers would “melt even the stoniest heart” is a dangerous tenet (Mary King 2015: 297). Conversion is rarely achieved. Disproportionate emphasis on it could result in accepting appalling circumstances because the opponent has not yet been converted. Martin Luther King, Jr cannot be comprehended apart from his intellectual journey in studying Gandhian civil resistance. Moreover, the movements in the southern United States between the 1955–​6 Montgomery bus boycott and passage of the 1965 Voting Rights Act manifested Gandhi’s theories on nonviolent discipline, moral legitimacy, openness with authorities, pursuit of consequential social justice, and self-​reliance. Sudarshan Kapur shows how four decades of 12,000-​mile voyages undertaken to India (1919–​55) by African American leaders, some of whom met with Gandhi, generated transactional sharing of knowledge (Kapur 1992). Avidly covered in black-​owned US newspapers, these interactions are characteristic of a pattern in which movements learn from other mobilizations. Upon their return, the travellers brought to black-​led and other institutions selected Gandhian theories that held promise. King would not travel to India until 1959, but with the start of the Montgomery boycott he became the individual most responsible for interpreting the Gandhian repertoire and persuading black Americans of its efficacy, which was not a foregone conclusion. Lessons were imparted in nocturnal mass meetings in black churches, which also deliberated strategy and prepared for reprisals. King shows ethical-​cum-​strategic comprehension, as did Gandhi. His authority in interpreting “foreign” material for the biblical ethos of Southern black communities derived from the cultural and faith reserves that

276   Mary Elizabeth King for three centuries had resided in black churches, beyond white control. Interpreting Gandhi’s ideas into New Testament language familiar to his audience (and a wider American public), he made remote concepts fit accustomed values. King’s study of Gandhi included a 1939 book War without Violence—​among the few direct sources available to interpret the Indian struggles for Western readers—​ that passed by hand among African American leaders. It was written by Krishnalal Shridharani, a Brahmin who walked with Gandhi on the 1930 Salt March, and later completed doctoral studies at Columbia University. King often adopted its phraseology verbatim, as in “The means should be the end in process and the ideal in the making” (Shridharani 1962: 281). Shridharani was among a number of Indians who lectured in the United States, bringing Gandhian theories directly into the consciousness of some black communities. King differs from Gandhi in his primary (though by no means sole) focus on using nonviolent methods to change a repressive colonial system, whereas King sought recognition of constitutionally guaranteed rights for African Americans, including federal intervention against vigilantes and terror groups. Thus King importantly contributes to the strand of political theory that justifies coercive nonviolent action and civil disobedience within a democracy, in the tradition from Thoreau to Rawls. King in 1958 credits Gandhi with reconciling his ministry with political action. “[I]‌n theological school I thought the only way we could solve our problem of segregation was an armed revolt [ . . . ] Then I read [Gandhi, who] lifts love from individual relationships to the place of social transformation” (King, in Mary King 2002: 211). Historically, King can be criticized for his inability to translate approaches from the South to northern cities, to address entrenched economic injustices. Gene Sharp is the progenitor of nonviolent strategic action, sometimes considered a sub-​field. His 1973 three-​volume The Politics of Nonviolent Action (called the Politics, or the Trilogy) is the most important theoretical analysis since Gandhi. His extensive historical analysis and immersion in orthodox political and sociological theory establishes power as the basis of nonviolent resistance and a means of engagement in conflicts. The Politics signified a leap in the spread of knowledge on nonviolent struggle, which achieves its political objectives by altering power configurations among groups or persons. Sharp’s arrangement of 198 nonviolent methods into three fundamental categories—​protest and persuasion, noncooperation, and nonviolent intervention—​ meant, because new methods continually develop, a virtually inexhaustible repertoire of actions became accessible to exert specific forms of power, applying ascending pressure. Persuaded that nonviolent action demands shrewder strategy and tactics than military engagement, Sharp’s analysis of dynamics of struggle and ways to weaken the bulwarks upholding an opponent’s powers builds upon mechanisms of change analysed by theoretician-​practitioner George Lakey (Lakey 1968). Accepting the scarcity of the first mechanism, conversion, Sharp identifies the second, accommodation, as most commonly experienced, occurring with nearly all labour strikes. In the third mechanism, nonviolent coercion, with increasing compression from arranged methods and large numbers of resisters permeating the social and political order, the adversary may

Ethics and “Realism” of Nonviolent Action    277 remain in position but no longer control the situation—​unless the challengers agree. Little happens without the resisters’ approval. When political defiance prompts collapse of a governing power, with no one left to surrender, the resulting mechanism is nonviolent disintegration, as in 2000 in Serbia, when Otpor! (Resistance!) left Slobodan Milošević with merely enough power to resign (Sharp 2005: 45–​7). Though definitively contrasting Gandhi and Sharp would be misleading, two genealogies may be nonetheless discerned. Sharp began with intensive study of Gandhi, and is strongly committed to nonviolent action despite overwhelmingly pragmatic emphases, especially in later works. A  principled/​pragmatic dichotomy would be overly reductionist, yet to a degree has some validity because, unlike Gandhi and King, Sharp does not base himself ultimately on religious principles. Differentiation between activist and scholarly descents has some authenticity, albeit veering toward over-​simplification, because Sharp advocates civil resistance in specific contexts and consultations with leaders. Having set out to provide a systematic and academically sound theory, grounded in history, and related to Western sociological and political theory, and although later scholars of nonviolent struggle continue to depend on Gandhi, in academic studies Sharp has become the main starting point. Sharp’s six decades of scholarship illuminate the possibility that civil resistance might over time substantially replace deadly conflict, if organized for specific purposes and practised with study, preparation, and strategic analysis. Weighing civil resistance as an alternative to armed force, while maintaining the validity of policing and defence, Adam Roberts acknowledges “progressive substitution” as an option and identifies Sharp as having done most to develop this tradition of political thought into comprehensible theory, “giving it a high degree of credibility, because he combined it with an analysis of political power, including that of dictatorial and totalitarian regimes” (Roberts 2009: 9). Sharp’s most significant contribution to international political theory may thus be his illumination of nonviolent sanctions as having potential for incrementally substituting for violent struggle.

Power Politics and Nonviolent Struggle While sufficiently efficient repression can crush a campaign, portions of the military and security services have also defected and changed sides, as happened in Iran in December 1978. During the last phase of the Iranian Revolution, the clamour for the Shah to go was such that members of the military sympathized with the nonviolent demonstrators, refused orders, fired on officers, and deserted (Abrahamian 2009: 173–​5). The 1987 Palestinian intifada produced the 1991 Madrid international peace talks, where for the first time since the 1948 war Israeli and Palestinian negotiators convened, although they failed to secure a recognized homeland for the Palestinians.

278   Mary Elizabeth King Credible assessment of civil resistance needs to evaluate the role of other elements of power, including legitimate functions of armed force in human society, recognizing the variability of interactions between traditional forms of power and that of nonviolent movements. While not equivalent to or an alternative for the armed forces, it is important to recognize intricate relationships between power politics and nonviolent struggle. Political realism identifies international relations with power politics, proposing that states are self-​interested and (by some interpretations) aggressive in taking action, regulating perhaps all state action, and where the end need not be congruent with the means (see Chapter 48). Theoreticians of civil resistance generally argue that the means tend to determine the end result achieved—​hence the importance of maintaining nonviolent discipline. In Eastern Europe and the Baltic states during the 1980s and 1990s, arguments for fighting without violence were made on both ethical and practical grounds, as revealed in immense outpourings of forbidden samizdat (Russian for “self-​ published,” as opposed to state-​published). Often typed on onion-​skin paper onto ten carbon copies, samizdat circulated the ideas that led to the national nonviolent revolutions of the former Eastern bloc. Academicians, authors, artists, clergy, journalists, scientists, and scholar organizers brought a civil society into being in their imaginations and writings. With coldly pragmatic reasoning, they viewed any violence as giving pretexts for suppression by the Soviet-​backed communist party states. As disclosed in samizdat, untold committees and popular fronts wanted to use ethical means in order to stand in contrast to the ruthlessness and duplicity of the systems under which they had survived (Mary King 2009). Writing in 1978, playwright turned Czech President Václav Havel alludes to a paradox: the dissident movements of the Soviet bloc “do not shy away from the idea of violent political overthrow because the idea seems too radical, but on the contrary, because it does not seem radical enough” (Havel 1989: 93). With communist party states ready to employ armed force to preserve stability, Eastern Europeans sought a practical way to avoid what happened in leaps toward freedom that were crushed in East Germany (1953), Hungary (1956), and Prague (1968). In 1977, Charter 77 appeared, openly signed by 243 citizens, including its progenitor, Havel, calling for the Czechoslovakian regime to honour all international agreements, including the Helsinki Accords, that it (and the Soviet Union) had agreed to uphold in 1975. The theory underlying Havel’s “living in Truth” speaks to those who regard themselves as powerless under totalitarianism, asserting that they possess a form of power and can act upon it. Rather than living within a lie—​mutely functioning while surrounded by corruption, injustice, and official falsehoods, and reinforcing unjust structures through their silence—​they can refuse to cooperate with oppressive systems and speak Truth. His theory became the leitmotif for what would be called the Velvet Revolution and for other nonviolent revolutions in the Eastern bloc, as civil resistance became a definable factor in ending communist rule in a number of countries in 1989–​91 and thus the Cold War. Anti-​utopian stances of political realism have elements compatible with civil resistance, including concern for possibilities of regression. Rather than favouring utopian

Ethics and “Realism” of Nonviolent Action    279 thinking, nonviolent theoreticians tend to assume that political conflict cannot be eradicated. Gandhi perceived solutions as likely to last until they unravelled again. King’s own purchase on “realism” led him in 1966 to say that “for practical as well as moral reasons, nonviolence offers the only road to freedom for my people. Anyone leading a violent conflict must be willing to make a similar assessment regarding the possible casualties to a minority population confronting a well-​armed, wealthy majority with a fanatical right wing that is capable of exterminating the entire black population” (King 1986: 55). A major contemporary political theoretician swaying analysts of civil resistance is Hannah Arendt, whose discriminations of power, authority, and violence are influential. She views power not as command and obedience, where the few coerce the many, but occurring when people willingly come together to take action on common purposes. Challenging a conception of power as domination, enacted with violence as its strongest force and the arbiter of politics, she views power as the capacity to act with cooperation (see Chapter 15). “Force” should thus be reserved to speak of the energies exerted by social movements. Authority, like legitimacy, manifests itself in obedience without persuasion or compulsion. With violence characterized by use of instruments, violence and power cannot be equated: “Power and violence are opposites; where one rules absolutely, the other is absent. [. . . it] is incorrect to think of the opposite of violence as nonviolence, and to speak of nonviolent power is actually redundant. Violence can destroy power; it is incapable of creating it” (Arendt 1969: 56). She points to Denmark’s noncooperation with the Nazis, resulting in the October 1943 night-​time ferrying of most of the nation’s Jews to Sweden, as representing “the enormous power potential inherent in nonviolent action and in resistance to an opponent possessing vastly superior means of violence” (Arendt 1994: 171). Some nonviolent protagonists have been invigorated in their political thinking by thirty-​three prison notebooks, penned by the twentieth-​century Italian Marxist Antonio Gramsci. Written during eleven years spent in Mussolini’s fascist prisons, the notebooks are open to debatable interpretations from ambiguities meant to elude censors. Gramsci’s appeal lies in his suggestions that consent mainly pertains to civil society, which he views both as an arena where ideological hegemony would consolidate in the interests of the ruling classes and, importantly, where oppositional intellectuals and social groups could articulate new ideas and develop organizational forms including popular democratic struggles. Gramsci’s concept of egemonia (hegemony) sees intellectual and moral leadership as exercised mainly in civil society. After Israel’s 1967 military occupation of the remaining lands allocated for the Palestinians by the UN, Palestinian activist intellectuals who questioned the persisting confidence in armed struggle found Gramsci’s analyses potentiating. Contributing to the 1987 intifada, they absorbed his view that rather than seizing power with violence, power should be built through organizing independent groups in civil society, which can then leverage empowerment into office (Mary King 2007: 103). Gramsci defines intellectuals as those whose purpose is to “organize, administer, educate, or lead others” (Gramsci 2000: 340), evoking the skilled, disciplined organizer scholars who populate contemporary nonviolent struggles.

280   Mary Elizabeth King Indeed, civil society is usually the domain from which civil resistance emerges—​where dispersed, self-​governing, freestanding centres of power can build networks that also help to withstand reprisals.

Civil Resistance under Ruthless Antagonists Skeptics ask whether civil resistance can achieve designated goals when facing utterly brutal opponents. Yet disciplined resisters using nonviolent methods in the face of retaliations can create an asymmetrical conflict situation that may benefit them, the “paradox of repression,” sometimes leading to greater mobilization. On rare occasions nonviolent protagonists can delegitimize adversaries who have responded with harsh reprisals, through dynamics called “political jiu-​jitsu” and “backfire.” In the first instance, as nonviolent challengers reject reciprocation of their adversary’s violence, within the opponents’ ranks the sight of unarmed people refusing to respond to aggression can cause security troops to refuse to obey orders, or to defect towards the nonviolent group (Sharp 2005: 47; Mary King 2002: xv–​xvii). In the second dynamic, backfire, events perceived to be unjust can generate public outrage against those seen as responsible (Hess and Martin 2006: 249–​67). Civil resistance can be harder to quell than guerrilla warfare. Captain Sir Basil Liddell Hart interrogated German generals after the Second World War, seeking their evidence on different types of resistance they had encountered in Nazi-​occupied countries. They confirmed that “violent forms of resistance had not been very effective and troublesome to them,” while nonviolent resistance as practised in Denmark, Holland, and Norway, and to a lesser extent France and Belgium, showed effectiveness. “Other forms of resistance baffled them—​and all the more in proportion as the methods were subtle and concealed.” Liddell Hart notes: “It was a relief to them when resistance became violent, and when nonviolent forms were mixed with guerrilla action, thus making it easier to combine drastic suppressive action against both at the same time” (1968: 205). Resistance of some kind is almost always possible, even under highly repressive regimes, although it may need concealment, for example as with samizdat, memorializing “calendar events,” changing street names, destroying road signs, and symbolically laying wreaths. Writing about the Latin American military regimes of Argentina, Brazil, Chile, and Uruguay that spread collective fear and systematically used state terror to dismantle civil institutions in the 1970s and 1980s, Manuel Antonio Garretón distinguishes between the phases of military bellicosity, when resisters concentrate on physical survival and perhaps make links to international figures and institutions, and later stages, when greater organization, marshalling of resources, and mobilizing against terror and disappearances are possible (Garretón 1992: 13–​23). After decades of killings by guerrillas and paramilitaries in Colombia’s counterinsurgency war, during the 1970s–​90s

Ethics and “Realism” of Nonviolent Action    281 dozens of autonomous self-​governing peace communities were run by peasant civilians. Using noncooperation and disruption against state and non-​state repressive actors, they blockaded paramilitaries from advancing (Masullo Jiménez 2015). Can nonviolent strategies counter violent extremism and be effective against warlordism or fanatical Islamic revivalist foes? Possibly the highest risk from violent retaliation against such perpetrators of horrific acts is that any resort to large-​scale violence in the public space marginalizes a potential role for civilian populations that have a capability for civilian defence, and upon whom both tyrants and occupiers ultimately rely for their own sustenance and legitimacy. Although any proposed strategies could be criticized as ineffectual, the alternative—​armed military campaigns—​has according to Maciej Bartkowski fared worse historically than its nonviolent counterpart in the record of dislodging cruel regimes and reducing the costs endured by populations, or in building (and rebuilding) political and socioeconomic environments after brute conflicts have ended. Bartkowski’s suggestions for strategies against guerrillas include transnational assistance, but generally can be enacted by local people. Containment allows fanatical leaders to rule, eventually revealing lost legitimacy in the eyes of inhabitants. Grassroots noncooperation with hidden or unseen acts of both subtle and overt disobedience can produce slowdowns, inefficiencies, and underground solidarity networks. Permanent protest migration can be effected by residents who do not wish to join extremists or an armed opposition, but also do not intend to remain in situ accepting exploitation (Bartkowski 2016).

Ends and Means: Does Civil Resistance Promote Democratic Outcomes? Movements of nonviolent resistance have been historically generative in the creation, extension, and defence of democracy, since the late eighteenth century playing a key role in the progress from monarchy to democracy in the West. Once democratic forms of government have been established, methods such as civil disobedience, draft or tax resistance, mass rallies, and strikes have continuing roles in opposing domestic injustice and unjust wars. Such actions can be condemned as posing potential threats to democratically elected governments, yet Michael Randle argues, in examining connections between popular empowerment and democratic values, “that does not mean it has no place at all in a democratic state”; it depends on the type of civil disobedience and “the circumstances in which it is being used” (Randle 1994: 181). Another context in which nonviolent sanctions promote democracy is in semi-​authoritarian regimes that allow some degree of opposition and hold regular elections, even while using intimidation and fraud to ensure that no challenger wins. Since 1986, when such tactics were used in the Philippines, coining the term “people power” and resulting in the subsequent ousting of Marcos, “electoral revolutions” have increased, including in former Soviet states.

282   Mary Elizabeth King April Carter argues that “the focus on demanding a fair electoral process and respect for constitutional norms, as well as on replacing authoritarian governments by opposition parties, is more congruent with nonviolent than violent methods of popular resistance” (Carter 2012: 176). The most dramatic way in which mass nonviolent action has been used to introduce democracy is through the collapsing of dictatorships, military regimes, or repressive one-​party states, as happened in many nation-​states in Latin America and Asia during the 1970s–​80s, and in the eastern European and Baltic states in 1989–​91. These “velvet revolutions,” adopting the term noted with Havel, were almost entirely nonviolent (the exception being Romania), and resulted in new democratic constitutions and multiparty democracies. Quantitative research by Erica Chenoweth and Maria Stephan shows nonviolent campaigns succeeding more than twice as often as armed struggles when seeking to remove presiding national leaders or achieve territorial independence, even in repressive non-​ democracies. In studying 323 nonviolent and violent movements between 1900 and 2006, they found that nonviolent campaigns succeeded 53 per cent of the time versus 26 per cent for violent insurrections. They conclude that “moral, physical, informational and commitment barriers to participation are much lower for nonviolent resistance than for violent insurgency,” mainly attributable to movements’ abilities to recruit significantly larger numbers of participants than armed insurrections, with nonviolent campaigns on average four times larger than violent struggles or guerrilla warfare—​and hence more instrumental in modifying power within an adversary regime. Although they found that state repression and structural factors can reduce a civil resistance campaign’s prospects for success by nearly 35 per cent, they discerned no structural conditions determinative of movement outcomes. They showed that countries experiencing popular nonviolent struggles are more likely to emerge from acute conflicts as democratic and as sustaining human rights and democracy, once established, compared to violent insurgencies: “On the whole, nonviolent resistance campaigns are more effective in getting results and, once they have succeeded, more likely to establish democratic regimes with a lower probability of relapse into civil war” (Chenoweth and Stephan 2011: 10, 68, 10). Even so, the 2010–​12 Arab Awakening starkly reminds that as a corrective for failing political systems, civil resistance is not a replacement for constitutional democracy. Nonviolent campaigns initially helped to disintegrate authoritarian governments in Tunisia, Egypt, Libya, and Yemen, yet these collapsed autocracies resulted in catastrophes: regression to authoritarian rule in Egypt, multiple wars in Syria, anarchy in Libya and Yemen, and counter-​revolution aided by Saudi intervention in Bahrain. The first of the Arab nonviolent revolutions, Tunisia in December 2010, experienced the greatest socio-​political change and least bloodshed. Yet as social-​media reports from Tunisia sped throughout the Arab world, they could not in their brevity reveal the preparedness of Tunisian civil society organizations or An-​Nahda, an Islamist political party that unlike others in the region had democratic maturity. Imitator movements materialized in the contagion of Arab rebellion, without apprehending the decades-​long Tunisian trajectory that had (however imperfectly) allowed civil society associations,

Ethics and “Realism” of Nonviolent Action    283 labour unions, multi-​party politics, and women’s and human rights to develop. After the autocrat’s departure, An-​Nahda exemplified the essential democratic prerequisite of political parties in accepting electoral results. Defeated in 2014 legislative elections, it conceded. Only Tunisia had civil society organizations relatively resilient enough to ensure that its beleaguered new democracy would survive repeated challenges, as recognized by the 2015 Nobel Peace Prize awarded to a quartet of four such groups. Elsewhere, along with fragile civil societies went limited preconditions and planning for achievable goals, lack of a designated strategy group, and a lack of preparation for overhauling pre-​ existing governing bodies so as to redeem the purposes of the popular enlistment. As most of the Arab campaigns experienced reassertions of autocracies, failures in deliberation and planning for the new order also revealed themselves, along with negligible transnational support for the new democracies. The protagonists of the Arab Awakening faced two particular obstructions:  cruel repression by the targeted regimes, and deficiencies of conditions and institutional capacitation for peaceful transitions to pluralistic constitutional governance. The tragic outcomes reopen a long-​standing debate on methods versus conditions, in which the literature of civil resistance emphasizes the significance of skill with nonviolent methods. A clarifying difference between the nonviolent revolutions of the former Eastern bloc and those of the Arab world is that the peoples of Eastern Europe and the Baltic states retained residual memories of their own constitutional democracies from before the Second World War. Also, by the late 1980s, as the Iron Curtain weakened, Eastern Europeans gained awareness of Western democracies, as Radio Free Europe offered opposition leaders and pro-​democracy commentators airtime. Civil resistance can disintegrate a regime, but without critical prerequisites and specific planning (even if underground) it may have great difficulty in guiding the formidable generative task of building new political institutions and constitutional protections. Nonviolent campaigns thus share with realists a concern for the development or reform of institutions. As William A. Galston puts it, “institutions provide arenas within which abstract concepts of principles and aims [ . . . ] are worked up into concrete conceptions”; they “help define the community’s purposes, rather than simply putting prior understandings into effect” (Galston 2010:  393). Nonviolent struggles can hold pre-​ existing institutions to the purposes of the mobilization—​rather than merely handing over authority to them. An area for future focus is how to build institutions for the future that reflect a cogent understanding of the popular quest, and to do so while still deeply engaged, before other immediate aims have been achieved.

Conclusion For civil resistance to be developed competently and strategically in the future so that it can function in ways hitherto served by armed forces, its proficiency must enlarge. This would mean extending capacity and applicability, and replacing reliance on defence

284   Mary Elizabeth King contingents gradually and for targeted purposes, so that a viable substitute can reduce reliance on armed services as a reasonable alternative. New forms of violent insurgencies should be expected in the future; whatever the merits of nonviolent action, it cannot remove violence. Yet militarized civil conflicts no longer represent the principal choice for groups unable to redress wrongs through standard politics. Civil resistance, rather than armed insurrections, has become the preferred form of self-​reliant political action, even though regimes and adversaries are in some cases outmanoeuvring nonviolent campaigns. The centrality of noncooperation—​ with related dynamics including defections, political jiu-​jitsu, and backfire—​will remain crucial for planners of nonviolent campaigns. In 1958, Commander Sir Stephen King-​Hall observed differences in the acceptance of military occupation by populations: “in the past [ . . . ] if a state were invaded and occupied, this event marked the end of the war,” with no option apart from capitulation to “annexation of the conquered territory.” He discerned a new factor in which the “so-​called civilian population may not be disposed to accept the defeat” (King-​Hall 1958: 181). His perception predictively augurs widening applications for civil resistance, as groups and societies increasingly refuse to accept forms of oppression tolerated in the past, while simultaneously rejecting violence as their means of action. Increasingly, interactions of the historic technique of nonviolent action with realist politics will enhance the ability of average people to fight effectively on democratization, the environment, gender equity, human rights, institutional reform, and the eradication of new attempts at subjugation.

References Abrahamian, E. (2009). Mass Protests in the Iranian Revolution, 1977–​79. In A. Roberts and T. G. Ash (eds), Civil Resistance and Power Politics: The Experience of Non-​Violent Action from Gandhi to the Present (Oxford: Oxford University Press), 162–​78. Arendt, H. (1969). On Violence (New York: Harcourt Brace). Arendt, H. (1994). Eichmann in Jerusalem: A Report on the Banality of Evil (London: Penguin). Bartkowski, M. (2016). Nonviolent Strategies to Defeat Totalitarians such as ISIS (openDemocracy). [Online; accessed 19 Apr. 2017.] https://​www.opendemocracy.net/​maciej-​bartkowski/​ nonviolent-​strategies-​to-​defeat-​totalitarians-​such-​as-​isis Carter, A. (2012). People Power and Political Change:  Key Issues and Concepts (London: Routledge). Chenoweth, E., and M. J. Stephan (2011). Why Civil Resistance Works: The Strategic Logic of Nonviolent Conflict. New York: Columbia University Press. de la Boétie, E. (1967 [1552]). Discours de la Servitude Volontaire. In P. Bennefon (ed.), Oeuvres Complètes (Geneva: Slatkine). Galston, W. A. (2010). Realism in Political Theory. European Journal of Political Theory 9(4): 385–​411. Gandhi, M. K. (1957 [1905]). Russia and India. In Collected Works of Mahatma Gandhi (New Delhi: Ministry of Information and Broadcasting, Government of India).

Ethics and “Realism” of Nonviolent Action    285 Gandhi, M. K. (1957 [1944]). Correspondence with the Government, 1942–​1944, 2nd edn (Ahmedabad: Navajivan). Garretón, M. A. (1992). Fear in Military Regimes. In J. E. Corradi et  al. (eds), Fear at the Edge: State Terror and Resistance in Latin America (Berkeley: University of California Press). Gramsci, A. (2000). The Antonio Gramsci Reader: Selected Writings 1916–​1935, ed. D. Forgacs (London: Lawrence & Wishart). Havel, V. (1989 [1978]). The Power of the Powerless. In J. Vladislav (ed.), Living in Truth (London: Faber & Faber), 36–​122. Hess, D., and B. Martin (2006). Repression, Backfire, and the Theory of Transformative Events. Mobilization 11(1): 249–​67. Kapur, S. (1992). Raising Up a Prophet: The African-​American Encounter with Gandhi (Boston, Mass.: Beacon Press). King, M. E. (2002 [1999]). Mahatma Gandhi and Martin Luther King, Jr:  The Power of Nonviolent Action, 2nd edn (New Delhi: Indian Council for Cultural Relations and Mehta Publishers). King, M. E. (2007). A Quiet Revolution: The First Palestinian Intifada and Nonviolent Resistance (New York: Nation Books). King, M. E. (2009). Czechoslovakia’s Velvet Revolution. In The New York Times on Emerging Democracies in Eastern Europe (Washington, DC: CQ Press), 150–​211. King, M. E. (2015). Gandhian Nonviolent Struggle and Untouchability in South India: The 1924–​ 25 Vykom Satyagraha and the Mechanisms of Change (New Delhi: Oxford University Press). King M. L. Jr, (1986 [1966]). Nonviolence: The Only Road to Freedom. In J. M. Washington (ed.), A Testament of Hope: The Essential Writings of Martin Luther King, Jr. (San Francisco, Calif.: Harper), 54–​61. King-​Hall, S. (1958). Defence in the Nuclear Age (London: Victor Gollancz). Lakey, G. (1968). The Sociological Mechanisms of Nonviolent Action. Peace Research Review 2(6): 1–​102. Liddell Hart, B. H. (1968). Lessons from Resistance Movements—​Guerrilla and Non-​Violent. In A. Roberts (ed.), Civilian Resistance as a National Defense (Harrisburg, Penn.: Stackpole Books), 195–​211. Masullo Jiménez, Juan (2015). The Power of Staying Put: Nonviolent Resistance against Armed Groups in Colombia. Monograph (Washington, DC:  International Center on Nonviolent Conflict). Randle, M. (1994). Civil Resistance (London: Fontana). Roberts, A. (2009). Introduction. In A. Roberts and T. G. Ash (eds), Civil Resistance and Power Politics: The Experience of Non-​Violent Action from Gandhi to the Present (Oxford: Oxford University Press), 1–​24. Sharp, G. (1973). The Politics of Nonviolent Action (3 vols, Boston, Mass.: Porter Sargent). Sharp, G. (2005). An Active Technique of Struggle. In G. Sharp (ed.), Waging Nonviolent Struggle:  20th Century Practice and 21st Century Potential (Boston, Mass.:  Porter Sargent), 39–​48. Shridharani, K. (1962 [1939]). War without Violence:  A Study of Gandhi’s Method and Its Accomplishments (Bombay: Bharatiya Vidya Bhavan).

Pa rt V

H UM A N I TA R IA N I SM A N D H UM A N  R IG H T S

­c hapter 22

Hum anitaria ni sm and Hum an Ri g h ts Michael N. Barnett

A chapter on human rights and humanitarianism in a volume on International Political Theory could go in one of two directions. One possibility would be to discuss what unites them, emphasizing how these two projects share a discourse of humanity, historical origins, and a cosmopolitan purpose. In the contemporary period, human rights and humanitarianism are increasingly working the same ground, especially evident in the area of international law (see Chapter 5). Historically, international humanitarian law governed conduct of states and non-​state actors during periods of armed conflict, and international human rights law governed the conduct of states vis-​à-​vis their citizens. Over the last two decades, though, these two bodies of law have merged to create a “humanity’s law” (Teitel 2011). The other possibility would be a consideration of what divides them, highlighting how their superficial similarities mask some significant differences. Human rights and humanitarianism practice reflect very different kinds of cosmopolitan politics and purposes. As remarked by the president of the ICRC: In theory we all share the same aspirations for global peace, development and security, as well as the understanding about the limits of humanitarian action in addressing or preventing the causes of crisis. In practice however, our experience shows that emergency access to vulnerable populations in some of the most contested areas depends on the ability to isolate humanitarian goals from other transformative goals, be they economic, political, social or human rights related. (Maurer 2014)

Whether we choose to emphasize areas of convergence or divergence depends on more than taste—​it also depends on how we choose to define each concept. There are, stylistically, two ways to try and attempt to mark the boundaries of a concept. One is to identify its “essence,” that is, distinguish the characteristics that make it a particular “kind.” In this exercise, the challenge is to agree on a definition, and then use that definition to code an event or action as an instance of human rights or humanitarianism. As we will

290   Michael N. Barnett soon see, it is on this basis that many narratives of human rights and humanitarianism often construct their histories, beginning with a stipulated definition to harvest the past that can produce a coherent story that links the past to the present. A contrasting approach begins not with some objective, outsider’s definition but rather with how these concepts are given meaning and practised in a particular historical context. These concepts are social constructions. If we want to know what human rights and humanitarianism are, and whether and how they differ, then we must understand their meanings and practices in their historical context. In contrast to the first approach, this interpretivist perspective allows for the possibility that human rights and humanitarianism can change with the times, with the distance between them possibly widening, narrowing, or merging. Our epistemological leanings will shape how we define each concept, on what grounds we find points of distinction, and whether we see more convergence or divergence. Choices have to be made. This chapter adopts an interpretivist approach to offer a provisional map of the differences between human rights and humanitarianism in the contemporary period. It opens by briefly examining the case for their similarity, focusing on the shared discourse of humanity and historical origins. Notwithstanding these common orientations, each field of study and practice constructs strikingly different histories, showcasing different turning points, identity-​defining events, and narratives. These alternative narratives, I will suggest, reveal that while on the surface humanitarianism and human rights are joined by humanity and activated by suffering, the former is constituted by an ethics of death and the latter by an ethics of life. In the post-​Cold War period these philosophical differences are evident in, and arguably produced by, their different practices—​that is, what it means to do human rights and humanitarianism. These doings, I want to further suggest, are connected to different kinds of principles, politics, and techniques. The conclusion uses these points of contrast to revisit the presumption that they have a shared politics of humanity, highlighting how human rights and humanitarianism have distinct relationships to sovereignty, global suffering, and the global politics of life and death.

Humanity and History Perhaps the most compelling evidence for the claim that human rights and humanitarianism are birds of a feather is their shared discourse and historical heritage. Both claim to be constituted by “humanity.” Although humanity has no consensus meaning, most available definitions refer to the belief that all individuals are equal, have equal moral worth, and are entitled to live a dignified life (IFRC n.d.). In stark contrast to various ideologies that often preach differences, such as nationalism and tribalism, humanity compels us to transcend our particularistic identities and see ourselves as connected to all others, near and far (Feldman and Ticktin 2010). Humanitarianism and human rights also share a cosmopolitan commitment (Appiah 2010; Waldron 2000). The cosmopolitan transcends particularism, invites us to see

Humanitarianism and Human Rights    291 ourselves as connected to all others, near and far, nurtures a moral vision from the self to the other, and, in doing so, creates a healthy distance from our own culture and achieves a more complex and complete human experience (Hollinger 1985: 59; see Chapter 5). Cosmopolitanism is not just about a particular sensibility; it also is about a kind of politics. A cosmopolitan ethos demands that our choices incorporate how they affect others, which entails both negative and positive duties. It obligates us to avoid taking action that produces unnecessary and foreseeable harm. It also obligates us to try and prevent human suffering, create the possibility for human empowerment, and nurture human solidarity. There is a chasm between the world that exists and the world that cosmopolitans hope exists. They believe, however, that humans have the potential to live their ideals—​and that part of a cosmopolitan politics is to bring this world into existence. At the very least, they must try. This last comment regarding the gap between the normative and the empirical points to the importance of history. For many in the humanitarian and human rights worlds, the discourse of humanity is a metaphysical conviction, a matter of faith that requires no evidence. Yet it was not until the late eighteenth century that discourses of humanity first appeared, transnational movements emerged to reduce suffering of others in distant lands, and compassion became institutionalized in various laws, norms, and organizations. This burst of humanity is due to changes in economy, technology, society, politics, culture, and religion. The Enlightenment emphasized the importance of individual autonomy, liberty, and reason for human fulfilment and flourishing. The economy was increasingly being organized around market principles. Changes in technology were making it possible to travel over greater distances in shorter periods, bringing once isolated communities into contact and expanding commercial relations. The American and French Revolutions led to the celebration of the “rights of man” and the demand for a state that was representative of and accountable to its citizens. Cultural trends in literature, art, and music were bringing more attention to the individual and the common person as a subject of concern. Religious reforms, including but not limited to various “awakenings,” led to experiments that emphasized the individual’s conscience and interpretation of text and tradition, and demanded new forms of social action that would help to make heaven on earth. All these changes widened the moral imagination. These revolutionary changes helped to make compassion a defining element of humanity. Although compassion certainly existed before the eighteenth century, it became perhaps the surest outward expression of one’s humanity (Linklater 2011; Haskell 1985; Hunt 2007; Laqueur 2009; Barnett 2011). As Hannah Arendt (2006: 70–​1) observed: History tells us that it is by no means a matter of course for the spectacle of misery to move men to pity [ . . . ] Yet we deal here with men of the eighteenth century, when this age-​old indifference was about to disappear, and when, in the words of Rousseau, an “innate repugnance at seeing a fellow creature suffer” had become common in certain strata of European society and precisely among those who made the French revolution.

292   Michael N. Barnett To be human was not enough to claim one’s humanity. Nor was it enough to demand that others recognize one’s humanity. Instead, to be human meant demonstrating one’s capacity to be humane and to show compassion to those who are in need. Although popular texts of human rights and humanitarianism frequently open by discussing these shared philosophical commitments and historical origins, the substance of their histories quickly proceeds down separate paths, drawing different interpretations and significance from the same events, identifying different moments of transformation, telling the story through different kinds of objects, and embedding these accounts in different broad narratives. Human rights narratives have several defining characteristics (see Chapter 23). First, they largely concern the expanding recognition of the sanctity, dignity, and autonomy of the individual in relationship to the state and other sources of discrimination, intolerance, oppression, and violence. These are not only claims about what all individuals are entitled to by virtue of being human, but also accounts of the evolution and institutionalization of those claims (Lauren 1998; Hunt 2007; Moyn 2010; Hopgood 2013; Schmitz and Sikkink 2002: 517). Second, these stories often have domestic and international dimensions. The domestic dimension formed around the “rights of man” heralded by the American and French Revolutions, and the broad institutionalization of basic rights, freedoms, and liberties in domestic constitutions and cultures. A historic breakthrough occured when human rights went global. Precisely when this occurred is a matter of dispute in the historiography—​with some citing the First World War and the establishment of international minorities treaties and refugee law; others cited the Second World War and the creation of the UN and the United Nations Declaration of Human Rights (UDHR); and others the late 1960s and early 1970s with the beginnings of a vibrant network of human rights organizations, the Helsinki Accords of 1975, and the creation of a raft of conventions, laws, and agreements that prohibited everything from racial discrimination to torture. Third, there is considerable attention to texts, and especially to legal documents. It is all well and good to defend this or that right on principled, moral, or religious grounds, but the emphasis on law in the human rights community means a certain reverence and deference for legal discourse for determing whether there is a right and whether it has been violated. Human rights is a matter of law, and law requires the written word. Fourth, there is a Whiggish sensibility to many of these accounts, often using these expanding rights and accumulating texts as measures of human progress (though less so than in the past). Indeed, because so much of human rights history treats the creation of legal texts as another victory for the angels, the counter-​histories of human rights tend to embed them in powerfully corrupting forces, including imperialism, capitalism, governmentality, and institutional interests (Cmeil 2012; Hopgood 2013; Moyn 2010; see Chapter 46). Although histories of humanitarianism often refer to the same historical source material, they differ in several ways (Barnett 2011; Overseas Development Institute 2015). They are not about expanding rights and claims that individuals can make on the state and others, but rather about the expanding architecture whose purpose is to save lives at risk. Moreover, unlike human rights, which has domestic and global dimensions,

Humanitarianism and Human Rights    293 stories of humanitarianism focus exclusively on the international. And, in contrast the text-​driven character of human rights narratives, humanitarian narratives tend to be event-​driven and to focus on the principled actors and discursive forces that increasingly challenge people and states to do the right thing. An important break occurs with the Battle of Solferino of 1863 and the subsequent creation of the International Committee of the Red Cross and the Geneva Conventions. The creation of the ICRC, in fact, is often the starting point for many histories of humanitarianism; significantly, this moment is relatively neglected in human rights narratives. With the creation of the ICRC, histories of humanitarianism now split into two subplots. There are accounts that focus on the development of international humanitarian law and the growing protections afforded soldiers and, increasingly, civilians. And there are accounts that aim to protect vulnerable and marginalized populations as a consequence of natural and humanly made disasters; Biafra, Cambodia, Sudan, Vietnam, and a string of post-​Cold War events in countries including Somalia, Rwanda, Bosnia, Iraq, and Afghanistan form the skeleton of this account. There are branches of humanitarianism that want to save not just lives, but also souls and societies, which often brings them into the terrain of other movements that seek social transformation and justice. Lastly, in contrast to the utopian narratives of human rights, humanitarianism has a dystopian view.

Distinctions with a Difference? Human rights and humanitarianism are distinguished not only by different historical narratives but also by their doings. “Doing” human rights often means something quite different from “doing” humanitarianism. I offer this claim with a fervent caveat: I am not embracing the essentialism that I criticized earlier. The differences between the two, to the extent that they exist, are produced not by genetics but by history. The doings of human rights and humanitarianism can change over time, driven by structures, strategies, actions, and reflections. Consequently, whether and how human rights and humanitarian differ can only be assessed in historical context, and this discussion is limited to the post-​Cold War period. This emphasis on doings owes an obvious debt to the literature on practices, and scholars of human rights and humanitarianism have already employed this literature for their analysis of each community (Redfield 2013; Beitz 2011; Karp 2013). There is no agreement on what it means to study practices, or which direction to rotate when doing the practice turn. For my purposes, the definition by Adler and Pouliot (2011: 6) works reasonably well: “socially meaningful patterns of action which, in being performed more or less competently, act out and possibly reify background knowledge and discourse in and on the material world.” I use the elements of this definition to compare human rights and humanitarian practice in the contemporary period. Specifically, I focus on the purpose as defined by the problems to be addressed, and, in turn, how these challenges inform the principles, politics, and techniques of each. These doings help inform

294   Michael N. Barnett the meaning of each activity, which I discuss in the conclusion. Furthermore, these elements are defined by and help to constitute those involved in these activities as a “community of practice” (Adler and Pouliot 2011: 16), a like-​minded group of actors that jointly creates and sustains shared practices that are the benchmarks for determining “best practices” and a framework for collective learning. The boundaries between one community and another are rarely settled; indeed, I opened this chapter by acknowledging their potential convergence. One of the dangers of assuming that the boundaries are properly surveyed and settled is that it not only overlooks the border politics but also reifies differences between human rights and humanitarianism.

Problems to Be Solved Human rights and humanitarianism are designed to solve different kinds of problems and thus have different ambitions or purposes. Human rights practice concerns the articulation, codification, and enforcement of those rights that individuals possess because of their humanity, with the goal of helping individuals live a life that is full and flourishing. What are these rights? The various taxonomies and lists have grown bigger and longer over the decades. There are first-​generation, second-​, third-​, and fourth-​ generation rights. There are political, civil, cultural, economic, social, and gender rights. Some rights are defined as more basic than others. There are rights of prisoners, minorities, refugees, women, children, the disabled, the aged, and other categories of people. There are negative rights—​those that keep others from interfering in your life and decisions—​and there are positive rights—​those that hasten human flourishing. Because of all these different rights, the human rights community can resemble a circus—​there is a centre ring, outer rings, and then sideshows outside the big tent. Humanitarianism largely concerns the attempt to assist distant strangers whose lives are in immediate danger. Humanitarianism, in short, is about saving lives in extremis. In emergencies, action is urgent and time lost means lives lost. These emergencies can occur because of either natural or human activities. One of the first major acts of international humanitarianism came in response to the earthquake in Lisbon in 1755. More recent “acts of God” include the tsunami of 2005 and the earthquake in Haiti in 2010. Humans also have been every bit as destructive as nature, with war and violence often at the root of mass suffering. In any event, humanitarians attempt to provide for the immediate needs of those in danger. Lists of needs are not that long, typically including food, shelter, medicine, water and sanitation, and clothing. Sometimes humanitarian agencies, especially those that are faith-​based, insist that humans need more than bread to survive, and talk about feeding the soul, but largely they restrict their “to do” list to a limited number of material interventions. Although humanitarians respond to emergencies, when rates of morbidity and mortality escalate, there is always the temptation to address other forms of suffering, and sometimes with the hope that it is possible to not just reduce the suffering but address the very causes (Barnett 2011). At such moments,

Humanitarianism and Human Rights    295 the meaning of humanitarianism spills into development, peace-​building, democracy promotion, and human rights. In order to address the problems and apply solutions, aid and rights workers orient themselves toward quite different locales. Human rights tends to be practised in capitals and international cities where political power resides, laws are passed and enforced, and debate takes place. It is possible to practise human rights without ever actually meeting individuals who have had their rights violated. To be sure, human rights workers often go to the field to collect information and stories that are required for their arguments, but they take these stories back to the sites of power with the hope of creating policy and legal change (Armstrong 2008). Humanitarianism, on the other hand, cannot be practised remotely. It requires proximity to the victims. Most obviously, feeding tubes cannot be fixed, nutrition bars distributed, rates of malnutrition assessed, drinking water and cooking gas provided, or disease combatted if aid workers cannot get access to the populations in need. The emphasis on proximity has not just a practical but also an ethical dimension. For many aid agencies, and especially those like Doctors without Borders, their ethical commitments and authority is based on being eyewitnesses: it is by being next to vulnerable populations that they can demonstrate their commitment to the victims of the world and can speak on their behalf. In any event, the different kinds of doings of human rights and humanitarianism take place in different locations and bring each community into contact with very different populations.

Principles These different doings are connected to different sets of principles. The International Committee of the Red Cross’s Jean Pictet (1979) identified seven core principles: humanity, impartiality, neutrality, independence, voluntary service, unity, and universality. The first four principles, though, arguably constitute the core. Humanity commands attention to all people. Impartiality requires that assistance be based on need and not discriminate on the basis of nationality, race, religion, gender, or political opinion. Neutrality demands refraining from taking part in hostilities or from any action that either benefits or disadvantages the parties to the conflict. Independence requires that assistance should not be connected to any of the parties directly involved in armed conflicts or who have a stake in the outcome; accordingly, there is a general rule that agencies—​especially those that are involved in the conflict—​should either refuse government funding or limit their reliance on it. Principles of humanitarianism can be either constitutive or instrumental (Barnett and Weiss 2008). For some, these principles are nearly sacrosanct. To be a humanitarian requires honouring these principles. Anyone can give aid, but only those who follow these principles are card-​carrying humanitarians. These principles also serve as functional guidelines because by adhering to them agencies can better provide relief and protection. If aid agencies are perceived by combatants as partial, allied with the

296   Michael N. Barnett opposing side, or as having a vested interest in the outcome, then they will have a difficult time getting access, or even worse, become targets. These principles, if followed and respected, create “humanitarian space” that provides a sanctuary for aid workers and victims. These principles and this space can be relatively easily achieved in natural disasters; at such moments, states and populations generally welcome such assistance, and the major obstacles are destroyed ports, roads, airports, and communication links. However, they can be particularly demanding in human-​created emergencies: vulnerable populations are made vulnerable by one of the combatants for political and strategic advantage; combatants are often suspicious that such assistance might advance the rival party; and combatants and other opportunists will attempt to skim off the top before letting a convoy go through its checkpoints. In general, discussions of humanitarian principles often concern the how of action, and these principles are often judged in relationship to the effectiveness for relieving suffering. Most discussions of human rights principles are about fundamental values that are possessed by individuals because of their humanity. In other words, rights and principles are nearly interchangeable. Moreover, the human rights world has a very different view of the principles that are cherished by humanitarians (Leebaw 2007). Independence, neutrality, and impartiality are critical to humanitarianism because of their function in gaining access to populations in immediate need, but these principles are not nearly as relevant, and sometimes irrelevant, for rights-​oriented organizations. When rights organizations imagine independence, they typically think of reflecting universal values and not state interests or cultural groupings. However, they are often willing to align with states if doing so helps the cause of rights and justice. For instance, human rights organizations have been much more inclined toward humanitarian intervention than have been humanitarian organizations. Neutrality makes little sense to human rights activism. This is a world in which there are those who have their rights violated and those who violate them, victims need protection and violators deserve punishment, and the accomplishment of protection or punishment produces measures of justice. The human rights world also has its own version of impartiality. For them, impartiality is determined in relationship to human rights principles and documents that are treated as having a universal status. Amnesty International’s claim to impartiality, for instance, “reflects the premise that the expansion of international human rights law is transforming human rights norms from a set of political aspirations into a body of impartial legal norms” (Leebaw 2007: 226). Whereas the humanitarian world conceives impartiality as partly a strategy to achieve its goal of gaining access to all those in need, the human rights world conceives of impartiality as a strategy to portray a stance of “distance or disinterest needed to discriminate between victims and perpetrator” (p. 227). Proportionality is another principle that is viewed differently by the two communities. Humanitarianism is about limiting unnecessary suffering, not eliminating it. In the context of war, it accepts that suffering is a matter of course. If humanitarians were intent on eliminating all wartime suffering, then they would direct their energies at ending war; humanitarians, though, are not pacifists but pragmatists. International Humanitarian Law (IHL), the body of law that ICRC defends and advances, does not

Humanitarianism and Human Rights    297 have a zero tolerance policy regarding civilian suffering; instead, it demands that such risks be judged proportionally in relationship to military necessity (Gardam 2004). In other words, collateral damage is lawful. Human rights organizations, in contrast, often treat any civilian suffering as almost, by definition, disproportionate and illegal because it violates a fundamental right to life. Proportionality, in the human rights world, can be evaluated by examining the number of civilian to combatant deaths. In the humanitarian world, such figures only become meaningful once the circumstances under which civilians were killed or injured are known.

Politics Human rights and humanitarianism also differ in their relationship to politics. Both present themselves as apolitical, but have very different understandings of what that means. Human rights actors base their claim of being apolitical on the grounds that rights derive from universal principles which, because of their universality, are apolitical. Yet to expand and defend human rights requires embracing politics, a willingness to speak truth to power, a readiness to confront the state and others who are accused of violating human rights and expected to protect them. The purpose of such action is to protect and defend the individual in society, and sometimes that means not just making sure that there is compliance with the law but also changing the law itself. In this regard, human rights organizations see themselves as activists working for social change and justice. There is no way around politics. Humanitarian organizations also present themselves as apolitical. Keeping people alive is not practising politics; instead, it is practising humanity. Humanitarian actors acknowledge that their interventions will have political effects, but humanitarianism, unlike human rights, does not have a political or partisan agenda. They want to keep people alive, period. If aid workers are seen as being overtly or intentionally political they will lose access to those in need, and potentially become viewed as a party to war and thus a legitimate target (Barnett and Weiss 2011). Consequently, most practitioners of humanitarianism treat politics as either a moral pollutant or a dangerous flirtation. It is because they want to remain as pure as possible that aid agencies often avoid activities that are frequently treated as part of politics, including human rights, development, democracy promotion, and peace-​building.

Competent Activities Human rights and humanitarianism can be done better or worse; be more or less effective; operate with greater or lesser efficiency; and correspond to, or fall short of, “best practices” as defined by the community of practice, and with the goal of saving lives

298   Michael N. Barnett in the case of humanitarianism and defending against human rights violations and advancing human flourishing in the case of human rights. Three factors help to illuminate, define, and create differences between human rights and humanitarianism: where each learns its trade; the stylized tactics each adopts; and the kinds of justifications and reasons connected to the activities. The doings of human rights and humanitarianism are learned in different places. A principal function of a community of practice is to transmit knowledge, that is, to teach its members how to practise the craft at its best. Human rights practice can be learned in any of number of places, including in the field and through grassroots activism and volunteerism, but increasingly it is taught in law schools and in other legalized settings. All roads lead to law. Because human rights are defined by legal texts and precedents, violations are defined by violations of law, and defence of human rights is frequently achieved by passing new laws or pressuring compliance with existing ones, knowledge of law is central to human rights. Training takes place not only in the growing number of courses but also in the clinics located in law schools. As Hugo Slim (2015: 17) observes, “human rights has developed a very specific practice that deploys investigation, exposure, and confrontation to identify and rectify violations of people’s human rights. This is the practice of the courtroom taken directly to the war zone.” Humanitarian training, on the other hand, tends to occur in professional schools, most notably in medical and public health, and in the field, with the one notable exception of the role of law schools in the training of international humanitarian law. The field of humanitarianism, in this respect, is dominated by specific technical occupations—​these are doctors without borders, engineers without borders, sanitation experts without borders, logisticians without borders, and on and on. Lawyers without borders tend to work in human rights agencies. Human rights and humanitarianism are also associated with different kinds of tactics. As activists, those in the human rights community are generally mobilized to promote social change and justice, which is best achieved through the changing of policy and, ideally, law. What happens when actors fail to comply with these societally held expectations and legal commitments? The human rights community often responds by naming and shaming the violator. The underlying presumption is that actors care about their reputation for compliance with normative and legal expectations, and worry about the consequences, reputational and otherwise, if they are named as being in breach. Such naming is nothing short of an act of shaming. Although shaming could be done in private and behind the scenes, the human rights community generally proceeds as if naming and shaming is best done in public. Once named and shamed, the theory goes, violators will feel the need to clean up their act, or at least give the appearance of doing so or explain their perceived violation. In contrast, humanitarian practice involves “humanitarian diplomacy” (Magone Neumann, and Weissman 2012). As a matter of diplomacy, humanitarians operate with a “much less adversarial focus on assessment, appeal, and negotiation” (Slim 2015: 17). This is not because they see no evil, but rather because naming the evil they see will not necessarily help them save lives at immediate risk. They operate in a world, in short, where shaking hands with the devil is the price

Humanitarianism and Human Rights    299 to be paid for saving lives—​and devils often do not care about their reputation with law-​ abiding citizens. Humanitarianism will have more success working privately, quietly, and without judgement than broadcasting their concerns and accusations. Lastly, “human rights” and “humanitarian practice” frequently refer to different justificatory discourses. Both appeal to the transcendental claims and duties that are not susceptible to empirical evidence but rather are taken as a matter of faith and conviction. Yet for human rights, legal discourse is increasingly used to justify aspects of human rights (Buchanan 2013; Beitz 2011). Humanitarian reasoning tends to be based on a mixture of law, moral duties, and technocratic capacity. Law plays a heavy role in the regulation of wartime conduct. Yet when humanitarians make appeals to help the suffering and the victims of war, they refer to moral duties and sentiments, which Fassin (2012: 1) defines as “emotions that direct our attention to the suffering of others and make us want to remedy them.” Humans do not need a law to tell them that they have a duty to mitigate unnecessary suffering and death.

Global Politics of Life and Death The boundaries between human rights and humanitarianism are constantly being settled and unsettled, made and remade, pulled apart and pushed together, and this whirlwind of motion often means that attempts to find clear lines that distinguish them are either futile or foolish. Yet my practice-​influenced analysis of humanitarianism and human rights suggests that they are situated differently in relationship to International Political Theory in several ways. By way of conclusion, I want to speculate how they differ in the relationship to sovereignty, our obligations to suffering strangers, and the ethics of life and death. Humanitarianism and human rights have different relationships to sovereignty (Shapcott 2010). Sovereignty in international politics is broadly defined as a set of rules that recognize the state as the highest authority in international affairs and codifies the principle of non-​interference. Both human rights and humanitarianism are often portrayed as posing an equal challenge to state sovereignty on the grounds that each derives from a view that humanity, and not location, should shape our duties and obligations. This is probably truer of human rights than humanitarianism. Humanitarianism claims that our moral duties have no territorial borders and that our primary goal is to help those in need; and, according to the principle of impartiality, priority should go to those who are most in need. Considerations of who is most deserving of attention should be based on an objective calculation of who is suffering the most, and not on the basis of religion, ethnicity, gender, nationality, or some other discriminating marker. Yet it has accommodated itself to the states system and represents no prima facie challenge to the authority of the state. According to the historian J. F. Hutchinson (1997), state interests imprinted the basic architecture and reach of the ICRC, to the point that it was accused by some of its founders of helping to legitimate war and protect the system of

300   Michael N. Barnett states. Humanitarian organizations want access to those at risk; and while they might need to shoot their way through from time to time, for principled and pragmatic reasons they prefer to achieve access with the consent of the parties. Sometimes this can mean patiently waiting to get consent, and giving legitimacy to otherwise unsavoury states and non-​state actors, but that is an acceptable price for keeping people alive. Contemporary international human rights, on the other hand, challenges state sovereignty in several ways. It operates in the language of universal rights, with the implication that the state’s domestic authority has limits. And while they are still rather rare, a growing number of enforcement mechanisms operate at the international level that are intended to punish those state actors and other individuals that violate basic human rights standards. These differences between human rights and humanitarianism can be seen in the reception given by each to the idea of humanitarian intervention and a responsibility to protect (see Chapter 25). The idea of a responsibility to protect made many humanitarian organizations uneasy for various reasons. Some objected to the use of force, not in principle but rather in the belief that the use of force might lead to more lives lost than saved. For instance, some within Doctors without Borders insist that once Somalia became an armed intervention, then access to the victims of famine became even more constrained and dangerous. Others worried that because only states could end a genocide or mass atrocities, this would mean that they would have to align themselves with states, which might entangle them with state interests and leave them open to manipulation and an inversion of their principles. Several aid agencies have speculated that when they backed the intervention in Kosovo in 1999 they eventually abandoned the principle of impartial relief (as they ceased providing aid in Serbia) and became another member of the NATO coalition. Human rights organizations, on the other hand, have been enthusiastic in their support for humanitarian intervention and a responsibility to protect. And they also insist that it is not enough to end the suffering: the international community also must “rebuild” in ways that mitigate the possibility of a return of mass atrocities. Human rights and humanitarianism share a relationship to a humanity constituted by suffering, but they are motivated by different kinds of suffering. Suffering is an enduring feature of human history, but it became a social problem, recognized as a source of concern and reason for action and intervention, beginning in the late eighteenth century because of the emergence of the notion of “humanity.” The Enlightenment helped to produce the revolutionary belief that all individuals are equal, but the recognition of each other’s equality does not necessarily translate into a concern for each other’s welfare. Instead, it was the suffering of others, and the belief that one could and should do something about it, that helped to transform individuals into “men of feelings” (Crane 1934: 206–​7; also see Festa 2010). The process of recognizing the humanity of others as a consequence of their suffering, moreover, often implicates one’s own humanity. It was not enough to be human—​humans also needed to be humane. To be humane required demonstrating one’s humanity, exhibiting sentiment and compassion, and helping those experiencing unnecessary suffering (Arendt 2006; Haskell 1985; Festa 2010).

Humanitarianism and Human Rights    301 Conversely, neglect, indifference, or causing unnecessary suffering became a mark of one’s inhumanity. Humanity is parasitic on suffering. But there is a surfeit of suffering in the world, and, as a practical matter, not all suffering will matter equally to others, will have the same social significance, or will generate identical meaning. Students of human rights and humanitarianism are not interested in personal suffering—​the sort of suffering that comes as a result of internal dynamics or a personal crisis. Instead, they are interested in social suffering, the kind of suffering caused or conditioned by society (Wilkinson 2013). But not all social suffering is the same, either, and human rights and humanitarianism are motivated by different kinds of social suffering. Humanitarianism is attentive to suffering caused by a lack of life-​ sustaining material systems that threaten “bare life” (Agamben 1998). Human rights, on the other hand, is concerned with suffering that not only violates human entitlements and rights but also stunts human flourishing. These different kinds of suffering, furthermore, make different kinds of demands on us and lead to different kinds of ethical projects. Human rights and humanitarianism share a commitment to a humanity that is motivated by suffering, but by different kinds of suffering. Humanitarianism is concerned with that suffering that represents a threat to basic human life. Human rights, on the other hand, become activated when the possibility of flourishing and living a fulfilling life is stifled or stunted. Humanitarianism and human rights, accordingly, demand different kinds of interventions. Humanitarianism demands that we give to those in need—​that is, we express feelings of charity and benevolence. I give to suffering others not because they are “entitled” and I “owe” them, but rather because of my generosity. Human rights, on the other hand, demands that we intervene to end violations and punish violators. By tackling these violations, rights agencies are attempting to make the world right and whole; the goal is empowerment, justice, and prosperity. Incited by different kinds of suffering, the two movements also contain different visions of an ethics of life and death. Human rights operates with a vision of a world that imagines the opportunity for all humans to achieve their aspiration as they define them. This is, in short, not just a politics of humanity as defined in maximalist terms, but also a politics of life. Humanitarianism also is activated by suffering, but suffering that concerns not the possibility of human flourishing but rather of human dying. It is not a utopian but rather a dystopian politics. It operates with a moral minimalism. It refuses to entertain discussions about what the living do, and what it means to live a full life. Humanitarianism represent the “last stand” of humanity, and it is death that creates its ethical ground. Humanity is created in the heavens and in hell.

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302   Michael N. Barnett Arendt, H. (1986). On Revolution (New York: Penguin Books). Arendt, H. (2006). On Revolution (New York: Penguin Books). Barnett, M. (2011). Empire of Humanity: A History of Humanitarianism (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press). Barnett, M., and T. Weiss (eds) (2008). Humanitarianism in Question:  Politics, Power, and Ethics (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press). Barnett, M., and T. Weiss (2011). Humanitarianism Contested:  Where Angels Fear to Tread (London: Routledge). Beitz, C. (2011). The Idea of Human Rights (New York: Oxford University Press). Buchanan, A. (2013). The Heart of Human Rights (New York: Oxford University Press). Cmeil, K. (2012). The Recent History of Human Rights. In A. Iriye, P. Goedde, and W. Hitchcock (eds), The Human Rights Revolution: An International History (New York: Oxford University Press), 27–​52. Crane, R. S. (1934). Suggestions towards a Genealogy of the “Man of Feeling.” English Literary History 1(3): 205–​30. Fassin, D. (2012). Humanitarian Government. In Humanitarian Reasoning (Berkeley: University of California Press), 1–​20. Feldman, I., and M. Ticktin (2010). Introduction: Government and Humanity. In I. Feldman and M. Ticktin (eds), In the Name of Humanity:  The Government of Threat and Care (Durham, NC: Duke University Press), 1–​26. Festa, L. (2010). Humanity Without Feathers. Humanity 1(1): 3–​27. Gardam, J. (2004). Necessity, Proportionality, and the Use of Force by States (New  York: Cambridge University Press). Haskell, T. (1985). Capitalism and the Origins of the Humanitarian Sensibility, Part 1. American Historical Review 90(2): 339–​61. Hollinger, D. (1985). American Province:  Studies in the History and Historiography of Ideas (Baltimore, Md.: Johns Hopkins University Press). Hopgood, S. (2008). Can Walmart be a Humanitarian Organization? In M. Barnett and T. Weiss (eds), Humanitarianism in Question (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press), 98–​123. Hopgood, S. (2013). The Endtimes of Human Rights (Ithaca: Cornell University Press). Hunt, L. (2007). Inventing Human Rights: A History (New York: W. W. Norton). Hutchinson, J. F. (1997). Champions of Charity: War and the Rise of the Red Cross (Boulder, Colo.: Westview Press). IFRC (International Federation of Red Cross and Red Crescent Societies) (n.d.). Humanity. [Online; accessed 19 Apr. 2017.] http://​www.ifrc.org/​en/​who-​we-​are/​vision-​and-​mission/​ the-​seven-​fundamental-​principles/​humanity/​ Karp, D. J. (2013). The Location of International Practices: What is Human Rights Practice? Review of International Studies 39(4): 969–​92. Laqueur, T. (2009). Mourning, Pity, and the Work of Narrative in the Making of “Humanity.” In R. Wilson and R. Brown (eds), Humanitarianism and Suffering: The Mobilization of Empathy (New York: Cambridge University Press), 31–​57. Lauren, P. (2011). The Evolution of International Human Rights:  Visions Seen, 3rd edn (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press). Leebaw, B. (2007). The Politics of Impartial Activism: Humanitarianism and Human Rights. Perspectives on Politics 5(2): 223–​9. Linklater, A. (2011). The Problem of Harm in World Politics:  Theoretical Investigations (New York: Cambridge University Press).

Humanitarianism and Human Rights    303 Magone, C., M. Neuman, and F. Weissman (eds) (2012). Humanitarian Negotiations Revealed: The MSF Experience (New York: Columbia University Press). Maurer, P. (2014). Humanitarian Diplomacy and Principled Humanitarian Action. Speech delivered on 2 Oct. [Online; accessed 19 Apr. 2017.] www.icrc.org/​en/​download/​file/​1392/​ iheid-​humanitarian-​diplomacy-​and-​principled-​humanitarian-​action-​peter-​maurer_​final-​ 2-​october-​2014.pdf Moyn, S. (2012). The Last Utopia (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press). Overseas Development Institute (2015). Global History of Modern Humanitarian Action. [Online; accessed 19 Apr. 2017.] http://​www.odi.org/​projects/​2547-​global-​history-​modern​humanitarian-​action-​moving-​forward-​hpg Pictet, J. (1979). The Fundamental Principles of the Red Cross (Geneva: Henry Dunant Institute). Redfield, P. (2013). Life in Crisis:  The Ethical Journey of Doctors Without Borders (Berkeley: University of California Press). Schmitz, H. P., and K. Sikkink (2002). International Human Rights. In W. Carlsnaes, T. Risse, and B. Simmons (eds), Handbook of International Relations (Beverley Hills, Calif.: Sage). Shapcott, R. (2010). International Ethics: An Introduction. New York: Polity Press. Simeant, J. (2014). Interpreting the Rise of International “Advocacy.” Humanity 5(3): 323–​43. Slim, H. (2015). Humanitarian Ethics:  A Guide to the Morality of Aid in War and Disaster (New York: Oxford University Press). Teitel, R. (2011). Humanity’s Law (New York: Oxford University Press). Terry, F. (2002). Condemned to Repeat? The Paradox of Humanitarian Action (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press). Waldron, J. (2000). What Is Cosmopolitanism? Journal of Political Philosophy 8(2): 227–​43. Weiss, T. (1999). Principles, Politics, and Humanitarian Action. Ethics & International Affairs 13: 1–​22. Wilkinson, I. (2013). The Problem of Suffering as a Driving Force of Rationalization and Social Change. British Journal of Sociology 64(1): 123–​41. Wilson, R., and R. Brown (2009). Introduction. In R. Wilson and R. Brown (eds), Humanitarianism and Suffering:  The Mobilization of Empathy (New  York:  Cambridge University Press), 1–​30.

­c hapter 23

Hum an Ri g h ts i n the Real Worl d Stephen Hopgood

It is fair to say that human rights have come to dominate international efforts at preventing significant harms to vulnerable people and populations, and are now increasingly prominent in campaigns for more positive social goods like equality and a sustainable environment. Human rights really began to make ground in the 1970s (Hopgood 2006; Moyn 2010; Keys 2014), as more organized forms of leftist politics collapsed and the stagnating welfare state came under siege from the neoliberal drive for enhanced profits and new markets (Klein 2007; Marks 2013; also Moyn 2015). But real lift-​off for human rights we can date specifically to the years 1991–​3. During this brief period, the Soviet Union ceased to exist, confirming US primacy in the international system, UN Secretary-​General Boutros Ghali launched his sovereignty-​curtailing “Agenda for Peace,” and the Vienna World Conference on Human Rights formally upheld the universality of rights and created the post of UN High Commissioner for Human Rights. Since that time we have seen an explosion in human rights law, institutions, and discourse that would have been unthinkable during the dark decades of the Cold War. The world’s most recalcitrant regimes, North Korea, Syria, Sudan, are today subject to demands they face accountability for their crimes at the International Criminal Court (ICC) or intervention under the Responsibility to Protect (R2P) in the name of human rights (see Chapter 25). There are efforts under way to create a Convention on Crimes Against Humanity (Sadat 2014) and a World Human Rights Court (Scheinin 2009; also Alston 2014). International and national rights-​based NGOs have tens of millions of supporters and receive hundreds of millions of dollars in income annually. This is truly “the age of rights” (Henkin 1990). This positive account is an entirely credible description of human rights in the real world:  they are high-​profile, inspirational, embedded, legitimate, and (it is claimed) effective (Simmons 2009; Sikkink 2011; Brysk 2013 Becker 2012; Fariss 2014). And yet, if the availability hypothesis says researchers tend to overvalue data which are close

Human Rights in the Real World    305 at hand, human rights suffer from what we might call the ubiquity hypothesis. Rights are everywhere, and because they are everywhere we assume they must be doing some good, having some impact, changing the world. Not only have some critics begun to doubt this, asking how effective human rights really are (Hopgood 2013; Posner 2014), evidence has shown an increase in pushback against rights globally (Freedom House 2015; Cooley 2015), coupled with a growing awareness of problems within the human rights movement. Most obviously, rights can clash with each other, they can hamper other forms of organization, illiberal causes can be championed in pro-​rights terms, and human rights suffer from a profound political weakness when it comes to what gives normative agendas their power. Furthermore, the human rights movement itself seems to replicate some wider inequalities (see Chapter 49). These problems have been obscured because the states most supportive of human rights are the very same states that have until recently dominated international institutions. In a world of multipolarity, that pre-​eminent position is no longer assured (Hopgood 2013). Hope for human rights will not necessarily disappear with it. After all, such states are already spectacularly hypocritical (Farrell and Finnemore 2013). What will go, I suggest, is the narrow conception of what those rights are, and the possibility of shrugging off questions about what gives those rights their normative force by pointing to international law as a way to foreclose substantive moral conversation. This strategy only makes real sense in a secular and cosmopolitan context where liberal norms about personal autonomy, and individuals’ right to choose, are axiomatic and already law. That world, of advancing secularism and declining nationalism, has gone (if, in truth, it ever existed). The first two sections of this chapter will outline some of the problems faced by human rights in the real world, while the third section looks at what the shift toward a more post-​Western world might mean for the future of human rights.

Structural Problems with Rights Human rights face a wide range of problems in the contemporary world. Some of these arise inevitably from the clash between normative visions, others from some specific weaknesses of human rights as a moral paradigm. Of this latter set of difficulties, I will assess three: foundations, qualification, and personhood. Each of these has its impact in the real world, as we shall see. Once we have examined these we’ll look at the myriad range of empirical—​that is to say, contingent and political—​problems human rights encounter on a daily basis. What gives human rights their moral authority? What are their foundations? We could answer “the law,” but then we are forced to ask what gives that law, natural or positive, its authority. God? The assent of states? God was once an answer, centuries ago, although which God was a question over which millions fought and died. Reason? Nature? Versions of these have replaced God as the answer while keeping much of the

306   Stephen Hopgood natural law legacy. But these answers are equally contested, and do not escape the same challenge:  what gives them their superior authority once we have competing views about the right answer to any moral question? Indeed, what makes God right? A legal theorist like Hans Kelsen simply stipulated a “basic law” or grand norm, an “unmoved mover,” a point of origin that cannot be questioned. But what happens when it is questioned, when the consensus (of the Universal Declaration, for example) is challenged? Then it’s “turtles all the way down” (Brown 1994)—​that is, there is no bedrock, one foundational claim rests on another then another, ad infinitum. Political philosophers like Jürgen Habermas and John Rawls have tried in different ways to provide answers to questions of justice in a world without transcendent foundations (by arguing that through different mechanisms reasonable people would accept a shared conception of justice about basic public institutions) (see Chapter 6). What happens, however, when that shared conception cannot be forged because there is a deep disagreement about the source of normative values? Even international human rights lawyers might have to accept that there is no definitive answer to the question “What makes law binding as law?” (Kennedy 2016: 156). Other responses in our era have been more empirical than philosophical or legal. One response is to point to cultures going back centuries and show they possessed human rights-​like concepts (Ishay 2008; Reus-​Smit 2013). This human rights “tradition” is constructed by its proponents in the face of evidence of the atrocities humans have committed against each other and of the lack of an unambiguous use of the words “human rights.” Another approach argues that there is something about human beings that endows us all with equal moral claims. The best current candidate is “dignity,” a version of the natural rights argument. This, too, quickly runs into problems. Dignity, like most of the concepts in this area (freedom, equality, justice, human, right), is an essentially contested concept (Gallie 1956): an agreed definition of what constitutes the concept’s appropriate use is lacking. Dignity can just as easily be defined as something to be protected in, for example, an innocent child or an unmarried sister, creating a paternalistic reason for action at odds with the whole thrust of children’s and women’s rights. As is clear, the drafters of the Universal Declaration avoided this problem by hammering out a lowest common denominator agreement: the thirty articles cover a wide array of rights, and include a get-​out clause for states in the presence of threats (that they define) to public order. Drafters explicitly avoided asking how they had all managed to agree (Cohen 2004). This approach, to start from the fact of agreement, without foundations, actually makes sense, as Charles Beitz has argued. Natural rights claims fall apart quickly, while institutional and political rights, agreements states have reached to give their own and other citizens certain rights, avoid the need to ask foundational (i.e. “natural rights”) questions (Beitz 2003). But while this may sound promising, it is a political liability when those institutions are not considered to be legitimate. At least “nature” gives scope for answering the “why” question when faced with counter-​norms, whether religious, nationalist, traditional, or ideological. Given their strong links with the culture of Western liberal societies, and their essential agnosticism, if not secularism,

Human Rights in the Real World    307 human rights are a weak mobilizer in the face of more insistent and imperative demands from identity, interest, or faith. This is the second problem: qualification. One advantage of Beitz’s answer is that the natural argument—​that we all have equal rights regardless of our identity and our behaviour—​lacks plausibility. It may still be the great achievement of human rights to have denaturalized discrimination. At least in public discourse, in many places it is harder than it once was to openly stigmatize certain groups on account of their ethnic, racial, sexual, religious, or gender identity. The canonical statement of human rights as natural rights goes something like: these are rights we all have simply by virtue of being human. You need do nothing to qualify for them. Your virtues and actions are irrelevant, as is your identity, to your having human rights. Racists, rapists, and saints all have exactly the same entitlements, even if they would deny those rights to others. But this is an implausible account of morality. We see the persecution of “the other” the world over. Much more plausible is an account that sees human rights as contingent on being a member in good standing of a community. Those who are outsiders are not considered to enjoy the same rights. And those on the inside who break core social norms are often in some way punished, some even to the point of death, for contravening the very norms that give a community shape and collective reality. These rights are substantive ethical benefits given to individuals not as individuals but as members. If you break social boundaries, you need to pay a price to reacquire your status (i.e. your rights). Some of these norms may be liberal and others illiberal. Most will involve deterring crimes against the social body and regulating its membership. Whether in immigration politics, e.g. in the US and Western and Eastern Europe, or the treatment of certain social crimes like sex offences and drug trafficking, abstract rights clash with the rights of citizens to specify membership and appropriate behaviour. Citizenship, not humanity, bestows rights. Beitz’s rejection of natural rights, while seemingly a step forward, actually opens up the space for different, coexisting answers to the question of who qualifies for rights. Beyond having rights, a further question arises: what does it mean to use them properly? This raises the issue of personhood. Human rights bearers are rational, autonomous individuals capable of moral reasoning. Adapting the natural law account, the assumption is implicit that, given choice, people will choose wisely (i.e. rationally). This conception of a person has been roundly critiqued by post-​structural scholars who argue that the liberal subject necessary to exercise human rights is just as much a social construction as those rights themselves (there is no “natural person,” in other words). This led Foucault, for example, to openly reject the subject of human rights (even as in his activism he increasingly saw the utility of rights claims: Golder 2015). More problematic than this, however, is that the natural account smuggles a conception of “the good life” into what constitutes personhood (Raz 2007: 6). It is obvious, I assume, to a Western liberal that individuals should have the final say over who they have sex with or if and whether they marry and reproduce. But what if marrying for love, not advantage, has severe negative consequences for the family as

308   Stephen Hopgood a whole? Bringing shame can lead to significant social harms. Many of these dynamics are present in issues like arranged marriage and FGM. We see a strong sense in anti-​FGM advocacy of “proper” womanhood—​young women who are independent, empowered, with full control over their bodies and choices (Hopgood 2016). But within many communities this would make little sense. A meaningful life is lived according to social, cultural, and religious norms established over time. Sons and daughters are part of the identity of their “family” and vice versa, and the interests that can be derived from these identities are more collective than personal. Even subtle paternalism that seeks to “nudge” girls and women into different life choices has a strong sense of freeing a “self-​actuating” person imprisoned by culture (Nussbaum 2001). When faced with ethical collectives whose views are different, is it so obvious that human rights should triumph when what they offer is a diminution in principle of parental and community security and integrity, in the name of a culture whose lifestyles and consumables seem to risk family breakdown, sexual promiscuity, environmental collapse, and widening inequality? We, the readers of this volume, might answer yes to this question. We might also finesse problems of foundations and stress the priority of universal membership. Both Beitz (2003) and Raz (2007) follow Rawls (1993) in coming up with a political account of human rights. But prioritizing politics ignores the impact structural problems have on human rights in the real world. Any admission of ambivalence about human rights as transcendent normative demands (i.e. as a kind of truth) is a bad idea—​it emboldens the opponents of rights who have no such qualms about their own project’s foundations (in God, or the nation, or history, or tradition), and it erodes the faith of advocates who, challenged by doubt, have only the thin gruel of icons and legal triumphs to fall back on. These structural problems—​why are rights right, who has them and why, and how should they be exercised?—​are the cracks within which empirical problems fester and grow. Human rights appear to be normative claims that evade the need for answers at the level of a comprehensive morality. But this is only an illusion. We see this in conflicts with religion, alternative lifestyles, cultural traditions, with renewed national and ethnic beliefs, with state power, with social attitudes to refugees, asylum, and immigration, with environmental problems, and with the consequences of inequality. Comprehensive moralities must have an answer to questions like: why this freedom, why this equality, why this justice? The natural rights version of human rights claims is: whatever your answer to these questions, you must respect human rights. But this assumes human rights are not anchored in a comprehensive morality, that of liberalism. This is what’s being challenged—​the liberal roots that anchor the human rights tree. Human rights proponents are being asked: are you committed to a secular public sphere, the moral primacy of the individual, to identity-​blind citizenship, to the derivate nature of group and cultural rights, to the state as a servant of the people, to the entitlement of anyone to choose their religion, gender, sexuality, community, marriage partner? In much if not most of the world, this story isn’t going to win global human rights advocates the wider social support they need to be effective.

Human Rights in the Real World    309

Empirical Problems with Real Rights Doubts have always existed about the degree of state compliance with human rights obligations. Whether through reservations to international treaties (e.g. CEDAW), the refusal to join major international agreements (great powers and the Rome Statute), or simply the ongoing practice of things legally prohibited like torture, states have often ignored their legal duties. Some scholars have pointed out that human rights are best observed where they are least needed, i.e. in liberal societies (Hafner-​Burton 2013). Others have argued that even where there might be a will, states sometimes lack the infrastructural capacity to enforce human rights (Börzel and Risse 2013). The terrorist attacks of 9/​11 moved the world quickly on from a decade of thinking about protecting civilians and humanitarian military intervention, with Kosovo (dubbed “illegal but legitimate”) as the high point (and Rwanda and Srebrenica as the low). Post 9/​11, even Western states undermined civil liberties and, in the case of the United States, openly practised torture in the name of counter-​terrorism. The fight with radical Islam has only intensified. After the Paris attacks of November 2015, the French government imposed a state of emergency and formally informed the Council of Europe it was derogating from some of its obligations under the European Convention on Human Rights. In the fifteen years since 9/​11, almost all states have clawed back ground against human rights. Freedom of expression and privacy have also taken major hits as surveillance has become embedded in our lives. Freedom House argued in 2015 that we had had nine consecutive years of a decline in freedom worldwide, their report sub-​titled “Return to the Iron Fist” (Freedom House 2015). There are almost too many cases to choose from of states reverting to classic methods of human rights repression (e.g. Thailand, Egypt, Turkey, Sri Lanka, Hungary, Uzbekistan). Presiding over them all are Russia and China. Russia has led the way in innovating to staunch human rights, using the law, tax codes, NGO registration regulations as well as intimidation and violence. China continues to actively crush dissent whenever it breaks out, seemingly with the tacit connivance of its ever-​wealthier middle class. Both also engage in what we might call “counter norming” (Cooley 2015), Russia stressing “traditional values” (allied to the Russian Orthodox Church) and China “sovereignty.” Other states, from India to Uganda, have used the “foreign threat” of rights claims to justify a nationalist discourse that bolsters state power (Rao 2010). Within the democracies of the West, there are vibrant constituencies of sceptics about human rights on the right wing of the political spectrum (e.g. in the US, UK, Austria, the Netherlands, and France), populist political parties that are critical of the implications of the rights revolution, especially in terms of immigration (e.g. Denmark, Finland, Germany, and Sweden), or left-​wing critics of imperialism who see rights as a component part of an American-​led neoliberal order. All of which is in addition to religiously inspired pushback against rights (ISIS, the Muslim Brotherhood, evangelical Christianity and charismatic Catholicism, Hindutva nationalism, Ultra-​Orthodox

310   Stephen Hopgood Jewish zealots, Myanmar’s Buddhists, etc.). The adoption by ASEAN of a Human Rights Charter is, argue human rights advocates, actually an effort to co-​opt the language of rights while subverting their intent. In cases like “pinkwashing” (where pro-​Zionist groups use LGBT rights to target Palestinian political claims) or the National Rifle Association’s support of the right to bear arms, we even find rights being “weaponized” (Bob 2012). The degree of hypocrisy Western states demonstrate (e.g. support for Saudi Arabia), alongside the torture programme, drones, and extraordinary rendition, exacerbates the problem. When the world’s primary power, the United States, shifts norms in the opposite direction to human rights, everyone else can choose to shift with it. Then there are other, “internal” problems with rights that we can organize into four groups: cultural rights, intersectionality, inequality, and mass mobilization. Cultural rights take us straight to the personhood issue. I have already argued that at the core of human rights is a conception of the person as a self-​contained, reasoning individual. Her interests ground her choices, and no one else—​except perhaps for some life-​saving reasons of paternalism—​may legitimately interfere with those choices. Such a picture will be familiar to any liberal. It follows that tolerating the veil, violence against women, FGM, trans-​and homophobia, ethnic discrimination, to name only a few harms, can never be justified. The best that might be tolerable is a brief and explicit “state of exception” while fighting a greater threat. This thick liberalism challenges many societies where the choices people make are neither individual nor autonomous: parents choose for children and men choose for women. It is unwise, to say the least, to approach all of these issues with the fiery rhetoric of absolutist human rights. But in any number of these fields, a decision like that of the French state to ban all visible symbols of religious affiliation in public office cuts directly against people’s sincerely held religious commitments and (to anticipate the next point) their religious rights. In a society with a secular public sphere which, I argue, is the sine qua non of human rights, religion is a wholly private matter. But this is not how the world works outside secularized Europe. In essence, when does a cultural or religious rights defence become a human rights violation? Arguments for “vernacularization” have been prominent in trying to explain how the abstract demands of global human rights law can be “translated” into ideas and practices that resonate locally (Merry 2009). But for human rights advocates, local practices must always be secondary to universal norms. This doesn’t prevent transient pragmatic compromises. But there is no doubt about the final end: autonomous life choices for all as individuals. This leads us naturally to intersectionality, the claim that oppression operates along several vectors simultaneously. People may be abused because of their gender, their race, their religion, and their sexuality at one and the same time by social institutions that leave them marginal on all measures. Failing to see this can lead to antagonisms within the human rights movement, where race versus class, rather than race and class, is a formulation used to deter collective action. What this disguises, however, are the very different ways in which one’s social and cultural location may undermine collective action. An obvious case would be wealthy LGBT activists who stress non-​discrimination and equal treatment but do not share in the demand for economic redistribution because

Human Rights in the Real World    311 they already possess market power through their own resources. The same is true of tensions within the women’s movement, revealing the very different social power of some women compared with others. In addition, bringing together activists from different rights-​based movements has the perverse effect of uniting enemies. The collective movement for sexual orientation and gender identity rights reflects an underlying normative alliance but also allows opposition groups (the Muslim Brotherhood, the Roman Catholic Church) to make common cause. A major fissure here is between civil and political rights on the one hand and economic and social rights on the other. It is common for global human rights advocates to stress the unity of the human rights movement (Neier 2012). But there is a deep tension in terms of priorities for rights activism. Classic civil and political rights—​freedom of expression, of movement, from physical and bodily harm, from discrimination—​are for many a luxury when poverty and radical marginalization makes shelter, medical aid, and getting enough to eat and drink the priority. Some civil and political rights advocates don’t see social justice issues as properly human rights issues at all (though they agree social justice matters). Part of the reasoning for this is the difficulty of campaigning on economic and social rights (Roth 2004). But what if inequality is a greater threat to the possibility of living a fully realized life than discrimination or non-​accountability? After decades of neglect, concern has grown rapidly that inequality, the uneven nature of wealth distribution, will lead to a loss of legitimacy within mature democracies and possibly even social unrest. There has been an explosion of work on inequality, not just on its scale (Piketty 2014) but also on its impact on the political process where the wealthy few control the political outcomes of the many (Stiglitz 2012). Human rights, with their priority emphasis on the law and on persuading states to comply with it, might actually distract people from more effective forms of opposition that could yield greater social change. In arguing this, it is impossible to ignore how symmetrical are the rise of human rights and the advent of neoliberalism (but see Moyn 2015). The organized left collapsed in the 1970s, the welfare state was retrenched, the state abdicated responsibility for employment and marketized core public services in areas as diverse as education, health, and justice. Organizing via trade unions, political parties, or social movements to restore some of those welfare services by raising the tax burden on the wealthiest members of society might be another way to secure social change, one that the whole idea of individual rights does not suit. The growing emphasis on economic and social rights is, unsurprisingly, more prominent in poorer countries, as are more diverse and more direct methods for demanding justice (like land occupation, for example). What’s the best way to stop the Trans-​Pacific Partnership? Maybe via large-​scale collective dissent (e.g. consumer boycotts) based on the idea of a fair distribution, rather than rights? This brings us to a final group of issues for human rights in the real world to do with mobilization. First, the political economy of the human rights movement is badly skewed (making it unwise to talk of “the movement” at all). Funding comes mainly from professional middle-​class people in a familiar set of countries—​the industrial democracies—​ and some of it is spent in very poor countries. But this middle class is not necessarily progressive on inequality, and the issues it is interested in (e.g. sex trafficking) may not

312   Stephen Hopgood be priorities in many countries (where poverty may be the priority issue, or drugs). This split is replicated in the urban elite/​rural split within many states. To preserve the global human rights brand might mean highlighting issues that are not the most pressing issues in any particular locale but may matter to rich donors in the West. Increasingly, international NGOs also target an online, social media audience to raise funds and awareness but these “clicktivists” may in reality be “slacktivists” (Gladwell 2010). The ongoing mobilization needed to tackle deeply complex and contested social problems through engaged longer-​term action is absent in these cases.

The Age of Multipolarity These problems have been evident for a long time, so why have they come to the fore now? The answer is relatively simple: a decline in Western power. Human rights have performed an essential function in the foreign policies and rhetoric of liberal states, essentially the EU, the United States, and other outposts of the world colonized by Europeans. These societies observe rights because they are in some sense liberal societies, rather than being liberal societies because they observe rights. Their political and social culture, influenced by Christianity, includes the idea of the autonomous individual, a secular public sphere, and the toleration of aspects of identity and faith in private. These ideas were embedded after 1945 in international law and institutions up to and including the ICC. This embedding persisted despite the epistemological and ethical break that slowly evolved in the 1950s as established authorities in areas of knowledge and morality were challenged. What had been orthodoxy, whether via a positivistic theory of knowledge or because of the fixed nature of sexualities, genders, and identity, fell apart. This loss of confidence has been papered over by human rights which, in their natural rights version, have been treated as facts. At the same time, liberal states saw the virtue of rights as a new weapon with which to discipline postcolonial and socialist societies that wouldn’t play the game by liberal rules. From 1991 to 2001, US hegemony made this look like a permanent shift. Today we live with the reality that the power of the West is receding. No doubt the US will remain first among equals, and European states, whether together or in some successor formation to the EU, will continue to be wealthy and influential. But as we can see in Syria, Iraq, or Ukraine, the United States has lost control over its regional alliances. When Russia and China are unified the US struggles to prevail. Iran, Turkey, Saudi Arabia, all are now active in various Middle East conflicts, with tension between Iran and Saudi growing. American diplomacy lacks impact in this complex security environment where strong, heavily armed states now pursue policies it cannot shape. The very different counter-​norm of sovereignty that China and Russia stress, whether at the UN or against the EU in the Human Rights Council, is attractive to many states who feel they have yielded too long to American and (more loosely) Western demands. The possible collapse of the WTO or South Africa threatening to pull out of the ICC

Human Rights in the Real World    313 are examples where Western power is being challenged. If we take an obvious security issue, the South China Sea, we have Southeast Asian states interested in American involvement to check Chinese expansionism, and we have an America interested in such involvement. But what role is there for human rights in this space? How likely is Washington to impose some form of rights conditionality on, say, Vietnam (or the newly emboldened Philippines) except as bargaining leverage (Hafner-​Burton 2013)? The same goes for Africa, Central Asia, and Eastern Europe. A world of multiple poles of different size is a world where diversity will grow, one where a global consensus and a single regime of law and norms will be tough to sustain (see Chapter 37). The costs of monitoring and policing are too high, the risk of counter-​ productiveness too great, the need for allies too insistent. Transnational human rights advocacy will continue on a wide array of issues, and will make progress where political interests align and funding and publicity can be sustained. But the days of international institutional innovation are numbered, and the ICC will stand as a kind of mausoleum, a testament to justice only in those rare moments when the great powers agree or don’t care about what happens in The Hague.

Conclusion All of the above is not to ignore the global successes of human rights nor those cases where they have made a vital difference locally. In situ, human rights can be a potent mobilizing force to resist the worst kinds of discrimination and oppression. Global efforts have been key in diffusing the language and concepts of rights in this way. They are a resource for all. But they are one way of seeing the moral universe, and one form of ideological movement. We can support and cherish them where they make a difference, but we should not reify or venerate them where they find barren soil or clash with alternative normative frames. And we should expect resistance, and must respect it. Not from the murderers and torturers, most of whom are the object of dissent from their own people already, but from those whose faith or belief, religious, ideological, traditional, is not consistent with the liberal tenets of Western-​style modernity. In this battle, human rights will not only fail, they might even prove counterproductive and risk some of the very injustices, of coercion and discrimination, that they are ostensibly intended to prevent (Hopgood 2013). On balance, the liberal vision might well be a better way of life than that lived by many—​more safe, more free from harm, more fulfilling. Liberal moral philosophers have no problem saying that. But this self-​confidence is toxic in a human rights world where there is such diversity, inequality, and difference. In the end, human rights may simply become irrelevant where they cannot establish resonance with existing beliefs or latch on to the interests of the middle class. Like mainline Protestantism in the United States and Europe, they will decline as a faith where more exciting, direct, motivating, and relevant faiths and social practices emerge to replace them, including vernacular

314   Stephen Hopgood variants of human rights. Their churches may get bigger, their coffers fill, and their legacy be burnished, but the role of human rights in terms of real-world impact is likely to be severely truncated in the world to come.

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Human Rights in the Real World    315 Ishay, M. R. (2008). The History of Human Rights: From Ancient Times to the Globalization Era (Berkeley: University of California Press). Kennedy, D. (2016). A World of Struggle: How Power, Law, and Expertise Shape Global Political Economy (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press). Keys, B. J. (2014). Reclaiming American Virtue:  The Human Rights Revolution of the 1970s (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press). Klein, N. (2007). The Shock Doctrine: The Rise of Disaster Capitalism (London: Penguin Books). Marks, S. (2013). Four Human Rights Myths. In D. Kinley, W. Sadurski, and K. Walton (eds), Human Rights: Old Problems, New Possibilities (Cheltenham: Edward Elgar). Merry, S. E. (2009). Human Rights and Gender Violence: Translating International Law into Local Justice (Chicago: University of Chicago Press). Moyn, S. (2010). The Last Utopia:  Human Rights in History (Cambridge, Mass.:  Belknap–​ Harvard University Press). Moyn, S. (2015). Powerless Companion: Human Rights in the Age of Neoliberalism. Law and Contemporary Problems 77(4): 147–​69. Neier, A. (2012). The International Human Rights Movement:  A History (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press). Nussbaum, M. (2001). Adaptive Preferences and Women’s Options. Economics and Philosophy 67: 66–​88. Piketty, T. (2014). Capital in the 21st Century (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press). Posner, E. A. (2014). The Twilight of Human Rights Law (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Rao, R. (2010). Third World Protest: Between Home and the World (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Rawls, J. (1993). The Law of Peoples. Critical Inquiry 20(1): 36–​68. Raz, J. (2007). Human Rights Without Foundations. Oxford Legal Studies Research Paper 14. [Online; accessed 19 Apr. 2017.] https://​papers.ssrn.com/​sol3/​papers.cfm?abstract_​ id=999874 Reus-​ Smit, C. (2013). Individual Rights and the Making of the International System (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Roth, K. (2004). Defending Economic, Social and Cultural Rights: Practical Issues Faced by an International Human Rights Organization. Human Rights Quarterly 26(1): 63–​73. Sadat, L. N. (ed.) (2014). Forging a Convention for Crimes Against Humanity (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Scheinin, M. (2009). Towards a World Court for Human Rights. Research report within the framework of the Swiss Initiative to commemorate the 60th anniversary of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. [Online; accessed 19 Apr. 2017.] http://​www.eui.eu/​ Documents/ ​ D epartmentsCentres/​ AcademyofEuropeanLaw/​ C ourseMaterialsHR/​ HR2009/​Scheinin/​ScheininClassReading1.pdf Sikkink, K. (2011). The Justice Cascade: How Human Rights Prosecutions Are Changing World Politics (New York: W. W. Norton). Simmons, B. (2009). Mobilizing for Human Rights:  International Law in Domestic Politics (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Stiglitz, J. (2012). The Price of Inequality (London: Penguin Books).

­c hapter 24

Hum anitaria n Ac tors a nd Internat i ona l P olitical T h e ory Jennifer M. Welsh

For thinkers immersed in some of the long-​standing debates in international political theory, the question of how well contemporary institutions “act out” their rights and responsibilities in international society has always loomed in the background. Whether theorists employ the mode of “reflective equilibrium,” adjusting their prescriptions to take account of institutional possibilities and limits (Rawls 1999) or Buchanan’s more particular form of “institutional moral reasoning,” evaluating normative arguments in terms of their impact on the broader legal and institutional framework that underpins international society (Buchanan 2007), the nature of real-​world international institutions has frequently proven to be an inconvenient truth that must be grappled with. This chapter takes the reverse approach: it focuses on a specific subset of the institutional landscape, humanitarian actors, and examines the impact of attempts to privilege a more “individualist,” or cosmopolitan, approach to the mitigation and regulation of armed conflict. In so doing, it illustrates the ways in which normative values can come into apparent conflict, and analyses some of the different means through which such tensions could be and have been resolved. Before proceeding, two parameters. First, while the humanitarian actors I treat here are those working in situations of war, the temporal spectrum of armed conflict that I employ is a broad one, including prevention, response, and rebuilding. Second, while I engage with theorists who address the normative question of how humanitarian actors should behave, this chapter is more centrally concerned with the dilemmas that arise from “really existing” attempts to advance or implement norms related to human rights in humanitarian work. As such, the chapter is neither a work of “appreciative theory” (Slim 2015b), which views the strengthening of humanitarian norms and the global expansion of humanitarian action as a significant moral achievement (particularly in light of the humanitarian outcomes it has achieved), nor an example of “critical theory,”

Humanitarian Actors and IPT    317 which emphasizes humanitarian action’s Western centre of gravity and its alleged pursuit of a neo-​colonial agenda (Fassin and Pandolfi 2013). Instead, the analysis is driven by a concern with how the dilemmas encountered by humanitarian actors are underpinned by clashes between core values that have long animated debates in international political theory.

Humanitarianism, Human Rights, and the Individualization of War As Michael Barnett suggests in Chapter 22 in this volume, humanitarianism and human rights—​while sharing some common origins and ethical ambitions—​have important differences at the levels of both philosophy and real-​world politics. Thus, while the language is often common, the two “dialects” can sound distinct (Slim 2016). Human rights constitute an expressly political project, aimed at promoting and protecting—​including, if necessary, through forms of punishment—​the legal rights attached to the individual qua human being, wherever he or she resides. Humanitarianism, on the other hand, has been understood as the neutral, impartial, and independent provision of relief to populations in particular settings and circumstances, most notably conflict and natural disasters. The broader regime of international humanitarian law represents what scholars and activists have referred to as an “ethic of restraint” (Slim 2015a), derived from the more general moral imperative to limit suffering, based on a shared common humanity, rather than the goal of addressing the causes of conflict or the conditions required to create peace or justice. Despite these important distinctions, and the not always healthy competition that they have engendered between the human rights and humanitarian communities, the past two decades of international discourse and practice have placed increasing emphasis on the human rights vision, which centres upon a generic individual whose rights must be respected, rather than a situated individual with a particular status (e.g. combatant or non-​combatant), whose entitlements are conditional upon membership in a collective. Indeed, the rights and responsibilities of the individual are at the centre of today’s armed conflicts in a way that they have never been before, with profound implications for how wars are justified, waged, and regulated. This process of “individualization,” which challenges the primacy of collective entities such as warring parties or sovereign states, has spawned new kinds of wars and peacekeeping missions and a new class of international crimes (Teitel 2011; Kaldor 2006; Sikkink 2011; Blum 2014), thereby shaping the goals and operating principles of intergovernmental and non-​governmental organizations that engage in humanitarian action. It has also had a profound impact on the law of armed conflict, which is no longer purely a body of reciprocal legal rules agreed to by sovereign states or conflicting parties, to limit their conduct during war, in order to minimize the suffering of innocents.

318   Jennifer M. Welsh Instead, those who become embroiled in armed conflict are still seen to possess their core human rights, regardless of what the warring parties believe they need to do out of “military necessity” (Verdirame 2008). Two particular sets of humanitarian actors will be the focus of my discussion: the United Nations and humanitarian NGOs. The individualization of war forces these actors to confront the status of individuals in at least two different capacities: as subject to violence but deserving of protection; and as agents who can be held accountable for the perpetration of crimes committed in the course of conflict. As I will argue, the growing prioritization of individual protection and accountability challenges long-​standing principles that have animated humanitarian action in the past, such as impartiality, independence, and consent, and has given rise to a series of policy dilemmas for today’s humanitarian actors.

The Values and Principles of Humanitarian Action Humanitarian action, as understood by its practitioners, is governed by two foundational values of humanity and impartiality, which together imply that humanitarian assistance should be provided in a non-​discriminatory manner, based on need alone. Jean Pictet defined impartiality as comprising three components: absence of objective discrimination on the basis of membership in a particular group (e.g. race or religion); proportionality to needs; and the absence of any subjective distinction relating to individual guilt or innocence (Pictet 1979). Action undertaken on the basis of these three conditions, humanitarian actors believe, can confidently claim to be motivated by concern for “humanity.” Accompanying the core values of humanity and impartiality are a further set of operating principles designed to create a non-​political stance towards a conflict or crisis situation, thereby building trust between third-​party humanitarians and local actors. The neutrality principle (which is not explicitly articulated in the Geneva Conventions) grows out of the third component of impartiality, and requires humanitarian actors both to suspend judgement about the causes of conflict and suffering and to avoid actions that would help or hinder one party or the other. It is nonetheless important to note that neutrality is not a value in itself, but rather a means of obtaining access to the victims (Thurer 2007). The second and related operating principle is independence, which emphasizes that organizations engaged in humanitarian work must retain their autonomy from states, combatants, and other local or international authorities. As with the principle of neutrality, independence is used as a basis upon which humanitarian actors can further assure conflict parties that the provision of assistance is defined by need alone, rather than shaped by political or other strategic objectives.

Humanitarian Actors and IPT    319 As much as the values and principles of humanitarian work are action-​guiding, it is also obvious that they are aspirational. These are ideals which must be interpreted in context. Hence some in the humanitarian community have begun to point to virtue ethics as the perspective most suited to conceptualizing humanitarian ethics, to judging humanitarian action, and to creating a stronger ethical culture within humanitarian organizations themselves. Hugo Slim, for example, contends that humanitarian ethics is really about “interpreting ethical limits and balancing various principles” rather than acting out a mission or code of conduct (Slim 2015: 19). This conclusion recognizes that humanitarian values and principles can, and frequently do, clash within operational contexts, giving rise to trade-​offs among humanity, impartiality, and independence. A particularly stark example arises where some form of complicity with an egregious regime or warring party is needed in order to secure access for humanitarian assistance. As the analysis in subsequent sections will show, these trade-​offs have become even more pronounced as humanitarian actors have increased their explicit commitment to human rights protection. Whether it is the increasing imperative to protect civilians in the context of peacekeeping, or the transition from a “needs-​based” assistance delivery model to a “rights-​based” approach, many humanitarian actors have leant more explicitly in the direction of cosmopolitan values, with significant implications for how they relate to representatives of sovereign states.

The United Nations and the “New” Impartiality The Preamble of the United Nations Charter articulates the organization’s dual ambition: to foster intergovernmental cooperation to address the sources of international instability and armed violence; and to create for individuals, through peace and development, “better standards of life in larger freedom.” Yet while development has been at the heart of the UN’s institutional architecture from its earliest days through the work of its agencies, the institutionalization of its human rights and humanitarian aims came significantly later, with the creation of the Office of the High Commissioner for Human Rights (OHCHR) in 1993 and the establishment of the Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs (OCHA) in 1998. Similarly, though the advent of United Nations peacekeeping in 1956 enabled the organization to compensate for its inability to fulfil its Charter aspirations in the context of a divided Cold War world, its early practice was defined and circumscribed by the consent of the warring parties and not by the needs of populations experiencing the scourge of armed conflict. The form of impartiality that underpinned UN action was therefore of a very particular kind. The UN’s authority to act did not rest, as with non-​governmental humanitarian actors, on its claim to be serving the needs of global humanity; instead, it derived from intergovernmental agreement expressed in

320   Jennifer M. Welsh the Charter, or, in the particular conflict contexts in which it was operating, the peace agreement reached by warring parties and the mandate crafted by the Security Council. Peacekeeping thus reinforced rather than challenged the state-​centric commitments of the Charter (Paddon 2016: 49–​51). Over time, however, and particularly since the end of the Cold War, the United Nations has evolved into an actor whose identity is conceived as a three-​legged stool: peace and security, development, and human rights. And as a more conscious humanitarian actor, its doctrine and operations have increasingly been aimed at individual wellbeing and flourishing. As its outgoing Secretary-​General, Ban Ki-​moon, declared in his last report to the General Assembly on the Responsibility to Protect: “The security of ‘we the peoples’ matters every bit as much as the security of states” (UN 2016). At the same time, this more cosmopolitan approach does not always sit easily with the UN’s inter-​governmental “constitution,” which is built on the principle of state consent and its declared respect for state sovereignty and self-​determination. This tension is evident in the policy dilemmas that have arisen for the organization, both in contexts where it has established a formal mission through intergovernmental negotiation and in so-​called non-​mission settings where the UN is represented by its agencies.

Mission Settings: The Advent of Robust Peacekeeping While the difficulties associated with creating and maintaining impartiality were already on full display with the UN mission in the Congo in 1960, it was the experiences of the United Nations in the 1990s that called into question the sustainability of past approaches to peacekeeping. UN-​authorized forces were now deployed in conflict situations within states rather than between them, and more often than not pursued a wide range of peacemaking and peacebuilding activities that directly impacted upon the domestic structure and institutions of conflict-​affected societies. Through this more multi-​dimensional approach, the UN could not continue to uphold the pretence that it was committed to upholding any kind of social and political order, since some of the core elements of the new brand of peacekeeping were based largely on liberal democratic ideals and frequently entailed governance functions that eroded, or in some cases usurped, domestic authority (Orford 2011). An additional factor that compromised the premises of impartiality and host-​state consent was the absence or breakdown of peace agreements and ceasefires. In Somalia, for example, the first UN mission (UNOSOM) was deployed in 1992 in a context where there was no sovereign government to provide consent for the presence of peacekeepers, and where the warring factions’ acquiescence could not be sustained. It was little surprise, therefore, that UNOSOM’s actions and decisions were perceived by some conflict actors as partial and beneficial to the war efforts of their enemies. Even more significant, however, were the lessons the United Nations and key member states drew from the disastrous experiences of Rwanda and Srebrenica. The inaction of peacekeepers in the face of mass slaughter was viewed as a moral failure, stemming from

Humanitarian Actors and IPT    321 an excessive reliance on the explicit consent of conflict parties and an overly restrictive understanding of the UN’s core objective. With the release of a major review of peacekeeping in August 2000, the so-​called Brahimi Report, peacekeeping doctrine entered a new era, in which impartiality would no longer be constrained by the injunction to ensure the continued consent of all parties, or to use force only in self-​defence. Instead, where “local parties consist not of moral equals but of obvious aggressors and victims,” peacekeepers were to stand ready to “oppose obvious evil” (UN 2000: 9). Beginning with the conflict in Sierra Leone in 1999, the Security Council thus routinely began to include civilian protection in its peacekeeping mandates. While missions in the past had called for peacekeepers to safeguard humanitarian corridors or accompany humanitarian convoys, now Council resolutions explicitly authorized them to see protection as their “core business.” Whereas during the Cold War-era peacekeepers practised a passive form of impartiality to keep warring factions apart, contemporary peacekeepers are both expected and mandated to “penalise infractions” (UN 2008) committed by either side. This shift in doctrine and practice has led to offensive military engagements by UN peacekeepers, including the Force Intervention Brigades in the Democratic Republic of the Congo in 2013–​14, or the military strikes close to the palace of the former president of the Ivory Coast, Laurent Gbagbo, following contested elections in 2011—​a response seen by some member states as effectively making the UN a party to the conflict (Bellamy and Williams 2011). The new conception of impartiality underpinning the UN’s more robust approach—​what Emily Paddon dubs “assertive impartiality” (Paddon 2016)—​retains the original procedural requirement that peacekeepers implement their mandate in an unbiased fashion, without “favour or prejudice to any party” (UN 2008). However, the substantive basis for the UN’s decision-​making authority and action has evolved, from one focused on the agreement reached between conflict parties to one that seeks to implement international humanitarian and human rights law, the broader UN Charter, and more general international norms that are presumed to enjoy widespread consensus. This normatively ambitious basis for judgement, which is usually but not always explicitly reflected in peacekeeping mandates, frequently challenges the foundational principle of consent. The “blue helmets of today,” Paddon argues, have effectively become police officers, as they “are now expected to search for, and then side with, the victims” (Paddon 2016: 66, 1). Indeed, some have explicitly called for a transformation of peacekeeping into a form of “cosmopolitan law enforcement” (Kaldor 2006: 212). At the operational level, however, the practice of assertive impartiality has involved subjective and thus controversial judgements about which local actors are the greatest threat to victims. The frequent result is inconsistency: peacekeepers undertake forceful action against some armed actors but not others, with no transparent rationale for differing treatment. Assertive impartiality has also been compromised by a mismatch between the robust mandate frequently given to peacekeeping forces and the actual capacity provided to the mission.

322   Jennifer M. Welsh But perhaps the greatest operational challenge has been the collateral and unintended effects—​in some cases amounting to moral hazard—​of a more assertive approach to peacekeeping. As Paddon demonstrates in her case study of the UN Mission in the Democratic Republic of the Congo (MONUSCO), civilians who were promised protection by the United Nations were emboldened to take greater risks. Instead of fleeing to possible safety, they remained in place, or travelled in insecure conditions to UN bases. When protection was forthcoming, the risks were worthwhile; but when it was not, the consequences could be fatal. At the same time, both armed groups and factions of the national army were able to instrumentalize the civilian protection mandate of MONUSCO in order to change perceptions of their own legitimacy, and thereby realize other strategic and political aims—​including, in some case, the de-​legitimization of the peacekeeping mission itself. This had significant implications for the UN’s ability to act and be accepted as a political arbiter (Paddon 2016).

Non-​mission Settings: Putting Human Rights “Up Front” The elevation of protection as a core objective of United Nations operations is also manifest in the organization’s operational approach in non-​missions settings, where the presence of UN agencies results from bilateral negotiation with a government rather than authorization through an intergovernmental process in the Security Council or Peacebuilding Commission. Here, the catalyst for change was the “lessons learned” exercise that followed the final phases of the conflict in Sri Lanka from 2008 to 2009, and the damning critique of an internal review panel of UN development and humanitarian officials’ failure to protect civilian populations caught in the crossfire (UN 2012). The principal report finding was that UN agencies had not only under-​reported violations of human rights and humanitarian law by state-​sponsored actors, but also caved in to government restrictions on their presence and operations in order to both avoid confrontation with authorities in Colombo and maintain humanitarian access. In practice, however, humanitarian access had all but disappeared, and broader political efforts to bring about a negotiated settlement gained very little traction. Hence UN agencies operating on the ground received almost no concessions for their acquiescence and were relegated to supporting camps—​euphemistically described by the Sri Lankan government as “welfare villages”—​where traumatized civilians fleeing the conflict zone were subject to further screening and detention by the state’s military forces. The panel concluded that the death of thousands of civilians in Sri Lanka in the concluding months of the war pointed to a “systemic failure” of the UN, extending across its various departments and agencies (at both field and headquarters level), and reaching down to individual member states. In particular, members of the panel highlighted the lack of a “shared sense of responsibility” (UN 2012: para. 80) for addressing extreme human rights violations, and a misguided attempt to separate the humanitarian response from what officials described as “political issues”—​namely, anything related to the root causes of the conflict or the parties’ conduct of the war. While the report acknowledged

Humanitarian Actors and IPT    323 the UN’s core challenge—​“retaining the essential support of a Government to help in delivering assistance while at the same time responding to serious violations of international law that may require the UN to issue criticism of the same Government”—​it criticized a reigning “institutional culture of trade-​offs” which prevented UN staff from leveraging the organization’s full range of capacities. The choice between striving for humanitarian access and robustly condemning the perpetrators of killings of civilians was in the end a false one (UN 2012: para. 75).

Humanitarian NGOs and the “Rights-​Based Approach” At the end of the 1980s, roughly the same time that the United Nations was evolving towards a more robust form of peacekeeping, humanitarian agencies engaged in deep introspection over their rights and responsibilities as third-​party actors in conflict. While classical humanitarianism had been directed at the alleviation of suffering in contexts of disaster or war, greater attention to the causes of that suffering came in the wake of sustained criticism of humanitarian actors for perpetuating a world of the “well-​fed dead” (New York Times 1992; Terry 2002). Successful humanitarian relief, many came to believe, was no substitute for successful conflict resolution and rebuilding. One outgrowth of this shift from a paradigm of charity to one of justice was the so-​called rights-​based approach to humanitarian assistance, which claimed that the broader purpose of humanitarian action should be to create the “basic conditions for life with dignity” (Ferris 2011: 195). If humanitarian needs are understood as emerging out of widespread human rights violations, it then follows that those engaged in humanitarian action must address not only immediate symptoms but also the underlying or structural causes of vulnerability. This argument thus gave rise to new criteria for the distribution of assistance—​criticized by some as creating a hierarchy of aid recipients which is biased against perceived “spoilers” or human rights violators (Rieff 2002)—​as well as the increased involvement of humanitarian organizations in a broad array of activities under the banner of protection, extending beyond emergency relief to the transformation of political and social institutions in ways that enhance human rights. The implications of this more “solidarist” approach to humanitarian action (Aneja 2013) had already been revealed decades earlier, during the Biafran war, when organizations such as Oxfam and Médecins Sans Frontières (MSF) had argued that the gross violation of the rights of the Biafran people superseded the sovereignty of the Nigerian state. Obtaining the government of Nigeria’s consent for the delivery of humanitarian assistance, they insisted, was both unnecessary and morally suspect. MSF went a step further, calling upon humanitarian actors to “bear witness” and speak out for the rights of victims. In so doing, it challenged the long-​standing idea of a bargain of non-​interference between humanitarian actors and warring parties: that the former would commit

324   Jennifer M. Welsh to political non-​interference in the conflict and ensure their assistance would not give unfair advantage to either side, while the latter would then commit to non-​interference in aid allocations (Givoni 2011). The tension between rights protection and the promise of non-​interference has had significant operational consequences for humanitarian agencies in a variety of political emergencies in the post-​Cold War period. During the Kosovo crisis in 1999, for example, several non-​governmental organizations morphed into “humanitarian warriors” calling for Western intervention (Barnett 2011: 189). As a consequence, their personnel were not only denied access to civilians who had clear humanitarian needs but also became legitimate targets of Serbian military action. Similarly, during the conflict in Darfur in 2003–​4, humanitarian agencies went well beyond the provision of life-​saving assistance to advocate for human rights protection, claiming that neutrality was not an operational principle designed to gain access, but a moral principle that required them to protest the crimes committed by state-​backed militia against civilians. When Sudan’s president, Omar Bashir, was faced with an arrest warrant from the International Criminal Court, he levelled blame at the public advocacy of humanitarian actors, and expelled a number of them from the country. The interpretation of humanitarian action as an endeavour to ensure rights—​defined as “needs”—​transforms its essence. As two practitioners have aptly noted, it moves that quest “beyond the voluntary provision of assistance to the provision of assistance on the basis of a legitimate claim for it on the part of its beneficiaries. In the process, victims or beneficiaries become rights holders, and humanitarian agencies become their advocates” (O’Callaghan and Pantuliano 2007: 8) Humanitarian actors thus become driven by the general duties they perceive themselves to have, rather than by the humanitarian needs they are mandated to meet in a particular context.

Conflicting Values: Real or Apparent? Lurking beneath the operational challenges faced by contemporary humanitarian actors are deeper conflicts of norms and values that have long been of interest to international political theory. As the above analysis suggests, two of the most prominent issues facing such actors relate to the sources of their authority, and whether it must be based on explicit consent, and the moral weight of collective self-​determination, as expressed in state sovereignty, when set against the moral importance of individual human rights.

Potential Strategies for Resolution How might actors address these value conflicts? Theoretically, we might conceive of a spectrum of approaches, ranging from, at one end, a principled and general attempt to integrate two sets of important values to more ad hoc strategies that respond with a

Humanitarian Actors and IPT    325 particular, context-​specific solution. In between these two extremes would sit various strategies of value reconciliation and institutional adaptation, which enable actors to reduce the frequency and severity of dilemmas (even if conflicts between values cannot be completely eliminated). The first approach entails the reconceptualization of a normative terrain, such that one value or norm is consistently prioritized over another. An example is the notion of “sovereignty as responsibility,” discussed in Chapter 25 of this volume. Under this reconceptualization of sovereignty, sovereignty and human rights become integrated, and are assumed to be directed at the same (ultimate) objective. A second approach along the spectrum, reconciliation, seeks not a general solution but rather the creation of context-​specific relationships between competing norms and values. An illustration is the legal practice of “interpretive complementarity” (Bhuta 2008), which is applied to situations where there are two legal regimes considered relevant and appropriate, with neither necessarily subordinate to the other. Both regimes thus apply, non-​exclusively, to the same set of circumstances, often with one normative framework supplementing the other. Nehal Bhuta explains this approach in the context of armed conflict, where both international humanitarian law and international human rights law are said to have jurisdiction. Through interpretive complementarity, “IHR rules and principles are used to inform and ‘humanize’ IHL rules; or IHL rules are used to give content to IHR rules in certain exceptional states” (Bhuta 2008: 252) The furthest end of the spectrum is marked by the lack of any systematic approach to addressing value conflicts. Instead, actors facing conflicts of values can engage in sequencing, or principled inconsistency, through a case-​by-​case assessment of which value to privilege in any given situation. Such judgements can be underpinned by an actor’s genuine commitment to both values and reluctance to permanently abandon either. An example is the “peace first, justice later” approach to addressing the dilemmas that arise from efforts to pursue accountability for perpetrators of international crimes in the midst of an armed conflict.

Conclusion: Resolution in Practice As suggested earlier in this chapter, the United Nations is a very particular kind of political and humanitarian actor, whose very existence and purpose is premised upon intergovernmental agreement. Since the end of the Cold War, it has attempted to honour that heritage, while simultaneously pursuing a more cosmopolitan interpretation of its humanitarian responsibilities (see Chapter 3). In the case of peacekeeping, the increasing focus on the protection of individual victims has posed three central dilemmas. The first two stem from the claim that the UN’s authority—​impartiality—​is no longer based on an explicit or fixed notion of consent, but on more fundamental norms as expressed in the Charter and international humanitarian and human rights law. But this raises the question of how to weigh the human

326   Jennifer M. Welsh rights leg of the UN “stool” with the Charter’s commitment to self-​determination and sovereign equality—​both of which emphasize the need for states to consent, through multilateral processes, to the rules that regulate their behaviour. This question becomes even more relevant when we consider the vocal objections raised by many developing countries about the assertive version of impartiality and its potential to undermine state sovereignty (Non-​Aligned Movement 2012: paras 143.2, 143.12). Second, it is not always clear how the appeal to “humanity’s law” (Teitel 2011) can be squared with the fact that the consent of the main parties, which includes the host state, remains essential to the presence of peacekeeping forces on a sovereign territory. How are UN-​authorized forces to execute their mandate to protect civilians against any actor that violates their rights, while at the same time supporting the government—​the primary bearer of the responsibility to provide long-​term protection and the agent whose strategic consent remains essential to their presence? When the state’s armed forces are themselves engaged in violence against civilians, as has been the case, for example, in UN missions in the Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC) and South Sudan, the stabilization and capacity-​building elements of peacekeeping can be criticized for strengthening the very actors that are committing violations against populations. The UN’s attempts to address these dilemmas have been both substantive and ad hoc. At the doctrinal level, it has insisted on a distinction between “strategic consent” and “tactical consent.” The former is obtained from the main parties to a conflict (including the host state) and is a fundamental requirement for the deployment and ongoing presence of a peacekeeping mission. Consent at the tactical level, by contrast, is often secured from non-​state armed groups or factions on the margins of a political process. According to UN doctrine, this form of consent is no longer necessary, and the tactical use of force by peacekeepers can be justified against any armed group (including the state’s army or security forces) that pose an imminent threat of violence to civilians (UN 2008: 34). At the institutional level, the United Nations has responded to the potential for complicity with armed actors engaged in violence against civilians with initiatives such as the Human Rights Due Diligence Policy, which stipulates that the UN cannot provide support to non-​UN armed actors “where there are substantial grounds for believing there is a real risk of the receiving entities committing grave violations of international humanitarian, human rights or refugee law” (UN 2013a). And finally, at a tactical level, peacekeeping missions have made ad hoc decisions to withhold certain forms of support to governments deemed to be failing in their responsibility to protect their population—​either through specific provisions in the mandate or through internal directives from the Secretary-​General or Under-​Secretary-​General for Peacekeeping. While none of these responses represents an ambitious effort to reconceptualize the UN’s role as a humanitarian actor, some do attempt to specify the relationship that should prevail between values that have come into tension in the context of peacekeeping (e.g. state consent and civilian protection). The UN’s Human Rights Up Front initiative, which was the organization’s response to the panel report on Sri Lanka, is a more

Humanitarian Actors and IPT    327 comprehensive and systemic effort to prioritize the protection of populations from systematic violence, through changes in the way that information is gathered and analysed, new training for all UN staff, and reform of the organization’s decision-​making structure (UN 2013b). The jury is still out, however, on whether the initiative can deliver the significant culture change needed to place serious human rights violations at the centre of the work of all departments and agencies. More fundamentally, it is not desirable for the United Nations to transcend its dual identity as a humanitarian and political actor (even if it could). This brings us to the third and final dilemma posed by robust peacekeeping, and its prioritization of individual protection: how to sustain the UN’s new basis for impartiality—​which is believed to rest on apolitical norms—​while at the same time enabling a political solution to an armed conflict. Sceptics of assertive impartiality lament that peacekeeping mandates that emphasize protection can all too easily become a substitute for the ingredient so often required to bring conflict to an end: political engagement by third parties with a capacity to exercise influence. This concern was echoed in the most recent review of UN peacekeeping, where panel members suggested that peacekeeping operations had lost sight of their deeper political purposes and had to “get back to basics.” “Lasting peace is achieved not through military and technical engagements,” the report insists, “but through political solutions” (UN 2015: viii). The grammar of human rights, and the imperative to “penalize infractions,” can in some cases limit the UN’s appreciation for the fluid identities of actors within conflict situations and the possibility that today’s victims can quickly become tomorrow’s perpetrators. In addition, it can overlook the degree to which conflict is both unpredictable and transformative. After all, humanitarian actors rarely confront violent individuals—​who make unilateral and rational choices—​but rather violent situations (Collins 2008: 1), which emerge from the complex interaction between an armed actor, his/​her group, a developing context of conflict, and deeper political and social conditions.

Acknowledgement The research leading to this publication has received funding from the European Research Council under the European Union’s Seventh Framework Agreement (FP/​ 2007-​2013)/​ERC Grant Agreement no. 340956.

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­c hapter 25

T he “Resp onsi bi l i t y to Protec t ” a nd Internat i ona l P olitical T h e ory James Pattison

The responsibility to protect (R2P) is the doctrine that states have the responsibility to protect their populations from potential mass atrocities; if they are unable or unwilling to do so, the international community has a remedial responsibility to protect the population at risk. The doctrine was first presented in a 2001 report, The Responsibility to Protect, by the International Commission on Intervention and State Sovereignty (ICISS). This report argues that there is a responsibility to prevent mass atrocities, to react to them, and to rebuild afterwards. R2P was subsequently endorsed unanimously by states at the 2005 UN World Summit, albeit with some delimiting of the original proposal. A third major iteration of R2P was presented by Ban Ki-​moon in his 2009 report, Implementing the Responsibility to Protect, which divides R2P into three pillars: pillar I concerns the responsibilities of states to protect their own populations; pillar II concerns the international remedial responsibility to assist states that are unable to protect; and pillar III concerns the international remedial responsibility to coerce and encourage states that are unwilling to protect. R2P has since become the predominant frame within which domestic and international measures to mass atrocities are considered. Perhaps most notably, R2P was referred to in the UN Security Council resolution 1973, which authorized the NATO-​ led intervention in Libya in 2011 in response to ongoing and impending human rights violations by the Gaddafi regime. More generally, a huge array of international actors, from domestic political parties to human rights NGOs and the UN Security Council, have used the language of R2P to call upon states to prevent and respond to mass atrocities within their own borders (see Chapter 24). Central to the doctrine is the notion of humanitarian intervention and, in particular, the notion that the international

The “Responsibility to Protect” and IPT    331 community should not stand by militarily in the face of mass atrocities, such as in Rwanda in 1994. Notwithstanding, R2P concerns a whole range of domestic and international responses to prevent and respond to mass atrocity, from developing early warning capacity of mass atrocities, to assisting states to reform their criminal justice systems, to targeted economic sanctions and other more coercive measures. In this chapter, I will consider the development and status of R2P within the context of broader debates in International Political Theory (IPT). I will make three main points. The first is that central to the appeal—​and success—​of R2P is that its central premises of (1) sovereignty as responsibility, (2) states as primary duty-​bearers, and (3) the remedial responsibility of the international community strike a generally coherent and plausible balance between statist and cosmopolitan concerns in international society. The second is that, notwithstanding, R2P still faces challenges from statism and cosmopolitanism. These include the apparent statism of R2P’s pillar II and the worries amongst certain non-​Western states (including some of the BRICS—​Brazil, Russia, India, China, and South Africa) that R2P still has a strong liberal cosmopolitan influence. The third is that the question of whether R2P is efficacious, which has been subject to much of the recent debate on R2P, is somewhat unproductive, at least as the debate is currently conceived. This is because central to assessing the efficacy of R2P is a tricky counterfactual judgement of the utility and feasibility of potential alternative norms. I conclude by arguing that a far more practically important issue in regard to efficacy is how much political will should be invested in R2P, relative to other morally valuable agenda. This, I suggest, is an issue that IPT should consider, but thus far has been largely ignored. Before beginning, a few clarifications are required. First, I take “statism” to be the view that the state is the primary moral unit and that there are very limited, if any, international responsibilities, particularly positive responsibilities. This view may encapsulate some forms of communitarianism, English School pluralism, and moral accounts of Realism, to the extent that they emphasize the moral centrality of the state. Second, I take “cosmopolitanism” to be the view that the individual is the primary moral unit and that the various actors in the international community owe extensive international responsibilities, including positive ones (see Chapter  3). Cosmopolitanism, on this account, allows some scope for special responsibilities to family members, friends, and co-​nationals, but these compete with, and may be outweighed by, the moral import of international responsibilities.1

Statism, Cosmopolitanism, and R2P The practical and theoretical debate in the 1980s, 1990s, and early 2000s about humanitarian intervention and mass atrocities were often polarized between statists and liberal cosmopolitans (from here on “cosmopolitans”).2 This was not simply a matter of academic discussion; it was played out in various international fora between states, in

332   James Pattison particular in relation to the crises in the Balkans in the 1990s. In what follows, I will offer a brief, broadbrush summary of the main claims of these camps. Cosmopolitans argue that state sovereignty should not be seen as a black box, where what goes on within a state’s borders is of no concern of the international community. Rather, states have responsibilities to protect their own population, to give them a voice in political decision-​making, and to ensure that there is general compliance with human rights norms. As a corollary, cosmopolitans argue that there is a right of humanitarian intervention in response to the mass violation of basic human rights. The importance of maintaining state sovereignty and international order should not prohibit humanitarian intervention, as long as the intervention will meet the requisite conditions of Just War Theory. By contrast, statists argue that what goes on within a state’s borders is largely its own business. In doing so, they argue that external interference, such as by major Western powers, can amount to paternalism and even to neo-​imperialism, where Western notions of human rights are forced upon communities. They also highlight the potentially negative effects of intervention on international order and the importance of maintaining state sovereignty, and often press the claim that humanitarian intervention is used mendaciously to promote the narrow material self-​interest of the intervening powers. Statists are particularly critical of unilateral intervention, i.e. intervention without UN Security Council authorization, which many cosmopolitans hold is not necessary for justifiable humanitarian intervention. R2P has been able to gain much traction and achieve widespread international support because it strikes a convincing and coherent balance between these two seemingly polarized positions.3 Its central premises of (1) sovereignty as responsibility and (2) the remedial responsibility of the international community still place the state at the heart of international politics, whilst admitting the justifiability of humanitarian intervention on occasion. Along with cosmopolitans, R2P denies that sovereignty is a black box and asserts that what goes on within the borders of the state is a matter for international concern. Yet R2P also holds that the state is the primary agent for fulfilling this responsibility, thereby giving states the largest role in fulfilling R2P. The scope of R2P is also focused on only four sorts of atrocity—​genocide, war crimes, ethnic cleansing, and crimes against humanity—​meaning that it is only in the most extreme sort of case that external interference could potentially be warranted under R2P. It also requires UN Security Council authorization for humanitarian intervention to be permissible, which ameliorates some of the concerns about unilateral intervention, such as NATO’s 1999 intervention in Kosovo.4 R2P has caught on, then, because on the one hand it captures the intuitive claim that humanitarian intervention is permissible in response to situations such as Rwanda in 1994 and on the other it places the state at its heart. It limits the focus to major cases where the ethical impulse seems most pressing, but avoids more controversial issues surrounding unilateral intervention and intervention in less serious cases. It also avoids statist worries (often found in the West, such as amongst certain policy communities in the US) about international responsibilities that are too demanding, and largely

The “Responsibility to Protect” and IPT    333 avoids the question of major reform of the current systems of global governance, which is advocated by some cosmopolitans. It also allows scope for action to redress human rights issues that could lead to mass atrocities, under the umbrella of the responsibility to prevent, but in a largely consensual manner under the first two pillars of R2P.

Ongoing Challenges Notwithstanding, the balancing act of R2P means that it continues to face challenges from more vehement statists and cosmopolitans. Perhaps most notably, statists worry that R2P can be used to support Western-​led regime change. The worry was particularly prevalent in the aftermath of the 2011 intervention in Libya. As noted in the first section, UN Security Council resolution 1973 authorized NATO-​led international action in Libya and cited R2P. Various states, including some of the BRICS, argued that NATO exceeded the mandate given to it by this resolution by going on to engage in regime change. It was also claimed that the UK, the USA, and France—​the so-​called P-​3—​acted bombastically and arrogantly in the UN Security Council, ignoring reasonable concerns (Evans 2012). The worry, then, was that UN Security Council authorization is not sufficient to ward off the potential for de facto unilateral intervention. These worries about regime change and unilateral intervention have been seemingly stoked by the responses of the major Western powers to the conflict in Syria. Throughout much of the conflict, the West was insistent that Assad must go—​that regime change was necessary. In 2013 Western powers came close to launching unilateral intervention against Assad, and in 2014 they engaged in military action against the ISIS terrorist group in Syria without explicit UN Security Council authorization. In response to these worries, more statist versions of R2P have been proposed. Most notably, in November 2011 Brazil presented the “responsibility while protecting” initiative, which attempts to limit some of the potential for de facto unilateral intervention. It does so by calling for guidelines on the use of force, increased monitoring of interveners by the UN Security Council, and for a more limited, less coercive role played by interveners.5 In 2012, the Chinese scholar Ruan Zongze, who is based at the Chinese Institute of International Studies that has links to the Chinese government, proposed the notion of “responsible protection.” This proposal is a clear attempt to restrict Western interventionism. Its conditions are stricter than those of responsibility while protecting (particularly the later iterations of responsibility while protecting) and following them closely would make it almost impossible to engage in humanitarian intervention (see Garwood-​Gowers 2016). The reaction by R2P advocacy groups and the West to responsibility while protecting was at first fairly hostile, but the international reaction has since become more sympathetic (see Pattison 2016). It seems that something such as RwP, even if in a different guise, will be required if humanitarian intervention is to occur again in a similar manner to the action in Libya—​i.e. Western military intervention without host state consent,

334   James Pattison authorized by the UN Security Council—​given the lingering worries about unilateral interventionism. Conversely, R2P faces challenges in being too statist. Perhaps most notably, the requirement for UN Security Council authorization for robust action under pillar III can make it harder to launch effective measures in response to governments that are committing mass atrocities. For instance, between 2011 and 2014, Russia and China vetoed four UN resolutions on Syria, including to refer the situation to the International Criminal Court. Some cosmopolitans, then, still worry about the central role that R2P gives to the UN Security Council. The “responsibility not to veto” movement, which is led by France and Mexico and calls on the permanent members of the UN Security Council not to veto potential resolutions in cases of mass atrocities, is in part a cosmopolitan response to address the power that the UN Security Council has. The chances of convincing Russia, China, and the US not to wield their veto (or to threaten to wield the veto) in cases where their national interest is seriously at stake seem slim. But the proposal is in reality about attempting to raise the reputational costs for permanent members considering wielding their veto in more marginal cases, where their national interests are not so clearly at stake and their concerns about reputational costs carry more weight. R2P’s second pillar can also be seen as perhaps too statist. This allows for robust international action in support of states to assist them to live up to their protection responsibilities. The worries are twofold. First, the degree of coercion under pillar II could, in fact, be very large—​full-​scale military intercession—​albeit with the consent of the host state. Such intercession could face the various problems of military intervention, including, most notably, high levels of civilian casualties. Such intercession may still be morally justifiable overall, such as when a democratically elected government is struggling to defeat an egregious rebel group. But the international assistance may often be in support of governments that have little or no claim to legitimacy themselves. This leads to the second issue, which is that such states can use this assistance to legitimize themselves internationally and to hold onto power, as in the case of international assistance to Mali in 2013 (Gallagher 2015: 1271–​4). A worry, then, is that R2P will be used by, and become associated with, assistance to stabilize illegitimate governments. Although some of these intercessions may be justifiable, others may be more morally problematic, and the latter could taint R2P.

The Efficacy of R2P The most vociferous debate about R2P has not been about its normative merits but rather whether it is efficacious. Why does this matter? It matters, of course, for scholarly interest in R2P and international norms more generally. But it also has a seemingly crucial practical element, which has fuelled the interest in the debate. That is, if R2P is not efficacious—​that is, if it makes no difference in addressing mass atrocities—​then there

The “Responsibility to Protect” and IPT    335 is little merit in expending valuable political will in supporting and advocating it. If, on the other hand, it does make a significant difference, it would appear that the case for policy-​makers, states, and the international community supporting it is much stronger. Underlying this debate, then, it would seem that there is an important policy issue. Those who are more sceptical, such as Aidan Hehir and Justin Morris, argue that R2P has had little, if any, impact on tackling mass atrocities.6 Overall, the sceptics argue that R2P’s key, novel elements have had little international support and that it has had little influence on events, so should be replaced by an alternative. More specifically, they accept that pillar I  of R2P—​which, recall, concerns states’ protection responsibilities towards their own citizens—​has been cited in the international arena, such as in UN Security Council resolutions. But they argue that this only replicates pre-​existing norms and laws to do with human rights. They suggest that the key added-​value element of R2P concerns the notion that there is an international responsibility to protect, which distinguishes the doctrine from earlier norms surrounding humanitarian intervention. However, this element, they suggest, is crucially absent from the official rhetoric in key documents, such as UN resolutions. And even when the international responsibility to protect is openly accepted, this does not compel action—​words do not turn into deeds. The lack of robust international action in response to the crises in Syria, Bahrain, and Gaza, they claim, shows that R2P is empty rhetoric. And, even when there is international action in response to a crisis, such as in Libya, this is not because of R2P. They claim that there is little evidence to prove that R2P influences decision-​makers and that such action would have occurred without R2P, such as under the previous doctrine of humanitarian intervention. The defenders of the efficacy of R2P, such as Alex Bellamy, Luke Glanville, and Jennifer Welsh, argue, conversely, that it has had some effect.7 They point to the citing of R2P in key international documents, such as UN Security Council resolutions. They also argue that states have explicitly endorsed the international responsibility to protect (e.g. Bellamy 2015b: 169–​70) and that this is having an effect. For instance, they suggest that there is now criticism of others’ inaction in the face of mass atrocities and failures to live up to the international responsibility to protect, showing that conformity to R2P is expected internationally. They also claim that R2P has influenced decision-​making, such as in Libya. And they point to “habits of protection” that have developed, where the international community now at least attempts to do something in response to mass atrocities. In cases where there has been insufficient action, such as in Syria, they argue that R2P can only have limited effect, since the importance that states give to following the norm will sometimes be overridden by narrow material interests. Some of this debate about the efficacy of R2P turns on a deeper theoretical disagreement between constructivism and realism about the relative significance of material and ideational factors. Those sceptical of R2P highlight that it has little significance because states will follow the narrow material interests and ideational constructs have little importance. The advocates of R2P, conversely, argue that norms such as R2P can and do influence states and policy-​makers. It is worth emphasizing here, though, that even the sceptics accept that the norm of R2P can have some influence (e.g. Hehir 2013: 159). They

336   James Pattison doubt the relative importance of the norm. Yet, for their part, the advocates are careful also not to overemphasize the importance of the norm. The difference, then, is not that large: it is about how much compliance pull R2P has. One of the central reasons for the intractability of this debate is that it turns on a very tricky counterfactual judgement. To explicate, the sceptics’ rejection of the efficacy of R2P is vulnerable to the following reply (e.g. in Bellamy 2015b: 171–​5): it has been cited and seemingly made a difference. The sceptics can claim, however, that if R2P had not developed, there would have been rival norms that would have exerted a similar influence, most notably a potential norm of humanitarian intervention. They also can argue that alternatives should be propagated that will better address mass atrocities. Whether these claims are accurate depends on counterfactual assessments of whether the potential alternatives would have been better. Such assessments are notoriously tricky, given the difficulty of assessing the likely effects of alternative histories. Notwithstanding, it is clear that any alternative would have had to overcome the intractable political problems that R2P currently faces. Most notably, the pressures of statism and cosmopolitanism already outlined would still be present, including statist concerns about unilateral intervention, imperialism, and abrogating state sovereignty, and cosmopolitan concerns about treating the state as a black box and the blocking of humanitarian intervention. Any alternative would need to find a via media similar to that found by R2P. In this context, Roland Paris (2014) argues that humanitarian intervention suffers from “structural problems,” such as being inconsistent and causing conspicuous harm. If his broad thesis is correct, then it means that any alternative that encompasses humanitarian intervention would still face some of the inevitable political controversies that arise with using coercive force for humanitarian purposes. In fact, it is questionable whether other plausible alternatives exist that strike a via media between statism and cosmopolitanism. There do not seem to be other, plausible ways of combining statist and cosmopolitan concerns, other than R2P. Any alternative would probably end up resembling R2P, if it were to achieve the same degree of international support as R2P. Moreover, any alternative would have to obtain sufficient international support and still be as sufficiently normatively ambitious as R2P. The doctrine of humanitarian intervention, which preceded R2P, was far less popular amongst statists, yet did not include the crucial element of international responsibility in R2P—​ humanitarian intervention was seen as largely superogatory.8 The same would seem likely to occur if existing doctrines and norms were extended to cover the terrain of R2P. If, for instance, the doctrine of human security or the norm of protection of civilians were extended to encompass coercive and non-​coercive prevention and reaction to mass atrocities, they would seemingly run into the same statist and cosmopolitan worries that R2P faces, particularly in relation to humanitarian intervention. The extension could also be an uneasy fit with the central premises of the norm. Moreover, the question of whether there are alternatives that could have been more successful than R2P has little practical relevance. It is really of only scholarly interest. The question of which of humanitarian intervention, human security, R2P, or another norm would have been best at tackling the situations in Rwanda, Kosovo, Libya, Darfur,

The “Responsibility to Protect” and IPT    337 and so on is not of direct practical relevance to policy-​makers. R2P has been accepted by states; historical counterfactual judgements are of little importance to forward-​ looking judgements about what should be done. To be sure, the question of whether R2P should be replaced by alternative norms in the future is of more practical relevance. But, as I have argued, there do not seem to be any rival plausible norms that could easily replace R2P. But what about more ambitious proposals, which may also be offered as an alternative to R2P?9 Reforms such as the development of cosmopolitan democratic institutions, new international authorizing mechanisms of humanitarian intervention, and a UN standing army may be morally desirable according to cosmopolitanism. However, in the short to medium term, they are likely to run into the problem of gaining sufficient international support, both from those in the global South sceptical of intervention and global governance and from major Western powers whose predominance is supported in part by the prevailing international system. Moreover, such reform is likely to be even more difficult without the underlying normative impulse developed by norms of R2P that reform of the international system is required to fully address mass atrocities. Without a norm such as R2P—​in particular, the widely accepted notion that there is a responsibility to protect that is not being fulfilled under the current global arrangements—​it is very difficult to see where the political will and international support for reform of the international system could come from. There is a notable further problem with alternatives to R2P: any alternative proposal or norm would have to take into account the transition costs that are likely to occur as R2P is replaced by the alternative. The transition costs include the following. First, significant political will is likely to be required to develop and propagate the alternative, which could instead be used to advance further and entrench R2P. Second, there is the risk of an extended period whereby there is no norm governing mass atrocities, as R2P is jettisoned and the alternative is not fully supported, which could result in inaction in response to any mass atrocities that occurred during this period. Third, there is a risk of confusion and competition between the alternative and R2P, which could abrogate precious general international consensus and responses to mass atrocities, as different states support rival norms and use these to buttress their own national interest rather than do what is required to address mass atrocities. To jettison R2P, then, one would have to be very confident that (1) R2P is failing, compared to potential alternatives that would also seemingly face intractable political issues surrounding statists and cosmopolitans’ worries about intervention and sovereignty respectively. One would also have to be very confident that (2) an alternative would be better, and not simply in terms of its ideal normative credentials, but also in terms of the level of acceptance that it would have, which is crucial for it becoming a norm and exerting influence. One would also have to be very confident that (3) there would be few transition costs. I do not think there is reason to be confident about any of these three points. As such, in terms of addressing mass atrocities, R2P is currently the main game in town. In summary, the efficacy of R2P ultimately depends on a counterfactual assessment about the alternative possible norms that would have developed had R2P not been

338   James Pattison adopted. Although this is perhaps intellectually interesting, it is somewhat politically and practically irrelevant. This is because, even if in the past alternative norms might have achieved similar results, R2P appears to be exerting influence here and now, and, going forward, there are no plausible future alternatives to R2P. Any alternatives are likely to face significant transition costs and to have to strike a balance between cosmopolitanism and statism. To that extent, the debate about the efficacy of R2P, at least as the debate is currently framed, is somewhat practically redundant.

R2P and the Prioritization of Goals There is, however, a central question concerning the efficacy of R2P that, as far as I am aware, has not been considered in the literature on R2P and IPT and that is more practically relevant. Although R2P seems to be efficacious in regard to tackling mass atrocities, it is less clear whether it is efficacious more generally compared to norms that promote other goals. Many defenders of R2P would admit that, although it has been successful and had a notable impact, its successes are necessarily modest. This is in part due to the intractability surrounding intervention and sovereignty. There is a limit to how successful R2P could be: there will not be intervention in all places where required and mass atrocities cannot be completely prevented or tackled in the current international system. Political will is valuable and finite. There is only a limited amount of effort that politicians are likely to expend on international matters and only a limited degree of resources that states will respond to the concerns of those beyond their borders. There are also limited funds in terms of lobbying and limited academic resources in terms of investigating, proposing, and propagating international norms, as well as a limited amount of time during which domestic and international audiences will engage with advocacy and scholarship. The question, then, is whether political will should be exerted elsewhere, in promoting other norms, where there might be the potential for greater impact. Should, for instance, more effort be put into promoting gender equality, global health, climate justice (see Chapter 14), international aid, and tackling unfair trade deals, rather than promoting R2P? At least two considerations would need to be taken into account in this assessment. The first concerns the normative importance of the relative agenda. The second concerns the degree of impact that the agenda is likely to have on the issue. R2P may face notable challenges when assessed according to these considerations. First, the tackling and prevention of mass atrocities is, of course, of huge normative importance, but the numbers killed by mass atrocities is far smaller than the number of killed by curable diseases and poverty (see Chapter 27), and potentially the future generations that will suffer the ill effects of climate change. To put it colloquially, why should a state invest $2 billion intervening militarily to stop the mass killing of 10,000, if that amount could be used to save 100,000 future lives by ameliorating some of the impact of climate change? The subject matter of R2P—​mass atrocities—​seems particularly

The “Responsibility to Protect” and IPT    339 pressing because of the fact that it involves the intentional violation of basic human rights by those committing the mass atrocities, whereas the other phenomena appear to concern the reckless or negligent violation of basic human rights. Other things being equal, an intentional violation is worse than a reckless or negligent one. But it is questionable how much worse intentional violations are. It seems unlikely that they are so much worse that it is better to tackle one intentional violation than it is to tackle ten negligent or culpable ones. Second, as we have seen, the impact of R2P is widely accepted—​ even by its advocates—​to be limited. But even if it were significant, it might still be better to pursue other agendas. This will be the case if (1) these agendas concern a much more morally pressing issue—​i.e. many more lives are at serious risk—​than mass atrocities and (2) the impact of these agendas will be sufficiently large to lead to more lives being protected overall. This might appear to give more grist to the mill of R2P sceptics about the efficacy of R2P. Yet to claim that R2P is comparatively inefficacious compared to an alternative agenda would pose the sceptics a serious problem. To present the objection about alternative agenda, they would have to admit that the other agenda could have significant normative compliance pull, which would appear to be incongruent with their realism and consequent scepticism about the compliance pull of norms in general. Admitting that other norms may be very efficacious would appear to cede too much ground to constructivism and open sceptics to the challenge that R2P is efficacious for similar reasons as the alternative agenda. The question of the comparative efficaciousness of various agendas is, then, important for R2P scholars and more generally IPT to engage with. Although it may seem that this may lead to a rejection of R2P, there is reason to suppose that (at least) two complicating considerations mean it should be still invested with significant political will. The first is that the investment of political will is not a zero-​sum game. Most obviously, tackling mass atrocities may sometimes play an important role in addressing other goals, such as gender equality and global poverty, for instance, to the extent that security is necessary for development. In addition, there may be larger domestic and international audiences for addressing mass atrocities than for other agendas. Many states appear to be much more concerned about addressing intentional violations than unintentional ones. There may sometimes be scope, then, only to act upon mass atrocities, given limited political interest in other areas. The choice between investing $2 billion to engage in humanitarian intervention or in climate change may often be a false one. The real choice will be whether to engage in humanitarian intervention or to do nothing, as the interests of future generations figure only slightly in the concern of states. The second is that international justice, broadly conceived, may be best served by having a wide range of well-​developed norms governing the most normatively pressing issues. Once such norms have been established, there may be diminishing marginal returns for the further advancement of the norm, compared to its initial development. Given that R2P is still in its relative infancy, it may be worth continuing to establish and institutionalize it in the short to medium term. In the medium to long term, however,

340   James Pattison this effort may face diminishing marginal returns as R2P becomes more fixed and institutionalized and less contested, and political effort may be better expended elsewhere.

Conclusion This chapter has made three main points. First, R2P strikes a plausible balance between statist and cosmopolitan concerns in international society. Second, R2P still faces challenges from various statists and cosmopolitans, including that it enables de facto unilateral humanitarian intervention and that its second pillar can be used to uphold illegitimate states. Third, the current debate about efficacy of R2P largely depends on a counterfactual assessment of whether alternative norms would have achieved similar results, which is somewhat academic. A far more pressing issue concerns the efficacy of R2P vis-​à-​vis other potential agenda. I have suggested that R2P is still worthy of investment of political will, given its infancy, although this argument may fade if there are diminishing marginal returns. Crucially, the future of R2P should depend on how its efficacy contrasts to other potential alternatives and other agenda.

Notes 1. This is a more moderate and plausible form of cosmopolitanism than how the view is sometimes defined, i.e. as denying any special responsibilities. 2. Seminal works in the debate include Beitz (1980), Chesterman (2001), Holzgrefe and Keohane (2003), Tesón (1997), and Walzer (1980). 3. Bellamy (2015a: 84–​5) makes a similar point. 4. By contrast, Orford worries that R2P “represents a significant shift in thinking about the lawfulness of authority in the modern world” away from sovereign equality and towards “international executive action,” and that “the articulation and embrace of the responsibility to protect concept represents one of the most significant normative shifts in international relations since the creation of the UN in 1945” (2011: 45). This is a peculiar argument, given that the main critique of R2P has been that it does not play a role at the UN and in states’ foreign policies (see below), which are dominated by other concerns, and so does not change anything substantively. 5. To be sure, this initiative can be also defended on cosmopolitan grounds (see Pattison 2016). 6. See e.g. Hehir (2010; 2012; 2013; 2016) and Morris (2013). I will again offer a brief overview of the debate, rather than focusing in detail on the claims of particular scholars. 7. See e.g. Bellamy (2015a; 2015b), Glanville (2016), and Welsh (2013; 2014). 8. That said, there is some evidence of a historical sense of international responsibility to intervene (see Glanville 2013). But this is not more clearly or forthrightly stated in the central doctrines of humanitarian intervention, such as that espoused by Tony Blair in his famous ‘Doctrine of the International Community’ speech in 1999, than in R2P. See http://​ webarchive.nationalarchives.gov.uk/​+/​www.number10.gov.uk/​Page1297. 9. Ambitious alternatives to R2P are also rejected by Bellamy (2015a: 74–​82).

The “Responsibility to Protect” and IPT    341

References Ban Ki-​moon (2009). Implementing the Responsibility to Protect:  Report of the Secretary-​ General. A/​63/​677 (New York: United Nations). Beitz, C. R. (1980). Nonintervention and Communal Integrity. Philosophy & Public Affairs 9(4): 385–​91. Bellamy, A. J. (2015a). The Responsibility to Protect:  A Defense (Oxford:  Oxford University Press). Bellamy, A. J. (2015b). The Responsibility to Protect Turns Ten. Ethics & International Affairs 29(2): 161–​85. Chesterman, S. (2001). Just War or Just Peace? Humanitarian Intervention and International Law (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Evans, G. (2012). R2P and RwP After Libya and Syria. Keynote address to GCR2P/​FGV/​Stanley Foundation Workshop, “Responsibility while Protecting: What’s Next?” Rio de Janeiro, 23 Aug. http://​www.gevans.org/​speeches/​speech485.htm Gallagher, A. (2015). The Promise of Pillar II: Analysing International Assistance under the Responsibility to Protect. International Affairs 91(6): 1259–​75. Garwood-​Gowers, A. (2016). China’s “Responsible Protection” Concept: Reinterpreting the Responsibility to Protect (R2P) and Military Intervention for Humanitarian Purposes. Asian Journal of International Law 6(1): 89–​118. Glanville, L. (2013). Gaddafi and Grotius: Some Historical Roots of the Libyan Intervention. Global Responsibility to Protect 5(3): 342–​61. Glanville, L. (2016). Does R2P Matter? Interpreting the Impact of a Norm. Cooperation and Conflict 51(2): 184–​99. Hehir, A. (2010). The Responsibility to Protect:  “Sound and Fury Signifying Nothing”? International Relations 24(2): 218–​39. Hehir, A. (2012). The Responsibility to Protect: Rhetoric, Reality and the Future of Humanitarian Intervention (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan). Hehir, A. (2013). The Permanence of Inconsistency:  Libya, the Security Council, and the Responsibility to Protect. International Security 38(1): 137–​59. Hehir, A. (2016). Assessing the Influence of the Responsibility to Protect on the UN Security Council during the Arab Spring. Cooperation and Conflict 51(2): 166–​83. Holzgrefe, J. L., and R. O. Keohane (eds) (2003). Humanitarian Intervention: Ethical, Legal, and Political Dilemmas (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press) ICISS (International Commission on Intervention and State Sovereignty) (2001). The Responsibility to Protect: Report of the International Commission on Intervention and State Sovereignty (Ottawa: International Development Research Centre). Morris, J. (2013). Libya and Syria: R2P and the Spectre of the Swinging Pendulum. International Affairs 89(5): 1265–​83. Orford, A. (2011). International Authority and the Responsibility to Protect (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Paris, R. (2014). The “Responsibility to Protect” and the Structural Problems of Preventative Humanitarian Intervention. International Peacekeeping 21(3): 569–​603. Pattison, J. (2016). The Ethics of “Responsibility While Protecting”: Brazil, the Responsibility to Protect, and the Restrictive Approach to Humanitarian Intervention. In K. M. Kenkel and P. Cunliffe (eds), Brazil as a Rising Power: Intervention Norms and the Contestation of Global Order (London: Routledge), 104–​26.

342   James Pattison Tesón, F. R. (1997). Humanitarian Intervention: An Inquiry into Law and Morality, 2nd edn (New York: Transnational). Walzer, M. (1980). The Moral Standing of States: A Response to Four Critics. Philosophy & Public Affairs 9(3): 209–​29. Welsh, J. M. (2013). Norm Contestation and the Responsibility to Protect. Global Responsibility to Protect 5(4): 365–​96. Welsh, J. M. (2014). Implementing the “Responsibility to Protect”:  Catalysing Debate and Building Capacity. In A. Betts and P. Orchard (eds), Implementation and World Politics: How International Norms Change Practice (Oxford: Oxford University Press), 124–​43.

­c hapter 26

M ulticultu ra l i sm a nd Women’s Ri g h ts Denise Walsh

In 2013, several Paris suburbs erupted in violence in response to abusive police and vigilante enforcement of the French “burqa ban.” The ban, passed in 2010, prohibited the covering of the face in public and targeted Muslim women’s face veils. French politicians across the political spectrum and many French feminists supported the ban. Among their justifications for the law was that Muslim men force Muslim women to wear the veils and that the government must protect women’s rights. In contrast, most international human rights organizations and many Muslim women opposed the ban, arguing that women choose to wear the face veil and have the right to express their cultural identity and religious beliefs in public. Over recent decades, conflicts like the burqa ban have multiplied. Indeed, Muslim women’s dress is just one issue among many—​including female genital cutting, poly­ gyny, and dowry—​generating widespread controversy. Islamophobia and the greatest refugee crisis in Europe since the Second World War suggest that these controversies are likely to persist. Given rising xenophobia, the backlash against multiculturalism, and feminist nationalism, conventional scholarly queries about how to promote national unity amidst diversity or how to resolve conflicts between multiculturalism and women’s rights are now dated. Instead, the times call for new questions. To advance a research agenda revitalized by contemporary events yet informed by existing scholarship, this chapter assesses four approaches to multiculturalism and women’s rights: liberal multiculturalism, liberal feminism, deliberative democracy, and postcolonial feminism. Throughout, it draws on related empirical evidence to evaluate the claims of each approach. That evidence suggests that much of the research on multiculturalism and women’s rights overemphasizes culture and neglects how “minority women”—​meaning those who are located at the intersection of multiculturalism and women’s rights—​are constructed as a group, represented by media and politicians, and experience citizenship. The chapter concludes by proposing new research questions for scholars studying multiculturalism and women’s rights.

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Liberal Multiculturalism vs Liberal Feminism International Political Theory (IPT) research on multiculturalism and women’s rights grapples with real-​world politics by addressing policy conflicts like the burqa ban.1 Scholars analysing these conflicts aim to promote justice, but they disagree about what culture does, the purpose of justice, and how liberal democracies should secure it. Liberal multiculturalists believe that governments should guarantee the individual autonomy of minority group members and preserve national unity, hence they argue that liberal democracies should embrace multiculturalism; liberal feminists believe that governments should secure equality for all citizens, hence they argue that liberal democracies should embrace women’s rights. Multiculturalism emerged during the early 1970s in both Canada and Australia as ethnic and national minorities called for state accommodation of group difference. Women, as well as sexual, religious, and racial minorities, soon followed. These groups advocated government policies such as multicultural education for all citizens and cultural, economic, and political reform to alleviate bias and discrimination. Liberal multiculturalists promote policies that secure the cultural recognition of ethno-​nationalist minorities. Kymlicka (1995) argues that liberal governments must respect the cultural differences of “societal cultures”—​meaning non-​immigrant groups who share values, memories, institutions, practices, and language, and who live in concentrated geographic areas—​as these cultures are the touchstone of individual identity and autonomy. If widespread respect for a societal culture is lacking, then individual members will lack self-​respect through no fault of their own, and will not be able to fashion a good life. Liberal democracies must therefore adopt multiculturalism. Liberal multiculturalists argue, further, that multiculturalism is critical for sustaining the unity of liberal democratic multination states. Kymlicka, citing the research of Connor (1972) on the Québécois and Peterson (1975) on the Flemish in Belgium, reasons that, as both of these groups assiduously resist assimilation, “members of liberal cultures do value their cultural membership” (p. 88, emphasis original). He concludes that liberal democracies must therefore accommodate ethno-​national attachments to avoid “alienation and secessionist movements” (p. 185). Liberal feminists like Okin (1999) and Nussbaum (1999) challenge these claims, arguing that many minority cultures are sexist. Okin asserts that most male leaders of minority groups are not democratically elected or directly accountable to women, and that they use cultural practices to entrench gender inequality. As a result, Okin suggests that some women might be better off if their culture were to become “extinct” (p. 22). While acknowledging Kymlicka’s insistence that minority groups in liberal democracies must endorse women’s rights if they are to legitimately pursue cultural accommodation, Okin counters that few are likely to do so as most are committed to maintaining cultural practices that subordinate women (p. 13).

Multiculturalism and Women’s Rights    345 Empirical research indicates that many minority groups—​ including ethno-​ nationalist, immigrant, and religious groups in liberal democracies—​practise sexist traditions. Burrage (2015), for example, finds that African immigrants in Britain degrade the physical wellbeing of women and girls through female genital mutilation, while Kent (2006) finds that fundamentalist Mormon leaders in the United States are unaccountable to women members and abuse their power. This research supports liberal feminist claims that the injustice liberal democracies should remediate is not cultural misrecognition by the majority but sexism among minorities. Liberal feminists therefore endorse state enforcement of women’s rights over multiculturalism.

Deliberative Democracy Okin’s claim that multiculturalism is bad for women launched a thousand ships seeking resolutions to conflicts between multiculturalism and women’s rights. Those conflicts appeared to multiply as advocates of cultural difference from across the globe sought recognition by the “West” for Asian and other values (e.g. Bell 2000). In response, a number of scholars drew on deliberative democratic theory (see Chapter 33) to develop guidelines for negotiating between non-​liberal and liberal cultures, reasoning that the process for redressing these conflicts would affect the legitimacy of the solution and its implementation.2 The two types of deliberative democrats considered here, which I call substantive and procedural, disagree about what culture is, what deliberation should entail, and the purpose of adjudicating these conflicts. Substantive democrats build upon the logic of Rawlsian (1987) overlapping consensus, endorse liberal democratic values, and advocate cross-​cultural dialogue to secure those values. Substantive democrats agree with Kymlicka that culture is a crucial source of individual identity, meaning that culture deserves respect. Substantive democrats contend, however, that the task for liberal democracies is not to mandate multiculturalism, but to encourage groups to engage in cross-​cultural dialogues that produce a liberal consensus. The aim, as Parekh (2008: 170) describes it, is to encourage “mutual understanding, expand sympathy and imagination, exchange not only arguments but also sensibilities to get both parties to take a critical look at themselves, build up mutual trust, and arrive at a more just and balanced view.” Parkeh offers a scripted example of how a cross-​cultural dialogue between the West and Muslim societies might proceed. In his scenario, the two groups speak frankly about the legacies of Western colonialism and reactionary Islamic responses to the West. Through this process, each gains the capacity for self-​critique and greater understanding of the other. This cross-​cultural dialogue includes the discovery of overlapping consensus on women’s rights. Parekh illustrates this by pointing to Muslims in Europe, explaining that gender equality is advancing as Muslim women increasingly participate in formal politics, succeed in higher education, pursue careers, and in some cases become Islamic feminists (2008: 110–​11). This suggests that Muslim culture—​like all cultures—​is dynamic,

346   Denise Walsh and that policy-​makers would be wise to engage in cross-​cultural dialogue to affirm areas of agreement on women’s rights. Substantive democrats thus align with Kymlicka, as the latter argues that minority groups deserve respect but must be willing to adopt liberal norms; substantive democrats offer a deliberative means for this adoption rooted in mutual respect. In contrast, Habermasian (1990) discourse ethics and its feminist critics (e.g. Fraser 1992)  inspire procedural democrats. Rather than seeking “mutual understanding,” procedural democrats aim for communicative transparency to reveal political interests and inclusiveness to address power inequalities (e.g. Deveaux 2006; Song 2007). Their aim is to generate “contextually appropriate solutions to the problem at hand,” and unlike substantive democrats, they accept solutions that diverge from liberal norms and values (Song 2007: 84). While procedural democrats agree with the substantive democratic claim that culture is dynamic, they go beyond it by arguing that culture is constructed through “social interaction and political struggle,” thereby conceptualizing cultures as mutually constitutive and internally divided (Song 2005: 474). This understanding informs their commitment to inclusivity and explicit discussion of interests. Deveaux (2006), for example, discusses how a procedural approach unfolded in South Africa during policy negotiations over customary marriage reform. Deliberation included chiefs, politicians, rural women, and feminist organizations. All engaged in political speech, meaning that their interests were obvious and contestable. Deveaux argues that this generated unanticipated areas for compromise. For example, the 1998 Recognition of Customary Marriage Act not only ensured that customary marriages (including those that were polygynous) would be legally recognized for the first time in South Africa; it also required men who took an additional wife to secure the financial interests of their first wife in a written contract. While no parties were satisfied with all aspects of the law, Deveaux argues that everyone gained. Moreover, she contends that the inclusiveness of the process lent the outcome legitimacy. Procedural democrats like Deveaux who attend to interests and inequality share important affinities with liberal feminists like Okin, who argue that cultural claims are a mask for elite males to entrench their power. Unlike liberal feminists, however, procedural democrats argue that this does not mean that all non-​liberal cultures are sexist and should become extinct, but instead, that all those affected by the issue should engage in deliberation about their interests, seek resolutions to their differences, and that those resolutions should be contextually appropriate rather than necessarily liberal. Liberal multiculturalists, liberal feminists, and deliberative democrats disagree about how to conceptualize culture and the purpose of justice, and thus how to resolve conflicts between multiculturalism and women’s rights. They also prioritize different mechanisms for redressing conflicts between multiculturalism and women’s rights:  state enforcement or deliberation. Nonetheless, they all agree that conflicts between multiculturalism and women’s rights are inevitable, and that liberal democracies must resolve them. Postcolonial feminists challenge these claims.

Multiculturalism and Women’s Rights    347

Postcolonial Feminism vs Liberal Multiculturalism and Substantive Democracy Postcolonial feminists do not insist that liberal democracies must resolve conflicts between multiculturalism and women’s rights; instead, they argue that these conflicts are products of liberal misconceptions that must be disassembled. To that end, they offer a framework for analysing how groups, including minority women, are constructed, represented, and experience citizenship. Postcolonial feminists accuse liberal multiculturalists and substantive democrats of mischaracterizing and misusing culture in their quest to make minority cultural groups safe for liberal democracies. Scholars like Dhamoon (2009) and Volpp (2001) argue that liberal multiculturalists and substantive democrats treat cultures as internally homogeneous and distinct, meaning that they ignore inequalities of power within and among cultural groups. Consider Parekh’s cross-​cultural dialogue. He presents dominant cultural idioms of the West and Islam as bounded and diverging. Yet the United States and Muslim societies have entwined histories of capitalism, colonialism, racism, and sexism critical for understanding both US jingoism and Islamic fundamentalism (e.g. Grewal 2005; Abu-​Lughod 2013). Further, Parekh’s references to US power undermine his claim that the West and Islam are culturally separate. Instead, his references point to political inequalities that hegemonic liberal democracies have exploited by intervening in and invading Muslim majority countries while terrorizing Muslim minority communities at home (e.g. Abu-​Lughod 2013; Razack 2004; Dhamoon and Abu-​Laban 2009). Parekh’s proposed dialogue also sidesteps internal power differentials within these cultural communities. Although he gestures toward that heterogeneity, Parekh treats mainstream claims as representative of the group and assumes that the validation of liberal norms is the appropriate aim of dialogue. Feminists, including postcolonial feminists like Anthias (2002) and Volpp (2001), argue that privileging mainstream claims can have severe costs for women. Ethno-​nationalist leaders who appeal to cultural authenticity, for example, often reject feminism as Western imperialism, placing women in the position of having to choose between their culture or their rights (Shachar 2001). Moreover, negotiations between liberal democracies and minority group leaders frequently result in bargains that deepen women’s oppression (e.g. Song 2005). Parekh’s focus on dominant cultural idioms and cross-​cultural dialogues appear to invite similar results. Post-​colonial feminists charge liberal multiculturalists and substantive democrats not only with mischaracterizing culture but also with misusing culture by assuming that it is the fountainhead of individual identity and autonomy, and thus concluding that liberal democracies must respect cultural difference. Unlike Kymlicka, scholars like Arneil (2007) and Dhamoon (2009) contend that cultural commitments as well as individual identity is plural, interlocking, and can be crosscutting.

348   Denise Walsh In contrast to the primordialist scholars Kymlicka cites, recent empirical research confirms that ethno-​cultural identity is not always salient, that it may be trumped by other identities, and that when salient it is contingent upon a variety of factors. Indeed, ethno-​cultural claims may fail to win adherents even when cultural claims appear highly salient. Consider Romania after the fall of Nicolae Ceaușescu. In 1997, Romanians in Cluj, which is home to a sizeable Hungarian minority, elected a “radically nationalist and vitriolically anti-​Hungarian mayor” (Brubaker et al. 2006: 5). Factors contributing to the likelihood of ethnic conflict included an ethnically divided media, a weak civil society, a powerful Hungarian nationalist party, and a stagnant economy. Following a series of local skirmishes over ethno-​national symbols that echoed past clashes, the local Romanian and Hungarian response to the mayor was “considerable indifference” (p. 5). Ethno-​national identities also must compete with other identities, including other cultural identities. In Kenya and Zambia, for instance, individuals have many identities that are not coterminous with one ethno-​national group, such as religion, race, language, tribe, clan, and region. Posner (2007) finds that individual loyalties to these identities fluctuate when the national electoral system changes, as individuals vote according to the identity that will best secure them resources from the state. Group subjectivity also can shift from one type of identity to another. Indians in Latin America called themselves peasants and mobilized on the basis of class during much of the twentieth century; today, they call themselves indigenous and mobilize on the basis of culture. Yashar (2005) explains that Indian subjectivity altered as neoliberal citizenship regimes politicized culture over class, hence the salience of group cultural identity varied over time. Empirical research also suggests that political entrepreneurs and external shocks shape the salience of cultural identity. Scholars find that ethno-​national appeals prevail when ambitious group leaders tell a convincing story that capitalizes not only on national politics but also on international events such as the fall of the Soviet Union (e.g. Beissinger 2002; Brubaker et al. 2006). If individuals experience culture as the wellspring of their identity, it is in part because political entrepreneurs have successfully activated that sense of self by offering a compelling narrative that exploits government policies and external change. Given these realities, postcolonial feminists do not argue that liberal democracies must respect cultural difference. Instead, they argue that liberal democracies must remedy the injustices committed against minority groups—​injustices that that these regimes often perpetuate or enable. As Jung explains, “the appropriate question [ . . . ] is not ‘how can democratic governments accommodate the pre-​existing and deeply held cultural commitments of their citizens?’ but instead ‘how should democratic institutions process the political claims that arise to protect and contest the exclusions and inclusions set in place by the modern state itself?’ ” (2008: 21). From this vantage point liberal multiculturalism is inadequate, as “the dominant group within the state sets the terms of the agenda for participation by minority ethnic groups and involves a bounded dialogue where the premises themselves may not be open to negotiation” (Anthias 2002: 279). Accordingly, minority ethnic groups require political power so that they can challenge discrimination and advance their own agenda, which may not be liberal.

Multiculturalism and Women’s Rights    349 The evidence suggests that minority groups agree. Postero (2007) chronicles how, after liberal multiculturalist reforms in Bolivia during the 1990s granted Indians equal citizenship and recognition, thousands of Aymara Indians led cross-​racial and class coalitions in a 2003 uprising known as the Gas War. The Aymara rejected multicultural reforms and demanded greater control over land, improved access to economic resources and social goods, and the nationalization of the gas industry. They wanted state responsiveness to, not respect for, Indian values. Or consider the Mohawk Nation, which rejects multicultural policies in favour of indigenous sovereignty because the latter challenges both the cultural hegemony of the Canadian majority and its refusal to acknowledge indigenous dispossession (Simpson 2014). These examples indicate that indigenous peoples demand remedies beyond cultural recognition. They also suggest that liberal democracies maintain their rule over minority cultural groups by using multiculturalism to deflect their more radical demands. Instead of theorizing cultural difference and how to resolve conflicts between multiculturalism and women’s rights, postcolonial feminists like Anthias (2002) and Yuval-​ Davis (2006) theorize the processes that produce injustice for marginalized groups. Yuval-​Davis (2006) suggests that scholars analyse how institutions, interactions among people, as well as media and political representations of groups generate social divisions like gender, class, and ethnicity, and that they study how people experience citizenship as a result. This analytical framework can help scholars to explain how and why many minority men as well as majority women have more power, status, and wealth than minority women, and how these inequalities facilitate conflicts between multiculturalism and women’s rights. Consider Radcliffe’s (2015) application of this framework, which she calls “postcolonial intersectionality.”3 Radcliffe discusses how a conflict between multiculturalism and women’s rights emerged in Ecuador among the Tsáchila people, and why it was a dead end for Tsáchila women. She compares two development projects. In the first, aid workers concerned about sexist indigenous norms urged Tsáchila women to recognize that their interests as women clashed with their culture, and to confront Tsáchila men (p. 167). The men won that confrontation: the reconfigured project targeted male youth for empowerment. In the second project, indigenous women organized a training school “in which culture, femininity, and empowerment acquire meanings” defined by indigenous women (p.  169). The school enhanced women’s public engagement. The implication is that liberals manufacture conflicts between multiculturalism and women’s rights when they urge minority women to attack their culture and deny them the ability to set the terms of political engagement. Radcliffe’s comparison suggests that indigenous women can avoid these conflicts and increase their power by reinterpreting their culture as they see fit. Liberal multiculturalists and substantive democrats begin with culture and argue that liberal democracies should respect it. The evidence suggests that they have overemphasized the significance of cultural identity, and that liberal governments have used multiculturalism as a tool to contain the groups they purport to respect. Alternatively, postcolonial feminists begin by investigating how groups such as “indigenous women”

350   Denise Walsh are constructed, represented, and experience citizenship. Applying this analytical framework, postcolonial feminists argue that liberals manufacture conflicts between multiculturalism and women’s rights, and that minority women can sidestep these conflicts while also enhancing their public participation.

Postcolonial Feminism vs Liberal Feminism and Procedural Democracy Postcolonial feminists criticize liberal feminists who believe that minority women are victims of their culture or that women’s rights will save them. Postcolonial feminists also disagree with procedural democrats, as the latter fail to problematize the central role culture plays in their analysis of minority women’s subordination. Postcolonial feminists contend that liberal feminists, much like liberal multiculturalists and substantive democrats, misuse and mischaracterize culture, and that liberal feminists also reify the category “women” to their own benefit. Postcolonial feminists argue that liberal feminists mischaracterize culture as bad for women by ignoring the fact that a range of cultural interpretations are possible (e.g. Abu-​Lughod 2013; Volpp 2001). While libertarians, for example, interpret state intervention to advance women’s rights as a violation of liberalism, liberal feminists argue that only through such interventions can liberalism live up to its promise of equality for all (e.g. Kukathas 2003; Okin 1989). Indeed, many feminists draw upon principles central to their cultural traditions, such as individual autonomy or the equality of all human beings in the eyes of God, to challenge women’s subordination (e.g. Okin 1989; Sunder 2003). These examples suggest that every culture offers pitfalls and opportunities for feminists, and that many selectively reinterpret cultural norms and values to advance gender justice. Postcolonial feminists also charge liberal feminists with misusing culture by exclusively focusing on cultural practices as the cause of non-​liberal women’s subordination. Liberal feminists do not attribute violence against women in India, for example, to the interaction of heteronormativity and capitalism. Instead, they target dowry, which requires a woman to provide consumer goods to her spouse upon marriage (e.g. Kapur 2002; Narayan 1997). The marketization of the Indian economy has increased demands for larger dowries; some men covet a woman’s dowry more than the woman (Kapur 2002). In extreme cases this has led to femicide. Liberal feminists like Bunch (1997) respond by attacking dowry alone, succumbing to cultural determinism. Or consider liberal feminist attacks on female genital cutting (FGC) as practised by African immigrants in Europe. Liberal feminists neglect the racial discrimination facing African immigrant women in employment, housing, or social services (e.g. Burrage 2015; Levin 1999; Rahman and Toubia 2000; cf. Wade 2012). Racism intensifies African women’s dependence on African men and the immigrant community, contributing to their

Multiculturalism and Women’s Rights    351 willingness to participate in and value FGC (e.g. Bassel 2010). Empirical researchers also find that Europeans indulge in cultural racism by concluding that patriarchal practices that differ from their own prove that the minority group is uncivilized. In response, some members of minority groups—​including women—​defend their group’s patriarchal practices (e.g. Bowen 2010; Rottmann and Ferree 2008). According to postcolonial feminists, liberal feminist misuse of culture coupled with a reification of the category “women” empowers liberal feminists, not minority women. Liberal feminists often imagine “women” as coterminous with white, bourgeois, Western women who appear to “have no culture” (e.g. Narayan 2004; Volpp 2001: 1192). Liberal feminist organizations thus promote the interests of this advantaged subgroup of women while marginalizing minority women (e.g. Predelli, Halsaa, and Thun 2012). International organizations are susceptible to a similar critique, as their embrace of liberal feminism prompts them to promote women into existing power structures that best serve advantaged subgroups of women (e.g. Arat 2015). Postcolonial feminists also charge liberal feminists with being oblivious to the costs of liberal hegemony. Scholars like Bunch (1997) and Nussbaum (1999) reason that they have a duty to act on behalf of their disadvantaged sisters given their liberal advantages. Organizations like the Feminist Majority Foundation (FMF), following this logic, promoted US military intervention in Afghanistan to save Afghani women from the Taliban. Postcolonial feminists, however, insist that liberal feminist agency does not stem from the virtues of liberalism. Instead, it is rooted in racism and neoliberalism that advantage white, bourgeois women by providing them with unparalleled access to resources such as education, technology, and security obtained through the exploitation of the world’s poor and discriminatory gatekeeping (e.g. Kapur 2002; Mohanty, Russo, and Torres 1991). The history of liberalism lends some credence to postcolonial feminist claims, as it is deeply gendered, classed, and raced (e.g. Pateman 1988; Sangari 2002); further, neoliberalism has disproportionately benefited white elites in liberal democracies (e.g. Harvey 2005). Liberal feminists rarely attack these global inequalities with the same gusto that they attack sexist, non-​liberal cultural practices. The Revolutionary Association of the Women of Afghanistan (RAWA), which spent decades advocating for Afghani women, rightly noted that the FMF ignored the complicity of the United States in contributing to the plight of Afghani women through its support of the Taliban (Farrell and McDermott 2005: 49–​50). By insisting that women’s rights conflict with non-​liberal cultures, liberal feminists suggest that women’s rights also conflict with racial and global justice, and that liberal feminists consider the latter less important. Not surprisingly, some women reject feminism in favour of cultural claims that often include rhetoric attacking US hegemony, cultural racism, and neoliberalism (e.g. Narayan 1997). Postcolonial feminists are not persuaded by the arguments of procedural democrats either. Certainly scholars like Song and Deveaux avoid essentializing culture; they also acknowledge inequalities of power within cultural communities. However, by focusing on conflicts between multiculturalism and women’s rights, procedural democrats overemphasize culture to the detriment of other factors, such as racism (e.g. Anthias

352   Denise Walsh 2002). Thus, like liberal feminists, procedural democrats attribute the “vulnerability” of minority women to culture (Deveaux 2006). To be sure, procedural democrats do not propose to save minority women from their culture; instead, they propose deliberation and the forging of a consensus among all affected, including minority women. Yet it is unclear how a group that is subordinate to both the majority and minority men might participate equally in deliberation. Deveaux cites the case of customary marriage reform in South Africa as exemplary. However, that deliberative process legalized polygyny despite strong opposition by the Rural Women’s Movement. A consensus among political actors was forged, but it was hardly a compromise among equals. Ultimately, the new legislation passed with limited input from rural women (Albertyn et al. 1999). Concerned with resolving an apparently inevitable conflict, procedural democrats overlook the possibility that minority women can dissolve these conflicts by reinterpreting their culture, and that they are rarely able to do so given their political marginalization both in their own communities and in liberal democracies. From the vantage point of postcolonial feminists, labelling the relationship between multiculturalism and women’s rights a conflict mischaracterizes and misuses culture, and reifies the category women. Empirical evidence suggests that postcolonial feminist claims have traction: culture is dynamic, internally contested, and shot through with power; although many people value their culture, ethno-​nationalist attachments not only are malleable, they are one among many identities. Minority groups therefore may seek greater political power over recognition. Minority women, who often find themselves caught between hostile majorities and patriarchal minority leaders, sometimes choose to honour their culture by reinterpreting it, rejecting the protection offered them by scholars and politicians while simultaneously avoiding conflicts between multiculturalism and women’s rights. By honouring their culture they challenge liberal democratic imperialism, racism, and neoliberalism; by reinterpreting it they challenge patriarchal minority leaders and the multiculturalism these leaders often deploy.

Policy Conflicts between Multiculturalism and Women’s Rights Given rising nationalism, pervasive global migration (see Chapter  39), resistance to multiculturalism, and a vocal cadre of feminists committed to national interests, policy conflicts between multiculturalism and women’s rights are likely to persist. For IPT scholars who aim to grapple with these problems, one way forward would be to study how minority women are constructed, are represented, and experience citizenship. Scholars are just beginning to investigate multiculturalism and women’s rights

Multiculturalism and Women’s Rights    353 through the lens of what Radcliffe calls “postcolonial intersectionality.” This research, focusing almost exclusively on Muslim women in Europe, analyses the reification of “Muslim women” and finds that they are misrepresented in the media and in politics, and that they are marginalized citizens. For example, Dutch politicians frame Muslim women as outsiders and at the same time as victims of their culture; they also “exclude, delegitimize, and otherwise marginalize Muslim women’s voices” (Korteweg and Triadafilopoulos 2013; Severs, Celis, and Meier 2013: 432). This has led some scholars to argue that integrating Muslim women’s voices into the policy-​making process will not suffice, as majority politicians only listen when these women confirm that Islam is oppressive (Bassel and Emejulu 2010). Many empirical questions about multiculturalism and women’s rights still remain. Scholars focus overwhelmingly on Islam, yet religion is distinct from culture, and growing Islamophobia means that Muslim experiences in liberal democracies may not be representative of most minority groups. Further, few systematic comparative analyses of policy conflicts between multiculturalism and women’s rights exist, meaning that little is known about similarities and differences among them, how and why they emerge, or their effects on popular attitudes toward migration, nationalism, and feminism. When, why, and how do some issues get framed as conflicts between multiculturalism and women’s rights while others do not? What other relationships between the two might exist? Do different actors advocate different types of relationships between these two sets of rights? As the burqa ban suggests, do national politicians inflame these conflicts to win votes? Who dominates policy debates between multiculturalism and women’s rights, how, and why? Some empirical research suggests that minority women may resist these conflicts by reinterpreting their culture. Does this happen often? If so, what are the normative implications for liberal democracies? IPT scholars might also ask how, when, and why conflicts between multiculturalism and women’s rights are most likely to become entrenched. They could study Dutch citizenship films, for instance, that confront aspiring Muslim citizens with images of women bathing topless, or investigate how narratives about multiculturalism and women’s rights shape individual cognitive processes, asking whether or not individuals internalize conflicts between the two and become invested in a conflict narrative. Scholars might also analyse what effects these conflicts have on popular attitudes toward multiculturalism and women’s rights. Instead of asking how liberal democracies should resolve conflicts between multiculturalism and women’s rights, IPT scholars might ask other normative questions. What, for example, should liberal democracies do, given that minority women are reified, misrepresented, and marginalized by liberal democratic politicians, international organizations, and national feminist organizations? How might liberal democracy become more responsive to minority women? What would justice for minority women in liberal democracies look like? Is it possible to imagine a mutually reinforcing relationship between multiculturalism and women’s rights? What other relationships between multiculturalism and women’s rights might scholars theorize?

354   Denise Walsh

Conclusion IPT scholars have engaged with real-​world politics by debating how to resolve conflicts between multiculturalism and women’s rights. Postcolonial feminists argue, and empirical research confirms, that these conflicts are not inevitable. Instead, they are pervasive in the scholarly literature because researchers often mischaracterize and misuse culture. IPT scholars also disagree about what justice is for and how to get it. Although many debate what would be just for minority groups and women members living in liberal democracies, few have investigated the views of minority women and their struggle to shape these debates in the real world. In the future, IPT scholars might research minority women’s demands and participation in these conflicts; they might also study how and why conflicts between multiculturalism and women’s rights emerge, and why they sometimes do not. Finally, scholars might imagine new ways to advance justice for minority women. IPT scholars can heed this call if they stop assuming that conflicts between multiculturalism and women’s rights are inevitable.

Notes 1. Scholars of multiculturalism treat religious obligations and cultural commitments as interchangeable (e.g. Phillips 2007). 2. Several scholars did not take a deliberative democratic approach, notably Kukathas (2003), Shachar (2001), and Phillips (2010). 3. Intersectionality is a theory for analysing social locations that are constituted by multiple, overlapping forms of oppression within and between groups (e.g. Crenshaw 1989; Hill Collins 1999). The terminology and application of intersectionality theory is contested (e.g. Dhamoon 2011).

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­c hapter 27

The Hum an Ri g h t to Health a nd t h e Challenge of P ov e rt y Patrick Hayden

The right to health is enshrined in international human rights treaties yet is widely compromised by global health disparities. Across the world, more than 2.2 billion people live in conditions of multidimensional poverty, comprising lack of income, poor nutrition, and inadequate sanitation and clean water, as well as structural barriers to accessing health resources (UNDP 2014: 3). Severe poverty has devastating consequences for health. Approximately one third of all deaths each year are due to poverty-​related health risks (malnutrition, unsafe water, poor sanitation and hygiene), and preventable communicable diseases (pneumonia, diarrhoeal diseases, HIV/​AIDS, malaria, measles, tuberculosis) (UNDP 2013; WHO 2015a: 14–​17). Globally, citizens of poorer countries are disadvantaged in terms of mortality, life expectancy, health expenditure, and health service coverage in comparison to the citizens of wealthier countries. The World Health Organization (WHO) estimates, for instance, that at least 1.3 billion people lack access to basic health services, and nearly a third of the global population—​including over half of those living in Africa and Asia—​lack access to essential medicines (WHO 2011). The mutually reinforcing cycle of poverty, inequality, and poor health affects the disease burden around the world: low-​and middle-​income countries bear 93 per cent of the world’s disease burden, yet account for only 18 per cent of world income and 11 per cent of global health spending (WHO 2000: 7; 2013: 37). This chapter considers legal, moral, and political articulations of the right to health, alongside the challenges posed to health status by poverty and socioeconomic inequality. The first section traces the evolution of international concern with health as a basic human right worthy of protection and fulfilment. Despite its uneven implementation globally, the right to health is increasingly acknowledged as a justified claim on governments to provide access to adequate health services and treatment. The second section discusses two competing frameworks for conceptualizing the meaning and value

358   Patrick Hayden of health—​a statist framing of securitization and a globalist framing of individual entitlement—​as examples of how the right to health faces uncertainty associated with current international policy decisions. Although health is often viewed by states as a residual category of wider security interests, globalists contend that this view diminishes responsibility for the social determinants of health essential to enjoyment of the right to health itself. The third section proposes an understanding of the right to health in terms of recognition theory’s emphasis on the intersectional injustices of poverty and inequality, which refers to the ways that material deprivation and social exclusion compound each other. Analysing the right to health in these terms, I argue, should lead us to think more expansively about the deleterious consequences of poverty and inequality on the health, identity, and self-​respect of those who are not recognized as fully human persons.

Health as a Basic Human Right The right to health has assumed greater prominence on the social science agenda since the early 2000s, driven by the concerns of scholars, policy-​makers, and social movements about the adverse implications of globalization on economic and social rights. Once considered “the neglected stepchildren of the human rights movement” (Farmer 2003: xxiv), socioeconomic rights now attract an enormous amount of writing, largely centred on analysis of the pathways through which their realization can take place. Despite this increasing interest in socioeconomic rights generally, study of the right to health in particular remains surprisingly modest in International Political Theory (IPT). The majority of analyses of health and human rights comes from the fields of international law, health studies, sociology, bioethics, and philosophy. Norman Daniels (2008) has formulated a modified Rawlsian account of just health policy, for example, positing health care as central to the fair distribution of income, wealth, and opportunities. Yet even for Daniels, health becomes a focus of justice only indirectly, insofar as it matters for resource allocation and equality of opportunity. Similarly, Simon Caney (2010) refers to the vital interests we have in the rights to life, health, and subsistence, but attention to these rights is bounded by his overarching consideration of climate change. Thus, IPT still has pressingly important contributions to make in clarifying both the significance of the value of health for its own sake and the role that health plays as an important dimension of human wellbeing within an international context. While representing a variety of approaches and theories, current research on the right to health turns, in essence, on the constituent norms of the international human rights system. The idea that health is a human right was first articulated in the preamble to the 1946 WHO constitution, and was subsequently included in Article 25(1) of the 1948 Universal Declaration of Human Rights (UDHR): “Everyone has the right to a standard of living adequate for the health and well-​being of himself and his family, including food, clothing, housing and medical care.” The 1966 International Covenant on

Health and the Challenge of Poverty    359 Economic, Social and Cultural Rights (ICESCR) also codifies “the right of everyone to the enjoyment of the highest attainable standard of physical and mental health,” and requires states parties to take steps individually and through international cooperation to progressively realize this right, subject to “the maximum of their available resources.” Such measures include the prevention, treatment, and control of epidemic diseases, the provision of antenatal and neonatal primary care, and the creation of social conditions to assure adequate medical attention to all. The principle of “progressive realization” acknowledges that enjoyment of the right to health depends upon the circumstances prevailing in any given context, as well as the need for states to prioritize the allocation of scarce resources (financial, technological, natural, and organizational). Nonetheless, states remain obligated to ensure the allocation of “adequate” resources to secure the immediate “effective” implementation of the right to health—​including through international assistance—​while taking steps to develop health system capacities (UNHCHR and WHO 2008). The right to health is further codified in a number of other international human rights instruments, and is frequently presented as part of a configuration of related rights focused on alleviation of suffering and enhancement of wellbeing. For instance, the Human Rights Committee—​the treaty monitoring body for the 1966 International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights—​has broadly interpreted the right to life (Article 6) as requiring states to implement measures targeted at reducing infant mortality and preventing malnutrition and epidemic disease (UNHRC 1982). The 1979 Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination against Women, noting that “in situations of poverty women have the least access to food, health, education, training and opportunities for employment and other needs” (Preamble), mandates that states parties take steps to eliminate discrimination against women in the field of health care, and to ensure equality of access to health care services, including those related to family planning (Article 12). The 1989 Convention on the Rights of the Child confirms that childhood is entitled to special care related specifically to “physical and mental health” (Article 17), including the right to life and development (Article 6), and states are bound to adopt measures to diminish infant and child mortality, ensure medical assistance and primary health care, combat disease and malnutrition, provide clean drinking water, and offer information and education related to health, nutrition, and sanitation (Article 24). Each of these instruments situates the right to health in relation to fundamental principles of non-​discrimination and equality, emphasizing that the right to health is mutually constitutive of a host of other human rights. In short, human life, wellbeing, and dignity cannot survive in conditions of chronic poverty, economic and political inequality, and neglect or denial of health services. The human right to health is by its nature what Henry Shue calls a “basic right.” Rights are “basic” if and when “enjoyment of them is essential to the enjoyment of all other rights,” and they specify the “line beneath which no one is to be allowed to sink” (Shue 1996:  18–​19). Shue identifies security, liberty, and subsistence as mutually dependent basic rights because they are constitutive of the fulfilment of every other right. The correlative duties flowing from the three basic rights—​to avoid depriving individuals

360   Patrick Hayden of their rights, to protect individuals from deprivation, and to aid the deprived (see Chapter 41)—​are therefore necessary conditions for the effective exercise of all other rights (Shue 1995: 52). The Committee on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights likewise argues that the right to health is “indispensable for the exercise of other human rights” (UNCESCR 2000: para. 1). Since an individual’s standard of health is of central importance for the full enjoyment of all human rights, both socioeconomic and civil-​political, characterizing the right to health as a basic right seems apt. This is especially clear when considering how the right to health should be guaranteed for those facing “formidable structural and other obstacles” (UNCESCR 2000: para. 5), such as poverty, inequality, discrimination, and persistent burden of disease. As a basic right, the right to health cuts across the traditional negative/​positive dichotomy often used to distinguish civil-​political and socioeconomic rights. On one hand it refers to the right not to have one’s health harmed by acts that infringe upon one’s bodily integrity, such as torture and medical experimentation. Yet security rights are jointly necessary with basic subsistence rights, such as the provision of primary health care services, safe drinking water, adequate food and sanitation, basic health education, reproductive and child healthcare services, and access to essential medicines (UNCESCR 1990: para. 10). On the other hand, then, the right to health cannot be realized adequately simply through non-​interference by the state. As a right to certain benefits and assistance, it requires positive action to be taken in order to ensure access to health services, treatment and support for all individuals, and for public health to be protected by suitable social measures. Failure to implement such measures implies deprivation of individuals’ life and wellbeing, and violation of states’ obligations to respect, promote, and fulfil the right to health.

Health Security and the Social Determinants of Health Under closer scrutiny, however, the position of the right to health is more ambiguous than international legal developments suggest. Conflicting pressures emerging from an often polarized international health regime contribute to situating health at the heart of a contradictory tension between statism and globalism. While states seek to maintain comprehensive control over their borders in order to protect their populations from exogenous health-​related risks and hazards (Amon 2014), they also face compelling political pressures to promote policies improving health equity so that all individuals have “secure access” (Pogge 2008: 71) to the right to health. Both aspects of “health security” evidently are a good thing. Protection against threats to life, liberty, and physical security is commonly acknowledged as a social good that states have a responsibility to provide for their citizens. Similarly, having secure access to the contents of basic rights to subsistence and health care is also generally regarded as a social good. But it is a thornier

Health and the Challenge of Poverty    361 question as to whether state duties to mitigate against threats (real or imagined) to public health and security, or achieving effective individual rights to health and subsistence, should be accorded priority in practice. As Shue (1996: 61) recognizes, the coercive powers of states to impose extensive security measures can have deleterious effects on individual human rights. While understandable as a pragmatic strategy to minimize a select population’s exposure to contagion in an interconnected world, the statist security approach easily turns into powerful foreign policy and economic considerations that benefit only a relatively small number of people. This approach also functions to legitimize a reductive picture of unitary global health threats that glosses over different vulnerabilities concentrated among the world’s poor. The United States and the United Kingdom, for example, now directly reference infectious disease threats as central to their “smart power” national security strategies (Nunes 2014). But the tendency to adopt reductive accounts of what counts as a health threat is not simply a product of pragmatic strategizing by states individually; it is also a reflection of the problematic recent development of a new and extremely potent capacity for international health governance consolidated under the generic umbrella of health security. Since the adoption of new international health regulations in 2005, a coordinated system of global health regulation has emerged that aims to define the objects and modalities of disease regulations beyond and between states, and which prioritizes infectious diseases surveillance. In 2014 the US also spearheaded the “Global Health Security Agenda,” an international mechanism comprising more than thirty states and international organizations that seeks to “accelerate progress toward a world safe and secure from infectious disease threats and to promote global health security as an international security priority” (CDC 2015). This statist lens highlights the spectre of naturally occurring pandemics, such as the recent SARS, H1N1, and Ebola epidemics, as well as intentional contagions resulting from bioterrorism and the deliberate spread of viruses, germs, and pathogens. By reifying a heavily securitized conception of health, this lens epitomizes a growing fear of “emerging” diseases and of new risks “slanted towards the priorities of western nations” (Brown 2011: 324). There is, then, a dramatic difference between two primary approaches to conceptualizing global health which reflect divergent normative priorities, the power of agenda-​ setting, and the translation of ethical-​political principles into policy objectives and health outcomes. The statist approach prioritizes the interests of states and their respective populations, and searches for new modes of diplomatic, economic, and foreign policy that strengthen the capacity of (some) states to respond to and control perceived health risks. The globalist approach, in contrast, prioritizes the rights and interests of individuals across all countries, and looks for new measures of health equality that support substantial values about interdependent basic rights and transnational mechanisms for enhancing health as a requisite to human wellbeing (Davies 2010). A globalist, human rights approach thus indicates two conceptual and normative weaknesses of the statist understanding of health. One is that the push by states in the global North to strengthen infectious diseases surveillance out of a concern for discrete events characterized as acute “emergencies” and “crises” justifies an extreme focus on epidemiological

362   Patrick Hayden “risk management”—​ accentuating techniques of containment, quarantine, and isolation—​rather than on long-​term expansion of adequate health and social infrastructure, improvements in living conditions, and treatment of non-​communicable ailments afflicting the global South—​such as the preventable diarrhoeal diseases closely linked with poverty from which millions of “vulnerable and socially disadvantaged people” die every year (Kamradt-​Scott and McInnes 2012; WHO 2015b). Another weakness is that the reductive conceptualization of health adopted by the statist approach, which views health as a matter of “negative” security or survival from existential threats, brings with it several disturbing implications (Brown and Stoeva 2014: 306). First, it masks the normatively significant role that health plays in a broader picture of human wellbeing and what it means to live a properly human life. Second, it equates the health interests of individuals and the health interests of states, which do not necessarily overlap or converge. Third, it reclassifies human rights violations as generic threats to physical security, diverting attention from states’ obligations to promote basic socioeconomic rights. Finally, it represents health issues in isolation from the multidimensional social conditions that strongly shape patterns of individual and group health—​which are often structured along the fault lines of poverty, inequality, and discrimination—​thereby privileging respect for state sovereignty over respect for individual rights (Lakoff 2010). Indeed, the rise of state control over public health in terms of transnational health securitization has occurred at a time where the combination of neoliberal economic policies, global terrorism and counterterrorism, and the post-​2008 global financial crisis has eroded promotion and protection of socioeconomic rights. The argument here is not that addressing “health security” is unimportant, since protection from disease is beneficial, but that prioritizing securitization skews the referent object of health needs, privileges only a small proportion of threats to health, and reflects the narrow concerns of the most powerful and wealthy states (Rushton 2011: 782–​4). The central issue at stake is that health is far more than survival from existential threats; it is also about the quality and condition of existence itself. The enjoyment of the highest attainable standard of health is integral to living with dignity, to cultivating personal agency, to participating in the life of one’s social, political, and economic communities, and to exercising a full spectrum of valued rights and liberties. When health is understood as a vital interest of all individuals, both as a positive state of human wellbeing and as a basic right necessary to the exercise of all other human rights, it follows that health is not merely instrumental to statist ends but has an intrinsic value. Consequently, over the past decade movement towards a globalist approach to the poverty–​health nexus has positioned the interpretation of health as an individual entitlement within the broader framework of the underlying systemic and socioeconomic determinants of health. This echoes the definition of the right to health in the WHO Constitution, couched in terms of the “enjoyment of the highest attainable standard of health [ . . . ] without distinction of race, religion, political belief, economic or social condition.” The ICESCR similarly frames the right to health as a guarantee of “the highest attainable standard of physical and mental health,” foregrounding a socially expansive view of health and the role of non-​medical social factors in contributing to health inequalities.

Health and the Challenge of Poverty    363 According to the authoritative interpretation offered by the UN Committee on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights General Comment 14 (UNCESCR 2000: para. 12), the right to health contains four “interrelated and essential elements” which apply to health care, public health, and the social determinants of health. In fulfilling the right to health, states have an obligation not only to protect individuals from interference with their enjoyment of this right, but also to take social measures that ensure health goods, services, and facilities are (1) available in sufficient quantity; (2) accessible to everyone without discrimination, including being affordable and geographically accessible; (3) acceptable, including ethically, culturally and with respect to privacy; and (4) of good quality and scientifically appropriate. Particular emphasis is placed on conceptualizing the underlying social determinants of health as supra-​individual factors that strongly influence realization of the right to health itself. Such determinants include safe and potable water; safe and nutritious food; sanitation; housing; occupational and environmental hygiene; health information and education; employment and economic opportunities; gender and racial equality; and social inclusion. Anchoring the right to health in its underlying social determinants means it is not to be construed as a right to be “healthy.” Rather, it is “a right to the enjoyment of a variety” of diagnostic, curative, and preventive “facilities, goods, services and conditions necessary for the realization of the highest attainable standard of health” (UNCESCR 2000: para. 9). The evolving social determinants paradigm gained further momentum as a basis for universal health norms when the WHO established the Commission on Social Determinants of Health (CSDH) in 2005. In its final report published in 2008, the CSDH recommended shared domestic and global responsibility to address three core health areas going forward: (1) improving the daily living conditions in which individuals are born, grow, live, work, and age; (2) tackling the “deeper social structures and processes” that shape those conditions, specifically the inequitable distribution of power, wealth, and resources within and across countries; and (3) researching and measuring the multidimensional causal factors that undermine health outcomes and health equity (CSDH 2008:  202–​6). In this way, the social determinants paradigm extends beyond the traditional biomedical model of health—​understood as the absence of physical disease or defect irrespective of contributing social factors—​exploited by the statist approach. More broadly, it reminds us that health is not merely about having or not having certain things, but more importantly about the quality and condition of a broad spectrum of social arrangements that protect, promote, or restore each individual’s capability to be healthy (Sen 2002).

Poverty and the Right to Health through the Lens of Recognition From a human rights perspective, an emphasis on the social determinants of health is appealing because it focuses attention on the need to adopt broad measures to counteract

364   Patrick Hayden patterns of poverty and inequality precipitating global health inequities, and to direct such interventions to the most marginalized and vulnerable communities. Strong correlations exist between poverty, inequality in access to the social determinants of health, and the forms of vulnerability that deepen and perpetuate conditions of poor health amongst lowest income groups worldwide. Moreover, health inequalities are exacerbated by social discrimination and political exclusion on the grounds of race, ethnicity, gender, sexual orientation, religion, and language. These linkages suggest that social, economic, political, and health status are co-​determined. While material deprivations deeply affect the ability of the poor to obtain services and conditions necessary for the realization of the highest attainable standard of health, my claim here is that inequalities of power, status, and political voice are also constitutive of the experience of persistent health inequalities as a global phenomenon. As a consequence, health inequalities are partly rooted in a reluctance to acknowledge the social determinants of health inequalities and their situational specificity for marginalized individuals and groups subject to unequal social relationships of poverty, discrimination, and stigmatization—​a reluctance that may be overlooked by an overly narrow resource-​distribution paradigm. A more effective and normatively compelling approach to the ongoing struggle for the right to health, I shall argue, focuses attention on how routine forms of misrecognition, alongside maldistribution, diminish the human status of those most vulnerable to health disparities. To better understand why inequalities of status, power, and voice, in addition to material scarcity, translate into health deprivations, it is helpful to turn to a “recognition theory” approach to human rights that allows us to see human rights as sites of political struggle over what makes us the same and what makes us different from one another—​ struggles, in other words, for due recognition of our always precarious human status. While the prevailing view about human rights in international relations relies upon the presumption of a presocial rights-​bearing subject whose inherent dignity transcends the various contexts in which deprivation occurs, recognition theories highlight the distinctive forms of power and status that condition the lives of embodied individuals and groups, and the historically and politically situated nature of rights claims emerging from social struggles against injustice. This has the benefit of bringing back into view the specifically political dimension of human rights—​that is, the ways that human rights claims are catalysed by the experiences of disrespect, humiliation, and a sense of powerlessness inextricably bound up with the many dimensions of material and social disadvantage. A recognition approach articulates the situatedness of human rights as political claims to a fully human status that we acquire through our constitutive social relationships. The ability to exercise rights is dependent not only upon the juridical enshrinement of rights in positive law, but even more fundamentally upon the existence of intersubjective relations through which individuals acquire their sense of identity, self-​confidence, self-​ respect, and self-​esteem as states of wellbeing (Honneth 1995). This contrasts with the conventional “liberal consensus” on human rights (Evans 2002: 199), which reflects an overly abstract understanding of “inalienable” rights as possessed by all human beings simply in virtue of their humanity and independently of all forms of social recognition. Yet human dignity is not simply an inherent or natural fact; it is a sociopolitical condition

Health and the Challenge of Poverty    365 that comes from being recognized by another as human (see Chapter 46). Dignity, in other words, is an interpersonal status acquired by intersubjective means of equal recognition acknowledging due respect for the worth and particularity of others. Proponents of the notion of inherent rights might argue that a recognition theory of rights is unable to provide a satisfactory account of the (intrinsic) worth of human beings, and thus is unable to offer a secure normative foundation for critiquing injustice. A recognition theory of rights can counter, however, that intrinsic moral worth itself, independently of active social recognition, does not give rise to the status of right holder. Without the mutual acknowledgement by a community of others of one’s equal standing as a human person, one is effectively without rights insofar as human rights constitute a social practice formed through reciprocal recognition within the political realm. As practices of social recognition, rights confer an effective political status that thereby acknowledges the justice (or injustice) of certain ways of acting and being treated. The recognition approach thereby (re)politicizes both rights and human status, since these can be won or lost within the continuous dynamics of recognition and misrecognition in the political realm. The danger of an inherent-​rights approach is that it overlooks complex ways that inequalities in status have been and continue to be depoliticized. As recognition theory emphasizes, possessing rights is not “a matter of being constituted in a certain way” but “of being afforded a certain sort of social recognition” (Darby 2009: 132). As with both the basic rights account and the social determinants view of health, then, the recognition approach is deeply concerned with social relationships that involve the imposition of unjustified status inequalities (economic, juridical, political, cultural) giving rise to disempowering experiences of disrespect, stigmatization, or exclusion of certain individuals or groups from claiming rights (Honneth 2007). All three approaches bring to our attention the often-​overlooked interplay between forms of economic deprivation and sociocultural misrecognition. Moreover, recognition theory discloses how political exclusion and socioeconomic deprivation are mutually reinforcing bases for the denial of equal human status and thus the deprivation of human rights. To be impoverished, malnourished, a racial, ethnic, gender, or sexual minority, disabled or suffering disease and chronic illness are conditions commonly treated as pathological “defects” (as on the biomedical model) or “threats” (as on the securitization model) exhibited by the less-​than-​human. Poor health has a potential for social stigmatization when regarded as a deviation from “normalcy.” This is why the link between health status and social, economic, and political status is crucial to the human right to health. For the right to be effectively enjoyed, it is insufficient to be formally granted a legal entitlement, since numerous social factors—​including poverty, discrimination, pollution, and illiteracy—​negatively impact the ability of some individuals or groups to gain due recognition as legitimate and equal rights-​bearers. Often those who disproportionately bear the burden of ill-​health are also those subject to misrecognition—​not heard, seen, or wanted as equal persons in the sociopolitical realm. Poor health can then become a marker that attaches inferior status to misrecognized individuals and groups. It is no coincidence that “post-​Westphalian” social movements of the poor and socially excluded increasingly frame their struggles for “participatory parity” and “equal

366   Patrick Hayden voice” (Fraser 2008) in terms of human rights that are conditioned by deeply contextual asymmetries of misrecognition. The dynamics of misrecognition are, for instance, historically associated with the struggles against religious intolerance and against slavery, for worker’s rights and for women’s suffrage, and, more recently, for indigenous peoples’ rights as well as for health care justice. Because health inequalities and lack of access to adequate health care services, treatment, and essential medicines are problems that affect individuals and groups in the global South as well as the North, promotion of the right to health is part of a growing global struggle against geopolitical structural asymmetries bracketing the right to health outside the dominant statist frame of surveillance and control. The ongoing global movement for healthcare justice consists of numerous groups, NGOs, coalitions, and collaborative networks engaged in direct action, both intra-​and transnationally, to promote provision of the goods, services, and conditions necessary for the realization of the highest attainable standard of health on affordable, equitable terms to all persons. Notable examples include the Treatment Action Campaign (TAC) in South Africa, the Movimento Sanitário in Brazil, the National Movement for the Defense of the Right to Health in Paraguay, the Right to Health and Health Care Campaign in India, and the global People’s Health Movement (see Turiano and Smith 2008). The healthcare justice movement is not homogeneous, since many health-​related needs and deprivations are dependent on context and constituency, but the overall aim is to prioritize the needs of the global poor. In South Africa, for example, TAC adopted a successful strategy of pursuing claims for access to adequate medical treatment and essential medicines, including public antiretroviral provision for poor people living with HIV/​AIDS, through a combination of rights-​based public interest litigation and political mobilization “led by people with HIV” so as to construct a non-​ stigmatized status and thereby resist their sociocultural subordination and disrespect (Heywood 2009: 17). Along these lines, Pogge (2010: 21) notes that the patent protectionism enforced by the WTO’s multilateral Agreement on Trade-​Related Aspects of Intellectual Property Rights (TRIPS) inflates the prices of essential medicines, discourages R&D for “unprofitable” diseases that mainly affect developing countries, and further entrenches global health inequalities by curtailing the access of poor people to more affordable generic versions of brand-​name pharmaceuticals. The point to stress is that activism for health equity involves empowering disadvantaged individuals and groups to have a voice in raising public awareness about social disparities in health, to be advocates for their own priority health needs, and to act as participants in the political struggle for recognition of their status as equal rights-​holders.

Conclusion The human right to health entails ethical claims about vital human interests, legal measures establishing a set of interrelated entitlements, and political actions intended to prevent harm and improve lives. The normative ideal of the highest attainable standard of health ensured for all may be ambitious, but it is based on the urgent vision that access to

Health and the Challenge of Poverty    367 adequate health services and essential medicines is a requisite not merely for life but for a properly human life of meaningful dignity, wellbeing, and functioning. This chapter has examined the centrality of health to human wellbeing and the institutional insertion of the question of health within the international human rights framework. Here the right to health is, to use Shue’s expression, a “basic right.” Basic rights bring with them demands for the mitigation and progressive rectification of global health inequalities and unequal distributions of the social determinants of health, which disproportionately affect those living in poverty. But beyond matters of material deprivation and problems of economic redistribution, my aim has been to show that a deeper engagement with the right to health reveals how poverty and inequality are bound up with discriminatory attitudes, lack of respect, and non-​inclusive subordination. Misrecognition contributes to systemic disavowal of the social determinants of health and thus to the fates of those living (or dying) under the grossly unequal burden of ill health. Health inequalities arise from the ways that inequalities in power, resources, and status, both within and between countries, condition the ability of different individuals and groups to access adequate health care and essential medicines, and to live at least reasonably healthy and therefore properly human lives. I have argued that, seen in this light, the human right to health is best conceived not as an inherent pre-​political right but as a political claim emerging from struggles for equal recognition in contexts of inequality and deprivation on the part of those most vulnerable to health disparities. This argument has sought to illustrate several distinctive contributions that a critical recognition perspective makes to fostering the conditions necessary for the highest attainable standard of health and wellbeing for everyone: empowering the poor to hold governments accountable for health inequalities; creating opportunities for public inclusion in developing policies and programmes that are consistent with human wellbeing; providing a framework for redress of rights violations and social exclusion; and mobilizing civil society action to achieve acknowledgement of the right to health. Yet undeniable tensions remain in the international domain between contending statist and globalist definitions, priorities, and processes of health security and human rights. Likewise, addressing preventable and unwarranted disparities in health status that reinforce the poor’s lack of power and voice is, for international political theorists, a principal challenge going forward. This situation reveals that the meaning and practical reality of the human right to health is still in flux. In short, the intersection of poverty and health continues to be a multifaceted, complex, and far-​reaching human rights issue of the first importance.

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368   Patrick Hayden Brown, G. W., and P. Stoeva (2014). Reevaluating Health Security from a Cosmopolitan Perspective. In S. Rushton and J. Youde (eds), Routledge Handbook of Global Health Security (London: Routledge), 304–​17. Caney, S. (2010). Climate Change, Human Rights and Moral Thresholds. In S. Humphreys (ed.), Human Rights and Climate Change (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press), 69–​90. Centres for Disease Control and Prevention (2015). Global Health Security Agenda. [Online; accessed 19 Apr. 2017.] http://​www.cdc.gov/​globalhealth/​security/​index.htm CSDH (Commission on Social Determinants of Health) (2008). Closing the Gap in a Generation:  Health Equity through Action on the Social Determinants of Health (Geneva: World Health Organization). Daniels, N. (2008). Just Health:  Meeting Health Needs Fairly (Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press). Darby, D. (2009). Rights, Race, and Recognition (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Davies, S. E. (2010). Global Politics of Health (Cambridge: Polity). Evans, T. (2002). A Human Right to Health? Third World Quarterly 23(2): 197–​216. Farmer, P. (2003). Pathologies of Power: Health, Human Rights, and the New War on the Poor (Berkeley: University of California Press). Fraser, N. (2008). Scales of Justice:  Reimagining Political Space in a Globalizing World (Cambridge: Polity). Heywood, M. (2009). South Africa’s Treatment Action Campaign: Combining Law and Social Mobilization to Realize the Right to Health. Journal of Human Rights Practice 1(1): 14–​36. Honneth, A. (1995). The Struggle for Recognition:  The Moral Grammar of Social Conflicts (Cambridge: Polity). Honneth, A. (2007). Disrespect: The Normative Foundations of Critical Theory (Cambridge: Polity). Kamradt-​Scott, A., and C. McInnes (2012). The Securitisation of Pandemic Influenza: Framing, Security and Public Policy. Global Public Health 7(S2): 95–​110. Lakoff, A. (2010). Two Regimes of Global Health. Humanity:  An International Journal of Human Rights, Humanitarianism, and Development 1(1): 59–​79. Nunes, J. (2014). Questioning Health Security: Insecurity and Domination in World Politics. Review of International Studies 40(5): 939–​60. Pogge, T. (2008). World Poverty and Human Rights, 2nd edn (Cambridge: Polity). Pogge, T. (2010). Politics as Usual: What Lies Behind the Pro-​Poor Rhetoric (Cambridge: Polity). Rushton, S. (2011). Global Health Security: Security for Whom? Security from What? Political Studies 59(4): 779–​96. Sen, A. (2002). Why Health Equity? Health Economics 11(8): 659–​66. Shue, H. (1996). Basic Rights: Subsistence, Affluence, and US Foreign Policy, 2nd edn (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press). Turiano, L., and L. Smith (2008). The Catalytic Synergy of Health and Human Rights: The People’s Health Movement and the Right to Health and Health Care Campaign. Health and Human Rights 10(1): 137–​47. UNCESCR (United Nations Committee on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights) (1990). General Comment No. 3: The Nature of States Parties’ Obligations. 14 Dec. [Online; accessed 19 Apr. 2017.] http://​www.refworld.org/​docid/​4538838e10.html UNCESCR (2000). General Comment no. 14: The Right to the Highest Attainable Standard of Health. 11 Aug. [Online; accessed 19 Apr. 2017.] http://​www.refworld.org/​docid/​4538838d0. html

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­c hapter 28

In ternationa l P ol i t i c a l T heory and L G BTQ  Ri g h ts Anthony J. Langlois

In theorizing “gay rights as human rights,” International Political Theory (IPT) necessarily engages a fraught terrain: the real-world politics of rights for lesbians, gays, bisexuals, trans, and queer people is deeply contested. While now recognized by the UN and leading democratic states (if still incompletely and often haphazardly), LGBTQ1 rights are denied in many other quarters. Empirical research in global sexuality politics demonstrates the value of human rights in securing protections for LGBTQ people; at the same time, it highlights the ambiguities associated with the universalizing claims of this rights politics. In this chapter, I discuss how the use of LGBTQ rights claims highlights the need for critical theoretical approaches to human rights. These approaches consider the practice of human rights—​specifically here of LGBTQ rights—​in the context of real-​world politics. Theorists are required to go beyond normative and abstract claims, such as the one made famous by Hillary Clinton at the UN, that “gay rights are human rights”; they are also required to consider the politicized and sometimes antithetical use to which such claims are put in the foreign policies of states and the behaviour of other international actors. The practice of gay rights by states and other agents, like the practice of other human rights, can be caught up in a politics which undermines the emancipatory impetus of the initial social movement.

The United Nations and LGBT Rights as Human Rights The United Nations is the centre of the global human rights regime (see Chapter 23), yet until recently it neglected the physical abuse and political disenfranchisement suffered

IPT and LGBTQ Rights    371 by people of diverse sexuality and gender identities, the non-​heteronormative, the queer. In the last decade, however, this situation has changed remarkably. Former UN Secretary-​General Ban Ki-​moon powerfully urged all states to address the human rights abuse of LGBT persons. He declared the struggle for the protection of LGBT rights “one of the great, neglected challenges of our time” (UN 2013). The UN also launched a major global education campaign on LGBT rights, called “Free and Equal” (cf. UN 2012). Similarly, in a controversial landmark speech at the UN, Hillary Clinton, as US Secretary of State, enjoined the world to recognize that “gay rights are human rights, and human rights are gay rights” (Clinton 2011). Most recently, on 30 June 2016, after extensive debate (ARC International and ILGA 2016), the Human Rights Council voted in favour of a UN Special Procedure, establishing the office of an Independent Expert on Sexual Orientation and Gender Identity (SOGI) (UNHRC 2016). Notwithstanding these developments, there is no international human rights instrument or treaty which explicitly guarantees that individuals or groups should not be discriminated against or otherwise have their human rights violated as a consequence of sexuality diversity or gender identity. As Francine D’Amico points out in her discussion of the full range of UN human rights instruments, “none of these documents specifically identifies sexual and gender minorities as entitled to these protections, and several contain language that may be used to justify discrimination and violence against sexual and gender minorities”—​with “morality and public order” clauses being clear instances (for an example see UDHR, Article 29.2) (D’Amico 2015: 55). In the absence of dedicated instruments, legal and political advocacy depends on the application of existing human rights protections and the expansion of their remit through various strategies. This process can be observed in the development, by independent advocacy organizations, of the Montreal Declaration and the Yogyakarta Principles, both in 2006. These, and particularly the latter, sought to interpret existing international human rights law in ways which would emphasize and make explicit the protection of LGBTQ persons that such law implies. Despite the rigid polarization of views between states on gender and sexuality (Symons and Altman 2015), various UN fora have voted in favour of LGBT human rights measures. The Human Rights Council has twice voted to request reports from the UN High Commissioner for Human Rights on discrimination and violence against individuals based on their sexual orientation and gender identity, the first issued in 2011 and a second in 2015. Notwithstanding some positive developments in some jurisdictions in the period between the two reports, “continuing, pervasive, violent abuse, harassment and discrimination” are reported to be experienced in all regions (UNHRC 2015). The UN Security Council has also convened its first meeting on LGBT rights. The meeting comes in the context of the assault by Islamic State (IS) against territories in Iraq and Syria. A  particularly horrific part of IS strategy involves rounding up men thought to be gay and executing them by hurling them from rooftops. While not all UN Security Council members attended, those present met with IS victims of anti-​gay violence as well as experts from the NGO community (Reinl 2015; see also Long 2015).

372   Anthony J. Langlois It remains a fact that the “principled differences” between states in the halls of the UN on matters of sexuality diversity and gender identity and expression are all too often polite ways of justifying and perpetuating forms of violence which are on a continuum with those used by IS (Altman and Symons 2016). While Russia, for example, attended the informal UNSC LGBT rights meeting, Vladimir Putin is at the forefront of an international “traditional values” coalition which promotes anti-​gay laws and decries LGBTQ rights (Wilkinson 2014).

Global Sexuality Politics in  the Real World To this point in our discussion we have a reasonably straightforward account of the “standard narrative”: the development of the global human rights regime through the UN and its extension—​halting and haphazard—​to LGBTQ populations. Human rights are an unambiguously good thing, their failure to cover LGBTQ populations an unambiguously bad thing, and in the struggle to extend the regime, there are clear indicators of who is on “the right side of history” (Clinton 2011). A principal purpose of this chapter is to complicate this account; to suggest that the extension of human rights to LGBTQ populations has other consequences, which in turn set up a complicating agenda for the theorization of the practice of human rights as gay rights. We must ask: what happens when forms of sexual and gender politics around the world are brought under the remit of the global human rights regime? When they are conceptualized as something to be addressed, managed, and evaluated using tools called “LGBTQ rights” (Drucker 2000; Lind 2010)? Clearly, a major impetus for this engagement is the violence and discrimination suffered by individuals and groups of people. But the absence of a human rights sexuality and gender politics should not be understood to mean the absence of sexuality and gender politics—​politics which are always admixed with class and race, and which cover the whole gamut of human experience, from cruel repression through to celebration of difference (see e.g. Boellstorff 2007). Both the human rights project and the internationalization of the figure that we might think of as the “global gay” (Altman 1997; Martel 2013) bring with them particular and specific understandings of sexuality and gender (Thoreson 2011). This can very often lead to rights activists engaging in the same kinds of reductive practices around sexuality and gender as their erstwhile opponents, their emancipatory intent being undermined by neo-​orientalist social and geographic imaginaries (Rao 2014). These issues point to the need for a gay rights activism which is imbued with a strong critical theoretical awareness. We cannot not want LGBTQ rights (cf. Spivak 2009), but as a close examination of the real-​world experience of LGBTQ rights advocacy and the use of gay rights by states in their foreign policies will show, not all approaches to gay rights are equally emancipatory.

IPT and LGBTQ Rights    373

Developing a Critical Theoretical Approach Human rights articulates a normative vision of a world in which all persons have equal moral worth and are treated as such. But is this what is delivered by real-​world human rights politics, activism and institutionalization (Stammers 2009)? How should we understand human rights if the practice of human rights does not deliver results in line with their normative self-​articulation? This should be of significant concern for the increasingly visible and institutionalized world of LGBTQ advocacy, as it gears up to establish itself as a fully credentialled member of the global human rights community (Thoreson 2014; Seckinelgin and Paternotte 2015). Within international political theory, these developments have led to a reappraisal of what we understand human rights to be and, critically, of how we should theorize them (Douzinas and Gearty 2014). It is clear that traditional ways of understanding human rights—​ways which operated as self-​contained or systematic philosophical discourses about the nature and foundations of rights, for example—​have become inadequate for understanding the role human rights have come to play in our world (Hoover 2016). While often interesting and sophisticated, such systems typically have little relationship to the unfolding of human rights in the real world which we inhabit. International political theory has thus turned to theorizing the practice of human rights in the real world. This reappraisal is important for LGBTQ rights—​both for the possibility and the ways of understanding LGBTQ rights to be human rights, but also with respect to understanding the limits of human rights for the political objectives pursued by coalitions of sexuality-​and gender-​diverse people. Charles Beitz observed that “human rights practice is not a mature social practice.” He continued, There is disagreement about all its main elements—​for example, about the content of its norms, the eligible means for their application and enforcement, the distribution of responsibilities to support them, and the weight to be accorded to considerations about human rights when they come into conflict with other values. International human rights institutions lack capabilities for authoritative adjudication of disputes and coercive enforcement of the practice’s norms. The division of labor between public human rights institutions and nongovernmental organisations that participate in international institutional processes is unstable. Most importantly [ . . . ] there is no unambiguous basis for establishing the boundaries of the discursive community within which the practice takes place. (Beitz 2009: 10)

As if to bear witness to these observations, Beitz’s own analysis hews very closely to the status quo, with concomitantly disappointing results for anyone wishing to push the envelope of human rights activism—​including those supporting women’s rights and democracy as a human right, which Beitz discusses, and (extrapolating from these)

374   Anthony J. Langlois LGBTQ rights as human rights. The contentious nature of these rights, in Beitz’s analysis, limits our capacity to affirm them as central elements of the practice of human rights. Not all practice theorists end up in the cul-​de-​sac of the status quo. An alternative analysis is provided by Christina Lafont. She argues that contingent features of the practice of human rights are often given the status of constitutive norms, thereby “giving undue authority to the status quo”—​the role of the state in conceptualizing human rights is the particular target of her analysis. She suggests that “this argumentative move (privileging the status quo) serves the ideological purpose of closing off—​by conceptual fiat—​substantive normative questions that ought to be open to serious debate within the practice” (Lafont 2014: 60–​1). She goes on to develop a practice account which is “dynamic” and “pluralist” in its understanding of human rights norms (cf. Lafont 2012). A practice approach requires that we theorize human rights on the basis of our apprehension of how they operate within the real world. Following this, I ask what we might learn when we examine the way in which claims about LGBTQ rights as human rights are already being used in the real world. My intention here is to examine, necessarily in brief, some of the intersections between global sexuality and gender politics and the discourse of human rights, and to consider what happens when these meet. I suggest that this examination of the real world of gay rights offers us some chastening conclusions.

Gay Rights as Human Rights in  the Global Order As we have seen, gay rights as human rights have been put firmly on the agenda by the UN. It is a development supported by key powerful states, as we saw with Hillary Clinton’s groundbreaking speech to the UN. This celebrated speech is not without its ambiguities, however: examining them is vital for understanding how we might theorize LGBTQ rights as human rights in the real world. Clinton’s speech does not just articulate LGBTQ persons as human rights subjects. The speech also flags a certain use of LGBTQ sexuality politics, by and for specific agents, in the context of global politics. This complicates our understandings of claims about rights and justice (see Chapter 8). The key soundbite of Clinton’s speech—​that gay rights are human rights—​takes on a different cast when it is moved from the context of universalist normative claims and put into the context of the geopolitics of aid, humanitarian assistance, sanctions, and interventions. This is a context in which both sexuality politics and human rights work in different ways for different audiences, regions, and agents. These differences are crucial to our understandings of what human rights are and can do in the world (for an extended reading of Clinton’s speech, see Weber 2016: ch. 5). As Anna M. Agathangelou argues: Drawing on human rights to open space for the rights of queers and for expressions of queerness is crucial, but the intended universality of the human rights framework

IPT and LGBTQ Rights    375 is haunted by an incapacity to agree internationally on basic terms (i.e. who deserves human rights and under what conditions). In fact, the discourse with which states support/​do not support the rights of queers legitimates imperial preemptive strikes in the very composition of intimacies, global order and understandings of life, terror and death. Clinton proposes gay rights as human rights and links them with humanitarian aid. Yet, this move bolsters neoconservative projects and violences: it “often increases the vulnerability of those in the Global South” (wa Mutua 1996, 590), people of colour and those in the margins of the North. (Agathangelou 2013: 459)

Agathangelou sets out three moves which link sexuality and race in ways which mark out states from the non-​West as failed states, with concomitant implications for how they are treated within constructions of global order. First, “there is a refusal to admit that sexual violence is not limited to parts of the non-​Western world or to queers, displacing the fact that sexual violence is a global politico-​economic problem.” Second, the role of capitalism/​neoliberalism in configuring who gets rights, and in undermining the universalist claims associated with rights enjoyment, is routinely dismissed. Third, the freedoms of queers becomes a fetishized human rights response, which displaces concerns with the deeper and broader structures and relations which generate the issues faced by those queers and by others. Agathangelou argues that these moves combine in the north/​south discourse of global sexuality politics to create “not only the ‘straitjacketing’ of sexuality, but also racial terror—​where ‘gay rights’ becomes a discourse and a practice of (perceived) racial economic superiority and (actual) racial subordination” (Agathangelou 2013: 455). It has long been recognized that human rights are commonly instrumentalized in the geopolitical games of powerful global actors. This, Agathangelou insistently flags for us, will be no less the case for gay rights as human rights, as is shown immediately by their cooption into discourses of aid and interventionist humanitarianism: “queer sexuality finds itself transcending towards the higher realm of a universal subject by colluding in the erection and reconstruction of terror structures” (Agathangelou 2013: 471–​2).

Homonormativity The collusion between queer sexuality and “terror structures” is an apt pivot on which to turn to a range of recent work which seeks to critically interrogate the way in which norms around queer sexuality find uses in international politics. The focus in much of this work is on the way in which norms often associated with human rights, emancipation, or liberation have, in their practice in relation to sexuality and gender, come into the service of various forms of politics which in fact undermine the ostensible goals of universal human rights—​that is, rights understood to serve an emancipatory or liberation agenda. Much of this work gains its conceptual inspiration from a coinage introduced by Lisa Duggan in 1992, when she articulated a critique of what she then called “the new homonormativity.” This critique was developed in the face of changes within the

376   Anthony J. Langlois American—​and broadly speaking diverse Western—​public cultures of homosexuality. A key feature was the change from an identification of gay politics with liberationist radicalism to an identification with (as it were) LGBTQ versions of the heteronormative sexuality politics of neoliberalism. Of this new “homonormativity,” Duggan says, “it is a politics that does not contest dominant heteronormative assumptions and institutions but upholds and sustains them while promising the possibility of a demobilized gay constituency and a privatized, depoliticized gay culture anchored in domesticity and consumption” (Duggan 2002: 179). She argues: This New Homonormativity comes equipped with a rhetorical recoding of key terms in the history of gay politics: “equality” becomes narrow, formal access to a few conservatizing institutions, “freedom” becomes impunity for bigotry and vast inequalities in commercial life and civil society, the “right to privacy” becomes domestic confinement, and democratic politics itself becomes something to be escaped. All of this adds up to a corporate culture managed by a minimal state, achieved by the neoliberal privatization of affective as well as economic and public life. (Duggan 2002: 190)

Whereas “gay liberation” had historically been understood as a project of the left which sought to emancipate sexuality and challenge societal norms, under the new homonormativity, LGBTQ populations are assimilated into the prevailing normative framework of society. Former British prime minister David Cameron is an apt example here, with his declaration that he supports same-​sex marriage not despite but because of his conservatism (Cameron 2011)! Instead of LGBTQ sexual relations being criminalized, they are to be regulated by prevailing heterosexual institutions—​monogamy, marriage, even procreation and the nuclear family. The package includes submission to all the prevailing forms of economic and social convention, replete as they are with economic injustice and conservative mores. The extension of “gay rights” to LGBTQ populations appears to have consolidated established social-​structural injustices, rather than being a key vector in their overthrow. It is precisely this dynamic which has been taken up in the extension of Duggan’s coinage, beyond the analysis of American and other Western domestic political struggles around gay rights, to the roles they have come to play on the international stage. “Homonationalism,” “homocolonialism,” and “homocapitalism” become international analogues for the new homonormativity, and provide a basis for critically evaluating the sometime exercise of gay rights at the global level.

Homonationalism Promoting and protecting LGBTQ rights can be good propaganda. The provision of rights, by a state, for people of diverse sexuality and gender identity expression may be used for purposes which are anathema to the broader human rights project to which

IPT and LGBTQ Rights    377 LGBTQ rights are standardly thought to belong. Here we have the cooptation of LGBTQ identities and rights protection discourses into broader political projects which include the erosion or denial of rights to others, projects which trade on the “good” of LGBTQ rights protection to hide the less politically congenial consequences of other policies for other groups. LGBTQ rights thus become positioned against the broader project of political justice; used, in fact, to obscure the conduct of injustice. Generally, this phenomena is known as “pinkwashing”; when closely analysed in the context of state behaviour, and taking its cue from Duggan’s analysis, “homonationalism” (Puar 2006; 2007; 2013). Central to the discussion is an examination of the way in which states position themselves with respect to “their” LGBTQ populations; pink-​washing here is engaged when states use their positive treatment of these populations as a foreign-​policy tool in other contexts (Franke 2012: 3). Franke, for example, undertakes a close examination of this state behaviour with respect to the policies of Israel, Romania, Poland, Iran, the USA, and the European Union. In each, she traces the way in which “good behaviour” on gay rights is used to distract from state policies which undermine human rights and political justice in other areas. Franke asks us to consider “who and what is actualized when the LGBT subject is given a voice through the intervention of human rights.” It is clear that when this intervention comes from states, “a ‘gay right’ is not a ‘gay right’ is not a ‘gay right’ ” (Franke 2012: 39) The gay whose politics and subject position, ethnicity, and religion suits the agenda of the state may find themselves to be the “good citizen” who receives recognition, identity, and status. But at whose cost? Maya Mikdashi provides a clear example of how the practice of such homonationalist, pink-​washed LGBTQ rights undermines the broader project of political justice: Today, the promise of “gay rights” for Palestinians goes something like this:  The United States will protect your right to not be detained [ . . . ] as a gay, but will not protect you from being detained because you are Palestinian. As a queer, you have the right to love and have sex with whomever you choose safely and without discrimination, but you do not have the right to be un-​occupied, or to be free from oppression based on your political beliefs, actions, and affiliations. As long as it is Arabo-​Islamic culture and its manifestation through (Palestinian) law that is oppressing you, we are here for you. If you are being oppressed by Israeli colonial policies, you’re on your own. As long as you confine your politics to your sexuality, and you speak as a queer subaltern in a language of rights that we understand (because we wrote it) we are here for you. One is tempted to call the production of such a narrow and reductive framework through which queers are to become politically legible an exercise in homophobia. (Mikdashi 2011)

Homocolonialism Human rights in general are a product of modernity, and LGBTQ rights are often viewed as being at the cutting edge of human rights; traditional cultural and religious practices

378   Anthony J. Langlois are associated with the discrimination and abuse that LGBTQ people often receive. Gay rights are associated with a discourse of progress, secularism, and modernity. A critical approach to global LGBTQ rights practice complicates this picture. On the one hand, LGBTQ rights are still an achievement in progress in the “modern West” of this picture, and discrimination and abuse in the West are commonplace. Even in the West, then, the realization of LGBTQ rights is intermittent and far from universal. Further, the “traditional” religions and cultures swept together in this formulation include an extremely diverse range of expressions of gender and sexuality. On the other hand, such an uncritical account of rights and progress enables the practice of gay rights to become a vector within broader political formations that—​by rehearsing colonial approaches and dispositions—​undermines the emancipatory normativity of the human rights regime. A simplistic association of gay rights with progress, and of their rejection with traditionalism, authorizes a form of “homocolonialism”: populations which resist gay rights are marked out as inferior, and a sense of Western exceptionalism is reinforced (Rahman 2014b: 275). As Momin Rahman comments, “Queer rights are certainly being used within the international realm as criteria for ‘progress,’ both by governments and nongovernmental organizations (NGOs) based on a Western understanding of both sexual identity and modernization and, moreover, to paint resistant multicultural populations as incompatible with dominant social values” (2014b: 279) Rahman’s analysis illustrates these dynamics by considering the relationship between LGBTQ rights and Muslim populations, and the deployment of sexual politics in discourses of progress, modernity, and Western exceptionalism (Rahman 2014a). A central insight he develops is the way in which homophobia and Islamophobia are linked through these sociopolitical formations; the way in which Muslim homophobia can be provoked by the homocolonialist use of LGBTQ rights. He also argues, “Muslim resistance to sexual diversity politics is just as much a part of the triangulation of Western exceptionalism as is Western homocolonialism because it accepts the formation of homosexualities as exclusively Western, possible only in the accelerated forms of modernity that are ‘owned’ by the West” (Rahman 2014b: 282). On this account, common practices both of support for and of resistance to LGBTQ rights are embedded in much broader global political formations; effective support for sexual freedom globally must be cognisant of and engaged with these formations.

Homocapitalism Another sphere in which we see a similar pattern concerns the practices of global capitalism and international development. Rahul Rao notes an “increased vociferousness” among the representatives of global capital against homophobia. Rather than joining the “business case for LGBTQ rights” cheer squad, however, Rao is concerned to examine the way in which international financial institutions adopt a view of homophobic practices which mark them out as “merely cultural” behaviour. This, Rao argues, “enables international financial institutions (IFIs) to obscure the material conditions

IPT and LGBTQ Rights    379 that incubate homophobic moral panics, and their own culpability in co-​producing those conditions” (Rao 2015: 38). Rao sets his analysis within the debates over recognition and redistribution, and focuses his attention on the role of the World Bank in Uganda. Uganda has garnered a great deal of attention in recent years for its anti-​homosexual legislative agenda, and for associated human rights abuses. On the passing of Uganda’s Anti-​Homosexuality Act, a US$90 million loan from the World Bank to Uganda was suspended. This, says Rao, “constitutes perhaps the single most coercive response by an IFI to a member state action perceived to be homophobic” (Rao 2015: 45). It was clearly intended to telegraph support for LGBTQ rights, and is of a piece with other LGBTQ supportive developments at the World Bank and in the sector more broadly. The World Bank thus appears to be doing its bit to prevent human abuse of LGBTQ people (see also Gosine 2010; more generally, Bedford 2009). Rao argues, however, that this appearance is misleading, and that it hides the Bank’s responsibility for the harsh economic circumstances in which the politics of hate finds root (see Chapter 34). Rao suggests we need to look closely at the production and consumption sides of the conditions which produce fertile ground for rights-​abusive moral panics. In Uganda, the World Bank played a critical role in producing the economic and political structures that facilitated enormous influence for those who set out to promote homophobic discourse. In particular, the role of the Bank’s neoliberal structural adjustment prescriptions in shrinking the state and handing over education, health, and welfare to private, religious, and—​in the case of Uganda—​virulently homophobic providers (international and local) cannot be understated (Rao 2015: 46). On the “consumption side,” addressing why it is that people respond to and take up homophobic discourse, the Bank is also implicated. Economic and social insecurity on a vast scale due to neoliberal restructuring, and the concomitant “modernization” of social relations and structures, is well understood to provide the material conditions which generate moral panics. These then threaten the rights and wellbeing of potential scapegoat populations, including LGBTQ people. Powerful financial institutions and the agents of global capital may, like powerful states, profess a commitment to LGBTQ rights; but the actual practice of human rights is rooted in policy settings and economic behaviours which sustain the material conditions that make rights possible. The behaviour of these economic agents, their policies and prescriptions, cause these conditions to be undermined, leading directly to situations of rights abuse. This causal relationship must be accounted for in any “real-​world” theorizing about human rights.

Conclusion In this chapter, we have observed the way in which LGBTQ rights have become a part of the practice of human rights. While the normative orientation of human rights is

380   Anthony J. Langlois emancipatory, its practice in the real world by political agents can be used for the standard range of political purposes: good, bad, and indifferent. This reality must be central to any international political theory for or of “gay rights as human rights”—​as indeed it should be for any theorization of the practice of human rights. Sexuality and gender politics have particular vectors and valences, and these fundamentally shape the way in which human rights work, or do not work, for populations of LGBTQ people. Similarly, they shape the ways in which advocates, opponents, and opportunists will use the practice of human rights as gay rights for different political purposes. LGBTQ rights can be instrumentalized, they can be used as tools in power plays; we have observed them being used for geopolitical and neoliberal ends. Much the same can be seen in any domain of human rights practice, and this must be part of our theorization of their practice. At the same time, because human rights discourse is constitutively about human dignity, equality, freedom, justice, and wellbeing, it is powerfully capable of immanent critique, and retains an extraordinary global appeal to people fighting for justice. This too must be central to our theorization, and is the bedrock of the general practice of human rights. It is this which provides any guarantee against scepticism, relativism, cynicism, and the prospect of rights as nothing more than a play for power. The focus of this chapter has been on complicating the discussion of LGBTQ rights. By showing forms of analysis that critical theoretical approaches to human rights can take, and exploring with them some of the ways in which policy around LGBTQ rights has been put to work in the real world, we see that the practice of these rights is often in tension with their emancipatory discourse. This dynamic, here explored to critically interrogate LGBTQ rights, is also the basis for addressing the question of what might be done, of how to respond. Human rights transparently stakes a claim for human dignity, equality, and wellbeing. A failure to deliver is unmistakable, and on its own terms demands accountability. Human beings return again and again, with hope, to ideals of justice, while recognizing the limitations of attempts to realize them. In our age, as we observed above, we cannot not want human rights. LGBTQ people rightly demand inclusion in the human rights political project, notwithstanding its weaknesses. The only remedy for these weaknesses is the fierce determination shown by many LGBTQ rights advocates and allies in their day-​to-​day struggles to bend and mould human rights practice—​its politics, theory, organizations, and institutions—​into the shape foreshadowed by its emancipatory goals.

Note 1. This acronym is variable in the literature. I will generally use LGBTQ, except when specifically referencing other usages (e.g. the UN stays with the more conservative LGBT).

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Pa rt V I

DE M O C R AC Y, AC C OU N TA B I L I T Y, A N D G L OBA L G OV E R NA N C E

­c hapter 29

De mo cracy and G l oba l Governa nc e Carol C. Gould

Is it feasible to democratize the powerful institutions of global governance that currently work to advance globalization processes? Can we make these institutions more responsive to the needs and interests of the people affected by their policies? Or does the current surge in nationalist politics mark a decisive turn away not only from globalization but from the hope of international agreements to reign in its power in transnational ways? I will begin by setting out the context for these questions and indicating some of the key motivations for introducing new forms of democracy at the transnational level, while also facing the possibility that globalization itself in its current incarnations may be working against democracy at both national and transnational levels. The focus of this chapter will nonetheless be on advancing arguments in favour of democratic transformation transnationally, taking up the criteria for determining the scope of this democratization, along with some indication of the institutions and spheres of political and economic activity to which they would apply. It is clear that even modest transformations face issues of feasibility (see Chapter 48) in the current political climate, which appears to be increasingly hostile to international cooperation. Nonetheless, I believe that normative political theory has the potential, and indeed the responsibility, to argue for the need for real democratic transformation and to suggest useful directions for increasing the democratic responsiveness of institutions, at both national and transnational levels. We have also seen the proliferation of protest movements calling for greater democracy and accountability, at national and global levels. Their critiques often focus on the ways in which globalization and its regulative institutions act in the interest of the powerful and exclude the participation of the people deeply affected by their functioning. “Real-​world” developments such as these motivate the new theories analysed here concerning how to deal with the democratic deficit in the institutions of global governance. After laying out this problem in greater detail, this chapter will consider some theoretical approaches to addressing it. It is here that the field of International Political

386   Carol C. Gould Theory (IPT) can make an especially significant contribution to social and political practice. Reflecting on the various options for justifying democratic governance and arguing for its expansion helps to clarify the framework for change that social actors can choose to follow, whether these agents of change be social movements, civil society organizations, or innovators in institutional design or public policy (see Chapter 36). As we shall see, the various theoretical options that can be offered for justifying democracy and accountability in global contexts have differing implications for practice. An adequate theoretical framework can also help social actors prioritize among their various goals and choose among the policies they could recommend. And the theories themselves can be evaluated in terms of their import for practice (beyond the question of their internal coherence). This sort of reciprocal relation between social actors and critical reflection about directions they might pursue in the face of current social problems can be characterized as a dialectical relation between theory and practice. The problems that theory addresses emerge from the concrete reality of historical processes of increasing globalization and democratic development within nation-​states, where the latter has thus far proven inadequate to deal with the democratic deficit produced by globalization itself. Agents attempting to remedy this deficit help to define the problems for theoreticians and also take the lead in finding solutions. Yet, in the face of the question concerning what is to be done in practice, IPT plays a crucial role in clarifying the relevant norms along with the nature of the problems themselves; and it goes on to consider what light can be shed on these problems and their possible solutions as viewed through various theoretical lenses. This concrete context calls for critical theorizing about new and more responsive directions for national and international politics—​a task that is taken up in various ways in the chapters in this section.

The Democratic Deficit in Globalization and Governance Institutions The problem of the democratic deficit arises in regard to current large-​scale global processes and the institutions that attempt to guide and manage them, which can be criticized as reflecting the interests of the powerful and affording little representation by the many others whose interests are at stake. This criticism applies to the fundamentals of economic globalization, which are largely under the control of transnational corporations and not of their workers, who may be operating in substandard conditions within communities affected by pollution and climate change. And it applies as well to such institutions as the WTO and the IMF, within which wealthy and powerful states of the global North exert disproportional influence, while the distantly situated people affected by them have at best only marginal input into their policies and even less

Democracy and Global Governance    387 into their decision-​making processes (see Chapter 34). Indeed, these institutions also have effects on citizens of the powerful countries themselves, who tend to lack input into their functioning. The charge of a democratic deficit equally pertains to regional transnational institutions and especially to the European Union, with its political institutions giving a major role to largely unelected and often unresponsive bureaucrats. Finally, this problem characterizes the United Nations itself, where the unrepresentative but decisive Security Council is composed of powerful states, the five permanent members of which can exercise a veto over decisions. The concentration of economic and political power in the hands of states and other large actors has been matched by inequalities in real power and wealth among individuals, both within states and across the globe. Are there ways to give these individuals and the less powerful states themselves more say in determining the policies that frame their activity? Given the contemporary tendencies toward globalization and integration, this question inevitably takes us beyond the issue of how to realize or deepen democracy within nation-​states to the even more difficult question of how to introduce responsiveness and meaningful accountability within the institutions of global governance. Urgent global problems would seem to require global solutions, especially the major problem of climate change, and this demands a focus on how these institutions can act in collective ways and in the common interest of providing adequate living situations for all people. Moreover, a concern with fulfilling the requirements of human dignity and human rights (including economic and social rights) for all requires developing more collective approaches that treat people equally and meet their needs effectively (see Chapter 27). A broad understanding of the problem of global governance and democracy also requires us to look at the persistent lack of real democracy within national states, prompted in part by the rise of economic globalization, and also to analyse the forces that push back against it, sometimes in nationalist and undemocratic ways. Inasmuch as the institutions of global governance themselves were set up through agreements among states and are largely made up of state representatives, assessing their democratic legitimacy requires us to ask whether these are actually representing the interests of all their own members. Clearly, there are serious deficits in real democracy at the level of nation-​states themselves. These problems should be kept in mind as we proceed, since the democratic deficit within nation-​states and in transnational or global contexts are clearly interconnected. Increasing the democratic accountability and representativeness of global institutions would require a concomitant effort to address democratic deficits at the national level. Turning to the core issue of the grounds and possibilities for remedying democratic deficits at the transnational or global level, several political theorists have put forward frameworks of cosmopolitan or global democracy that seek to enable greater opportunities for collective decision-​making concerning global problems (Held 1995; Archibugi 2008). These frameworks build on the historical contributions of philosophers like Kant, but also draw on developments in international law that posit cross-​border norms of human rights, and of jus cogens more generally, as norms that facilitate critique of

388   Carol C. Gould existing state and transnational practices and that have led to a certain delimitation of the sovereignty of states (Brunkhorst 2009). Some theorists have even argued for world government as a necessary development of the notion of democracy itself (Marchetti 2012; Cabrera 2010). At the same time, some political theorists instead defend the notion of sovereignty (Cohen 2012; Dahbour 2012), or have asserted a role for nationality (Miller 1995) and national self-​determination (Walzer 1977) in the face of demands for more global forms of distributive justice or cosmopolitan democracy. These theorists generally argue that a global demos is impossible, and that even if it were possible, it would be undesirable, losing the crucial value of cultural specificity and of traditions that are of great importance to many people (Miller 2013; Walzer 1983). Yet other theorists have sought to find a third way between the desiderata of cosmopolitanism and attachment to political communities, by means of an emphasis on universal human rights, along with enabling new opportunities for transnational democratic deliberation or participation in decision-​making (Gould 1988; 2004; 2009; 2014; Benhabib 2004; see Chapter 33). At the same time, there has been a wide literature on the way civil society organizations can play an increased role in the policy-​making of global governance institutions, such as the World Bank, the IMF, the WTO, and the UN (e.g. Scholte 2011). Despite some optimistic assessments, however, these global institutions may be criticized for giving preponderant weight to the interests of powerful states and corporations. Meanwhile, many NGOs in civil society themselves face the challenge of a lack of democratic representativeness, confronting incentives to attend to the interests of donors or other financial backers rather than to the expressed needs of those they serve.

Two Criteria for the Scope of Transnational Democracy Theorists have advanced two different lines of argument for increasing democracy in transnational institutions, which correlate with distinct forms that such democratization could take. These two approaches—​which we can call the “all subjected” and the “all affected”—​fundamentally concern the proper scope of democracy, and suggest different ways for enabling relevant participation when they are extended from national to transnational contexts. I will briefly lay out the divergent approaches and argue that neither is fully adequate as it stands. I will then present the alternative that I have developed in previous work, which integrates elements from both perspectives, and offer some further arguments in its favour. One traditional approach to justifying democracy and determining its scope appeals to the notion that all those subject to laws should be able to participate in making them. This approach has several variants. Often those theorizing along these lines put coercion front and centre, and appeal to a principle of individual autonomy to argue that it

Democracy and Global Governance    389 is specifically the limitation of freedom and autonomy imposed by the coerciveness of law that requires democratic rights of participation in making these laws (or in choosing representatives to make them). This general approach may highlight the issue of justification—​that coercive laws have to be justified to all those subject to them (e.g. Abizadeh 2008). Views of this general type tend to appeal to the norm of autonomy understood as individual self-​determination, which must be respected and accommodated by a political system for governing and its laws. A different variant of the “all subjected” approach proposes that self-​determination should instead be understood in a more collective fashion (rather than as individual autonomy). There, self-​determination is taken as the right of the majority group within a territory to self-​rule in accordance with the subjection principle cited above, and in this case the view can be called one of democratic sovereignty. We can ask, however, whether the perspectives that privilege coercion are correct in seeing this as the defining feature that gives rise to the requirement of democracy. Should we not instead understand the key feature of a political community to consist not in its coercive character but in the way it is defined by shared goals and practices, along with shared understandings among its members as to the existence of the community itself? Clearly, some element of coercive law is required by the norm of justice, but this does not constitute the core of people’s lives together or, indeed (I would suggest), the basis for the requirement for democracy. Moreover, the variant of the “all subjected” approach that emphasizes collective self-​determination within a territory and the concomitant requirement for self-​rule is problematic in limiting such contexts for self-​determination to national states, i.e. to contemporary political communities that occupy territory. Such an approach fails to see that the very considerations that require democratic self-​determination within states apply as well to other self-​understood communities (or to institutions more broadly)—​indeed, wherever we can plausibly speak of equal membership. I have instead proposed the notion of “common activities” to demarcate the spheres within which democratic rights of participation are required, where these common activities are organized around shared goals and plans, whether fully explicit or not. I argue that democratic decision-​making is normatively required for members of such communities or institutions (including economic ones) as an expression in these collective contexts of people’s equality as agents. This equality requires that no one should be in a position to dominate others in the decision-​making processes of these institutions, or that no one has more of a right to determine the decisions about the collective plans or policies than do others. This conclusion follows from what I have called the norm of equal positive freedom (as a prima facie equal right to the political, economic, and social conditions for self-​transformation), given that the opportunity to take part in such common activities is a condition for people’s self-​development over time. Freedom in this view has a biographical dimension that presupposes, but goes beyond, free choice, and includes the development of capacities, the realization of long-​term goals, and the cultivation of relationships. Insofar as individuals are social beings, or what I have called “individuals-​in-​relations,” the opportunity to take part in joint or common

390   Carol C. Gould activities is one of the key conditions for their free activity, and their fundamental equality as agents requires the co-​determination involved in democracy. Evidently, this “common activities” approach is related to the “all subjected” one, but it differs in a focus not only on rules and laws, but on extending our democratic concern to all institutional contexts that involve shared goal setting and their realization. This view attempts to emphasize more forward-​looking and dynamic dimensions of collective control in place of notions of coercion and subjection, in focusing on shared participation in ongoing planning processes. Theorists who rely on notions of rule-​making by those subject to the rules, or on the democratic sovereignty of a people within a territory, often come up against a major difficulty when they consider how to extend democracy globally. This concerns the requirement they face to locate a demos at this new, global level. Inasmuch as these theorists almost always imagine this extension of democratic community using the model of a state, they have to posit a transnational, or even a global, community, understood in territorial terms, with its associated people. Even if such a demos is understood as composed of nested communities or quasi-​sovereign entities at lower levels, this view necessarily pushes toward a global demos (Marchetti 2012). But theorists have been hard pressed to identify any such unified global community in the present. Moreover, insisting that effective decisions be taken at that global level would seem to require a move to world government. Global democracy is most often operationalized in terms of the traditional forms of democratic participation, namely voting and elections, but extrapolated to the global level. An obvious difficulty is that people’s individual contributions at that level would be minute. In addition, as many have noted, while a world government would have an advantage in terms of possibly eliminating war among states, it also has the potential, however small, of enabling global tyranny, with no sources of power to counteract it (Arendt 1951; Gould 2004; 2009; 2014). The conception I advance of common activities does in fact have some implications for decision-​making at the level of global community, to the degree that one may emerge centring around aims or needs and especially those concerned with mitigating or adapting to large-​scale climate change. But the notion of common activities applies as well to any transnational (or national or subnational) community or institution defined by shared goals, where we can reasonably talk about people being equal members of the institution in question. The argument then is that because participation in common activities and in the common life of a community is one of the conditions for individual self-​development, and because individual members are equal agents and none has a right to dominate others, then in cases of joint or collective activities or institutions they have equal rights to co-​determine the course of these activities together with the other members, i.e. rights of democratic participation within such activities. This criterion for the scope and applicability of democracy thus applies not only to states but also to the various membership institutions in economic and social life, including firms and voluntary associations like NGOs, and it also applies to new cross-​border communities. Indeed, in light of the growing number of transnational associations of various sorts, the normative requirement for democratic decision-​making is extensive on my

Democracy and Global Governance    391 view (however impractical it may presently seem). In previous work, I have suggested that this democratic requirement can extend to regional associations of states (though they are presently quite weak), and I have argued that this regional application is more plausible in the short term than is a fully global world community (Gould 2012; 2014). A proviso for all these new contexts for democratic decision-​making should be indicated, however: they need to be framed by recognized human rights agreements and protections, to provide cross-​border adjudication where relevant, and to avoid the well-​ known danger of a tyranny of the majority, along with other potential hazards involved in democratic systems. Yet the extension of democratic participation to a wider range of institutions and political communities does not yet address a core problem of the contemporary world: the way that decisions and policies by powerful states or institutions have important exogenous effects, including on distantly situated people or groups. The impact of policies is hardly restricted to those within the borders of the state or to the limits of a given institution (although they are evidently deeply consequential for their members); increasingly, these policies affect outsiders in significant ways. This observation applies to transnational corporations, as well as to national states and the institutions of global governance, whose decisions and policies can deeply affect the possibilities for the fulfilment of human rights and the meeting of needs by distant people, in regard to poverty, health, trade, etc. This in turn suggests the need for a different principle that would justify democratic participation by the people affected, and in particular, what has been called the “all affected” principle. I have elsewhere argued that this principle is indeed a necessary supplement to the “common activities” criterion for participation, but that it also poses some difficulties of interpretation that have to be addressed (Gould 2004; 2009; 2014). Because of the vast and in some ways indeterminate scope of those affected, I have argued that this principle needs to be demarcated and delimited in important ways. To date, the “all affected” principle has been given two main interpretations. But I suggest that each of these has problems in their present form, and that there is an alternative reading that can avoid these problems. On one interpretation, the “all affected” principle would require enfranchising all those who are impacted by a decision, policy, or prospective law, in a way that would inevitably lead to a global demos (Goodin 2007). We can recognize that most issues in fact have wide (and sometimes unanticipated) consequences, and that some issues are directly global in scope. Both factors require that we include a global level for decision-​ making, so as not to exclude any of those affected by the decisions in question. Issues that are in fact global in scope include climate change and large-​scale economic globalization, but even matters that appear local are bound to have wide-​ranging consequences. Yet the constitution of a global demos that would decide on these matters would be an extraordinarily demanding task, and would most likely not give sufficient attention to local differences. In addition, individuals would have only a minuscule input into decisions about problems at the global scale, since billions of people would have to be enfranchised to participate or to be represented.

392   Carol C. Gould An alternative interpretation of the “all affected” principle sees it as requiring the constitution of a relevant demos for each issue set, or at the very least understands it as entailing a multiplicity of transnational or subnational institutional contexts in which people would participate, presumably to varying degrees, depending on their degree of affectedness (Fung 2013). However, the first variant of this interpretation of the principle would seem to require a constant reconstitution of the relevant communities of deciders, depending on the particular people affected by a given proposal or policy or law. This raises the crucial question of who would decide on which people are affected in each case, with the substantial opening this would pose for deep disagreement. Indeed, it also raises the theoretical possibility of an infinite regress of decisions about who makes these decisions and how they would be made. This variant would thus seem to revive and indeed intensify the already vexing problem of the constitution of a democratic demos, which, it would seem, cannot itself be constituted democratically. The second variant would begin with existing organizations, and proposes including those regularly and importantly affected in decision-​making. To deal with changing impacts, these organizations would need to give influence over their decisions to all those affected, by way of a continual reassessment of who these people are and what their interests are. While this approach gives attention to a wide range of organizations beneath and above national states, it tacitly appeals to already constituted institutions, which have in fact not been constituted by the inclusion of all people affected, and are in my view better understood as organizations of members. I argue that these members should in fact have equal rights of decision within these institutions, but that there is also a need to hear from stakeholders who are non-​members and who are importantly affected by the actions, policies, and decisions of these institutions or organizations (in a sense to be further specified below). A major problem with those affectedness approaches that fall short of a global demos is that the core value of political equality is placed in jeopardy. Such equality (if only in principle) remains a strength of existing citizenship models, and I have suggested that it pertains broadly to all institutional contexts where it makes sense to talk of members with broadly similar status as members, even if some currently have more power than others within the institution. Moreover, those versions of the “all affected” principle that see it as varying among individuals and contexts give insufficient attention to the problem of retaining equality among individuals across the variety of different groups in which they may have rights to participate. They would need to address how the current disparities of power within institutions would be dealt with, where these disparities would likely impact the decisions about who is affected and to what degree. Crucially, too, existing approaches do not explore the key notion of what is an important interest, without which the notion of including those affected in their interests remains somewhat vague and indeterminate. In place of either of these understanding of affectedness—​as the global demos or as a variety of transient groupings or evolving institutional contexts—​I have previously proposed using the “all affected” criterion in addition to the “common activities” one, where the latter itself applies to emerging transnational communities, as well as to truly

Democracy and Global Governance    393 global ones, in accordance with a principle of subsidiarity (Gould 2004; 2009; 2014). To avoid the vagueness involved in employing a general notion of “all affected” for each decision—​in which those affected could extend indefinitely to untold others—​I have suggested that we need a notion of those importantly affected, in a distinctive interpretation. I argue that taking affectedness into account is important for democratic theory, but that it serves less to justify basic rights of democratic participation among equals than as a necessary supplement that addresses the exogenous effects of decisions and policies on those who stand outside the given institution or community in question. In cases where non-​members or outsiders (including distantly situated people) are importantly affected, they have a right to provide input into these decisions. In my view, this does not necessarily constitute a new political community, where the criterion of common activities among equal members would take effect. Rather, it is designed to ensure that policy-​makers and institutions be responsive to the needs and interests of those who will be affected by their policies or decisions. This applies in a noteworthy way in transnational contexts in which powerful states or global institutions have profound effects on distant people. The “all affected” principle thus requires the introduction of new forms of democratic input into the decisions and policies of these institutions, or forms of transnational representation of the affected people’s views and concerns. The question arises as to what should count as “importantly affected,” in these transnational or global contexts. My proposal is that the focus should be on the impacts of a decision, or policy, or law on the possibilities of the fulfilment of human rights of those affected by it (Gould 2004). By “human rights,” I am again referring not only to civil and political rights but also to economic and social ones. Moreover, we need to distinguish between basic and non-​basic (though still essential) human rights, and prioritize the fulfilment of the basic ones (Gould 2004). Among these are security, means of subsistence, and the fundamental liberties. Where a policy directly impacts people’s possibilities of rights fulfilment, they should have a say in shaping the policy in question. This may not always require equal rights of participation, as it would on the citizenship model—​though sometimes robust opportunities for participation would be required, if groups of people are equally or more affected than the policy-​makers. More commonly, it would necessitate what we can call “democratic input” into the decisions rather than equal participation, or else forms of representation of these affected people and their interests. Thus it is not sufficient for policy-​makers to merely imagine the impacts on distant people’s human rights or fundamental interests. Rather, they need to hear from these affected people as to their needs and whether they are willing to accept the proposed policies with the envisioned impacts. This line of argument leads to a practical requirement for what I call “human rights impact assessments” (Gould 2009), comparable to existing environmental impact assessments. Such analyses would be required not only of states and the institutions of global governance, but of all institutions that take decisions affecting people and communities, e.g. economic corporations. However, such assessments are insufficient without actually hearing from the affected people themselves, either directly or through representatives. And to the degree possible, the people affected would need to have

394   Carol C. Gould actual powers of participation or representation in the decision process, and in some cases even a veto, in cases where the proposed course of action would seriously harm the fulfilment of their human rights. From this, we can also establish the need for reforms in global governance institutions that would incorporate new modalities of democratic participation by those affected by their policy-​making. Indeed, some of these institutions themselves may need to be disbanded and replaced by more democratic ones. In the next section, I will briefly review some practical directions for democratizing these institutions to make them responsive to the people they affect.

Directions for Democratic Transformation What, then, are the implications of the two criteria—​common activities and “all affected”—​for our problem of the democratic deficit that pervades global governance and globalization more generally? The general outlines have already been noted: the criteria require the extension of democratic participation and representation to a wide range of institutions and communities beneath and beyond national states, and the development of new forms of transnational representation and democratic input into the institutions of global governance and into the decisions of other large-​scale actors on the part of people importantly affected by their decisions. I have pointed to impact on human rights as an appropriate indicator of being affected, taking these to include economic and social rights besides civil and political ones. This in turn requires that these impacts be assessed and addressed by powerful actors, taking guidance from those affected. With respect to the requirement for the extension of democracy, this would include new forms of participation by those who work in transnational corporate firms, taking these corporations as quasi-​public institutions characterized by shared goals. A like requirement pertains to the range of local communities, sub-​state regions, cross-​ border communities, and broader regional groupings of existing states. These various communities are most often understood and imagined as such (as are nations)—​i.e. people within these entities take themselves to be part of institutions or communities characterized by common goals and interests. Nonetheless, their goals need not be fully explicit but can be incorporated over time in their modes of functioning or in established practices. A significant implication of this view for our purposes concerns the development of the regional institutions or agglomerations of states that have emerged in the contemporary period. The most salient case is the European Union, but regional associations, both formal and informal, are widespread. Many of these originally emerged to address the need for regional economic cooperation given globalization, e.g. the EU itself and

Democracy and Global Governance    395 the Association of Southeast Asian Nations (ASEAN), while other organizations have more political beginnings, such as the Organization of African Unity (OAU) in its struggle against apartheid in South Africa, and its successor, the African Union. Increasingly, these associations of states address both economic and security concerns, and sometimes cultural and social ones. It is clear that, on the view presented here, democratic participation would be required in these new regional bodies, but the forms they take need not fully mirror those that have developed within national states. Even in the latter contexts, I believe it is a mistake to limit our understanding of democracy simply to elections and majority rule, however important those may be. Regional associations have, to date, attempted to balance the role within them of nation-​states with newer forms of parliamentary and civil society participation, but as of yet, to very limited democratic effect. Some are experimenting with direct participation by citizens from across the region, but thus far these efforts primarily take the form of opportunities for dialogue, with a few openings for citizen voter initiatives. Beyond these large regional bodies lie a multiplicity of interstate organizations and parliaments, made up of representatives of states—​generally, of their parliaments, as well as a host of cross-​border associations of other types. Efforts have been made to introduce forms of democratic participation within these, although in small-​scale ways. These organizations range from autonomous ones like the Indigenous Parliament of America or the Baltic Assembly to the Inter-​Parliamentary Union to regional assemblies like the European Parliament. Likewise, the range of civil society organizations would be required by the common activities principle to organize themselves and to operate in democratic ways. Crucially, the principle also applies to economic firms, where the democratic requirement would be to introduce forms of self-​management. Although there are many instances of successful self-​managing firms (e.g. Mondragon Corporation Cooperativa), along with a vast number of worker and consumer co-​ops worldwide, further democratization of decision-​making in this economic context continues to face serious obstacles and opposition. Nonetheless, in my view, these profound practical challenges do not vitiate the strength of the normative desiderata themselves, which can provide guidelines for moving ahead. An important heuristic principle for organizing the various spheres of common activity has emerged already from the European context. That is the principle of subsidiarity, which calls for decisions and policies to be made at the most local level possible. This principle applies most easily to nested political communities organized by level—​ local, sub-​state regions, national states, transnational regions, and the global level itself. Cross-​cutting or cross-​border transnational organizations, which themselves can be seen as communities (whether they exist online or off), do not always sit easily with this notion of subsidiarity, although they themselves may be nested within organizations of larger scope. It must be admitted that in arguing for the extension of democratic management to all of these domains, conflicts may well arise in regard to their borders and their legitimacy. In addition, the very multiplicity of domains could impact the political equality of people who participate in just a few or in many of them. Nonetheless, inasmuch as democratic ways of organizing these various institutions and communities

396   Carol C. Gould primarily require transformations internal to each of these organizations, I believe that this problem would not pose an insuperable barrier to the needed democratization. However, all of these institutions and communities also have exogenous effects on people affected by their decisions and policies, which go beyond their impacts on the members themselves. For an adequate treatment of those far-​reaching effects, we will need to consider the implications of our second principle, the “all affected” principle. In order to develop these implications of the “all affected” principle for global governance institutions and globalization more generally, we will need creative theorizing and innovative practical recommendations if the principle is to be applied effectively, since the modalities for giving a voice to the affected hardly exist at present. Recall that the principle proposes that all those importantly affected by a decision or policy must not only have their interests considered by policy-​makers but need to be heard from regarding the impacts of these policies on their own needs or interests. But how can this be realistically implemented at the transnational level? Some have suggested that democratic input can be facilitated by civil society organizations, which would represent the interests of those affected, assuming these organizations could be made fully accountable to those they aim to serve. And indeed, there has been some progress in giving these organizations opportunities to raise concerns and propose policies, though most often at the start of the discussions within global governance institutions, with the real and effective decisions continuing to be made by the powerful states or non-​state actors themselves. The civil society organizations are rarely given access to the backroom discussions that shape the actual policies that are adopted (IBON 2013). Clearly, more can be done to give such organizations real influence within global governance institutions. Additionally, these organizations would need to find ways to actually hear from their constituencies. These reflections support the requirement to introduce more transparency into the functioning of the powerful institutions. To date, this transparency normally does not extend to the actual decision-​making processes, which largely transpire out of the public eye. Evidently, the requirements for human rights assessments, transparency, and input from civil society organizations are not yet sufficient to adequately represent those affected by the policies of the global governance institutions. What additional measures could be advanced? Another modest direction that has already been implemented in limited contexts are forums for dialogue and discursive representation of those affected, whether online or off, in such a way that they can have some influence on the agenda and the policies of these organizations. For example, NGOs can participate in International Labor Organization (ILO) discussions, but only where relevant and by invitation, although they play a somewhat more prominent role within the Economic and Social Council (ECOSOC) of the UN (Willetts 2011). Indeed, some of these NGOs have the ability to propose items for the agenda. As we have seen, there are also a host of international and regional parliaments, with deliberative and advisory functions. Yet, these various forms of participation and representation are consultative at best, and non-​ binding. The appointing of ombudspersons is another modest suggestion for representing those affected in the deliberations of the powerful institutions.

Democracy and Global Governance    397 Beyond these measures, we can envision new forms of transnational representation that give some real power, or at least influence, to representatives of the affected, who would be elected by them. These representatives could be either standing and regular ones, based on durable understandings of those likely to be affected; or they could be introduced in more ad hoc ways in accordance with specific assessments about the prospective effects of decisions or policies under consideration in global governance (Fung 2013). New forms of functional representation, e.g. organized within transnational economic sectors, are another possible direction for the future. However, given the present moves in a contrary direction, toward a renewed emphasis on states, innovations along these various transnational lines are likely to take some time. Yet, inasmuch as the current emphasis on states as the proper locus for potentially addressing workers’ and citizens’ grievances reflects a real lack of control that people feel over globalization and its institutions, we can say that reforms in the interest of those affected are clearly needed at both national and transnational levels. This implies that we should seek new ways to introduce more substantive democracy, along with less deference to the powerful, as well as less bureaucratic management, both in global governance and in states themselves. Even with these various innovations, important groups of affected people will still likely not be adequately represented. This applies not only to distant impoverished groups but to labour itself, given the way that global governance institutions in their very construction tend to favour wealthy states, along with multinational corporations and finance capital. This suggests the need to rethink these very institutions themselves and whether they may in fact need to be replaced by new ones that more fairly represent the interests of labour as well as capital, of developing countries as well as the wealthy ones. Such a transformation would seem especially necessary in regard to those institutions that concern economic governance, and the emerging ecological governance (Dryzek and Stevenson 2011). Moreover, from the standpoint of democratic theory, representing interests equally requires hearing from those affected, and not simply relying on powerful elites to construct for themselves some account of the interests and needs of those impacted by their decisions. Admittedly, calling for replacement of existing institutions by ones that are more fairly and democratically designed seems far-​fetched at present. But this transformation may well be normatively required in order to enable real democracy at the level of global governance. Addressing the imbalance between wealthy and powerful decision-​makers and those affected by their decisions can also take place by devolving some of the powers of the relevant institutions to more local and democratically organized levels. This is already occurring within national contexts at a small scale under the banner of participatory budgeting, in which the power to allocate a part of the budget is given over to community groups. Perhaps there are ways to implement such participatory budgeting at more global scales. Of course, this would likely also require the introduction of new forms of global taxation and transfers that go beyond the currently existing powers of institutions to regulate trade disputes and to engage in lending and other financial transactions in transnational contexts.

398   Carol C. Gould Finally, an account of democracy and global governance would be incomplete without attention to the crucial role played by social movements in initiating the required democratic transformation both nationally and across borders. These movements have called attention to the democratic and equality deficits that currently afflict state and world politics and economics. They have also germinated new ways of organizing, making decisions, and connecting institutions to each other, which can provide useful directions for improving the democratic functioning of more established institutions. Beyond the policy suggestions for reform that have arisen from within existing global governance institutions, then, it is evident that the creativity and innovation of social movements will be urgently needed in the time ahead.

References Abizadeh, A. (2008). Democratic Theory and Border Coercion:  No Right to Unilaterally Control Your Own Borders. Political Theory 36(1): 37–​65. Archibugi, D. (2008). The Global Commonwealth of Citizens (Princeton, NJ:  Princeton University Press). Arendt, H. (1968 [1951]). The Origins of Totalitarianism (New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich). Brunkhorst, H. (2009). States with Constitutions, Constitutions without States, and Democracy:  Skeptical Reflections on Scheuerman’s Skeptical Reflection. Ethics & Global Politics 2(1): 65–​81. Cabrera, L. (2010). The Practice of Global Citizenship (Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press). Cohen, J. L. (2012). Globalization and Sovereignty:  Rethinking Legality, Legitimacy, and Constitutionalism (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Dahbour, O. (2012). Self-​ Determination Without Nationalism:  A Theory of Postnational Sovereignty (Philadelphia: Temple University Press). Dryzek, J. S., and H. Stevenson (2011). Global Democracy and Earth System Governance. Ecological Economics 70: 1865–​74. Fung, A. (2013). The Principle of Affected Interests and Inclusion in Democratic Governance. In J. Nagel and R. Smith (eds), Representation: Elections and Beyond (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press), 236–​68. Goodin, R. (2007). Enfranchising All Affected Interests, and its Alternatives. Philosophy & Public Affairs 35(1): 40–​68. Gould, C. C. (1988). Rethinking Democracy:  Freedom and Social Cooperation in Politics, Economy, and Society (Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press). Gould, C. C. (2004). Globalizing Democracy and Human Rights (Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press). Gould, C. C. (2009). Structuring Global Democracy:  Political Communities, Universal Human rights, and Transnational Representation. Metaphilosophy 40(1): 24–​46. Gould, C. C. (2012). Regional vs. Global Democracy:  Advantages and Limitations. In D. Archibugi, D. Koenig-​Archibugi, and R. Marchetti (eds), Global Democracy: Normative and Empirical Perspectives (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press), 115–​31. Gould, C. C. (2014). Interactive Democracy:  The Social Roots of Global Justice (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press).

Democracy and Global Governance    399 Held, D. (1995). Democracy and the Global Order:  From the Modern State to Cosmopolitan Governance (Cambridge: Polity Press). IBON International (2013). Policy Brief:  On Democratizing Global Governance. IBON. [Online; accessed 19 Apr. 2017.] http://​iboninternational.org/​sites/​ibon/​files/​resources/​ IBON_​policy_​brief_​on_​governance_​-​_​press_​quality_​-​_​final2.pdf Marchetti, R. (2012). Models of Global Democracy: In Defense of Cosmo-​Federalism. In D. Archibugi, D. Koenig-​Archibugi, and R. Marchetti (eds), Global Democracy: Normative and Empirical Perspectives (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press), 22–​45. Miller, D. (1995). On Nationality (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Miller, D. (2013). Justice for Earthlings (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Scholte, J. A. (2011). Building Global Democracy? Civil Society and Accountable Global Governance (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Walzer, M. (1977). Just and Unjust Wars (New York: Basic Books). Walzer, M. (1983). Spheres of Justice: A Defense of Pluralism and Equality (New York: Basic Books). Willetts, P. (2011). Non-​Governmental Organizations in World Politics:  The Construction of Global Governance (London: Routledge).

­c hapter 30

Sovereignt y, De mo c rac y, and Gl obal P ol i t i c a l Legiti mac y Terry MacDonald

Recent decades have witnessed burgeoning global political movements aimed at strengthening the political legitimacy of global institutions. This push for stronger political legitimacy—​understood in normative terms as political “support-​worthiness” (Buchanan and Keohane 2006; Macdonald 2016)—​has been motivated in part by commitment to many recognizably democratic values such as transparency, accountability (see Chapter 34), inclusion, representation, deliberation, and empowerment. Yet more direct talk of “global democracy” still attracts strongly sceptical responses. Much of this scepticism stems from doubts about the feasibility of reconstructing familiar state-​based democratic institutional models on a global scale (Dahl 1999; Grant and Keohane 2005; Miller 2010; Wendt 1999), as envisaged by “cosmopolitan” (Held 1995; Archibugi 2008; Cabrera 2005) and “transnationalist” (Macdonald 2008; Dryzek 2006; Bohman 2007) democratic theorists. In response, global democrats have advanced mostly empirical counter-​arguments, aimed at expanding estimations of what may in fact be politically achievable (Koenig-​Archibugi 2010; List and Koenig-​Archibugi 2010). In this chapter, I develop an alternative strategy for reconciling global democratic values with empirical facts about the structure and dynamics of contemporary global governance. Instead of disputing sceptics’ empirical claims about real-​world obstacles to cosmopolitan and transnationalist democratic institutional models, I challenge some implicit normative assumptions underlying their arguments. These assumptions concern the sources of political legitimacy within democratic institutions, and the range of realizable global institutional forms that should thereby count as democratic. More specifically, I  argue that the normative theories of democracy invoked in debates about global democracy construe the institutional ingredients of democracy’s political legitimacy too narrowly: they focus on contributions to political legitimacy made by institutions of democratic social choice-​making, such as elections and public

Global Political Legitimacy    401 deliberative structures, while neglecting those made by institutionalized governance capabilities, of the kind historically embodied in sovereign states. When problems of democratic institutional design arise within sovereign states, the narrow focus on democratic choice-​making institutions matters little, since the availability of adequate material governance capacities can be taken for granted as a theoretical background condition. But this narrow focus becomes problematic when we are concerned instead with institutional design problems at the global level, where key governance functions of sovereign institutions are weak or absent. To understand the institutional prerequisites for political legitimacy within a global democracy, I argue that we therefore need to build and apply a broader theoretical understanding of political legitimacy that can more systematically account for its governance capability dimensions. And when we do so, we are pointed towards revised institutional prescriptions for global democratization that conform much more closely to established sceptical assessments of what may be politically realizable. In what follows I develop this argument in several steps, and explore its implications for our broader theoretical understandings of the relationships among sovereignty, democracy, and global political legitimacy. In the first section, I elaborate the distinction between the “choice-​making” and “governance capability” dimensions of political legitimacy within democratic institutions. I further explain how democratic theories have evolved to focus too narrowly on the former, as a result of their historical preoccupation with the study of democratic states. In the second section, I highlight some intuitive grounds for thinking that material governance capability in fact constitutes a crucial substantive ingredient in the democratic legitimacy of global governance institutions, alongside democratic choice-​making. In the third section, I  sketch the outline of a broader theoretical understanding of political legitimacy, which can better account for its governance capability dimensions in non-​sovereign institutional contexts. In conclusion, I point to some implications of these theoretical arguments for global institutional design, and the realizability of projects of global democratization.

Choice-​M aking Process vs Governance Capability as Sources of Political Legitimacy The idea of political legitimacy is central to the normative analysis of democratic institutions, insofar as the justifying purpose of democracy is widely understood to be that of legitimizing governance institutions. Here legitimacy is a standard of acceptability—​ that is to say, a standard denoting that an institution warrants support, without necessarily conforming perfectly to some moral ideal such as justice (Buchanan and Keohane 1996; Macdonald 2016). In much democratic theory the idea of political legitimacy sits in the background, with a focus instead on questions about what democracy is (in terms

402   Terry MacDonald of competing conceptions or fundamental principles) or how it can best be institutionalized (in terms of competing institutional models). But underlying these conceptual and institutional arguments are claims about the democratic sources of political legitimacy: what it is about democratic institutions, in other words, that makes them warrant support. Arguments for or against competing conceptions or institutional models all need to refer back to substantive understandings about the sources of political legitimacy to ground their justificatory claims. Theoretical arguments about the sources of political legitimacy in democratic institutions are complex and diverse, and I cannot survey them here. But for present purposes it is enough to highlight one feature that most share in common: they locate the sources of political legitimacy in processes of democratic social choice-​making. By this, I mean those processes through which the content of collective political decisions is institutionally articulated—​for instance, through elections or deliberative decision-​ making. Democratic theorists have identified sources of political legitimacy in a range of constitutive principles for social choice-​making—​typically focused on constituting choice-​making in a way that inclusively (Goodin 2007; Young 2002), equally (Barry 1991; Beitz 1989), and rationally (Knight and Johnson 1994; Benhabib 1994) reflects the shared political values of some democratic collective. These choice-​making principles, in turn, articulate an interpretation of the broader political value of collective self-​ determination, which is central to the democratic project. The problem with these social choice-​focused democratic accounts of political legitimacy is that they cannot account for powerful intuitions that the political legitimacy of democratic institutions derives in part from the value of their functional governance capabilities. By this, I mean institutions’ capabilities for supporting those forms of social coordination, control, and resource allocation that are required to advance materially the shared political values of democratic collectives. Such governance capabilities are prerequisites for advancing a wide range of political values and goals—​including those articulated within democratic social choice processes. As such, they are essential for any materially realizable democratic project of collective self-​determination. Within democratic theory, however, the functional characteristics of such governance capabilities are not systematically analysed as substantive ingredients in the constitution of political legitimacy. Rather, they are recognized as ingredients in political legitimacy only derivatively: either as instruments for implementing particular democratic choices after they have already been legitimately made; or as constituents in democratic choice-​making, in the form of coercively backed protections for practices of political inclusion, equality, and rationalized social choice. The idea that material governance capabilities may be independent ingredients in normative political legitimacy resonates more strongly with some recent sociological theories, which differentiate “output” and “input” sources of political legitimacy (Scharpf 1999; 2003). Given the pervasiveness of this input/​output distinction within current political analysis, it is worth briefly clarifying its relationship to the two dimensions of political legitimacy I am distinguishing here. The concepts of input and output legitimacy are deployed mostly in explanatory sociological analysis—​to differentiate

Global Political Legitimacy    403 two types of evaluative judgement that motivate political support for institutions. But some theorists have argued that these judgement types map onto an underlying distinction between two sources of normative political legitimacy. In normative analysis, “input” legitimacy focuses on the value of those political processes—​including, crucially, democratic choice-​making processes—​that feed into and steer the activities of democratic institutions. “Output” legitimacy, in contrast, focuses on the value of governance outcomes that institutions produce—​or in other words, the “common interests” or “common goods” that they materially advance (Scharpf 1999; 2003; Steffek 2015). At first glance, it may appear that my distinction between choice-​making and governance capability dimensions of normative political legitimacy is equivalent to this familiar input/​output distinction. Descriptively, democratic choice-​making processes do supply some substantive “inputs” into the activities of democratic institutions; and normatively, these choice-​making processes are often evaluated for substantive characteristics of this input (such as its structural inclusivity, equity, and rationality) rather than beneficial effects. Conversely, strong material governance capability is often descriptively correlated with (and can help to produce) valuable institutional “outputs,” and is commonly attributed normative value on this basis. However, both choice-​making and governance capability dimensions of democratic institutions can also be described and evaluated the other way around—​viewing choice-​making processes in output terms, and governance capability in input terms—​if different normative criteria are applied. On the one hand, democratic choice-​making processes can be viewed descriptively as outputs of wider institutional schemes—​ insofar as they have ongoing social preconditions that wider institutional schemes can either support or erode. Correspondingly, they can be evaluated in output terms for their wider political consequences—​as they are in many instrumental arguments for and against democracy. On the other hand, institutions’ governance capabilities can be descriptively viewed as “inputs,” insofar as they are constituted by ongoing contributions of resources, compliance, and other forms of material support from political agents. And in normative terms, it is not at all clear why we should assume that they are best evaluated in terms of the “outputs” they produce, rather than (like democratic choice-​making) in terms of the motivational inputs that drive these materially supportive actions. These in fact are precisely the kinds of normative questions I am raising here—​and they are obscured, rather than answered, by the question-​begging application of the “output” legitimacy label. If these normative questions are not settled within established accounts of “output” legitimacy, then, what could account for their theoretical neglect? That is, why have democratic theorists not developed more systematic normative arguments about whether and on what basis governance capability is a substantive ingredient of political legitimacy? My suggestion is that democratic theorists have neglected these questions because of their historical preoccupation with the study of democratic states. Historically, democratic theories have mostly assumed that governance capabilities are constituted in the form of state sovereignty—​understood broadly as hierarchical rule-​based political authority backed by control of force in a territory. Sometimes sovereignty is thought to be the

404   Terry MacDonald appropriate governance framework for democratic politics on the basis that states have been the dominant form of political organization prompting democratic claims against them (Dewey 1927). Sometimes sovereignty is justified on strategic or moral grounds (or both) as the governance framework that democratic publics have strongest reasons to choose (Rawls 1996). But either way, the assumption of sovereignty as a theoretical background condition has enabled democrats to bracket normative questions about governance capabilities as exogenous to the democratic theory of political legitimacy. Sovereignty and democracy have thus co-​evolved as densely intertwined institutional models, nested together to form the overarching institutional systems of democratic states. The democratic theory of political legitimacy has maintained a focus on choice-​making processes by assuming that they can simply be established as institutional “add-​ons” to sovereign governance structures that are independently justified in some acceptable way. We can say that theories of democratic legitimacy have evolved to piggyback on justificatory arguments concerning state sovereignty, rather than explicitly incorporating their normative content as elements of their theory of political legitimacy.1 In the context of contemporary global politics, however, there is neither any operational global sovereign, nor any wide agreement on what an alternative justified framework of global governance institutions should look like. Under these circumstances, the democratic theory of legitimacy has no settled justificatory framework upon which to piggyback, and must instead tackle normative questions about governance capabilities within the democratic theory of political legitimacy itself.

Governance Capability as an Ingredient of Global Political Legitimacy So far, I have argued that democratic theory has evolved without an adequate account of how the value of institutions’ governance capabilities should be taken into account in assessment of their political legitimacy. But before we can consider how to account for this, it is first necessary to say more about why such an account is required. The normative case for recognizing valuable governance capabilities as substantive ingredients in political legitimacy can be appreciated most readily, I propose, by reflecting on intuitions about what political legitimacy requires in global institutions. This is illuminating because when theoretical analysis is focused on the institutional complex of the democratic state—​in which democratic choice-​making processes and state governance functions are operationally intertwined—​it can be difficult to draw out clear intuitions about where exactly the political legitimacy is coming from. But when we instead examine global governance contexts in which these institutional elements are unbundled, some of the tensions and trade-​offs between democratic choice-​making and valuable governance capabilities are brought into clearer focus.

Global Political Legitimacy    405 To draw out these intuitions, we can start by considering how global governance institutions differ from sovereign institutions with respect to their governance capabilities. Here we must first recognize the limited governance capabilities of sovereign institutions—​which are centred on rule-​making and enforcement capabilities. The functional specificity of states is sometimes obscured by traditional theoretical characterizations of sovereignty as “absolute” or “ultimate” power or authority within a territory, which imply openness with respect to the functions that sovereign institutions can perform. But this is misleading insofar as the state’s hierarchical legal and bureaucratic authority, backed by its material capacities for force and coercion, constitute blunt regulatory tools. They can motivate only a limited range of behaviours, and correspondingly perform a limited range of functions. This recognition is backed by recent empirical literatures, which show how the functional capabilities of institutions vary with their distinctive mechanisms for achieving social coordination, control, and resource allocation (Rhodes 1996)—​focusing in particular on differences between institutional hierarchies such as states, and the non-​state institutional forms of markets and networks. Growing appreciation for the diverse functional capabilities of non-​state institutions has been influential in shaping the development of contemporary global governance institutions. In contrast to the coercive rule-​enforcement functions of states, many global governance functions involve softer forms of collaborative political action—​such as information creation and exchange, the promulgation of informal regulatory principles, and problem-​solving around particular issue areas (Finkelstein 1995). To sustain these functions, many global institutions demand forms of actor autonomy, operational flexibility and agility, informational accumulation and exchange, and so on, which cannot be achieved optimally through hierarchical institutional structures alone. Meeting these demands requires a greater role for market and network mechanisms—​incorporating a range of non-​state actors such as corporations and non-​governmental organizations (NGOs) alongside states and international organizations (IOs) (Cutler, Haufler, and Porter 1999). Moreover, while some global governance functions are complementary, others conflict—​since there is no universal agreement on what constitutes the global “common interest” or “common good.” As such, global governance institutions are organized around more local and partial agreements, arising from a complex web of interlocking and shifting transnational constituencies. Dense and dynamic interactions among these plural institutions then generate an overarching governance structure that can be described as “complex” (Weiss and Wilkinson 2014) and in some aspects “liquid” (Krisch 2017; Macdonald and Macdonald 2017) in character. What, then, are the implications of these complex non-​hierarchical institutional forms for political legitimacy in global governance? The crucial implication, I propose, is that they radically diminish the scope of the political control that democratic choice-​ making processes can exercise over governance activities. This loss of political control has two main sources. First, whereas political control within a hierarchical sovereign institutional structure is concentrated in a small number of sites of decision-​making authority—​typically legislatures, executives, and judiciaries—​control is diffused within

406   Terry MacDonald global governance institutions across a proliferation of diverse actors and institutional settings. This diffusion characterizes both the processes through which political actors express and coordinate values (e.g. purchasing decisions in markets, or negotiations within networks), and the processes through which these values are converted into political outcomes through the operation of institutional power (e.g. through the pressures of material incentives and rewards channelled through markets, or those of the material interdependencies and forms of socialization that develop within networks). As a result of this diffusion, many institutions lack a clear institutional focal point or “setting” for the exercise of political control, where established democratic decision-​making principles of inclusion, equality, or rationality (in the form of rational preference aggregation or public deliberation) could be “plugged in.” Second, the political control that can be exercised through democratic choice-​ making processes is further restricted by the more opaque character of the activities through which political values are expressed within complex non-​hierarchical governance. Within a hierarchical sovereign institutional structure, political control is typically channelled through legal and bureaucratic processes, in which political values are clearly expressed through the explicit articulation and contestation of authoritative rules, directives, or principles. In contrast, the processes of control that drive functions within complex non-​hierarchical global governance institutions embody more ambiguous expressions of political value. For instance, the spending and investment activities that drive the functions of particular market institutions—​such as economic “supply chain” institutions (Macdonald 2014)—​are often weaker indicators of actors’ political values, insofar as they are routinely undertaken without access to adequate information about their wider political implications. Similarly, the incremental activities that shape the development of network relationships—​to share or not share information and resources, to honour or renege on informally negotiated commitments, and so on—​can be significantly shaped by local norms and accountabilities that develop within and sustain these relationships (Papadopoulos 2007), thus obscuring the wider political values that spurred network participation in the first place. When political values are expressed in these more opaque ways, the scope of democratic choice-​making control diminishes insofar as it becomes unclear what activities should count as political “choices,” and thereby be subject to democratic choice-​making principles of inclusivity, equality, and rationality. Established arguments from cosmopolitan and transnationalist global democrats can offer some responses to these concerns. Cosmopolitans claim that such existing democratic legitimacy deficits necessitate developing hierarchical state-​like governmental structures on a global scale, more amenable to control through democratic choice-​making processes (Cabrera 2005). Transnationalists claim that political control through democratic choice-​making can be restored within non-​hierarchical governance structures through creative redesign of democratic choice-​making mechanisms—​such as flexible new forms of deliberative engagement (Dryzek 2006), non-​electoral representation (Macdonald 2008), or participation (Warren 2002). Remaining political legitimacy deficits are then treated as concessions to a methodological “realism,” captured by the

Global Political Legitimacy    407 idea that complex global governance is an empirical fact to which democratic institutions and their justifications must respond.2 But these responses do not adequately account for the deep normative tensions and trade-​offs that underlie choices among these institutional alternatives. In advocating the construction of sovereign-​style global institutions, cosmopolitans fail to acknowledge the strong functional values that support existing non-​hierarchical global governance structures. While there are certainly many drivers for the existing global governance structure—​including the pressures of strategic power politics—​one central driver is the widespread view that hierarchical governance is functionally ill-​equipped to solve complex global problems. Transnationalists similarly advance few direct normative arguments in support of non-​hierarchical global governance institutions, notwithstanding their willingness to adapt democratic choice-​making institutions to their structural demands. By casting concessions to non-​hierarchical institutional structures as responses to feasibility constraints, they downplay the extent to which they may in fact respond to normative demands for the discharge of valuable governance functions. In sum, there are strong intuitive grounds for thinking that the functional value of governance capabilities should be accommodated, alongside the democratic character of choice-​making processes, in overall assessments of political legitimacy. But established democratic theories of political legitimacy provide no clear account of the criteria by which the value of governance capabilities should be judged, in lieu of judgements expressed through democratic choice-​making processes. As a result, they cannot explain how trade-​offs should be made between an institution’s valuable governance functions and its democratic choice-​making controls, when their institutional demands conflict. The need for a normative account of this kind raises an important challenge to which global democratic theorists must respond.

Global Political Legitimacy in a Post-​ Sovereign Era: A New Research Agenda Although established democratic theories incorporate no systematic account of the governance capability dimension of political legitimacy, broader theoretical traditions of liberalism, republicanism, realism, and pragmatism have said more about it. Often they have done so in arguing for sovereign institutions as a politically legitimate framework for democratic politics.3 But the problem with these arguments from a democratic perspective is that they all appeal to substantive values that are not globally shared. As such, appeal to these values as sources of political legitimacy cannot readily be reconciled with the central democratic value of collective self-​determination. Some liberals and republicans, first, have argued that political legitimacy requires special material governance capabilities that are functionally independent from democratic choice-​making in order to protect some purported “common interest” from capture

408   Terry MacDonald by self-​interested public officials or special interest groups. Often these capabilities are prescribed in the form of constitutional structures, institutionally insulated from direct control by democratic legislatures or executives. Typically the content of this “common interest”—​and thereby of political legitimacy more broadly—​is given by the application of some principles of justice (Valentini 2012), or “thinner” moral principles (Buchanan and Keohane 2006; Erman 2015) that are backed by philosophical justifications. But it is not clear how the institutionalization of such moral standards can be reconciled with the democratic value of collective self-​determination within global populations among whom these standards are themselves matters of deep political disagreement. Others have argued that political legitimacy requires special governance capabilities that are functionally independent from democratic choice-​making to support political “problem-​solving” activities. Conceptions of political “problems” vary, but include the problem of “order” emphasized by theoretical “realists” like Williams (2005), and problems understood in “pragmatic experimentalist” terms as targets of politically collaborative experimental inquiry and action (Sabel and Zeitlin 2008; De Burca, Keohane, and Sabel 2014). This problem-​solving approach provides more scope for achieving democratic political legitimacy under conditions of moral disagreement, and as such is suggestive and important. But normative criteria for diagnosing and solving global problems can also attract deep political contestation—​albeit on different justificatory terms from moral disputes. Some authors invoke problem-​solving standards of “effectiveness” (Gutner and Thompson 2010), or broader epistemic standards (Steffek 2015), as alternatives to controversial moral principles. But instrumental and epistemic standards can only supplement—​not substitute for—​thicker normative criteria specifying what kind of problem-​solving strategies should be “effectively” pursued. And it remains unclear how these criteria can be identified without appeal either to politically contested moral principles or to democratic choice-​making processes. How then can democrats account for widespread intuitions about the importance of governance capability to political legitimacy, given these problems with established theoretical arguments? Here I propose another promising theoretical framework for this task, which identifies support for institutions’ governance capability as one element of a normative conception of political legitimacy centred on advancing collective empowerment. The value of collective empowerment is closely related to that of collective self-​ determination. But whereas familiar democratic conceptions of self-​determination are formulated as ideals of empowered collective choice-​making, as discussed above, the conception I am proposing here is formulated as an ideal of empowered collective action more broadly conceived (Macdonald 2015; 2016; Macdonald and Macdonald 2017). This shift in conceptualization helpfully accommodates the claim that shared political values—​or “common interests”—​can be expressed in various political activities beyond democratic “choice-​making.” This claim is that political values are not always expressed communicatively—​in the form of explicitly articulated normative “principles” or “conceptions,” such as moral or problem-​solving standards. Rather, they are often expressed behaviourally—​through the patterns of value-​responsive activity that constitute institutional “practices.” The idea that social practices embody some non-​propositional

Global Political Legitimacy    409 knowledge is already well established (Taylor 1985); and some recent normative theorists have argued that political value judgement can be similarly practice-​based (Geuss 2009; Philp 2007). Value judgements can be regarded as practice-​based insofar as they are produced in part through non-​cognitive evaluative faculties such as attentional and emotional responsiveness, and politically expressed through conduct alongside communication. Recognizing the practice-​based constituents of political values can help us to move past the problems with established theoretical accounts of the governance capability dimension of political legitimacy, discussed above. It can do so by opening up a new avenue for analysis of “common interests” in the absence of their articulation through formal communicative mechanisms such as public deliberation or voting (see Chapter 33). The basic idea is that institutional practices can embody shared political values expressed behaviourally by their participants through ongoing patterns of material support for institutions—​even when participants do not agree, in cognitive or communicative terms, on substantive moral principles or problem-​solving criteria for these institutions. When institutional participants lend support through their joint participation to the production and maintenance of some material set of institutional governance capabilities, they express at the very least shared value placed on these capabilities themselves—​even if different participants consider them worthy of support on the basis of competing strategic goals or moral principles. The content of the governance capabilities that should be regarded as ingredients in political legitimacy can then be identified theoretically through critical interpretation of institutional practice, as a supplement to agreements reached through democratic choice-​making processes. To realize the potential of this theoretical account, more work must be done to develop it in both conceptual and institutional dimensions. First, democrats need to develop more robust practice-​based conceptions of collective action and collective empowerment, able to generate methods of analysis for interpreting institutional practices, and discerning the ways and degrees to which such practices can be understood as expressive of non-​cognitive value judgements as distinct from realpolitik political pressures. This can enable assessment of how non-​choice-​driven global governance practices—​such as the market and network governance practices discussed earlier—​reflect “common interests” of the kind that can supply substantive standards of global political legitimacy in the governance capability dimension. More must also be said about how the boundaries of practices can be delineated within “complex” and “liquid” institutional contexts such as those in contemporary global politics. On both issues we may benefit from insights in practice-​based critical and social theories of collective action (e.g. Joas 1996; Boltanski and Thevenou 2006), as well as new methodological work aimed at understanding how the normative principles that regulate institutions should depend on empirical features of underlying social practices (Williams 2005; Floyd 2016; Ronzoni 2009; Sangiovanni 2008; Williams and Warren 2014). In addition, democrats need to develop new institutional principles and prescriptions for fostering political legitimacy understood as empowered collective action, tailored to diverse global governance contexts. At the centre of any new institutional agenda must

410   Terry MacDonald be protections for political collaborations driven by practice-​based—​as well as formal choice-​based—​shared political judgements. More concretely, this may lend democratic support to a three-​pronged institutional programme: strengthened emphasis on institutionalized human rights protection, justified as core international instruments for broad political empowerment; renewed focus on institutionalizing material social and economic empowerments, alongside empowered social choice; and recognition of contextually variable standards of political legitimacy within global institutions, to accommodate the varying governance functions that achieve political support in practice in each institutional case. In developing this institutional agenda, democrats can build upon republican and realist ideas (see Chapters  47 and 48)  about the importance of institutionalized “non-​domination” in creating space for empowered political agency (Buckinx, Trejo-​Mathys, and Waligore 2015; Pettit 2010), as well as wider bodies of work on political empowerment (Fung 2006) and global political legitimacy (Buchanan 2010). It remains an open question whether this collective-​empowerment conception of global political legitimacy is best formulated as a straightforwardly “democratic” theory, or in more conceptually freestanding terms. To accept it as democratic we would need to be conceptually flexible in how we formulate the democratic conceptions of political empowerment and equality, in particular. But by maintaining a focus on the empowerment of collective agency—​rather than imposing moral or epistemic conceptions of the common good lacking global political acceptance—​this way of thinking about the governance capability dimensions of global political legitimacy resonates more strongly than other established alternatives with democratic ideals. As such, it has the potential to help us better understand the democratic sources of political legitimacy in global governance contexts where institutional decision-​making is structured in ways incompatible with traditional democratic choice-​making principles.

Conclusions I began this chapter with the question of how democrats should respond to the charge that democratizing global political institutions is utopian or infeasible, and I want to return to that question briefly in conclusion. Whereas the charge of utopianism generally presupposes state-​like cosmopolitan institutional models to embody the global democratic “ideal,” to be assessed for feasibility, I have presented here an analysis of the democratic sources of political legitimacy that opposes this framing supposition. Instead, I have argued that many of the non-​sovereign global governance institutions that democratic sceptics cite as obstacles to realizing global democracy may be better viewed as substantive ingredients in it, insofar as they contribute to the substantive functional value produced through global governance activity—​as this is understood by the mix of global actors by and for whom such institutions are constituted. At least

Global Political Legitimacy    411 to the extent that we see democratic institutional ideals as oriented towards achieving normative political legitimacy (as distinct from justice, or some other substantive moral or epistemic standard), there are thus good normative reasons for opening up familiar theoretical and institutional models of democracy for substantial revision. This rethinking of the relationship between democracy and political legitimacy also contributes new insights to longstanding theoretical debates about the democratic value of sovereignty as a central institution in international politics. Whereas democratic theorists have conventionally attributed value to sovereign institutions on the basis that they can provide the most hospitable institutional framework for mechanisms of democratic collective choice (Miller 2010), my arguments here suggest that sovereign institutions can also contribute more directly to democratic projects through the political legitimacy that their special governance capabilities can confer. A central challenge for democrats in the era of post-​sovereign global governance, therefore, is to assess how the choice-​making and governance capability dimensions of political legitimacy can best be weighed and reconciled, and on this basis to develop creative new institutional designs with greater sensitivity to these competing demands.

Notes 1. For an influential discussion of the relationship between questions of state “legitimacy” and “justification,” see Simmons (1999). 2. Transnationalists’ gestures towards political realism mirror those underlying a broader theoretical literature on democracy in non-​hierarchical governance (Fung 2006; Sorensen and Torfing 2016). 3. Broader arguments of this kind are surveyed by Scharpf (2003) in his analysis of “output” legitimacy, though for reasons outlined earlier I do not invoke that language here.

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Global Political Legitimacy    413 Macdonald, T. (2008). Global Stakeholder Democracy: Power and Representation Beyond Liberal States (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Macdonald, T. (2015). Political Legitimacy in International Border Governance Institutions. European Journal of Political Theory 14(4): 409–​28. Macdonald, T. (2016). Institutional Facts and Principles of Global Political Legitimacy. Journal of International Political Theory 12(2): 134–​51. Miller, D. (2010). Against Global Democracy. In K. Breen and S. O’Neill (eds), After the Nation? (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillian), 141–​60. Papadopoulos, Y. (2007). Problems of Democratic Accountability in Network and Multilevel Governance. European Law Journal 13(4): 469–​86. Pettit, P. (2010). Legitimate International Institutions:  A Neo-​republican Perspective. In S. Besson and J. Tasioulas (eds), The Philosophy of International Law (Oxford:  Oxford University Press), 119–​38. Philp, M. (2007). Political Conduct (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press). Rawls, J. (1996). Political Liberalism (New York: Columbia University Press). Rhodes, R. A.  W. (1996). The New Governance:  Governing Without Government. Political Studies 44(4): 652–​67. Ronzoni, M. (2009). The Global Order:  A Case of Background Injustice? A  Practice‐ Dependent Account. Philosophy & Public Affairs 37(3): 229–​56. Sabel, C., and J. Zeitlin (2008). Learning from Difference:  The New Architecture of Experimentalist Governance in the EU. European Law Journal 14(3): 271–​327. Sangiovanni, A. (2008). Justice and the Priority of Politics to Morality. Journal of Political Philosophy 16(2): 137–​64. Scharpf, F. W. (1999). Governing in Europe:  Effective and Democratic? (Oxford:  Oxford University Press). Scharpf, F. W. (2003). Problem-​Solving Effectiveness and Democratic Accountability in the EU (Cologne: Max Planck Institute for the Study of Societies). Simmons, A. J. (1999). Justification and Legitimacy. Ethics 109(4): 739–​7 1. Sørensen, E., and J. Torfing (eds) (2007). Theories of Democratic Network Governance (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan). Steffek, J. (2015). The Output Legitimacy of International Organizations and the Global Public Interest. International Theory 7(2): 263–​93. Taylor, C. (1985). Philosophical Papers, vol. 1:  Human Agency and Language (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Valentini, L. (2012). Assessing the Global Order:  Justice, Legitimacy, or Political Justice? Critical Review of International Social and Political Philosophy 15(5): 593–​612. Warren, M. (2002). What Can Democratic Participation Mean Today? Political Theory 30(5): 677–​701. Weiss, T. G., and R. Wilkinson (2014). Rethinking Global Governance? Complexity, Authority, Power, Change. International Studies Quarterly 58(1): 207–​15. Wendt, A. (1999). A Comment on Held’s Cosmopolitanism. In I. Shapiro and C. Hacker-​ Cordón (eds), Democracy’s Edges (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press), 19–​36. Williams, B. (2005). In the Beginning Was the Deed: Realism and Moralism in Political Argument (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press). Williams, M., and M. Warren (2014). A Democratic Case for Comparative Political Theory. Political Theory 42(1): 26–​57. Young, I. M. (2002). Inclusion and Democracy (Oxford: Oxford University Press).

­c hapter 31

The Ethical L i mi ts of Gl obal Demo c rac y Eva Erman

The target entities of democracy promotion to date have been states. But what about promoting global democracy? In contrast to the broad consensus on the value of promoting democracy as the best political system for states, it is much more contested whether we should promote democracy also in global governance and if so under what conditions (see Chapter 29). Adding a normative aspect to that: what has International Political Theory (IPT) got to say about the ethical limits of global democracy? This is the question addressed in the present chapter. The ethical limits of global democracy will here be understood as the conditions under which global democracy should be construed (formulated and justified) and promoted in real politics. Of course, these two questions are deeply intertwined, since whether global democracy should be promoted depends on what account of global democracy we favour. However, the aim here is not to develop and defend a substantive account of global democracy, but to bring up and discuss some basic concerns that are essential to address when analysing the limits of global democracy as well as to suggest some fruitful ways to approach them. In light of this general theoretical aim, a permissive characterization of the concept of “global democracy” will be applied, according to which global democracy alludes to different forms of democracy “beyond” the state, in regional and global governance, such as international organizations in which non-​state actors are also involved. This may include cosmopolitan approaches to global democracy, stakeholder and civil society approaches, federal world state approaches, intergovernmentalist approaches, or different forms of multi-​layered governance. The basic question explored in the chapter concerns the conditions under which global democracy on any of those construals may be justified and fostered.

The Ethical Limits of Global Democracy    415

The Limits of Global Democracy and Empirical Concerns We may of course have many reasons to limit global democracy that are not of immediate interest for IPT. Since the basic question in this chapter is normative, concerned with the ethical limits of global democracy, relevant constraints on global democracy will primarily be set by fundamental empirical and moral concerns.1 While this section analyses the former, the subsequent section focuses on the latter.

Empirical Constraints on the Construal of Global Democracy When thinking about the ideal of democracy in a global context, a first set of empirical concerns has to do with feasibility constraints, that is, limitations of what can be achieved in the real world. While an inquiry into what global democracy would be in a world fundamentally different from our world—​e.g. a world of angels—​may be a worthwhile task for philosophy, what we are interested in as political theorists is feasibility constraints in the world as we know it. At the same time, it seems ill-​fitting to constrain global democracy by what we are likely to do within the foreseeable future, or even what we are likely to do at all. For while history is a good judge on what is possible, it is not the last word on what is impossible (Dennett 1994: 105). The often persistent, lengthy, and difficult struggles against oppression and injustices in history have shown that very few of the victories for democracy have ever been likely. Quite the opposite: they have more often than not been perceived as almost impossible (Erman and Möller 2013: 37). The important point for the limits of global democracy is this: if we interpreted “can” in the principle of “ought implies can” in terms of “reasonably likely,” we would not only take away the very potential for rightful change that is at the heart of our concern, but also put up arbitrary constraints on our formulation and justification of global democracy (Erman and Möller 2013: 38; Estlund 2008: 264). Therefore, against the utopian approach of working without feasibility constraints (a world of angels) and the realist approach of working from the constraint of likelihood (cf. Galston 2010; Geuss 2008; see Chapter 48), a more attractive framework for construing global democracy suggests that regulative principles of global democracy should be compatible with the basic features of human nature as we know it, as well as being possible to achieve from the status quo (Buchanan 2004; Gilabert and Lawford-​ Smith 2012).2 The latter constraint means that there must be some way of reaching the possible global democratic world from our world.3

416   Eva Erman Now, it might be objected that these feasibility constraints are too permissive if we engage in non-​ideal theory, which is a mode of theorizing that does not ask the ideal-​ theoretical question of what global democracy is but instead seeks to respond to the question of what concrete step we should take from where we are now—​under the current social, cultural, economic, and political conditions—​to make the global order more democratic. In the theoretical literature on global democracy, especially in approaches focusing on stakeholders and civil society actors, a frequently mentioned example of such a step is to demand of international organizations such as WTO to include transnational actors in decision-​making (Macdonald 2008; Dryzek 2006; Scholte 2014). From this standpoint, feasibility constraints must correspond much more to what economic and political resources are available in the current situation as well as to how motivated central actors are to achieve more democracy on the global level. This is true, as far as it goes. But I insist that we carefully distinguish between empirical reasons for putting constraints on the construal of global democracy (discussed here) and empirical reasons for putting constraints on the promotion and realization of global democracy (discussed below). When we wish to promote or realize an ideal or higher-​level principle of global democracy, it seems reasonable to work under much stricter feasibility constraints, since then the aim is to theorize applied principles that are supposed to regulate our concrete and actually existing global governance institutions under current unfavourable conditions.4 But this is fully compatible with the suggested permissive feasibility constraints for theorizing higher-​level principles of global democracy. The latter constraints give us the normative wiggle room needed to avoid a status quo bias and to utilize idealizations and stylized hypothetical scenarios to reflect upon our considered judgements. For sure, idealizations are falsehoods (O’Neill 1996: 41), but properly used they are not supposed to be part of a theory, but rather used as evidence in support of a theory (e.g. Rawls’s original position). Insofar as the theory fits with our considered judgements under these idealized scenarios, this speaks in favour of the theory (see List and Valentini 2016). A second set of empirical concerns that is fundamental for limiting our construal of global democracy has to do with an ideal or principle of global democracy itself being dependent on the practice to which it is intended to apply. In other words, in order to know whether a principle of global democracy is even applicable, we need empirical data about the practice that is supposed to be regulated by it. In the case of global democracy, such practices will usually be in the form of institutions (although not necessarily exclusively so). A common presumption, stressed for example by practice-​dependent theorists, is that the content and justification of a regulative principle depends on the structure, form, and aim of the practice that the principle is intended to govern. For this reason, proponents argue, we need to conduct a thoroughgoing interpretation of the nature of the practice or institution in question, including its point and purpose according to the participants, its public rules and norms, its history, and so on (Sangiovanni 2016; James 2012; Ronzoni 2009). But these practice-​dependent constraints seem questionable. Whether or not a practice should become democratic (or, say, just) depends on what kind of practice it is. It

The Ethical Limits of Global Democracy    417 might be the case that a commitment to a higher-​level principle of equal respect for persons demands of us to abolish a practice, rather than asking which principles of democracy are most fitting to regulate it. There is an unfortunate practice-​dependent bias in the literature on global democracy, where it is often presumed that current institutionalized practices are a necessary starting point for our normative inquiry. Take, for example, the discussion about the role of private–​public partnerships in global governance, in which a contract is set up between a private party and a public authority. It is often asked how such partnerships can contribute to the democratization of global politics (see e.g. Bexell and Mörth 2010). A  more fundamental question, however, is whether multinational corporations should have power to influence the decision-​making in global governance in the first place. In this and similar cases, normative political theory runs the risk of becoming captive of current political practices in ways that lead to indefensible regulative principles and erroneous prescriptions. There seems to be a conflation of ontological and epistemological issues here, where (reasonable) ontological dependencies are conflated with (unreasonable) epistemological dependencies. Theorists committed to practice-​dependence are heavily influenced by Rawls’s constraining condition on normative principles, according to which “the correct regulative principle for anything depends on the nature of each thing” (Rawls 1971: 29). This ontological condition, however, is taken by these theorists to entail a requirement to find the best interpretation of the nature of our practices in order to justify our principles. But this epistemological requirement is not supported by the ontological condition (Erman and Möller 2017). It is uncontroversial that all principles of global democracy require contextual information about the practices they are supposed to regulate. But the ontological condition says the following: since regulative principles are supposed to regulate the conduct and structure of a practice, any candidate principle for this practice must be “formulated in such a way that it satisfies a condition of applicability” (Beitz 2014: 227). To put it differently, in order for a normative principle to be a principle for a certain practice, it must be compatible with that practice. So if we construed a principle of democracy for the EU which in its application required a world government, it would not be a principle for the EU. However, to get such contextual information does not require that the theorist engages in thoroughgoing interpretation of the nature of the practice or institution in question, its point and purpose according to the participants, and so on. In fact, since the ontological condition only requires compatibility, it stays neutral with regard to whether we abandon the principle or the practice. Take again the EU. Let us assume that we construe a principle of democracy for the EU, but that it turns out that applying this principle demands a fiscal union. Assume further that someone claimed that the principle then is incompatible with the EU since a fiscal union is beyond the EU as a political practice. Then it is of course up to the theorist to argue that this just means that we should change the EU into a fiscal union, regardless of whether we would have to rename it “the EU+” instead of “the EU” to do so. Whether or not this is a viable move depends on our viewpoint (Erman and Möller forthcoming).

418   Eva Erman With this in mind, what would be an appropriate condition of applicability of the higher-​level principles of global democracy? While such principles are supposed to regulate the exercise of purposeful public power in the global domain—​it must be purposeful in order to be agent-​centric, and thus be possible to hold to account (Hurrell and Macdonald 2012)—​it seems inapt to claim that any exercise of public power over persons would be a fitting subject of principles of global democracy, such that democracy is applicable, for example, in all contexts in which people’s interests are significantly affected (Goodin 2007; Gould 2004). Although I cannot defend it here, I think it is more fruitful to view democracy as a more limited political ideal, the aim of which is to regulate public affairs through law-​and policy-​making (Erman 2016). “Democracy,” on a rather established understanding, alludes to a political entity in which the rules that govern it are taken by those to whom the rules apply. Principles of democracy are intended to regulate the relationship between what may be broadly categorized as “rule-​ makers” (political entities) and “rule-​takers” (political subjects)—​i.e. between political entities that make the rules and the subjects to whom these rules apply (Buchanan 2010; Valentini 2012b)—​where rule-​making in a democratic context is equated with law-​and policy-​making (Buchanan and Keohane 2006; Christiano 2013). To see the plausibility of this view, imagine instead that we applied principles of global democracy on political entities that were not law-​or policy-​makers—​for example, entities that enforce international law such as international courts like ICC, or global administrative bodies such as informal intergovernmental regulatory networks. To argue for a principle of equal say in the decision-​making in these cases looks indefensible. What distinguishes the domestic from the global context is that, although different kinds of political entities have different functions domestically (courts, administrative bodies, military power, etc.), they are characterized by a certain kind of unity, where the legislature (in democratic states) has a kind of supremacy (though limited by the constitution established by the constituent power) in that it lends legitimacy to the other entities to carry out democratic functions. In the global domain, however, these different kinds of entities are not united but to a large extent dispersed. This diversity and its implications for standards of political legitimacy are rarely explored in the literature on global democracy. It may turn out that the best way forward here would be to develop standards of political legitimacy that utilize the ideal of democracy together with other normative sources, such that for example international organizations with administrative and enforcement functions must be mandated by democratic decision-​making entities to be democratically legitimate (through democratic state consent, a world parliament, or the like, depending on which approach we favour) as well as to fulfil criteria of moral non-​rejectability to be sufficiently just.

Empirical Constraints on the Promotion of Global Democracy If we now turn to empirical concerns with regard to constraints on the promotion of global democracy, additional limitations come to the fore. When we seek to promote

The Ethical Limits of Global Democracy    419 democracy in the real world, we cannot simply apply the higher-​level principles of an ideal of global democracy, since there is no blueprint of application. Indeed, it is a significant and explicitly stressed property of normative principles that they do not “apply themselves.” Rather, such application requires judgement, assessment, and possible trade-​offs against the backdrop of a specific social context in which the action is supposed to take place (Erman and Möller 2013: 28; O’Neill 1996: 78). With the aim of promoting global democracy in real political situations by approximating higher-​level principles through context-​sensitive applied principles, the non-​ ideal mode of theorizing has an important role to play (Swift 2008; Valentini 2012a). When formulating applied principles, the feasibility constraints discussed earlier—​ adopted for theorizing what global democracy is—​will probably turn out to be too accommodating. To properly respond to the question of what step to take from where we are now to make the global order more democratic requires contextual knowledge about (for example) how actual international organizations work and the different functions they play in global governance. For example, consider those approaches to global democracy that stress the role of transnational actors’ involvement in global governance for increased global democracy, such as stakeholder accounts and civil society accounts. We learn from recent empirical work on the involvement of transnational actors in global governance about the important role played by democratic states. It is shown that the main explanation why international organizations open the door for transnational actors is that their members are democratic states (Tallberg et al. 2013). Hence, also for approaches focusing on non-​state actors such as social movements and NGOs, an important step towards increased global democracy under current (non-​ideal) conditions would be to appreciate the essential role played by democratic states, which they tend to ignore. With the aim of exploring the ethical limits of global democracy, there is no reason to think that either ideal or non-​ideal modes of theorizing must have priority. Both modes have a central place in IPT, and which of them turns out to be most important depends on the problem at hand and what work the theory is supposed to do. As we have seen so far, there are many different aspects of the limits of global democracy, and the choice of mode of theorizing must depend on which aspects are central for the purposes at hand. For example, it may turn out—​although it cannot be generalized—​that context-​ sensitive principles will be more action-​guiding when it comes to certain kinds of sought actions. However, even if we may theorize context-​sensitive principles of global democracy without higher-​level principles at our disposal—​as pointed out by Amartya Sen, we may choose “more democratic non-​ideal A” over “more democratic non-​ideal B” here and now without relating them to an ideal of global democracy (2009)5—​we should not underestimate the significant role that higher-​level principles can play in this endeavour in some situations. There might be cases in which it turns out that by choice A we in fact place ourselves not only at a deadlock for moving further towards increased global democracy but at a severe danger of worsening things. Consider, for example, decisions about nuclear power or about climate change that we make today and their consequences for future generations. In such cases, it seems reasonable to presume that we would like to know whether a step in a seemingly (short-​term)

420   Eva Erman better direction would make an ideal or higher-​level principle unattainable (Erman and Möller 2013: 31–​2). Whilst both ideal and non-​ideal modes of theorizing have important roles to play in IPT, they should not be conflated. Unfortunately, the debate on global democracy has not demonstrated the same awareness of the differences between these modes of theorizing as the justice debate. Looking closer at some of the more influential proposals for democratic global governance, it is hard to discern under what feasibility constraints they are formulated and how these constraints are justified. Take, for example, cosmopolitan accounts of global democracy. While political cosmopolitans are in agreement that a democratized inter-​state system is not equipped to deal with today’s global-​sized problems, most of them resist a (federal) world state or democratic world government (Held 1995; Archibugi 2004; 2008). It is insisted that the cosmopolitan model should not be regarded as a form of global government, and institutional suggestions instead emphasize a global domestic politics without world government (Habermas 2006), in which conditions of political autonomy are established on different levels of governance in a functional and non-​hierarchical manner (Archibugi 2004: 446). However, whereas a democratic world state is claimed to be both unfeasible and undesirable, the grounds for these rejections are never spelled out and defended (Scheuerman 2014; Ulas 2016). This, I believe, can partly be explained by a vagueness with regard to the nature of the normative argument pursued and hence a blurring of the two modes of theorizing. If it is not clear which mode of theorizing is intended, and for what purpose, we have no way of knowing on what grounds we may validate or reject the conclusions. It would, for example, be a high theoretical and normative price to pay for political cosmopolitanism if it turned out that their vision of a dispersed system of democratic governance would be as difficult to approximate under current conditions as some form of democratic world state with centralized authority functions. From the view proposed here, since feasibility constraints are a matter of degree there is a continuum between ideal and non-​ideal theorizing. Moreover, an account may consist of principles construed under different feasibility constraints (cf. Rawls 1971), where some of the principles are more ideal than others. Thus, we may perfectly well use one set of feasibility constraints for justifying principles of democracy which respond to the question of what global democracy is, and another set of feasibility constraints for theorizing applied principles for here and now, which respond to the question of what we should do in the current situation if we wish to approximate this ideal. The important thing is that the principles fit together, such that the more applied principles are reasonable also from the standpoint of the more ideal principles given the presumed feasibility constraints. If they do not fit, one of them would have to be abandoned or at least be revised. This view opens up interesting possibilities for the debate on global democracy, as it may turn out that approaches depicted as competing accounts of global democracy in fact are compatible (perhaps with some amendments). To return to the example above, given the empirical support for the important role that democratic states play for including civil society actors in international organizations, it looks as if approaches focusing

The Ethical Limits of Global Democracy    421 on stakeholders and civil society actors (Dryzek 2006; Scholte 2014)—​which are usually very sceptical of statist views—​may move further towards realizing their basic principles of democracy through an intergovernmentalist approach that stresses the importance of democratizing states rather than other political entities. To explore such possibilities of compatibility, however, theorists in this debate need to become more much upfront about which feasibility constraints their accounts are theorized under and what the justifications for them are.

The Limits of Global Democracy and Moral Concerns When thinking about practical normativity in relation to how best to organize our global political world, normative theorists with a political science background tend to see democracy as the main normative yardstick. But we are also committed to other higher-​ level principles, such as distributive justice, gender equality, and non-​domination, which may generate moral reasons to put restrictions on democracy in the global domain.

Moral Constraints on the Construal of Global Democracy A democratic polity is commonly constrained and enabled by a constitution in the form of a set of fundamental principles, procedures, and precedents setting out standards for how the polity is to be organized and governed. Similarly, in a global governance context, a treaty that establishes an international organization may be described as a constitution in the sense that it defines how the entity is constituted. In well-​functioning democratic states, constitutional essentials and the rule of law make up the normative boundary conditions for democratic decision-​making. Among other things, the rule of law implies that every citizen is subject to the law, including the law-​makers themselves, and one important function of the constitutional framework is to delimit political power by establishing lines that rulers cannot cross through the enforcement of fundamental rights. For theoretical purposes, however, it is useful to distinguish the ideal of democracy, “the rule by the people,” from the ideal of justice, since these fundamental rights are not only intended to protect citizens as democratic agents, but also fulfil a principle of equal respect for persons. Principles of justice are usually said to respond to the question of “who owes what to whom,” where entitlements are commonly expressed in terms of a set of rights (Valentini 2012b: 595). On contemporary liberal accounts of justice, institutions are just inasmuch as they secure basic rights and realize a fair distribution of burdens and benefits among citizens (Rawls 1971; Dworkin 2000). In contrast to justice, democracy consists of a

422   Eva Erman two-​way relation rather than a one-​way relation: it is not foremost about the distribution of entitlements and rights and about subjects being the recipients of goods, but about the justifiability of political relations. Since democracy is concerned with regulating the relationship between entities exercising political power and those over whom it is exercised, it is something that must be achieved—​rather than received—​through justifiable procedures (Erman 2013). Although fundamental rights put substantial side-​constraints on democratic decision-​making, it is the procedural property that gives democratic legitimacy its content-​independent character—​i.e. gives those to whom the decisions apply content-​independent reasons to comply or not interfere with the functioning of the political entity making these decisions, regardless of their positive or negative view of the contents of such decisions (Buchanan and Keohane 2006; Erman 2016). Utilizing this distinction, we may argue that justice both enables and limits democracy. An important question in view of the present purposes is what the equivalent of the constitutional essentials would be in global governance. This is too little explored in the theoretical literature on global democracy. Indeed, human rights are the most discussed candidate for an embryonic constitutional skeleton. But even though everyone agrees that human rights are important for the democratization of global politics, what should be explored in much more detail is what role human rights should play in a theory of global democracy. Importantly, though, in specifying the role of human rights in global democracy, we should be careful not to construe global democracy in terms of human rights, such as in the form of a minimal threshold for democratic legitimacy in global decision-​making (Goodhart 2008; Bohman 2007), in which democracy is seen as a “political commitment to realizing freedom and equality for everyone through the protection of human rights” (Bohman 2007: 416). For even if human rights are likely to be a necessary condition of global democracy on any reasonable account, they are not sufficient. We can have perfectly enforced human rights globally, without any joint political decision-​making whatsoever at any level. Human rights are individual, and as such they may successfully protect important aspects of moral equality and moral agency (see Chapter 22). Democracy, however, is an ideal of collective self-​rule premised on political equality, in which those affected by or subjected to the rules have an equal say in the decision-​ making about them. And political equality has to do with a particular kind of agency, namely, democratic agency.

Moral Constraints on the Promotion of Global Democracy A final question brought up for discussion here concerns when global democracy is even desirable and worth promoting. The way global democracy has been approached here—​as applicable to law-​and policy-​making rather than all forms of power projection in the global public domain—​it is a political ideal with a relatively narrow scope. Due to its narrow scope, there may be cases where it is rightfully trumped by ideals with

The Ethical Limits of Global Democracy    423 more comprehensive scope, such as global justice. From this standpoint, a plausible response to the question of when global democracy is worth promoting would be the following: if and only if doing so does not involve moral costs that are too extreme (see Buchanan 2004). There will of course be different answers to the question of what threshold of moral cost could reasonably be justified, which a substantial account of global democracy would have to formulate. While there is likely to be overlap between accounts on some minimal level of distributive justice and moral equality, formulating and justifying a moral threshold for global democracy is a complex matter. For even if political equality—​the principle that people affected by or subjected to rules should have an equal say in their making—​is the cornerstone of democracy, it is not immediately translatable from moral equality or equipped to protect all aspects of moral equality. Although these developments often go hand in hand, it is not self-​evident that promoting global democracy will always be the best way forward for globally reducing severe poverty (see Chapter 27) or injustices. Here again, both ideal and non-​ideal modes of theorizing become important, since we would want to know to what extent reducing global injustices through non-​democratic means on a short-​term basis will lead us into a difficult position for realizing global democracy on a long-​term basis. Another set of concerns is raised by the so-​called problem of the second best. This problem is not a criticism of ideal theory, as argued by some non-​ideal theorists (Farrelly 2007: 845, 853), but concerns the inevitable problem of trade-​offs if we attempt to realize several competing or conflicting desirable conditions simultaneously. Let us assume that we have three ideal conditions—​say, global democracy, distributive justice, and world peace—​that we wish to realize but which, taken together, are unrealizable. We might think that under such non-​ideal circumstances, the second best option would be to realize these conditions as much as possible. However, as noted by Robert Goodin, what the general theory of second best teaches us is that such intuitions are in error. The second best state of affairs might not be a situation in which we implement more of our ideal conditions rather than fewer, or implement each of them to a greater rather than lesser degree. For example, to realize all three to some degree might be preferable to realizing all but one of them completely. Indeed, not even such a refined trade-​off captures the complexity involved when attempting to realize several ideal conditions at the same time. Once we take into account the interdependencies between global democracy, distributive justice, and world peace, it might turn out to be the case that less rather than more of any of the ideally desirable goods is a better option under second best circumstances (Goodin 1995: 54). The implications of the “second best” problem have not been sufficiently appreciated in global democracy literature. Instead, there is a tendency among political theorists to rely on what I have called an “additive” premise, according to which democracy is understood in terms of a number of separate “democratic” values—​most noticeably, transparency, accountability, deliberation, and participation—​and it is presumed that the more one or more of these values are strengthened in the operation of rules, procedures, and mechanisms, the more democratic global governance institutions become

424   Eva Erman (Scholte 2014; Steffek et al. 2008; Dryzek 2011). This picture, however, is misleading, since we may strengthen all of these values without any increase in global democracy. In order to know whether more transparency, accountability, deliberation, and participation lead to more democracy, we have to look at how they relate to political equality (Erman 2013: 863).

Conclusion The complex and multifaceted question of the ethical limits of global democracy is tremendously difficult to address in a single chapter. Rather than developing a substantive account, my aim in the current chapter has been to discuss number of desiderata in terms of fundamental empirical and normative concerns that any successful account would have to address. As I have tried to show, the conditions under which global democracy should be construed and promoted depend on a variety of factors, such as what theory of global democracy we favour, on what political entities the ideal of democracy is supposed to be applied, what feasibility constraints we adopt, and what other normative ideals we are committed to in regulating global affairs.

Notes 1. For the present purposes, I  will use the terms “ethical,” “moral,” and “normative” interchangeably. 2. I interpret these feasibility requirements in terms of a negative epistemological proposition such that the ideal must not be proven incompatible with the basic features of human nature as we know it and not be proven unachievable from the status quo. 3. For an analysis of ideal theory, see Valentini (Chapter 50) in this volume. 4. As I use the term here, a normative ideal may be described as a set of higher-​level principles. 5. Hence, we would not “dive blind” without an ideal at our disposal, as John Simmons claims (Simmons 2010: 34).

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­c hapter 32

The C ontested Et h i c s of De mo cracy Promot i on Milja Kurki

This chapter examines the ethical justifications as to why we might wish to engage in the promotion of democracy in other countries today. Specifically, the aim is to engage in reflection on the ethics of international democracy promotion in the context of recent debates over the contested nature of democracy as a concept. This angle of investigation is interesting for at least two reasons. First, despite the confidence of many democracy promoters in acting in democracy’s defence globally, it is not self-​evident what is ethically good about democracy and whether and why it should be promoted. Even within the currently dominant liberal frames of democracy, there are many unresolved questions about the nature, purpose, and legitimacy of the policy of promoting democracy. We will also observe that if we pay close attention to alternative, non-​(or rather “extra-​”) liberal democratic traditions, even more troublesome questions over ethics of democracy promotion arise, for with contested notions of democracy come also contested ethical frames as to how we should evaluate, judge, and practise democracy promotion. Despite the interesting and tricky nature of “ethics” in democracy promotion, ethical questions are often sidelined in democracy promotion policy practice today. This is arguably due to the embeddedness in this policy agenda of certain kinds of ethical and conceptual frames that are more often than not liberal or neoliberal. These frames remain implicit because they operate within an increasingly “technical” or “depoliticized” democracy promotion discourse. We must therefore start by examining current policy practice, to understand how democracy promotion is conceived of today, and why and how ethical debate fits (or does not fit) within it. The first section will introduce democracy promotion, or “democracy support” as it is currently known, and will address three aspects of current policy practice: (1) the increasing depoliticization of democracy promotion; (2) the often implicit “liberal consensus” on democracy in its promotion; and (3) the shifts towards “local ownership” in the policy agenda. While each trend can be seen as a response to

428   Milja Kurki the critics of “classical” democracy promotion, we also see that ethical questions fit with considerable difficulty into current policy practices. In the second part we consider the ethics of democracy support explicitly and in the context of debates around its contested nature. I discuss first the dominant liberal ethical frame and questions it raises. I then discuss a number of alternative conceptual and ethical frames we might consider. How do social democrats, radical democrats, global democrats, and “post-​humanist” democrats, for example, consider democracy and the ethics of its promotion? The chapter seeks to argue that, while ethical questions around democracy support are much more complex and contested than normally recognized, addressing them can also help this policy agenda.

Technical, Implicitly Liberal, Locally Owned Democracy Support, and the Problem of Ethics Although for many philosophers and political theorists, democracy has been a key site of “ethical” debate as to what counts as the good life and how we should treat each other, ethical debate is, paradoxically, not a dominant focus in democracy support today. Rather, the practice of democracy promotion today treats both democracy and its promotion as by and large “technical” agendas. To understand why, a short survey of current policy practice around democracy support is required. I start with a short description of the policy and its evolution and then focus on three core aspects of current practice: its depoliticization, its implicit liberalism, and its commitment to local ownership. Democracy promotion is a wide-​ranging policy agenda with a long history. It has its origins in the eighteenth-​and nineteenth-​century anti-​imperialist foreign policy of the newly formed United States of America, in the twentieth-​century liberal internationalism of Woodrow Wilson, in the postwar reconstruction efforts in Japan and Germany, and in the “development aid” instruments conceived of in the 1960s (for an excellent history, see Smith 1994). However, the 1980s and especially the 1990s, were the so-​called golden age of democracy promotion. At this time, at the end of the Cold War, not only did many regions of the world ask for assistance in reforming their governance structure, but liberal Western states also found a new confidence (driven no doubt by power considerations) to step into the breach to provide such assistance (see Chapter 37). In the 1990s the core of the policy revolved around legal and institutional reform, electoral assistance, and some civil society support. The so-​called sequencing debate suggested that once certain steps had been taken in democratizing a country, other steps to consolidate could follow. The policy practices then focused on lining up the steps in the path to democratization. Much has been learned about democratization since, and in response various adjustments have also taken place in democracy promotion.

Contested Ethics of Democracy Promotion    429 Today it is no longer an agenda driven by “linear” sequencing models, and its policy instruments are very varied. Today, democracy promotion is a multifaceted and multi-​ pronged policy agenda. While transforming legal structures and political institutions, various levels and types of pressure can be asserted and in various spheres of activity: from the political systems to service provision, economic policy, trade policy, and civil society constitution. A huge range of tools are now used: from démarches and statements to sanctions and penalties, from funding of electoral monitoring and parliamentary support to institution-​building and budget support to ministries, from trade conditionalities to international organization membership conditionalities (such as EU enlargement), from civil society project-​funding for specific political forces to technical assistance and spread of “best governance” practices. Crucially, today, in any specific country a specific mix of methods, carefully assessed and fitted into context, are deployed. There is no single blueprint but a varied set of assessments and responses to the needs of specific societies. The choice of methods to be deployed relies of course on judgements on what might best work in given contexts but also, importantly, on power-​political judgements (see Chapter 43). Indeed, it is important to remember that democracy support is always conducted in the context of considerations of power—​even if these are not necessarily the only considerations that are relevant in democracy support, as some realists would argue (for further discussion, see Bridoux and Kurki 2014: ch. 3). How might we characterize the trends in this multi-​pronged policy practice today? Three key observations (developed in more detail elsewhere; see especially Kurki 2013) are appropriate in regard to the current policy agenda before we can move on to the ethical implications. First, democracy today is treated as a factual “thing,” and democracy promotion is about the transposition of these technically efficient ways of governing to others globally. As such, crucially, democracy and its promotion now seem to have nothing self-​evidently to do with “ethical” debate about values, what ought to be, or normative questions as to how we should treat each other. Ethical and value-​laden statements were in the 1990s characteristic of democracy promotion, but policy practices, however varied, tend to assume that democracy is a standard of modern statehood, and that as a result it is self-​evident that democracy should be encouraged (see e.g. European Council 2015; US State Department 2017). This is the case partly because “factually” democracy has been observed to create more stability and harmony in international affairs, but also because ethically it is assumed that democracy “is a good thing.” This factuality of democracy is manifested in the increasingly scientific, instrumental mechanisms for measurement and management of democracy projects. The applicants for civil society funding, for example, today have to navigate a range of management measures through which they can come to identify and then to track the causal effects of their actions. There is a “factish” reality to democracy support today (Kurki 2017), one which requires ethical and contested political debate around democracy and democracy promotion to be sidestepped in favour of a focus on measuring democracy and creating “accountability” between donors and recipients of aid (see Chapter 34).

430   Milja Kurki Second, at the same time as depoliticizing debate on democracy, there is a tendency for democracy promotion today to be implicitly liberal, or neoliberal, in its foundational assumptions. The democracy sought is a liberal democracy, and the context within which it is to operate is liberal, including economically and in terms of the international organizational arrangements surrounding it. Democracy support is about maintenance of liberal order both within and outside states. What this means is that the fact that democracy promotion or support appears “technical” does not mean it is devoid of value systems or political biases. Indeed, it is the “implicit” liberalism, and the fact that it is widely accepted that allows the practice to appear as “neutral.” The implicit liberalism embedded in democracy support is in part surprising, for (as has been noted) there have been attempts to adjust policy practices in the field which were once, in the 1990s, firmly and openly liberal. Since the 1990s there have been turns “away from sequencing,” “back to the state,” and opening to “plurality of experiences on democracy.” However, even as this is the case, it appears that at the core of the existing policy practice is simultaneously a deep liberal bias. Recognition of debate, variety, pluralism, or stability of the state are today important, but still within a broadly liberal understanding of the state and the international order. There is a third trend of importance since the mid-​2000s. This is the turn to “local ownership.” This turn is important for a number of reasons. First, it shows signs of recognition of the problems that “top-​down” democracy promotion has faced in the past. Second, it is practically significant in having pushed democracy support increasingly towards the civil society and project-​funding instruments. Third, it has also been important because, while local ownership is deemed important, it is deemed implementable within a depoliticized and implicitly liberal democracy support project (Abrahamsen 2004; Kurki 2011). Whether these three things really are a coherent mix is a question vexing both academics and policy practitioners today: how locally owned can a project be if it is to sit within particular technical, and implicitly liberal, management frames? The current policy paradigm and practice of democracy support is, as we have seen, multi-​faceted, varied in responses, and open to learning. Yet the three trends, taken individually as well as in how they manifest together, are far from unproblematic. Indeed, they give rise to certain practical problems in democracy support today—​for example, around meaningfulness of local ownership, around how to deal with plurality of views on democracy in target countries, and around how to “entice” target groups to work with the “technical” instruments. Yet, given our concerns, one could suggest that the current policy trends are ultimately problematic because they work to hide an implicit set of ethical commitments. While it is good to seek best practice, fine-​tune delivery instruments, and measure the effects of democracy support aid, what the current technical approach to democracy support sidesteps is that at its heart both democracy and democracy support are perhaps far from “technical” but instead intensely political and ethical notions and practices. The fact that the ethics of democracy or democracy promotion are not currently addressed but sidestepped in policy documents, practices, and practitioner debates is therefore problematic: no matter how perfect our “science” of democracy promotion

Contested Ethics of Democracy Promotion    431 and democratization, we also need to recognize the inevitable politics (power relations) and inevitable ethics (value judgements on good life) involved with all engagements with democracy and democracy promotion. We need to carefully draw out, excavate if you like, the ethics in democracy promotion. As we shall see, this task is potentially more tricky than we tend to believe.

Excavating the Ethics of Democracy Promotion In seeking to gain a sense of the ethics of democracy promotion and how we might think about it, I start by exploring liberal ethics for the practice, moving on to interrogate the implications of more challenging “extra-​liberal” ethical frameworks.

Varied Liberal Ethics and Democracy Promotion There is no doubt that liberalism provides the core ground for thinking about democracy in the domestic contexts of most, certainly Western, states and also of democracy promotion as a legitimate policy in international politics. Liberalism has a complex and intriguing history; we will not delve into it here, but it is worth noting that as an ideological frame it is inextricably tied to a particular social context: the rise of entrepreneurial, republican classes sceptical of authoritarian monarchical rule. Combined with arguments for free trade, the liberals developed notions of representative governance and rule of law which would ensure their representation within the state and, crucially, the stability of their investments against any exercise of arbitrary monarchical will (see e.g. McPherson 1977 for the history of liberal democracy). What made the proposals for representative government “democratic” was the incremental inclusion of other interests and classes into the idea of representative government. This was a hard-​earned opening up towards liberal democracy (see e.g. Bowles and Gintis 1987; Rueschemeyer 1992), but an important one, as the idea of liberal democracy by the 1920s was rather distinct from the elite model of representative government imagined by the early liberals. This liberal representative “democracy,” as it was (eventually) accepted, became characterized by a universal or nearly universal suffrage, individuals’ representation through representatives chosen in elections, checks and balances between executive and parliament, an independent judiciary, and respect for the equality of citizens’ rights. An open civil society within which freedom of religion and speech were reinforced was to provide a check on representatives and the state to allow for the independent development of the spirit of entrepreneurship. While premised on the interest of various classes and also some hard-​fought social struggles (by feminists and working classes, for example), the liberal democratic state

432   Milja Kurki also emerged as an “ethical” frame within which understandings of moral imperatives of the “good life” were understood. It is these liberal “ethical values” that are considered to be at the heart of democratic thought, practice, and systems today. These values consist of: respect for the autonomy of each reasoning human individual; respect for their right to express their interests and views; representation of their interests and needs in a political system; pluralism of an open society and political system; and maintenance of equality between individuals in politics and also in economic affairs (normally by allowing individual entrepreneurship to be exercised). These values have of course also been contested by liberals. Indeed, liberalism and liberal democratic thought is not a singular tradition of thought or practice. An important set of orientations, pushing in somewhat different directions from “classical” liberalism, emerged early on within liberal thought. While classical liberals emphasized negative freedoms, autonomy of the individual, and the separation of powers as well as separation of spheres of the economic and the political, the “social liberal” or “reform liberal” tradition emphasized that core liberal values—​equality and autonomy—​could not be maintained within a condition of “negative freedom,” but required the active intervention of the state to provide for the “equality of opportunity” between individuals. Social liberals argued for active intervention of the state in the economy to ensure that unacceptable inequalities would not arise, and maintained that active encouragement of expression of views by working classes and women, for example, was needed to ensure they were fully represented within government (Hobson 1909; see also Freeden 1998). Although liberalism comes in various permutations, at its core lies, arguably, an ethic of respect for liberal individual autonomy within a limited and rational system of governance, which ensures openness of representation, view formation, and expression. But how does a liberal ethic express itself in relation to the idea of “promoting democracy”? I have argued above that there is an implicit liberalism present in democracy support. But what we can see is that there is in fact no singular ethics, even within liberal debate, even as there are certain delimiting parameters to such debate. Historically, there have been important disagreements at the heart of a liberal democratic tradition on ethics of democracy promotion. This was evident in the views of the early American fathers of the first truly liberal democratic public. While Thomas Jefferson, for example, wanted to aggressively make the “ball of liberty” roll over the globe with American assistance, John Quincy Adams was more reluctant. For him, the US should not go “abroad in search of monsters to destroy” but rather should lead the world only by example (for a discussion, see e.g. Bridoux and Kurki 2014: 4). This debate between liberals with different orientations to promotion of democracy is still reflected in today’s debates on democracy promotion. Indeed, when it comes to Syria, Ukraine, China, and the Middle East, policy debates revolve around the question of where we should draw the balance between the urge to promote democracy “everywhere” and “anytime” and the need to show respect for the autonomy of others to come to democratic principles on their own. The more “aggressive” liberal frame, visible today in calls for support to democracy activists in China and Russia, arises from a classical liberal notion which locates the

Contested Ethics of Democracy Promotion    433 ethical drive to promote liberal democracy in the universal moral law that rights of individuals and of democratic representation apply to all individual humans on this planet. If all individuals have rights, the sovereignty of states can stand in the way of the realization of the ethical good for all (even though, of course, paradoxically it is the “state” that democratizers want to democratize in defence of rights of individuals). In principle, if all people on earth have a right to democratic governance, out of respect for their autonomy, then this should be promoted by ethically thinking, consistently practising liberals everywhere: Ukraine, Syria, China, and not just the “easy” countries where democracy is called for. Nevertheless, others argue that the liberal ethics of democracy support cannot be so “easy.” Indeed, a substantial tradition within liberalism, especially but not always tied up with the social liberal tradition, argues that the active promotion of democracy in other societies is not ethically praiseworthy. Respect for the democratic value of autonomy for them is central. We must then think carefully about democracy links to sovereignty in international politics, and this entails, they argue, the need to consider the rights of states and societies to determine their own system of governance. Aggressive promotion of liberal democracy is considered anti-​democratic in spirit: instead, good role models need to be set up in the democratic countries for others to follow willingly. Insofar as liberals should do anything, perhaps they could, as many “democracy supporters” today argue, assist in non-​interfering ways to fund “locally owned” democracy projects (even though many critics contest just how non-​interfering this mode of intervention is). Given the range of possible liberal positions on the ethics of democracy promotion, it is no surprise that in practice there are still debates on whether, when, and how democracy promotion should be engaged in between liberals of many hues. In the American scene, for example, the tensions between proactive and less active as well as between liberal and reform liberal traditions are still being played out (see Kurki 2013; Bridoux and Kurki 2014). At the same time, to maintain an appearance of unity, most policy actors also try to smooth over the cracks in how they relate to values of democracy and democracy promotion. Indeed, it is precisely in the context of the persistence of liberal ethical debate in both the US and the EU that the tendency to try and “depoliticize” debates on liberal democracy and its promotion emerge: to try to show a consensual face to the funders of activity and to the increasingly sceptical domestic and international audiences. The attempts to smooth over the ethical debates on democracy promotion among different liberal democratic traditions presents some problems—​not least in giving rise to self-​contradictory tendencies in democracy promotion between those hoping to defend it on “ethical” or “value” grounds and those seeking to “de-​ethicize” (and depoliticize) it, often for the sake of greater consensus on funding at home and greater acceptance abroad. Many recipients of democracy aid—​and even some donors—​today are, rightly, confused about what this agenda exactly stands for in terms of values and why. Yet these challenges are minor when set against the much more significant challenge for this policy agenda today, which is the rise of alternative ways of thinking of both democracy and the ethics of democracy promotion. These alternative approaches pose

434   Milja Kurki a challenge to the liberal orientation of both democracy and its global promotion. The following section examines four such traditions.

Alternative Models and their Ethics The history of democracy is not just the history of liberal democracy. Democracy is a concept that has been at the centre of many different political ideologies and many different political struggles. This is partly why it is one of the first and foremost “contested concepts” in politics (Gallie 1956). Contestation over democracy arises from different appropriations of the concept, placing it in different conceptual universes in the context of different social struggles. For some, democracy is associated with rights, freedoms, elections; for others, with socioeconomic justice, participation, and equality. The different conceptual universes of democracy are of significance because they create different ethical frameworks within which the concept has been understood and practised: what democracy is for, what it entails for the good life, and why it should be adopted. Here I briefly discuss four different traditions of democratic thought and how they relate to the question of ethics of democracy promotion: social democracy, radical democracy, global democracy, and post-​human democracy. Social democracy has its roots in a Marxist or socialist critique (see Chapter 49) of the failings of liberal democracy. Much like social liberals, social democrats argue that to achieve “democracy,” a reframing of how democracy should function but also a reframing of its core values is necessary. Social democrats are concerned about placing democracy in the context of equality. For them, however, equality is a socioeconomic, not simply a legal, concept. It entails actual socioeconomic as well as political equality of individuals in terms of their rights and representation but also employment and social function. Democracy conceived legally or in terms of political rights is considered “empty”: for democracy to have ethical value in the context of our societies in which power relations structure economic and social relations and not just political relations, a wider conception of democracy is needed. A  democratic system requires a “dual” core: equality of rights and representation in the political sphere, but combined with equality of representation and rights in the economic and employment spheres. A different kind of a democratic state from the liberal democratic state is demanded: one with substantial state intervention, and crucially one with representation of citizens in the sphere of employment law and redistribution, and indeed in the market in the form of co-​ownership structures (Tilton 1990; Berman 2006). The ethics of promoting this kind of democracy globally are rather more complex too. While many social democrats believe in the superiority of the social democratic state, and while many party-​political actors in Nordic countries have promoted this model in developing countries, and indeed in the West, there is a less, or a different kind, of a universalist drive for democratization present in social democratic tradition. Social democrats tend to want to facilitate democracy elsewhere, but focus not simply on the political system but also on issues of economic equality and labour. At the same time,

Contested Ethics of Democracy Promotion    435 an ethical critique of liberal universalism also arises from social democracy. The principle of state sovereignty has an important meaning to social democrats: it allows the state to determine its own affairs in defence of its people’s democracy. If sovereignty is a democratic value for these deeply communitarian social democrats, then a breach of sovereign rights in defence of universal rights is frowned upon. This is why social democrats can be both democracy-​promoting in their ethics and at the same time sceptical of a universalist facilitation of liberal political systems and rights: these can lead to false universalisms which ignore the socioecononomic context and indeed content of democracy as conceived of by social democrats. Radical democracy draws inspiration from the participatory democratic movements that have since the 1960s proliferated in many (primarily) liberal or social democratic states. These movements sought to pluralize the “spheres” of democratic governance in modern states—​bringing democratic principles to everyday practices, such as school boards and civic life. Developed originally by the likes of Benjamin Barber (2004) and Carole Pateman (1970), participatory democracy has recently evolved in the writings by Laclau and Mouffe (2001) on radical democracy. Radical democrats argue that democracy is not about liberal rights, universal values, or consensus-​building amongst liberal subjects within a rational state. Instead, it is about conflict, about contestation, about a radical pluralism of views not to be “owned” or controlled by a specific ideological tradition. Drawing its inspiration from the rise of new social movements both within and between states, radical democracy does not seek institutionalization, nor does it draw boundaries between states. Rather, it calls for an ethos of agonism, an ethos of contestation and pluralism, in a global setting. Movements within states but also transnational fora like the World Social Forum, it is suggested, are associated with the workings of radical democratic principles. Here, democracy is a practice of dialogue, contestation, and everyday working out of views amongst diverse groups, without absolute procedural guidance, proceedings, or functions. Democracy is radical democracy: open, fluid, contested, multiple. The international ethics of this way of thinking about democracy are also quite different. There is no drive to universalize democracy, to promote specific models of democracy. Indeed, on this view there is no need to “promote” democracy: it emerges and contests from the ground up where it exists. Democracy is not a blueprint, a model, something which can be controlled, packaged, sold, or promoted. It “is” the ethos of pluralism. Democracy promotion here then is not (indeed cannot be) about the promotion of a singular model or a practice with a universal moral law behind it. Nor is it about more contextual promotion on the lines of social democrats. Instead, one could say that what is advanced here is an ethical critique of the restriction, or disciplining, of democracy through democracy support which seeks to specify what democracy is. Radical democrats call for the opening up and radicalizing of the pluralistic ethos of speaking and practising democracy globally—​in the West and the rest—​and in this, “democracy promoters” should have no superior moral role. Global democracy too comes with challenges to liberal democratic frames. Although it has various forms, ranging from liberal and social democratic globalism to global

436   Milja Kurki deliberative democracy, global democrats are agreed upon the notion that if democracy is to have ethical or practical purchase today it needs to be imagined, not within a state-​bound ethic, but rather a more cosmopolitan ethic (see Chapter 3). Not only is “state-​based” democracy less meaningful in the context of globalization but, crucially, individuals globally do not gain proper representation on matters involving “externalities” decided on in other states. This means that a cosmopolitan global identity and global democratic institutions are needed to develop a form of democracy that can live up to its promise as a concept. There is a democracy-​promoting drive in this framework:  many cosmopolitan or global democrats are indeed at the heart of political struggles to create better, more democratic global institutions, setting forward “covenants” on the basis of which such institutions could be engendered (Held 2004). Promoting democracy is also a global aim. Yet their orientation to classical liberal notions of democracy promotion is somewhat sceptical. These authors argue that we need to think through economics and social policy as well as the “political” sphere in order for democratization to take place. This entails a wide-​ranging critique of sovereign and national self-​determination as an ethical good as well as a challenge to the universality of a liberal democratic “individual.” The individual to be protected and enabled in global democracy is closer to a global social democratic citizen, and (liberal) democracy promotion is challenged at a fundamental level: it is the (paradoxical) restriction of democracy to the state which makes democracy promotion today not only practically but also morally questionable. Democracy is a cosmopolitan, not sovereign, moral good, and thus should not be promoted in such restricted state-​bound frameworks. Many challenges, conceptually and ethically, arise from these kinds of alternative models of democracy. If these approaches are challenging, let us discuss another, perhaps most challenging to current policy discussions of democracy but one which has a great deal of purchase not only for social theorists but also many social movement activists today. This is what one might call a post-​human democracy. Authors such as Donna Harraway (2003) and Bruno Latour (2004), prefigured by Mathews (1995), have been involved in exploration of the meaning of representation and democracy in the context of the non-​human. Do animals, plants, and other even “non-​living” (by our standards) creatures or processes have a right of representation? These “others” so far excluded from democracy could, they argue, be represented either directly or indirectly in decision-​making, benefiting from the legal fictions we call rights in equal measure to our more standard “human” bearers of rights. Within this frame we get perhaps the most wide-​ranging critique of both the ethics of liberal democracy and democracy support. Democracy promotion as currently conceived is not just a liberal project benefiting some and ignoring others; it is also a human project, aimed at protecting and safeguarding the humans on this planet possibly at the expense of the “others” that facilitate our human life. This is not only ethically questionable for post-​humanists, it is also far removed from realities of life on this planet, where symbiotic and complex ecosystems maintain life, both human and non-​human.

Contested Ethics of Democracy Promotion    437 Within this framework we are forced to expose ideological biases of a deep kind in our own conceptions of democracy. First, against the hubris of universal rights, we are forced to accept that in reality humans on this planet are humans very unequally; and we are also forced to accept that our non-​human species mates also suffer and struggle to survive, like many of our human “equals” (Braidotti 2013). The issues of representing these populations, these populations “we” are parasitic on, is an intensely ethical and politically important challenge. Yet it is a challenge that is hardly addressed or contemplated in the universe of liberal assumptions. Whatever the complications with liberal ethics of democracy promotion, these complications abound when we consider non-​and extra-​liberal understandings of democracy. What does this mean for democracy promotion today?

Conclusion:  Promotion of Democracy Revisited Let me offer three conclusions as to what the discussion above might mean. First, democracy we see here is not a “thing” with an agreed definition. It does not have one meaning, reality, or end state. It is in perpetual process, crisis, negotiation (see also O’Donnell 2007). It is contested. This means that the ethics of democracy promotion are also necessarily far more tricky than implied by the current policy frameworks. As implied by the brief survey of the different approaches to democracy and democracy promotion, the ethics of democracy and democracy promotion are very much up for contestation and struggle today. In these struggles, those with funds and discursive hegemony tend to win out; but this does not mean that their definitions of democracy or the ethics of its promotion are or will be universally accepted or reproduced globally. We should not expect this or assume it, but discuss it. This might, secondly, assist in obtaining more meaningful dialogue around democracy and challenges to it, domestically and internationally, and might offer greater “leverage” (as practitioners would put it) on the ground. We need to reflect on the multiple manifestations of democratic thought and practice, and think seriously about what this means for democracy promotion. In so doing we need, thirdly, to be wary of what it is that democracy and democracy promotion “do.” This is because it is possible that democracy and democracy promotion do not do what we think they do: promote democracy. Democracy promotion also promotes particular ways of life, for example, liberal entrepreneurial life, consumerist capitalist life, life controlled by “states.” Not only that—​if post-​humanists are right, it also promotes “humans” as unique, separable reference points of morality, or ethics. Promoting democracy does much more than have an effect on “democracy”: it also justifies and facilitates ways of life, discourses, power relations between humans, and also, perhaps, power relations to non-​humans.

438   Milja Kurki From this perspective, while I will not here call for any one ethical frame (this would be difficult given the trickiness we have encountered), I will call for what surveying multiple frames seems to entail: that we remain more circumspect about all ethical frames, including our “own.” We cannot live without ethics, but perhaps we need to think more carefully just how we debate our ethics and those of others. Indeed, with reflection on the many alternative ethical frames concerning democracy and its promotion, perhaps we will become just a little more circumspect about: first, those ethical arguments which seek universal moral principles in a universe composed of multiplicity of being; and, second, about our own tendencies to “know” and argue “what is right” even as we are always deeply situated in multiple relations and the relational ethics thereof. Ethical debate is perspectival, contextual, and political as much as it is unavoidable in how we negotiate our relations on this planet and indeed with the planet.

References Abrahamsen, R. (2004). The Power of Partnerships in Global Governance. Third World Quarterly 25(8): 1453–​67. Barber, B. (2004). Strong Democracy: Participatory Politics for a New Age (Berkeley: University of California Press). Berman, S. (2006). The Primacy of Politics:  Social Democracy and the Making of Europe’s Twentieth Century (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Bowles, S., and H. Gintis (1987). Democracy and Capitalism:  Property, Community and the Contradictions of Modern Social Thought (London: Routledge). Braidotti, R. (2013). Posthumanism (Cambridge: Polity). Bridoux, J., and M. Kurki (2014). Democracy Promotion:  A Critical Introduction (London: Routledge). European Council (2015). Council Conclusions on the Action Plan on Human Rights and Democracy. [Online; accessed 19 Apr. 2017.] https://​ec.europa.eu/​anti-​trafficking/​eu-​policy/​ council-​conclusions-​action-​plan-​human-​rights-​and-​democracy-​2015-​2019_​en Freeden, M. (1998). Ideologies and Political Theory: A Conceptual Approach (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Gallie, W. B. (1956). Essentially Contested Concepts. Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society 56: 167–​98. Harraway, D. (2003). The Companion Species Manifesto (Chicago: University of Chicago Press). Held, D. (2004). Global Covenant:  The Social Democratic Alternative to the Washington Consensus (Cambridge: Polity). Hobson, J. A. (1909). The Crisis of Liberalism: New Issues of Democracy (London: P. S. King & Son). Kurki, M. (2011). Governmentality and EU Democracy Promotion:  EIDHR and the Construction of Democratic Civil Societies. International Political Sociology 5(4): 349–​66. Kurki, M. (2013). Democratic Futures: Revisioning Democracy Promotion (London: Routledge). Kurki, M. (2017). Causality, Democracy Support and the Cult of the Factish Gods. Journal of International Relations and Development 20(4): 760–81. [Online; accessed 19 Apr. 2017.] https://​link.springer.com/​article/​10.1057/​jird.2016.12

Contested Ethics of Democracy Promotion    439 Laclau, E., and C. Mouffe (2001). Hegemony and Socialist Struggle:  Towards a Radical Democratic Politics (London: Verso). Latour, B. (2004) The Politics of Nature (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press). Mathews, F. (ed.) (1995). Ecology and Democracy (London: Frank Cass). McPherson, C. B. (1977). The Life and Times of Liberal Democracy (Oxford: Oxford University Press). O’Donnell, G. (2007). The Perpetual Crises of Democracy. Journal of Democracy 18(1): 5–​11. Pateman, C. (1970). Participation and Democratic Theory (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Rueschemeyer, J. D., D. Rueschemeyer, and S. E. Huber (1992). Capitalist Development and Democracy (Chicago: Chicago University Press). Tilton, T. (1990). The Political Theory of Swedish Social Democracy: Through the Welfare State to Socialism (Oxford: Clarendon Press). Smith, T. (1994). America’s Mission: The United States and the Worldwide Struggle for Democracy in the Twentieth Century (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press). US State Department (2017) Democracy. [Online; accessed 19 Apr. 2017.] http://​www.state.gov/​ j/​drl/​democ/​index.htm

­c hapter 33

De l iberation a nd G l oba l Governa nc e Jens Steffek

Deliberation has been a central topic on the agenda of political theory since the early 1990s. Students of democracy became particularly interested in the virtues of deliberation, and formulated the conception of “deliberative democracy” that found many followers. In more recent years, scholars of International Relations (IR) and law joined in the trend and began to explore the purchase of deliberation in political settings beyond the democratic state. Their studies quite often resulted in calls for more inclusive institutions and civil society access to the manifold processes of “global governance,” in order to enhance the epistemic quality of decision-​making and citizen control over global political processes. Support for deliberative democratization and participatory governance on a global scale is far from unanimous, however. Critics of such proposals contend that the institutional environment at the international level cannot accommodate meaningful practices of deliberation and citizen participation. Due to the lack of a world state and a global constitution, they argue, international politics is poorly shielded from intrusions of illegitimate military, economic, and social power. My purpose in this chapter is to review the current state of the controversy over deliberation beyond the democratic state. In the first, largely conceptual part of the text I disentangle several promises of deliberation in global governance, and distinguish micro and macro conceptions of political deliberation. In the second section I  show how notions of deliberation and communicative action have been applied to IR. I also briefly review the arguments of the critics. In the third section I scrutinize the evidence we have about deliberative practices as they currently exist in multilateral intergovernmental negotiation and in multi-​stakeholder networks. Given space constraints, I can draw only on the body of secondary literature that has grown rapidly over the last ten years. In doing so, I pinpoint a number of problems that seem to compromise the democratizing potential of global deliberative practices: enduring asymmetries in actor power and status; high levels of expertise as precondition for successful intervention; limited possibilities of connecting micro-​settings of deliberation to macro-​level debates that are

Deliberation and Global Governance    441 accessible to members of the general public. My conclusion is that existing forms of global political deliberation have the potential to increase the epistemic quality of decisions made for the people but that, with a view to the empirical record, it would be hazardous to interpret them as a case of self-​governance by the people.

Deliberation and Deliberative Democracy The concept of deliberation pertains to the examining and weighing of reasons for or against certain courses of action. Deliberation typically occurs when a choice between options is necessary and imminent, but when there is still time for systematic reflection. In such situations, an examination of reasons for or against certain courses of action may take place foro interno, within the mind of one individual. Today, however, deliberation is usually conceived as a conversation between two or more persons. It is a social interaction that can take place whenever individuals jointly decide what to do, in families, firms, parliaments, court juries, or civic associations. Deliberation may be defined as a process of collective will-​formation, in which participants seek to convince each other by giving reasons for proposals and are willing to revise their own opinion in the light of reasons given by others (Chambers 2003: 108–​9). Deliberation thus conceived requires participants to commit to a very particular style of communication: dispassionate, respectful, justificatory, and responsive to others. Therefore, not every conversation on political matters qualifies as deliberation. Typical techniques of bargaining, such as threats or promises to manipulate the position of another participant, are not admissible. Likewise, the display of emotions such as anger, fear, and disgust is considered harmful to the quality of deliberation. Deliberation may directly precede moments of decision-​making but not necessarily so. “Deliberative polling,” for instance, is a technique of opinion formation among citizens unrelated to imminent political choices (Fishkin and Luskin 2005). Many political theorists conceive deliberation and democracy as natural friends, even if there does not seem to be a necessary connection between the two concepts. Pointing out the advantages of parliamentary and public deliberation, theorists pitch “deliberative democracy” mainly against the idea that majority voting should be the key mechanism to generate democratic legitimacy. Advocates of deliberation also challenge the assumption that citizens have fixed interests that simply need to be balanced. Deliberation, they suggest, can help citizens “discover aspects both of proposed solutions and of their own objectives that they had not perceived earlier” (Manin 1987: 352). The ambition of deliberative democracy is to make reasoned consensus possible through the transformation of individual preferences and worldviews, not just brokering compromises between preconceived positions. Thus, deliberative democracy is not only a mode of decision-​ making but also an intersubjective learning process. By now, deliberative democratic

442   Jens Steffek theory has produced a number of different strands and there is no room in this chapter to discuss them in detail. Instead of attempting a general literature review, I single out some contentious issues that are of particular relevance to International Political Theory (IPT). I will, in a first step, identify expected benefits, or “promises,” of deliberation. Deliberation holds various promises that it seems useful to disentangle even if they are related. The first promise is epistemic in nature. It is suggested that deliberative processes will result in reasoned decisions and ultimately in more effective problem-​ solving. This requires that all types of factual information, all relevant aspects of the issue at stake, and all relevant points of view are taken into consideration. Expert knowledge needs to be collected along with the experiences of citizens, and all perspectives should feed into the deliberation process. A second promise of deliberation is that it will induce learning and conciliation at the actor level. Being involved in a deliberative conversation, it is claimed, may foster trust among participants and have them revise their opinions and tacit assumptions in the light of competing points of view. What is more, settling conflict by way of reasoned consensus seems ethically preferable and also empirically more sustainable than imposing solutions top-​down. A third promise of deliberation is that procedures of decision-​making will become more legitimate when all those affected by a decision have a voice in the process that leads to consensus. This list reveals that not all promises of deliberation are intimately tied to democracy, understood as self-​governance of citizens in virtue of their collective autonomy. The epistemic quality of decisions, at least when understood narrowly as their problem-​solving capacity, should matter to all kinds of organizations, and the same holds for learning. The conciliatory and legitimating aspects, by contrast, direct our attention to the relations between those making a decision and those affected by it. They hence have more immediate implications for democracy as self-​governance. Indeed, for many political theorists and public policy scholars, deliberation requires broad participation to be meaningful for democracy. This point also illustrates the great importance attached to procedures in the literature on deliberative democracy. Authors debate where exactly deliberation should take place; how closely it is tied to formal political institutions; and how citizens can get access to it. To shed light on the crucial question of who actually deliberates, and how, it seems useful to distinguish between micro and macro settings of deliberation (Hendriks 2006). In micro settings of deliberation, conversations take place face to face. Such micro settings may be embedded into formal political institutions where binding decisions are taken. This is what Nancy Fraser (2007) called the “strong publics.” Micro settings of this kind are usually regulated by public law and populated by elected or otherwise designated representatives of citizens. Parliaments and their committees fall into this category. Deliberative micro settings may also be designed as democratic innovations that strengthen direct citizen input in the form of deliberative polling, consensus conferences, citizen juries, etc. (Fishkin 2011). Macro settings of deliberation, by contrast, are communicative networks without a discernable centre. In Fraser’s terminology, they constitute the “weak publics.” Among theorists of deliberation, John Dryzek in particular emphasized the role of de-​centred public debates that unfold in such informal networks. These transnational conversations are not where decisions are taken but where opinions form.

Deliberation and Global Governance    443 A final conceptual point that deserves mentioning is that political deliberation is not only a philosophical ideal but also an empirical phenomenon that can be observed and analysed. Political scientists have endeavoured to gauge the deliberative quality of real-​ world conversations, and to critically study the functioning of (supposedly) deliberative political institutions in action (Thompson 2008). The recent “systemic” turn in the academic literature on deliberation promises to bring normative theorizing and empirical social science closer together in the study of complex systems of deliberation where different settings and levels interact with each other (Mansbridge et al. 2012). The empirical side of deliberation has also been of great interest to the global governance literature because international relations constitute, prima facie at least, a rather unlikely environment for deliberation to take place. In the remainder of this contribution, I will therefore study not only how political theorists applied the concept of deliberation to the global level but also how the realities of deliberation were explored by more empirically minded scholars. Despite their purported advantages, the notions of deliberation and deliberative democracy attracted criticism. Yet even if polemic titles of publications sometimes suggest otherwise, few political theorists seem to be critical of political deliberation as such. They instead have reservations against deliberative procedures supplanting other methods of democratic decision-​making (Sanders 1997). Critics argue that important preconditions for deliberation may not be present in the real world of politics, and the consequences of deliberation may not be those that theorists expect. Regarding preconditions, probably the most pressing issue is inequality among participants, caused by diverging levels of formal education, experience in public speaking, gendered role models, and, not least, individual personality traits. An Oxford don and an illiterate migrant woman are unlikely to command the same power of argument in public debate. Social status, skills, and habitus inevitably privilege some speakers over others. As a consequence, the advance of deliberative procedures may eventually reinforce, rather than mitigate, the elite bias of modern politics. A second line of criticism targets the outputs of deliberation. Critics question the epistemic advantages and especially the transformative potential of deliberative procedures. In particular, when consensus is the goal groups are liable to “groupthink,” i.e. tend to exclude positions and pieces of information that contradict the dominant view in the group (Janis 1972). Not considering possible alternatives will lead to inferior choices. In a similar vein, “group polarization” is the tendency for groups with relatively homogeneous pre-​deliberation views to radicalize in the process of deliberation (Sunstein 2002). The empirical record shows that these hazards are real but that they do not seem to affect all deliberative fora (Karpowitz and Raphael 2014: 137–​43). Much seems to depend on the concrete circumstances under which the conversation takes place.

Deliberation Goes Global Since the late 1990s, the ideal of deliberation has gained clout also in the field of IR and IPT. Proposals abound on how to make governance beyond the state (see

444   Jens Steffek Chapter 29)—​no matter if European, intercontinental, or global in scope—​more deliberative in character. In what follows, I will use “global governance” as an umbrella term to catch all modes of transboundary decision-​making, no matter if they are intergovernmental, mixed public–​private, or purely private in character. Not all governance arrangements discussed under this heading are truly global in scope. Some are limited to specific continents, such as Europe, or transcontinental spheres such as the “OECD world.” Although the term “deliberation” has become fashionable in recent years, praise for deliberative governance can be found in much older writings about international politics. To pick just one example, in the 1920s the British diplomat James Arthur Salter expressed “the idea that even a particular negotiation should not be of the nature of a bargain; that there is for most questions somewhere a just solution independent of the relative strength of the contending parties, and that the question should be settled on these its intrinsic merits” (Salter 1921: 257). The ideal that Salter pursued was not global democracy but a public international organization legitimated by the epistemic quality of its decisions. Deliberation was envisaged as taking place among experts of national public services, not citizens. Later in the twentieth century, Salter’s diplomatic ideal found more sophisticated underpinnings in social and political theory. I will briefly introduce this new generation of political thought with the help of the distinction between micro and macro settings of deliberation. Advocates of deliberative micro settings envisage a conversation between actors that takes place face to face in the institutions of global governance. Jürgen Habermas’s theory of communicative action, for instance, was applied to IR based on the idea that deliberation or “arguing” could take place among diplomats (Risse 2000). The approach was not overtly normative but was nonetheless based on the presumption that arguing was a preferable mode of political interaction. Truly normative proposals for deliberation in global governance usually start from the observation of a legitimation crisis and/​or a democratic deficit. Since the 1990s, global international organizations and the European Union (EU) have been confronted with unprecedented waves of public protest. These protests effectively debunked the myth that there was a permissive consensus among citizens about the tasks and competences of international organizations installed in their name. A great number of deliberative proposals for reform have been formulated in response to this legitimation crisis. Most of them are centred on deliberative micro settings. The notion of “direct-​deliberative polyarchy” suggests an experimentalist form of transnational governance in which deliberation takes place face to face and simultaneously at various levels (Gerstenberg and Sabel 2001). This proposal elaborates on ideas of “deliberative supranationalism” in the EU, which suggested that deliberation among experts can lead to more rational regulatory results and better problem-​solving (Joerges and Neyer 1997). Others envisaged constitutional conventions and a strengthened European Parliament as a deliberative body to “inject the logic of impartial justification and reason-​giving” into the EU polity (Eriksen and Fossum 2002: 419). In the first years of the twenty-​first century, deliberative approaches to EU governance had become so popular that some diagnosed a “deliberative turn” in European studies (Neyer 2006).

Deliberation and Global Governance    445 Proposals for deliberative democratization have not been confined to the particular institutional environment of the EU. Enhancing the quality of deliberation in various types of micro settings was also promoted as a strategy for reforming international organizations (IOs) more generally (Verweij and Josling 2003). As outlined above, deliberation and participation are closely entwined. Scholars who defend deliberative ideals have suggested opening up cloistered IO bodies to civil society for enhanced scrutiny and argumentative input. According to them, the strategy of participation cum deliberation has several advantages. Civil society presence in IOs may lead to better-​informed decisions but also could make these institutions more transparent to the outside, letting the public know and critically debate what is happening within them (Steffek and Nanz 2008: 9). Enhanced civil-​society participation thus may improve the accountability of IOs towards a wider, transnational audience (Scholte 2004; see Chapter 34). Deliberation has also been listed as a desirable feature for private forms of transnational governance, such as standard-​setting (Dingwerth 2007). Not least, international institutions themselves seized upon the emerging discourse of broad consultation and direct citizen participation. The European Commission, for instance, asserted in its 2001 White Paper on Governance that “[t]‌he legitimacy of the EU now lies with the participation of its citizens.”1 A second type of deliberation proposed for global affairs is of the macro variety, taking place in large-​scale public spheres rather than in assemblies. James Bohman, for one, proposed a deliberative-​republican version of transnational democracy, trying to take into account the decentred nature of political authority at the transnational level. To challenge these new forms of authority, Bohman envisaged “distributed publics” that emerge in networked forms of trans-​border communication, which the internet made possible (Bohman 2007: 15). John Dryzek elaborates on the global public sphere in a similar fashion, putting emphasis on what he calls “discursive contests.” The international system with its lack of central governmental authority is, in Dryzek’s view, particularly amenable to deliberative democratization: “In the absence of central government authority and networks, a large part of the work of coordination of collective choices is done by discourses themselves, and by their relative weight as revealed in their contestation and engagement” (Dryzek 2010: 185). Speakers in the global public sphere include a variety of actors. Politicians, IOs, industry representatives, non-​governmental organizations (NGOs), journalists, and experts are all involved in this ongoing process of conversation and contestation. What these speakers represent are, for Dryzek, not persons or interest, but “discourses.” To summarize, both micro and macro conceptions of deliberation and deliberative democracy were developed originally with a view to domestic politics but became transferred to a new and radically different context. Deliberation in international institutions is not embedded into the institutional framework of the constitutional state. No monopoly of legitimate power exists at the global level, and no political authority is able to guarantee the implementation of commonly agreed norms and rules. To what extent the conditions of “international anarchy” impact the chances for deliberation is a contested issue. Defending a Habermasian approach, Jennifer Mitzen argues that publicity

446   Jens Steffek of politics and the public use of reason can mitigate the effects of anarchy (Mitzen 2005). In a similar vein, Dryzek believes that the conspicuous lack of central political authority in the international system is not necessarily a problem for global democracy residing in discursive contests but, to the contrary, can become an advantage. Critics of global deliberation charge deliberation theorists with “an inverted naturalistic fallacy, not from is to ought, but from ought to the empirical world” (Jörke 2013: 359). They contend that the power asymmetries which permeate international negotiation make it unlikely that communicative action in the Habermasian sense will ever prevail over bargaining. To shed more light on this controversy, I will in the next section scrutinize the empirical evidence we have about deliberation in global governance.

The Empirical Record Micro-​deliberative fora pervade international institutions. They take the form of negotiation rounds, permanent committees to discuss the formulation and implementation of policies, or they may come as issue-​specific ad hoc consultations or “dialogues” with external stakeholders. Scholars have been interested in determining to what extent deliberation really takes place in such settings. As a theorist of IR, Thomas Risse conceptualized Habermasian “truth seeking with the aim of reaching a mutual understanding based on a reasoned consensus” as an empirical phenomenon, one possible mode of diplomatic interaction among others (Risse 2000: 1–​2). He suggested that IR scholars, traditionally more geared towards studying power and national interest, should take instances of deliberation into account when trying to explain the dynamics of international negotiation. Diplomatic practice, Risse claimed, was imbued with moments of collective truth-​seeking. In an empirical study inspired by this hypothesis it proved difficult, however, to document the existence of such moments of deliberation in inter-​ state diplomacy (Deitelhoff and Müller 2005: 171). The key methodological problem that researchers encountered was how to pinpoint the intentions of the speakers as ultimate proof of their truth-​seeking attitude. On the other hand, and for essentially the same reason, it seems equally difficult to verify the critics’ claim that the adaptation of international norms takes place through “processes of enforcement” (Jörke 2013: 360). From the textual record alone it is all but impossible to show that diplomatic consensus was brought about by persuasion, coercion, or any other causal mechanism, such as cost–​ benefit calculations. Scholars thus turned from the textual record to the scope conditions of deliberation (Risse and Kleine 2010). This interest in scope conditions of deliberation parallels the approach chosen by normatively inclined scholars. As explained above, this conception of deliberative democracy puts much emphasis on procedure. Analysts interested in the deliberative quality of micro settings often scrutinize the institutional conditions under which deliberation takes place, rather than assessing the textual record alone. These institutional conditions, it is argued, affect the capacity of the political institution

Deliberation and Global Governance    447 to bring about free, informed, and inclusive deliberation. Such an analysis needs a set of theory-​guided criteria. Indicators in use differ, but research programmes usually focus on access to deliberation, transparency of proceedings (especially access to documents), and potential moments of exclusion. Another issue critically debated is the responsiveness of the institution to the demands voiced by the participants, especially materially disadvantaged ones (Nanz and Steffek 2005). Access to deliberation determines who can make their voice heard in international political conversations. Large comparative studies found that, generally speaking, access of non-​state actors to international organizations has increased enormously over the last decades (Tallberg et al. 2013). This includes not only their presence at meetings but also their right to speak and the opportunity to submit documents. However, the different groups are not participating evenly. Many authors argue that groups from the global North tend to dominate the scene, and business associations are more numerous than general interest representatives. Although there is good evidence to show that this is often the case, we would be well-​advised not to generalize too quickly. A study of civil society participation at the World Trade Organization (WTO) found that NGOs from the global South were better represented at its meetings than were Southern business groups. For non-​state actors from the OECD world, the opposite was true (Piewitt 2010: 480). The transparency of many international institutions has improved over time, in particular with regard to public access to documents. In most IOs, getting access to documentation, even negotiation drafts, is far easier now than it was twenty years ago. On the other hand, it seems that transparency of proceedings does not necessarily lead to higher quality of deliberation. Interview-​based studies found that even business lobbyists were more frankly trying to convince their interlocutors in closed meetings and that they voiced more self-​interested arguments in public than in private settings (Naurin 2007: 144). In this case, Jon Elster’s civilizing “forum effect” does not seem to prevail over the advantages of privacy (Elster 1986). In public, political actors feel pressed to send messages to their home constituencies showing how hard they fight for their interests. If Naurin is correct, publicity of proceedings seems to be a mixed blessing for the deliberative quality of global governance. On the one hand, it facilitates outreach to a wider audience. On the other, publicity of proceedings may decrease the willingness of political actors to openly engage with arguments presented by others and lead to posturing. The old diplomatic wisdom that privacy of conversations fosters greater chances of understanding and consensus seems to have some truth to it. For a typical IR scholar focused on power relations, the responsiveness to arguments brought forward by small states or non-​state actors is the litmus test of deliberation. Their arguments would need to have equal weight in the deliberation and equal chances of success. Empirical studies about the evolution of particular negotiation texts show that this is not the case. Even when negotiators take the arguments of non-​state actors seriously in the beginning, many of these points fall by the wayside during the course of negotiations (Dany 2014). Timing seems to play the decisive role here. In the early phases of negotiations participants sound out options and indeed weigh alternatives on

448   Jens Steffek their merits, no matter who formulated them. Many of these options, however, drop out as negotiations move to the final phase, when a deal needs to be struck among the most powerful factions. This pattern is confirmed by evidence from consultation processes in the EU (Friedrich 2011; Naurin 2009). Recent research on the expertocratic bias of many international institutions also has implications for the prospects of deliberative democracy on a global scale (Gornitzka and Holst 2015). Most participants in international micro settings of deliberation qualify as experts in the matter under discussion, even if they have different institutional affiliations. This is unsurprising, given the highly technical matters that many IOs are working on, and the technocratic culture of these institutions. To succeed in such an environment, participants need high levels of expertise, language skills, and the habitus of international professionals. This is documented by studies on the opening of EU policy consultations to a wider public (Ferretti and Lener 2008). Bringing citizens, in the sense of lay people, directly into such expert conversations is inconsequential, and in the end often frustrating for all those involved. Nevertheless, there still is an epistemic advantage in opening micro settings to more participation and public scrutiny. Openness may expose experts to counter-​expertise formulated by dissenters and thus help protect micro settings from the pitfalls of “groupthink.” To be meaningful for democracy as self-​governance, bringing more points of view into expert bodies requires the presence of an effective intermediary structure that bridges the gap between citizens’ “lifeworld concerns” and the technical jargon of the regulators. Some of these potential intermediaries presumably are part of what is called global civil society, a worldwide web of expert NGOs and partisan think tanks. There is nothing romantic or “grassroots” about this global civil society that walks in and out of international organizations and commissions. It is a transnational elite of highly trained individuals, talking to other experts in the language of science, economics, and law. To function as transmission belts to citizens, these experts need to be in touch with the basis of their organization. Studies of EU civil society show that there often are many organizational layers between the international representatives of an NGO and its individual membership (Kohler-​Koch 2010). Linkages, it seems, are crucial for deliberative democratization of transnational governance to succeed. In that respect, it also remains an open question how micro and macro settings can be linked in global systems of deliberation, and how global public deliberation will translate into global policy choices. My impression is that both micro and macro approaches need to confront the challenge of linkage. One question is how the results of micro deliberation in formal institutions can be effectively communicated to the global public sphere, so that expert opinion is scrutinized by members of a wider public. Discursive contests in decentred public spheres are open to many more interlocutors, and can more easily absorb arguments formulated by lay people. On the other hand, people without internet access, without writing skills, or without a good command of a major language of international conversation are unlikely to engage in something like a global public debate. The inequalities in the distribution of critical skills that critics of deliberative democracy denounced with regard to small-​scale deliberation

Deliberation and Global Governance    449 in Western democracies are accentuated in a global perspective. Elite bias, it seems, remains a major challenge even for macro theories of global deliberation. Another open question is how decision-​makers can be made responsive to the opinions that form in micro and macro settings of deliberation. Politicians, in particular in democratic countries, need to be sensitive to shifts in public discourse and opinion. At the national level, electoral accountability provides incentives for responsiveness to public opinion. Recall that, for Habermas, parliamentary bodies are the ones that transform the influence of the public sphere into legitimate political decisions (Habermas 1996: 371). Due to the egalitarian principle of one person, one vote, the prospect of general elections functions as an antidote to the potential elite bias in deliberation. At the global level, there is obviously no comparable incentive for politicians to respect global public opinion when their re-​election depends on national constituencies (Steffek 2010: 62). National audiences may adopt the transnational point of view but certainly not when transnational conflicts pitch nations (and hence electorates) against each other. Europe’s currency crisis is a textbook example to illustrate the point that national audiences radicalize while elected politicians compromise diplomatically. “Group polarization,” it seems, does not only affect face-to-face deliberations but may take possession of large-​scale publics.

Conclusion Deliberation is en vogue in IPT. Scholars interested in the empirical dynamics of international negotiations have turned to it and, more importantly perhaps, deliberation has become a central element of blueprints for reforming global political institutions. In academic discourse, a wide range of proposals is on offer now, from deliberative intergovernmentalism over transnational citizen assemblies to deliberative public spheres of global scope. Even some international institutions, such as the EU, have taken up the rhetoric of including citizen voices in their proceedings. This affinity is not incidental. The epistemic promises of deliberation are easily integrated into conventional legitimation narratives of IOs that present themselves as a form of “rational public administration” defending the common good of a global constituency. Transnational deliberation holds the promise of making global governance more rational and at the same time more participatory and inclusive. Is this too good to be true? Both micro and macro settings of deliberation already exist at the transnational level. In my critical discussion of the empirical record, I found that both types of settings offer room for deliberative practices but suffer from an elite bias. In particular, micro settings tend to reflect the technocratic context of depoliticized international institutions in which they are embedded. International organizations cannot conceal their genealogy. They are in many important respects a transnational extension of professionalized bureaucracies. Yet even the emergent macro settings of deliberation, understood in terms of decentralized transnational public spheres, are not populated by voices from

450   Jens Steffek the grassroots. They are public spheres of specialists, who hold expert institutions such as the WTO, the World Bank, and the IMF to account. This watchdog function, to be sure, is an advantage in democratic terms. However, at the transnational level, “deliberative democracy” seems to struggle with the problem of elite bias, and arguably even more so than at the national one. Another critical issue that has been under-​studied so far is the question of how the various sites of deliberation in global governance are actually linked, or could be linked. I therefore would like to echo recent calls in deliberative democratic theory for adopting a systemic perspective. Deliberative institutions should not be studied in isolation, but with a view to their interaction. Given the complex multi-​level structure of transnational policy-​making, it seems both necessary and promising to shift the perspective towards the interplay of deliberation in micro and macro settings. In this context, it would be worthwhile to study systematically how deliberative expert bodies embedded in formal international institutions deal with input or challenges from the informal public spheres surrounding them. My conclusion is that existing forms of global political deliberation have the potential to increase the epistemic quality of decisions made for the people when they include more information and more points of view, and when they urge national policy-​makers to justify their choices before an international audience. In my view it would be hazardous, however, to interpret existing institutional arrangements as a case of democratic self-​governance by the people. On the basis of the existing evidence, I would not know how to argue that citizens are, in any meaningful sense, the “authors” of transnational policy choices.

Note 1. Communication from the Commission of 25 July 2001, “European Governance: A White Paper” [COM(2001) 428 final—​Official Journal C 287 of 12 Oct. 2001].

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­c hapter 34

Ac c ou ntabilit y i n G l oba l E c onomic Gov e rna nc e Kate MacDonald

Recent decades have witnessed the meteoric rise of accountability as a concept, discourse, and political practice. The expansive embrace of accountability evident in national governance settings throughout the Anglosphere has extended to many domains of global governance, perhaps most strikingly in the fields of environmental and economic governance—​the latter of which is the subject of this chapter. Global economic governance is interpreted broadly here to encompass cross-​border governance of trade, finance, and direct investment flows, transnational business activity, and the financing of a broad range of international development activities. Although definitions of accountability have proliferated, many prominent accounts of accountability have converged around a core understanding of accountability as a moral or institutional relationship in which one actor (or group of actors) is accorded entitlements to question, direct, sanction, or constrain the actions of another—​thereby providing a means of defining and enforcing obligations of answerability and responsiveness in public life (Macdonald 2014). From the perspective of the international political theorist—​concerned broadly with normative questions about the organization of international political relationships—​investigations of accountability are oriented towards specifying how transnational accountability mechanisms can structure and constrain the exercise of transnational governance authority in ways that oblige decision-​makers to respond appropriately to the concerns of those they govern. To inform practical political action in this way, theories of global accountability must be capable of bringing normative analysis of political responsibility and its justification together with more materialist empirical analysis of both structural social power and real-​world strategies of institutional design, operation, and reform. Fortunately for the aspiring realist accountability theorist, international theoretical debates about accountability have rarely been afflicted with the detachment from “real-​world” problems and politics that has been criticized in other domains of international theory. Normatively oriented analyses of transnational accountability have consistently taken as their starting point real-​world accountability problems that have been concretely experienced and politically articulated by specific global constituencies

454   Kate MacDonald (Freeden 2012; Miller 2016). Moreover, empirical analysis has often been used as a basis for informing analysis of the feasibility (see Chapter 48) or effectiveness of real-​world accountability strategies—​based on analysis variously of the capacities and motivations of key actors, institutional capacities, and functions, or enabling or constraining social conditions underpinning the establishment and maintenance of accountability practices in particular domains of economic governance. Also evident in small pockets of transnational accountability research have been more interpretive modes (see Chapter 1) of empirical inquiry, examining existing social beliefs and practices as a basis for informing analysis of constitutive questions concerning the meanings and normative purposes of transnational accountability. The specific manner in which empirical inquiry has informed normative analysis has varied significantly in relation to transnational accountability problems of different kinds. To capture some of this variation, and associated implications for normative accounts of accountability, this chapter is organized around discussion of four distinctive problems of global accountability: first, the problem of unaccountable power within global governance processes; second, the problem of decentred political authority in global governance; third, problems establishing appropriate foundations of social power through which normatively desirable transnational accountabilities can be rendered practically effective at multiple scales; finally, problems associated with the need to traverse significant forms of social and cultural difference in negotiating appropriate normative terms of transnational accountability relationships. The analysis that follows considers each of these four global accountability problems in turn, identifying for each how empirical and normative modes of analysis have been brought together to help illuminate the problem, and the implications of such realist analysis for practical prescriptions concerning the operation of global accountability. These four global accountability problems are shown to be associated respectively with four kinds of institutional prescriptions: first, the need for established global authorities to recognize new categories of accountability holders, and establish corresponding accountability mechanisms; second, increased reliance on horizontal modes of accountability, alongside traditional accountability mechanisms; third, a strengthened focus on the social underpinnings of transnational accountability at multiple scales—​entailing accountability strategies that draw social power not only from cross-​border civil-​society mobilization but also from engagement with a mix of grassroots and elite networks at national and sub-​national levels; and fourth, approaches to negotiating cross-​cultural accountability that are sensitive both to varying social and cultural beliefs and to the systems of material and ideological power in which these are embedded.

The Problem of Unaccountable Power in Global Economic Governance One of the most fundamental and widely lamented problems of global accountability is the basic problem of unaccountable power in global economic governance. Perceived

Accountability    455 deficits in the accountability of established systems of global economic governance have been widely identified as a major source of illegitimacy (see Chapter 29). Early global democratic literature addressing problems of accountability drew attention to structural accountability deficits resulting from the declining capacity of national democratic authorities to control key decisions affecting the lives of their citizens, in the face of powerful cross-​border processes of economic and social interdependence associated with globalization. Effective democratic control at the national level was argued to be further undermined by the capacity of international bodies such as the IMF, economic policy-​makers in influential nations such as the United States, or powerful transnational companies to directly influence the decisions of national governments, or to shape the structural environment in which national governments must act (Held 1995; 2009; Goodhart 2014). Identification of such structural accountability deficits was accompanied by calls for the creation of more expansively cosmopolitan forms of transnational governance authority, in which effective power would be more closely aligned with democratic responsibility at global scale (Held 2009). Claims about the prevalence of global accountability deficits have drawn heavily on empirical analysis of the organization and exercise of global political power, and its effects on a wide range of individual and collective “stakeholders.” Such analyses have often focused on the power exerted over people’s lives by large, visible international organizations such as the International Monetary Fund, the World Bank, or the World Trade Organization. Particularly from the early 1990s, such organizations were subjected to sustained condemnation by well-​organized networks of global civil-​society actors, demanding that they become more accountable to the communities and populations around the world affected by their decisions (O’Brien, Goetz, Scholte, and Williams 2000). While such global governance organizations have always had clear lines of accountability to member states (Grant and Keohane 2005; Woods and Narlikar 2001), the demand from these civil society organizations was for more overtly democratic forms of accountability, encompassing a range of affected constituencies situated within and between individual member states (Grant and Keohane 2005; Goodhart 2014; Fox and Brown 1998). While theoretical accounts of accountability deficits associated with these highly visible global governance actors have closely mirrored patterns of real-​world political mobilization and claim-​making, other global governance scholars have employed critical empirical analysis of power and authority as a means of revealing accountability deficits that have been publicly obscured, and correspondingly associated with more limited forms of political mobilization demanding strengthened accountability. For example, such analyses have highlighted accountability deficits associated with systems of private governance that exert significant yet often opaque forms of influence over global economic activity through formulating regulatory standards in areas such as international accounting standards or banking and financial regulation (Rudder 2008; Cutler, Haufler, and Porter 1999). Scholars of networked governance and global administrative law have likewise sought to bring greater visibility and scrutiny to sometimes neglected, yet influential, structures of global economic governance authority

456   Kate MacDonald such as transnational networks of government officials and regulators (Slaughter 2004; Chesterman 2008). Sustained scrutiny and condemnation of unaccountable power in global economic governance has been associated with innumerable reforms that have been portrayed as means of strengthening accountability to affected people. Private and multi-​stakeholder governance systems have been established in many sectors to regulate the operations of large transnational companies and other influential participants in their global supply chains, and to provide grievance-​handling channels for those affected by their operations. In response to periods of intense civil-​society pressure over the past two to three decades, prominent multilateral development finance organizations such as the World Bank have increasingly acknowledged the need for their decisions to be answerable to an expanding array of “stakeholders” outside their own organizations, through increased transparency, strengthened dialogue with external stakeholders, and provision of access to grievance procedures for project-​affected people (Suzuki and Nanwani 2005; Park 2010). However, the initiation and consolidation of such accountability systems across the multiple development finance organizations that operate around the world has been extremely uneven. Significant accountability gaps persist, and in some instances there is even evidence of established accountability safeguards unwinding. Such trends reflect the fragile power of pro-​accountability coalitions at the global level, and the strong cross-​pressures that confront global development finance agencies, as they seek to balance obligations to multiple stakeholders with competing interests and values, across widely varying political environments (Macdonald and Miller-​Dawkins 2015).

Accountability for Decentred Political Authority Another significant challenge highlighted by theorists of global accountability is the difficulties of holding to account the diffuse, opaque, and dynamic forms of power exercised through networked and other non-​hierarchical structures of global economic governance. Characterization of global economic governance as multi-​ layered or decentred is now commonplace. Such depictions reflect the messy overlaying of multiple political authorities encompassing national and sub-​national governments, alongside intergovernmental bodies, private and multi-​stakeholder organizations, and looser forms of networked coordination (Zurn 2010; Krisch 2006). Such decentred governance structures are frequently associated with the diffusion of authority and with blurred lines of responsibility. Attendant accountability challenges have perhaps most commonly been highlighted in relation to networked forms of global governance. For example, Benner, Reinicke, and Witte (2004) examined distinctive challenges of accountability associated with multi-​sectoral public policy networks in a number of policy fields, including the regulation of global labour standards. In such

Accountability    457 networks, the absence of a single clear principal or stakeholder constituency to whom networks should be accountable creates challenges of obscured responsibility and pervasive blame avoidance. Bäckstrand’s analysis of networked climate governance similarly highlighted the challenges associated with a plurality of principals in networked global governance processes, encompassing states, citizens, NGOs, and other actors (Bäckstrand 2008). Anne-​Marie Slaughter’s study of intergovernmental global governance networks documented numerous challenges associated with weak transparency, lack of representative authority, difficulties in regulating power imbalances between network participants, and the risk of domination by special interests or technical experts (Slaughter 2004). Challenges of this kind have motivated numerous prescriptions for strengthening accountability within networked and multi-​layered governance systems. Slaughter (2004) proposed several means of strengthening networked accountability, including increased visibility and accessibility of intergovernmental networks, greater direct participation of stakeholders, using government networks to mobilize non-​governmental actors, and empowerment of sub-​national government units to participate in transnational processes (Slaughter 2004). Benner et  al. (2004) advocated mechanisms of collective accountability that would mitigate risks of blame avoidance by promoting multiple, horizontal checks and balances amongst network participants, drawing on a mix of reputational, market, legal, and peer-​based accountability mechanisms (see also Bäckstrand 2008). Such prescriptions for the strengthened accountability of networked global governance have often been extended more broadly to other decentred global governance arrangements. Many scholars of global accountability have called for the pluralization of accountability mechanisms beyond traditional constitutional or representative models, to also encompass horizontal accountability mechanisms such as courts and other oversight or review bodies, auditors, ombudsmen and complaints mechanisms, transparency and disclosure requirements, and monitoring and evaluation systems (Black 2008; Woods and Narlikar 2001; Slaughter 2004). Practical examples of such initiatives are abundant. Professional and peer review mechanisms are widely used to oversee economic policy-​making processes within the OECD. Transparency, market, and reputational mechanisms of accountability are commonly deployed as means of enabling investors or consumers to hold companies to account for their social and environment practices, or to enable bond and equity holders to call to account national governments or multilateral agencies whose activities they help to finance (Koenig-​Archibugi 2010). Such accountability mechanisms are often viewed as means of making global economic governance processes more reasoned and publicly justified, if not necessarily democratic (Chesterman 2008; Kingsbury 2004). Multi-​layered systems of governance and accountability are also often associated with highly intermediated accountability arrangements, in which “surrogates” or “proxies” hold decision-​makers to account, nominally on behalf of primary accountability holders (Rubenstein 2007; Koenig-​Archibugi and Macdonald 2013). Such third-​party intermediaries play important roles in shaping or endorsing

458   Kate MacDonald standards, receiving information about compliance, and sanctioning those who wield power. Intermediated accountability relationships of this kind are particularly common where normatively recognized principals of transnational accountability relationships lack sufficient information, power, or institutional access to enforce accountability obligations directly. Proxy accountability roles are commonly taken on by NGOs or other civil-​society actors, who claim to act on behalf of others—​whether on the basis of a direct representative mandate or on their own initiative. Reliance on intermediated accountability relationships poses distinctive risks and dilemmas with regard to the accountability of intermediaries to ultimate principals—​particularly when such actors have not been explicitly authorized to act in such roles, and where their own organizational values or interests diverge from those of the people they claim to represent. Such risks highlight the need for greater attention to the quality of accountability processes throughout the complex chains of accountability that are frequently required to regulate decentred processes of global governance. Theorists of transnational accountability have also sometimes highlighted the dynamic and interactive character of multi-​layered processes of global economic governance. Such dynamism generates additional challenges in identifying appropriate targets of accountability claims, and establishing institutionalized means of linking decision-​makers to those they affect. The highly dynamic character of transnational and local political dynamics can make it particularly difficult to identify changing groups of actors who are indirectly affected by decisions taken in multiple, interacting forums. Such challenges suggest the need for accountability mechanisms that are equipped to enable ongoing contestability, revision, and review regarding stakeholder entry and exit, and to accommodate appropriate forms of recognition and voice for indirectly affected stakeholders.

Multi-​scale Social Strategies of Accountability In any context, accountability strategies need to be analysed not only with reference to formal political institutions but also in relation to wider regimes of power in which formal accountability arrangements are embedded. In a transnational context, where governance institutions tend to be more weakly institutionalized—​lacking the coercive backing of state authority, the perennial challenge for accountability institutions of establishing an adequate grounding in material social power to regulate the behaviour of political authorities becomes all the more salient. This practical challenge demands realist empirical analysis of how regimes of accountability actually function over both the local and the global scales at which accountability processes are implemented in global economic governance.

Accountability    459 Explicit empirical analysis of the social power relations that underpin and structure real-​world accountability practices has been particularly widespread amongst scholars focused on the role of global civil society in shaping evolving regimes of accountability (Scholte 2004; Fox and Brown 1998). Such analysis has also been common amongst scholars of what has sometimes been called “social accountability”—​a broad cluster of accountability approaches promoted by international development organizations with the stated aim of strengthening the capacity of citizens and civil-​society organizations to pressure political authorities to respond to the needs or voices of those they claim to serve (McGee and Gaventa 2010). Such studies have identified factors at national, sub-​ national, and global scales that enable and constrain the capacity of accountability systems to empower citizens to make effective demands on decision-​makers. Such factors include characteristics of citizen capacities and rights awareness; civil-​society resources, networks, and strategies; political and civic culture and freedoms; state, media, and party institutions; and structures of informal elite relationships and interests. Empirical scholarship examining transnational corporate accountability has likewise been informed by extensive analysis of the social power relations that underpin accountability regimes at multiple scales (Garvey and Newell 2005). Yet many of the most influential analyses of corporate accountability in the field of international political theory have remained more narrowly focused on the political confrontations between transnational companies and affected people and their civil-​society supporters that have played out on the global stage (Koenig-​Archibugi 2004; Utting 2008). International political theorists have given less attention to analysing the interplay between these global accountability processes and institutions, and the behaviour of transnational businesses and regulatory authorities at national and sub-​national levels. To be effective, accountability institutions that seek to regulate the power of transnational companies over people’s lives require the capacity to constrain local as well as global systems of social and political power. In the absence of such capacity, Bartley (2010) has shown how systems of business accountability pursued through transnational certification systems can be systematically undermined by resistance from networks of international investors, local companies, and powerful state elites at national and sub-​ national levels. Similar challenges confront the operation of independent accountability mechanisms such as ombudsmen or complaint systems linked to international financial institutions or multi-​stakeholder governance systems (Miller-​Dawkins, Macdonald, and Marshall 2016). Analysis of such social-​power dynamics demands detailed forms of empirical “thick description” that can shed light on the micro-​politics of organizational interests, networks, and ideologies shaping the behaviour of actors in specific social and political settings (Ebrahim 2009; Olsen 2015). Yet such micro-​level political ethnography is often largely absent from the more aerial views of transnational accountability on which international political theorists tend to focus. Where multi-​scale empirical analysis of transnational accountability regimes has been undertaken, it has generated distinctive insights into appropriate prescriptions for the design and operation of transnational accountability. For example, such analyses have highlighted the need for formal accountability systems associated with

460   Kate MacDonald international financial institutions or multi-​stakeholder certification schemes to be supplemented by more diffuse social-​empowerment initiatives at the local level, in order to provide affected people with requisite information, resources, relationships, and bargaining power to make practical use of formally available accountability mechanisms (Miller-​Dawkins et al. 2016). In some contexts, establishing an effective power base to support the practical operation of transnational accountability systems requires building alliances or coalitions that include established elites at national and sub-​national levels. However, in circumstances where such elites are hostile to the mobilization and empowerment of grassroots civil-​society organizations, such strategies can risk reinforcing or legitimizing established patterns of power and exclusion at the local level (Hughes 2007; Rodan and Hughes 2012). Making strategic prescriptive judgements about appropriate trade-​offs between competing strategies of institutional empowerment demands detailed, contextually responsive forms of empirical analysis.

Cross-​cultural Accountabilities Another important challenge of accountability in a global governance context is that accountability institutions must frequently operate cross-​culturally. Such cross-​cultural accountability relationships commonly arise in fields of global economic governance such as transnational business regulation and international development finance, where essentially liberal models of accountability are promoted by companies, NGOs, governments, or global governance institutions in countries lacking liberal-​democratic political traditions and cultures. Establishing transnational accountability relationships that can be broadly recognized as legitimate in any setting demands negotiation of some mutual understanding regarding the meaning and purposes of the accountability arrangements being sought. It also requires some minimal normative agreement between the parties with regard to the constitutive terms of these relationships—​that is, specification of the entitlements and obligations that the accountability relationships confer. Where transnational accountability relationships are established between political systems and cultural settings in which diverse understandings of the meanings and purposes of accountability are prevalent, this frequently creates challenges of cross-​cultural misunderstanding and disagreement surrounding efforts to negotiate transnational accountability relationships on terms that parties are able to mutually understand and normatively commit to. One common dimension of this challenge entails obstacles to establishing the conceptual legibility of imported accountability discourses in political and cultural settings that lack strong liberal-​democratic histories and traditions. It has often been observed that the term “accountability” has Anglo linguistic origins, and in many languages there is no straightforward translation of the word. It is commonly translated either narrowly around notions of financial accounting or in terms of broader ideas of responsibility (Bovens 2007). While straightforward linguistic problems of translation may be

Accountability    461 overcome quite readily in settings where the liberal values and practices that the term invokes are familiar, problems of conceptual legibility run deeper where linguistic barriers are underpinned also by incompatibilities of social practices, power relations, and other lived realities to which the language and concept of accountability refer. For example, as demonstrated in research on accountability practices in the Cambodian development sector, in authoritarian political regimes in which ordinary people have few experiences of a responsible and accountable state, and few practical institutional protections for individual rights, the term can lose not only normative salience but also deeper forms of intelligibility for many people (ANSA 2010). Even where overt normative disagreements about appropriate relationships between citizens and governing authorities are not highly salient, such forms of conceptual and ontological difference can generate significant forms of what global anthropologist Anna Tsing has called “friction,” as incompatible rationalities encounter one another through shared practice (Tsing 2011). To continue the above example of internationally financed development projects operating within Cambodia’s neo-​patrimonial political regime, liberal accountability norms grounded in assumptions about individual rights and democratic citizenship promote normative assumptions that differ significantly from locally influential norms regarding the grounding of legitimate authority in traditional virtues of wisdom, honesty, fairness, respect for social rules, and capacity to deliver results (Macdonald et al. 2016; ANSA 2010). Such difference need not result in overt disagreement. Practices such as participatory community meetings to consult on the expenditure of international donor funds—​often promoted as part of transnational accountability agendas—​are often at least superficially compatible with established community decision-​making processes based around village meetings. Nonetheless, participants in such transnational accountability practices often understand their meaning, purpose, and sources of legitimacy in different ways—​for example, donors may view them as vehicles for individual and community empowerment, while local government or village leaders regard such participatory processes as valuable primarily insofar as they enable government authorities and citizens to work together to achieve development goals. Though such forms of “awkward engagement” (Tsing 2011) need not preclude productive engagement in shared practices, they can generate significant patterns of misunderstanding. Theorizing such cross-​cultural accountability challenges demands realist analysis of an interpretive character—​drawing on “empirically ascertainable manifestations of political and ideological practices” at vernacular as well as elite levels, as a basis for enabling political theory to be sensitive to facts about beliefs and normative commitments in a particular context (Freeden 2012: 1). Cross-​cultural communication challenges have been extensively explored by political theorists in many contexts—​perhaps most prominently in relation to debates about multiculturalism and pluralism in democratic societies (Taylor 1994; Dallmayr 1996)—​yet they have rarely been applied to analyses of transnational accountability. Drawing on these broader theoretical insights, recognition of cross-​cultural accountability challenges suggests the potential value of parties to cross-​cultural accountability

462   Kate MacDonald relationships engaging in critical processes of cross-​cultural dialogue and learning—​ seeking actively to understand the differing assumptions and aspirations of others, to reflect on their own positions of relative power, and to consider calling some basic convictions into question through processes of mutual learning, adjustment of moral standards, and development of new vocabularies of comparison (Taylor 1994). When significant “frictions” between different rationalities and practices persist, ongoing joint participation in shared accountability practices can contribute further to building shared vocabularies, and mutually intelligible and valuable practices of accountability—​ building at least some partial basis for negotiating hybrid accountability practices that may be appropriate in particular contexts of transnational encounter. While such dialogue-​and practice-​based approaches to building cross-​cultural accountabilities can help to build shared understandings of what is reasonable and valuable (Van Der Stoep 2004), cross-​cultural frictions take on a more overtly conflictual character when contrasting vocabularies and rationalities are underscored by conflicting interests and power struggles amongst participants in transnational accountability encounters. In Cambodia, transnational accountability agendas have been particularly contentious when they have entailed support for accountability claims by poor communities concerning the use of land and natural resources, in which local political elites are heavily invested. In resisting forms of transnational accountability supported by foreign NGOs, it is common for local elites to invoke local cultural norms as means of delegitimizing transnational accountability claims. For example, paternalistic norms that stress the responsibility of leaders to promote collective processes of development have been invoked as a basis for legitimizing the repression of community dissent to the activities of foreign investors or large-​scale economic development projects (Rodan and Hughes 2012). With powerful elites seeking to represent traditional values in ways that serve the reinforcement of prevailing power relations, the ideological character of representations of “authentic” local beliefs and normative commitments complicates efforts to engage in cross-​cultural interpretation and dialogue—​blurring the lines between cultural friction and more materialist conflicts of power and interest. Realist analyses of such power struggles highlight the need for cross-​cultural dialogue to be critically attentive to questions of whose interests are served by particular representations of local culture, and the ways in which social and ideological power shape competing representations of cultural norms in negotiations surrounding the terms of transnational accountabilities.

Concluding Reflections The accountability challenges mapped above reflect a real world of global economic governance and accountability which is culturally diverse, multi-​layered, and very unevenly institutionalized. Such challenges demand distinctive theoretical and methodological approaches to the task of developing action-​guiding, normative accounts of what accountability in global economic governance ought to look like.

Accountability    463 Prescriptively, the analysis presented above has underlined the value of accountability arrangements that are multi-​layered and pluralist—​both in the sense of recognizing multiple sites of global authority and associated accountability constituencies, and in the sense of encompassing a plural array of institutional forms, embracing horizontal alongside more traditional hierarchical mechanisms of accountability. It has pointed to the need for explicit strategies of social mobilization and coalition-​building as a basis for establishing the material social power required to render transnational accountability systems functionally effective and politically sustainable. And it has highlighted the importance of fostering forms of cross-​cultural dialogue in the negotiation of transnational accountability relationships that are sufficiently open and adaptable to accommodate cultural difference, while also reflecting critically on how representations of culturally salient meanings and purposes of accountability are themselves embedded within broader regimes of social power. The forms of empirical evidence required to inform such prescriptive analysis have been shown to be highly variable—​encompassing analysis of the feasibility or effectiveness of different accountability strategies, and existing beliefs and practices concerning the meanings and normative purposes of transnational accountability in particular contexts. Such evidence has been developed and applied in quite uneven ways to transnational accountability problems of different kinds. In general, existing literature on transnational accountability has tended to focus more on the macro-​level empirical study of formal institutions of authority and accountability than on the micro-​level study of more diffuse and decentred processes of cultural beliefs and practices, social power, and sub-​national dynamics of informal political power. More systematic study of transnational social processes at micro as well as macro scales could usefully inform the development of realist prescriptions for transnational accountability systems better suited to the complexities of contemporary global economic governance. How then might we reflect on our invitation as contributors to engage in renewed contemplation of the vocation and basic purpose of international political theory? If we understand such theory as oriented towards critical appraisal and prescription of political institutions and wider political practices, then this contribution has sought to show how analysis of accountability in international theory can be enriched by the tighter integration of empirical and normative approaches of diverse kinds. Empirical and normative scholars need each other, or both risk straying from the central political problems of their day. In seeking to maintain such engagement, normative scholars may sometimes simply borrow empirical insights from established bodies of empirically oriented political research in related fields. However, the specific kinds of facts that normative theorists reach for in seeking both to interpret established social practices and to make predictions about the consequences of feasible and accessible political and institutional strategies do not always map onto bodies of empirical research that have been developed for quite different purposes. Such mismatches have meant that to date, the capacity of realist analysis to adapt to the differentiated accountability problems that confront architects of global economic governance has remained limited in important ways.

464   Kate MacDonald Rising interest in realist modes of political theory have led numerous political theorists to “go public to fault their subdiscipline for its flaws” for failing to engage adequately with empirical analysis (Honig and Stears 2011:  177). It is rarer to see empirical-​ accountability scholars engage in similar self-​castigation for failing to shape their research agendas and methodological approaches in accordance with the demands of their normatively oriented colleagues. Yet engagement between normative and empirical scholars needs to run in both directions. Such engagement is necessary not only to ensure that available empirical facts can be incorporated appropriately into normative theory development, but also so that required empirical insights can be identified and acquired in the first place. Deep, two-​way engagement between normative and empirical sub-​fields of political inquiry is needed to inform both the imagination and the realization of transnational accountability systems capable of pressuring global economic governance actors to respond to the needs or desires of those they govern.

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­c hapter 35

Gl obal Gove rna nc e i n t he “Anthrop o c e ne ” Frank Biermann

For millennia, humans have altered their natural environment. In the last decades, they have begun to change our entire planet. Growing scientific evidence suggests that the earth system has moved outside the range of natural variability that it has exhibited over the last half a million years. As stated in a joint declaration signed in 2001 by all major global research programmes, “The nature of changes now occurring simultaneously in the Earth System, their magnitudes and rates of change are unprecedented” (Amsterdam Declaration 2001; see also UNEP 2012). It is increasingly accepted that this fundamental transformation requires paradigmatic changes that better capture this new reality. In 2000, Nobel Laureate Paul Crutzen and Eugene Stoermer proposed that human activities have now so profoundly altered the planet as to push it into a new geological epoch—​what they called the “Anthropocene” (Crutzen and Stoermer 2000; Crutzen 2002). The term “Anthropocene” is meant to mark a new epoch in planetary history, separating it from previous ones such as the Holocene, which refers to the last 12,000 years before the present. The neologism “Anthropocene” combines the two key elements that mark our “new Earth”: the Greek suffix -​cene (new), denoting the novelty of this epoch in planetary history, and the Greek word for our species (anthropos), which has evolved into the dominant factor transforming our planet. The concept of an Anthropocene is now widely used in a variety of contexts, communities, and connotations (Brondizio et  al. 2016). Geologists, for example, explore the chemical, physical, and biological characteristics of the Anthropocene, and debate whether and when this new geological epoch has started. For earth system scientists, the concept encapsulates the radical anthropogenic alteration of the planet’s natural cycles and systems. More recently, the concept has attracted the attention also of social scientists and humanists, who seek to take the Anthropocene concept beyond its biophysical confines. As shown in a recent bibliometric analysis, while the earth and environmental sciences have contributed so far most articles addressing the Anthropocene (64 per cent), articles in humanities and social science journals already account for 24 per cent of the total number of all publications in this field (Brondizio et al. 2016). As

468   Frank Biermann this bibliometric analysis also suggests, resolving the challenges of the Anthropocene requires scholars of international relations to engage much more intensely in interdisciplinary dialogues with other scientific communities, notably the natural sciences. Also, political scientists are inevitably more expected to engage in intense dialogues with decision-​makers and stakeholders—​with a view not only to policy advice, but also to a more fundamental co-​design and co-​production of scientific knowledge. This chapter explores the possible consequences of this paradigmatic turn, especially for the field of International Political Theory (IPT). I will first lay out the new challenges for IPT that have been brought about by the concept of the Anthropocene. I then illustrate these challenges with an example: the increasing need of governments to define and agree upon “desirable” futures for planetary evolution.

Challenges for International Political Theory Processes of earth system transformation and the emergence of the “Anthropocene” pose numerous challenges for IPT as well as for real-​world political processes.

New Types of Global Interdependence To start with, the Anthropocene creates, changes, or reinforces multiple interdependence relations within and among human societies, posing novel challenges for IPT. It creates new forms and degrees of interdependence among the more than 190 formally sovereign countries and their national jurisdictions, and the areas beyond national jurisdiction, such as the high seas and Antarctica. Some of these new interdependencies emerge from functions of the earth system that transform local pollution into changes of the global system that affect other places that often have contributed (much) less to the problem, with examples being climate change, stratospheric ozone depletion, the global distribution of persistent organic pollutants, and the global spread of species with potential harm for local ecosystems. The connections are often highly complex, and cut across traditional lines of political governance. For example, one consequence of the excessive emission of greenhouse gases is the increasing acidification of oceans worldwide, which harms coral reefs and in some places fish stocks. In this way, the livelihood of poor fishing communities in Latin America or Africa is now directly linked to production and consumption patterns that have evolved over the last century in the (often far away) rich countries in the North, creating novel normative challenges also for IPT. Conversely, countries are becoming also more interdependent through novel interconnections when local environmental degradation leads to transregional or global social, economic, and political crises, for instance through decreases in agricultural

Global Governance in the “Anthropocene”    469 output that raises food demand and prices. One important potential consequence is migration. Some estimates have predicted—​although possibly overly pessimistically—​ that climate change will lead to additional migration movements of more than 200 million people (so-​called “climate refugees”) by 2050 (Biermann and Boas 2010). The recent refugee crisis in Europe shows the novel degree of interdependence by which richer countries are becoming inherently linked to the fate of poorer countries in their proximity. Even though it is probably too early to classify migrants from the Sahel or from Syria as “climate refugees,” it is evident that land degradation, drought, and water scarcity are major underlying causes of what eventually becomes manifest as ethnic, religious, or regional conflict. In short, the Anthropocene creates a new dependence of states, even the most powerful ones, on the community of all other nations. This is a defining characteristic as well as a key challenge that may require a more effective institutional framework for global cooperation in numerous domains.

New Types of Functional Interdependence Secondly, the Anthropocene increases the functional interdependence of human societies. For example, political response strategies that target one economic sector are likely to have repercussions for numerous others. Functional interdependence also relates to the mutual substitutability of response options, which poses special problems of international allocation. In climate governance, for example, for every global policy target there are an unlimited number of possible combinations of local responses across nations and time-​frames with equal degrees of effectiveness. One consequence is novel types of global problem-​shifting, for instance when rich countries seek to resolve environmental problems by policies that affect poorer countries through land acquisition for biofuel production that eventually competes with food production, driving up food prices especially for the global poor. In the Anthropocene, even simple, age-​old practices such as meat consumption by humans can have far-​reaching global implications, reserving vast areas of terrestrial land mass for the raising of cattle, which is much more energy-​intensive and environmentally polluting per unit of food energy than the production of non-​meat foods. In a world where still 800 million people are undernourished, even a basic human activity such as meat consumption might thus at some point need to be addressed in global policies, raising new ethical and moral questions across national, cultural, and religious divides. A different and more novel problem for global accountability and IPT is the rapidly increasing debate in some highly industrialized countries on geo-​engineering, for example in the form of “solar radiation management” that would block some sun light, leading to a temporary cooling of the planet. Such technologies, while still not fully understood, are likely to be cheap enough to be a realistic option for implementation by just a few countries. This leaves the fundamental question for IPT about the rights and responsibilities of countries: what legal rights and political options do poorer countries have to stop the more industrialized countries in their efforts of “geo-​engineering,” if they deem

470   Frank Biermann this too risky? Or do richer countries even have a moral responsibility to unilaterally engage in geo-​engineering in order “to save the planet,” as some ecomodernists might argue? In short, increased functional interdependence in the Anthropocene requires new degrees of effective policy coordination and integration, from local to global levels.

Theoretical Challenges of “Deep-​Time” Interconnections Thirdly, the Anthropocene is marked by a novel recognition of “deep-​time” interdependencies, inasmuch as causation and effect of transformations of the earth system are usually separated by hundreds of years and thus several generations. This raises concrete political conflicts about the responsibility of present generations for activities of their ancestors, for instance regarding the burning of fossil fuels in Europe before the greenhouse effect became more widely known in the 1990s. Developing countries often argue that these “historical emissions” of industrialized countries should become part of their commitments in global climate governance, in the form of a “climate debt” that heavily industrialized countries have amassed and have now to “repay” by extra mitigation efforts. Indeed, even though carbon dioxide and other greenhouse gases, once emitted, are eventually taken up again and removed from the atmosphere (thus reducing the impact of any “historical emissions” over time), there is no doubt that the overall problem today would be much less without the past industrialization trajectory in the North. Yet where to draw the line? What responsibility should current generations in the North today take for their ancestors’ activities, especially given that the climate problem was not widely known and accepted before the 1980s? Conversely, the Anthropocene also links the current people with future generations over many centuries. Sea-​level rise, for example, is expected within a time-​range of 100 years and more. Such planning horizons exceed the tenure and often the lifetime of present political leaders. Among other things, this poses the questions of international credibility and trust that future governments will reciprocate and comply with international rules, and the problem of democratic legitimacy of policies in the intergenerational context. What rights and responsibilities do present generations—​and their representatives in parliament—​owe to their unborn successors? This question might find different answers in different regions. Given that some countries—​from the Netherlands to Bangladesh and many small island nations—​will be much more affected by the long-​term impacts of climate change than others, how can this be conceptualized in IPT? How does it affect, for example, the legal recognition of “climate migrants,” given that they are not recognized under current refugee law, and that there are no other legal standards that would grant such migrants concrete rights to immigration into other countries if needed? This is no longer a hypothetical question but a very current and timely problem for some Pacific island nations that might be inundated in the course of this century. How can we conceptualize the accountability of all other nations vis-​à-​vis the plight of these smaller countries that will cease to exist and might thus very soon require legal recognition as migrant nations?

Global Governance in the “Anthropocene”    471

New Challenges of Uncertainty Fourthly, the Anthropocene comes with persistent uncertainty about the causes of earth system transformation, its impacts, the links between various causes and response options, and the broader effects of policies. A striking example is stratospheric ozone depletion, caused over many decades by the emission of a variety of gases used in spray cans, refrigerators, air conditioners, fire extinguishers, and many other appliances. The impact of such gases, once so widely used in many countries, on the stratospheric ozone layer was discovered only half a century after the first gases were produced and emitted, with humankind thus having been engaged unknowingly in a process that would have severely harmed human health, food production, and many other vital issues, had it not been discovered on time. Also, most ongoing transformations in the earth system, such as global climate change, are non-​linear and might accelerate at any time. At the time of writing, for example, it appears that most climate models have been too conservative, and hence optimistic, in their predictions, and that empirical observations of climate change seem to confirm the worst-​case predictions in many models. Further surprises in system behaviour can be expected, but are by definition unforeseeable. This creates a new political context, as exemplified by Ulrich Beck’s notion of a global “risk society.” One concrete consequence is the growing political influence of the global expert community, notably in the emergence of the powerful Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change that seeks to bring together thousands of the world’s leading scientists in assessing the state of our knowledge of the causes and consequences of climate change, as well as considering policy options. Given the tremendous uncertainties around such issues, reports by this intergovernmental panel have become an important factor in global negotiations, making the expert panel a source of political authority in its own right. While the power of “epistemic communities” in international relations has been discussed since the 1990s (starting with Haas 1990), the increasing recognition of the vast complexities of the Anthropocene is likely to further increase the role of expert networks in international policies, further exacerbating tensions between governmental decision-​makers and science communities. Unsurprisingly, the institutionalization of academic and other expert networks in international relations and at the “science–​policy interface,” for instance in the United Nations system, has become a quickly expanding research field in International Relations in itself (van der Hel 2016).

Global Inequality in the Anthropocene Finally, the Anthropocene is an epoch that sees the human species with extreme variations in wealth, health, living standards, education, and most other indicators that define wellbeing (see Chapter 9). According to the World Bank (2008: 4), the richest 20 per cent of humanity account for 76.6 per cent of total private consumption. The poorest 20 per cent, on their part, consume just 1.5 per cent. Almost half of humanity lives on less

472   Frank Biermann than US$2.5 per day (Chen and Ravallion 2008: 41). The world’s 946 richest people are worth as a group US$3.5 trillion (Kroll and Fass 2007), while the poorest 25 per cent of humanity has still no access to electricity (UNDP 2007). Today, one billion people lack sufficient access to water, and 2.6 billion have no basic sanitation (UNDP 2006). Water and sanitation for all people would cost about US$9 billion: this is about what people in the United States spend each year on cosmetics. Europeans invest each year US$11 billion on ice cream, US$50 billion on cigarettes, and US$105 billion on alcoholic drinks (UNDP 1998: 37). Politics in the Anthropocene has to operate in this global situation of large inequalities in resources and entitlements. For IPT, this places special emphasis on the field of international justice. Given that global inequalities are growing, what are the consequences for the rights and responsibilities of countries regarding the solution of global environmental problems, and for the global adaptation to those impacts that can no longer be avoided? The Paris Agreement under the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change essentially left it to each country to decide itself what it perceived as its “fair share” in resolving the climate problem, reflecting the fundamental differences in perceptions about the requirements of “international justice” (see Chapter 40). On the other hand, the comprehensive reporting and transparency requirements of the Paris Agreement might well result over time in a higher level of agreement among different governments on what each “owes” to the international community, possibly further developing global standards of what is “fair” in IPT under conditions of the Anthropocene.

The Challenge for Democracy Last but not least, the Anthropocene poses new, important questions for democracy. This concerns, for one, democracy at the national level and the key functions of the state (Eckersley 2004). Here are just a few of the main challenges. Increasing complexities and uncertainties grant a more prominent role to experts and technocrats, possibly reducing the potential influence of citizens; the deep-​time character of problems requires new types of democratic legitimacy for actions that affect future generations; increasing needs of adaptation to possibly accelerating earth system transformations might support authoritarian discourses of “governance in emergency mode”; and the increasing reliance—​supported by neoliberal transformations of the state—​on private or public–​ private governance raises new questions of the democratic legitimacy and accountability of such new steering mechanisms, such as partnerships or labelling schemes. Not least, the global character of the Anthropocene, with all resulting interdependencies, further erodes the steering capacities of individual governments. At the international level, this has raised the question of whether the United Nations, built in its core around notions of sovereign equality of states and intergovernmental diplomacy, is still the appropriate model of global governance in the twenty-​first century (see Chapter 29), and in particular with a view to the Anthropocene challenges that I have outlined in this chapter. Reform proposals abound, from the introduction of

Global Governance in the “Anthropocene”    473 weighted majority voting to the establishment of a world parliamentarian assembly, or a global forum of civil society as a second chamber next to the UN General Assembly, or a global deliberative assembly as suggested by John Dryzek and his colleagues (see the overview in Biermann 2014: ch. 5). While none of these many proposals is likely to find much support from governments in the near future, debates on new visions and models for global democracy are likely to become more central in the study of IPT.

Example: Setting Global Limits Let me now illustrate, in concrete cases of “real politics,” the new complexities of accountability, legitimacy, and the role of IPT in the Anthropocene. One inherent consequence of the Anthropocene notion is the redefinition of human agency. While humans have reacted to their natural environment for millennia, under Anthropocene conditions they now recognize themselves as key agents of the evolution of the entire planetary system. This raises novel, fundamentally normative questions—​ how on earth do we want to have our planet? A simple “return” to the Holocene, the epoch of the last 12,000 years when human civilization evolved, is hardly possible, given the numerous changes in earth system parameters that human actions have already affected, and the resultant changes that we observe today. There is, in other words, no alternative to governments and other political actors agreeing on the most “desirable” core parameters for earth system evolution, taking into account of course our limited understanding of core system processes (Bai et al. 2016). This normative task is inherently a global one and will become a central part of the intergovernmental political agenda in the future. Even though it is conceivable that governments will eventually not be able to agree on what they see as “desirable” future states of the earth system, and even though unilateral decisions by only few countries on earth system parameters are not to be ruled out, the effects will undoubtedly be felt by all countries and all people, though to different degrees. In sum, setting global parameters of earth system evolution becomes a new core function of global governance. But what parameters could be chosen, and what political processes would be the most appropriate? What political conflicts are likely or already discernible? What are the challenges for IPT? One obvious point of reference is the notion of “sustainable development” as the core normative aspiration (see Chapter 14). Sustainable development has been defined by the World Commission on Environment and Development in the 1980s: “Humankind has the ability to make development sustainable—​to ensure that it meets the needs of the present without compromising the ability of future generations to meet their own needs” (WCED 1987). Yet this definition is broad, and was meant to be broad. As aptly summarized by Kates, Parris, and Leiserowitz (2005: 10), “This malleability allows programs of environment or development; places from local to global; and institutions of government, civil society, business, and industry to each project their interests, hopes, and aspirations onto the banner of sustainable development.” To provide more focus, it is common to distinguish three pillars of sustainable development. For example,

474   Frank Biermann the Johannesburg Declaration adopted at the 2002 World Summit on Sustainable Development posited a “collective responsibility to advance and strengthen the interdependent and mutually reinforcing pillars of sustainable development—​economic development, social development, and environmental protection—​at local, national, regional, and global levels.” Yet how these three pillars are to be weighted and defined in concrete cases of global governance—​for example, climate change or biodiversity depletion—​remains undefined, and there is hardly any consensus about this in either academic or political communities. One possible way forward is to conceptualize the normative aspiration holistically as the preservation of human development and wellbeing within the confines of certain boundary conditions in the earth system. Rockström and colleagues (2009), for example, have inductively defined nine “planetary boundaries” that could, if crossed, result in a major disruption in (parts of) the system and a transition to a different state. Disastrous consequences for humanity could be the result. The threshold values are, to use a related concept, the “tipping points” in the system. Rockström et al. (2009) originally suggested boundaries for nine earth system processes: climate change; biodiversity loss; the nitrogen cycle; the phosphorus cycle; stratospheric ozone depletion; ocean acidification; global freshwater use; land use change; atmospheric aerosol loading; and chemical pollution. For some of these boundaries, Rockström et al. felt even confident enough to suggest a numeric threshold value, such as for greenhouse gas concentration in the atmosphere. An important insight is that three threshold values have been crossed already. Regarding climate change, we have reached atmospheric carbon dioxide concentrations of over 400 ppm (compared to 280 ppm in pre-​industrial times), whereas the threshold value proposed by Rockström et al. would be 350 ppm. Regarding biodiversity, the current extinction rate is over 100 extinct species per million species per year, while the suggested threshold is 10 extinctions. As for the nitrogen cycle, humans remove about 121 million tons of nitrogen per year from the atmosphere today, while a safe rate, according to Rockström et al. (2009), is a maximum of 35 million tons. In these three areas, therefore, humankind has pushed the earth system past tipping points into a new—​and unknown—​world. Importantly, within this overall target corridor, the concept of earth system boundaries leaves human societies ample space for different political choices and socioeconomic development trajectories (Biermann 2012; Galaz et  al. 2012). These socioeconomic development trajectories—​within the safe operating space set by the earth system boundaries—​are not defined by scientists but are left open to the democratic political process and intergovernmental negotiation. In this sense, the notion of earth system boundaries is just one element of the overall policy objective of sustainable development. They define the broad limitations and “guardrails” for human development, and are in principle neutral towards human values and aspirations. Of course, the negotiation of the exact earth system boundary is not simply a matter for scientists—​it is also a political boundary that needs to be negotiated by political actors who have to weigh scientific evidence and degrees of uncertainty with their own assessment of the risks to be taken and the costs to be endured. The earth system boundaries are, despite all accuracy in attempts at measurement, in the end a social construct.

Global Governance in the “Anthropocene”    475 Yet this does not take away from their value for the larger purpose of earth system governance. The concept of earth system boundaries provides a framework for scientific research and political negotiation to define jointly the safe operating space for human development, and is hence an important element in the study and practice of global governance. A concrete example of this normative challenge is the setting of a “temperature target” in global climate governance (Morseletto, Biermann, and Pattberg 2016). Since the 1980s it had been suggested that a safe target for all climate policy efforts could be the limitation of global warming to a maximum mean temperature increase of 2 degrees Celsius above pre-​industrial levels. After prolonged discussions and negotiations, governments agreed eventually to this safe boundary value for climate change at the 2009 conference of the parties of the UN Framework Convention on Climate Change. In the 2015 Paris Agreement under this convention, governments even agreed, in addition, to “pursue efforts to” limit the temperature increase to 1.5 °C; this would, if implemented, vastly increase the survival prospects for small island nations, among numerous other benefits. Yet the rather vague reference to the 1.5 °C target shows also the political realities of global norm-​setting in this field. The world’s most polluting nations—​in both North and South—​were simply not willing to agree on any stricter language that would have committed them more firmly to the emission cuts that would have been required to reach the 1.5 °C target, even if this would have reduced the risks for the many low-​lying countries, and in particular small island nations, which simply do not have the power resources to change the course of global negotiations sufficiently. As the more general discussion on planetary boundaries has shown, normative targets for earth system evolution, like a global “temperature target,” are not in any way a given that simply results from scientific research and assessments. There simply are, within the confines of human knowledge, no quantifiable “temperature switches” in the earth system. Even though there is overwhelming agreement that a temperature target of, say, 1.5 °C vastly reduces the global risks of climate change, in the end the normative act of setting a target remains a purely political task, and as such the outcome of political negotiations at the global level, with all the common elements of power conflicts and bargaining processes, and with the novel prominent involvement of scientists who themselves become part of the politics. In sum, there is no doubt that the international political negotiation of “earth system boundaries”—​and the even more general trend of global “governance through goals” as evidenced by the new Sustainable Development Goals (Kanie and Biermann 2017)—​will become a general feature of global governance, and hence a prime object of study in the field of IPT as well.

Conclusion In sum, the emergence (or more precisely: the recognition) of the Anthropocene—​the current epoch in planetary history that is essentially dominated by humans—​affects

476   Frank Biermann all spheres of political life; IPT is no exception. The Anthropocene brings new types and degrees of global interdependence that make each country fundamentally more dependent on all others than has been the case in past processes of economic or cultural globalization. The Anthropocene creates new conflicts about international equity, posing additional distributive questions for an international society that is already the most unequal in human history. Distributive conflicts also extend far into “deep time,” raising novel questions of the responsibility of current generations for the environmental pollution of their ancestors as well as their responsibility vis-​à-​vis future generations. Governments also need to cooperate on entirely new types of questions. For example, as I have described in some detail, the emergence of the Anthropocene now forces governments to embark on global negotiations on the “desirable state” of planetary systems. The recent intergovernmental agreement on a “temperature target” for planet Earth is just one example of numerous similar political processes that are developing or are likely to gain speed in the future. All these developments also call for a new perspective in political science. One such new perspective is a newly emerging paradigm in the social sciences, “earth system” governance (Biermann 2014). The earth system governance paradigm is a response and a reaction in the social sciences to the notion of the Anthropocene. It accepts the core tenet of the Anthropocene—​the understanding of the earth as an integrated, interdependent system transformed by the interplay of human and non-​human agency. The focus of earth system governance is not “governing the earth,” or the management of the entire process of planetary evolution. Instead, earth system governance concerns the human impact on planetary systems. It is about the societal steering of human activities with regard to the long-​term stability of geo-​biophysical systems. The notion of earth system governance now underpins a long-​term global research initiative under the auspices of the global research programme “Future Earth.” This initiative—​the Earth System Governance Project—​was launched in 2009 and has evolved into a broad, vibrant global community of researchers who share an interest in the analysis of earth system governance and in the exploration of how to reform the ways in which human societies (fail to) steer their co-​evolution with nature at the planetary scale. More than 3,000 colleagues are subscribed to the Earth System Governance newsletter, and about 300 researchers belong to the group of lead faculty and research fellows closely affiliated with the Project. In preparation for the 2012 UN Conference on Sustainable Development, members of the Earth System Governance research alliance advanced a number of concrete proposals for an overhaul of global governance, for example: to create a new World Environment Organization and a UN Sustainable Development Council; to better monitor and support private governance mechanisms; to strengthen the involvement of civil society in international institutions; and to more often rely on qualified majority-​voting as opposed to the more common system of consensus-​based decision-​making (Biermann et al. 2012). Yet earth system governance is not only about strengthening global institutions, which are merely part of the entire effort. Notably, technological change and incremental policies at local and national levels will also remain a driving force of progress in earth system governance, as

Global Governance in the “Anthropocene”    477 will transformations in social behaviour, moving from a focus on mere cooperation and efficiency to broader notions of “sufficiency” (Princen 2005). In sum, in the course of the twenty-​first century the Anthropocene is likely to change the way we understand political systems both analytically and normatively, from village level up to the United Nations. This also makes the Anthropocene one of the most demanding, and most interesting, research topics for the field of IPT, which has to assist in developing novel, more effective, and more equitable governance systems to cope with the growing challenges of earth system transformation.

Acknowledgements The author would like to thank students and colleagues at Cornell University, Binghamton University, and Justitia Amplificata as well as Peter Stone, Judith Lichtenberg, Aaron James, and Gillian Brock for helpful comments on previous versions of this paper.

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Pa rt V I I

E T H IC S A N D I N T E R NAT IONA L P U B L IC  P OL IC Y

­c hapter 36

International P ol i t i c a l Theory M e ets Internationa l P u bl i c P olic y Christian Barry

How should International Political Theory (IPT) relate to public policy? Should theorists aspire for their work to be policy-​relevant and, if so, in what sense? When can we legitimately criticize a theory for failing to be relevant to practice? To develop a response to these questions, I will consider two issues: (1) the extent to which international political theorists should be concerned that the norms they articulate are precise enough to entail clear practical advice under different empirical circumstances; (2) whether they should provide concrete practical advice on policy choice and institutional reform. These questions are related but distinct, and we should answer each quite differently. Regarding the first, I shall argue that it counts heavily against a theory if it is not precise enough to guide policy and reform given certain empirical assumptions. On the second, I will argue that theorists should be very cautious when engaging with questions of policy and institutional design. Some principles of IPT can be criticized for being insufficiently precise, but a degree of abstraction from concrete policy recommendations is a virtue, rather than a vice, of an element of IPT. I conclude that we should aim to be precise without being concrete. To help fix ideas and anchor my argument, I will discuss these issues with reference to a principle that John Rawls has advocated in his influential work The Law of Peoples (Rawls 1999a): a duty of assistance to societies that lack the capacity to satisfy the basic needs or protect the basic rights of their people.

How Practical Should IPT Be? IPT has two central substantive aims. The first is to articulate and justify norms that should regulate the conduct of collective agents with international reach—​ states,

482   Christian Barry non-​governmental organizations, private enterprises. These include principles regulating the use of force, economic statecraft, and so on. The second is to articulate and justify norms that should inform the design and reform of social arrangements—​including the institution of the sovereign state itself, supranational institutions such as the EU, and international law. These include principles evaluating property rights, sovereign prerogatives, rules of trade, and so on. These two sets of norms are clearly interconnected, and both are usually understood to provide us with means of comparing and assessing different policies and social arrangements that we might now consider adopting or bringing about. Although I have stated the aims of IPT in normative terms—​as principles regarding how states and other agents ought to or may act, and how institutions may or may not be designed—​they clearly also possess an evaluative component. That is, they provide criteria by which we can make claims about whether one state’s behaviour is better or worse than another state’s, or how its behaviour might have been better, and whether some proposed reform of social institutions would make them more or less just. How practical should IPT be? One view is that political theorists should not really seek to intervene in contemporary politics, or at least in policy discussions, at all. This might draw support from two approaches to political theory that differ from one another quite radically in just about every other respect. The first would be an extreme form of idealism. On this approach, the aim of IPT is to articulate a concrete vision of an ideal global order. Such an order is no doubt likely to differ quite dramatically from our present one. Indeed, it may seem infeasible, not only because it cannot be brought about from the non-​ideal circumstances of the present, but because it could not plausibly be brought about and sustained (given what we know about the capacities of ordinary human agents, unavoidable scarcity of resources, and so on). Political theory, on this approach, should not generally be concerned with the details of real-​world politics or the policies that might be implemented in the real world. For one thing, human agents and their institutions may fall so far short of what they would be in an ideal order that reflecting on such ideals may tell us very little about the choices we confront in policy-​ making and institutional design. The second approach would be an extreme form of realism. On this approach, attempting to use political ideals to inform public policy invites folly. Policies that are endorsed because they would better satisfy some normative ideal are likely to do more harm than good. Theories are likely to be based on unrealistic assumptions about the motivational capacities of ordinary human agents, we are warned, and to ignore the real practical constraints regarding what can be feasibly achieved in politics. Robert Goodin (who does not endorse this charge) outlines the argument: fixation upon unobtainable ideals engenders unrealistic aspirations and expectations, making even the best possible government and policies seem simply not good enough. It encourages dogmatism and discourages flexibility. It makes the best the enemy of the good. It encourages us to “do good though the heavens may fall”, rather than contenting ourselves with doing as much good as we can without the heavens falling. (Goodin 1995: 37)

IPT Meets International Public Policy    483 In sum, actively pursuing ideals in politics may even undermine rather than promote them (see also Galston 2010). Very few who are drawn to IPT find the kinds of extreme idealism or extreme realism sketched above to be particularly attractive. While there may be an important place in IPT for the conception of ideal global orders, however unobtainable they may be, surely this should not exhaust it (see Chapter 47). And we should surely hope that our ideals might give us some guidance in dealing with contemporary politics, even if we recognize that we will fall far short of them. Indeed, the more radically divorced a political theory becomes from what might, somewhere somehow, be practically possible for creatures like us, the less it seems to be a theory for us. Furthermore, even if the range of feasible alternatives to present policies and institutions is more limited than one might initially think or hope, it does not follow that extreme realism accurately represents the range of possibilities for change and reform. In any case, most international political theorists would not consider their work to be of value if it could not connect in some meaningful way with contemporary debates—​ they want their work to have some practical role, and the belief that it might play such a role is (at least in part) what motivates them (see Chapter 29). This chapter is directed at those who endorse these goals. It explores how theorists might best develop work that is at once practically relevant and responsive to the empirical complexities involved in shaping policies and institutional arrangements in the real world.

An Example: Rawls’s Duty of Assistance In The Law of Peoples (Rawls 1999a), John Rawls articulated a picture of what social arrangements we should aim to bring about at the global level. They should take the form of a “Society of Peoples.” Such a society would be composed of peoples that have a certain character, namely that they are “well-​ordered.” Two types of peoples can be well-​ ordered, in Rawls’s sense. First are reasonable liberal peoples, which stably protect the basic liberties of all citizens, provide them with adequate means to exercise these liberties, and subject their laws and policies to democratic control (Rawls 1999a: 4). Second are what he calls “decent hierarchical peoples.” Decent hierarchical peoples may fail to protect some basic liberties and may not possess a democratic character (and are thus unjust by liberal standards), but they nevertheless stably protect a core list of human rights (including subsistence rights), and incorporate processes for determining policies and laws that are consultative and thus responsive in some manner to the wishes of their people (pp. 63, 66). Both decent and liberal peoples are, in addition, non-​aggressive in their relations with other peoples. Each of these well-​ordered societies should, on Rawls’s view, interact with all others in accordance with eight principles, “The Law of Peoples” (see Rawls 1999a: 37). The Law of Peoples incorporates principles for dealing with peoples that are not well-​ordered, and thus do not have a proper place within the Society of Peoples,

484   Christian Barry including aggressive and dangerous “outlaw states,” that undermine peace and fail to protect the human rights of their citizens (p. 81), and “burdened societies,” whose circumstances are such that they lack the requisite capacities to sustain a well-​ordered regime, whether liberal or non-​liberal but decent (p. 106). Rawls clearly intends his view in the Law of Peoples to be practical, in the sense that reflection on the ideal of a society of peoples and the law of peoples that governs their interactions bears on how we, who do not live in a society of peoples, should evaluate the options open to us. In particular, these ideals provide means by which we might judge progress towards it. Elsewhere, Rawls defines the goal of his theory as “probing the limits of practicable political possibility” (Rawls 2001: 4–​5). Of course, what is a practical possibility may be very far from being realized, which makes his ambition utopian. “By showing how the social world may realize the features of a realistic utopia,” he writes, “political philosophy provides a long-​term goal of political endeavor, and in working toward it gives meaning to what we can do today” (Rawls 1999a: 128). Although he recognizes that ideals like the society of peoples may be difficult to realize, such ideals provide (he argues elsewhere) “the only basis for the systematic grasp of [the] more pressing problems” that we must confront in non-​ideal circumstances (Rawls 1999b: 8). Some contemporary societies, at least, seem to meet Rawls’s criteria for being reasonable liberal societies, outlaw societies, or burdened societies, even if societies may not fit neatly into any of these categories (whether or not there are any existing decent hierarchical societies is a somewhat more difficult question). It would not be going too far to suggest that an incipient society of peoples already exists that regulates its conduct, however imperfectly, by principles similar to some of those adumbrated in the Law of Peoples, and that this might be extended and deepened over time. This is no accident, since many of the principles spelled out in the Law of Peoples are relatively familiar ones. Some interpreters have viewed this as essential to Rawls’s aims—​he wants to draw on norms that are already largely part of the global political culture to engage critically with current practices (Wenar 2006). To see whether it succeeds in this practical aim, let’s focus in particular on the eighth and final principle of Rawls’s Law of Peoples: “Peoples have a duty to assist other peoples living under unfavorable conditions that prevent their having a just or decent political and social regime” (Rawls 1999a: 37). Many theorists of global justice were disappointed with this duty of assistance (which I’ll refer to as the DA) on substantive grounds. Why, they asked, should we not instead employ a more far-​reaching principle of distributive justice at the global level, such as Rawls insisted we must adopt at the domestic level (Moellendorf 2002; Tan 2004; Caney 2005)? Was this principle not unduly conservative, permitting unacceptable levels of international inequality (Pogge 2004)? Others rushed to Rawls’s defence, arguing that important differences between the global and domestic spheres make principles of egalitarian justice applicable domestically, but not globally (Reidy 2004; 2007; Freeman 2007). Here, however, I will put this important debate to one side. Instead, I will consider whether the DA succeeds as a practical principle.

IPT Meets International Public Policy    485

The Content of Duties to Assistance Rawls introduces his DA as an “especially controversial” principle (Rawls 1999a:  37, n. 43). He claims that, unlike the seven other principles constituting his Law of Peoples, it is unfamiliar, not drawn from “the history and usages of international law and practice” (Rawls 1999a: 41, 57). It did not appear in his initial presentation of the idea of a Law of Peoples in earlier work (Rawls 1993: 55). To understand the content of the DA, we need to know who possesses the duty and to whom the duty is owed. On these points, Rawls is clear: the duty binds all well-​ordered societies within the Society of Peoples, and it is owed to all burdened societies. As he describes them, burdened societies “lack the political cultural traditions, the human capital and know-​how, and often, the material and technological resources to be well-​ordered” (Rawls 1999a: 106). What distinguishes them from outlaw states is that, to the extent that their people are poor or their basic rights are ill-​protected, this is a result not of their unwillingness to achieve these ends, but of their incapacity. Even societies that do not actively cause rights violations through the agency of the state, but which fail to prevent them when they can, seem to qualify as outlaw states, rather than burdened societies (Rawls 1999a: 109). The aim of the DA therefore is to enable burdened societies to become well-​ordered. This requires at a minimum that the human rights and basic needs of their members are satisfied.1 Once that long-​term target is reached, a cut-​off point comes into operation so that no further assistance is owed to each formerly burdened society (Rawls 1999a: 111, 118–​19). This threshold may be reached even though “the now well-​ordered society may still be relatively poor” (p. 111), causing many critics to argue that the DA did not go far enough, since it allowed seemingly unlimited international economic inequalities so long as all societies were well-​ordered (Beitz 2000; Pogge 2004). They questioned whether Rawls had the resource within his own theory to justify such a sharp distinction between the principles that applied domestically and globally (Pogge 2006). And more sympathetic critics embrace the idea of the cut-​off, but claim that its target is too unambitious (Tasioulas 2005). But these issues, too, can be set aside, since they relate to the content, rather than the practical applicability, of the DA. Rawls makes several other remarks about the DA which help us to determine its meaning. Importantly, he limits the degree to which assistance to burdened societies can be made conditional on their adopting particular institutional forms. More specifically, he does not regard it as permissible to make such assistance depend on their transitioning to just (i.e. reasonable liberal) societies. Rather, equal assistance must be provided to those societies progressing towards becoming decent hierarchical peoples. Aside from such assistance being made conditional on actually helping societies protect basic human rights and satisfy basic needs, it is owed unconditionally to all burdened societies. Rawls does not regard the causes of their having become or remaining burdened to be relevant to the duty to assist them (Rawls 1999a: 108). Even when a society is burdened due to factors such as “the political culture, the political virtues and civic

486   Christian Barry society of the country, its members’ probity and industriousness, [and] their capacity for innovation,” he writes, “the duty of assistance is in no way diminished.”2

Concreteness We might complain that a principle such as the DA is insufficiently concrete in the advice that it might provide to policy-​makers who want to bring the foreign policies of their society into line with its requirements. Rawls goes no further than to note that such assistance can take plural forms, including technical cooperation and the integration of burdened societies into global networks of cooperation (Rawls 1999a: 108–9). For example, would Rawls’s DA require that affluent countries significantly increase their aid to poorer societies? What policies on trade and immigration would it imply for existing well-​ordered states? Other IPT theorists who have considered questions of assistance and distributive justice have gone a good bit further than Rawls. They have proposed specific targets for the amount of resources that should be transferred to what Rawls would regard as burdened societies, as well as suggesting a host of institutional reforms at the global level. It is easy to see why those discussing assistance-​based responsibilities have focused on financial transfers, and might hope for a duty of assistance to be specified in these terms—​there is clear appeal in the idea of simply providing money in a way that directly helps other societies. And, prima facie, a case for direct financial assistance as a means of acting on a duty to assist is relatively straightforward. Financial aid promises to relax the budget constraints of the countries that receive it, thereby enabling them to pursue investments designed to improve the wellbeing of their people. Providing aid to governments should serve an important role in the sound management of their affairs, and thus also their ability to reduce the poverty of their people. Aid might enable otherwise burdened societies to maintain their spending during periods of revenue shortfall. Infusions of foreign currency might smooth international transactions over time and thus help to limit short-​term volatility in the exchange rate. Governments can also employ resources made available through aid for longer-​term projects, such as improvements in infrastructure, education, and health care, without imposing the burden of financing them solely on present and future taxpayers. However, one major challenge to any duty of assistance that specifies some level of direct financial provision is the risk that financial assistance will make no positive difference to the lives of those living in burdened societies and, disturbingly, may even worsen their living conditions. Two concerns can be distinguished. The first is that financial transfers may prove futile—​they will be essentially wasted and will fail to achieve the objectives for which they are intended. The second worry is that transfers may prove counterproductive, undermining the very purposes they are intended to achieve. It has been argued that direct financial transfers may inhibit development in a range of ways, for instance by creating a dependency mentality and overwhelming the management capacity of governments (Kanbur 2000); by crowding out private-​sector development

IPT Meets International Public Policy    487 (Bauer 1976); by worsening bureaucratic quality and weakening governance or by undermining competitiveness through Dutch Disease effects (Rajan and Subramanian 2005; 2007). If these concerns are well-​founded, societies will not be well placed to know whether or not they should indeed provide financial support to burdened societies or instead explore other means of helping them. Keith Horton calls this the “Epistemic Problem” of aid (2010). Some political theorists are much more confident when they pronounce on the effects of aid, and continue to formulate duties of assistance explicitly in terms of levels of financial provision. Singer, for example, considers that “[t]‌he worst that can be said with any certainty is that in the past, a lot of official aid has been misconceived and misdirected and has done little good” (Singer 2009: 121). Experts familiar with the literature on aid will find such assessments to be overly sanguine. This is not to say that the case against discharging duties to assist through direct financial provision is sound either. Rather, it is to point out that a great deal of care needs to be taken in making claims about the effectiveness of aid in relieving poverty. To quote two leading contributors to this literature: “the debate about aid effectiveness is one where little is settled” (Rajan 2005: 54) and “[t]he empirical literature on aid effectiveness has yielded unclear and ambiguous results” (Bourguignon and Sundberg 2007: 316; see Chapter 41). What we see in looking closely at this debate, as well as discussion of other measures that might be adopted to promote development, is a great deal of expert disagreement. What position is it reasonable for political theorists to take on matters such as this, where there is expert disagreement? They themselves, of course, are not experts even if they are more conversant with the empirical literature than an ordinary lay person. There is a tendency, when confronted with such disagreement, just to cite and draw on the work of those experts who support what we believe (or hope) to be true. But it is far from clear that this is a responsible epistemic attitude for political theorists to take. When it comes to measures that would be effective in assisting burdened societies, what is notable is not merely the fact of disagreement among those who study the effects of interventions to promote development, but that there do not seem to be clear majority or minority views. Are there heuristics we should adopt? Elizabeth Anderson has sensibly suggested that we can ordinarily exercise “second-​ order capacity to judge trustworthiness and consensus, and access to the information needed to make such judgments” when we encounter expert disagreement about technical policy questions (Anderson 2011:  145). That is, we can identify differences in “credentials, honesty, and epistemic responsibility” of those asserting expertise in some domain. However, it is not clear that the experts on one or the other side of disagreements on topics relating to economic development and poverty relief fall foul of the criteria Anderson identifies. The case is arguably quite different from (for example) the science surrounding climate change, where an overwhelming majority of scientists affirm that human activities have contributed substantially to it, even if they argue heatedly about the details. In the climate case, we are faced not with genuine expert disagreement, but with expert and fraudulent arguments, where we need principle to help us distinguish which is which. But that will not always be the case (see Lane 2014). To be

488   Christian Barry sure, it is good to maintain a healthy suspicion of expert opinion (see Buchanan 2002), but that is not the same as disregarding it or simply cherry-​picking from it. For these reasons, it is generally a mistake for political theorists to formulate their principles in very concrete terms that are linked to particular policy proposals, since doing so will involve making strong assumptions about what are, typically, contested questions of empirical fact. Political theory needs to be conjoined with evidence-​based empirical assessment if it is to yield plausible policy directives. Precisely because interest in IPT is motivated by an interest in the practice of real-​ world politics, there is a risk that the practical implications of some theory will be too readily assumed, or argued on an inadequate base of evidence. IPT is replete with ambitious proposals for reforms of policies and institutional arrangements. Yet international political theorists are often poorly equipped to engage with the complex empirical questions that lie at the heart of questions concerning institutional reform and policy. So it is a virtue, rather than a vice, of a principle like the DA that it is not formulated concretely. This makes it flexible, and not dependent on any particular and contested view of which policies and arrangements best advance the aim of helping burdened societies. It is worth pointing out that, as a whole, Rawls’s IPT might nevertheless be more concrete than would be desirable, and that it therefore makes unwarranted empirical assumptions. Rawls’s theory takes as a given that the world is divided into peoples, and that these peoples possess territorial sovereignty and much the same powers and prerogatives as modern states. Many have questioned, however, whether global justice might not be better achieved by moving away from this sort of Westphalian order; and have pointed out that it has already been eroded in some respects by processes of increased political and economic integration (Buchanan 2000; Valentini 2011). While Rawls may perhaps be correct that his ideal of a Society of Peoples is the best we might reasonably hope for, shouldn’t we at least leave open the possibility that alternative social arrangements might fare better? His domestic theory of justice does not, after all, specify some particular institutional form that a society should take (it could favour a property-​owning democracy or some form of market socialism, for instance), but rather identifies principles that can be used to make comparative assessments of various such forms. Why, critics have reasonably asked, should his theory of global affairs not also be formulated more abstractly, rather than being wedded to the institutional form of the modern state from the beginning (Pogge 2006)? This is consistent with maintaining, as many of Rawls’s more sympathetic readers have done, that the proposals for a more cosmopolitan global order in which the significance of the state is diminished would be infeasible or undesirable (Meckled-​Garcia 2008; Risse 2012).

Precision We might also complain that the DA is not sufficiently precise. A principle is not sufficiently precise if it is articulated in a way that does not lead us to draw out its practical implications, even on the assumption that certain empirical conditions hold. While

IPT Meets International Public Policy    489 admittedly not a concrete principle, the DA could nevertheless be quite precise. It would direct well-​ordered societies to adopt particular policies towards burdened societies, so long as certain empirical circumstances hold, without being formulated on the assumption that any particular conditions exist. Precision is not an all-​or-​nothing affair: principles can be more or less precise. The more precise a principle governing some domain, the more it narrows the range of permissible policies that can be adopted in that domain, assuming that certain empirical circumstances hold. For instance, a principle that states we should always choose policies (among feasible alternatives) that raise the income levels of the bottom-​income decile is more precise than a principle that states we should always choose policies that give somewhat more weight to increasing the income levels of the bottom-​income decile than to increasing the income of groups in other deciles. Note that greater precision would not entail particular policy recommendations. It could instead indicate when some decision procedure should be used to determine policy: for example, when experts disagree as to which of a range of policies would best promote some social objective. An element of procedural justice, then, can be incorporated into the framing of a principle. Insofar as theories aim to be practical, precision is a virtue. But it is also obviously not the only virtue, and many very precise principles will be less plausible than somewhat less precise ones. What then might it mean to criticize a theory for being too imprecise? There is probably no good general answer to this question. One pragmatic way of responding is that, once a principle within some domain reaches a certain level of imprecision, it becomes so indeterminate that it becomes difficult to compare it to competing principles. Indeed, its very meaning becomes unclear. To explore the extent to which the DA is precise, let us consider the different ways in which duty of assistance might be understood. Precisely specifying a duty to assist requires identifying the duty-​bearer, whom the duty is owed to, what it aims to achieve, and how stringent it is. As noted, Rawls is quite clear about the duty-​bearer (well-​ ordered societies), whom it is owed to (burdened societies), and its aims (to facilitate the transition of societies from a burdened status to becoming well-​ordered). But how stringent is the duty? A society’s duty to assist is stringent, in the sense in which I shall use the term, to the extent that it (1) constrains the society and (2) can demand much of it. The duty to assist constrains a society to the extent that it cannot justify refusing to assist burdened societies by appealing to the costs to itself of doing so, or to other valuable ends that its conduct could instead bring about if it does not do so.3 When, if ever, can well-​ordered societies claim to have done all that is required of them by the DA, insofar as not all burdened societies have become well-​ordered? Note that duties can vary widely in terms of their stringency. To illustrate with a traditional example, the duties of individuals to refrain from breaking the limbs of innocent non-​threatening people are ordinarily thought to be very constraining—​the costs they would have to appeal to or the good they would thereby achieve would have to be very large for their conduct to be excusable or justifiable—​whereas the duties to refrain from being impolite are not.

490   Christian Barry Philosophers who have considered duties to assist have tended to focus on how they apply to individual persons. And they have defended duties of differing stringency. Consider, for example, the duty of assistance defended by Peter Singer: “if it is in our power to prevent something bad from happening, without thereby sacrificing anything of comparable moral importance, we ought, morally, to do it” (Singer 1972: 231). This duty of assistance is very stringent indeed. By “without sacrificing anything of comparable moral importance,” Singer means “without causing anything else comparably bad to happen, or doing something that is wrong in itself, or failing to promote some moral good, comparable in significance to the bad thing that we can prevent” (p. 231). Your life, and perhaps some other very serious harm, is pretty much the only cost that could be deemed comparable to the death of a child, impartially considered. We could imagine an analogue of this principle at the level of societies. Placed in the Rawlsian context, it could demand that well-​ordered societies make sacrifices to assist burdened societies up to the point where they would be sacrificing something of comparable moral importance. What would count as being of comparable moral importance? Presumably it would be of comparable importance if the societies were to cease to be well-​ordered, but it is not clear what else would reach this bar. Indeed, it might even require that reasonable liberal peoples, which hold themselves to a higher standard, risk becoming decent societies should this be required as a means of bringing burdened societies into the society of peoples. Rawls insists that, while we should not be concerned with distributive equality globally, we have a duty to ensure that all burdened societies become well-​ordered. The question we are considering is how this goal fits with concern for objectives like domestic egalitarian justice, which require far more than that all citizens have a decent standard of living. Others who have endorsed stringent duties to assist in general have nevertheless thought that these duties can become much less stringent in conditions of non-​ compliance. Liam Murphy, for example, has argued that stringent duties to assist impose their demands unfairly in situations of partial compliance. If an agent is complying with a stringent principle of assistance like Singer’s while others are not, she has not only to do her own fair share but also to take on as much as she can of the shares of the non-​ complying others. Full compliance with a stringent principle like Singer’s might mean that few actually need to make very large sacrifices at all, given that smaller efforts might suffice if all make them. But in the case where there is a great deal of non-​compliance with this principle, some agents might have to make very large sacrifices. On Murphy’s account this would be unfair. To avoid giving rise to such unfairness, Murphy argues that moralities should incorporate a “compliance condition”: “the demands on a complying person should not exceed what they would be under full compliance with the principle” (Murphy 2000: 7). According to Murphy, “what matters are the effects on people’s well-​being of compliance with the agent-​neutral principle; this is what needs to be fairly distributed” (Murphy 2000: 90). David Miller (2011: 239–40) has recently offered a further defence of this sort of position: “by doing my fair share I have discharged my obligation, and the injustice that remains, because of partial compliance, is the responsibility of the non‐compliers,

IPT Meets International Public Policy    491 and only theirs.” Here, too, an analogue might be endorsed at the societal level. Such a condition could be placed, similarly, on societies. The DA might be interpreted to require that each well-​ordered society does only its fair share (as stipulated in the compliance condition) to enable burdened societies to become decent or liberal. Others have endorsed much less stringent interpretations of the duty to assist. T. M. Scanlon (1998: 224), for example, endorses the following principle: If you are presented with a situation in which you can prevent something very bad from happening, or alleviate someone’s dire plight, by making only a slight (or even moderate) sacrifice, then it would be wrong not to do so.

And one could imagine an analogue of this type of principle operating at the societal level. In that case, a reasonable liberal society would have to make some slight or moderate sacrifice to help burdened societies transition towards becoming decent or reasonable liberal peoples. While it is not perhaps obvious what should count as a slight or moderate sacrifice for a society to make, it would nevertheless provide a rough and ready way of assessing whether well-​ordered societies are fulfilling their duty to assist. So which of these quite different ways of understanding the DA is what Rawls has in mind? Is the DA a very stringent principle, requiring quite large sacrifices to assist burdened societies, or a much less stringent one? Does it incorporate a compliance condition, or some comparable principle for limiting the sacrifices well-​ordered societies make to their “fair share,” or not? Strikingly, the text of the Law of Peoples really offers us no clue whatsoever on these critical questions. At no point in this work does Rawls indicate the extent to which members of good standing within the Law of Peoples should make sacrifices to assist burdened societies. It has a clear cut-​off and target point in the sense that we know when a society achieves a status such that other well-​ordered societies owe a duty of assistance to it, but very little clarity about when a well-​ordered society will have done enough, or its fair share, to help societies that remain burdened. One of Rawls’s most sympathetic commentators interprets his view thus: wealthy states are obligated to discharge their duties of assistance prior to committing themselves to national projects such as space exploration or artistic achievement or continued growth in per capita (Gross Domestic Product (GDP)) for the sake of increased material comfort or consumer luxury. This is still a position weaker than that defended by Peter Singer in his famous essay on famine, affluence and morality. (Reidy 2007: 199)

The DA, thus expounded, is rather spectacularly imprecise. It leaves open whether it would require that societies not fund the arts, improve their highway systems, or mitigate inequalities in educational achievement when the resources devoted to furthering these objectives would enable moving some burdened societies marginally closer to becoming well-​ordered.4 But even Reidy’s interpretation of Rawls’s claim is far more precise than anything Rawls explicitly affirms. He does not rule out that the DA could demand sacrifices at the societal level that are on a par with those that Singer’s principle

492   Christian Barry would demand of individuals. This is puzzling, and concerning. It is puzzling because, as we have seen, one could interpret the DA in a way that would require very radical changes to the behaviour of well-​ordered states, or on the contrary view states as fulfilling their duties when they make very small sacrifices to help burdened societies. When people have criticized Rawls’s IPT for being too conservative, they have tended to focus on the fact that it does not incorporate a principle to regulate global inequality. But our discussion of the possible ways of specifying the DA suggest that we cannot really assess how conservative or radical his doctrine is. If it demands that well-​ordered societies reduce themselves to a very low standard of living when this is required to assist burdened societies, it is very radical, quite apart from whether it permits inequalities. This lack of precision leaves unclear which of a state’s own domestic expenditures on its own citizens or policies it might adopt when interacting with others that should count as consistent with justice or not. It is hard to judge whether the DA succeeds in Rawls’s aim of exploring the limits of practical possibility.

Conclusion In this chapter, I’ve contrasted two different ways in which an IPT might aspire to be practical. It might be concrete—​spelling out specific policy requirements—​or it might be precise—​giving practical advice conditional on certain empirical assumptions holding. I’ve argued that IPT should avoid concreteness, given epistemic limitations, but embrace precision.

Acknowledgements Many thanks to Chris Armstrong, Chris Brown, Robyn Eckersley, Katie Steele, and Laura Valentini for comments on an earlier version of this essay. I also gratefully acknowledge the support of the Australian Research Council.

Notes 1. Controversially, Rawls’s conception of human rights is somewhat truncated, and excludes many liberal rights that have appeared on lists of human rights in international law. For discussion, see Tasioulas (2005). 2. As Chris Armstrong (2009) notes, some of Rawls’s interpreters have failed to recognize this important feature. 3. The terminology here is developed in Barry and Øverland (2016). On the idea of the appeal to cost, see Kagan (1991) and Haydar (2009). 4. Reidy (2007:  200, n.  13)  himself seems to acknowledge this, noting that it is not clear whether Rawls’s DA would require that well-​ordered societies sacrifice democratic or liberal welfare rights to assist burdened societies.

IPT Meets International Public Policy    493

References Anderson, E. (2011). Democracy, Public Policy, and Lay Assessments of Scientific Testimony. Episteme 8(2): 144–64. Armstrong, C. (2009). Defending the Duty of Assistance. Social Theory and Practice 35(3): 461–​82. Barry, C., and G. E. Øverland (2016). Responding to Global Poverty:  Harm, Agency, and Responsibility (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Bauer, P. (1976). Dissent on Development (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press). Beitz, C. (2000). Rawls’ Law of Peoples. Ethics 110(4): 669–96. Bourguignon, F., and M. Sundberg (2007). Aid Effectiveness: Opening the Black Box. American Economic Review 97(2): 316–21. Buchanan, A. (2000). Rawls’s Law of Peoples: Rules for a Vanished Westphalian World. Ethics 110(4): 697–​721. Buchanan, A. (2002). Social Moral Epistemology. Social Philosophy and Policy 19(2): 126–52. Caney, S. (2005). Justice Beyond Borders: A Global Political Theory (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Freeman, S. (2007). Justice and the Social Contract:  Essays on Rawlsian Political Philosophy (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Galston, W. (2010). Realism in Political Theory. European Journal of Political Theory 9(4): 384–​411. Goodin, R. E. (1995). Political Ideals and Political Practice. British Journal of Political Science 25: 37–56. Haydar, B. (2009). Special Responsibility and the Appeal to Cost. Journal of Political Philosophy 17(2): 129–45. Horton, K. (2010). The Epistemic Problem: Potential Solutions. In K. Horton and C. Roche (eds), Ethical Questions and International NGOs:  An Exchange between Philosophers and NGOs (Dordrecht: Springer), 87–​118. Kagan, S. (1991). The Limits of Morality (Oxford: Clarendon Press). Kanbur, R. (2000). Aid, Conditionality, and Debt in Africa. In F. Tarp (ed.), Foreign Aid and Development: Lessons Learnt and Directions for the Future (New York: Routledge), 318–28. Lane, M. (2014). When the Experts Are Uncertain: Scientific Knowledge and the Ethics of Democratic Judgment. Episteme 11(1): 97–​118. Meckled-​Garcia, S. (2008). On the Very Idea of Cosmopolitan Justice: Constructivism and International Agency. Journal of Political Philosophy 16(3): 245–​7 1. Miller, D. (2011). Taking up the Slack? Responsibility and Justice in Situations of Partial Compliance. In C. Knight and Z. Stemplowska (eds), Responsibility and Distributive Justice (Oxford: Oxford University Press), 230–45. Moellendorf, D. (2002). Cosmopolitan Justice (Boulder, Colo.: Westview Press). Murphy, L. B. (2000). Moral Demands in Non-​Ideal Theory (New  York:  Oxford University Press). Pogge, T. (2004). “Assisting” the Global Poor. In D. K. Chatterjee (ed.), The Ethics of Assistance: Morality and the Distant Needy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press), 260–88. Pogge, T. (2006). Do Rawls’ Two Theories of Justice Fit Together? In R. Martin and D. A. Reidy (eds), Rawls’ Law of Peoples (Oxford: Blackwell), 206–25. Rajan, R. (2005). Aid and Growth: The Policy Challenge. Finance and Development 42(4): 53–5. Rajan, R., and A. Subramanian (2005). What Undermines Aid’s Impact on Growth? NBER Working Paper no. 11657 (Cambridge, Mass.: National Bureau of Economic Research).

494   Christian Barry Rajan, R., and A. Subramanian (2007). Does Aid Affect Governance? American Economic Review 97(2): 322–7. Rawls, J. (1993). The Law of Peoples. In S. Shute and S. Hurley (eds), On Human Rights (New York: Basic Books), 41–​82. Rawls, J. (1999a). The Law of Peoples (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press). Rawls, J. (1999b). A Theory of Justice, 2nd edn (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press). Rawls, J. (2001). Justice as Fairness:  A Restatement (Cambridge, Mass.:  Harvard University Press). Reidy, D. A. (2004). Rawls on International Justice: A Defense. Political Theory 32(3): 291–​319. Reidy, D. A. (2007). A Just Global Economy: In Defense of Rawls. Journal of Ethics 11(2): 193–236. Risse, M. (2012). On Global Justice (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press). Scanlon, T. M. (1998). What We Owe to Each Other (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press). Singer, P. (1972). Famine, Affluence and Morality. Philosophy and Public Affairs 1(3): 229–43. Singer, P. (2009). The Life You Can Save (New York: Random House). Tan, K. C. (2004). Justice Without Borders:  Cosmopolitanism, Nationalism and Patriotism (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Tasioulas, J. (2005). Global Justice Without End? In C. Barry and T. Pogge (eds), Global Institutions and Responsibilities (Oxford: Blackwell), 2–28. Valentini, L. (2011) Justice in a Globalized World: A Normative Framework (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Wenar, L. (2006). Why Rawls Is Not a Cosmopolitan Egalitarian. In R. Martin and D. A. Reidy (eds), Rawls’ Law of Peoples (Oxford: Blackwell), 95–​113.

­c hapter 37

Et hical Foreig n P ol i c y i n a Multip ol a r Worl d Tim Dunne

A striking feature of writings on International Relations (IR) over the last three decades is the burgeoning interest in applying insights grounded in normative theory to the practice of foreign policy. This is not to say that foreign policy was devoid of theoretical and normative reasoning prior to the end of the Cold War—​far from it: foreign policy has always been “for someone and for some purpose,” to use Robert Cox’s often-​ cited remark. To simply ask the who/​what question is to reveal a saturation of implicit and explicit claims about communities and peoples—​what they own, what they covet, who their friends and rivals are, what memories and experiences shape and frame their expectations, how resources are distributed between classes and peoples, and what aspirations communities have about their future. This saturation of theoretical and normative reasoning is evident in the doctrinal statements periodically issued by great powers (Wohlforth 2016). Take, for example, George Kennan’s famous “long telegram” that reset US foreign policy in the post-​1945 period. Initially, the US State Department was positive towards the Soviet Union given that they had been such an important ally in the defeat of Nazi Germany. Kennan’s response was to warn of the threat that communism posed in light of its expansionist logic—​a prescription that provided the underpinnings of the strategy of containment pursued for much of the Cold War. Towards the end of the diplomatic cable, Kennan (1946) embeds his realist account in a strongly moralist reading of the relationship between the domestic politic and foreign policy: “Every courageous and incisive measure,” he wrote, “to solve internal problems of our own society, to improve self-​ confidence, discipline, morale and community spirit of our own people, is a diplomatic victory over Moscow worth a thousand diplomatic notes and joint communiqués.” So the formulation of foreign policy has always been shaped by political ideas and values—​and the contestation around the validity of those doctrines has equally drawn on other competing ideas and values. Yet, despite this mutual interdependence in the practice of politics, ethics and foreign policy have had a troubled history in the

496   Tim Dunne discipline of IR. As I discuss in the first section, the sources of this estrangement are many and complex. To begin with, a plurality of moral codes evolve out of particular cultural and historical traditions. In their pioneering collection of essays on ethical traditions, Terry Nardin and David Mapel (1992) identify at least twelve languages of moral debate. Forms of moral reasoning cut across these diverse languages, with some privileging consequentialist patterns of thought and action and others tending towards deontological reasoning: a realist (consequentialist) and a pacifist (de-​ontological) may both agree that passivity in the face of provocation is the preferable path—​although the reasons each gives for how she or he arrived at this position would be mutually unintelligible. The inference here is that we immediately encounter a hermeneutic dilemma in understanding ethics and foreign policy: in applying ethical principles to particular situations, practitioners encounter situational impediments which often compromise the purity of the principle(s) in question; and, relatedly, practitioners in ministries of state, or CEOs of non-​governmental organizations for that matter, are rarely trained in theology or philosophy, and thus the doctrines they draw upon are often poorly understood and inconsistently applied. A further complication is whether moral standards should be understood as aspirations—​something that we should all strive to reach—​or whether they are so embedded in the everyday world of politics that it is impossible to treat ethics as a discrete “dimension” (as politicians frequently describe the relationship between ethics and the pursuit of other goals). As I argue in the second section, an upside with treating ethics as a standard is that the scholar or activist can evaluate political conduct in relation to a normative goal an actor has set for themselves or, perhaps more importantly, has been forged in and through dialogue and consensus. It follows that if ethics is understood as a standard that is external to the decision-​maker, we are then able to judge the conduct of foreign policy practitioners not in terms of the purity of their reasoning or judgement but rather in terms of the acceptability of their conduct relative to standards set by the relevant political community. This does not mean that those standards or rules must always be followed, only that when they are not, the relevant actor or institution provides an adequate justification for why this would not have been the right thing to do in the circumstances. When thinking about ethics as embodying standards that must be upheld, we quickly encounter the thorny question as to whether collective actors such as states and institutions should be thought of as having rights and duties in the way that we routinely speak about individuals in civil society. Again, different ethical traditions will provide alternative accounts of whether states are capable of being rights-​holders and duty-​bearers. Even if one is cautious about the claim that states are “like people” when it comes to making commitments or taking decisions, it has long been established that officers of the state are responsible for their actions. The Nuremberg trials held in 1945–​6 characterized certain actions as being in violation of the law of nations, for which violators bore international criminal responsibility. The obligation not to commit crimes against humanity notably widened the idea of international responsibilities away from an earlier presumption that it applied solely to combatants: civilians could also be war criminals.

Ethical Foreign Policy in a Multipolar World    497 The development of law and norms in relation to the idea of common humanity is a striking feature of the contemporary global order. Many scholars engaged in debates about the content and application of ethics to foreign policy have been drawn to “humanitarianism” for both normative and analytical reasons (see Chapter  22). Normatively, humanitarianism is undergirded by the simple but widely held view that all people are of equal moral worth regardless of geography, class, gender, race, and religion. Analytically, the international humanitarian order rests on a sometimes implicit claim that there has been a transformation in the basic category of political authority in world politics. If there is now a consensus that the moral purpose of international society now includes efforts to protect “those in peril” and prevent unnecessary harm, then the case can be made that international order has been either modified or transformed beyond earlier conceptions of Westphalian sovereignty (Barnett 2011: 1). The reason for foregrounding human rights in this chapter is explained in part because it is a good illustration of how of ethics and foreign policy are configured in practice. Other cases that could have been featured, such as the responsibility that falls on governments and peoples to end or alleviate world poverty (Tan 2010) (see Chapters 9 and 27). Not only is human rights a good illustrative case for intrinsic reasons, it is also the case that the practitioners featured in the chapter all converged on “rights talk” in their particular variants of internationalism. In the conclusion, I consider the resilience of the liberal internationalist conception of ethics and foreign policy given two related trends: first, the retreat of the European Union and the United States from the assertive internationalism that marked their foreign policies during the post-​1990 period; and second, the challenge that developing countries and rising powers pose to doctrines and mandates which undermine their sovereign right to determine the rules and values which govern their political community.

Ethics and Foreign Policy: Awkward Partners? Before delving deeper into the relationship between ethics and foreign policy, it is important to settle on a definition of what we mean by foreign policy. The most inclusive conception is offered by Christopher Hill. He defines foreign policy as “the sum of official external relations conducted by an independent actor (usually a state) in international relations” (Smith, Hadfield, and Dunne 2016: 3). As the quotation from Kennan illustrated, these external relations are made possible by prior moral values and beliefs, while at the same time being mechanisms by which these values are defended or extended. Given the interplay that has always existed between ethics and politics, it would be reasonable to assume that ethics have been at the forefront of thinking about foreign

498   Tim Dunne policy. They have not. For much of the brief history of IR, foreign policy has either consciously or subconsciously marginalized ethical reasoning. Consider, briefly, two explanations for this awkward partnership.

The Discipline of IR: Seeing like a State As a first cut, consider the objections of some variants of realism to considerations of ethics. In a strictly Hobbesian view of the system of states—​being one in which war and conflict is the regular case—​the only foreign policy worth pursuing is one where survival is the “end” and self-​interest is the “means.” In the same vein, modern realists such as E. H. Carr referred to the idealists of the interwar period as “wishful thinkers,” abstract moralists who were sleepwalking their way into another total war. Many would argue that Carr’s position on ethics in The Twenty Years’ Crisis was more sophisticated than earlier accounts implied, seeing realism and utopianism as two logics that interact in a complex and contingent manner (Booth 1991). Whatever the “right” reading of Carr, his initial reception became a justification for the primacy of pursuing narrow national security interests ahead of lofty (and often hypocritical) claims to be promoting international morality. If the so-​called “first great debate” provided one set of reasons for the marginalization of the study of ethics in foreign policy, the “second great debate” gave another. As the discipline of IR evolved in the 1960s, albeit slowly and confined mainly to a dozen or so leading universities in the UK and the USA, it developed a momentum towards a scientific approach to policy and practice. The story about how IR underwent a behavioural revolution in the 1960s has been told many times (Knorr and Rosenau 1969; Holsti 1991; Hollis and Smith 1990), and there is no need to rehearse these arguments here. Suffice to say that the elusive quest to generate empirical laws about how and why states behave has effectively marginalized consideration of ethics in the formulation of foreign policy. By the 1970s, in the American heartland of the emerging discipline, a new generation of social scientists used game theory to understand the conditions under which states would cooperate or defect. In this methodology, there was no place for classical questions about how leaders ought to act or where their value preferences came from. Drawing on a different form of scientific method, Kenneth Waltz (1979) closed out the decade with a powerful claim that the international was a discrete realm with its own causal logic. The system was so dominant that it conveyed foreign-​policy priorities to state leaders similarly to how individual consumers conformed to the laws of supply and demand. In this context, it is not surprising that the revival of ethical theorizing about foreign policy came from philosophy rather than IR, with Michael Walzer, Charles Beitz, and to a lesser extent Peter Singer all formulating moral theories and arguments that spoke directly to ethics in world politics. There is no doubt that the insights from these and other moral philosophers raised the standard of normative thinking in IR. Walzer’s “morality of states” paradigm was familiar to those working within an international

Ethical Foreign Policy in a Multipolar World    499 society framework, although Walzer (1977) posed more sharply the conundrums and dilemmas associated with modern applications of the just war tradition. Beitz’s (1979) cosmopolitan commitments enabled him to advance a powerful argument in favour of global redistributive justice, questioning why artificial state borders should be allowed to determine ownership of natural resources. Interventions by political and moral philosophers provided an impetus to the development of normative theorizing in IR; at the same time, some of the limitations of philosophies of the international were exposed. One limitation was the tendency among those of a cosmopolitan persuasion to privilege a post-​sovereign understanding of a world community. This can lead to an ill-​thought-​out belief in the capability and moral standing of global civil society despite concerns about the unaccountable and undemocratic power that they wield (Brown 2003). A second limitation relates to the tendency among certain forms of political theory to construct what Rawls calls “ideal theory” rather than “telling us how to get on in the world as it is” (cited in Brown 2002: 20).

The Return of Ethics in Foreign Policy As IR began to take a normative turn in the 1980s and early 1990s, evident in pathbreaking books by Linklater (1982) and Brown (1992), we saw serious engagement not only with philosophical thought but also with questions and dilemmas in the formulation of contemporary foreign policy. Linklater was involved in a pioneering collaborative project on ethics and foreign policy which debated Gareth Evans’s concept of “good international citizenship” (Keal 1992). Evans was Australia’s foreign minister from 1988 to 1996 at a time when the constraints of the Cold War were loosening. For Evans, good international citizenship was an attempt to find a third way between realism and idealism. He rejected realism on the grounds that the national interest was necessarily opposed to the promotion of human rights. He rejected idealism on the grounds that politics necessarily involved the problem of “dirty hands,” as opposed to believing that divergent interests could always be reconciled. Evans was taken by Hedley Bull’s (1973) injunction that they ought to pursue “purposes beyond themselves” but not at all costs. We see this mixture of moral purpose and pragmatism in Evans’s writings and speeches on the Responsibility to Protect (see Chapter 25). One element in his criteria for intervention is what he calls “the balance of consequences” (Evans 2009: 20); in other words, even when the moral case for armed intervention is unanswerable, it still doesn’t make it the right policy choice. It may be, for example, that the perpetrators of the atrocities cannot be effectively targeted without significant civilian casualties; or that the state committing the crime may have powerful allies who are prepared to threaten military strikes against the intervening powers. The second contemporary case study that attracted the attention of IR scholars interested in ethics and foreign policy was the arrival in office of the first Blair government in May 1994. Foreign Secretary Robin Cook was bold enough not only to set out a foreign policy strategy for the UK but also to openly declare that it had to have “an ethical

500   Tim Dunne dimension” (1997). Human rights were to be at the heart of this new foreign policy. Not surprisingly, this aspect of Labour’s new thinking on foreign policy attracted considerable attention from the media but also from the IR academy. It is commonplace for this “ethical dimension” to be cited as the principal innovation in New Labour’s approach to foreign policy, implying that previous administrations have not pursued an ethical foreign policy. The inference that ethics have been “added and stirred” into the rest of the agenda underestimates the extent to which British foreign policy has always accommodated a particular understanding of ethics, in terms of both who the community is and how it is to be enhanced or secured. Indeed, Cook himself implied that ethics was something which was separate from the rest of the policy process, as though security, trade, and the environment stood outside of normative questions about what is to be valued and who is to be privileged. In contrast to this view of morality as something which is separate from other interests and which can be taken up (or left out) by a Foreign Secretary at will, foreign policy can never be “morality-​free” (Booth 1997). The question that interested IR theorists during the 1990s was whether the discourse emerging from practitioners such as Evans and Cook evidenced a normative shift in the moral responsibilities of states (Wheeler and Dunne 1998). The point here is that it was arguably misplaced to measure normative change by how far liberal states were prepared to use force in defence of distant strangers. This kind of humanitarian intervention has always been the exception rather than the rule. Instead, a better test was to grasp whether there had been a change in international legitimacy. Two related shifts suggested this had been the case. Within liberal states, it had become increasingly difficult for state leaders to claim that protecting human rights abroad was of no concern to them (even if there were moral or prudential reasons why non-​intervention was preferred in practice). Also, by the early 1990s, it was evident that the regimes of all members of international society were now exposed to “to the legitimate appraisal of their peers,” as R. J. Vincent (1986: 152) had anticipated in his classic work on human rights. Returning to the Australia case, we see how the internationalism of the 1990s sought to cooperate to achieve collective goods across a range of issue-​specific regimes, including peace operations, arms control, the environment, drugs, and refugees. Evans recognized that Australia, as a middle power lacking significant military capabilities, had a long-​term security interest in promoting a rule-​governed international order; and here we see how good international citizenship is compatible with the goals of both national security and international order. What this third way conception of foreign policy did not confront head-​on was the thorny question of what is to be done when the national interest cannot be reconciled with an international norm. One creative answer comes from Andrew Linklater, who argued that good international citizens are not required to sacrifice their vital security interests out of fidelity to the rules of international society, but they are required “to put the welfare of international society ahead of the relentless pursuit of [their] own national interests” (1992: 28–​9). The dilemmas addressed in this literature reflected the stark tension that existed in world politics between the dominant sovereignty-​based order and the growing

Ethical Foreign Policy in a Multipolar World    501 aspiration for all peoples to have their basic human rights protected. Thinking about ethics and foreign policy according to this order/​justice dualism—​and the different configurations of it advanced by so-​called pluralists and solidarists—​proved to be both productive and limiting. Productive in the sense that normative change within international society was illustrated by the emergence of practices that challenged the sovereignty-​based order. Limiting in the sense that the cases tended to be restricted to a handful of Western powers (Lawler 2005), whose attachments to ethical standards proved to be uneven at best or hypocritical at worst if we take the 2003 Iraq war as being illustrative. Those who had opened up to the possibility that the UK, Australia, and Canada might realign their foreign policies in accordance with “good international citizenship” were confronted by the reality that the powerful liberal states had become highly prone to war against non-​Western powers who allegedly constituted a threat to national security. One effect of this stark reality was to shift the ethics and foreign policy debate away from evaluating the conduct of particular states and towards a focus on the changing character of norms and responsibilities within international regimes and institutions. In the following section, I look at this evolving normative order, starting with an overview of human rights and their eventual intrusion into foreign policy-​making.

Which Ethics? Human Rights and Humanitarianism While the articulation of a general obligation “to protect innocents abroad” can be found in texts as early as Grotius’ Laws of War and Peace, the institutionalization of human rights is largely a post-​1945 phenomena. Shortly after the guns and bombs fell silent, the new United Nations system incorporated the idea of universal community of humankind into its founding documents, including the UN Charter (1945) as well as the Universal Declaration of Human Rights (1948) and the Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide (1948). These documents were strong with respect to advocating for the defence of human rights within the territorial boundaries of the state; yet they were weak with respect to the obligations that states incurred when confronted with humanitarian emergencies occurring beyond their borders. As the fragile post-​1945 peace collapsed and Cold War rivalry began to dominate the foreign policy agenda, human rights became marginal to the priorities of the major powers in the international system. This point was crisply made by Henry Kissinger, who described “the protection of basic human rights” as being “a very sensitive aspect of the domestic jurisdiction of [ . . . ] governments” (cited in Foot 2000: 42). In other words, despite the normative ambition of the Charter, the Declaration, and the anti-​genocide Convention, the prevailing standard of legitimacy in international relations remained very much on the side of the sovereign rather than rights of individuals to be protected from unnecessary harm.

502   Tim Dunne

The Power of Principled Norms: Human Rights The primacy accorded to national security did not completely drown out the conversation that had begun at the beginning of the United Nations order. This is evident in the debate between Eastern and Western Europe about establishing a rules-​based system that would normalize relations between the two spheres. By the late 1960s, policy-​makers in the European Community were increasingly interested in coordinating their foreign policies and promoting values of democracy and liberty for all European peoples. The process that Western Europe favoured to pursue their normative goals was a Conference on Security and Cooperation in Europe (CSCE). The communiqué of the 1975 CSCE, known as the Helsinki Final Act, recognized the territorial status quo between East and West. Despite protestations at the inclusion of human rights into the discussions, the Soviet Union wanted the normalization sufficiently keenly that it signed up to a text that included norms stipulating that the protection of human rights was a legitimate component of the diplomatic process among the thirty-five members of the CSCE process. The Soviet Union even published the entire text of the Final Act in the newspaper Izvestia, presumably to draw attention to its diplomatic achievements. But in so doing, it had unwittingly provided a focal point for Soviet dissidents and prompted the creation of numerous INGOs—​called Helsinki Watch Committees—​to monitor Soviet compliance with its terms (Foot 2000: 41; Thomas 2001). One important conclusion that should be drawn from the Helsinki process, and the subsequent influence that human rights thinking exerted on the reforming Soviet regime led by Mikhail Gorbachev, is the way principled norms are socialized and diffused. By “norms” in relation to human rights, we mean “standards of governance that impose positive and negative obligations on states to ensure the basic security, freedom, and dignity of individuals and groups within their jurisdiction” (Thomas 2001: 8). The eventual fall of the communist regime in the Soviet Union showed that governments were often not in control of the process that they had started back in 1975. Even a state as formidable as the Soviet Union was unable to withstand the unrelenting resistance mounted by domestic and transnational NGOs working with dissidents, intellectuals, and trade unionists. Alongside persuasion, the case also shows how governments can be entangled in a web of their own deceit and double standards. This entrapment was neatly captured by Charter 77, the political movement campaigning for democracy and freedom in Czechoslovakia. Talking back to their communist occupiers from the East, they said: “you have signed this, you must honour this” (Thomas 2005: 128). This particular story had two endings. In the case of Russia, the reforms that were impacted by human rights and common security were insufficiently institutionalized to withstand the rise of authoritarian rule supported by populist nationalism. Yet losing Russia to the liberal international order does not detract “in any way from the contribution that human rights ideas and norms made to ending the Cold War” (Thomas 2005: 140). It was the language and struggle concerning universal rights and freedoms that enabled the powerless peoples of Eastern Europe to become powerful.

Ethical Foreign Policy in a Multipolar World    503

The Humanitarian Order and its Critics While individual states, including great powers, can disengage from their international responsibilities to protect human rights, that does not necessarily foretell “the end of the human rights era” (Ignatieff 2002). The reason for this resilience lies in the globalization of humanitarianism. Almost every UN Security Resolution includes passages on humanitarian relief and civilian protection; multilateral conferences on the environment or development agree to goals to reduce the harms experienced by the “bottom billion”; thousands of NGOs campaign for improvements in compliance with a long list of human rights agreements in relation to basic freedoms, welfare rights, and the improvement of labour conditions. All these initiatives, practices, and struggles bear witness to the fact that there has been a significant and growing consensus, among practitioners and peoples alike, that the moral purpose of states and non-​state actors should be to protect those in immediate danger and to prevent unnecessary suffering. Michael Barnett (2011: 1) refers to these moral sensibilities, embodied “in discourses of compassion, responsibility, and care,” as an international humanitarian order. Protecting and preventing human suffering is often associated with a liberal rights-​ based understanding of ethics; it is also the case, however, that an orientation to protect all life resonates in a multiplicity of religions and civilizations. The more relevant question is not where this ethical commitment comes from so much as how widely it is held. This is not just a question of the degree to which there is a consensus that unnecessary suffering is a bad thing; it is also a question of how deeply held this conviction is. In short, how much do “we” (those living in relative security and prosperity) care about “them” (the impoverished and dispossessed)? If we think about this question in relation to the actions and decisions taken by states, we are likely to conclude that the humanitarian order only captures part of a wider world political system in which many states continue to formulate their foreign policies in relation to economic and strategic priorities. The aspiration of the internationalist, that states act as “local agents of a world common good” (Bull 1984), is hard to reconcile with the lack of progress in relation to the goals and values agreed to by various UN bodies (such as the seventeen “global goals” which guide the UN development agency’s work). The plain fact is that states, particularly great powers, continue to be wary of signing up to conventions or declarations that bind them to take action in pursuit of cosmopolitan ends. Far from living up to their special responsibilities as great powers, the experience of the post-​1945 order is one in which even the worst atrocities such as genocide have not been prevented or responded to in a decisive and timely manner. And where UN agencies have intervened in the name of international peace and security, they are often perceived in the global South as being little better than the colonizers who preceded them.

504   Tim Dunne Should we conclude that the humanitarian order is a sham? Do state leaders and their scribes merely pay lip service to their obligations to protect peoples from harm and prevent unnecessary suffering? Many do in fact believe that humanitarianism is some kind of malaise: lots of public and private actors busily trying to do good while unintentionally generating unhealthy economic dependencies and creating social relationships that are hierarchical and racialized. The response given by proponents of the IHO is that it would be naive to think that the order “operates free from power and politics” (Barnett 2011: 15). Even when foreign policies are guided by a duty to prevent or protect other peoples from harm, it is always likely to be the case that other considerations intervene—​not least other moral values that would weigh heavily on the shoulders of decision-​makers, such as the safety and security of their service personnel. Power and politics will also collide with moral obligations when it comes to the resourcing of humanitarian operations. How and why some disasters get significant aid relief and others are met with indifference shows that the humanitarian order is layered with degrees of complexity and inconsistency. The project of conjoining liberal conceptions of ethics to foreign policy is at best incomplete. Writing over fifty years ago, Herbert Butterfield and Martin Wight (1966) captured this tension neatly when they wrote about statecraft as being informed both by “principles of prudence and moral obligation.” A fundamental reason why prudence mattered to these classical scholars is that they recognized the fact of cultural diversity, and that institutions had to mediate these differences for the sake of the common good of order (Bull 1977).

Conclusion This chapter began by suggesting that ethics and foreign policy have always been awkward partners. There are many layers to this claim which need to be “peeled” back. Conventional accounts of the history of IR often represent a stark rupture between realism’s account of power politics and internationalism’s aspirations to promote duties beyond borders. Even if it is true that many self-​styled realists were partly responsible for the rupture, it is nevertheless important to question whether realism was always more hospitable to ethics than IR historiography has hitherto taken for granted. In Chapter 48 of this Handbook, Duncan Bell makes this point very well when he demythologizes the view that “realists deny space for moral reflection in international politics.” So instead of buying into this version of IR’s past, one could argue that the normative theory revivalists of the 1990s might have been better placed re-​evaluating the ethical claims of classical realists rather than reaching for the “ideal theory” that characterized Rawls’s and Beitz’s conception of the international. If Bell is right about IR’s past, classical realists such as Carr, Morgenthau, and Herz would certainly have been unsurprised to see the retreat from internationalism by many liberal states initially after 9/​11 and subsequently with the shift to the authoritarian “right” in 2016.

Ethical Foreign Policy in a Multipolar World    505 Narratives of humanitarianism that were discussed in relation to the Helsinki process through to the end of the Cold War can be seen as an attempt to reconstitute the relationship between ethics and foreign policy along more harmonious lines. With these narratives, an attempt is made to overcome the tension within the awkward partnership, as foreign policy behaviours are driven by, and evaluated against, liberal norms and standards. The claim that there exists an international humanitarian order is an example of the integration of the two domains: in this world, the policies of states and NGOs have to be aligned with liberal universalist values and beliefs. Aspirations to bring harmony to the relationship between ethics and foreign policy have had their day, for now at least. Liberalism is in retreat both as a comprehensive doctrine and as a compass to guide the ship of state. A new multipolarity is replacing the liberal international order, and with its demise, many universal rights claims will be renegotiated in the process. This pivot towards a more polycentric order presents an opportunity to recover realist conceptions of ethics where the realm of the political is understood to have its own logic such that it imposes moral limits on international actors (Rossi and Sleat 2014). In the context of the irreducibility of value conflicts among states and peoples, a tolerable level of international order may be preferable to the risk of striving for the greater good only to find that such normative ambition has undermined the consensus that exists on the basic conditions for cooperation.

Acknowledgements I would like to acknowledge the constructive feedback received from the editors and the research assistance provided by Dr Constance Duncombe.

References Barnett, M. (2011). Empire of Humanity: A History of Humanitarianism (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press). Beitz, C. (1979). Political Theory and International Relations (Princeton, NJ:  Princeton University Press). Booth, K. (1991). Security in Anarchy: Utopian Realism in Theory and Practice. International Affairs 67(3): 527–​45. Booth, K. (1997). Exporting Ethics in Place of Arms. Times Higher Education Supplement, 7 Nov. [Online; accessed 19 Apr. 2017.] https://​www.timeshighereducation.com/​features/​ exporting-​ethics-​in-​place-​of-​arms/​104492.article Brown, C. (1992). International Relations Theory: New Normative Approaches (Montreal and Kingston, Ont.: McGill-​Queen’s Press). Brown, C. (2002). The Construction of a “Realistic Utopia”:  John Rawls and International Political Theory. Review of International Studies 28(1): 5–​21. Brown, C. (2003). Selective Humanitarianism: In Defense of Inconsistency. In D. K. Chatterjee and D. E. Scheid (eds), Ethics and Foreign Intervention (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press), 31–​52.

506   Tim Dunne Bull, H. (1973). Options for Australia. In G. McCarthy (ed.), Foreign Policy for Australia: Choices for the Seventies (Sydney: Angus & Robertson), 137–​83. Bull, H. (1977). The Anarchical Society: A Study of Order in World Politics (New York: Columbia University Press). Bull, H. (1984). Justice in International Relations: Hagey Lectures (Waterloo, Ont.: University of Waterloo). Butterfield, H., and M. Wight (eds) (1966). Diplomatic Investigations: Essays in the Theory of International Politics (Sydney: Allen and Unwin). Cook, R. (1997). British Foreign Policy. Speech to the House of Commons, 12 May. http://​www. guardian.co.uk/​world/​1997/​may/​12/​indonesia.ethicalforeignpolicy Evans, G. (2009). The Responsibility to Protect. In R. Cooper and J. V. Kohler (eds), Responsibility to Protect (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan), 15–​29. Foot, R. (2000). Rights Beyond Borders: The Global Community and the Struggle over Human Rights in China (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Hollis, M., and M. Smith (1990). Explaining and Understanding International Relations (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Holsti, K. (1991) Change in the International System (Cheltenham: Edward Elgar). Ignatieff, M. (2002). Is the Human Rights Era Ending? New York Times, 5 Feb., A25. Keal, P. (ed.) (1992). Ethics and Foreign Policy (Sydney: Allen and Unwin). Kennan, G. (1946). Telegram: George Kennan to George Marshall (“the Long Telegram”). [Online; accessed 19 Apr. 2017.] http://​nsarchive.gwu.edu/​coldwar/​documents/​episode-​1/​ kennan.htm Knorr, K., and J. N. Rosenau (1969). Contending Approaches to International Relations (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press). Lawler, P. (2005). The Good State:  In Praise of “Classical” Internationalism. Review of International Studies 31(3): 427–​49. Linklater, A. (1982). Men and Citizens in the Theory of International Relations (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan). Linklater, A. (1992). What is a Good International Citizen? In P. Keal (ed.), Ethics and Foreign Policy (Sydney: Allen and Unwin), 21–​43. Nardin, T., and D. R. Mapel (1992). Traditions of International Ethics (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Rossi, E., and E. Sleat (2014). Realism in Normative Political Theory. Philosophy Compass 9(10): 689–​701. Smith, S., A. Hadfield, and T. Dunne (eds) (2016). Introduction. In S. Smith, A. Hadfield, and T. Dunne (eds), Foreign Policy: Theories, Actors, Cases, 3rd edn (Oxford: Oxford University Press), 1–​12. Tan, K.-​C. (2010). Poverty and Global Distributive Justice. In D. Bell (ed.), Ethics and World Politics (Oxford: Oxford University Press), 256–​73. Thomas, D. C. (2001). The Helsinki Effect: International Norms, Human Rights, and the Demise of Communism (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press). Thomas, D. C. (2005). Human Rights Ideas, the Demise of Communism, and the End of the Cold War. Journal of Cold War Studies 7(2): 110–​41. Vincent, R. J. (1986). Human Rights and International Relations (Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press). Waltz, K. (1979). Theory of International Relations (Reading, Mass.: Addison-​Wesley).

Ethical Foreign Policy in a Multipolar World    507 Walzer, M. (1977). Just and Unjust War (New York: Basic Books). Wheeler, N. J., and T. Dunne (1998). Good International Citizenship: A Third Way for British Foreign Policy. International Affairs 74(4): 847–​70. Wohlforth, W. (2016). Realism and Foreign Policy. In S. Smith, A. Hadfield, and T. Dunne (eds), Foreign Policy: Theories, Actors, Cases, 3rd edn (Oxford: Oxford University Press), 35–​53.

­c hapter 38

Fair Trade Unde r Fi re How to Think about Fair Trade in Theory and Practice Nicole Hassoun

Efforts to promote fair trade are under fire—​critics argue that there is no obligation to purchase Fair Trade certified products, and that doing so may even be counterproductive. This chapter addresses a few of these worries and offers a new approach to arguing about what makes trade fair. It understands arguments about fairness in trade to be quite wide-​ranging—​to include everything from disputes about whether free trade is fair to whether fairness requires purchasing particular “Fair Trade certified” products. It is not concerned with justice simpliciter or with fairness outside of trade relationships. It asks: to what extent must ethical principles governing fairness in trade engage with the real-​world politics of trade? What should the relationship be between ethical trade theory and empirical research on international trade? In “Fair Trade: What Does It Mean and Why Does It Matter?” David Miller considers three broad accounts of fair trade that, he suggests, might just focus on different (and potentially conflicting) aspects of fairness in trade (Miller 2010). On some accounts, what matters is procedural fairness. The rules of trade have to be fair for all, and outcomes are irrelevant. Often these accounts assume that trading partners are self-​interested, and focus on equality of opportunity to benefit from trade. On other accounts, producers are entitled to safeguards against harms. Trade should not be allowed to violate rights or undermine welfare. Yet others focus on whether the practice of trade is fair; “exchanges must be conducted on terms that produce a particular division of resources or benefits between the trading partners” (Miller 2010: 24). Perhaps because I endorse Miller’s claim that we should be pluralists about what fairness requires, this chapter criticizes attempts to provide complete accounts of what makes trade fair. It suggests an approach to arguing about what fair trade requires that may help us make more moral progress in light of these potentially conflicting (sometimes empirical) requirements of fairness. That is, it suggests offering conditional arguments for or against principles governing fairness in trade. The approach may seem weak because, at best, conditional arguments can provide some criteria for good policies—​they

Fair Trade Under Fire    509 suggest that fair trade must, for instance, respect human rights or be free from oppression. But such arguments are strong, as they can avoid the worry that many different plausible criteria for fairness in trade are inconsistent. Moreover, the kind of arguments this chapter supports need not provide only weak moral requirements. They might start from demanding moral requirements (either taking these requirements as given or arguing for the requirements in attempting to establish their conclusions more firmly). The kind of argument recommended here might assume, for instance, that trade must ensure equal opportunity for all. This approach can allow us to make some progress in the absence of a theory about how exactly to take into account all the things that matter. To make this case, I first consider two different attempts to provide complete accounts of Fair Trade—​Aaron James’s account in Fairness in Practice: A Social Contract for the Global Economy and Malgorzata Kurjanska and Mathias Risse’s account in “Fairness in Trade II: Export Subsidies and the Fair Trade Movement” (2008). I explain where each account goes wrong and suggest that the problems these accounts face stem, at least in part, from their approach—​the fact that they purport to offer complete accounts of fair trade. I then give examples of some arguments for obligations of fairness in trade that do not fall prey to this kind of objection. I explain how these arguments are compatible with arguments from other perspectives as well. In some ways, the arguments that follow bear more broadly on another debate about fair trade in the literature. Both accounts of fair trade this chapter criticizes are practice-​ based accounts. That is, they suppose that if we can give an account of the purpose of fair trade as a social practice, we can give an account of fair trade. This is opposed to a more holistic approach that considers whether trade’s consequences, and procedures, are compatible with broader accounts of (say) global justice (see Chapters 8 and 9) or what morality requires (see Chapter 10). In rejecting practice-​based approaches, the chapter suggests another dimension along which we should broaden our attempts to account for the fairness of trade in general (or particular trade policies). We should not assume that they are justified because they are part of any given practice. The claim that we should embrace the results of a practice requires justification—​though one might give conditional arguments on the assumption that the practice is justified.

Practice-​Based Attempts to Provide Complete Accounts of Fair Trade Consider a practice-​based account of fair trade embodied in James’s work. James believes that questions of fairness arise within a social relationship that “embeds market relations” in the practice of free trade that “allows and regulates economic interdependence” (James 2009: 5). He provides a constructivist theory that starts from a conception of the purpose of trade and an account of fairness as structural equity to provide some policy guidance. He believes that the distribution of gains from trade between

510   Nicole Hassoun countries must be equal.1 In part this is because the purpose of free trade is for countries to increase their national income (James 2009: 5). Egalitarian claims, concerned with relative gains or losses, are held by [ . . . ] societies. Such claims are claims to the fruit of the relevant social cooperation, specifically, to the type of good the trade relation is intended to create, on the basis of participation in their joint creation [ . . . ] the central aim of international market reliance is the augmentation of national incomes. (James 2009: 5)

James believes, however, that trade should not make people worse off than they would be under autarky. There should be social safety nets in place to protect those in desperate need. The gains from trade within countries should be fairly distributed (James 2012). He also embraces the “domestic relative gains principle” which specifies that the gains from trade in each (trading) nation should generally be equally distributed between individuals (p. 18). Much of James’s book is devoted to addressing sceptics. He thinks unrestricted free trade will not be efficient even if people are not compensated for their losses. Moreover, given that trade is a social practice, he thinks that the trading partners who jointly create the rules of trade must justify their collective exercise of coercive power. He thinks we cannot come up with justifiable principles of fairness without considering the current practice. Moreover, he points out that the concern for fairness underlying his approach unifies concern for fair wages, fair competition, and fair trade. Finally, he suggests that we have reason to care about the risks free trade in capital poses to people, and to rework some trade practices, such as the rules embodied in the World Trade Organization’s Trade-​Related Intellectual Property Rights agreement, to better correspond with the principles for fairness in trade he defends. It is not entirely clear, however, that James has properly characterized the practice of “fair trade.” There may, for instance, be multiple practices to which one could appeal—​ sometimes different trade agreements, with different rules, cover the same transactions, for instance. What practice is at issue may be unclear. Appealing to what international organizations governing trade—​like the World Trade Organization (WTO)—​say does not help. What these organizations say, even about a part of the practice (e.g. trade in services), varies from time to time. The rules are constantly evolving as member states reach new agreements (WTO 2014). Moreover, the content of some agreements is disputed and the agreements may not even be consistent at a single point in time. This becomes evident when one attends to the legal text and discussions in international tribunals (Lui and Bilal 2009; Qureshi 2006). Even if the practice is as James describes it, however, it may not be the case that the primary aim of free trade should just be to ensure that countries make mutually beneficial exchanges etc. If not, James’s argument will not go through. Some reasons for scepticism that the primary aim of free trade should just be to ensure that countries make mutually beneficial exchanges etc. stem from problems with this principle’s grounding. The WTO clearly takes the principle of comparative advantage to imply that trade will

Fair Trade Under Fire    511 yield absolute gains in national income arising from international specialization and exchange. However, comparative advantage may not generate substantial benefits or even any absolute gains at all (Hassoun 2008; 2009). Free trade based on this principle may also be inequitable. More generally, we might question James’s understanding of the purpose of free trade if we believe we are obligated to pursue different objectives. Perhaps, for instance, the gains from trade should maximally benefit the least well off globally. Perhaps, if the gains from trade do not maximally benefit the least well off globally, those who can should try to alter, or work around, these rules by, for examaple, buying Fair Trade certified goods (Hassoun 2012b; 2009; 2008). James defends his Rawlsian constructivist methodology and attempts to make sure his appeal to a conception of the practice is justifiable in “Constructing Justice for Existing Practice: Rawls and the Status Quo” (James 2005). He suggests that constructive interpretation has three stages. First, one identifies a practice in non-​controversial terms. Second, one offers a thicker moral characterization of its purpose or aim. Finally, one explains what is necessary to justify the practice. At crucial points, however, James’ argument appears to me to elide the distinction between the correctness of a description of a practice (in sociological terms) and the (moral) correctness of its application. It may be the case that he has explained what would justify the practice of fair trade as he understands it if it must be in place. That does not establish that we should do what would justify his understanding of the practice of fair trade even if it is accurate. Nor does it show that he has the right conception of fairness in trade tout court. Consider an analogy: it may be the case that the best understanding of a practice is as a dictatorship, and a good dictator should rule through fear. This in no way justifies having a dictatorship even if it is led by a good dictator (never mind ensuring that the dictator rules through fear). In their work, Kurjanska and Risse argue for a different account of what one kind of fair trade requires. On Kurjanska and Risse’s account, fairness is a matter of justice that is concerned with what people are due. They explain that charity cannot be a requirement of justice or fairness because no one is owed charity. Furthermore, they believe that fairness requires satisfying individuals’ claims appropriately, and that we need to know how to do that to know what fairness requires. They accept a deontological account of how to appropriately satisfy competing claims.2 On this account, everyone has a claim to their entitlements, deserts, and satisfaction of their needs. Kurjanska and Risse (2008) believe that we should “satisfy claims within each category proportionately.” Kurjanska and Risse worry that Fair Trade purchases are not generally justified because they are not part of the best development strategy (2008: 25). In oppressive regimes, for instance, we may better help poor people by working to end oppression. Alternately, Fair Trade may not be the best development strategy if it induces poor people to specialize in producing goods that they would not produce if they were doing what was in their long-​term best interests. Kurjanska and Risse point out, for instance, that Costa Rica’s successful development depends on moving away from producing goods traditionally associated with fair trade.

512   Nicole Hassoun In Costa Rica a focus on new exports and eco-​tourism allowed for diversification away from coffee and bananas. The export share of non-​traditional products rose from 38.6% in 1982 to 87% in 2003. Consumers who would have supported Fair Trade with regard to coffee and bananas in Costa Rica would have resisted a shift that in the long run turned out for the better. (One may even argue that providing opportunities for farmers to transition out of farming improved the lot of those who entered a new more profitable and less volatile sector. Moreover, by decreasing production of bananas, it increased returns for those who retained their business. It can be asserted that by providing aid and higher than market price returns to those who can obtain its label, it simultaneously provides incentives for others to continue in or even enter an unprofitable market with hopes to gain access to the limited Fair Trade market.) (Kurjanska and Risse 2008: 28–​9)

In some conditions, Kurjanska and Risse think Fair Trade is permissible. We may lack a better way of helping a country—​it may be impossible, for instance, for a country’s workers to refocus production in better ways. Alternately, Fair Trade might address injustices that undermine poor producers’ prospects. Still, Kurjanska and Risse believe that Fair Trade cannot generally be justified.3 We need not inquire into the prospects for Fair Trade to promote development (though I do so elsewhere) to conclude that Kurjanska and Risse’s account of what constitutes a fair practice is no better justified than James’s. They do not argue, at any length, that Fair Trade should promote countries’ development. They just claim that one would arrive at this result on a roughly Rawlsian account of fairness (Kurjanska and Risse 2008). Perhaps the purpose of Fair Trade should not be to promote development. Perhaps, for instance, it should promote poor individuals’ welfare. If so, and if development is not a good means to that end, Fair Trade should not promote development.4 More generally, if practice-​based inquiry does not justify the assumed purpose of the practice, and the practice should be changed, practice-​based accounts will not help us answer question like: “What kinds of trade are, all things considered, morally im/​permissible or required?” Advocates of practice-​based accounts must defend the moral significance of the current practice. One way of illustrating this general point is to suggest alternative ways the practice might be set up. James might not, for instance, be justified in giving a privileged role to states in trade agreements that specify the rules of trade; the rules might be restructured to show equal concern for all of those affected by trade in one of the ways suggested in the alternative accounts (e.g. trade relationships may have to be reciprocal in some sense or avoid discrimination) (Miller 2010).5 Some suggest that practice-​based conceptions fall prey to a “status quo” bias for this reason (James 2012). Maintaining the current practice may even prevent us from establishing a better practice. Practice-​based theorists might appeal to Amartya Sen’s work on global justice in trying to overcome this objection. Sen suggests we need not aim to achieve full justice—​we may do better to just make some moral progress. In this case, even if some other way of setting up the rules of trade might be better, we might be justified in focusing on the current practice (Sen 2006).

Fair Trade Under Fire    513 The problem with this proposal is that we may head down the wrong path and get stuck on a local optimum (where all changes appear to be changes for the worse). If we explored the possible space of policies more fully, we might do better. In this context, that means that sticking with the current rules may not be the best—​or even a very good—​option. We might do best to modify, or even completely alter, the current practice. How can we avoid these kinds of problems in theorizing about what fair trade requires, in particular? One possibility is to constrain practice-​based arguments by specifying that they hold only insofar as the purported practice is justified.6 More generally, it seems we can give constrained, or conditional, arguments for many conclusions that would not follow without such constraints or conditionalization. This is the conditional approach that this chapter advocates and that the next section will consider.

An Alternative Approach What can we say about different kinds of trade on the conditional approach? On the conditional approach, the idea is to argue for more modest conclusions like “Trade is permissible if it does not violate rights and it is impermissible if it does violate rights,” or “Trade is required if it promotes individual welfare.” This approach has the advantage of letting its proponents adopt (or argue for) different principles for fairness in trade in different circumstances. If the authors do not defend these principles, they are conditional on the principles proving defensible. Practice-​based approaches might, for instance, tell us only that trade is im/​permissible or required if the purpose of trade is as specified. How interesting and important conditional arguments will be depends, in part, on what conditions they include. If the conditions are satisfied in the actual world, they can be very important. Even if the conditions are not satisfied, the derivation of the conclusion from the conditions and other premises may be novel and insightful. In some cases, such arguments are also important. They may tell us what to do in the long term given how conditions are likely to evolve (or how we can change the conditions). Giving (or accepting) arguments that start from actual conditions does not require denying that much more fundamental change is necessary. Such arguments may just tell us what we should do from where we are to make things better. And perhaps that it is in this sense that we should strive for a realistic utopia. Consider a few examples of conditional arguments that consider whether trade fulfils different moral requirements. In a series of papers on free trade, for instance, I suggest that insofar as free trade makes it more difficult for people to meet their basic needs, or destroys the natural environment, we have one reason to object to it. Free trade is likely to have mixed impacts on the things that matter, so we should try to capture the benefits of free trade for the poor and the environment while avoiding the costs (Hassoun 2012; 2009; 2012b). Of course, if it is not the case that we should care about trade’s impact on the poor or the environment, these arguments will not go through. There can be

514   Nicole Hassoun countervailing considerations. But if the assumption holds and there are no counter-​ veiling considerations, we have reason to restructure, or work around, some of the rules of trade to capture free trade’s benefits and avoid its costs for the poor and for the natural environment (Hassoun 2012; 2009; 2012b).7 It is also possible to argue against particular trade agreements based on these kinds of concerns. Suppose, for instance, that trade should not make it more difficult, or impossible, for people to meet their basic needs. One may say people have a right not to suffer severe poverty. Moreover, this right may give rise to demanding obligations on the part of states and, when states fail, international organizations. Even some seemingly permissible policies that make trade conditional on many economic reforms may be impermissible. Traditional economic conditionality on loans (a kind of trade in money) or conditions set on a country’s ability to trade may be impermissible. Consider the case of Bolivia, which was required to privatize its water supply as a condition of receiving a loan from the International Monetary Fund (IMF). When the water supply was privatized, many people were not able to afford clean water (Hassoun 2012b). Of course, if people had not already been so poor, or subsidies had been introduced, the privatization might have been acceptable. Moreover, the conditions might have been necessary for Bolivia to repay the loan and improve its economic status. The privatization may even have helped more people than it hurt. But if the conception of rights at issue requires international organizations like the IMF to do more for people than they are currently doing, the conditionality may be objectionable. Although conditional arguments may seem weak because they only provide some criteria for good policies, they are strong because they can avoid the problem of inconsistency that Miller raises for endorsing a plurality of principles governing trade—​namely, that they may give inconsistent recommendations. He gives an example where the (he assumes) procedurally fair requirements of the WTO to liberalize trade in bananas conflict with protecting poor banana farmers in a way that might be required on an account of what division of resources between trading partners is necessary to make trade fair (Miller 2010). It is quite plausible, however, that we should both protect poor farmers and liberalize trade which will reduce the amount of banana farming in the Caribbean. We can give conditional arguments for each conclusion that do not conflict. (The challenge of finding some way of fulfilling both of these moral obligations remains, however.) Consider one more example of a conditional argument about fairness in trade. One might believe everyone has a right to avoid severe poverty and hold that individuals should purchase Fair Trade certified goods because doing so will help fulfil this right. There is a lot of evidence to the effect that Fair Trade programmes benefit the poor (Ruben, 2008; Becchetti and Marco, 2006; Barham and Weber, 2012; Arnould, Plastina, and Ball, 2009; Raynolds and Ngcwangu, 2010; Raynolds, 2009; Taylor, 2005; Weber 2011; Elder, Zerriffi, and Billon 2012; Wilson 2010; Bassett 2010). Fair Trade farmers benefit from better access to training, credit, and support programmes (Murray, Raynolds, and Taylor 2003; Bacon, 2005). Participating in Fair Trade cooperatives can help farmers develop their organizational capacities to create better markets for their goods (Raynolds 2002; Bacon 2005; Calo and Wise 2005; Milford 2004: 76; Ronchi 2002; Bacon 2005; Taylor 2002; Imhof and Lee 2007). Such co-​operatives give farmers

Fair Trade Under Fire    515 essential information and bargaining power and improve welfare by providing education and credit (Milford 2004).8 Fair Trade farmers are also less vulnerable to shocks (Wilson 2010), and participating in Fair Trade networks can improve gender equality (Bassett 2010). Perhaps the most cited impact is that the poor benefit from higher prices for fair trade goods (McMahon 2001). Fair Trade coffee growers frequently do better than farmers who do not participate in Fair Trade networks (Imhof and Lee 2007). There is even evidence that Fair Trade farmers can do better than those who try to secure the “Organic” label (Calo and Wise 2005; Milford 2004; Ronchi 2002; Bacon 2005; Taylor 2002; Imhof and Lee 2007). The higher prices Fair Trade provides often help the poor reduce their vulnerability to market crises and retain their lands (Bacon 2005; Wilson 2010). Some find that Fair Trade farmers are more likely to educate their children, and that Fair Trade can help them meet their basic needs for things like adequate water, food, and housing (Murray et al. 2003; Bacon 2005). Fair Trade can help farmers secure better job prospects (Bacon 2005), increase their social capital (Elder 2012), acquire more valuable land, and secure larger animal stocks as well as other agricultural inputs (Ruben 2012). There are, of course, many criticisms of evaluations of Fair Trade’s impact. Often the evidence is based on surveys of Fair Trade participants (Valkila 2009; Wilson 2010). Some worry that even the more rigorous evaluations do not isolate the cause of Fair Trade farmers’ success (White and Bamberger 2008). Many studies fail to control for factors that could explain their results. In any case, impact evaluations certainly vary in breadth and quality. However, Fair Trade impact evaluations are improving all the time. Some are even quasi-​experimental.9 The Centre for International Development Issues in the Netherlands commissioned a comprehensive evaluation of eight different Fair Trade programmes focusing on different commodities in various locations. The studies used a sophisticated form of propensity score-​matching. Most demonstrated that Fair Trade programmes improved participants’ access to food and credit. Many Fair Trade farmers also had better housing, land, and education than otherwise equivalent farmers. A few studies found that once Fair Trade made up a large enough portion of the market, prices and wages increased in a larger region.10 There are also some criticisms of Fair Trade’s economic impact, though evidence of its positive impact remains. Often, participating in Fair Trade networks is not sufficient to help small-​scale farmers avoid debt and escape poverty. Moreover, the evidence that they reduce gender inequality is mixed (Lyon 2010; Wilson 2010; Valkila 2009; Ruben 2012). Some complain that Fair Trade does not help the poorest farmers in the poorest countries (Dragusanu and Nunn 2014). In some cases, participating in Fair Trade networks makes little difference to farmers’ income, though it brings benefits in terms of reducing vulnerability or improving infrastructure (Valkila 2009; Wilson 2010; Ruben 2012). In others, Fair Trade farmers only gain economic benefits from selling a greater volume of product than non​farmers (Barham and Weber 2012). Sometimes Fair Trade sets a minimum price threshold so there is little direct benefit from participating in Fair Trade networks (Ruben 2012). Even in these cases, however, Fair Trade may boost welfare in the larger community, helping farmers more generally (Ruben 2012).

516   Nicole Hassoun It is plausible that, since purchasing Fair Trade certified goods (generally) benefits the poor, we should purchase these products. That is, we have a prima facie obligation to purchase these goods. This obligation may be defeated in some cases. If someone cannot afford to purchase Fair Trade certified goods, or there are other conflicting obligations at stake, there may be no obligation to do so. Similarly, if someone has already done their fair share in helping the poor, they may not have to purchase Fair Trade goods. Nonetheless, the average consumer in rich countries should purchase Fair Trade (Hassoun 2012; 2009; 2012b).11

Conclusion This chapter defended a conditional approach to arguing about fair trade. It suggested that this approach shows why a common objection to arguments about fairness in trade is misguided—​in that the arguments for fairness in trade from different perspectives are often inconsistent. The chapter has suggested that much inconsistency can be avoided if we offer conditional arguments for or against principles governing fairness in trade. We should not assume, for instance, that principles are justified because they are part of any given practice. Rather, we can suggest adopting the principles if the practice is justified. Arguments for Fair Trade may also depend on features of our non-​ideal world—​like the fact that people are not able meet their basic needs, and collectively we are not doing what we need to do to alleviate poverty. Although we might hope to arrive at a complete account of what fair trade requires, we can make some extremely important moral progress even in the absence of such a theory.

Acknowledgements The author would like to thank students and colleagues at Cornell University, Binghamton University, and Justitia Amplificata as well as Peter Stone, Judith Lichtenberg, Aaron James, and Gillian Brock for helpful comments on previous versions of this paper.

Notes 1. Though James does qualify his argument somewhat to allow that human rights considerations may also help specify requirements of fairness. 2. See e.g. Rawls (1999), Pogge (2002), Brock (1998), Buchanan (1990:  227–​52), Hassoun (2008: 191–​8). 3. There are also many other conflicting accounts of what fair trade requires in practice. Fernando Teson seems to think, for instance, that we need only respect the rules of free markets (Teson 2004; Teson and Klick 2007).

Fair Trade Under Fire    517 4. To some extent, Kurjanska and Risse’s argument is conditional, as they explicitly assume a (statist) Rawlsian liberal egalitarian framework within which which countries are obligated to ensure that their citizens all have equal opportunities, and inequalities in the distribution of resources redound to the advantage of the least well off. This, however, is not enough to defend the idea that the point of fair trade should be to promote development. The summary of Kurjanska and Risse’s argument is adapted from Hassoun (2011a). 5. In evaluating the claim that we should not give a privileged role to states in trade agreements that specify the rules of trade, it may really matter whether we accept a statist vs cosmopolitan theory of justice. On statist theories, states have special standing in that principles of justice apply, at least primarily, within their borders (Sangiovanni 2012; Blake 2001; Miller 2010). States are supposed to provide a structure of rules that uphold justice, and might plausibly be both the proper agents to negotiate and the subjects of the rules of fair trade. On the other hand, cosmopolitans tend to focus on the moral importance of individuals wherever they reside (Brock 1998; Moellendorf 2005; Caney 2006; Tan 2004). They would likely criticize rules that only ensure that states are treated fairly unless this can be grounded in concern for the distributive consequences of trade globally. 6. This may have been Kurjanska and Risse’s intention, but James clearly intends to establish his conclusions unconditionally. 7. Note that the kinds of conditional arguments proposed above are not restricted to the approaches that Miller suggests might provide accounts of fair trade. Environmental concerns, for instance, cannot properly be considered producer’s entitlements, a distributive result that should come about from an account of fair practice, or a concern for procedural fairness. 8. As this chapter will discuss, many of these studies do not do enough to establish causation. Nevertheless, they are amongst the best available (researchers have just started evaluating fair trade programmes), and provide at least some evidence in favour of the hypothesis that fair trade can benefit the poor. 9. For discussion of different kinds of empirical evidence, see Hassoun (2010; 2011b). 10. The material regarding fair trade’s impact was adapted from Hassoun (2012a). 11. See Hassoun (2012; 2008; 2009b).

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Fair Trade Under Fire    519 University. [Online; accessed 20 Apr. 2017.] http://​www.colostate.edu/​Depts/​Sociology/​ FairTradeResearchGroup Philips, J. (2008). Is There a Moral Case for Fair Trade Products? On the Moral Duty for Consumers to Buy and for Governments to Support Fair Trade Products. In R. Ruben (ed.), The Impact of Fair Trade (Waginingen: Waginingen Academic Publishers). Pogge, T. (2002). World Poverty and Human Rights: Cosmopolitan Responsibilities and Reforms (Cambridge: Polity). Rawls, J. (1999). The Law of Peoples (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press). Raynolds, L. (2002). Poverty Alleviation Through Participation in Fair Trade Coffee Networks:  Existing Research and Critical Issues. Background paper prepared for project funded by the Community and Resource Development Program (New  York:  Ford Foundation). Raynolds, L. (2009). Mainstreaming Fair Trade Coffee:  From Partnership to Traceability. World Development 37: 1083–​93. Raynolds, L., and S. Ngcwangu (2010). Fair Trade Rooibos Tea: Connecting South African Producers and American Consumer Markets. Geoforum 41: 74–​83. Ronchi, L. (2002). Fair Trade in Costa Rica: An Impact Report (Brighton: Poverty Research Unit, University of Sussex). Ruben, R. (ed.) (2008). The Impact of Fair Trade (Waginingen:  Waginingen Academic Publishers). Ruben, R. (2011). The Impact of Fair Trade Certification for Coffee Farmers in Peru. World Development 40: 570–​82. Sangiovanni, A. (2007). Global Justice, Reciprocity, and the State. Philosophy & Public Affairs 35(1): 3–​39. Sen, A. (2006). What Do We Want from a Theory of Justice? Journal of Philosophy 103: 215–​38. Tan, K.-​C. (2004) Justice Without Borders:  Cosmopolitanism, Nationalism, and Patriotism (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Taylor, P. (2002). Poverty Alleviation Through Participation in Fair Trade Coffee Networks: Synthesis of Case Study Research Question Findings. Colorado State University. Report prepared for project funded by the Community and Resource Development Program (New York: Ford Foundation). Taylor, P. (2005). In the Market But Not of It: Fair Trade Coffee and Forest Stewardship Council Certification as Market-​Based Social Change. World Development 33: 129–​47. Teson, F. (2004). On Trade and Justice. Theoria 104: 192–​202. Teson, F., and J. Klick (2007). Global Justice and Trade: A Puzzling Omission. FSU College of Law, public law research paper. [Online; accessed 20 Apr. 2017.] http://​ssrn.com/​ abstract=1022996 Valkila, J. (2009). Fair Trade Organic Coffee Production in Nicaragua:  Sustainable Development or a Poverty Trap? Ecological Economics 68: 3018–​25. Walton, A. (2012). The Common Arguments for Fair Trade. Political Studies 61(3): 691–​706. Weber, J. (2011). How Much More Do Growers Receive for Fair Trade Organic Coffee? Food Policy 36: 678–​85. White, H., and M. Bamberger (2008). Introduction: Impact Evaluation in Official Development Agencies. IDS Bulletin 39: 1–​11. Wilson, B. (2010). Indebted to Fair Trade? Coffee and Crisis in Nicaragua. Geoforum 41: 84–​92. WTO (World Trade Organization) (2014). Historic Development of the WTO dispute settlement system. [Online; accessed 20 Apr. 2017.] http://​www.wto.org/​english/​tratop_​e/​dispu_​ e/​disp_​settlement_​cbt_​e/​c2s1p1_​e.htm

­c hapter 39

In ternationa l Mi g rat i on and Hum an Ri g h ts Luara Ferracioli

Liberalism, as a normative ideal, takes persons to be free and equal. Moral cosmopolitanism, also as a normative ideal, takes all persons, independent of citizenship, to be the ultimate units of moral concern. Once we bring these two ideals together, and apply them to the world in which we live, the fact that individuals cannot generally cross international borders and settle in the country of their choice becomes particularly troublesome. After all, a commitment to freedom for all sits uneasily with our practice of closed borders, while a commitment to equality for all sits uneasily with the fact that socioeconomic opportunities are unevenly distributed around the globe (see Chapter 9). Such tension between widely held moral commitments and the world as we find it has led many scholars to question the moral right of the state to exclude immigrants as it sees fit (Carens 1987; Cole 2000; Oberman 2013). Their main strategy has been to stress the value of personal autonomy and the importance of being able to migrate in order to meet one’s basic needs or pursue projects and relationships that can be best or only pursued outside one’s country of citizenship. The legal-​institutional outcome of this view is that international borders should be fairly open, with restrictions on entry only justified if the arrival of immigrants would lead to social chaos and the breakdown of public order. Not everyone agrees. Partly as a response to calls for open borders, a number of scholars have also defended the state’s right to control its borders. This position has been justified primarily by appeal to the state’s right to self-​determination, grounded in more basic rights such as freedom of association (Wellman 2008) or socio-​political autonomy (Miller 2005). The core claim of this position is that some basic interest of the citizenry generally trumps the interest that prospective immigrants have in a enjoying a greater degree of autonomy in their personal lives. In this chapter, I approach the ethics of immigration from a different angle. I start with the assumption that liberal states have a right to control their borders (I take no stance on whether illiberal states also have this right) but explore what would be

International Migration and Human Rights    521 required of them were they to implement migration arrangements that conform with liberal-​cosmopolitan principles. In particular, I argue that the obligations states have range from feasibility-​insensitive (to be referred to as states’ “strong” duties of migration) to feasibility-​sensitive. Moreover, I show that such duties can have as their content both inclusion and exclusion, and can be grounded in the requirements of liberal justice, mere capacity to assist, and past or foreseeable contribution to harm. The account therefore aims to realize both theoretical and practical goals. The theoretical goal is to offer an account of the ethics of immigration that does not advocate for open borders, but is still compatible with liberal-​cosmopolitanism. The practical goal is to map out a range of migration-​related actions that states must perform under more and less ideal conditions. The chapter is structured in three sections. In the first section, I briefly explain what is wrong with the current international trends in migration. In the second, I discuss the strong duties states have with regard to their humanitarian, family reunification, and skilled-​migration intake. In the third section, I discuss the motivational and institutional constraints that currently prevent states from discharging their “strong” migration duties, and propose one reasonably feasible strategy that can increase the likelihood that such duties might be discharged in the future.

Migration Trends I started this discussion by briefly highlighting the tension between our normative ideals and the right of liberal states to exclude. But a less explored tension is that between our normative ideals and the specific ways liberal states exercise their right to exclude (once it is granted or assumed that they do in fact have such right).1 This theoretical neglect has had important practical implications: it has kept most of the debate on the ethics of immigration at a very abstract level, with proponents and critics of the right to exclude unable to offer existing states much guidance as to how to improve their migration arrangements. In what follows, I show that a shift in focus from whether there is a right to exclude to how this right should be exercised enables us to criticize states for implementing migration arrangements that both harm and fail to protect vulnerable persons without appealing to controversial normative and empirical claims about the desirability and feasibility of a world of open borders. To see how current migration arrangements negatively affect the most vulnerable members of the human community, consider that in 2013 it was estimated that there were more than 232 million international immigrants, roughly 3.2 per cent of the global population (UN 2013). From all the movers, only 16.7 million were refugees, and even fewer of them (556,000 or around 3.3 per cent) managed to seek asylum in the affluent countries of the OECD, the Organisation for Economic Co-​operation and Development (UNHCR 2014; OECD 2014). Such low numbers of successful migration by refugees is partly a result of liberal states’ employment of carrier sanctions, visa requirements,

522   Luara Ferracioli and tight border control, justified by appeals to the necessity of curbing unauthorized migration, but which have as a perverse (and no doubt intentional) effect the creation of significant hurdles for those who must migrate in order to seek assistance in the form of asylum (Betts 2010). At the same time, however, liberal states have kept their borders quite open for those who possess desirable skills and a capacity for taxpaying. In 2011, the numbers of skilled immigrants arriving in the OECD reached 27 million (UN 2013b). It is therefore no exaggeration to claim that there is an international race on the part of liberal states to attract the skilled and repel the needy, which becomes even more problematic once we recognize that the departure of skilled individuals from developing nations can have quite negative effects in the capacity of vulnerable populations to access essential services, such as health care and education—​a phenomenon known in the literature as “brain drain.” But apart from not giving priority to those with the strongest need to immigrate, liberal states have also departed from liberal-​cosmopolitanism by developing categories of inclusion that are problematically under-​inclusive. First, the 1951 Convention Relating to the Status of Refugees (henceforth:  Refugee Convention) privileges the claims of those who suffer political persecution at the hands of their governments (or groups supported by their government) over the claims of those who are rendered vulnerable as a result of the inaction of their government. For instance, mere membership in a failed state does not qualify one for asylum even though it is extremely hard to secure one’s fundamental human rights in states virtually devoid of the rule of law and other essential public institutions. Second, liberal states privilege the claims of spouses and family members, even though citizens might have a compelling interest in associating with an intimate they do not enjoy a legally sanctioned relationship with. In the next sections, I show that these migration trends do not do justice to the basic interests of the most vulnerable to cross international borders and of all citizens to associate with those they share a special relationship with. I also show that the way states exercise their right to include ignores the urgent interests of citizens in developing countries not to be harmed unduly by the negative effects associated with certain kinds of brain drain. This leads me to argue that states must endorse two stringent moral responsibilities (see Chapter 10) in the area of immigration: a duty to include and a duty to exclude, so that the basic interests currently neglected in migration arrangements are better protected.

State Duties In order to see which migration arrangements are morally desirable, we must first idealize the context under which states design and implement their migration arrangements. Let us therefore imagine a world where states are sufficiently motivated to bring their migration arrangements in line with what morality requires. Let us also imagine

International Migration and Human Rights    523 that they have the right sort of institutional apparatus to implement policies and programmes that are geared towards the protection and promotion of fundamental human rights at the international level. In practice, this means that states will protect vulnerable persons from human rights violations by third parties, as well as refrain from contributing to any causal chain that foreseeably leads to human rights deficits abroad. Now, the point about imagining such a world—​and thereby partly engaging in so-​ called ideal theorizing—​is not to deny that that there are significant motivational and institutional constraints that prevent states from acting rightly within the domain of migration. Rather, the aim here is simply to isolate the morally relevant features of international migration by assuming away the fact that states are neither typically motivated to act on their moral obligations nor typically capable of mobilizing their domestic and international institutions for the successful and widespread protection and promotion of fundamental human rights. Indeed, once we put aside feasibility concerns about moral action at the international level, we are in a better position to focus on the core human interests at stake, and well-​placed to answer the following question: in a world where states act legitimately when they retain some control over their immigration arrangements, which moral claims are sufficiently weighty so as to impose limits on the right of states to include and exclude? In what follows, I argue that there are two classes of persons who impose limits on the right of states to exclude: refugees, broadly conceived, and intimates, broadly conceived. I also argue that the claims of vulnerable populations not to be harmed by some forms of brain drain impose moral limits on the right of states to include. Let me take each in turn.

Refugees According to the Refugee Convention, refugees are persons who are living outside their country of citizenship or residence, who have a well-​founded fear of suffering persecution at the hands of their government (or groups supported by their government) because of their race, religion, nationality, membership of a particular social group, or political opinion (Art. 1A). The Convention thereby answers the conceptual question of who is a refugee by reference to one specific source of vulnerability: political persecution. However, given that much human displacement is a direct result of state failure, civil conflict, extreme poverty, environmental degradation, and some of the negative effects associated with climate change, it becomes paramount for liberal states to acknowledge that there are different sources of vulnerability that push persons outside their country of citizenship (Betts 2013). Indeed, most scholars writing on the ethics of asylum have defended more inclusive definitions of who should count as a refugee. In a very influential 1985 article, Andrew E. Shacknove already argued that refugees should be seen as “persons whose basic needs are unprotected by their country of origin, who have no remaining recourse other than to seek international restitution of their needs, and who are so situated that international assistance is possible” (1985: 277). Most recently, political theorists have followed

524   Luara Ferracioli suit and have redefined the refugee as someone who cannot secure her most fundamental human rights without migration. David Miller, for instance, argues that the “justice claim of a refugee stems from the fact that his human rights are currently under threat” (2015: 395), while Matthew Gibney defines the refugee as someone “who requires the substitute protection of a new state because their fundamental human rights cannot or will not be protected by their state of membership or usual residence” (pp. 452–​3). As becomes clear, scholars have focused on the following considerations when developing a more inclusive criterion for asylum:  (i) some persons cannot reliably count on their own state of citizenship for the protection or promotion of their fundamental human rights; (ii) such human right deficits create a stringent duty of assistance on capable members of the international community; and (iii) at times, states can only discharge their duty of assistance by way of inclusion. Taken together, these considerations give us a more inclusive definition of asylum as well as the broad content of the moral obligation that goes along with it. It also justifies the negotiation and ratification of a new Convention—​one that does not focus on political persecution, but rather on the fact that some persons can only secure their fundamental human rights by becoming members of another political community (Ferracioli 2014). At this juncture, two further questions arise with regard to the grounds and content of the duty of inclusion that correlates with the right to asylum: what is inclusion grounded in, and how long must it last for? I started the discussion by assuming that states had a right to control their borders, but that they were also willing and capable of bringing morality to bear on the design and implementation of migration arrangements. Moreover, I assumed that in such a world, states would be in the business of effectively promoting and protecting fundamental human rights abroad (see Chapters 22 and 23). Such idealizing assumptions were not meant to convey that the background conditions of the international system would be just. On the contrary, I have assumed that the core aspects of international relations would remain the same. The only idealization here is that liberal states would be capable of discharging their moral obligations and disposed to do so, and thus in the business of securing fundamental human rights abroad. If these assumptions hold, then inclusion will often be grounded in states’ capacity to assist at moderate cost to their citizens. However, there would still be times when states would play a causal role in refugee flows by, for instance, engaging in humanitarian intervention or war, or because of past contribution to climate change (Souter 2014). In those instances, inclusion would be grounded in past contribution to harm, which would mean that states would be required to bear even higher costs—​i.e. include even more people—​than if they were simply including refugees as a result of their capacity to assist at moderate costs to the citizenry. Finally, let me add that under more ideal conditions, states would always include refugees on a permanent basis. This is because permanent inclusion is the most reliable way of ensuring that refugees have the resources they need to pursue the sorts of projects and relationships that give meaning to their lives. Indeed, when states only provide sanctuary until the situation in the refugee’s country of origin has improved, she necessarily

International Migration and Human Rights    525 lacks knowledge of the site of her overall life plans, and so is not in an adequate position to pursue important life plans that require long-​term planning. Because it is quite difficult to make decisions with regard to career, family, and education without knowing where one’s life will actually take place, there is a strong case for permanent migration under more ideal conditions (Ferracioli 2014). Before we discuss the next class of persons who impose moral limits on the right of states to exclude, let me respond to the concern that there are good expressive and practical reasons for tying asylum to political persecution, since it allows liberal states to adequately respond to human rights deficits that arise in poor yet decent states—​the so-​called “burdened societies” (Rawls 1999). The concern here is that when it comes to discharging their duties of assistance to citizens of burdened societies, liberal states can make use of foreign aid rather than asylum, and so can simultaneously communicate that burdened societies are able to secure the basic interests of their citizens. As Matthew Price puts it, “citizens of burdened societies lack protection of their basic rights, but they retain their standing as members. The appropriate stance of outsiders to burdened societies is to lend assistance, not to condemn their failings” (2009: 73). Matthew Lister makes a related point by arguing that instead of expanding the definition of who counts as a refugee, the international community can and should instead adopt a broader reading of the current Refugee Convention (Lister 2013). I certainly agree that liberal states can typically promote and protect the human rights of non-​members without making use of migration, and nothing I said above suggests otherwise. But we should not go as far as to assume that expanding the definition of refugeehood is not necessary to protect all those in need of protection. After all, there are all sorts of human rights violations that are not caused by political persecution but that cannot be adequately addressed without migration (Betts 2013; Ferracioli 2014). Moreover, while I certainly agree with Lister that employing a more generous reading of the current Refugee Convention is an appropriate response under non-​ideal conditions, it still fails to secure the right of asylum in a robust way. As it stands, persons whose migration claims are not explicitly acknowledged by the Convention are at the mercy of judges and bureaucrats in a way that is not true of those who suffer political persecution (Ferracioli 2014). This, however, must change if states are ever to protect all persons who cannot enjoy their fundamental human rights without migration.

Intimates In the previous section, I have endorsed the position that liberal states have a duty to include persons who cannot protect their fundamental human rights without migration, if states can do so at moderate costs to their citizen (or at higher costs when states have contributed to their predicament). A second group that imposes limits on the right of liberal states to exclude is what I will refer to as “intimates.” These are persons who are in an intimate relationship with a citizen of a liberal state, such as a parent, child, spouse, relative, or friend.

526   Luara Ferracioli To begin with, let me grant that liberal states already acknowledge that there are some kinds of relationships that trigger duties of inclusion. Indeed, liberal states typically accept that citizens should be able to invite their parents, children, and spouse to join them as new members of the political community. Moreover, most political theorists writing on the ethics of immigration see such programmes as legitimately grounded in the right to freedom of association of citizens, a fundamental canon of liberal justice (Lister 2010; Wellman and Cole 2011; Blake 2013). Notwithstanding such theoretical agreements, current family migration schemes fall short of giving equal consideration to the interests of all citizens in a liberal state, since they fail to pick out other human relationships that can be equally meaningful and central to people’s lives (Ferracioli 2016). Consider friendships. There is no denying that, like many spouses and family members, many close friends care for each other deeply and see each other as irreplaceable. There is also no denying that, like spousal and familial relationships, friendships are deemed to be objectively valuable by citizens who affirm quite different conceptions of the good. So if we think that spouses and family members have a right to reside in the same territory due to the value of their relationship to themselves and to society at large, then we must think the same of close friends. But if it is true that non-​formal special relationships could in principle be as valuable for citizens as the relationships currently acknowledged by family migration schemes, how do we set them apart from other relationships that do not intuitively give rise to claims for inclusion, (like the relationship one might have with a neighbour or co-​ worker)? In other work, I have argued that the following conditions are true of valuable tokens of romantic and familial relationships: (i) those who partake in the relationship find them quite valuable and so have an interest in enjoying relationship goods that are territorially located (i.e. living together, setting up a band, helping each other with care obligations, and so on and so forth); (ii) those who partake in the relationship see the relationship as irreplaceable due to its historic-​relational properties (that is to say, much of the value of the relationship springs from its shared history); (iii) the relationship type is deemed valuable by society at large, and so the imposition of immigration costs on the citizenry can be justified (Ferracioli 2016). If I am right that the conditions above give rise to a migration claim on the part of citizens, irrespective of whether or not there is a legal bond that they can appeal to (i.e. birth, adoption, or marriage certificates), then a surprising result is that not all spouses and family members would have a legitimate claim for inclusion. This would be true, for instance, of spouses who are still legally married but no longer romantically involved, or of estranged siblings. On the other hand, other intimates whose relationships are not legally sanctioned by the state could meet all of the conditions above, and so would have a strong claim to enjoy relationship goods that are territorially located. At this stage, a few concerns may arise. For one, it might be thought that, unlike familial and romantic relationships, other kinds of special relationships can be easily pursued or enjoyed without persons actually finding themselves in the same territory. Another

International Migration and Human Rights    527 concern is that states are not in a position of looking “into the hearts of citizens,” and so must instead pick out relationship types by employing the blunter tools of marriage, adoption, and birth certificates (Lister forthcoming). In response to the first concern, there is in fact nothing that the liberal states can appeal to in order to justify the under-​inclusion of family migration schemes without violating state neutrality. For appealing to any feature X traditionally connected to romantic or familial relationships (i.e. sex, procreative parenting, biological connection, financial dependency, etc.), the liberal states will inevitably communicate that certain kinds of romantic and familial relationships are more valuable than others. This would grate against the basic liberal requirement that the state must remain sufficiently neutral among competing conceptions of the good (see Ferracioli 2016). In response to the second concern, I would grant that the liberal state must, at times, make use of more objective criteria that might imperfectly track the morally relevant features in a particular case. However, in the case of family migration schemes, there are in fact feasible and permissible strategies that would allow bureaucrats to assess the existence of a special relationship without recourse to the blunter tools of legal certificates. What I have in mind are personal correspondence, interviews, testimony, photos, and any other evidence that can be gathered with the explicit consent of those making a migration claim. The important point here is that any agreed loss of privacy that would arise under more inclusive family migration schemes can be justified by the fact that they would be superior to current schemes in recognizing that an array of relationships give meaning to people’s lives.

Vulnerable Populations In the previous sections we examined the moral claims that limit the scope of the right of liberal states to exclude. In this section, we look at how the harmful effects of certain kinds of skill-​based migration impose limits on the scope of the right to include. The idea here is that there will be persons who should be excluded if liberal states are to bring morality fully to bear on their migration arrangements. To begin with, let me grant that much of skill-​based migration referred to as “brain drain” is not problematic, all things considered. Often, the negative effects associated with the departure of skilled immigrants are adequately compensated for, or outweighed by countervailing benefits typically associated with migration (i.e. lower unemployment rates, remittances, savings, and knowledge transferral). However, at times, the departure of skilled immigrants directly contributes to a state of affairs where vulnerable populations in developing countries find themselves unable to enjoy the protection and promotion of their fundamental human rights (Brock 2009). This is because some professional skills are not only necessary for the provision of essential services such as health care and education but also non-​substitutable for other skills and resources and non-​shareable across borders (Ferracioli 2015).

528   Luara Ferracioli In light of the distinction between skilled-​based migration that contributes to human rights deficits (henceforth: harmful brain drain) and skill-​based migration that is either unproblematic or, all things considered, beneficial, we can now see why skill-​based migration can, at times, impose moral limits on the scope of the right to include. After all, there are times where the emigration of high numbers of skilled workers contributes to human rights deficits that cannot be adequately compensated for or mitigated by the benefits associated with skill-​based migration, no matter how great. Such scenarios arise when educators, doctors, and nurses departure from countries where the ratio of workers in the population is already below or at the exact threshold required for the adequate provision of essential services.2 So what follows from the fact that skill-​based migration can, at times, make it harder for vulnerable persons to enjoy access to their fundamental human rights? Given that states should not to contribute to (i.e. initiate, sustain, or enable) any causal chain or process that will foreseeably lead to human deprivation at the international level, they should not include immigrants coming from countries where their skills are necessary for the provision of essential services. More specifically, liberal states must exclude prospective immigrants when the following two conditions are met: (i) it is foreseen (or should be foreseen) that skill-​based migration will bring about or exacerbate harm in the form of human rights deficits (when the ratios of professionals to the overall population are such that migration will render vulnerable populations less able to access an adequate level of essential services); and (ii) when there are decently paid jobs that are sufficiently attractive to prospective skilled immigrants so that they can adequately employ their professional skills if they do not emigrate.3 Let me now respond to a couple of objections. First, it could be argued that liberal states lack legitimacy to impose justice abroad and so should not expect skilled immigrants to address human rights deficits in their countries of origin when liberal states themselves lack a sound record of acting effectively to secure the human rights of vulnerable populations. Second, it could be argued that liberal states lack the necessary knowledge to avoid enabling harmful brain drain, and so cannot have a duty to exclude prospective immigrants when the above conditions are met. Let me take each in turn. In an influential discussion of immigration restriction on brain drain grounds, Kieran Oberman has argued that whether or not affluent states have the right to exclude prospective skilled immigrants in order to protect vulnerable populations depends on whether they have the legitimacy to impose justice abroad. As he puts it, “when rich states fail to fulfill their own duties towards the global poor, but nevertheless enforce the duties of skilled workers, they exhibit toward the skilled workers a form of disrespect: they are forcing others to act in a way that they are not prepared to act themselves” (2013: 449). However, if my view is correct, Oberman’s way of stating the responsibility of recipient states misrepresents the morally salient features of the case. As I see it, liberal states should exclude prospective immigrants on brain drain grounds not because they are

International Migration and Human Rights    529 trying to impose justice abroad, but because they have a moral responsibility not to contribute to a causal chain that foreseeably contributes to human rights deficits among vulnerable populations in the developing world (Barry and Øverland 2012). Oberman’s legitimacy condition leads to the implausible result that states must assist vulnerable populations before they are morally entitled to refrain from harming them. (I take it that it would be equally implausible to claim that individuals must donate to charity before they are morally entitled to buy fair trade products.) As for the question of knowledge, there is sufficient evidence available for liberal states with regard to the consequences of conferring the benefit of immigration to skilled workers on a large scale when they bring with them skills that are urgently needed and could be effectively utilized in their countries of origin. It is therefore hard to deny that states know, or at least should know, that by ignoring inadequate ratios of worker within populations in the developing world, they enable and therefore contribute to harm in those countries.

Motivational and Institutional Constraints In the previous section, I argued that liberal states have strong duties of inclusion and exclusion. However, I also granted that states are motivated primarily by prudential reasons when it comes to the design and implementation of their migration arrangements. But why is it that states lack the motivation to ensure that their migration arrangements comply with the demands of liberal cosmopolitanism? One plausible source of motivation (or lack thereof) is the state’s level of commitment to the emerging international human rights regime. Not all states are equally committed to human rights, but there are good reasons for thinking that human rights practice is becoming stronger, and to remain optimistic that human rights discourse will be even more likely to motivate moral action by states in the future (Risse, Ropp, and Sikkink 1999). Another source of motivation within a certain domain is the existence and strength of the international institutional framework under which states operate (Finnemore 1996). In light of the fact that international arrangements can positively affect the level of motivation on the part of states when it comes to discharging their prior moral obligations, I believe that states a have a stringent duty to create a new UN agency for migration so that they are more likely to discharge their strong duties of migration in the future. Indeed, a new, well-​funded migration agency would play important expressive and practical roles. With regard to its expressive role, such an agency would communicate to the international community that, although states have a right to exclude, the exercise of that right is constrained by a number of stringent moral obligations (in the same way that the World Health Organization (WHO) enables the international community to

530   Luara Ferracioli communicate that although member-​states are free to implement their own health care programmes, some heath concerns are global in scope and demand joint international action). As for its practical role, this new agency could facilitate compliance with the duty to exclude by giving states clear guidance about the citizenship and skills of workers who should not be included until there is an adequate ratio of workers in the population of their country of origin. Most importantly, this agency could encourage states to align their response to refugees with the broader human rights regime, by urging states to adopt a human-​rights based interpretation of the current convention (at least, until there is sufficient political support for the ratification of a more inclusive one). And of course, such an agency would be well equipped to facilitate burden-​sharing of refugees by states, as well as create the condition for a refugee trading scheme if states could show that such a scheme is both morally permissible and likely to be effective in significantly increasing the numbers of persons in receipt of protection.

Conclusion I now want to conclude this discussion by showing that a more desirable immigration regime is also reasonably feasible. This is because the creation of a new migration agency is itself reasonably feasible. Indeed, there are already two international organizations that partly foster international cooperation in the domain of migration:  the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR) and the International Organization for Migration (IOM). While these agencies already enable some degree of international cooperation in migration, there are shortcomings in relying on them as they currently function. The problem with the UNHCR is its scope. Its mandate has always been temporary (although recurring refugee flows have meant that the agency’s mandate continues to be extended), and its focus is not on migration per se but on refugees as determined by the Refugee Convention. The problem with the IOM relates to its legal status, rather than the scope of its work. This intergovernmental organization (which is not part of the United Nations system) is involved in a wide range of issues related to the global management of migration, but it lacks a legal mandate to enable proper collective action by states. This means that the agency’s focus is limited to service provision, research, and policy advice. Given that we already have two well-​structured, truly international agencies that either possesses some of the expertise needed for cooperation or the legitimacy to protect the vulnerable, the international community should merge the two organizations into a proper, well-​funded UN agency. This agency could be labelled United Nations Organization for Migration (UNOM), entrusted with the appropriate legal mandate and institutional apparatus to ensure that the right of liberal states to pursue their own

International Migration and Human Rights    531 migration arrangements is properly constrained by their moral duties of inclusion and exclusion.

Notes 1. Pevnick (2011) and Carens (2013) are exceptions. 2. e.g. the emigration of two-thirds of South African physicians has exacerbated the South African HIV and the tuberculosis epidemics. See Chopra et al. (2009). See also El-​Khawas (2004). 3. Similar conditions are defended in Ferracioli (2015). Let me grant that there may be genuine uncertainty in some domestic contexts, and that it will be appropriate for states to continue including workers until it becomes clear that they are indeed enabling harmful brain drain.

References Barry, C., and G. Øverland (2012). The Feasible Alternatives Thesis:  Kicking Away the Livelihoods of the Global Poor. Politics, Philosophy & Economics 11(1): 97–​119. Betts, A. (2010). The Refugee Regime Complex. Refugee Survey Quarterly 29(1): 12–​37. Betts, A. (2013). Survival Migration: Failed Governance and the Crisis of Displacement (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press). Blake, M. (2013). Immigration, Jurisdiction, and Exclusion. Philosophy & Public Affairs 41: 103–​30. Brock, G. (2009). Global Justice: A Cosmopolitan Account (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Carens, J. H. (1987). Aliens and Citizens:  The Case for Open Borders. Review of Politics 49(2): 251–​73. Carens, J. (2013). The Ethics of Immigration (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Chopra, M., et al. (2009). Achieving the Health Millennium Development Goals for South Africa: Challenges and Priorities. The Lancet 374(9694): 1023–​31. Cole, P. (2000). Philosophies of Exclusion:  Liberal Political Theory and Immigration (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press). El-​Khawas, M. A. (2004). Brain Drain:  Putting Africa Between a Rock and a Hard Place. Mediterranean Quarterly 15(4): 37–​56. Ferracioli, L. (2014). The Appeal and Danger of a New Refugee Convention. Social Theory and Practice 40(1): 123–​44. Ferracioli, L. (2015). Immigration, Self-​ Determination, and the Brain Drain. Review of International Studies 41(1): 99–​115. Ferracioli, L. (2016). Family Migration Schemes and Liberal Neutrality: A Dilemma. Journal of Moral Philosophy 13(5): 553–​75. Finnemore, M. (1996). National Interests in International Society (Ithaca, NY:  Cornell University Press). Gibney, M. (2015). Refugees and Justice Between States. European Journal of Political Theory 14(4): 448–​63. Lister, M. (2010). Immigration, Association, and the Family. Law and Philosophy 29: 717–​45. Lister, M. (2013). Who Are Refugees? Law and Philosophy 32(5): 645–​7 1.

532   Luara Ferracioli Miller, D. (2005). Immigration:  The Case for Limits. In A. Cohen and C. Wellman (eds), Contemporary Debates in Applied Ethics (Malden, Mass.: Blackwell), 193–​206. Miller, D. (2015). Justice in Migration. European Journal of Political Theory 14(4): 391–​408. Oberman, K. (2013). Can Brain Drain Justify Immigration Restrictions? Ethics 123(3): 427–​55. OECD (Organisation for Economic Co-​operation and Development) (2014). International Migration Outlook 2014 (Paris: OECD). Pevnick, R. (2011). Immigration and the Constraints of Justice:  Between Open Borders and Absolute Sovereignty (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Price, M. (2009). Rethinking Asylum:  History, Purpose and Limits (Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press). Rawls, J. (1999). The Law of Peoples (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press). Risse, T., S. C. Ropp, and K. Sikkink (1999). The Power of Human Rights: International Norms and Domestic Change (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Shacknove, A. E. (1985). Who Is a Refugee? Ethics 95: 274–​84. Souter, J. (2014). Towards a Theory of Asylum as Reparation for Past Injustice. Political Studies 62(2): 326–​42. UN (United Nations) (2013). International Migration Report. Department of Economic and Social Affairs, Population Division (New York: United Nations). UN (2013b). World Migration in Figures. Department of Economic and Social Affairs, Population Division (New York: United Nations). UNHCR (2014). Global Trends 2013 (Geneva: UNHCR). Wellman, C. H. (2008). Immigration and Freedom of Association. Ethics 119(1): 109–​41. Wellman, C. H., and P. Cole (2011). Debating the Ethics of Immigration:  Is There a Right to Exclude? (Oxford: Oxford University Press).

­c hapter 40

Clim ate Equ i t y i n the Real Worl d Steve Vanderheiden

Delegates to the 1992 Earth Summit in Rio de Janeiro dared to challenge conventional thinking about the role of normative ideals in international politics, calling upon the world’s nation-​states to embrace ideals of global equity and responsibility in a series of landmark environmental treaties, including the Convention on Biological Diversity (CBD), Agenda 21, and the Rio Declaration on Environment and Development. But none cast the challenges of international cooperation on behalf of environmental protection in such overtly ethical terms as the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change (UNFCCC), through which 192 signatory states pledged to “protect the climate system for the benefit of current and future generations, on the basis of equity and the common but differentiated responsibilities and respective capabilities” of state parties to the convention (Art. 3, principle 1). This reference to international burden-​ sharing informed by equity and common but differentiated responsibility (CBDR) is widely viewed as seeking to advance international or global justice in two crucial respects: that its efforts are deployed against an environmental problem that is primarily understood in terms of the unjust burdens it would otherwise impose, and in its insistence that remedial actions be guided by equity principles to ensure that other injustices are narrowed rather than widened through efforts to rectify or lessen the original injustice. Over two decades later, with the failure to extend legally binding and centrally set mitigation burdens upon the 2012 expiration of the Kyoto Protocol, some have come to fault this emphasis upon equity in burden-​sharing as well as procedural justice for what is regarded as the failure to adequately realize the climate convention’s imperatives. In its insistence upon inclusive and democratic participation by state parties, with its consensus rule providing a universal veto, and in its focus upon generating an equitable agreement that is also suitably ambitious, the UNFCCC process could in hindsight be viewed as having been set up to fail under the weight of unrealistic expectations. Had these lofty substantive goals somehow been met through the egalitarian decision-​making

534   Steve Vanderheiden processes of the climate convention, the realist scepticism about the role of ideals in international politics would have been decisively impugned, as this would have demonstrated the capacity of international institutions to realize the ends of justice while also abiding by its means. Demonstrating its possibility, in turn, might have vindicated its desirability, potentially reshaping analysis in international relations for decades, and raising the bar for other international cooperative agreements. But those goals have not clearly been met. Even with the Paris Agreement at COP-​21 in late 2015, meeting the diminished expectations for a new multilateral climate treaty and salvaging the consensus rule at the expense of burden-​sharing according to the CBDR principle and legally binding commitments, considerable scepticism remains among realists about the feasibility (see Chapter 48) of core commitments to inclusive decision-​ making processes and equitable outcomes in international politics. Climate justice imperatives that aim for a more equitable sharing of the planet’s atmospheric absorptive capacity have been replaced by more modest aims of an “international Paretianism” in which such imperatives are taken to entail that “states only enter treaties that serve their interests” (Posner and Weisbach 2015: 6), and in which it is assumed that the pursuit of more substantive equity in international burden-​sharing has hindered rather than motivated agreement on core objectives. Such scepticism challenges the aspiration toward international cooperation through multilateral treaties and the construction of new environmental regimes in advancing a more ambitious and normatively defensible version of global justice (see Chapters 9 and 50)—​or at least reducing its contributions to global injustice—​as not only politically infeasible but also normatively unnecessary. Several outcomes from COP-​21 warrant such a sceptical assessment. State parties to the Paris Agreement agreed to establish non-​binding “nationally determined contributions” (NDCs) toward international mitigation goals, rather than legally binding targets, along with a framework for registering, monitoring, and upgrading these commitments. Abandoning the more rigorous CBDR principle by which the allocation of state burdens could be equitably assigned in favour of “self-​differentiation” by states, the earlier emphasis upon equitable differentiation of national mitigation responsibilities appears to have been diminished in the interests of political expedience. While 189 of 195 signatory states committed to post-​2020 mitigation actions, these non-​binding pledges are not answerable to equity criteria in their evaluation, and are insufficient to meet the 2 °C temperature target, suggesting that earlier objectives concerning intergenerational equity have yet to find support in outcomes of the agreement. Finally, the annex system, by which parties in developed countries were differentiated from those in developing countries in their mitigation commitments, was abandoned prior to the Paris Agreement and not revived with it. For those advocating a focus upon and strengthening of top-​down national differentiation as vital to the CBDR equity formula for mitigation, these outcomes represent a retreat from some equity provisions of the Kyoto Protocol rather than a remedy to its shortcomings. On the other hand, one might identify several manifestations of a clear and ongoing commitment to equity principles in the Paris Agreement, despite the absence of legally binding national mitigation burdens assigned in accordance with equity principles of

Climate Equity in the Real World    535 the kind called for by climate justice scholars and advocates. Parties affirmed the goal of holding global temperature increases “well below” the 2 °C temperature target set at COP-​16 in Cancun, and agreed to “pursue efforts” to limit global temperature rise to 1.5 °C, thereby committing to levels of ambition in global mitigation efforts insisted upon by less developed and more vulnerable states, and pledging further to align climate finance flows with this goal. The decision not to revive the annex system is more plausibly viewed as clearing obstacles to universal participation in mitigation efforts and as arising from recognition that major emitters like China had outgrown their exemptions from mitigation imperatives, rather than as abandoning national differentiation in mitigation commitments altogether. While NDCs are not differentiated according to the equity formulae favoured by climate justice scholars, neither were the legally binding Kyoto commitments, and the flexibility of this bottom-​up approach is expected to encourage greater ambition in those commitments, serving interests in intergenerational equity. Finally, commitments to international equity are on display in the climate finance provisions of the Paris Agreement, which extends the earlier commitment of mobilizing $100 billion per year from 2020 to 2025, and signals the need to shift financial resources away from fossil fuels and toward renewable and sustainable energy as well as low-​carbon development if temperature targets are to be met. It may therefore be premature to cite the UNFCCC process in announcing the death of ambitious idealism in international politics, but neither that process nor its latest outcome can be definitively cited on behalf of its triumph. Perhaps the final chapter of this international policy development process—​with post-​2023 targets and commitments either demonstrating adequate progress toward climate justice objectives or failing to do so—​will allow for more meaningful assessment of whether or not the commitments to substantive and procedural equity within the UNFCCC helped or hindered its practical goals; but that chapter has not yet been written. At issue for the remainder of this analysis is whether the failure at COP-​21 to deliver on the demand for a fully equitable mitigation and adaptation policy architecture bolsters the sceptical case against incorporating equity principles into international treaties, or illustrates the benefits of pursuing but failing to fully achieve ambitious idealistic objectives. Against the view that commitments to equity have only obstructed the international climate policy development process, I shall contend that aspirations toward equity have focused attention upon subjects and issues that might otherwise have been ignored and have served a legitimizing function within the climate regime.

Challenges for Equity in International Climate Politics To be fair, the UNFCCC process faced a daunting challenge. In contrast to the remit of the Montreal Protocol to phase out the use of ozone-​depleting chlorofluorocarbons

536   Steve Vanderheiden in the handful of industrialized countries that relied upon them, and then with a readily available substitute to reduce industry opposition, the task of phasing out fossil fuels throughout the world is immensely more difficult. Entrenched economic interests among fossil fuel-​exporting states and carbon-​intensive industries have galvanized opposition among powerful veto holders against any ambitious mitigation programme, whether in international politics or internally within most major participating nation-​ states. The high cost and technical difficulty in converting to low-​carbon energy and transport systems among high carbon-​consuming states has likely tempered enthusiasm for more ambitious agreements. While the Montreal Protocol is widely considered to be a successful cooperative effort in international environmental politics, the larger number of parties needing to agree and the far higher economic stakes in the climate agreement raise its difficulty by orders of magnitude. That climate treaty efforts have not seen the success of the ozone-​protecting Protocol can almost entirely be attributed to this greater challenge, not to the waning of idealism or any decline in the willingness to engage in risky cooperation on behalf of the global environment. Despite complicating the processes of reaching agreement, the commitment to equity in outcomes and participation through the UNFCCC process offers an instructive case of how an ambitious idealism in international relations can raise expectations for, and even advance, its declared ideals, even if policy outcomes ultimately fail to fully realize them. That the UNFCCC process has failed to fully realize its declared ideals represents not a final judgement of its potential but an assessment of its progress thus far, and may change as countries meet or exceed their decarbonization and adaptation finance commitments, then renew these in view of progress toward or regress from global temperature targets in the 2023 “global stocktake” and in view of new technological and social pathways to low-​carbon societies. My claim that the UNFCCC’s idealism might nonetheless be constructive for future environmental agreements relies upon the assessment (for which I will argue below) that its embrace of equity and inclusion were not only morally laudable but also essential to its achieved intermediate and (prospects for) final successes, and pose less of an obstacle to that success than some critics of the process have claimed. The UNFCCC process, along with the substance of the Paris Agreement, could be characterized as a failure in at least three crucial respects. First and most obviously, it has failed to yield an agreement by which global greenhouse gas emissions might be brought under sufficient and effective controls necessary for meeting its identified global temperature target, with further increases in atmospheric concentrations of those gases halted or reversed. Second, it has failed to bring about the kind of structural transformation within the world’s energy and transportation infrastructure that could make a more ambitious global treaty feasible, largely focusing instead, up to the present, upon the low-​hanging fruit of short-​term emissions reductions and the creation of markets. Third, the process has resulted in little progress toward consensus around equity goals themselves, with the prospect of including equity-​based benchmarks or processes within a new treaty no greater (and perhaps worse) than in previous decades. The Paris Agreement notwithstanding, many view this process as inadequate to the task of

Climate Equity in the Real World    537 bringing about any effective global mitigation programme, much less an equitable one. The question is not whether the UNFCCC process has failed in these ways, but whether and how its declared equity commitments either contributed to this failure or mitigated pressures toward more inequitable outcomes up to now and may yet help to rectify those shortcomings in the future.

The Role of Equity Commitments in  the UNFCCC Impasse Some critics have identified the UNFCCC’s commitment to equity in the assignment of mitigation burdens, along with its inclusiveness and procedural equality, as responsible for the ongoing impasse over equitable and legally binding decarbonization commitments. Prior to the negotiation of the Paris Agreement, Posner and Weisbach (2015: 4) claimed that continuing emphases upon promoting equity through climate treaty negotiations “threaten to derail a climate change agreement, thus hurting most the nations and people who are pressing those very arguments.” They therefore urged the reframing of the UNFCCC’s equity objectives in terms of national interests, around which they seek to repackage climate justice discourses, if they are to yield agreement. Similarly, in her post-​mortem of the “failure” of the Kyoto Protocol, Rosen (2015: 45) identifies that treaty’s “use of percentage-​based, net emissions targets” as responsible for opening intractable rifts between states over their burden-​sharing arrangements, which aimed to instantiate some version of the CBDR principle, along with the relatively short compliance period in which the structural changes to energy and transport systems needed for serious decarbonization could not realistically occur. Other critics identify procedural elements of the UNFCCC as responsible for the global impasse. Streck (2012) faults the consensus rule for undermining prospects for wide agreement by allowing any party to veto and thus obstruct the climate treaty’s development. Keohane and Victor (2011: 9) cite the complexity of the global mitigation challenge and uncertainties surrounding future gains and risks as elements of the “regime complex” of climate change that renders states “increasingly unable to make reliable promises about exactly what they will be willing and able to implement.” As a result, they argue, parties are now even more reluctant to make ambitious commitments through the inclusive processes and “massive, integrated legal instruments and global summits such as witnessed in Copenhagen” (Streck 2012: 14). Hoffman (2011) blames a misguided but stubbornly ongoing commitment to what he calls “megamultilateralism” for the failure of the UNFCCC process, even well after such an approach has, in his view, demonstrated its inability to yield satisfactory results. Many such critics call either for the abandonment of the UNFCCC process altogether or for the temporary redirecting of energies toward more limited and modest goals through which some of the convention’s objectives might be more successfully realized.

538   Steve Vanderheiden Keohane and Victor (2001:  9), for example, endorse the “climate clubs” approach of crafting agreements among relatively small groups of large emitters, which are “easier to manage because they are smaller” and can “allow members to withhold benefits from states that do not share their interests or seek to act as free riders.” Similarly, Widerberg and Pattberg (2015:  45) call for the development of more International Cooperative Initiatives (ICIs) that “operate beyond the auspices of the UNFCCC” and include “smaller groups of likeminded countries, often including companies, NGOs, academia, international organizations (IO) and sub-​national public actors such as cities.” Such efforts, they argue, could both initiate the necessary decarbonization efforts for closing emissions gaps and help to create the political support needed for more ambitious multilateral agreements. Likewise, Heyward (2007: 259) calls for more “bottom-​ up” approaches involving clean energy research and development, efficiency standards, and the redirection of subsidies from fossil fuels to renewables, suggesting that these nonbinding approaches “have the potential to be perceived as reasonably equitable, and could be environmentally effective if they attract sufficient support.” None of these critics views the UNFCCC process as being potentially constructive for suitably ambitious cooperative international climate agreements in the future. All identify the commitments to equity articulated in the framework convention as posing obstacles rather than fostering agreement or motivating cooperation. Whether in terms of expectations of global equity or responsibility-​based mitigation burden-​sharing or as reflected in the highly inclusive processes by which states large and small, rich and poor, carbon-​profligate and climate-​vulnerable alike, have not only a voice but also an effective veto, they view the convention’s idealistic commitments as a practical nuisance, despite perhaps also morally laudable goals. While levelled prior to the negotiation of the Paris Agreement, each of these points of criticism could be cited in its wake insofar as there is no clear equity criteria by which to evaluate national mitigation targets, or assign and/​or evaluate equitable climate finance burden among developed countries for the purposes of funding mitigation and adaptation in developing countries. Does such criticism warrant rethinking the place of equity in international environmental agreements, as doing more harm than good?

Equity Ideals as Constructive, but Elusive Most of the criticism levelled against the UNFCCC process has been directed at its commitments to procedural equity, in its inclusiveness and with the consensus rule, rather than at its commitment to equity in outcomes. Indeed, while various historical instantiations of this equity commitment may be open to criticism as inequitable in other respects, or later became obstacles to further process in climate treaty negotiations, they have nonetheless served to move the process forward rather than hindering it at crucial

Climate Equity in the Real World    539 times. Although it has come to be viewed as an obstacle to the full participation of rapidly growing emitters like India and China, for example, the earlier interpretation of the CBDR principle as requiring the division of state parties into Annex 1 industrialized countries with legally binding targets under the Kyoto protocol and non-​Annex 1 developing ones without such commitments served to reduce obstacles to participation by allowing crucial developing-​country parties to benefit from international carbon-​ trading and other mitigation programmes. As previously noted, the Paris Agreement no longer utilizes the annex system to differentiate states into categories of industrialized parties with mitigation and developing ones without: the binary distinction was scrapped at COP-​20 in Lima the previous year, as outdated and unnecessary. Instead, the Paris Agreement calls on all parties to “aim to reach global peaking of greenhouse gas emissions as soon as possible” (Art. 4.1), instructing developed countries to “continue taking the lead” in their domestic mitigation efforts while providing support for developing countries to do the same. In so doing, it allows for finer-​grained differentiation among developing country parties, rather than relying upon the crude binary by which all non-​Annex 1 parties were treated equally. The decision in the Kyoto Protocol to grandfather the widely disparate per capita emissions by calling for roughly equal percentage reductions in emissions among developed-​country parties invited criticism about its failure to follow the CBDR principle (Vanderheiden 2008), even if allowing this inequity to persist fostered consensus over its terms by requiring slightly less of the United States than was required of the European Union, where political support for mitigation was substantially higher. Here, the commitment to procedural equity allowed a powerful state to exact inequitable outcomes from its veto threat, as procedures requiring the agreement of powerful states were also used to include carbon offsetting and trading as compliance mechanisms within the protocol. However, the equity language in the UNFCCC pressured the US to reframe its objections to the treaty framework in terms of equity, as it did in claiming as inequitable the exclusion of India and China from binding commitments, rather than exclusively citing national interests for its refusal to ratify and later withdrawal from the Protocol. More recently, the consensus rule has come to be used to advance developing-​country interests rather than as a veto threat benefiting affluent states, aligning procedural equity commitments like the consensus rule with substantive equity objectives for policy outcomes. The walk-​out by 132 developing countries at COP-​19 in Warsaw resulted in the acknowledgement of “loss and damage” recompense as a “red line” for maintaining some equity commitments within the treaty architecture, and in the initiation of the Warsaw International Mechanism on Loss and Damage. Likewise, the insertion into the 9 December Draft Paris Outcome of language calling upon rich countries to pay the “agreed full costs” (Option 1 under Art. III, §5) of mitigation plans, combined with pressure from India and China to include climate finance commitments within the treaty framework, led to a ramping up of such commitments to secure consensus behind the Paris Agreement, with the quantified goal of $100 billion per year included in the text (§54). Similarly, the advocacy of a 1.5 °C rather than 2 °C temperature goal by the High

540   Steve Vanderheiden Ambition Coalition, led by the Marshall Islands, allowed a relatively powerless party to leverage the need for consensus to gain official recognition of this more ambitious target within the Paris Agreement. In these cases, the political equality inherent in the consensus rule has led to more equitable burden-​sharing rather than less. Indeed, the treaty’s early and continued commitment to equity may be considered as among its greatest strengths, and as an essential component to its success. As Morgan and Waskow note, “equity and mitigation ambition are two sides of the same coin” (2014: 20), since the collective action nature of global climate politics makes it easier for any one state to commit to more ambitious abatement targets if others also do so, negating any comparative disadvantages from taking on those commitments. Inequity, as Parks and Roberts (2008: 623) suggest, can dampen utility-​enhancing cooperative efforts by reinforcing “structuralist” world-​views and causal beliefs, polarizing policy preferences, making it difficult to coalesce around a socially shared understanding of what is “fair”, eroding conditions of trust, generating divergent and unstable expectations about future behaviour, and creating incentives for zero-​sum and negative-​sum behaviour.

Apart from the need to address perceived inequities as a precondition for agreement to the terms of any climate treaty, commitments to equity within the process and in the outcomes of international climate treaties may be essential for fostering the necessary conditions for those policy-​making processes being approached in a cooperative spirit with the requisite trust and reciprocity, and their resulting commitments being pursued with good faith. Likewise, the need to reach consensus motivates concessions to the interests of poor and vulnerable parties by powerful ones, furthering equity objectives through the pragmatic need for agreement joined to the UNFCCC process’s commitments to inclusivity and political equality. In turn, equity interests might be better served by a more inclusive and multilateral framework rather than through piecemeal or club-​based approaches, through which some states must initiate their decarbonization efforts well before others or in which many states are exempt from binding commitments altogether. In the absence of an international treaty framework, it may be incumbent upon some states to unilaterally take the lead in mitigation efforts, in an attempt to lead other states toward more equitable forms of cooperation. Those states acting upon early commitments face higher per-​ unit abatement costs, at least insofar as these are driven by adoption of more efficient technology, as early adopters face higher costs and thus face less efficient abatement options than might later adopters (Vanderheiden 2012). As Maltais suggests (2014: 627), this need not necessarily undermine equitable terms of cooperation, as the “costs of leadership” many still involve “burdens for which we can appropriately assign fair shares.” Incentives to take on early adopter costs could be built into the later assignment of mitigation burdens, to reflect this differential in per-​unit abatement costs between early and late adopters of technology; but such leadership still exposes those taking the lead to more risk and uncertainty, which involve their own inequitable burdens.

Climate Equity in the Real World    541 By contrast, the risks can be more evenly distributed, the uncertainties reduced and their insidious effects upon particular states prevented, and the development and deployment costs for clean technologies more evenly borne under a treaty framework under which similarly positioned parties undertake mitigation efforts simultaneously. More inclusive efforts also prevent free-​riding, which can likewise impose inequitable burdens upon cooperators while also discouraging their taking on more ambitious commitments for fear of these being undermined by those refusing to make such commitments (Vanderheiden 2016). Whereas the club approach may help to jump-​start international mitigation efforts where multilateral treaty processes are stymied by conflict (Grasso and Roberts 2014), by leaving out minor emitters and defectors they allow for significant inequities in mitigation burdens, which may act as a counterweight to the expediency benefits touted by advocates. As Eckersley notes (2012: 33), an “exclusive minilateralism,” in which vulnerable parties are excluded from negotiations because of their negligible emissions, would “remove an important source of information and advocacy for strong action on mitigation” and remove “the answerability of the major emitters to the most vulnerable parties during the crucial negotiation phase.” Only by including the most vulnerable in negotiations through an “inclusive minilateralism” can this ambition and accountability be restored, she suggests. Here, answerability to the vulnerable should also promote greater equity, within and between generations, as the agreement must be fair to a wider group of participants.

Equity and Ambition in Real-​World Climate Efforts While critics correctly identify a gap between the equity goals articulated through the UNFCCC and their operationalization in international agreements or realization in practice, justice has not disappeared as a guiding principle, as Posner and Weisbach urged. Since the international climate regime inherently addresses justice issues in its remit (Soltau 2009), and given the attention at COP-​21 to higher levels of ambition in mitigation, to ramping up adaptation finance, and to officially addressing issues of “loss and damage” within the agreement, the resilience and continuing influence of an equity discourse in the international climate policy development process portends its staying power. Indeed, the very notion that an equity gap exists between expectations and reality implies that the former continues to condition and offer critical perspective on the latter. As norms, justice and equity are rarely fully realized within institutional arrangements, but can have critical force on policy outcomes nonetheless, as they highlight areas in which practice falls short of such ideals. Those calling for procedural reforms of or alternatives to the laborious and often deadlocked UNFCCC process, or for de-​emphasizing or even forswearing its commitments to equitable outcomes, typically do so from a frustrated pragmatism, regarding a

542   Steve Vanderheiden misguided pursuit of the perfect as having become an enemy of the good. Certainly, they have a point in claiming that some progress at decarbonization or adaptation finance is better than none, and that some inequity in remedial burden-​sharing in an effective mitigation effort now would be preferable, from the perspective of intergenerational equity, to business as usual. Less often appreciated are the ways that two and a half decades of framing climate change as in large part an equity imperative have placed and kept the issue on the agenda of social justice and development movements that might otherwise have viewed it as less pressing, or motivated more ambitious commitments from developing country parties to the convention, which have become active and interested if subordinate parties to its development. That the US Senate, in refusing to ratify the Kyoto Protocol in 1997, and its president, George W. Bush, in withdrawing from the treaty, felt compelled to justify these economically and ideologically motivated rejections of international cooperation in terms of fairness or equity should not be underestimated. Equity offers a powerful discursive frame for international politics, and its power is not diminished by the gaps between what it commends and what it observes. In casting the human causes and effects of climate change in justice terms, and in requiring attention to procedural and substantive equity in the international response to it, the framework convention could aptly be described as morally ambitious. That is, by framing this immensely complicated environmental phenomenon as in significant part a justice problem—​while also being a social, economic, technological, and ecological problem—​it constrains the remedies available for addressing its various other dimensions. In requiring that mitigation and adaptation efforts not only be effective but also equitable, it rules out as contrary to its core principle some more expeditious approaches that could have bypassed the “megamultilateral” processes of the UNFCCC. Some critics now identify that moral ambition as having caused the limitations of, and resulting impasse over, key issues in those processes, suggesting abandonment of some or all of its guiding principles, but in so doing fail to appreciate how commitments to substantive and procedural equity have been instrumental in shaping a treaty framework that is acceptable to all parties. Absent these equity commitments within the UNFCCC process, and equity provisions within the Kyoto Protocol and Paris Agreement, the treaty frameworks would not have been acceptable to key parties, and agreement upon their terms would not have been possible. While such calls for reform are controversial among observers of UNFCCC climate policy development processes, less controversial is the assessment that the policy outcomes and resulting actions associated with them have not been practically ambitious enough. This kind of ambition is reflected in pledges toward, actions on behalf of, and results from national mitigation plans, along with state pledges for and delivery of funds to adaptation-​financing mechanisms like the Green Climate Fund. As has been widely noted elsewhere, the pledged mitigation actions called for in the Paris Agreement are expected to fall well short of what is necessary for maintaining the 2 °C temperature target that was also affirmed at the same meeting, and the mobilization of international climate finance through mechanisms like the GCF and Global Environmental Facility have likewise thus far been insufficient to meet the politically declared objectives for

Climate Equity in the Real World    543 these instruments. Such deficits in practical ambition are only apparent because of the UNFCCC’s moral ambition in charging parties with explicitly ethical objectives and directing them to follow idealistic criteria in doing so, and because procedural equity commitments led to the adoption of temperature targets by which national mitigation commitments could be assessed as revealing a gap. Faulting the UNFCCC process’s moral ambition for the gap between its stated ideals and objectives and the performance of states in meeting those ideals and objectives fails to appreciate how the moral ambition enhances rather than inhibits the practical ambition.

Conclusion Going forward, the question that will determine the success or failure of international climate change mitigation and adaptation efforts is therefore how to significantly increase their level of practical ambition. Whether an excess of moral ambition has helped or hindered this practical ambition in the past, and whether an increase or reduction of moral ambition in the future might translate into greater practical ambition, therefore form crucial aspects of this question. Ultimately, these are empirical questions about which several of the outcomes discussed above offer some anecdotal evidence, but which nonetheless are largely speculative and uncertain, given the untestable hypotheses on both sides. Lurking behind this empirical question lies a normative one, which has proved equally difficult to adequately address within the field of international political theory. If we stipulate that this trade-​off between moral and practical ambition is possible, we must still ask whether it is defensible to sacrifice global justice for the sake of better environmental outcomes. One answer to this normative question suggests that this would be defensible, since the environmental conditions are foundational for social or global justice to be possible, and the impacts upon the world’s poor by inadequately mitigated climate change would be so severe that no prior insistence upon equity in mitigation or adaptation efforts could possibly undo the damage. Notice that here, as with Posner and Weisbach’s call to eschew the justice discourse within international climate negotiations, the struggle for justice is viewed as self-​defeating, maintaining that the best way to promote global equity is to set aside concerns about global equity. While tempting in its endorsement of a kind of moral laissez-​faire, its facile presumption—​that a global economic system that has allowed for widening inequalities despite a four decade-​long campaign to end global poverty, or a climate system that has thus far benefited the world’s advantaged by allowing carbon-​intensive development while threatening the world’s most disadvantaged in its predicted impacts, will yield greater equity if not intentionally directed to do so—​ constitutes an unwarranted wager on the welfare of those most vulnerable to injustice as well as environmental change. A more precautionary answer, and the one urged in this chapter’s analysis, doubts the empirical trade-​off but flatly rejects the normative one. Insofar as climate change

544   Steve Vanderheiden is at its core a problem of justice—​with inherently distributive questions about access to the world’s carbon sinks and fairness in the allocation of mitigation and adaptation burdens—​it cannot be fully redressed by setting aside equity, as some critics suggest. If anything, it will be concern for equity in the impacts of climate change, upon the poor and vulnerable that have done so little to contribute to the problem but stand to bear the brunt of its effects, and upon future generations about which the same can be said, that will motivate higher levels of practical ambition among political leaders in the global North. National interests alone, especially with the discounting of future national interests, will not be enough to motivate mitigation actions sufficient to meet the 2 °C temperature target, or to provide necessary adaptation resources for those beyond national borders who are placed in harm’s way. It is this moral ambition, then, and the motives and resources that it might potentially mobilize on behalf of more practical ambition in global climate efforts, that have fostered agreement on more equitable and ambitious outcomes that might otherwise have found their way into the Paris Agreement, and which may yet salvage the UNFCCC process.

References Eckersley, R. (2012). Moving Forward in the Climate Negotiations:  Multilateralism or Minilateralism? Global Environmental Politics 12(2): 24–​42. Grasso, M., and J. T. Roberts (2014). A Compromise to Break the Climate Impasse. Nature Climate Change 4: 543–​9. Heyward, M. (2007). Equity and International Climate Change Negotiations:  A Matter of Perspective. Climate Policy 7: 518–​34. Hoffman, M. J. (2011). Climate Governance at the Crossroads:  Experimenting with a Global Response after Kyoto (New York: Oxford University Press). Keohane, R. O., and D. G. Victor (2011). The Regime Complex for Climate Change. Perspectives on Politics 9(1): 7–​23. Maltais, A. (2014). Failing International Climate Politics and the Fairness of Going First. Political Studies 62(3): 618–​33. Morgan, J., and D. Waskow (2014). A New Look at Climate Equity in the UNFCCC. Climate Policy 14(1): 17–​22. Parks, B. C., and J. T. Roberts (2008). Inequality and the Global Climate Regime: Breaking the North–​South Impasse. Cambridge Review of International Affairs 21(4): 621–​48. Posner, E. A., and D. Weisbach (2015). Climate Change Justice (Princeton, NJ:  Princeton University Press). Rosen, A. M. (2015). The Wrong Solution at the Right Time: The Failure of the Kyoto Protocol on Climate Change. Politics & Policy 43(1): 30–​58. Soltau, F. (2009). Fairness in International Climate Change Law and Policy (New  York: Cambridge University Press). Streck, C. (2012). Innovativeness and Paralysis in International Climate Policy. Transnational Environmental Law 1(1): 137–​52. Vanderheiden, S. (2008). Atmospheric Justice: A Political Theory of Climate Change (New York: Oxford University Press).

Climate Equity in the Real World    545 Vanderheiden, S. (2012). Coaxing Climate Policy Leadership. Ethics & International Affairs 26(4): 463–​79. Vanderheiden, S. (2016). Climate Change and Free Riding. Journal of Moral Philosophy 13(1): 1–​27. Widerberg, O., and P. Pattberg (2015). International Cooperative Initiatives in Global Climate Governance: Raising the Ambition Level or Delegitimizing the UNFCCC? Global Policy 6: 145.

­c hapter 41

The Eth i c a l Foundations  of A i d Two Duties of Rescue Paul Collier

Over the past half-​century, aid to “developing” countries has grown to be big money, financed through taxation and delivered through a plethora of government and philanthropic organizations. Yet its ethical underpinnings have received surprisingly little attention. I suggest that the ethical rationale for tax-​financed aid should ultimately be grounded in certain obligations to other human beings which are widely recognized by ordinary people. Unless aid meets such obligations, the resort to compulsory taxation to finance it would risk being an abuse of collective power. So what are the widely recognized obligations to people not living in our own societies? Necessarily, they will fall far short of those we recognize towards our fellow citizens. Partly this is because within a society, the prospect of reciprocity forms a solid foundation for generosity. In contrast, obligations towards much poorer societies are not meaningfully reciprocal. I think that these minimal obligations are reducible to two “duties of rescue,” one immediate and one prospective. Recognition of an immediate duty of rescue is the normal ethical response when it is possible to alleviate a life-​threatening situation. If other people are dying avoidably of hunger, disaster, or disease, most ordinary people recognize a duty of rescue from catastrophe. In response to the earthquake in Haiti of 2010, half of American households made donations; in response to the Ethiopian famine of 1984, millions of British households did the same. It is both an appropriate expression of the popular will and organizationally efficient that rich societies such as the USA and Britain should also respond to such a duty not just individually but collectively. Just as when we are threatened we respond collectively with defence, when our hearts are moved we respond collectively with aid. This is the ethical foundation for humanitarian aid. But most aid is not for such humanitarian purposes, but rather for “development assistance.” The difference in rationale is simply expressed in the familiar proposition

The Ethical Foundations of Aid    547 that “if you give a man a fish it feeds him for a day, whereas if you teach him how to fish it feeds him for life.” Reduced to a proposition about fish, the underlying ethical rationale for development assistance might seem to be merely a far-​sighted variant of that for humanitarian aid. But, of course, this would not bear scrutiny. Building a more robust ethical rationale for development assistance is the focus of this chapter. I begin with a story of dramatic divergence between economies. Until around 1850, income inequalities between countries were modest. But between 1850 and 1980, industrialization in the West and Japan finally reached the stage at which living standards rose dramatically. Meanwhile, other countries stagnated, so that global inequalities exploded. As the world diverged economically, it integrated socially: information travelled more easily, and people in poor countries saw that elsewhere lives were radically better. As disaffection grew, governments needed to offer their populations the credible prospect of better lives. Some governments, notably China’s, succeeded. As the global economy prospered, the scope for reaching modest levels of prosperity increased. By 2015 virtually no society that had sustained reasonably functional government for a few decades was still poor. But in many societies government was built on elite patronage systems which frustrated the economic processes triggered in the prospering societies. This juxtaposition of hopeful prosperity for the majority of countries (some already at high levels of income, most others on track to become so) with hopeless poverty for a minority of countries has created an ethical rationale for development assistance. Although it has not usually been formulated in this way, I suggest that just as there is an accepted duty of rescue from immediate catastrophe, so there is acceptance, albeit inchoate, of a duty of rescue from mass despair. The individual condition of despair is recognized as exceptionally destructive both psychologically and practically. Psychologically it deprives us of peace of mind; practically, it incapacitates us of purposive actions to improve our circumstances. As individuals, when we meet such despair we try to alleviate it. But in the current economic state of the world, whereas most societies offer credible hope of prosperity to their average citizen, some societies do not. Clearly, there can be no global collective duty to rescue individuals from despair: this is a matter for individual and collective action within a society. But the mass absence of credible hope of a better life is different. If the economy is impoverished and stagnant, no redistributive actions from rich to poor within the society can remedy the situation: mass despair is rational. In a few of these societies, such as North Korea, there is nothing that we can do about it: hermetically defended, they are beyond our reach. But in many such societies there is some scope for collective help to alleviate collective despair. Until this duty has been met to the best of our ability, it is hard to see why any other use of “development assistance” would be ethically justified. While the ethical foundations of aid reduce to these two duties, the historical evolution of development assistance has not reflected them. In the next section I describe that evolution. I then evaluate current development assistance against my proposed benchmark of the duty of rescue from despair. But development assistance is rapidly evolving, driven by the arrival of China as a major development actor which has adopted a very different

548   Paul Collier approach, by new understanding of how economies escape stagnation, and by new donor concerns such as climate change. These raise a new and complex ethical issue: under what circumstances is it ethically acceptable for aid to generate benefits to the donor?

The Historic Rationales for Aid The institutional impetus for development assistance has not been firmly grounded on any clear ethical principles, let alone the duty of rescue from mass despair. Aid began in the wake of the Second World War. The massive devastation led to a proposal to establish an International Bank for Reconstruction. As an addendum, the proposal was broadened to serve a larger international constituency by adding “and Development” to its remit: in 1947 what we now know as the World Bank was born, and with it international aid. Reflecting its core agenda of reconstruction, the initial development activities of the Bank were confined to financing infrastructure, for which there was indeed an acute need. From this ad hoc beginning, aid programmes expanded for further ad hoc reasons. As Britain’s colonies became independent, the Colonial Office, the part of government which had administered them, evolved to continue its relationship through financial support. In France, the other major colonial power, financial assistance was scaled up further. It proved to be a convenient way of channelling public money into the French political parties by bypassing the normal mechanisms of budgetary scrutiny. In the USA, the Cold War came to be fought on many fronts, one of them being financial support for pro-​Western governments. Only with the end of the Cold War did aid agencies begin to think ethically. This led to two radically different approaches. One was a response to the mounting evidence that the persistence of mass poverty in a society was the fault of its government. Where the policies chosen by elite-​serving governments were the problem, the appropriate donor response appeared to be to make aid conditional upon the adoption of better policies. During the 1980s, when the oil shock created major fiscal and payments crises across Africa, this had the added advantage that large packages of aid could be delivered quickly in return for government promises of policy reform, whereas previously flows had reflected actual spending on investment projects. Aid thereby became conditioned upon a widening range of economic policies: exchange rates, deregulation, reductions in public employment, and privatization. This approach generated powerful political backlashes from Western electorates. The right concluded that if rotten regimes were the problem, giving them aid was wasteful, and made things worse by empowering them. The left, already engaged in opposition to the economic policies of Reagan and Thatcher, linked the policies required by conditionality to their domestic concerns through coining the concept “the neo-​liberal agenda.” They concluded that, far from poverty being due to poor governance, it was due to donor insistence on this agenda. These political responses left donor agencies without political support: albeit for different reasons, by the 1990s the right and the left both wanted to close the World Bank.

The Ethical Foundations of Aid    549 It thus became politically imperative to build an ethical case for aid, and the solution was to focus it on lifting people out of poverty. This new approach was exemplified by a new annual World Bank count of people living below one dollar per day; the new mission statement that President Wolfensohn of the World Bank introduced in 1997, “Our dream is a world free from poverty”; and the Millennium Development Goals (MDGs) established by the United Nations in 2000. Essentially, all were pitched to Western taxpayers. The aid agenda became social, especially health and education, its essence being captured by images that linked aid to “putting a smile on a child’s face.” If the purpose of aid was to reduce poverty, but successful development depended upon the policies that governments adopted, it appeared that aid would be most effective in those countries with severe poverty and reasonable policies. Aid should be reallocated to such countries from middle-​income countries with little poverty and from low-​income countries that had terrible policies. This was formulated and quantified in an influential article: “Aid Allocation and Poverty Reduction” (Collier and Dollar 2002). The article purported to answer the question “Where can aid achieve most poverty reduction per dollar?” Although initially controversial, it became the basis for algorithms that allocated aid both in the World Bank and for major bilateral donors. Opposition to aid from the political right intensified, leaving the agencies no alternative to mending fences with the left. For example, in 1998 Mark Malloch-​Brown, head of public relations at the World Bank and soon to be the architect of the MDGs, had announced to his staff that they had been defeated by the PR of Oxfam criticism of conditionality. In response, the content of conditionality evolved into one congenial to the NGOs. By 2015, Western aid was routinely conditioned on strict environmental and human rights requirements. For example, all World Bank projects had to have “environmental impact assessments.” Hydroelectric projects became impossible to finance because NGOs considered that they infringed the human rights of people who lived where dams would be located. Carbon emission standards were imposed on World Bank projects in poor countries that were considerably higher than those practised in high-​income countries. The sexual behaviour of Ugandans became a particular target of NGO attention. First, American evangelicals persuaded USAID to require the national campaign against AIDs to divert into promoting abstinence (Epstein 2007), and then gay rights campaigners persuaded donors that the decision of the nation’s parliament to restrict the rights of gay people must be countered by threats of a suspension of aid (see Chapters 24 and 28).

Critique: The Divergence from the Duty of Rescue from Mass Despair In summary, by 2015 Western aid ostensibly for development assistance was focused primarily on financing priorities set by the donor countries’ electorates, especially

550   Paul Collier photogenic social expenditures, while being used as a means of imposing modern Western values on poor, traditional societies. Inadvertently, development assistance has thus diverged from its predominant ethical rationale: the duty of rescue from mass despair. In consequence, it is ethically flawed. First, the obsession with an annual global poverty count commits both type 1 and type 2 errors of misclassification. It treats a poor family as the same, whether it is in China, in Chad, or in Brazil. Being poor today is not a sure symptom of despair, which is about prospects for the future. Even if the three families are equally poor, their prospects are radically different. Chinese families have a solid basis for credible hope of improvement: the Chinese government has mastered the task of getting the economy to grow and spread opportunities. The government of Chad has not. Even if the Brazilian family has poor prospects, it does not create an international duty of rescue. Brazil is rich enough that if the society chose to do so, its poor could be lifted out of poverty by internal transfers. Providing Brazil’s poor with international aid would create severe moral hazard: why should affluent Brazilians accept the inconvenience of paying for the Brazilian poor if foreigners are willing to do so instead? Conversely, in some societies many people who are above the $1 a day threshold may reasonably despair of their societies as their condition deteriorates relative to the lifestyles they see are normal elsewhere. Hopes are about relative, as well as absolute, conditions of living. Secondly, the shift of aid towards health and education blurred the distinction between humanitarian aid and development assistance. There is a clear humanitarian case for health spending: lives can be saved by aid because good curative care is beyond the means of governments in low-​income countries. A striking example has been the donor response to the development of anti-​retroviral treatments for Africans who were HIV+. As the cost dropped to a few hundred dollars per year, donors recognized a duty of rescue from catastrophe towards those identifiable individuals who would otherwise face certain death. A controversy erupted between health economists and NGOs, with the former relying upon the probabilistic calculus of utilitarianism to argue that other uses of public money could save more lives, and the latter recognizing that with identifiable people facing avoidable deaths, there was a manifest duty of rescue from catastrophe. The shift to funding primary education was more questionable. Unlike curative health care, primary education is inexpensive. Financing it through donors trespasses on what should be a core function of government. If a government is not undertaking this responsibility towards the nation’s children, it is hard to see how it can establish legitimacy with its citizens. This is an example of a critique of aid that accuses it of weakening the interest of government in strengthening the economy, and the accountability of government to citizens. The argument, based upon the historical evolution of European states, is that both depend upon the need of government to get revenue through taxing citizens. Only once the government taxes the economy does it have an incentive to promote economic growth, and only once it taxes citizens does it provoke scrutiny. Donors could reduce this tension between their provision of finance for government and the reduced need of governments to raise taxation by financing major infrastructure

The Ethical Foundations of Aid    551 projects which would otherwise be infeasible—​precisely the type of development assistance that has been scaled back. Thirdly, the hijacking of conditionality for the promotion of current Western values is troubling. Even if these values are seen as absolute, global, and permanent, making them a condition for the escape from despair breaches the Western value of freedom. Further, even if conditions change behaviour, there is reason to doubt their efficacy in changing opinions. The attempt to restrict the freedom of action of the recipient produces a psychological response termed “reactance” in which the actor wishes to breach the restriction to re-​establish autonomy. Even where the actor complies with the condition, it is explained as a temporary concession to force majeure. Far from promoting a change of attitudes, it impedes social learning. Finally, alongside Western attempts to force our values on poor societies, within Western societies there has been an espousal of multiculturalism—​the coexistence of alternative value systems. Not only are the two positions incompatible, neither position is ethically defensible. The cultures prevalent in many poor societies are in important respects flawed. Cultures of inter-​group violence, of corruption, of honour, and of female subjection trap societies into poverty and need to be changed. While cultural change cannot be imposed from outside, it can be assisted by exposing key nodes of activity, such as tax collection, education, and the courts, to their counterparts in more functional societies. It is not ethically controversial to propose that tax collectors should raise money for their country, not their family; that teachers should turn up for lessons and learn their subject; and that judges should apply the law rather than sell judgements for money and sex. The capacity to tax is now seen by economists as critical to the emergence of an effective state. Consider the administration of Value Added Tax (VAT), a major means of revenue-​raising encouraged by the IMF. Yet in several poor societies VAT is actually reducing revenue. Many tax inspectors are corrupt, using their power to tax firms as a means of extorting money for themselves: “pay me or pay tax.” VAT has reduced revenue because it expanded the options available to corrupt tax officials, enabling them to sell firms phoney tax receipts on inputs, in addition to the standard extortion racket. As a result, the rebate system ends up paying out more than the sales tax component of VAT is generating. Clearly, at the core of this phenomenon are norms of behaviour among tax officials, such that seizing opportunities for private gain is seen as both more prestigious and satisfying than contributing to the public good of generating tax revenue and the public services it can finance: a “good tax inspector” is one who uses his position to help his family, not his country. How might donor agencies in countries with functioning VAT systems help to change this perception? Social prestige and personal satisfaction are largely set within peer groups: most people want to be respected by their peers, and find satisfaction in adhering to group norms. Hence, a way of changing the behaviour of corrupt officials is to alter the group of people they regard as their peers. Currently, an official is likely to have two networks in which they seek prestige: their extended family and fellow tax inspectors. Their family will honour them for helping relatives: becoming the patron of the family.

552   Paul Collier Their fellow tax inspectors, subject to the same family pressures, may see corruption as reasonable. They may even regard honest behaviour as a threat and therefore disloyal. A way of changing this state of affairs is to twin tax administrations in which corruption is endemic with those where it is not. Twinning might involve regular secondments of staff in both directions, and accreditation to international professional associations. The purpose would be to transfer, not technical skills, but attitudes and behaviours. The new network exposes the official to the potential of a new identity as a member of a prestigious international peer group, working to global, not local standards. It exposes the official to a new narrative circulating in the network: that tax officials are vital for the provision of core public services. And it exposes the official to a new norm of “good” conduct. A “good” tax inspector is no longer one who raises a lot of money for their family, but one who rigorously implements the tax code to make the rest of government feasible. In summary, it is ethically legitimate and practically necessary for development assistance to try to change some value systems, but it is not best achieved by conditionality, and is best confined to those organizations such as tax administration that are critical to the escape from mass poverty.

Reinforcing the Duty of Rescue:  Aid for Mutual Benefit Some uses of aid both address the duty of rescue and serve the interest of the donor. This is aid for mutual benefit. As long as the efficacy of the aid in reducing despair is unaffected, the addition of a benefit to the donor is an unambiguous gain. Trivially, for a given benefit to the recipient the addition of a benefit to the donor is a Pareto-​improving enhancement of global welfare. However, more remarkably, even from the perspective of the recipient, the addition of a gain to the donor is welcome. By making benefits mutual, it makes the relationship less unequal: the genuine partnership of a deal, rather than the faux “partnership” of charity. Further, by providing the donor with a benefit, it anchors the project in self-​interest, making donor commitment more credible. Most important, the direct benefit, over and above the moral satisfaction of fulfilling a duty of rescue, will induce the rational donor to provide more aid to the recipient than if the sole benefit was moral satisfaction. Hence, aid budgets will end up being larger. This is both directly derivable from a rational choice perspective on decisions and readily discernible in the practical politics of aid, with donor agencies keen to stress direct benefits to their own society. There is nothing inherently bad about designing aid in such a way that it generates mutual benefit. On the contrary, it can be desirable. However, it does carry the potential for an adverse effect: the diversion of aid from projects which make a large contribution to the duty of rescue to those which make a smaller contribution but which also generate benefits for the donor. Even when this happens, the overall effect of mutual benefit may

The Ethical Foundations of Aid    553 still be superior to the purely charitable model of aid. While each dollar of mutual benefit aid is less effective for the duty of rescue, the donor still has an incentive to provide more aid. The net effect of diversion expansionary is ambiguous. Western NGOs have been strongly opposed to any use of aid that has an element of self-​interest. However, their opposition is not based on a judgement that the diversionary effect would predominate: rather, it is existential. Charitable purpose being an existential characteristic of NGOs themselves, any deviation in government agencies is regarded as “impure.” At the urging of NGOs, in 2002 the British Parliament legally required DFID, exclusively to pursue the reduction in global poverty, as opposed to commercial self-​interest (Department for International Development 2002). As Michael Sandel has argued, there are indeed areas of human behaviour where the introduction of self-​interest is inappropriate (Sandel 2012). However, it is difficult to see why the objective of lifting societies out of mass despair of ever attaining prosperity should be in this category. The only economic system which has succeeded in lifting people out of mass poverty is modern market capitalism, and this clearly combines self-​interest with motivations that are ethically more attractive. If insistence upon eschewing self-​interest in meeting this vital objective impaired its achievement, the moral “purity” of the donor would be purchased at a heavy price in terms of the prolonged suffering of those in despair. However, while aid for mutual benefit is ethically permissible, due to the diversion effect it has the potential to be less effective for the duty of rescue than purely charitable aid. In consequence, any project characterized by mutual benefit must be scrutinized to ascertain whether it is indeed as effective as the best alternative use of the money in a project that addressed only the duty of rescue. I now subject four uses of aid which are claimed to generate mutual benefits to such scrutiny. These are the recent Chinese infrastructure-​for-​resources deals in Africa; the use of aid to subsidize commercial investment in poor countries as practised by the International Finance Corporation of the World Bank; the deployment of aid to states which are considered to be a threat to international security, such as Afghanistan; and the use of aid for the mitigation of climate change.

Chinese Infrastructure-​for-​Resource Deals as Mutual Benefit Post-​2000, while Western donors were shifting aid to the social agenda promoted by the Millennium Development Goals, China arrived on the scene with an utterly different approach to aid: “mutual benefit.” Recipient governments determined its use according to their own priorities: “we will not ask any questions” was the mantra of the President of China as he toured Africa. But in return, China would require the aid to be part of a package of deals that provided benefits to China. The archetypal such deal was that an African government would get some infrastructure that it wanted, to be constructed by a Chinese company and financed by a soft loan from a Chinese bank, in return for a natural-​resource concession awarded to a Chinese company.

554   Paul Collier African governments favoured this approach:  it removed conditionality, enabled them to set their own priorities for infrastructure rather than social spending, and was faster. Mutual benefit was more dignified, avoiding the inherent asymmetry of power of the donor–​recipient relationship. It also gave the Chinese a clear interest in implementing what was agreed. This contrasted with the perceived fickleness of Western donors, where priorities often changed to placate electorates, or according to the fashions of donor enthusiasms. African governments had grown particularly concerned about the long-​term implications of donor enthusiasm for social spending because of its “time-​inconsistency.” Once governments had increased their donor-​funded spending, for example by enrolling more children into schools, donors had an incentive to switch their priorities to something else, knowing that the high political costs of scaling back enrolments meant that the initial government decisions were irreversible. There was, however, much wrong with the Chinese approach: mutual benefit meant that the Chinese would look after their own interest and expected African governments to do the same. The asymmetry of power shifted, from donor–​recipient to capable–​less capable. The packages were usually opaque, and were negotiated at the highest level of recipient governments rather than won in open competition. In combination, the lack of transparency and the lack of competition created suspicions that terms were so skewed in favour of the Chinese that “aid” might be notional. The IMF opposed the packages because they bypassed the budget: natural resources were exchanged directly for infrastructure rather than being decomposed into two distinct transactions, a sale of resources and a purchase of infrastructure. However, there was some rationale for packaging the two together: it provided a mechanism by which a government could commit to offset the depletion of a natural asset with the acquisition of another asset. Often, when the sale of resources generates revenues that flow into the national budget, day-​to-​ day political pressures assign them to popular but unsustainable recurrent expenditures such as wage increases. Arguably, the main weakness of the Chinese packages has been that they were not subject to competition. This reflected the reluctance of Western donors to package aid with commercial transactions.

Subsidies for Commercial Investment as Mutual Benefit Several donor agencies have affiliates which do partner with commercial ventures, most notably the International Finance Corporation of the World Bank Group. However, it is expected to operate without any subsidy beyond that constituted by its initial donor-​ provided capital. Indeed, it is expected to operate at a profit which is used to augment the aid budget administered by another part of the Bank. Yet aid as a subsidy for commercial investment, which is inherent in the Chinese model of the package deal, had an important advantage over aid as charity. The poorest countries are acutely short of investment by modern firms. Such firms make ordinary workers radically more productive than in the traditional economy by harnessing scale and specialization. In turn, generating such increases in productivity is

The Ethical Foundations of Aid    555 essential for the mass escape from despair. Yet for entirely rational reasons, not enough of these firms want to operate in poor societies. Government policies are often deficient: good firms are now justifiably terrified of the reputational risk to which they are exposed if they operate in cultures of corruption. But even when policies are reasonable, in regions burdened with a bad reputation they elicit a hesitant private sector response. Reputable firms which make investment in these environments are pioneers. If they succeed, they are liable to be imitated by subsequent entrants, generating benefits to the country but not to the firm. In the language of economics, reputable firms which invest in poor countries generate positive externalities. Aid as a subsidy to pioneer firms is an ethically reasonably and practically useful mechanism which compensates them for these benefits that accrue to others. Crucially, the escape from mass poverty is largely driven by the modern private sector; so confining aid to public-​sector uses severely restricts its potential. Indeed, a central function of aid will be to induce more firms to go to places that they would otherwise have avoided. To an extent this can be by financing the necessary public infrastructure such as power and transport, but the highest-​impact aid will probably be that which co-​finances private investments by covering some risks. Donor agencies that used aid for this purpose would not be “contaminated.” The notion that mass poverty can be overcome directly by sufficient donor financing of governments is a comfortable but unfortunate delusion fostered by NGOs and the Millennium Development Goals. However, using aid to subsidize private investment introduces the risk that diversion towards self-​interest will reduce the overall efficacy of aid. Addressing this risk depends upon the public agencies that dispense subsidies assigning sufficient weight in their decisions to the duty of rescue. Like all aspects of organizational cultures, this depends upon the leadership being ethically aligned with the public purpose. If attracting reputable firms to countries that they do not wish to go to is essential to meet the duty of rescue, agencies must make aid-​as-​subsidy work.

Aid to Fragile States as Mutual Benefit Some countries are at serious risk of falling into mass violence; others are in the midst of it. The term that now describes such societies is “fragile.” There are three official lists of fragile countries, with around forty countries on them. Fragile countries are unlikely to offer credible hope of prosperity for their people: social order is a prerequisite for economic development. Thus, fragile countries are a subset of the countries for which there is a duty of rescue. This is now being recognized among aid agencies. For example, DFID, which has already largely confined its aid to those countries that meet the two criteria of the duty of rescue, now assigns half of its budget to states that are also fragile. However, from an ethical perspective, the interesting aspect of aid to fragile states is that it generates mutual benefit. When societies descend into violent disorder they adversely affect other societies, especially, but not exclusively, neighbours. Current examples such as Afghanistan, Mali, the Central African Republic, Yemen, and Syria are so prominent

556   Paul Collier that the point requires little elaboration. In the language of social science, those societies that are fragile constitute a global public bad, so that aid deployed to reduce that fragility has the potential to be a global public good. Whether aid can reduce fragility is open to debate. Fragility usually has complex and intractable causes well beyond the lack of money. For example, violent disorder may be indicative of a dysfunctional culture of violence. Aid agencies urgently need to switch from their comfortable past agendas of supporting social spending in societies where the state works reasonably well and there is an established domestic business community, such as India, to building the foundations for growth in societies such as South Sudan, where neither is the case. Learning how to use aid in such difficult contexts is the essential future challenge for the agencies. It might appear that aid to reduce fragility would be mutually benefit at its best. The recipients facing disorder are at the extremity need, and the interest of the donors in the security of their own and neighbouring societies is entirely legitimate. Yet aid to reduce fragility has become ethically controversial. Evidently, if the society is facing actual or potential disorder, part of the appropriate response is likely to be the strengthening of military security. But since security expenditure has the potential to be repressive, it is actively discouraged by both donor agencies and NGOs: military spending is the antithesis of the social agenda. The example of Mali and Chad in Sahelian Africa illustrates the ethical dilemma. Mali, a well-​functioning democracy, became something of a donor darling, but in consequence the military budget was kept modest. In contrast, because Chad discovered oil, in a high-​profile confrontation its government broke free of pressure from donors and NGOs, and restricted military spending. In the wake of the collapse of Libya, and the dispersion of Gaddafi’s stockpile of sophisticated armaments around the Sahel, the Malian army was defeated by Islamic insurgents. The country has collapsed into disorder. Meanwhile Chad, with the strongest army in the Sahel region, is being celebrated as the backbone of the counterattack on Boko Haram, the Islamic insurgency group in Northern Nigeria that has specialized in kidnap, rape, and slavery. In central Africa it has recently been judged necessary by the United Nations for foreign troops to be stationed in Mali, Sierra Leone, Côte d’Ivoire, Liberia, and the Central African Republic. Should the expenditures on these forces be regarded as aid? Since security is a precondition for development, there seems little basis for excluding them. But if so, should support that strengthens the national military capacity, thereby enabling foreign troops to be withdrawn, not also count as aid? Other than a temperamental distaste for the military among NGOs and the development community, it is difficult to find a justification for these exclusions.

Aid for the Mitigation of Climate Change as Mutual Benefit Increasingly, aid is being used to promote the mitigation of carbon emissions. Since the main beneficiaries of a reduction in global warming will be poorer countries, it might

The Ethical Foundations of Aid    557 appear that such aid is an anodyne instance of mutual benefit. I will suggest that, on the contrary, it is an instance of the insidious process by which the objective of the donor is taken to be coincident with the objective of the recipient. The responsibility of the OECD and middle-​income countries to curb their carbon emissions is manifest: the long-​term consequences of continued high levels of emissions for many poor countries are severe. However, a simple brute technological fact limits the beneficiaries: due to the long lag between emissions and their consequences, the beneficiaries of expenditures on mitigation will overwhelmingly be people living in the distant future. In contrast, the duty to rescue from mass hopelessness is an agenda that must be addressed over the shorter time-​scale of the current generation. Though daunting, the task is manageable if aid and other policies are highly focused on it, since the societies needing help are already a small minority of mankind. Climate change needs to be addressed, but it should be financed out of new instruments such as carbon taxes, not by a diversion of aid budgets from the duty of rescue from mass despair. This applies whether or not the expenditures take place in low-​income countries. There are indeed opportunities for OECD countries to meet their obligations for emissions reduction by undertaking projects in poor countries that reduce emissions more cost-​effectively than in the home country. This is a sensible thing for OECD countries to do in their own interest, but it has nothing to do with aid. Some projects can indeed meet the dual criteria of the duty of rescue from despair and climate mitigation. For example, the replacement of high-​cost diesel electricity generators by gas-​powered generators satisfies the duty of rescue by providing more and cheaper electricity, while also reducing emissions. But as with all claims of mutual benefit, such projects must be scrutinized. The most pertinent climate-​related legitimate uses of aid are likely to be for adaptation rather than mitigation: poor countries will need to adapt to the climate change that will occur during the next two decades as a result of past emissions.

Conclusion To date, aid has nestled under the generic ethical banner of charity. Its presumed photogenic recipients, needy children, have appeared to be all the moral justification that was necessary. But the actual practice of aid has at times drifted quite far from a secure ethical anchor. In this chapter I have tried to provide such an anchor in terms of the duty of successful societies to rescue a minority of other societies from the immediate tragedy of humanitarian catastrophes, and from the prospective tragedy of societies that do not provide credible hope of prosperity for the mass of their population. These ethical foundations can usefully be reinforced by “mutual benefit”: the addition of an element of self-​interest. But due to the potential for moral hazard, claims of mutual benefit must be rigorously assessed.

558   Paul Collier

Acknowledgement I would like to thank Richard Manning, whose perceptive suggestions and criticisms have strongly influenced this chapter.

References Collier, P., and D. Dollar (2002). Aid Allocation and Poverty Reduction. European Economic Review 46(8): 1475–​1500. Department for International Development (2002). The International Development Act (London: Home Office). Epstein, H. (2007). The Invisible Cure (New York: Farrar, Straus, and Giroux). Sandel, M. (2012). What Money Can’t Buy (London: Penguin).

­c hapter 42

A Fem inist Prac t i c a l Ethics of C a re Fiona Robinson

This chapter offers an account of a distinctively “practical” feminist international ethics, and considers its relevance to the building of policy, practices, and institutions of humanitarianism. Of course, it could be argued that all feminist approaches to ethics are, in some important senses, practical. Feminist theory—​in the humanities and social sciences—​is inextricably connected to feminism as a social and political movement dedicated to the transformation of oppressive or exclusive gender relations. Due, in part, to this connection, feminist moral philosophers have long questioned the dominant view of ethics as a codifiable and usually compact set of moral formulas or principles that can be applied by any agent to a situation to yield a justified and determinate action-​guiding judgement (Walker 1998: 52). Feminists have countered this claim with the argument that moral practices cannot be extricated from other social practices, nor moral identitites from social roles and institutions in particular lifeways (Walker 1998: 17). As Kimberly Hutchings has put it, “Feminist ethics is not reducible to the articulation of feminist ideals but requires constant interrogation of the conditions of possibility of putting those ideals into practice in a world that is gendered all the way down” (Hutchings 2007a: 103). Of course, just as there is division and contest within the feminist movement, there is no single feminist ethics.1 This chapter will focus on one widely used and debated approach to feminist ethics known as “ethics of care.” I do not suggest that this is the only or “best” approach to feminist ethics, or that it should somehow trump all of the others. However, there are at least three reasons why the ethics of care provides the best starting point for developing a practical feminist international ethics. First, it is widely recognized that the ethics of care articulates an approach to morality that is borne out by the experiences of women, and that has been silenced by the dominance of masculinist moral theories. Indeed, care ethics has played an important role in the development of feminist thought and feminist theory over the last several decades. Second, central to the ethics of care is the idea that ethics is located in practices of care, rather

560   Fiona Robinson than in deontic or utilitarian principles. Finally, despite its origins in empirical social-​ psychological research on individual moral responses, care ethics is now increasingly invoked—​in both conceptual and policy terms—​at the level of the international or “global.” For a number of reasons—​both theoretical and empirical—​the “global” has become an increasingly salient scale at which to discuss care (Raghuram 2012: 159). This chapter will build a picture of a critical, feminist ethics of care as a feminist practical ethics for international relations. In particular, it will focus on the ethics of care as a moral framework for addressing the challenges of humanitarianism—​in a manner that foregrounds human needs while not depoliticizing or taking for granted the category of “human.” In particular, a care ethics approach to humanitarianism is one that furthers the transformative aims of feminism, while refusing to cast “women-​and-​children” as vulnerable victims in need of protection. Attention to gender in the context of humanitarianism has tended to focus on the ways in which gender relations and inequalities influence both vulnerabilities and capacities, as well as people’s ability to respond in emergency situations, such as natural disasters or conflict situations (CIDA 2003: 5). But even where women’s capacity or agency is recognized, the tendency is to focus on the differences among men and women and how this affects their experiences of humanitarian crisis. An ethics of care, by contrast, starts with a picture of care in a given context—​its history, present, and the possibilities for change. In the making of policies and programmes, it seeks to reason with the demands—​often conflicting demands—​ of care in mind, and to recognize the centrality of these demands and needs for those experiencing a period of crisis. The first section of this chapter will set out the central ideas of an ethics of care, contrasting it to dominant approaches in IPT. In this section I will emphasize the significance of care as a global ethics, while emphasizing the need to pay attention to context, history, and the mutual constitution of the local and the global. The second section will discuss the ethics of care as a “practical” feminist IPT, focusing on its relevance for the practices and policies of humanitarianism in the contemporary world.

International Political Theory and the Ethics of Care The now-​extensive body of literature known as the “ethics of care” first emerged as a result of a sense of disquiet—​a feeling on the part of a handful of women scholars that something was not right, or at least not complete, in our dominant accounts of the nature of morality and moral development. When, in 1980, Sara Ruddick first wrote about mothers as thinkers, she did so based on a strong belief that their ways of thinking and acting were different fro the dominant ideas of the rational moral agent to which we were accustomed (Ruddick 1980). Likewise, when Carol Gilligan and her colleagues began their empirical research on the moral-​psychological development of girls and

A Feminist Practical Ethics of Care    561 women, boys and men, she did so with a similar belief that the views of her teacher, Lawrence Kohlberg, were “blind to the particularities of voice and the inevitable constructions that constitute point of view.” It was, she argues, based on an “inerrant neutrality which concealed power and falsified knowledge” (Gilligan 1993: xviii). In her research, Gilligan presented a series of moral dilemmas to women and men, boys and girls. What she heard from the girls and women was a “different voice” of morality, one that saw the world as “comprised of relationships rather than of people standing alone, a world that coheres through human connection rather than through a system of rules” (Gilligan 1993: 29). Gilligan describes what she heard when listening to one woman talk about morality, relationships, and selfhood: In seeing individual lives as connected and embedded in a social context of relationship, she expands her moral perspective to encompass a notion of “collective life”. Responsibility now includes both self and other, viewed as different but connected rather than as separate and opposed. This cognizance of interdependence, rather than a concern with reciprocity, informs her belief that ‘we all do to some extent have responsibilities to look out for each other. (Gilligan 1993: 147)

This kind of understanding of the nature of morality has particular relevance to the idea of a feminist practical ethics. Because the voice of care is not searching for objective principles of right or the good, but seeks to navigate moral dilemmas in context by attending to relations of care—​by making sure no one is left alone or hurt—​it challenges the divide between “theory” and “practice.” It emphasizes the importance of context in moral judgement and action, and starts with a view of moral agents as inherently vulnerable and interdependent. On this view, there is no time when we are not thinking and acting morally, since morality is woven into the very fabric of our relations with others. That this voice of morality was heard in the responses of women and girls—​and not in those of men and boys—​does not indicate essential or physiological differences in the moral psychology of men and women. Rather, it indicates the effects of gender socialization, and of gendered understandings of the roles, responsibilities, and subjectivities of men and women. The ethics of care is thus a “feminist” ethics, because it reveals both the processes and structures that have characterized women as caring and thus contributed to the circumscribing of societal roles and norms for men and women, and the processes by which the values and practices of care have been feminized—​and thus consistently undervalued—​in a large number of historical and spatial contexts around the world. In this sense, the ethics of care offers a “deep challenge” to other moral theories (Held 2006: 26). It conforms to what Margaret Walker has called the “expressive-​collaborative” model, which prescribes an investigation of morality as a socially embodied medium of mutual understanding and negotiation between people over their responsibility for things open to human care and response (Walker 1998: 9). As such, it contrasts vividly to what the “theoretical-​juridical” model of morality and moral theories, which has prevailed as the template for “serious” or “important” moral theorizing in ethics in the twentieth century (p. 7). This model has been prevalent not only in analytical moral

562   Fiona Robinson philosophy and political theory but also in the field of interational ethics or, as it is now commonly called, International Political Theory (IPT). In particular, this field is dominated by theories of global justice, in the liberal-​cosmopolitan tradition. These accounts stress the necessity of establishing universalizable principles in order to achieve a just world order. Moreover, they argue that these global principles of justice apply to individuals, who are seen as the autonomous constituents of a cosmopolitan world order (Caney 2010: 152). At first glance, the ethics of care appears to have little to say in response to dominant accounts of international ethics. Gilligan’s early articulation of the different voice of care centred on the moral responses of individuals to others with whom they exist in relationship in ways that would sustain rather than sever connection. These “others” were close connections—​immediate family members, close friends, loved ones—​ and the types of moral dilemmas posed by Gilligan and her colleagues were what might be described as “small-​scale” or “personal” in nature. But when political theorists and philosophers recognized the political implications of Gilligan’s work, they demonstrated the significance of an ethic of care beyond the narrow realm of interpersonal or “private” relations. More correctly, feminist moral and political theorists demonstrated the false divide between “private” and “public” in thinking about morality. Care was thus shown to be a mode of reasoning that did not discriminate among separate “spheres” or scales—​“care-​full” reasoning could be and was being applied to all aspects of life, including those that involved weighing up responsibilities and considering relationships beyond the “intimate” level. Indeed, political theorists of care have argued that care ethics reaches its full potential when understood politically (see especially Tronto 1993). The idea of a political ethics of care recognizes that relations of care operate within and through relations of power. While most of the work on care in political theory focuses on its role in shaping political life within the borders of the nation-​state as political community—​addressing concepts such as democracy and citizenship—​recent research has pushed further the challenging of boundaries to consider care ethics at the level of international or global politics. Fiona Robinson’s 1999 book, Globalizing Care, explored how care ethics can provide a compelling alternative to rationalist, rights-​based or “justice” reasoning in international ethics. Since then, work on global care ethics has revealed the transnational and global implications of both existing relations of care—​and the racialized, gendered relations of power in which they are embedded—​and the potential for new and transformative caring relations and responsibilities across borders. For example, Fierke (2014) explores the paradox in a global ethic of care of the importance of the particular other and the need to extend care to ever-​larger spaces. She uses the idea of “multidirectional traumatic memories” (of the Holocaust/​al Nakba) as a basis for rethinking antagonistic relationships and creating relations of attentiveness that acknowledge the autonomy and humanity of the other. In seeking to remain cognizant of difference while theorizing “globalized” care, feminist ethicists must remember the importance of context as a defining feature of the ethics of care. When asked by Gilligan about how to balance competing responsibilities,

A Feminist Practical Ethics of Care    563 11-​year-​old Amy replied, “Well, it really depends on the situation” (Gilligan 1993: 35). While this may be read as a failure to reason decisively, or to have reached moral maturity (especially when contrasted with 11-​year-​old Jake’s confident response assigning fractions of responsibility), it can also be read as demonstrating an understanding of the complexity and fundamental irresolvability of most moral dilemmas. This humility about the possibility of moral judgement, combined with the desire to do one’s best to consider the needs of all of those in one’s care, must be at the heart of moral responsiveness based on an ethic of care. In the section that follows, I will explore the possibilities and potentials of global care ethics as a feminist practical ethics for humanitarianism. As the discussion below illustrates, this approach eschews the common formulation of “practical” as “application” of principles. Rather, it is a view of ourselves as subjects constituted in and through care that must guide our thinking in the context of humanitarianism.

Care and Humanitarianism Humanitarianism—​as a moral attitude, and a set of policies, practices, and institutions—​ has been subject to much reflection and criticism, especially in the last two decades. Since the end of the Cold War, humanitarianism has transformed from a set of “relatively independent, poorly resourced and fairly marginal” groups acting in response to human crises, to today’s “hugely well-​resourced state humanitarianism.” Quoting David Reiff, Jenny Edkins explains how, after 1989, humanitarianism was the only feasible direction for “the ethically serious European” (Reiff 2002: 111, quoted in Edkins 2003: 254) following the discrediting of both communism and developmentalism. In terms of its guiding ethic, humanitarianism has struggled with the demands of neutrality and impartiality—​to treat the human qua human, remaining blind to history and context. Paradoxically, this moral objective transformed, over time, into a defence of individual human rights through various forms of “intervention,” ultimately undermining the neutral defence of the individual human being it sought to achieve (Edkins 2003: 249). A critical feminist ethics of care provides the basis for an alternative to the dominant impartialist, cosmopolitan approaches to the moral challenges of humanitarianism. The ethics of care rejects both the universalizing assumptions of moral cosmopolitanism—​ based as they are on an impartialist view of “common humanity”—​and the communitarian assumptions of shared moral feeling based on citizenship. Beyond this abstract and tidy dichotomy is the messy reality of responding to the multiple, diverse, and often conflicting needs of particular others, and judging with care—​in ways that seek to balance attention to competing needs, and find the least harmful ways of responding to impossible moral decisions. Thus, a care ethics lens reminds those charged with making decisions in humanitarian contexts that there can be no “one-​size-​fits-​all” set of moral principles that can be applied in the formulating of policy or the creation of institutions. Indeed, there is no “short cut” to careful consideration of the people involved—​the

564   Fiona Robinson nature of their relationships within and across families and communities—​and the various needs that require attention. But in addition, care ethics provides policy-​makers with a substantive focus—​careful consideration of needs for care-​giving and receiving within the context of particular humanitarian situations. This means paying attention to the history, current practices, and rupturing of caring relations, and the relations of gender—​and often race and class—​that sustain them. Thus, humanitarianism is no longer about charitable or benevolent “helping” of “humans”—​defined as vulnerable victims in need; rather, it is about careful attention to locational specificities of care—​ both historically and in current contexts—​and seeking to assist with the restoration or enhancement of care relations in ways that are are non-​exploitative and adequate for meeting the needs of both care-​givers and care-​receivers. Like the Foucauldian response to humanitarianism, a critical feminist ethics of care rejects the narrative of human beings as “separate, atomized individuals” who share a “common essence” (Edkins 2003: 256). Instead, both perspectives see subjects as “produced always already in and through relations with other subjects” (p. 256). And while Foucauldians emphasize the “solidarity of the governed,” care ethics emphasizes the quotidian practices of care that are a feature of most lives. As Tronto argues, if we take our activities of care as examples of moral action, then all of us engage in moral actions much of the time (Tronto 1993: 164). On this view, individuals are presumed to be in a state of moral engagement, rather than a condition of detachment (p. 164). Thus, it no longer becomes surprising that people feel compelled to respond to those in distress; what becomes suprising and in need of explanation instead is why sometimes people see others’ suffering as none of their business (p. 256). Care ethics, however, relies less on the Foucauldian “solidarity of the shaken” (p. 256) and more on the varied practices of sustaining life that characterize not only the “exceptional” contexts of humanitarian emergency but the day-​to-​day realities of most people. What this means is that attention should be focused on the relationships and responsibilities that facilitite the giving and receiving of care—​within households, extended families, communities, and wider social groupings. This means asking new and different questions: how do these communities attend to and manage care—​of children, of the elderly, the disabled, the acutely and chronically ill? How is this labour distributed—​ according to gender, race, and class? Is the provision of care adequate and fairly distributed, or lacking and exploitative? How have relations of care broken down as a result of crises, or of the background events leading up to these crises? A feminist practical ethics of care, in the context of global humanitarianism (see Chapter 22), focuses on historical and existing care practices, as well as potential solutions to care crises. And if these practices conform more to the “realities” of women than to men, this reveals not something essential about their nature, but more about the resilience of androcentric norms in valuing and regulating social life, and obliterating the significance of arrangments which provide care for the very young, sick, and elderly (Truong, Wieringa, and Chhachhi 2006: xxi). A critical ethics of care functions as a feminist practical international ethics in two senses. First, it emphasizes a different voice of morality—​one that has been routinely

A Feminist Practical Ethics of Care    565 silenced by dominant accounts of moral development and one that has been found to be heard in, and to resonate with, many women. To make this claim is not to suggest some sort of innate or biologically determined “women’s” morality, but rather that cultural norms of gender have contributed to the feminizing of this voice. For Gilligan, listening to and taking seriously the voices of women was an important feminist move. But care ethics is feminist in a second sense. This sense involves the next step of care thinking—​thinking politically about how and why this moral voice—​of care, connection, and context—​had been systematically silenced. This involves not only addressing the feminization of care but also asking why and how men are less inclined to speak the language of care and take on the labour of caring, and addressing the forces which define masculinity in ways that exclude relationality and care. A critical feminist ethics of care focuses on the moral challenge of listening attentively to all of those whose needs exist, intertwined, in a given time and place. While we cannot respond to the all of the needs of everyone, the task is to judge with care by considering who will be harmed or isolated by our actions or policies in a given, particular context. “We” make these judgements from the privileged position of the humanitarian responder—​but we do so in the full knowledge that this position is precarious and contingent. While the privilege of the humanitarian responder may seem secure—​given her citizenship, education, and affluence—​the lens of care reminds us that we are all beings who rely on the care of others throughout our lives. Despite the promise of an ethic of care as a practical ethics of humanitarianism, the language of care is thick with meanings and associations that inevitably precede it. First is the claim that a caring approach to humanitarianism will necesssarily be paternalistic. Certainly, by its very nature, care is rarely an activity engaged in by equals. There is always implicit in care, then, the danger that those who receive care will lose their autonomy and their sense of independence (Tronto 1993: 147). While this concern is relevant at the level of personal relations among individuals, it also resonates in the context of international politics. In 1995, Uma Narayan addressed what she called the “self-​ serving collaboration between elements of colonial rights discourse and care discourse” (Narayan 1995: 133). While she is not suggesting an equivalence between the discourses of colonialism and care ethics, she does argue that the terms of the paternalistic colonialist “care discourse” have some resonance with those of some contemporary strands of the ethic of care (p. 133). Furthermore, in his work on humanitarian governance, Michael Barnett has argued that the international community is increasingly organized to preserve, protect, and promote human life, reflecting an ethics of care and impulse to intervene for a greater good (Barnett 2012: 485). The norms, laws, actors, and institutions of the contemporary international humanitarian order are nestled, he argues, in discourses of compassion, responsibility, and care; the mixture of care and control that defines humanitarian governance points to the presence of paternalism (pp. 486–​7). A second critique of “care” suggests that a focus on care will obscure the possibility of political solutions to wider, structural injustices which are the source of most humanitarian crises. In her discussion of immigration and humanitarianism in France, Miriam Ticktin critiques the process by which immigration, “a political issue of the

566   Fiona Robinson highest order, has come to be managed in significant ways by sentiments and practices of care and compassion” (Ticktin 2011: 5). Here she is referring to what she sees as the central place of benevolence and compassion in contemporary political life, especially when enacted under the threat of emergency or crisis, as solutions to global problems of inequality, exploitation, and discrimination. Her argument is that these regimes of care ultimately work to displace possibilities for larger forms of collective change, particularly for those most disenfranchised. Indeed, she describes this politics of care as a form of “antipolitics” (p. 5). These arguments raise important challenges for a feminist ethic of care as a practical ethics of humanitarianism. However, I would argue that they rely on a particular reading of care ethics as a prescription for benevolent or charitable “do-​gooding” for a specific group of human beings who are regarded as acutely or chronically “vulnerable” or “needy.” My view of a critical feminist ethic of care—​supported by the work of many theorists of care—​eschews this view in favour of a political ethic of care that is attentive to relations and structures of power—​including, but not limited to, those based on gender relations. The critical lens of care ethics exposes the ways in which dominant norms and discourses sustain existing power relations that lead to inequalities in the way that societies determine how and on what bases care will be given and received (Robinson 2011: 28). Moreover, it views the interrogation of the association of women with the values and virtues of caring as integral to the feminist enterprise (p. 33). As a critical feminist theory, care ethics has the resources to counter the challenges that it is paternalistic and apolitical. First, while paternalism is certainly a potential danger of some readings of an ethics of care, an ethics of care that is both critical and feminist is oriented towards a critique of the sociopolitical conditions—​both material and semiotic—​that construct the gendered dyad between “carer” and “cared-​for” in the world. As Tronto points out, this image is not only inaccurate, it has bad consequences. Indeed, it begins to “import into the very nature of care its inequality” (Tronto 2013: 152–​3). It obscures the fact that care-​givers are also care-​receivers, and that they too are vulnerable, needy, and sometimes incompetent. And it can serve as a justification for continuing to exclude and not think about care-​receivers and their close care-​givers as full, participating citizens (Tronto 2013: 152–​ 3). I  argue, with Marian Barnes, that it is neither empirically accurate nor morally defensible—​in this context and in others—​to define people as only givers or receivers of care. Barnes insists that the “political argument needs to be about care and the necessity and value of care, rather than the comparative merits of protecting the rights and interests of those who are currently ‘dependent’ or ‘independent’ ” (Barnes 2012: 178). Moving beyond criticism of the potential for paternalism in care ethics, scholars are increasingly seeking to articulate an ethics of care which not only avoids paternalism but also actually combats it in practice. Writing about paternalism in development practice, Serene Khader has argued that within care ethics lie a set of “epistemic virtues” that enable carers to perceive conflicts between their views of the other’s good and what is actually in the other’s best interests. In particular, she cites the “transparent self,” “narrative understanding,” and “loving attention” as aspects of an ethic of care

A Feminist Practical Ethics of Care    567 that may help development practioners work against their own paternalistic inclinations (Khader 2011: 744). Similarly, I have argued elsewhere that, in order to avoid the harms of paternalism, globalized care practices must be mindful to integrate strategies that are “transformative” of the conditions under which roles of “carer” and “cared for” are constructed, edified, and performed (Robinson 2016a). While these strategies might include simple reflection and reflexivity on one’s own subject-​position, inherent vulnerability, and past and current care needs, they could also include subversive representations of the politics of aid and humanitarianism, as presented in popular satiric videos of aid and development (see Robinson 2016a). Second, while the ethics of care offers a different perspective on morality and moral judgement, it is also very much a starting point for thinking about an alternative politics. Thus, the view of care as “antipolitics” results from a reading of care as benevolent compassion for those less fortunate—​the needy, the sick, the infirm, the weak. But care ethicists have rejected this view of care, arguing instead that, as a political concept, care helps us to rethink humans as interdependent, vulnerable beings (Tronto 1993: 21). In the context of humanitarian responses, this means not only prioritizing the giving and receiving of care in the moment of crisis but also asking how social, political, and economic conditions in various locales are affecting the ability of people to give and receive care. This means paying close attention to relations of gender. As Jody Heymann’s research has shown, while men and boys are clearly affected by economic insecurity, the burden of care-​giving is disproportionately carried by women and girls (Heymann 2006: 126). Responses to humanitarian crisis must seek to attend to need wherever we find it, but also ask what kinds of socioeconomic structures and norms create the conditions in which care is given and received.

From The Responsibility to Protect to One Humanity In this final section, I address what is could be described as the key normative statement on international humanitarianism of the early twentieth century: The Responsibility to Protect—​the 2001 Report of the International Commission on Intervention and State Sovereignty. I then contrast R2P with the 2016 Report of the UN Secretary-​General for the World Humanitarian Summit, One Humanity: Shared Responsibility. I argue that, while far from perfect or a panacea, the One Humanity document moves in the direction of understanding humanitarianism from the perspective of an ethics of care, and in so doing, progresses beyond some of the problematic elements of the R2P. One Humanity offers some recognition of the relational context in which people live their lives, the need for long-​term engagement rather than protection in a moment of crisis, and the ways in which moral claims and responsibilities are always embedded in “the political,” rather than in an impartial “view from nowhere.”

568   Fiona Robinson Throughout the R2P report, a clear dichotomy is drawn between the international community and the local context in which conflict is occurring. Written in the aftermath of the end of the Cold War and haunted by the failures of Rwanda and Srebrenica, the report asserts the moral responsibility of the rational, prosperous West in the context of the New World Order. Indeed, the discursive tropes are quite striking; complex conflicts happen in “distant lands” (ICISS 2001: 5), where states are “unwilling or unable” to protect their people (p. 11). Even in arguing that conflict prevention is more than “merely a national or local affair,” and paying lip-​service to the implication of the “rich world” in intra-​state warfare in the global South, the report maintains the dichotomy between “local” and the “international,” where the latter is associated with strong states with the capacity for protection. Not only does it fail to elucidate the extent to which the “local” is always, already bound up with the so-​called “international,” but it effaces the complex, power-​ridden, and often life-​sustaining relations that constitute “the local.” The narrative of “prevention” found in the report suggests that the focus of responsibilities across borders be directed towards preventing conflict (as opposed to building relations of mutual respect and responsiveness). But, more telling than this, it is also suggested that these so-​called “preventative” actions are important because they build credibility, which will be important when “international action must go beyond prevention to reaction, and especially when that reaction necessarily involves coercive measures, and ultimately the use of armed force” (ICISS 2001: 19, emphasis added). The implications are quite clear here: that any kind of “prevention” will probably be futile, and that the focus is on the moment when military intervention becomes necessary. It should be noted that the report of the ICISS eschews the term “humanitarian”—​or at least avoids using it in conjunction with the term “intervention.” Responding to the “very strong opposition” expressed by humanitarian organizations towards the militarization of the word “humanitarian,” the report refers repeatedly to “intervention for human protection purposes” (ICISS 2001: 11). Furthermore, the authors of the report claim that, in shifting the terms from “right to intervene” to “responsibility to protect,” they are shifting the point of view from the powerful to “those seeking or needing support.” The logic of this claim is difficult to follow, since it is “those who may be considering intervention” who are still the subjects of the phrase “responsibility to protect” (see Chapters 24 and 25); it is they, the rational, heroic moral actors who have the capability, the autonomy and responsibility to protect the others, the objects of global politics—​ women who need to be protected from “systematic rape” and children who need protection from “starvation” (p. 17). Indeed, everywhere in this document, the “protectors”—​the armed interveners—​are the agents of global politics; it is they who have their “consciences shocked” (p. 55) by humanitarian crises. The final sentence of the document demonstrates this most vividly, revealling a key reason why military intervention is necessary: “We won’t be able to live with ourselves if we do not” (p. 75). A global ethic of care, by contrast, rejects the strict delineation between the global and the local that characterizes this account of global politics and humanitarianism. It also eschews the violent, top-​down, paternalistic, and gendered approach to human insecurity. Rather than focusing on a discrete moment of violent disruption, an ethic of care understands moral responsiveness in terms of long-​term engagement that takes

A Feminist Practical Ethics of Care    569 seriously the oppressive forces of gender, race, and class, and which views violence as a continuum rather than an isolated event. One Humanity—​the already-​controversial report from UN Secretary-​General Ban Ki-​moon in preparation for the 2016 Humanitarian Summit—​moves towards a greater recognition of the “daily struggles” of people to improve life “for themselves and for their families” (UN 2016: 5–​6). Furthermore, it emphasizes that humanitarian assistance “will never be the solution and deployments of peacekeepers will not be enough” (p. 8), pointing out that the demand for short-​term, measurable results has thwarted “early and sustained engagement that is focused on prevention and peacebuilding in countries most at risk of conflict” (p. 8). While this point has been controversial—​prompting the key humanitarian organization Médecins Sans Frontières to drop out of the summit in protest—​it is important to search for the intention behind this move. There is no evidence to suggest that the objective here is to withdraw funding and support entirely from humanitarian organizations. Rather, the aim seems to be a need to recognize that greater attention to long-​term needs—​notably, through building capacity and investment in local actors—​may ultimately serve to reduce the need for humanitarian assistance and intervention. Despite its title—​which is problematic for its erasure of difference, including gender difference—​One Humanity also diverges from the rationalist, liberal-​cosmopolitan rhetoric of R2P, relying less on the gendered moral heroics of protection and rescue, and making a greater effort to recognize gender and diversity as constitutive of different forms of oppression and exclusion. Core Responsibility Three, “Leave no one behind,” argues: Women and girls may suffer mutliple forms of discrimination in a crisis if they are displaced, migrants, in an ethnic minority, stateless or have disabilities. Discrimination also often leaves them without access to crucial health-​care, legal and psychosocial services and safe and sufficient livelihood opportunities. (UN 2016: 21)

The tone of this report does not mirror the gendered paternalism of R2P; indeed, there is a sense of outrage, but also an undertone of culpability. What is lacking is the making explicit of that culpability, and of the historical and ongoing relations that constitute “global North” and “global South.” Finally, while the recognition of gender discrimination is welcome, more emphasis must be placed on the quotidian responsibilities of care, carried out largely by women, throughout the world, and the link between the ability to care and the “regnant tendency in neo-​liberal reforms which tends to apply primarily male norms in valuing and regulating social life” (Truong et al. 2006: xxi).

Conclusion In this chapter I have sought to build a picture of a practical feminist international ethics based on the ethics of care. I have argued that care ethics’ attention to context, its

570   Fiona Robinson emphasis on moral practices rather than principles, and its feminist orientation all contribute to its inherently practical nature. That said, as a practical ethics, care ethics does not supply a list of rules, rights, or obligations that can be applied to different moral situations. Rather, the ethics of care challenges the distinction between “theory” and “practice” in ethics, conceiving of ethics as “socially embedded” in quotidian practices of attentiveness and responsiveness to others. As a practical ethics informing humanitarian policy and practice, the ethics of care offers an alternative to cosmopolitan impartiality. Care ethics can act as a guide for moral reasoning involved in making decisions and policy—​emphasizing the need to judge with humility, paying attention to the implications of judgements on past and present relationships, and recognizing the need to adapt policies to changing contexts. This involves, as Raghuram argues, the need to consider how global care is being made up differently through the multiple forms of care arrangements and conceptualizations throughout the globe (Raghuram 2012: 170). The ethics of care thus also offers a substantive focus for policy and practice around diverse and competing needs for care. Far from confining women to their roles as carers, this approach exposes patterns of gender inequality in care practices, while retaining a focus on the contribution of the voice and labour of care—​in multiple and diverse forms—​for all social groups and communities.

Note 1. Kimberly Hutchings (2007b) offers a useful typology of feminist ethics; “enlightenment” feminist ethics, associated with liberal and socialist feminisms; “care” ethics, associated with radical feminisms; and “postcolonial” feminist ethics, associated with “difference feminisms.” Notwithstanding the difficulties of reducing complex and interrelated theories to a typology, this does offer a useful framework for thinking about different approaches to ethics within feminism.

References Barnes, M. (2012). Care in Everyday Life: An Ethic of Care in Practice (Bristol: Policy Press). Barnett, M. (2012). International Paternalism and Humanitarian Governance. Global Constitutionalism 1(3): 485–​521. Caney, S. (2010). Cosmopolitanism. In D. Bell (ed.), Ethics and World Politics (Oxford: Oxford University Press), 146–​63. CIDA (Canadian International Development Agency) (2003). Gender Equality and Humanitarian Assistance: A Guide to the Issues (Gatineau: CIDA). Edkins, J. (2003). Humanitarianism, Humanity, Human. Journal of Human Rights 2(2): 253–​8. Fierke, K. (2014). Who Is My Neighbour? Memories of the Holocaust/​al Nakba and a Global Ethic of Care. European Journal of International Relations 20(3): 787–​809. Gilligan, C. (1993). In a Different Voice, 2nd edn (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press). Held, V. (2006). The Ethics of Care:  Personal, Political, Global (Oxford:  Oxford University Press).

A Feminist Practical Ethics of Care    571 Heymann, J. (2006). Forgotten Families: Ending the Growing Crisis Confronting Children and Working Parents in the Global Economy (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Hutchings, K. (2007a). Feminist Ethics and Political Violence. International Politics 44: 90–​106. Hutchings, K. (2007b). Feminist Perspectives on a Planetary Ethic. In W. Kymlicka and W. M. Sullivan (eds), Globalization of Ethics (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press), 171–​90. ICISS (International Comission on Intervention and State Sovereignty) (2001). The Responsibility to Protect (Ottawa: International Development Research Centre). Khader, S. J. (2011). Beyond Inadvertent Ventriloquism: Caring Virtues for Anti-​paternalist Development Practice. Hypatia 26(4): 742–​61. Narayan, U. (1995). Colonialism and its Others: Considerations on Rights and Care Discourses. Hypatia 10(2): 133–​40. Raghuram, P. (2012). Global Care, Local Configurations: Challenges to Conceptualizations of Care. Global Networks 12(2): 155–​74. Robinson, F. (1999) Globalizing Care:  Ethics, Feminist Theory and International Relations (Boulder, Colo.: Westview Press). Robinson, F. (2011) The Ethics of Care: A Feminist Approach to Human Security (Philadelphia: Temple University Press). Robinson, F. (2016a). Paternalistic Care and Transformative Recognition in International Politics. In P. Hayden and K. Schick (eds), Recognition in Global Politics: Critical Encounters between State and World (Manchester: Manchester University Press), 159–​74. Robinson, F. (2016b). A Global Ethic of Care. In Oxford Bibliographies in International Relations (Oxford: Oxford University Press). doi: 10.1093/​OBO/​9780199743292-​0182 Ruddick, S. (1980). Maternal Thinking. Feminist Studies 6(2): 342–​67. Ticktin, M. I. (2011). Casualties of Care: Immigration and the Policies of Humanitarianism in France (Berkeley: University of California Press). Tronto, J. C. (1993). Moral Boundaries: A Political Argument for an Ethic of Care (New York: Routledge). Tronto, J. C. (2013) Caring Democracy: Markets, Equality and Justice (New York: New York University Press). Truong, T.-​D., S. Wieringa, and A. Chhachhi (eds) (2006). Engendering Human Security: Feminist Perspectives (London: Pluto Press). UN (United Nations) (2016). One Humanity:  Shared Responsibility. Report of the United Nations Secretary-​ General for the World Humanitarian Summit (New  York:  United Nations). Walker, M. U. (1998). Moral Understandings: A Feminist Study in Ethics (New York: Routledge).

Pa rt V I I I

N E W DI R E C T ION S I N  I N T E R NAT IONA L P OL I T IC A L  T H E ORY

­c hapter 43

Jud geme nt A Conceptual Sketch Friedrich Kratochwil

Considering that the problem of judgement is nearly ubiquitous in social life, at first sight it seems odd that it has received relatively little attention. One reason, of course is, that judgements are required from us in a variety of contexts involving choices, and to that extent first impressions might be misleading. We talk about (mis)perceptions, about “tastes” or preferences, about inferences or subsumptions, highlighting different factors, such as cognition, desires, standards of taste, and self-​chosen maxims, all of which are aspects of judgement. Traditionally the problem of judgement has been dealt with in terms of logic, i.e. how the particular and the general relate to each other, with the general provided the justification for the judgement. Here Kant distinguished between a “determinative judgement,” which makes the conclusion necessary and compelling, such as in the inference that Socrates is mortal since all men are mortal, and a “reflective judgement” which is only persuasive, since the “general” is not available (Kant 2009: introduction, sect. 4). But although putting the problem within a logical framework has a certain heuristic value, it creates several conceptual problems for “political judgements,” as I show below. There are three reasons why Kant’s focus on logic and patterns of inference is too narrow. First, as game theory suggests, there might be several determinative solutions, i.e. multiple equilibria, which are logically equivalent but do not tell us on which equilibrium to settle. Thus, strangely enough, multiple equilibria produce both determinate and indeterminate choices, given Kant’s conception of practical reason, which does not allow for any influence of the “factual” (or, in logical terms, of the particular) to contribute to finding the appropriate universal, which would provide the necessary force for the determinative judgement. Kant examines the logical structure of reflective judgements in his Third Critique, taking aesthetic judgement as his paradigm, which Arendt takes as the ground for claiming that Kant’s political philosophy could be reconstructed on this basis (Arendt 1982). This thesis has spawned the recent interest

576   Friedrich Kratochwil in an aesthetic approach to politics (Bleiker 2009; Strong 2012). However, I am not convinced that relying on the formal notion of indeterminacy, exemplified by aesthetic appraisals, is fruitful for the analysis of politics, unless some further, more substantive elements—​something like Aristotle’s phronesis or Hume’s “common sense”—​are introduced. This leads me to my second point. The particular which practical choices have to address is not only logically part of a larger whole or system, but is situated in a conjunctural sequence of actions set in kairotic time (what is possible today was not possible yesterday and might no longer be possible tomorrow). Consequently action cannot be reduced to an atemporal logical relation. This realization imposes new demands on actors, particularly when collective action is involved. They not only have to deliberate together, but are also driven by the need to act. Individual plans have therefore to mesh, and collective intentions have to be formed. These problems remain largely invisible if we focus only on formal logical relations. Third, the realization of our freedom—​that we can set things in motion and create new causal chains instead of being determined by them—​opens up options where we have to take chances, and make decisions for which we individually and collectively bear responsibility. This predicament engenders the possibility of triumph, of showing who we are, but also contains the possibility of (tragic) failure, with all its anxieties. The latter might lead either to indifference and despair, which Hume mentions, or the “weakness/​rashness of will” problem, which Aristotle analysed (Hume 1978; see also Livingston 1998: Aristotle 2014: bk VII, 1–​10; see also Davidson 1980). In this way we became alienated from ourselves, but might content ourselves with functioning like “cogs in a machine,” while hanging on to the illusion of being part of “something big.” From this starting point, in the next section I examine the problem of what Kant calls the “strange capacity,” Urteilskraft (judgement, or power of judgement). In the third section I broaden the analysis by examining a concept of practical reason that is more indebted to the classical analysis of Aristotle, but also draws on Hume, Wittgenstein, Arendt, and “experimental philosophy”; and in the fourth section I try to bring these considerations to bear on the analysis of political judgement.

The (In)formality of Judgement: Stupidity vs the Ability to “Go On” Kant dealt first with the problem of judgement in his Critique of Pure Reason, where he considered it to be a necessary ability of people when they use rules in practical contexts. He calls this capacity Urteilskraft (good judgement, often also translated as the “power of judgement”). Although Kant speaks of “subsumption” in this context, his elaborations show that that something else is going on than simply engaging in a syllogistic operation.

Judgement: A Conceptual Sketch   577 In a significant footnote he avers: “The lack of judgement [Urteilskraft] is actually what we call stupidity [Dummheit] and such a flaw [Gebrechen] cannot be cured” (Kant 1999: A134, 135; B173, 174). The subsequent discussion makes it also clear this “stupidity” has nothing to do with a lack of reason. Rather, it seems to affect the intelligent and dull alike, academics not excluded. The problem is: if (logic) wanted to show how one should subsume, or distinguish whether something falls under a rule or not , this could be done only through further rules. But this again would require a new determination by the power of judgement [Urteilskraft] because a rule is involved. Thus it is evident that the understanding [Verstand] is capable of being instructed by supplying it with rules, but that the power of judgement is a special talent [Talent], which cannot be taught, but can be acquired only by practice. For that reason [this faculty] is a specific quality of common sense [Mutterwitz], whose lack no school can cure. Although schooling might be able furnish rules derived from the insights of others and might [even be able] to somehow “implant” them in a limited mind, the capacity to apply them correctly must be in “apprentice” [Lehrling] himself. No rule, which we prescribe to him with this intention, is secure from abuse, if such a talent is missing. Consequently, a physician or judge, or statesman might have in their heads many beautiful rules for pathologies, laws, or politics—​so that they could even become competent teachers of them—​but they could as easily violate these rules in applying them, because they either lack this power of judgement, even if they possess understanding and can discern the general in abstracto but lack the discrimination of whether a concrete case falls under it, or because their judgement has not been sufficiently exercised by practice and examples. Indeed it is the unique and great advantage of examples that they sharpen the judgement. As to the correctness and precision of the understanding, examples are frequently injurious because they, as casus in terminis, examples seldom meet the conditions of the rule and because they frequently also weaken those efforts of our understanding [Verstand] to apprehend rules in their generality , independent of their particular circumstance of experience, and thus accustom us to use them more as formulae than as principles. Thus examples become the prosthesis [Gaengelwagen] of judgements, which someone who lacks this natural talent can never do without. (Kant 1999: B172–​4, A133–​5, trans. FK)

This passage provides much food for thought and is susceptible to different interpretations. On the one hand there is a nearly classical statement resembling Wittgenstein’s argument about “training,” i.e. learning by doing, but on the other, we encounter again a hidden longing for the “general,” i.e. for understanding rule-​following “independent of their particular circumstance of experience” (Bloor 1997; 2000). Obviously some unpacking is needed. First, what is uncontroversial is Kant’s recognition that applying rules is not tantamount to logical subsumption. His distinction of stupidity and common sense is too striking to be put aside. Similarly, his fallback on practice and experience is telling. Only in this way can we circumvent the problem of the semantic openness of rules, which would otherwise prevent us from “going on.” For example, we need not think long and

578   Friedrich Kratochwil hard why the prohibition “No dogs on the escalator” means dogs in general. I must be a real idiot, i.e. caught up in my own world, if, after having got onto the escalator with my dog Ulysses, I claim that I am being ticketed unjustly, since Ulysses is one dog only. And we also understand why this interpretation can be extended to live animals in general, thus being valid for cats and boa constrictors, while a budgerigar in a cage arguably does not fall under the rule. The reason why we are able to cut such arguments short is simple:  we have been trained by the many instances of “dos” and “don’ts” during our socialization, and understand what “following a rule” means. That those largely implicit understandings do not end all controversies and might even escalate some of them—​particularly when seemingly higher-​order principles are invoked—​is surprising only for those who think that rules work like causes, ensuring uniformity in a more or less mechanical fashion, very much like a cookie-​cutter or hole-​punch (Kratochwil 2014). However, the capacity to “go on,” acquired through participation in social life, is different even though it is not a technique, precisely because no algorithm for its application exists. As Kant reminds us, even the expertise of rule-​handlers (law professors and judges included) is no guarantee that idiocies will be avoided. The misuse of expertise suggests that Kant’s focus on the formal criteria, i.e. the transcendental presuppositions that endow our judgements with validity, might be too restrictive even within his own remit. This makes it doubtful whether the Critique of Judgement provides an apt analogy for politics, as Arendt suggested, notwithstanding the fact that both aesthetic and political judgements are about particulars (Arendt 1982). Furthermore, both necessitate the free play of imagination more than formal analytic powers. Kant himself is clearly uneasy about political judgements—​he often comes close to submerging politics into morality—​precisely because he considers moral judgements to be simple when compared to prudential ones that rely on experience. This certainty is based on the imputation of a teleology to nature that plays itself out behind the back of the actors in a universal history that has “mankind” as its subject (Kant 1991). But this construct sits quite uneasily with his own emphasis on the autonomy and responsibility of the subject. In short, while there certainly are some important analogies between politics and aesthetics, the more fitting analogy is with law and reasoning with rules and principles. For that purpose I want to begin in the next section with some remarks on reasoning with rules and higher-​order principles, in order to illuminate the role the “particular” plays in this process. This endeavour leads us back to a conception of practical reason that comes closer to Aristotle’s notion of practical reasoning, but is also indebted to modern conceptions of how we go about making practical choices as suggested by Hume’s conventionalism and Wittgenstein’s notion of “forms of life” (Wittgenstein 1953). One implication of my argument is that philosophy’s task can no longer be foundationalist, universal, and trans-​ historical, but has to become practical. Its mission is, therefore, the critical examination of the historical “common world” whose reproduction is entrusted to us, as an Aufgabe (charge) which we cannot leave unattended even though we cannot grasp it in terms of a theoretical understanding of what there “is” (Livingston 1984).

Judgement: A Conceptual Sketch   579

Prudence, Cases, and Ordinary Language Rules safeguarding social utility against idiosyncratic preferences have to be more general than the various cases to which they apply; but they are not more general in the sense of simply being more abstract, as this would empty them of content and impair their capacity to help us. They are more general in the sense of capturing some typical features of recurring situations. Thus, they represent types, which attain meaning from the distinctions; we try to fit them to the “fact pattern” of a case, such as distinguishing fraud from error, or liability from criminal intent. The task consists then in looking for supporting evidence why one typification fits better than the other. So the point is not the generality of the logical form, but rather the recognized interest that both lets us make the distinctions and lump instances together. We also reason often from “case to case”—​without using general rules or universal principles. Then analogies, metaphors, hypotheticals, knowing the relevant exceptions and the circumstances which make a rule defeasible, or engaging in counterfactual reasoning are the proper conceptual tools (Tetlock and Belkin 1996). The general scope of a rule serves mostly to distinguish it as a “standing order” (i.e. stating its potential applicability to future situations) rather than a situation-​specific command, which positivists considered the defining characteristic of law. But this generality is of little help when the issue arises of how to apply a rule (or which rule to apply) to a case (see Hart 1961). Perhaps the common law and its use of precedents provides a better model for reasoning with rules and making judgements of applicability. Consider the case of Donaghue v. Stevenson, which changed the general rule of Caveat emptor in English law, opening the door for product liability. In this case a woman had bought some ginger beer that turned out to contain a dead snail. She became violently sick and suffered serious after-​ effects. She sued the manufacturer and the latter asked for dismissal, based on the precedent of “Buyer beware” in common law.1 The court, however, held the defendant liable for compensation. But despite the clear decision of the court, it did not settle whether the ratio decidendi establishing a new precedent was valid only for juices in opaque bottles or for all juices, or for food in general (because of its special importance to health) without changing the Caveat emptor rule in other areas (which ones?). Or was the change intended for all products? Although the facts and the rule are obviously related, the relationship cannot be one of simple entailment, since both are equally subject to contestation: the generality of the rule is as problematic as are the facts. Aristotle, therefore, argues that it is not the truth (aletheia) but only some form of fit or correct ascription (orthothes) that can be achieved (Aristotle 2014: 1140 a10, VI 3,103: 1144b 18–​31). The distinction between the factual assertions in the minor premise and the general norm of the major one (which provides the normative pull) breaks down. This is why Aristotle thinks that young people, although not lacking in intelligence and formal reasoning, are unlikely to have the necessary experience for making

580   Friedrich Kratochwil well-​considered practical choices, all things considered (Aristotle 2014: bk I, iii, 5 (1095 a1–​10). This way of putting the problem differs significantly from holding that the rule or principle, in virtue of its generality and having received the imprimatur of reason, solves the problem by subsuming the relevant facts under principle. That the latter interpretation of the role of norms is rather misleading is evidenced by the fact that the problem of judgement arises on both levels: on the major premise (which facts are relevant in the light of a norm?) and on the level of the relevant facts for selecting the appropriate rule or principle or making exceptions. It seems that when we reason about practical problems, general rules, and transcendental principles actually do very little, “ideal theory” (see Chapter 50) notwithstanding. This is what Aristotle suggested in criticizing Plato’s “idea of the good.” Since “good” is predicated across various categories, there cannot a common Idea corresponding to the absolutely good and the relative good. Again the word “good” is used in as many senses as the word “is” [ . . . ] So clearly “good” cannot be a single and universal notion; if it were it would not be predicable in all Categories, but only in one. Again things that come under a single Idea must be objects of a single science, hence there ought to be a single science dealing with all good things. But [ . . . ] there are a number of sciences that deal with the “good” (in time), i.e. the opportunity [kairos], which in war comes under the science of strategy, in disease under that of medicine [ . . . ] in bodily exercise under gymnastics. (Aristotle 2014: 1096a 24–​35)

How much the fact pattern and its variation contributes to the “discovery” of the applicable general principle can also be gathered from the “trolley problem” in philosophy. This hypothetical concerns a trolley, which is running out of control towards, five people tied to or working on the track. Fortunately, you stand at a switching point and could throw the switch and divert it to a side-​track where there is only one person who is in jeopardy. Should you move the switch and save the five persons, knowing that the person on the side-​track will be killed due to your action? Should, or even “could” you stay out of it and do nothing? Is this omission reprehensible since on consequentialist grounds you should chose the lesser evil? As you can do something about it, you should pull the switch. But can you prescribe this as a general maxim for action? It might be true that “ought implies can,” but does can imply “ought”? What if stopping the trolley could also be accomplished by pushing a “fat man” standing next to you onto the tracks, which might derail the trolley, thereby saving then six people on both tracks, while sacrificing only one? Have you done better in that case? Unfortunately, then you might be charged with homicide, while in the case of no action you go free (and the only penalty you pay is perhaps your bad conscience). But could you get off simply by invoking the principle of maximizing overall utility and saving more lives? What other principles become relevant? After all, why do we condemn a surgeon who kills the victim of an accident with slim chances of survival in order to transplant the intact organs to his other patients, thereby saving their lives? While rights cut short any overall utility calculations and we intuitively feel that the two cases

Judgement: A Conceptual Sketch   581 are different, this “intuition” is not that of an universal order of things, or of ultimate values, but probably more like a gut reaction to the threats if such actions were to be allowed. Or is this hypothetical the proof for the superiority of a Kantian deontology and of universal principles? Here again, I am not sure whether the answer is as clear-​cut as it appears. First, while rights certainly trump the act-​utilitarian “eager beavers” parading their felicific calculus, similar problems can also arise at the level of rights, when conflicting duties have to be assessed, such as when doctors have to decide whom to save and give the scarce medicines to. Should they reserve them for those who are most likely to survive, distribute them fairly to all, or according to need, or dispense them on the “first come first served” basis? How are we to evaluate Churchill’s decision to set up an intelligence operation letting the Germans believe that their V2s were hitting northwest London rather than the centre, which he knew would lead them to reduce fuel and hit poor neighbourhoods to the southeast of the city (Edmonds 2015)? Whatever we think about these hypotheticals, they contain a few important messages. One is that the dichotomy between duty and its opposite is too indiscriminate to allow conclusions in any half-​way complicated case. But that implies that the question whether the throwing of the switch was demanded (on utilitarian grounds), or forbidden (arguably on Kantian grounds), or permissible (thus being neither a duty nor a fault), or it represented an exception (excuse) or only a mitigating circumstance (to be taken into consideration only in the punishment), cannot be determined by the norms themselves, since a slight variation of the facts makes different norms relevant and puts them in different relations vis-​à-​vis each other.

Judgement and Politics The above discussion has made several points. One is that the practical problems an agent faces are not simple optimization problems, since the evaluation of choice also extends over time and the relevant time horizon is an entire life—​and a “fulfilled or happy life” has dimensions other than simply “getting” a pre-​existing good. This fact not only defeats a simple maximization strategy, it also alerts us that the problem is not simply one of distribution where, perhaps, the “smart” get more of a pre-​existing good than others. Happiness is not only multi-​dimensional, encompassing various spheres; it is also episodic, rather than representing a continuum in which one “lumpy good,” measurable in terms of just one medium, can be accumulated. A second important point is that happiness is gained by acting well through deliberation and choice. But choices are always embedded in particular conjunctures in which diagnosing the relevant points and drawing on analogies presupposes familiarity with a concrete society and its conventions. Thus characterizing an action as base, such as a fraud (rather than an error), or as a trespass (rather than an observable jump across a fence), presupposes that we are familiar with the norms and with how to use them.

582   Friedrich Kratochwil This does not mean that our ascriptions have to be “determinate” in a Kantian sense. Rather, they involve us in a hermeneutic circle. The facts have to fit the adduced norm, and the latter gains relevance in the light of the “facts,” so that the vetting of a case is characterized by going back and forth between norms and facts and not by simple generalization or deductive subsumption. Rather, the “fit,” which can claim assent, relies, (as Gadamer 1976 suggested) on the shared understandings of a particular audience to which such an appraisal is directed. Third, as in the case of the individual actions, which have to be placed and appraised in the context of an entire “life,” political choices must be vetted in terms of the community as a whole and its projects and place in the world. Here, conceptual problems abound. Without a clearly bounded community and functioning institutions having the competence to decide which goods in what magnitude and priority are to be provided, an appraisal of the “common good” seems impossible. It is unrealizable not because it is an ideal, and ideals are always hard to match up with reality, but because it is incoherent. It raises the same conceptual difficulties that Aristotle mentioned in the individual case, when the family and friends are “counted in,” establishing the self-​sufficiency of eudaimonia as the overarching “end” of all action. The term “self-​sufficient,” however, we employ with reference not to oneself alone, living a life in isolation, but also one’s parents, children and wife, and one’s friend and fellow citizen in general, since man is by nature a political animal. On the other hand a limit has to be assumed [ . . . ] for the list to be extended to one’s ancestors and descendant and to the friend of one’s friends; it will go ad infinitum. (Aristotle 2014: bk I, vii 7, 1097b 8–​15)

Furthermore, since communities are trans-​generational associations, matters are complicated not only by the question of who belongs in and who is not part of it, but also by the time-​frame within which these problems have to be placed. It is now easy to see why these aporias engender certain conceptual short cuts that seem to provide solutions. First, while, of course, the term “community” can be stretched to include all humanity, which we encounter in the Stoic cosmopolis and in Kant’s notion of “mankind” as the subject of a universal history, those imperial visions based on the logical extension of the concept of community run foul of practical experience. Empires rise and decay, and the anticipation of a teleology of nature depends more on “prophecy” (even if communicated in the argot of a secular philosophy of history) than on the experience of building an actual historical common world (Kratochwil 2014). Second, if we want to be more realistic and accept the plurality of polities, then one short cut consists in postulating their “survival” as such an overarching or “self-​sufficient end.” But, as the discussion among realists has shown, even “survival” is an ambiguous symbol, and the survival of the members of such an association raises different issues from the survival of the form of life itself. People do not always choose “bare life” over the good life, as attested by the persistence of wars and violent conflict. Third, overarching goals are hardly apt for settling concrete practical questions. They represent rather the horizon within which a variety of goals can be meaningfully

Judgement: A Conceptual Sketch   583 pursued—​as the notion of a fulfilled life suggested. Precisely because the social world is not there but is being “made,” two further conceptual gambits arise. One reduces the problem of praxis to techne, i.e. understands action in terms of the production of an object in order to provide clear end–​means chains. Postulating this end can then be justified either by a special type of knowledge or by mere “authority,” such as commissioning the Hobbesian sovereign to make such choices “for us all” (see Chapter 2). Ideally, we could distinguish a discursive and a technical way of deciding, the former relying largely on “common sense,” the latter on expert knowledge, as prefigured in the Platonic/​ Aristotelian controversy. While Plato invokes the technical knowledge of the captain as a template for steering the ship of state, Aristotle wants broader participation in order to ensure that an issue is considered from a variety of angles and those who interests are affected get a hearing, thus allowing the informed public (euboulia) to make a choice (Aristotle 2014: bk VI, 10, 2; 1143 a 5–​10). Here new difficulties arise, as these choices have to be made in irreversible time, and we can neither wait until all information is in nor afford to continue our discussions ad infinitum. Thus, things cannot be so neatly separated, as e.g. the communicative action paradigm seems to suggest. In actual arguments, instrumental and discursive strategies interact and a prudent choice cannot be blind to experiential evidence; and reductionist attempts to simplify matters, such as arguing about “functional” necessities, or welfare gains, nust be subject to critical appraisal. The temptation to see the practical world in terms of an ends/​means scheme is highly problematic; hence the clockwork imagery in which all wheels and springs work in tandem and according to the design is essentially misleading. We know that even in determinate systems small variations can lead to vastly different results. Equifinality and multiple realizability have complicated our “causal” understanding considerably, and should have made us suspicious of the “predictability” of complex systems. Similarly, the discussion of intelligence failures shows that most of them are not simply the outcome of bad luck, or of having assigned a low probability to a usually rare event, but have more systematic roots (Betts 1978; Jervis 2006). If we erred on the other side and reacted every time, we would be frazzled by false alarms and would possibly bring about the situation we wish to avoid. Thus knowing in which “case” we are cannot be simply read off from past events and their distribution, as risk assessments presuppose clear classification schemes and using them raises the issue of judgement again at the level of attributing a “case” to a given type. Whether something should be counted as a “case of ” successful deterrence, or an inadvertent act by the alleged challenger is not easily decidable, as the debate between Russett and Lebow and Stein showed (Russett 1984; Lebow and Stein 1990). Actually, the problem is even more serious. Even with hindsight, we are hardly ever able to be clear about the actual actions and events which brought about the outcome. Did the Cold War end because the US “outspent” the Soviet Union on weaponry? Or was it because the actual sequences of choices made by the US and Soviet leadership finally meshed so that de-​escalation and a more constructive engagement could be envisaged by both (Lebow and Risse-​Kappen 1995)? Although we have a considerable amount of

584   Friedrich Kratochwil evidence, an agreement on “what happened” remains elusive, and seems unlikely to emerge, even if all remaining secrets were made public. To that extent we cannot simply rely on risk assessments, because our choices often involve not only risks but genuine uncertainty; in any event, the law of large numbers usually does not apply in politics, particularly not in international politics. This leads to the paradoxical realization that not only is the future shrouded in mystery, but the past remains an “unknown country,” as controversies concerning hindsight and its “lessons” suggest, The reasons for this paradox are not difficult to fathom: both future and past are part of our political projects. They are not written from an Archimedian point outside of praxis, but from within. Thus a particular problem experienced in the present throws light on the past, which thereby gets “searched” (historizein, “to search”), and linked to a project in the future (which is however a “present-​future” and not what will actually occur). Thus neither the past, which seems to be settled and done with, nor the future, which relies on past distributions and likely trends, is actually “there.” Rather, they both result from a specific selection. The implications for this dialectic of “problems, projects, and time” cannot be explored here further—​save to note, in the words of a cognitive scientist: The root of the problem is not just the variety of viewpoints. It is the difficulty that advocates have in pinning each other down. When partisans disagree over free trade or arms control, or foreign aid, the disagreements hinge on more than easily ascertained claims about trade deficits, or missile counts, or leaky transfer buckets. The disputes also hinge on hard to refute counterfactual claims about what would have happened if we had taken different policy paths and on impossible to refute moral claims about the types of people we should aspire to be—​all claims that partisans can use to fortify their positions against falsification. (Tetlock 2006)

One problem is of course that only judgements concerning impossibility or inevitability are strictly falsifiable; political predictions are usually couched with various caveats (“may lead to . . .,” “tends to suggest . . .,” etc.). Besides, we usually do not revise our beliefs when confronted with counterevidence. Pacifists are not convinced that the frequency of war is evidence for the unviability of their project, while realists or Marxists are always right “in the end” . . . .  From all this, two disconcerting conclusions and one more hopeful message seem to follow. The first conclusion is that evaluations of political judgements cannot be obtained by uncontroversial objective criteria, akin to the notion of “scientific objectivity.” But that does not mean, as strong “relativists” often claim, that expertise can only be evaluated within its own framework, which would only follow if we held that strong incommensurability obtains between different modes of analysis. Even if various expert prognostics do rather poorly when compared to the “guesses” of lay persons, or other heuristic devices, such as tossing coins or employing a chimpanzee throwing darts, that does not mean that this second disconcerting conclusion should be take at face value.

Judgement: A Conceptual Sketch   585 Somehow we are, however, aware that accepting this as the final word would lead to the “despair” Hume warned us about, when exalted expectations raised by “false philosophy” are disappointed. Thus, having fewer expectations and doing the best we can lets us “go on.” The fact that we never know what the meaning of life is does not entail that there cannot be meaning in life, even if mistakes and disappointments are inevitable. This brings me to the more hopeful point. As Tetlock suggests in his recent critical evaluation of expertise, the crude comparison of human and other heuristics, masks important differences in cognitive styles among experts. Having identified two different ways of thinking by utilizing Isiah Berlin’s parable of foxes vs hedgehogs (Berlin 1997). Tetlock found that in experiments evaluating the heuristics of experts, foxes consistently edge out the hedgehogs but enjoy their most decisive victories in the long-​term exercises inside their domains of expertise. Analysis of explanations for their predictions sheds light on how foxes pulled off this cognitive-​stylistic coup. The foxes’ self-​critical point counter-​point style of thinking prevented them from building up the sorts of excessive enthusiasm for their predictions that hedgehogs, especially well informed ones, displayed for theirs [ . . . ]They [the foxes] recognized the precariousness of many equilibria and hedged their bets by rarely ruling out anything as “impossible.” (Tetlock 2006: 21)

Thus there might be a place for prudence after all, and for the creative thinker or Hume’s “true philosopher,” who is rooted in a common world, thinks critically without submitting to the temptations of a “grand theory,” but does not despair because practical knowledge—​when subjected to theoretical standards—​usually fails this test. It does not follow that no standards exist; it is just that the ones we usually apply are more problematic than assumed.

Note 1. Donoghue (McAlister) v. Stevenson [1932] All ER Rep. [1932] AC 562, House of Lords.

References Arendt, H. (1982). Lectures on Kant’s Political Philosophy (Chicago:  University of Chicago Press). Aristotle (2014). Nicomachean Ethics (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press) Berlin, I. (1997). The Hedgehog and the Fox. In The Proper Study of Mankind: An Anthology of Essays (New York: Farrar, Straus, and Giroux), 436–​89. Betts, R. (1978). Analyses, Wars and Decision: Why Intelligence Failures Are Inevitable. World Politics (31)1: 61–​89. Bleiker, R. (2009). Aesthetics and World Politics (New York: Palgrave Macmillan). Bloor, D. (1997). Wittgenstein: Rules and Institutions (London: Routledge).

586   Friedrich Kratochwil Bloor, D. (2000). Wittgenstein and the Priority of Practice. In T. Schatzki et  al. (eds), The Practice Turn in Contemporary Theory (London: Routledge), 95–​106. Davidson, D. (1980). How Is the “Weakness of Will” Problem Possible? In Essays in Actions and Events (Oxford: Oxford University Press), 21–​42. Edmonds, D. (2015). Would You Kill the Fat Man? The Trolley Problem and What Your Answer Tells us about Right and Wrong (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press). Gadamer, H. G. (1976). Philosophical Hermeneutics (Berkeley: University of California Press). Hart, H. L. A. (1961). The Concept of Law (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Hume, D. (1978). A Treatise of Human Nature (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Jervis, R. (2006). Reports, Politics, and Intelligence Failures:  The Case of Iraq. Journal of Strategic Studies 29(1): 3–​52. Kant, I. (1991). Perpetual Peace: A Philosophical Sketch. In H. J. Reiss (ed.), Kant’s Political Writings (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press), 93–​130. Kant, I. (1999). Critique of Pure Reason (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Kant, I. (2009). Critique of Judgement (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Kratochwil, F. (2014). The Status of Law in World Society: Meditations on the Rule and Role of Law (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Lebow, R. N., and J. G. Stein (1990). Deterrence: The Elusive Variable. World Politics 42(3): 336–​96. Lebow, R. N., and T. Risse-​Kappen (eds) (1995). International Relations Theory and the End of the Cold War (New York: Columbia University Press). Livingston, D. (1984). Hume’s Philosophy of Common Life (Chicago: Chicago University Press). Livingston, D. (1998). Philosophical Melancholy and Delirium: Hume’s Pathology of Philosophy (Chicago: Chicago University Press). Russett, B. (1984). What Makes Deterrence Work? World Politics 36(4): 496–​526. Strong, T. (2012). Politics Without Vision (Chicago: Chicago University Press). Tetlock, P. (2006). Expert Political Judgement: How Good Is It? How Can We Know? (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press). Tetlock, P., and A. Belkin (eds) (1996). Counterfactual Thought Experiments in World Politics (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press). Wittgenstein, L. (1953). Philosophical Investigations (Oxford: Oxford University Press).

­c hapter 44

Virt u es and Ca pa bi l i t i e s Steven Torrente and Harry D. Gould

Ethical issues constantly arise in international politics, and a well-​developed political theory must be able to evaluate agents, actions, and conditions in terms of better or worse. As in many other fields, the ethical dimension of International Political Theory (IPT) has been dominated by two general approaches adopted from Moral Philosophy, which can be broadly categorized as Kantian/​ Deontological or Consequentialist/​ Utilitarian ethics (Chappell 2013). Deontological approaches judge actions in terms of compliance with rationally derived moral rules, like Kant’s Categorical Imperative or positive statements of international law. Consequentialist and Utilitarian approaches instead judge actions by their results, as measured via procedures like Bentham’s Felicific Calculus. These are not the only moral philosophies that have been utilized in IPT, but they have been dominant, and disputes between their partisans continue to colour the field. Within Moral Philosophy itself, however, the last sixty years have seen a renewal of interest in virtue. This trend has only slowly begun to be addressed in IPT (Becker 1975; Frede 2013). Pursuing excellence, rather than following rules or maximizing utility, becomes the focus of ethical life: A virtue ethics in the fullest sense must treat aretaic notions [ . . . ] rather than deontic notions [ . . . ] as primary, and it must put a greater emphasis on the ethical assessment of agents and their inner motives and character traits than it puts on the evaluation of acts and [agents’] choices. (Slote 1992: 89)

This chapter discusses the key elements of Virtue Ethics, as well as the related Capabilities Approach to human development. Virtue Ethics provides an ethical understanding of the good directed toward excellence of character, and the Capabilities Approach argues for the provision of all materials necessary for individuals to live well according their own concept of the good. As Martha Nussbaum makes clear, the Deontology and Utilitarianism to which early virtue ethicists initially responded were straw men. Kant, for example, had a

588    Steven Torrente and Harry D. Gould demonstrable concern with virtue that was missing from the early virtue ethicists’ caricatures. Nussbaum attributes this to the way in which Deontology and Utilitarianism were taught at the time, and to the dominant emphases of philosophers working within those traditions, who had neglected the concern with virtue; she agrees that a “corrective was therefore overdue” (Nussbaum 1999:  170). Timothy Chappell lays the blame more specifically on the emphasis placed by G. E. Moore and those who followed on the linguistic analysis of moral concepts (Chappell 2013). The turn to virtue was no simple misunderstanding or over-​reaction, and has continued to develop over time. The turn to virtue in Moral Philosophy was initially presented as a challenge to Deontological and Utilitarian ethics; but now it is often used in ways complementary to them (Crisp 1996; Hurka 2001; 2010). Elizabeth Anscombe drew our attention (back) toward virtue in her 1958 essay “Modern Moral Philosophy.” In it, she held that the moral vocabulary common to both Deontology and Utilitarianism, in the form of their shared “law conception of ethics,” which is articulated in terms of obligations (“moral oughts” and “moral musts”) and prohibitions, no longer made sense in the absence of shared religious convictions centred upon the picture of “God as a divine lawgiver” (Anscombe 1958: 6). The error Anscombe identified was the presumption that concepts like “moral obligation” correspond to a “fixed and universal thing that they [ . . . ] mean in every language and culture [ . . . ] it is to assume that no substantive question could arise about how, once understood, such words are involved in motivation” (Chappell 2013:  155). Although Anscombe did not suggest the creation of a Virtue Ethics, her proposed change of Ethics’ focus toward questions of action, intention, motivation, and virtue signalled a shift in the emphasis of moral inquiry. The initial focus after Virtue Ethics’ “recovery” was on emphasizing its distinctiveness from Deontology and Utilitarianism, and suggesting ways in which it was a preferable alternative to them (Foot 1978). Deontology starts from the idea of duty, and all other moral concepts and values derive from it; Utilitarianism starts from the idea of “the good in terms of states of affairs,” and derives all other moral concepts and values from it (Louden 1984; Oakley 1996). In both traditions, questions of virtue and character—​ questions about how we ought to be—​are secondary to questions about what we ought to do (Annas 1996). In Virtue Ethics, however, the agent, his or her character and judgement are central; moral judgements are in the first instance judgement of agent character (Schneewind 1990). Virtue Ethics “construes the ideal moral agent as acting from a direct desire, without first believing that he or she morally ought to perform that action or have that desire” (Louden 1984: 228). This entails Anscombe’s concerns with agentic motive and intention, and particularly with “settled patterns of motive, emotion, and reasoning that lead us to call someone a person of a certain sort” (Nussbaum 1999: 170; Das 2015). We may usefully contrast the traditions thus: “[an] ethics of duty holds that only judgements about right action are basic in morality, and that the virtuousness of traits is always derivative in some way from the prior rightness of actions [ . . . ] an ethics of virtue [ . . . ] holds that only judgements about virtue are basic in morality, and that the rightness of actions is always somehow derivative from the virtuousness of traits” (Trianosky 1990: 336).

Virtues and Capabilities    589 Over time, Virtue Ethics shifted to rebutting accusations of inability to provide action guidance or resolve moral dilemmas (Solomon 1988). It was there that Virtue Ethics developed accounts of how it might help agents know how to go on without dependence upon a formal decision procedure or “technical manual” rule (Annas 2004). In addressing the imperatival character of the decision procedures of Deontology and Utilitarianism, Julia Annas encourages us to ask whether what we want from a moral theory is to be dictated to. She suggests that it is not, because a purely algorithmic moral decision procedure “leaves out something important about the making of moral decisions. My moral decisions are mine in that I am responsible for them [ . . . ] They reveal something about me such that I can be praised or blamed for them in a way that cannot be shifted to the theory” (Annas 2004: 64–​5). There is a core set of shared claims broadly defining Virtue Ethics. Foremost among these is the insistence that the focus of moral evaluation and guidance should not be primarily discrete acts taken in isolation, nor moral quandaries (hard cases), but should be instead the character of agents, the “complex that includes the presence or absence of dispositions to recognize certain situations as ethically problematic [ . . . ] and dispositions to treat certain factors as having special weight in ethical decision [ . . . ] concern for certain things thought to matter [ . . . ] commitments [that] provide a connecting thread among different moments of the agent’s life” (Kupperman 1988: 116). Rather than act evaluations, Virtue Ethics encourages us to engage in “aretaic person-​appraisals” (Montague 1992: 53). [T]he following two ideas are central: first, the fundamental moral concepts are virtue concepts, as opposed, above all, to rule concepts; and second, the basic normative aims of moral agents are aretaically determined [ . . . ] by the requirements of acting from virtue, as opposed, say, to being dictated by a commitment to following certain deontic rules. (Audi 1995: 466)

Virtue Ethics has developed modes of action guidance and ways to address moral quandaries that derive from its primary emphasis on the character. Its focus when addressing act-​questions—​in effect, when engaging Deontology and Utilitarianism on their own terms—​is on the “qualities of agents”; action guidance is secondary to it and to be derived from it. Hence “all act-​appraisals are explicable in terms of more basic appraisals of persons [ . . . ] the moral status of acts depends entirely on whether they would be performed by morally good persons or are manifestations of virtue” (Montague 1992: 54). Before addressing the prescriptive and evaluative aspects of Virtue Ethics, we must turn to the content of “virtue” itself. Virtues are “qualities that make a person excellent”; “They make a human being good qua human being” (Battaly 2010: 3; Swanton 2013). As Michael Slote notes, “calling a trait of character a virtue is essentially the same, in ordinary English, as calling it admirable” (Slote 1992: 94). That a virtue is beneficial and desirable is tautologous. Whom any particular virtue benefits may vary, as some demonstrate benefits for their bearer, while for other virtues, it is third parties who benefit from the virtuous actions of the bearer, and in many cases it is both, or it is society more broadly,

590    Steven Torrente and Harry D. Gould that benefits. Come what may, a virtue cannot be detrimental to the bearer, for they are objectively good (Hurka 2006). Because virtue is objectively and intrinsically good, we pursue it “for its own sake as a constituent of one’s good” (Trianosky 1990: 339). Substantively, a virtue is a (relatively) stable and unchanging disposition to act in the right way(s) for the right reason(s), in the absence of any contrary inclination (Brandt 1988; Baechler 1992). Rosalind Hursthouse elaborates: [T]‌here is more to the possession of a virtue than being disposed to act in certain ways; at the very least, one has to act in those way for certain reasons [ . . . ] we think of such character traits as involving much more than tendencies or dispositions to act, even for certain reasons [ . . . ] we think of honest people as people who tend to avoid the dishonest deeds and do the honest ones in certain manner—​readily, eagerly, scrupulously [ . . . ] We expect a reliability in the actions that reflect their attitude toward honesty, too. (Hursthouse 1999: 11–​12)

Robert Audi, by contrast, is much more liberal, in holding that virtues may be “more or less deeply rooted,” and “more or less dominating in a person’s behavior” (Audi 2009: 2). Despite being deep-​seated, a virtue will not necessarily determine every action across an agent’s life, and deviation from it on any particular occasion does not necessarily demonstrate the absence or loss of the virtue. Situationist Experimental Psychology has asserted that “character” qua long-​term bundle of behavioural dispositions does not exist, and have used this to criticize the conceptual underpinnings of Virtue Ethics (Doris 1998; Kupperman 2001; 2009; Upton 2009). The Situationist critique misses the point: “these studies assume a notion of disposition that is defined solely in terms of frequency of actions, where the actions in question are defined with no reference to the agent’s reasons for acting. For Virtue Ethics, however, a virtue is a disposition to act for reasons, and claims about frequency are irrelevant to this, until some plausible connection is established with the agent’s reasons” (Annas 2006: 519). The Situationist critique has raised the issue of what it means to act from a virtue; here, most authors begin with Aristotle’s formulation from Nicomachean Ethics II.IV (1105a26–​30): Actions done in accordance with virtues are done in a just or temperate way not merely by having some quality of their own, but rather if the agent acts in a certain state, namely, first with knowledge, secondly, from rational [deliberate] choice, and rational [deliberate] choice of the actions for their own sake, and thirdly, from a firm and unshakable [unchangeable/​permanent] character.

A virtue is not defined simply by the act manifesting the disposition, but by the motivations underlying that disposition and act. This means again that to act virtuously, the agent acts knowingly in a manner characteristic of the relevant virtue, and chooses to act that way for its own sake; the agent does so in a way “that goes well beyond the boundaries of a given intention or even performance [ . . . ] choice-​making requires not one-​ time, isolated efforts, but a sustained chain of actions” (Sherman 1988: 99). For Audi,

Virtues and Capabilities    591 action from virtue has three requirements: intentionality, deliberateness, and voluntariness; it is “aretaically grounded intentional action” (Audi 1995). For Christine Swanton, a properly virtuous act—​in addition to being properly motivated—​succeeds in “hitting the target” of the relevant virtue. An action that misses the mark, no matter how virtuously motivated, is not fully virtuous (Swanton 2001: 2003). “ ‘Virtuous action’ pertains to what is accomplished [ . . . ] an agent acts from virtue when the source of the action is the agent’s virtue or good character” (van Zyl 2014: 121) When staking out their place in the field, the earliest Virtue Ethics figures tended to be aggressively antinomian, claiming: “determining what one ought to do involves neither knowing and applying a rule nor specifying a good and predicting which course of action will most efficiently yield access to it” (Alderman 1982; 149). This antinomianism has not remained a prominent feature of Virtue Ethics; in part, this is because this early hostility to rules gave rise to the criticism that, without a fully determinate decision procedure, Virtue Ethics was hobbled as a moral theory by an applicability problem: it could neither evaluate acts taken by agents nor guide agents in making morally appropriate decisions. In addition to pointing out that Deontology and Utilitarianism also fail by their own terms in this regard, Virtue Ethics has developed multiple approaches to the issues of action guidance and action evaluation. At its most basic, Virtue Ethics suggests that an act is right if it is virtuous. This leads to an obvious epistemic question, and it is on that question that most attention is currently focused. As ways to perform the evaluative and counselling functions, contemporary Virtue Ethics suggests some rules which, while structurally similar to those of the other approaches, do not perform quite the same function as Deontological or Utilitarian rules because the focus of “V-​Rules” is not on whether an act is or was allowable/​forbidden/​ required. V-​Rules point the agent to questions about whether the proposed act would be in keeping with the type of character they understand themselves aspiring to embody. Hursthouse’s “Qualified Agent” approach suggests that we ask ourselves whether the act we are evaluating or contemplating is an act that a fully virtuous agent would characteristically undertake in similar circumstances (Hursthouse 1996; 1999). We might ask someone whom we believe possesses the relevant virtue, and this may even be requisite in situations in which we recognize ourselves to be far from having internalized the virtue in question. This encourages us to think “about what is important in one’s current situation, which virtues are called for, and what acting virtuously involves in this situation” (van Zyl 2013: 174). Hursthouse suggests that the most fruitful approach might simply be enumeration: “a virtuous agent is one who is honest, charitable, just, etc. So what she characteristically does is act honestly, charitably, justly, etc. and not dishonestly, uncharitably, unjustly [ . . . ] not only does each virtue generate a prescription [ . . . ] but each vice a prohibition” (Hursthouse 1996: 25). There is an ineluctably and admirably aspirational aspect to this. Virtue Ethics is built upon moral striving, trying to be better than we currently are across an entire range of ways of being in the world. This places our deliberative focus on the understanding that “what I should do, in my situation, is what I would do if I were brave (generous, fair, etc.), where this is taken to mean braver than I [currently] am” (Annas 2006: 523–​4).

592    Steven Torrente and Harry D. Gould An outgrowth of Virtue Ethics’ purported general inability to guide was the more specific failure in cases of moral dilemmas in which virtues pull in opposing directions. This too is a problem common to Deontology and Utilitarianism. For Hursthouse, these dilemmas are sometimes only apparent, the result of an incomplete understanding of what it means to be V1 or V2 (where they represent particular virtues); but at other times, Virtue Ethics may provide a distinct advantage over other approaches by encouraging us to recognize that there are instances we may face in which there simply may be no right act, and in which tragedy and regret are sometimes inescapable, but that despite this, acting in such circumstances, and failing to meet the criteria of every relevant virtue, is not the same as acting wrongly. An agent acts wrongly here only when he or she acts “indifferently or gladly, as the vicious do” (van Zyl 2013: 176). A virtuous agent will recognize in a dilemma that “whatever they do, they violate a moral requirement, and we expect them [ . . . ] to register this in some way—​by feeling distress, or remorse, or guilt” (Hursthouse 1999: 44). In such situations, when no matter how an agent acts, there will be some virtue’s requirement that is not met (perhaps more than one virtue, and perhaps spectacularly so), Virtue Ethics can still offer guidance by reminding us that a virtuous agent would choose only “after much hesitation and consideration of possible alternatives, [but] feeling much regret, and doing such-​and-​such by way of restitution” (Hursthouse 1999: 48). Swanton, conversely, suggests we move away from using the virtuous agent as touchstone, and suggests instead focusing on the “target” of a virtue, on whatever it is that a particular virtue ought to bring about (Swanton 2001; 2003). In articulating her “target-​ centered view,” recall, Swanton suggests that an act is virtuous (in respect of any particular virtue) if it hits the target of that virtue, i.e. a generous act is one that hits the target of generosity. Swanton does acknowledge potential complications to a simple, external, one-​target-​per-​virtue understanding. Formulating Virtue Ethics’ evaluation and guidance along these lines leads her to differ sharply from Hursthouse regarding tragic dilemmas; For Hursthouse, sometimes there is no right action to be taken, but Swanton holds that by focusing on the target of the relevant virtue, a right action might still be found. “For a virtue-​based act evaluation allows us to think of ‘actions’ as embracing demeanor, motivation, processes of deliberation and thought, reactions, and attitudes. In short, the choice of a repugnant action can be understood as right (overall virtuous) when we take account of the full nature of the action” (Swanton 2001: 51). It would be difficult for proponents to claim theoretical superiority as the basis for injecting Virtue Ethics into IPT. Virtue may be a more human, more realistic, and more complete approach than Deontological or Utilitarian ethics; it may be less abstract and rule-​obsessed. However, there is no normative reason to prefer it on those grounds, or at least there is no authority to validate such a choice. If one chooses to pursue the good through reasoned action grounded in character, fine—​but one might just as well pursue it through careful observation of positive rules, or a calculation of utility. Any transcendent claim of superiority by Virtue Ethics proponents would be difficult to defend. It would also run foul of Aristotle’s view, which eschewed Platonic idealism and the notion that “the good” could be specified as a single universal thing (Nicomachean

Virtues and Capabilities    593 Ethics, I.VI–​VII, 1096a10–​1098b10). Even if such a transcendent good existed, he says, it “is not the sort of good a human being can achieve in action or possess,” and so not the proper concern of political ethics (1096b30–​35; see Chapter 43). Alternatively, Virtue Ethics proponents could intervene in IPT by claiming to address practical shortcomings of Deontological or Utilitarian approaches. The most promising of these, mentioned above, is the apparently greater ability of Virtue Ethics to handle the sort of moral ambiguity that can confound the more rule-​focused approaches. Character and virtue can endure even where all the available choices are bad. In such situations, rules can reach a deadlock, and utility calculations can lead to monstrous outcomes. Indeed, a consistently virtuous character is an appealingly stable foundation for action in complex moral situations, and is perhaps part of the impetus for turning back toward virtue in the first place. Note, however, that a similar accommodation could be made within both Utilitarian and (especially) Deontological approaches. The level of reductiveness is more a matter of the moral theorist’s dispositions and approach. For example, in his book on contemporary torture ethics, Matthew H. Kramer puts considerable effort into theorizing a way forward for moral reasoning when positive rules clash (2014: 1). For some Utilitarians and Deontologists, reductive moral theory has the desirable qualities of parsimony and clarity, but this need not be the case. Virtue Ethics offers a shift in emphasis, and perhaps a more workable grasp of complex problems. To make a clear case for Virtue Ethics will require a more thorough account of how the content of virtues can be distinguished. More importantly, some justification for Virtue Ethics’ greater applicability must be made. The related Capabilities Approach shows how one might justify an alternative normative theory in relation to a specific moral problem. The Capabilities Approach is not a form of ethical reasoning in the same sense as Virtue Ethics. Instead of defining ethical choices or characteristics, the Capabilities Approach provides the content for a particular kind of normative Political Theory. It emerged as a specific critique of the neoliberal international development policies and Rawlsian political theory that dominated much of the 1980s and 1990s. The Capabilities Approach thus directs its normative force at states of affairs in political communities—​ judging the relative justice of past or present arrangements, and prescribing more just arrangements in the future. Advocates reinterpret for a modern context Aristotle’s view in Politics that a political community “comes together for the sake of living, but [ . . . ] remains together for the sake of living well” (I.II.1252b25–​30). This understanding of ethics is something the Capabilities Approach shares with Virtue Ethics:  a good community is one that best allows its members to fulfil their purposes. Such a community allows people to live and act virtuously. Whereas Virtue Ethics pursues the idea of living well through focusing on virtuous action and character, the Capabilities Approach looks instead to the conditions that allow the realization of such good living. Amartya Sen, the leading figure in developing and articulating the Capabilities Approach, grounds capabilities in the concept of “functionings,” which are “various things a person may value doing or being” (1999: 75). Each person has some

594    Steven Torrente and Harry D. Gould capability, or “combinations of functionings that are feasible to achieve.” Whereas Virtue Ethics evaluates action, motivation, and character, the Capabilities Approach is explicitly interested in the freedom to act. It is directed to the judging of states of affairs that give people (or do not give them) desirable combinations of capabilities for action. The Capabilities Approach emerged amid widespread criticism of international development policy and the liberal political theory that provided its normative dimension. Most pointedly, it countered development policies focusing narrowly on national measures of economic growth. In Development as Freedom, Sen argues: Growth of GNP or of individual incomes can, of course, be very important as means to expanding freedoms enjoyed by the members of the society. But freedoms also depend on other determinants [ . . . ] Viewing development in terms of expanding substantive freedoms directs attention to the ends that make development important, rather than some of the means that inter alia, play a prominent part in the process. (1999: 3)

By promoting freedom as the goal of development, and correspondingly demoting narrowly economic measures, Sen broke sharply from the dominant development theories and policies of the time. Whereas other critics of global neoliberalism like Joseph Stiglitz and Naomi Klein focused on institutional arrangements and the abuse of power imbalances, the Capabilities Approach was distinguished by its focus on human ends. Sen placed moral weight on substantive freedoms as ends in themselves, much like Aristotle’s “end we wish for because of itself, and because of which we wish for the other things.” (Nicomachean Ethics I.II, 1049a15–​20) Such substantive freedoms give people the capability to realize the outcomes they value. For Sen, the capabilities were also multidimensional, and it was the combination that mattered. The capabilities approach is thus a hybrid of Aristotelian ethical structure, liberal individualism, and modern economics. The purpose (or telos) of a good regime for Aristotle was to facilitate the expression of a culturally embedded package of virtues, which facilitated “living well” or flourishing together. For Sen, regimes are judged by the capabilities their citizens have for free action that realizes the lived experiences they value. This also undermines the claim sometimes advanced that “certain political or social freedoms, such as liberty of participation and dissent, or opportunities to receive basic education” might be at odds with development (Sen 1999: 5). Instead, capabilities, like virtues, are ends in themselves, as well as “constituent components of development [. . . their] relevance for development does not need to be freshly established through their indirect contribution to GNP or the growth of industrialization.” The Capabilities Approach also argues against the related view that human concerns should be attended to only after sufficient economic growth has been achieved (Sen 1999: 41). The Capabilities Approach pairs an ancient teleological outlook with the liberal individual freedom to determine one’s own valued outcomes. Substantive freedoms are also operationalized, measured, and subject to causal analysis in the mode of modern economics, giving the Capabilities Approach empirical bite and disciplinary credibility—​at

Virtues and Capabilities    595 least within international development. To support his claims about the importance of freedom as an end, therefore, Sen uses economic analysis to show the close “empirical linkages” between freedom as an end and the sort of instrumental freedoms that facilitate development (Sen 1999: 38). In tandem with his applied critiques of international development metrics, policies, and theory, Sen was also advancing a theoretical critique against the dominant normative political theory of the same era: the egalitarian liberalism of John Rawls. This conversation has had a long arc, with Rawls releasing A Theory of Justice in 1971 and a heavily revised version in 1999. The Capability Approach is a major component of Sen’s response, which culminated in The Idea of Justice (2011). Despite its dominance, Rawls’s work elicited widespread criticism. Raymond Geuss offers a more generalized lament: “as Rawls’ purportedly egalitarian theory became more entrenched and more highly elaborated, social inequalities in fact increased in virtually all industrialized societies” (2003). The distance between Rawls’s theory of justice and the unequal and unjust facts of life in the real world poses a dilemma similar to that of development theories based on narrow economic measures: in both cases, the pursuit of an ideal—​either justice or economic development—​led to adverse outcomes in the lived experience of many people. Responding to the same dissonance between theory and reality that unsettles Geuss, Sen abandons the “transcendental” understanding of justice that runs through Rawls’s theory. It is not “feasible” (see Chapter 48) to reason toward a perfect concept of justice, because ultimately Rawls’s procedure cannot rule out alternative conceptions of justice (Sen 2011). Sen takes a practical view of justice as choosing between alternatives in real situations, echoing Aristotle’s advice in Nicomachean Ethics I.II to “[seek] exactness in each area to the extent that the nature of the subject allows” (1049b20–​25) and his rejection of Platonic idealism because “the good cannot be some common and single universal” (I.VI.1096a.25–​30). For Sen, the existence of a perfect account of justice is irrelevant, when gross injustice can be easily identified and—​perhaps less easily—​overcome. “What is needed,” instead of a perfect theory of justice, is “an agreement, based on public reasoning, on rankings of alternatives that can be realized” (Sen 2011: 17). Sen also shifts the focus of his analysis from the institutional arrangements that preoccupied Rawls to the “realized actuality” of those arrangements that “goes well beyond the organizational picture, and includes the lives that people manage—​or do not manage—​to live” (2011: 18). This is where the Capabilities Approach makes its distinctive contribution by providing the normative content. Otherwise, it is conceivable that another type of non-​transcendental normative theory could be developed that aspired to “better” institutions rather than perfect ones, but without achieving the kind of radical normative departure offered by the human-​centred Capabilities Approach. Sen instead emphasizes “comprehensive outcomes” that evaluate the entire path from opportunity, through action, to result. Instead of judging whether people have contracted to a fair and just set of institutions, Sen wants to know if they have such things as “political freedoms,” “economic facilities,” “social opportunities,” “transparency guarantees,” and “protective security” (1999: 10)

596    Steven Torrente and Harry D. Gould This is why the Capabilities Approach appears to respond well to concerns, like Geuss’s, about Rawls’s theory. The root of Geuss’s concern seems to be that the question Rawls asks, “What is the correct conception of justice?” does not engage in a satisfying way with the real challenges people are experiencing (Geuss 2003). The move from abstraction to lived experience gives the Capabilities Approach powerful tools to articulate stubborn injustices and inequalities. Regarding the unequal treatment of women, for example, Nussbaum (2002) argues that the Capabilities Approach gives normative recognition to dimensions of women’s lives that other normative political theories do not. Where the Capabilities Approach has been most influential, however, has been in international development. In her assessment, Sakiko Fukuda-​Parr finds that it has been highly successful as normative theory, but has not changed international development policy. Fukuda-​Parr’s historical analysis of development theory positions the Capabilities Approach (together with “human development” approaches as “HDCA”) as one of two major normative challenges to the economically oriented development agenda that dominated the 1980s and 1990s. Sen and the Capabilities Approach helped to discredit the “Washington Consensus” of liberalization and free-​market policies and create a new consensus that was eventually codified in the United Nations Millennium Development Goals (Fukuda-​Parr 2011). This would seem to be a great success, for which the Capabilities Approach can take significant credit. According to Fukuda-​Parr, not only has the human-​centred outlook successfully diffused as an international norm, it has been embedded in the main goals of major international organizations and donors. But lived experience and development policy have been more stubborn: While the normative framework of the international development agenda has been redefined by drawing on the HDCA, it is far from evident that the implementation strategies have undergone the same shift. National and international development policies continue to give priority to objectives of macroeconomic stability and economic growth, justified by the theory that growth is not only a necessary but also a sufficient condition for reducing poverty. (Fukuda-​Parr 2011: 128)

In other words, despite an enormous shift in the normative foundations of international development theory, the structure and content of development policies have not changed. Once abstracted from their normative foundations, even the MDGs become just a complex replacement for GDP growth targets (Fukuda-​Parr 2011: 130). She concludes that since 2000, international development has changed its “instruments and narratives” but not its “content” (p. 129). It would be unfair to blame the Capabilities Approach and its advocates alone for the mixed results. Fukuda-​Parr (2011: 131) notes that conditions in the 1990s were favourable for the Capabilities Approach, but now “heterodox human-​centered perspectives are no longer of instrumental value to governments of the South for legitimating their positions to domestic and external audiences.” It is also possible that there is some tension

Virtues and Capabilities    597 between the Aristotelian structure of the Capabilities Approach and its modern economic tools and expression, since these traditions make fundamentally different “philosophical wagers” about how to produce relevant knowledge (Jackson 2011: ch. 2).

Conclusion The partial success of the Capabilities Approach shows that these alternative normative ideas can be integrated with international political theories. While Fukuda-​Parr’s criticism of implementation should be noted, Sen and other Capabilities theorists have prompted a re-​evaluation of the normative foundations of thought in international development. There is at least a pragmatic justification for turning to these resources—​or a practical one, to use a more Aristotelian term. Virtue Ethics and the Capabilities Approach can each do things that other normative traditions do not. Virtue Ethics, for example, can draw normative resources from character in situations where formal rules have been rendered ineffective. Capabilities scholars have shown that they can make certain problems intelligible that are hard to recognize in terms of utility or principles. To the degree that those ends are desirable to the theorist, the incorporation of virtue or capabilities into IPT can be justified on that basis. Whether Virtue Ethics and the Capabilities Approach are more justified than Deontological or Utilitarian approaches is another question. IPT uses a plurality of normative resources—​including the many strains of Deontological and Utilitarian ethics—​ without regard to an ultimate justification for any particular approach. It should not be a problem to make use of virtue or capability in IPT, or even to justify that use. To justify their use in comparison to Utility or Deontology, however, raises questions of considerable scope and difficulty. No widely accepted authority currently exists that could validate the foundations of any normative tradition over or against the others. The position of VE/​CA with respect to this dilemma, however, is no different than that of the other traditions. As long as one is willing to apply the same standards of use, virtue and capability should be considered valid components of IPT’s normative tool chest.

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Virtues and Capabilities    599 Solomon, D. (1988). Internal Objections to Virtue Ethics. Midwest Studies in Philosophy 13: 428–​41. Swanton, C. (2001). A Virtue Ethical Account of Right Action. Ethics 112(1): 32–​52. Swanton, C. (2003). Virtue Ethics: A Pluralist View (New York: Oxford University Press). Swanton, C. (2013). The Definition of Virtue Ethics. In D. C. Russell (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to Virtue Ethics (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press), 315–​18. Trianosky, G. (1990). What is Virtue Ethics All About? American Philosophical Quarterly 27(4): 335–​44. Upton, C. L. (2009). Virtue Ethics and Moral Psychology: The Situationism Debate. Journal of Ethics 13(2–​3): 103–​15. van Zyl, L. (2013). Virtue Ethics and Right Action. In D. C. Russell (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to Virtue Ethics (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press), 172–​96. van Zyl, L. (2014). Right Action and the Targets of Virtue. In S. van Hooft (ed.), The Handbook of Virtue Ethics (Abingdon: Acumen), 118–​29.

­c hapter 45

Emotion s a nd Internat i ona l P olitical T h e ory Renée Jeffery

International Relations is experiencing an “emotional turn” (Bleiker and Hutchison 2014). Where once the emotions were routinely conceived as “epiphenomenal” to world politics, “a source of irrationality,” or perhaps as a tool used by “savvy strategic actors” to manipulate target audiences (Mercer 2006: 290), increasing numbers of scholars now accept that the emotions are a pervasive feature, both of human nature and of the relationships that define and mark international relations. The result has been the emergence of a burgeoning literature that has added consideration of the emotions to particular issue areas, including geopolitics (Moisi 2009), decision-​making in war (Rosen 2005), protest movements (Ross 2010), financial crises (Widmaier 2010; Gammon 2008), peace-​building (Long and Brecke 2003; Tang 2011), and post-​conflict justice (Jeffery 2014a; Elster 2004). Accompanying the empirical study of the emotions in international relations is a smaller but more focused literature which has begun to reconsider existing theories of international relations in light of the emotions (Crawford 2000; Mercer 2008), to reframe the history of international political thought in ways that include rather than exclude the emotions (Jeffery 2011; Bleiker and Hutchison 2008: 17) and to develop new, sentimental or affect-​based theories of world politics (Mercer 2014; Crawford 2014; Jeffery 2014b). Rather than being an afterthought designed to provide either ballast or solid theoretical foundations for the empirical study of the emotions in international relations, however, the emotional turn was, in its earliest incarnation, a predominantly theoretical enterprise driven by dissatisfaction with existing rationalist, reason-​centred theories of world politics. Crawford, in particular, notes that while the “assumption of rationality is ubiquitous in international relations theory” and brings with it an implicit rejection of the emotions, the “passions,” as she terms them, remain under-​or untheorized in International Relations (2000: 116). This is despite the fact that, for all

Emotions in IPT   601 the emphasis on rationality in most dominant realist and liberal theories, emotions like fear are embedded in them (Crawford 2000: 117). As a result, she and others have noted that conventional theories of international relations tend to rely on one-​dimensional accounts of the emotions as the dichotomous opponents of rationality to be avoided in the reason-​centred study and practice of international politics. Where International Political Theory (IPT) is concerned, the centrality of reason and rationality, and the consequent rejection of the emotions, has been writ large. With few exceptions, most prominent accounts of international ethics have relied on and promoted the assumed cognitive and deliberative superiority of rationality over the emotions (see Chapter 33). For rationalist cosmopolitans, to be rational is to use reason to determine moral rules that all other rational beings can similarly derive and agree to. Rationality is thus conceived as a cognitive function that allows us to meet the core requirement of a cosmopolitan ethic, impartiality (Cottingham 1983: 83; Singer 2011: 100; O’Neill 2013: 222; 1998: 104). Impartiality, in turn, is the guiding principle that ensures that despite their individualism, cosmopolitan ethics are both universal and egalitarian. For rationalist cosmopolitans, an explicit rejection of the emotions as a source of moral judgements is a logical corollary of the demand for impartiality. For example, Peter Singer argues that an ethic based on rational moral truths is preferable to an emotionally driven ethic because it allows us to consider our reasons in light of “the reasons for action that all rational beings would have, even rational sentient beings who had evolved in circumstances very different from our own” (2011: 204). That is, rationality allows us to ensure that the judgements we make are truly universal. By contrast, an emotional view of ethical deliberation is based on the notion that ethics is “all a matter of what we want, or desire [ . . . ] or what feels good or bad to us, of what we find attractive or repugnant” (p. 204). This, Singer contends, is neither universal nor egalitarian, and thus cannot be considered a cosmopolitan ethic or, indeed, an ethic at all. Dominant variants of rationalist cosmopolitanism thus base their endorsement of reason and rejection of the emotions on a set of assumptions about the nature of reason and the nature of the emotions. While reason contributes to impartiality, emotions are conceived as being fundamentally unreliable, partial, selfish, and dangerous, and thus as having no legitimate place in processes of ethical deliberation. Owing much of their heritage to Immanuel Kant’s claim that regardless of how benevolent their intent may be, the emotions can never provide the proper basis for making moral judgements or performing our ethical duties (Kant 1948: 11–​12; Frazer 2012: 124–​5), when rationalist cosmopolitan theories of ethics consider the emotions, it is almost always in the context of devising strategies to ensure the dominance of reason in the face of emotional onslaughts. Rejecting David Hume’s suggestion that reason and emotion are “uncompounded and inseparable” and with it his famous dictum that “[r]‌eason is, and ought only to be the slave of the passions” (2000: 316, 312), contemporary rationalist cosmopolitans (even those who do not identify as Kantians) have thus tended to follow Kant’s assumption not only that the emotions are separable from reason (O’Neill 2013: 222; 1998: 104; Wolff, in McCarty 1993: 424), but that they are “the enemy of reason and morality” (Pettys 2007: 1609).

602   Renée Jeffery Yet, as this chapter demonstrates, recent developments in the fields of neuroscience and psychology have sorely tested these foundational assumptions about the nature of the emotions and its relationship to reason, on which rationalist cosmopolitan theories are based. Embraced by scholars of IPT, these empirical findings have profound implications for existing theoretical accounts of international ethics. That is, where the emotions are concerned, a particularly close relationship has been forged between empirical research and IPT. Among the most prominent contemporary theorists of the emotions, a rudimentary understanding of the neurosciences and psychology has become commonplace, while several key scholars have gained considerable expertise in these fields (Crawford 2000; Mercer 2006). Though unusual in contemporary IPT, in historical terms this new interdisciplinary coupling of theory and empirics is neither radical nor novel. Until the early twentieth century, scholars concerned with the emotions did not, by and large, recognize what later became customary disciplinary distinctions, and commonly combined elements of psychology and philosophy in a single approach (Solomon 2003: 55). Among the most important developments in psychology and the neurosciences in recent years, one set of discoveries has had by far the most significant impact on IPT: studies of patients with lesions of the ventromedial prefrontal cortex (VMPFC) of the brain. Of these, the most famous cases include the historical case of Phineas Gage, a railway worker who suffered a horrific brain injury in 1848 when an explosion blew a three-​foot-​long tamping rod through his head (Damasio et al. 1994: 1102) and the more recent case of Elliot, a brain tumour patient who, in the course of having his tumour removed, sustained damage to his prefrontal cortex (Damasio 2005:  34–​51). In both these cases, the patient experienced significant cognitive and behavioural deficits. Both underwent dramatic personality changes, lost the ability to respond emotionally to certain stimuli or to present appropriate emotional responses to others, and displayed severely compromised rational decision-​making skills (Damasio et  al. 1994:  1104). Together, these and other similar cases indicated not only that damage to the VMPFC was associated with impaired emotional processing but that this, in turn, limits these patients’ abilities to reason and make decisions. On the basis of his groundbreaking study of Elliot, Antonio Damasio theorized that “[c]‌ertain aspects of the process of emotion and feeling are indispensible for rationality” (2005: 53). Emotion, he argued, is “in the loop of reason, and [ . . . ] could assist the reasoning process rather than necessarily disturb it, as was commonly assumed” (pp. x–​xi). In doing so, he did not suggest that “emotion was a substitute for reasoning” or “set emotion against reason,” but rather argued that emotion ought to be seen “as at least assisting reason and at best holding a dialogue with it” (pp. xi, xiii). That is, Damasio argued that Hume was right: reason and the emotions are not separable, nor are the emotions necessarily detrimental to reason. On the contrary, without emotion we simply cannot reason. For scholars of the emotions in international relations theory, these findings have profound implications. Not only do they challenge the assumed dominance of rationality in standard accounts of human nature that underpin most conventional theories

Emotions in IPT   603 of international relations, but they suggest that the continued rejection of the emotions cannot be justified. On this basis Jonathan Mercer has drawn directly on Damasio’s work to reconsider and reconfigure the notion of the “first image” to incorporate the idea that the emotions are “a necessary aspect of rationality” (2006: 290). For IPT, however, a further set of discoveries, which have sought to extend Damasio’s original findings to subjects with intact brains, are especially significant. With the advent of functional magnetic resonance imaging (fMRI), identifying those regions of the brain responsible for particular functions no longer relies on correlating instances of brain damage with particular types of functional impairment. Of particular relevance to IPT, fMRI technology allows us to identify the particular regions and structures of the brain activated when we make moral judgements. Among its range of applications, neurophilosophers have used this technology in their attempts to determine whether emotions are associated, “in a systematic way with specific moral responses under specific moral conditions” (Young and Koenigs 2007: 72)—​that is, to determine whether the emotions play a consistent role or set of roles in making moral judgements. In their initial study, Joshua Greene and his colleagues (2001) traced neural activity in subjects presented with the classic “footbridge” and “trolley” dilemmas (Foot 1967; Thomson 1976). The pairing of these two dilemmas was designed to allow a comparative examination of the relationship between emotional responses and particular types of moral judgements. In both dilemmas the subject is asked whether they will save five lives at the expense of one: in the trolley dilemma they are asked whether they will divert an out-​of-​control trolley heading toward five people onto another track where only one person will be killed; in the footbridge dilemma, they are asked whether they would push a very fat man off a footbridge to stop the same trolley from killing the five. In the trolley dilemma, the death of one could be considered an unfortunate, foreseen, but unintended consequence of a good action, namely saving five lives, whereas in the footbridge case, the subject must choose whether or not to intentionally kill the fat man to save the others (Greene and Haidt 2002: 519). In standard assessments of these dilemmas, the majority of subjects respond that they would divert the trolley but that they would not kill the fat man to save the others (Cushman, Young, and Hauser 2006). That is, people tend to be more comfortable with a consequentialist justification for their actions than a deontological one, even though the material outcomes of their actions will be identical. In their original study, Greene at al. (2001) used fMRI technology to determine which parts of the brain were activated when subjects were asked to make judgements about each of these dilemmas. In doing so, they demonstrated that there is a strong correlation between neural activity associated with the emotions and making moral judgements. They also demonstrated that emotional responses, such as those typically provoked by thought of killing the fat man, “have an influence on and are not merely incidental to moral judgements” (Greene, Sommerville, and Nystrom 2001). That is, they confirmed Damasio’s suggestion that emotion is “in the loop of reason” (2005: x). Greene’s conclusions went even further than this. By pairing the trolley and footbridge dilemmas in another fMRI study he was able to compare differences in neural

604   Renée Jeffery activity associated with consequentialist and deontological judgements. In doing so, he found that “deontological patterns of moral judgement are driven by emotional responses while consequentialist judgements are driven by ‘cognitive’ processes” which also include the emotions (Greene 2008: 59). That is, although deontological moral reasoning is strongly associated with reason and rationality in theoretical terms, in psychological and neurological terms deontological decisions tend to be immediate, emotionally charged responses, rather than the results of considered rational deliberation. To view deontological cosmopolitan reasoning as “purely rationalist,” Greene argues, is thus “a kind of moral confabulation” (p. 63) that does not accurately reflect what actually happens when we make that type of judgement. Of course, demonstrating that the emotions are an essential part of moral reasoning and ethical action, and arguing that they ought to be are two very different things. After all, IPT is not primarily concerned with explaining how human beings behave in their international relations with one another but how they ought to behave. Suggesting that empirical findings from the neurosciences might have direct bearing on cosmopolitan moral reasoning thus invites the inevitable objection that an “ought” cannot be derived from an “is.” In his Treatise on Human Nature, Hume famously noted that “[i]‌n every system of morality,” propositions of “is” and “is not” become transformed without explanation into statements of “ought” and “ought not” (1998: 3.1.1.27). In doing so, he argued that it is “altogether inconceivable” that an “ought” relationship could be directly deduced from an “is” statement. Although the point Hume was making here was that a distinction between “is” and “ought” would allow us to move away from “vulgar systems of morality” based on the equally vulgar behaviour of human beings, most interpretations of this statement contend that Hume was “asserting here that no set of nonmoral premises can entail a moral conclusion” (MacIntyre 1959: 452). Such has been the abiding strength of this (inaccurate) interpretation that Hume’s supposed ban on deriving an “ought” from an “is” has become “a piece of philosophical dogma” to which many philosophers and social scientists subscribe with almost evangelical zeal (Joyce 2008: 371–​2). Often accompanying the “is/​ought” argument is what G.  E. Moore (1949 [1903]) termed the “naturalistic fallacy,” a problem derived from the assumption that what is natural is good and thus right. For Moore, this assumption is erroneous because it rests on a definition of something that cannot be defined, the concept of “good” (Joyce 2007: 146–​7). For proponents of naturalistic ethics, however, the indeterminate nature of “good” is not a problem. For them, scientific facts and moral prescriptions exist in a continuous relationship. For naturalized ethicists, theories of right and wrong ought to “match” empirical evidence about “natural human practice” (Greene 2003: 847). This does not mean that “all facts are normative facts, nor that all existing states of affairs [ . . . ] are good” but that “norms are natural, and that they arise from and are justified by purely natural processes” (Casebeer 2003: 843). Of course, a significant objection to this approach is the claim that human interactions are not shaped by “materialist forces” or “given by nature” but are constructed by “shared ideas” (Wendt 1999: 1). On the face of it, this objection poses a significant

Emotions in IPT   605 problem for the relationship between the empirical findings of the neurosciences and IPT. Neuroscience is a predominantly materialist field of endeavour (Gazzaniga in Snead 2007: 1278), which ascribes to the notion that “ultimate reality is purely material” (Wendt 2006: 183). Despite a recent softening of this position in the subfields of neurophilosophy and cognitive neuroscience, most neuroscientists remain firm in the view that “human thought and behavior are caused solely by physical processes taking place inside the brain” (Snead 2007: 1277–​8). This reductionist materialist position thus maintains that ideas cannot be “ontologically autonomous” (Wendt 2006: 183) but are instead nothing more than conscious derivatives of unconscious neural activities. Reductive materialism and naturalist ethics thus go hand in hand: if our existence is purely constituted by the material forces of nature, then the straightforward transposition of scientific facts into philosophical or social scientific ideas is unproblematic (Jeffery 2014c). Yet human beings are not simply physical bodies and neuro-​chemical brains, nor is it the case that ideas can be “reduced to material conditions” or to fundamental features of human nature (Wendt 2006: 183). Even if we could establish a direct causal link between particular neurological events and the ideas that accompany them, no amount of scientific testing could tell us what those ideas mean or explain their social significance. Rather, non-​material aspects of human nature, from our experience of consciousness to the generation of ideas and the meanings we attribute to them, differentiate human beings from “ordinary physical objects” (Wendt 2006: 185; Bevir and Kedar 2008: 505). Studying human interactions in purely material terms, and reducing human relationships to sets of neurological, biochemical, and physiological processes, thus overlooks key non-​material aspects of human nature. Together, these arguments seem to suggest that the empirical findings of the natural sciences cannot have a legitimate influence on IPT. Indeed, if international ethics is fundamentally concerned with generating ideas about how human beings ought to behave in their interactions with one another, then it would seem logical to conclude that the materialism of the neurosciences has little to say to the non-​materialist world of ideas. Yet, arguing that empirical findings from the natural sciences may have a bearing on theories of ethics does not require us to go as far as naturalized ethicists do. On the contrary, understanding the “underlying psychological processes that generate people’s [moral judgements]” can help us to determine whether those judgements are justified or not (Knobe and Nichols 2008: 8). Using neurological experiments, we can test some of the underlying assumptions and concepts about the nature of reason and the nature of emotions that underpin key theories of ethics (Prinz 2008: 194–​5). Empirical studies can also provide insights into how people understand moral concepts and the processes involved in making moral judgements that are inaccessible by analytical reflection alone (Knobe and Nichols 2008: 6). Finally, where “ought” is conceived as implying “can,” then “ought” may be constrained by, if not derived from, “is.” That is, notwithstanding the sense that ethics demands that we strive toward a set of possibly elusive ideals, an “ought” can in fact be derived from an “is” in cases “where it can be empirically shown that there are certain things we are not obligated to do, because we can’t do them” (Prinz 2008: 196). Where cosmopolitan ethics (see Chapter 3) are concerned, this might

606   Renée Jeffery include the demand that we rid our moral judgements of all emotional content: that, as demonstrated above, is simply impossible. It might also force us to accept that because the emotions play an essential role in motivating ethical actions, attempting to eradicate them from processes of ethical deliberation is counterproductive. Beyond the mere making of moral judgements, however, several recent studies have also demonstrated that the emotions are implicated in our ability to act on the basis of those judgements. If ethics is a fundamentally practical exercise, which accepts that “[m]‌orality requires action of some sorts” (O’Neill 2001: 131), then it stands to reason that IPT must also consider the factors that motivate ethical behaviour. Rationalist cosmopolitans commonly accept this premise. For them, reason is, in and of itself, a motivation to act (Kant 1948: 66; Smith 1994: 66–​7). For scholars of the emotions, however, the relationship between the emotions and the motivation to act has been generally accepted for some time. In particular, classic and more recent studies of psychopaths have provided key insights into the specific relationship between the emotions and the motivation to act ethically. In his landmark study, Harvey Cleckly (1976 [1941]) argued, that contrary to popular belief, it is not the case that psychopaths lack understanding of the harm they cause; psychopaths “understand the harmful consequences of their actions for others [. . . but] simply do not care about those consequences” (Haidt 2001: 824). In his attempt to explain their psychopathic behaviour, Cleckly found that a lack of emotion was a key causal feature of psychopathic behaviour (1976: 371). Since then, Robert Hare (1980; 1991; 1996) and others have confirmed and developed Cleckly’s findings. In a series of experiments spanning more than two decades, James Blair and his colleagues found that underlying psychopaths’ destructive actions is an inability to distinguish moral transgressions, “defined by their consequences for the rights and welfare of others” from conventional transgressions, or non-​moral breaches of social expectations or order (1995: 17). This lack of capacity Blair attributed to psychopaths’ emotional deficits—​observations that accord well with the sorts of neurological deficiencies and structural abnormalities observed in the brains of psychopaths (Blair 2003: 5–​7; Kiehl et al. 2001). Yet the main problem with psychopaths is not their capacity to make moral judgements but rather the behaviour that follows. As Kent Kiehl notes, “Psychopaths are not impaired in their ability to reason about what is right and wrong” (in Borg 2008: 159). Rather, where they are impaired is “in their ability to do or follow through with what they reason to be right or wrong” (p. 159). That is, their ability to perform ethical actions on the basis of moral judgements is significantly impaired, leading to the sort of violent and callous behaviour for which psychopaths are best known. However the problem with psychopathic behaviour does not simply concern an inability to perform good actions on the basis of moral judgements about acceptable behaviour, but more often concerns an inability to avoid actions deemed bad or unethical by processes of moral deliberation. As Jonathan Haidt argues, this too can be attributed to the emotional deficiencies suffered by most psychopaths. It is thus in the absence of major affective reactions that would ordinarily “be triggered by the suffering of others (remorse, sympathy), condemnation by others (shame,

Emotions in IPT   607 embarrassment), or attachment to others (love, grief)” that psychopaths lack the motivation to restrain immoral behaviour (Haidt 2001: 824). Contrary to the rationalist assumption that reason is a sufficient motivation for action, and the suggestion that cognitive and behavioural abnormalities in psychopaths can be attributed to impaired rational thought, studies of psychopaths provide clear evidence that emotions play an indispensable role in making moral judgements and motivating ethical actions. As McGeer notes, “work on psychopaths seems to support the view that the capacity for moral thought and action is strongly dependent on our affective natures and in particular the capacity to respond empathetically to others’ affective states, to experience a vicarious emotional response to how they affectively experience the world, and especially to feel some distress at their distress and suffering” (2008: 231). This, as McGeer argues, “seems to speak to a Humean rather than a Kantian view of the roots of moral understanding and moral motivation” (p. 231). Drawing on the empirical findings of the brain sciences, it is clear that cosmopolitan theories of ethics must take account of the emotions. Emotions are not only an essential component of rational decision-​making; they motivate us to act on the basis of the ethical judgements we make. Empirical evidence about the emotions thus has the potential to transform cosmopolitan ethics in two ways. First, it challenges rational cosmopolitan thought’s rejection of the emotions. As experiments in the neurosciences have demonstrated, the emotions are implicated in even our most self-​consciously rational judgements. At the very least this demands that rational cosmopolitans acknowledge that the emotions are inescapable, even within the most stringent, rigorous processes of rational thought. This, of course, is a minimalist response with minimal consequences: it says even what is rational is emotional but does not fundamentally change how rational cosmopolitan judgements are derived, made, or analysed. In maximalist terms, however, empirical evidence about the nature of the emotions and their relationship to reason has the potential to bring about a contemporary revival of sentimentalist cosmopolitan ethics. A practical sentimentalist ethic maintains that we have obligations to all other human beings, based not on a purely rational assessment of their rights, ends, or the utility of our possible actions but on our emotional responses to witnessing their plight. It suggests that when we witness the suffering of others, or imagine the harm that a particular course of action might bring, the judgement that says “This is wrong” is derived not from a rational understanding of universal moral principles, but from a visceral human response. For example, when we witness the unjust infliction of serious harm, we feel angry. It is a response that expresses, both inwardly and outwardly, that we judge the situation to be morally wrong. That is, our anger is a moral judgement. This emotional judgement in turn motivates us to act in response, to help rectify the wrong, and as a result overcome our unpleasant, unsettling negative emotions. Of course, our emotions have the potential to be self-​serving, to promote judgements that are egocentric rather than universal. The question is thus one of how we can ensure that emotionally derived judgements are in fact impartial. This is an assessment we readily perform in relation to the emotional responses of others. As Adam Smith noted,

608   Renée Jeffery “The furious behaviour of an angry man is more likely to exasperate us against himself than against his enemies” if we deem his response unjustified (1984: I.I.I.7). But how can we ensure impartiality in ourselves? It is here that we find a role for reason. To explain how reason may judge and, indeed, moderate our emotional responses, Amartya Sen draws on Adam Smith’s notion of the “impartial spectator,” an “imagined ideal” to be cultivated to “temper [ . . . our] own tendency toward selfish anti-social behaviour” (Smith 1984: I.I.3.1). The impartial spectator is a “judge within” that allows us to view our own actions from a disinterested perspective, to determine whether others would likely “go along with” our behaviour, and to temper our sentiments. For Smith, this did not mean that our emotions are incapable of being impartial. On the contrary, he understood that both reason and the emotions have the potential to be self-​serving or to be objective or impartial. Rather, what Smith suggested was that the only way we can know whether or not our emotional responses are impartial is to subject them to reasoned scrutiny. For Sen, however, the impartial spectator does not simply operate as a check on impartiality but is the source of impartiality itself. According to his account, “[r]‌eason and emotion play complementary roles in human reflection” (2009: 39). In particular, while our emotional responses to the suffering we observe often serve to inspire our moral deliberations about justice and injustice, reason allows us to make sense of competing moral claims, complex patterns of causality, and conflicting emotional responses, and to scrutinize our emotional responses to ensure they are appropriate and impartial. Sen thus argues that the “demands of objectivity” force us to rely on “reason in making ethical judgements” and require us to employ “a particular discipline of reasoning” (2009: 40–​1). What this suggests is that, for him, emotions are the “subject matter for reasoning,” rather than the basis of moral judgements themselves, while reason is the exclusive source of objectivity (p. 50).

Conclusion While Sen has gone some way toward incorporating the emotions into a cosmopolitan understanding of ethics, sentimentalist cosmopolitanism goes much further. Sentimentalist cosmopolitan ethics accepts that reason plays an important role in scrutinizing our emotions and acting as a check on the impartiality of our judgements. Like Hume, however, it also maintains that emotions are moral judgements in and of themselves. Where practical ethics are concerned, this is crucial. Reason, as we have seen, does little to motivate us to act in response to injustice. Thus when Sen argues that “[r]‌easoning is our ally” in making impartial judgements, he is only partially correct (2009: 48). Our other ally in a practical cosmopolitan ethic is emotion, a primary motivating force that need not endanger our capacity for rational thought or our ability to make impartial judgements. On the contrary, as mounting empirical evidence from the brain

Emotions in IPT   609 sciences shows, it is when reason and emotion are combined that effective moral judgements and ethical actions become possible. For IPT this must surely inspire a radical rethinking of our most prominent accounts of moral deliberation, judgement, and indeed action.

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­c hapter 46

The Eth i c s of Rec o gnit i on i n Internat i ona l P olitical T h e ory Anna Geis

Experiencing recognition in quite different contexts of their private and public life is essential for all human beings. “Due recognition is not just a courtesy we owe other people. It is a vital human need” (Taylor 1994:  26). “Recognition” is an evaluative term that involves judgements about meaning and worth. It is also a relational concept because (mutual) recognition is regarded as a prerequisite for successful identity formation and beneficial social interactions. Judging by the sheer amount of literature, recognition is a prominent term in several disciplines such as social philosophy, psychology, sociology and international law. Political “struggles for recognition” (Honneth 1995)  have also attracted increasing levels of attention from empirical political science and in peace and conflict studies. Misrecognition, which individuals or collective actors experience as humiliation, disrespect, or false representations of their identity, is seen as a major cause of political resistance, and as significant in the escalation of potentially violent conflicts. “Recognition” is a fuzzy term that is used quite differently by authors and speakers. Far from being exhaustive, Ikäheimo and Laitinen (2011: 8–​10) discern three usages, the boundaries of which are not always clear-​cut: first, the term can be used as synonymous with “identification”; secondly, as roughly synonymously with “acknowledgment,” which implies having “evaluative or normative entities or facts as its objects, so that we can acknowledge something as valuable, as valid, as giving reasons, and so forth” (Ikäheimo and Laitinen 2011: 8, emphasis original). The third usage is most prominent in Hegel-​inspired accounts of recognition and refers to interpersonal recognition, as exemplified by the works of Axel Honneth. How useful is the application of recognition-​based perspectives in international politics in the twenty-​ first century? The relevance of the topic in International

The Ethics of Recognition in IPT    613 Political Theory (IPT) and empirical International Relations (IR) research is likely to increase: debates in both sub-​disciplines have shown that the social fabric of today’s globalizing world is marked by the pluralization of institutions and actors that “count” and by the contestation of norms on the global, regional, and local level. The liberal world order is seen as being in crisis (Dunne and Flockhart 2013). Both the rise of non-​ Western powers and transnational violent non-​state actors indicate the fragility of Western hegemony. Ethical issues on how to deal with cultural diversity—​the pluralization of norms and values—​will thus not vanish from the agenda but prove to be persistent challenges (cf. Brown 2000). Who deserves recognition and respect for what, by whom and why? Whose identity claims and struggles for recognition are justified and on what grounds? Which actors “count”? The institutionalized international order will be characterized by a further politicization of such issues (Heins 2010: 154–​8). This chapter proceeds as follows. First, the emerging body of literature on recognition in IR is briefly outlined. This is followed by a discussion of three issue areas of recognition-​related research, the relevance of which will probably increase in the future. Since individuals, groups, and states struggle for recognition in politics, these three basic types of actors will be considered separately in more detail. The section on recognition in real-​world politics demonstrates that studies on “recognition” in international and transnational politics can hardly be accused of abstract normative theorizing about some utopian state of affairs, but that most of the existing work draws from or contributes to empirical research (O’Neill and Smith 2012; Hayden and Schick 2016). The final section discusses the pitfalls of the overly optimistic and normatively loaded concept of “recognition” in many of these studies. While (mis)recognition is certainly a key concept with which to understand the central dynamics of social and political conflicts, a generous politics of recognition cannot provide a panacea to all of these ills.

Taking “Recognition” Beyond the Domestic Sphere of Societies The most intensive debates on “recognition” have taken place in Social Philosophy and Political Theory, starting in the late 1980s and 1990s. The increase in different forms of “identity politics” and “struggles for recognition” by minorities and social movements in multicultural liberal societies at that time stimulated theorizing about these diversified political phenomena (e.g. Fraser 1997; Fraser and Honneth 2003; Taylor 1994). Recognition of a specific identity, of rights, or a certain status has been regarded as one of the goals of (new) social movements organized around class, gender, sexuality, ethnicity, religion, or language. Social theorists have thus conceptualized recognition as a means of realizing broader normative goals such as emancipation, dignity, justice, and equality (Iser 2013).

614   Anna Geis Drawing partly on Hegelian theoretical ideas1 and partly on empirical studies from evolutionary psychology, recognition theorists conceive of recognition by other individuals or by society as a vital human need (Ikäheimo 2009). It is only when an individual is appreciated for having certain qualities that (s)he will be able to develop self-​esteem as well as an “intact” personal identity (Taylor 1994: 26–​37). With regard to society, recognition operates as a mechanism that constitutes a normative status (of equals) and allots rights and duties within a society (Fraser 2000; Honneth 1995; 2012). Accordingly, acts of misrecognition constitute acts of injustice in that they violate personal integrity and impede people from becoming full members of a social collective. Experiences of misrecognition can provoke strong responses, including violent resistance, on the part of affected individuals or social groups. Axel Honneth’s influential studies on the key role of “recognition” are often cited as a reference for recognition-​related works in IR and IPT (Haacke 2005: 191–​4). Honneth conceives of capitalist societies as institutionalized recognition orders, and differentiates three spheres of recognition:  love focuses on persons as needy human beings, respect focuses on the legal recognition of persons as bearers of equal rights (and duties), and social esteem is derived from a person’s achievement and “value” within capitalist society. Honneth pleads for locating “the core of all experiences of injustice in the withdrawal of social recognition, in the phenomena of humiliation and disrespect” (Fraser and Honneth 2003: 134). These two basic modes of misrecognition are also taken up in IR/​IPT works on recognition. It has taken rather long for scholars of IR to explore in more detail the extent to which these concepts could be transferred to the international realm. Of course, recognition as a diplomatic act between states is a very prominent issue in international law and also of central concern for IR scholars, but the more diffuse social phenomena of (mis)recognition that could also include non-​state actors relate to much more than such formal acts (Heins 2010: 166).2 Since recognition is closely linked to the formation of individual or group identities, it is especially appealing to social constructivists seeking to adapt recognition-​related concepts for the analysis of international politics, as Erik Ringmar (1996; 2002)  and Alexander Wendt (2003) demonstrated years ago. One of the main questions in recognition-​related IR studies is whether and how the misrecognition of states or other collective actors promotes violent conflict and, vice versa, whether and how recognition fosters peaceful relations. Desire for recognition can take different shapes: Wendt (2003:  511–​12) introduced the notion of “thin” and “thick” recognition, and it has been developed further by other authors (Allan and Keller 2012; Strömbom 2014; Gustafsson 2016). The increasing number of studies such as these demonstrates not only that state governments escalate violent conflicts out of “brute” power politics or economic gains but that “softer” factors which structure social interactions in an international recognition order must be taken more seriously (see e.g. Lindemann and Ringmar 2012; Brincat 2014; Daase et al. 2015). According to Richard Ned Lebow (2008), the struggle for standing and prestige of (putatively) “inferior” powers or of “rising” powers in the

The Ethics of Recognition in IPT    615 regional or international system of states is a permanent feature of international politics and one of the causes of war. Thomas Lindemann (2010; 2014) investigates how the claim for “hubristic identities,” the denial of equality, or the misrecognition of justified demands cause conflicts to escalate. Reinhard Wolf (2011; 2014) argues that attaining social respect is an important goal in international politics, and the non-​recognition of social status can lead to serious conflict and even war. While introducing the normative concept of recognition, which is linked to “progressive” goals such as justice and emancipation in political theory, enables IR researchers to gain new insights into conflict dynamics, researchers need to be aware of the strategic use of recognition and the strategic value of reputation in international power struggles (cf. Lindemann 2012: 221).

Increasing Struggles for Recognition in Real-​World Politics Studies on recognition in international politics deal with the (de-​)legitimation of specific actors and the political dynamics of inclusion/​exclusion in international society (Bartelson 2013; Onuf 2013). Recognition in real-​world politics is a gradual process, i.e. empirical research is required in order to grasp this fuzzy concept. Recognition and non-​recognition occur in complex and entangled forms, and constitute two poles on a continuum of policies and outcomes, ranging from highly formalized to very informal modes of recognition. This notion of gradual recognition implies that recognition is not only granted or withheld between actors of equal status but also within asymmetric power relations (Daase et al. 2015). This section briefly discusses three politicized issue areas that focus on different types of actors in contemporary conflict settings: the first issue area concerns the struggles for (status) recognition by so-​called “emerging powers,” the second focuses on negotiations that have taken place with terrorist groups, and the third concentrates on the recognition of individuals as victims in violent conflicts.

Contestation of Liberal Hegemony: The Quest for Status Recognition States are formal equals: the idea of “sovereign equals” has shaped international law since the end of the Second World War. However, the reality of international society shows that some states are more equal than others. The era of liberal hegemony following the end of the Cold War has been marked by normative changes that promoted human rights and democracy as indicators of legitimate statehood, and by political practices through which democratic states arrogated to themselves privileges in international politics (Geis 2013). Within their institutionalized communities such as NATO and the

616   Anna Geis European Union or their informal “clubs” such as the G7/​G8 (Gronau 2016), democratic states recognize each other as fellow liberals constituting a “community of values,” and tend to withhold such a positive moral evaluation from “outsiders” (Williams 2001). Narratives traveling from academia to the practical realm such as “democratic peace” (Geis et al. 2013) or “normative power Europe” (Whitman 2011) provide academic legitimacy for reproducing benign identity conceptions of democracies as the moral superiors of international society. “Democracy” has become the standard of civilization of states in the twenty-​first century (Hobson 2015: 198–​200). However, such self-​congratulatory narratives of superior democracies and liberal norms and values are increasingly being challenged and contested by numerous “others.” A general feature of social orders is that they are not static, uncontested sets of norms and rules. Each normative order faces challenges and challengers, and self-​proclaimed or appointed guardians of an order engage in ordering practices through (non-​)recognition. More recently, narratives of the “return” of “authoritarian great powers” such as Russia and China and the “rise” of regional “emerging powers” such as Brazil, South Africa, and India have added a new twist to liberal world ordering practices. Debates on global power transitions and the potential decline of “the West” raise the basic issue of who governs the world—​and of who should govern it. The social hierarchy of a transforming international society results in new dynamics of quests for status recognition by specific powers. The experiences of centuries of brutal colonial subjugation (Fanon 2005), of contemporary unjust global governance arrangements, patronizing development aid, and the military dominance of liberal democracies led many actors from the global South to articulate the lack of respect they receive from actors in the global North, and the absence of opportunities for equal participation in global institutions (Dübgen 2012; Nel 2010). Feelings of disrespect or even humiliation are possible not only in interpersonal relations but also in relations between states represented by individuals. This is not to say that states have emotions, but that individuals (inter)acting in their name can feel disrespected and misrecognized and can express anger or frustration (Wolf 2011: 118–​20; see Chapter 45). Emerging powers in the global South struggle for two types of recognition: firstly, recognition in the form of respect for developing countries in terms of full and equal membership and participation in multilateral institutions in general. [ . . . ] secondly, in the form of esteem for the specific and idiosyncratic developmental needs of developing countries [ . . . ]. These two forms of recognition are constitutive of the self-​respect and the self-​esteem that state agency in the society of states ultimately depends upon. (Nel 2010: 955, emphasis added)

While the emerging (democratic) powers Brazil, South Africa, and India are regarded with fewer reservations by the liberal democracies of the North and West, the scenarios for relations with China and Russia are far more ambiguous, and even include the potential for military conflict. Both great powers are considered to be especially concerned about their status and the social respect they feel entitled to (Forsberg et al. 2014). The concept of status recognition is linked to a subjective evaluation of the self about the

The Ethics of Recognition in IPT    617 respect one thinks one “deserves”; one expects this attitude of social respect then to be shown by the way others treat us (Wolf 2011: 112; see Chapter 27). China’s rapid economic growth, the size of its territory and population, its status as one of the P5 in the UN Security Council, and its possession of nuclear weapons render China a great power; but the ancient civilization has experienced a long history of violent subjugation, humiliation, and exclusion from clubs of “civilized” states (Ringmar 2015: 53–​9). China’s enduring ideological differences with Western powers, domestic narratives of past victimization, the status of Taiwan, and maritime territorial disputes with its neighbouring countries indicate insecurity about China’s status ambitions (cf. Wolf 2014). There are rising anxieties among the Chinese elite and the population about a loss of status; these concerns were fuelled by an emphasis on humiliation in narratives of China’s self-​identity, promoted by a “patriotic education” campaign (Gustafsson 2016: 628–​9). Russia’s status concerns are perceived as even more unsettling from a Western perspective. On the one hand, contemporary Russia is a “familiar” actor for “the West” and a part of Europe—​on the other hand, it has remained an “other” to Europe that is met with suspicion and could turn into a threat (Neumann 1998; Forsberg et al. 2014: 266). Russia’s military interventions in the former Soviet Union’s territories and in Syria and the annexation of the Crimea indicate that Russia is also willing to use force in order to back up its status claims as a great power. “The idea of greatpowerness is understood as forming the core of Russia’s state identity throughout centuries, including what we can observe today” (Forsberg 2014: 323). The end of the Cold War clearly divided the protagonists into winners and losers: “the West” celebrated the triumph of democracy and liberalism and succeeded in enlarging the membership of NATO and the European Union and its liberal communities, whereas the Soviet Union, a former superpower, collapsed, and communism declined worldwide. The Russian president, Vladimir Putin, famously described the demise of the Soviet Union as one of the major geopolitical disasters of the twentieth century. Although Russia has been included into governance arrangements that “count,” the country’s leaders perceive Russia as denied the high social rank it deserves in international society. They claim that they are continuously humiliated by “the West,” threatened by NATO’s eastern enlargement, and alienated by its military actions (Forsberg 2014). The point here is not to assess the extent to which such perceptions are accurate or justified, but to include such subjective perceptions and demands for status recognition in analyses of conflict escalation.

The Recognition of Violent Non-​state Actors: Negotiating with Terrorists The pluralization of non-​state actors in contemporary international society includes a differentiation of violent actors that claim to fight for the rights of marginalized groups or for a completely different world order (see Chapter 18). The proliferation of armed

618   Anna Geis groups confronts ever more governments with the ethical question of whether negotiations with groups labelled as “terrorists” are justifiable. Negotiating implies gradual steps of recognizing and legitimizing the counterpart. Talking to terrorists is risky (Miller 2011; Toros 2012). In successful cases, violent non-​state actors can be transformed into non-​violent political parties, and the legitimate goals of such groups are incorporated into state policy; in unsuccessful cases, violent groups can radicalize again, and this can lead governments to be perceived as weak and susceptible to blackmailing. Negotiating with terrorist groups contravenes the ethical core beliefs of elites and those of populations. Hence, many governments deny in public that they negotiate with groups they have labelled “terrorists” (Toros 2008). Empirical research on the end of terrorism, however, shows that nearly 20 per cent of terrorist groups have entered negotiations, usually secretly (Cronin 2009: 35–​72). Successful talks with terrorist groups are always fragile, and depend on a number of conditions such as the mutual discursive reframing of the conflict parties, specific leadership structures within the groups, the careful separation of negotiable goals from non-​negotiable issues, a mutual perception of a “stalemate” in the conflict, and accepted mediators (Zartman 2009; Goerzig 2010). The complex role of recognition in dealing with terrorist groups (whether domestic “ethnopolitical,” revolutionary groups or transnational “religious” networks) merits far more attention by researchers, but this sensitive empirical field is also difficult to access. Terrorism is sometimes presented as a “weapon of the weak” in asymmetric conflicts, which refers to the role of misrecognition. The rise of transnational Islamist terrorist networks forces many actors to position themselves with regards to these issues. One important question is under what conditions feelings of disrespect and humiliation lead to a radicalization of a non-​state group (Clément 2014) or, vice versa, whether gradual recognition can result in deradicalization (Biene and Daase 2015). Recognition of political actors often occurs in gradual steps, and is not necessarily an intended result but an eventual outcome of negotiations. In order to grasp such different degrees of “recognition as,” Biene and Daase (2015: 223–​5) suggest the identification of several “recognition events.” They assume that non-​state actors can seek recognition strategically so that the gradual granting of recognition could influence their strategic options: the first step is “thin” recognition as a party to the conflict. This is relevant, since states often try to deny the existence of a conflict or to delegitimize violent non-​state actors. The next step is acceptance as a participant in informal talks, indicating their relevance in the present and the future for the successful management of the conflict. The third step is the invitation to participate in formal talks. This move signals that “the state government acknowledges not only the existence and status of the non-​state actor, but also the possibility that it might have legitimate claims to bring to the table” (Biene and Daase 2015: 224). A final degree of recognition is realized if a non-​state actor is recognized as a political authority, as a legitimate representative of a collective with the capacity to enforce binding decisions. The history of the Palestinian Liberation Organization (PLO), of the Irish political party Sinn Féin, the recurring international demands to include the Taliban officially in

The Ethics of Recognition in IPT    619 peace talks in Afghanistan, and the 2016 peace agreement between the Colombian government and the FARC–​EP (Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia–​People’s Army) are just a few examples that show negotiations with actors that have been depicted as abhorrent enemies or as “evil” do take place. The distrust that they often continue to experience is but a weak indicator of the painful ethical choices political actors face in real-​world politics. Many actors usually have strong reservations about granting ex-​ combatants “thick recognition,” which means that “each party needs to understand the Other in terms of essential elements composing its identity” (Allan and Keller 2012: 77). A  majority of victims of violence by non-​state actors often struggle for recognition as well.

The Recognition of Victims in Transitional Justice Processes “Dealing with the past,” establishing a new (more democratic) post-​violence regime, and promoting reconciliation among conflict parties require mechanisms of retributive and restorative justice (see Chapter 12) that involve several dimensions of recognition, in particular the recognition of victims, their suffering in the past, and their agency in the future. While the earlier debate on transitional justice focused on the tensions between peace-​building and implementing justice, greater concern has been focused on the needs and rights of the victims since the mid-​2000s (van Boven 2013). What some authors today describe as a “victims-​turn” in transitional justice (García-​Godos 2016: 350) is embedded in a broader normative development concerning the protection of civilians in armed conflicts. Why do individuals (or groups) want to be recognized as “victims”? The very label “victim” is ambivalent, since it has the capacity to stigmatize and empower at the same time. However, there is a striking absence of “the victim” as a political actor in transitional justice literature (García-​Godos 2016: 357–​8): “victimhood” invokes notions of suffering but also of passivity, a lack of agency. The institutionalization of international criminal justice and the professionalization of transitional justice since the 1990s include an increasing international acknowledgment of the status of victims, awarding them more rights to directly participate in trials and to claim reparations. The UN General Assembly and the UN Commission on Human Rights endorsed several important documents in 2005 on reparation and impunity principles that acknowledge special rights for victims in violent conflicts, such as the right to know, the right to justice, and the right to reparation as well as guarantees of non-​recurrence (van Boven 2013: 21). This normative trend towards “reparative justice,” however, is more impressive in the way it is spelled out in international documents than in the reality of violent (post-​)conflict settings. The recognition of individual rights and a certain status is an important dimension in acknowledging a victim’s suffering but also her/​his ability to regain agency, for example, as a participant in trials and as a rightful claimant to material compensation. Apart

620   Anna Geis from this, victims of war crimes struggle for the restoration of their dignity as human beings, an aspect they were denied completely during the violent conflict (Haldemann 2008: 679). It is thus important to create opportunities for them to tell their individual stories and to make their experiences visible in society. Their participation as witnesses in criminal trials or in truth and reconciliation commission hearings has often been assessed as an inadequate form of acknowledgment, so that further innovations in transitional justice practices are advisable.3 Symbolic forms of recognition of victims should also be offered by the perpetrators or those who are authorized to speak in their name (Haldemann 2009: 726–​7). Public apologies by state officials who acknowledge the suffering of the victims, the responsibility for the crimes committed, and the political nature of these crimes are risky speech acts—​they can have very positive effects in transitional justice, but public apologies can also be rejected by victims if such apologies are perceived as strategically motivated. Among the types of recognition discussed here, the moral recognition of victims of international crimes might appear as the least controversial from a normative point of view. However, critical studies in transitional justice have pointed out that normative ambiguities also emerge in this field: the binary categories of “victims” and “perpetrators” have questionable essentializing labelling and ordering effects that can hamper reconciliation efforts (Renner 2013). In addition, one can often observe the discursive constitution of “good victims” who deserve recognition and reparation and “bad victims” who are considered undeserving and whose suffering is rendered invisible. This discrimination is usually a result of the interests of the ruling political elites: several transitional justice regimes (e.g. Algeria, Argentina, Chile, Colombia) demonstrate these exclusionary effects in that victims of non-​state violent actors (e.g. those of Colombia’s FARC–​EP) are granted recognition, whereas victims of repressive state violence are disrespected or simply ignored (Humphrey 2013).

Conclusion: The Dark Sides of Recognition Recognition studies offer useful theoretical and analytical frameworks for the investigation of the psychological needs of actors and their social embeddedness in (hierarchical) communities/​societies. Empirical studies of humiliation and disrespect help to explain political resistance and the escalation of violent conflicts. Normative recognition theories address social practices which are central to moral inquiry, and explicate the conditions that would be needed for more just institutions and emancipatory practices (Iser 2013). Transferring the social concept of recognition to international politics has inspired a growing number of studies in IPT/​IR that are well connected with realworld politics—​as this chapter has sought to show. Viewing the social world through a “recognition lens” has many merits, and will certainly inspire further studies in IPT/​IR, but employing the concept of recognition also

The Ethics of Recognition in IPT    621 entails some pitfalls that warrant further reflection: many studies on struggles for recognition have focused on identity issues. With regard to the domestic sphere of capitalist societies, Nancy Fraser (2000: 107) has rightly criticized such a narrow conceptualization as displacing the important issue of material redistribution and leading to a reification of group identities. So far, there is also a tendency in IPT/​IR to focus more closely on identity issues than on redistribution issues (but see Heins 2010 or Nel 2010). Those researchers who provide case studies on state identities in order to demonstrate the effects of misrecognition in international politics face a similar problem to that indicated by Fraser. If one studies “misrecognition”—​when actors believe that their state is being recognized in a way that is not in line with how they see their state’s particular identity (Gustafsson 2016: 617)—​ an assumption is made that a state has a form of identity that can be represented in an accurate and adequate manner. However, it is well known that collective identities are never homogeneous or uncontested (Duncombe 2016: 626). A similar problem occurs when studying radicalized non-​state actors and their non-​recognition. If Islamist terrorist groups engage in the discursive construction of a global war between “the West” and “the Muslim world,” then another variant of essentializing and homogenizing collective identity constructions is in play (Clément 2014: 435). Researchers therefore need to be cautious with regard to the manner in which they relate themselves to their objects of study. Which claims for recognition are normatively justified is a controversial political question, since not all such claims—​e.g. group rights, cultural peculiarities, “inflated” identities, or status ambitions—​“deserve” recognition. Empirically, the criteria for the (il)legitimacy of claims and struggles have differed across societies and have changed throughout history, also in terms of their normative content. In addition, actors can use claims for recognition strategically, employing the positive denotation of the term in order to cloak more mundane goals such as attaining hegemony. Again, violent non-​ state actors can also engage in such practices—​for example, by advancing recognition claims on behalf of specific groups in order to gain control of these groups (Clément 2014: 431). The term “recognition” is part of a semantic field that is shaped by other positive terms such as respect, love, care, (self-​)esteem, status, prestige, or honour, and it suggests a certain reciprocity and a positive evaluation (Iser 2013; Onuf 2013). While the positive effects that recognition often has should certainly be acknowledged, “recognition” is an ambiguous concept in politics, and far more empirical research is needed on it in the field of international politics (Daase et al. 2015). Paradoxical as it may sound, recognition can also lead to misrecognition, and sometimes actors might not even be aware that this is occurring. Post-​structuralist and post-​colonial theorizing has criticized modes of domination and the dynamics of processes of inclusion/​exclusion generated by recognition politics. The recognition of a social group by the dominant, hegemonic culture of a society can also imply its “assimilation” and conformism with ruling ideologies, as authors such as Franz Fanon, Louis Althusser, and Jean-​Paul Sartre have argued. The result can be misrecognition of the self or reification of a fixed and putative identity, instead of liberation or progress. Hence, recognition is also a technology of social

622   Anna Geis differentiation that establishes layers of legitimacy and social hierarchies (Markell 2003; Iser 2013). A final remark on the self-​recognition of “the West” and global power asymmetries is due:  Western self-​representations have created benign narratives such as “democratic peace,” “forces for good,” or “normative power Europe.” How resonant are such self-​representations in the eyes of the “others”? In reviewing the recent literature for this contribution, it is striking how many state actors from the “global South” and violent non-​state actors articulate being disrespected by “the West” or specific Western powers; some even speak of humiliation. This is, of course, not a new complaint—​but its relevance will increase again. It is a crucial ethical question for all, not just in academia, to relate to such articulations. The liberal world order in transition will be shaped by ever-​new struggles for recognition and a renewed politicization of cultural diversity. Most actors within “the West” might feel misrecognized by such malign representations and will also engage in their own quests for recognition. Paul Ricoeur reminded us that struggles for recognition can become an infinite, insatiable demand: “When, we may ask, does a subject deem him-​or herself to be truly recognized?” (Ricoeur 2005: 217).

Notes 1. Hegel’s dialectic of master and slave developed in 1807 in the Phenomenology of Spirit is one major source for the philosophical foundation of recognition theories (e.g. Markell 2003: 90–​122). 2. This contribution does not deal with formal recognition between states. See e.g. Fabry (2010). 3. A case in point is the Women’s Court in Sarajevo, held in 2015 (see Clarke 2016).

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624   Anna Geis Ikäheimo, H. (2009). A Vital Human Need: Recognition as Inclusion in Personhood. European Journal of Political Theory 8(1): 31–​45. Ikäheimo, H., and A. Laitinen (2011). Recognition and Social Ontology. In H. Ikäheimo and A. Laitinen, Recognition and Social Ontology (Leiden, Boston: Brill), 1–​21. Iser, M. (2013). Recognition. In E. N. Zalta (ed.), Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy. [Online; accessed 21 Apr. 2017.] http://​plato.stanford.edu/​entries/​recognition/​ Lebow, R. N. (2008). Cultural Theory of International Relations (Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press). Lindemann, T. (2010). Causes of War: The Struggle for Recognition (London: ECPR Press). Lindemann, T. (2014). Interest, Passion, (Non)recognition, and Wars:  A Conceptual Essay. Global Discourse 4(4): 483–​96. Lindemann, T., and E. Ringmar (eds) (2012). The International Politics of Recognition (Boulder, Colo.: Paradigm Publishers). Markell, P. (2003). Bound by Recognition (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press). Miller, C. (2011). Is It Possible and Preferable to Negotiate with Terrorists? Defence Studies 11(1): 145–​85. Nel, P. (2010). Redistribution and Recognition: What Emerging Regional Powers Want. Review of International Studies 36(4): 951–​74. Neumann, I. (1998). Russia as Europe’s Other. Journal of Area Studies 6(12): 26–​73. O’Neill, S., and N. H. Smith (eds) (2012). Recognition Theory as Social Research: Investigating the Dynamics of Social Conflict (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan). Onuf, N. (2013). Recognition and the Constitution of Epochal Change. International Relations 27(2): 121–​40. Renner, J. (2013). Discourse, Normative Change and the Quest for Reconciliation in Global Politics (Manchester: Manchester University Press). Ricoeur, P. (2005). The Course of Recognition (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press). Ringmar, E. (1996). Identity, Interest, and Action: A Cultural Explanation of Sweden’s intervention in the Thirty Year’s War (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Ringmar, E. (2002). The Recognition Game: Soviet Russia against the West. Cooperation & Conflict 37(2): 115–​36. Ringmar, E. (2015). China’s Place in Four Recognition Regimes. In C. Daase, C. Fehl, A. Geis, and G. Kolliarakis (eds), Recognition in International Relations (Basingstoke:  Palgrave Macmillan), 49–​67. Strömbom, L. (2014). Thick Recognition: Advancing Theory on Identity Change in Intractable Conflicts. European Journal of International Relations 20(1): 168–​91. Taylor, C. (1994). The Politics of Recognition. In A. Gutmann (ed.), Multiculturalism: Examining the Politics of Recognition (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press), 25–​74. Toros, H. (2008). “We Don’t Negotiate with Terrorists!” Legitimacy and Complexity in Terrorist Conflicts. Security Dialogue 39(4): 407–​26. Toros, H. (2012). Terrorism, Talking and Transformation:  A Critical Approach (Abingdon: Routledge). Wendt, A. (2003). Why a World State Is Inevitable. European Journal of International Relations 9(4): 491–​542. Whitman, R. (ed.) (2011). Normative Power Europe:  Empirical and Theoretical Perspectives (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan). Williams, M. C. (2001). The Discipline of the Democratic Peace. European Journal of International Relations 7(4): 525–​53.

The Ethics of Recognition in IPT    625 Wolf, R. (2011). Respect and Disrespect in International Politics: The Significance of Status Recognition. International Theory 3(1): 105–​42. Wolf, R. (2014). Rising Powers, Status Ambitions, and the Need to Reassure. Chinese Journal of International Politics 7(2): 185–​219. Zartman, W. (2009). Negotiating with Terrorists: A Mediator’s Guide (Laxenburg: IIASA Policy Brief).

­c hapter 47

Republica ni sm a nd Internat i ona l P olitical T h e ory Steven Slaughter

While there are various accounts of republicanism, in recent decades republican political theory has gone through a significant revival in the form of neo-​Roman republicanism. This revival is attributable to writers such as Quentin Skinner and Philip Pettit, who claim that the ascendance of liberalism misses a distinct phase of Western history in which a republican-​inspired conception of liberty, government, and citizenship prevailed which “slipped from sight” during the nineteenth century (Skinner 1998: ix). The neo-​Roman account has been chiefly articulated by Pettit, and is currently the predominant tradition of republicanism. Despite this revival, International Political Theory (IPT) has tended to overlook republican political theory, and the international dimensions of republicanism are still a subject of debate. Yet at the core of republicanism is the idea that the citizen is central to the way that power and liberty can be institutionalized in both domestic and world politics. This account sees international and domestic politics as being joined, because, as Nicholas Onuf (1998: 18) claims, “the twinned concern for the local and universal is a republican legacy.” This chapter contends that republicanism’s focus on power and liberty makes a distinctive and important contribution to IPT, and that despite the influence of Pettit’s account, important debates about how republicanism can operate in respect to contemporary globalization are ongoing. In particular, this chapter contends that republican theory needs to complement the institutional and constitutional account of republican government exemplified by Pettit, with a greater focus on republican citizenship and the variegated civic efforts conducted by citizens and activists to promote liberty in the context of globalization. This broader consideration of citizens acting both through and beyond the state is a crucial part of the future of republicanism as a form of IPT, and requires engagement with critical forms of political theory. The chapter therefore first outlines the core features of the contemporary republican position evident in

Republicanism and IPT   627 the scholarship of Pettit. It then orientates republican theory with respect to the main accounts of IR scholarship, and emphasizes more recent engagements between republicanism and critical theory. Lastly, the chapter outlines the ways that the republican approach can address key problems in contemporary global politics.

Republicanism While “republicanism” is a term with a variety of related meanings, two distinct accounts of political theory are normally discerned (Maynor 2003: 10–​13). The first is the “neo-​ Athenian” account, which takes Ancient Greece as its reference point, and claims that the pathway to self-​mastery is via membership of a democratic community where active participation in political life enables individuals to fully realize their political nature. Such an account of the intrinsic value of political community is seen in contemporary communitarian political theory, as evident in the work of Michael Sandel and Alasdair MacIntyre. The second is the neo-​Roman account, which was first articulated in political reflections during the Italian Renaissance on the lessons of the Roman republic (509–​27 bc). This account focuses upon the development of a civic form of individual liberty which considers the consequences of power and seeks to avoid the dangers of tyranny and corruption. This account depends upon citizens having a responsibility for the activities of government that are enshrined in the political institutions and culture of political life, but sees this activity as having instrumental value in achieving liberty rather than being intrinsically valuable. This tradition of thought was subsequently evident in the revolutions in England, France, and America. The contemporary revival of the neo-​Roman republican tradition has been led by Skinner and Pettit in conjunction with other political theorists (Bellamy 2002; Dagger 2006; Laborde 2010; Maynor 2003; Viroli 1995). Contemporary neo-​Roman republicanism is centred on reviving a particular conception of liberty. According to republican thought, liberty is not a natural attribute of individuals, but rather a civic achievement that requires an institutionalized context where individuals are equally free from arbitrary forms of power and domination. This concern for domination leads republican scholars to focus upon the overarching goal of developing a robust form of individual liberty conceived as “non-​domination,” where citizens are free from the arbitrary interference or subordination by the state itself or from other actors in society (Pettit 1999a: 80). Pettit contends that the republican conception of liberty “consists not in the presence of self-​mastery, and not in the absence of interference by others, but in the absence of mastery by others: in absence [ . . . ] of domination” (Pettit 1999b: 165). For republicans, it is the capacity for arbitrary or uncontrolled interference which restricts liberty, and they often use the metaphor of slavery to indicate that it is the status and condition of being a slave which restricts liberty, not the actual interference by a master who may be benevolent or kind and not interfere. Therefore this conception seeks to avoid servility, and is distinct from the communitarian account

628   Steven Slaughter of self-​mastery and the liberal understanding of liberty as non-​interference. In contrast to liberalism, republicanism claims that non-​arbitrary forms of interference constituted by the laws and institutions of an appropriately empowered state can directly address various forms of domination. This conception of non-​domination is enabled by four interconnected elements of republican practice. The first element is the development of a constitutional state which exerts power to establish non-​domination through publically developed laws and policies. The republican objective is to develop the rule of law where individuals are free from both domination by the state (imperium) and from domination by powerful or sectional interests from society (dominium) (Pettit 1999a: 13). Imperium is chiefly controlled by dispersing the power of state by means of various democratic and legal checks and balances evident in the separation of powers and federalism. Preventing dominium requires developing laws and policies which protect individuals and dampen the flows of power which adversely affect them, as well as publicly developed laws which augment the capacity of individuals to protect themselves from subjection (Pettit 1999a: ch. 5; 2014: ch. 5). This view of an active and empowered state which intervenes in society to promote the public good and common liberty of that society contrasts with the liberal view that states should be minimal or neutral frameworks for political action (Pettit 1999a: 112). Republicanism sees the state as clearly orientating the political field towards the cause of non-​domination because citizens give the state a stronger sense of agency to identify and address public concerns borne out of a historical sense of community and collective responsibility for each other’s liberty. The second element is the practice of democracy where the government of a republican state is managed by procedural checks and balances as well as by democratic processes of contestation which encompass both electoral representation and citizen-​ initiated plebiscitary procedures (Pettit 1999b). Democracy operates as a crucial process of self-​government which publicly constitutes and constrains the power of the state in order to enable that power to be non-​arbitrary. On one hand, democratic processes develop a strong sense of political responsibility and accountability of the state to the citizenry, and on the other, democracy frames a robust conception of political responsibility of citizens to direct the power of the state to address public concerns. Contemporary republicans realize that, given the complexity of the contemporary context of policy-​ making, this responsibility may involve significant activity from specialized civil-​society organizations to publicly consider and critique government decisions (Pettit 2014: 132–​ 3). However, because this collective responsibility operates in a democratic context, a key feature of this relationship is one where governments are also responsive through formal democratic, judicial, and administrative avenues of “contestatory democracy” to ensure that aberrant government decisions that fail to promote non-​domination can be challenged by judicial and plebiscitary procedures (Pettit 2006: 304). However, such an account does not mean that republicanism endorses a form of direct democracy where the citizens are required to consider every political decision. The third element of republican practice is an active conception of citizenship which is manifest in an enduring culture of patriotism and civic virtue. Such a conception of

Republicanism and IPT   629 citizenship encompasses involvement in political life, political responsibility for the state, and public deliberation in civil society. This culture is understood as a historically developed sense of responsibility for the norms and institutions that make liberty possible in a particular state and a form of equality and reciprocity between republican citizens (Viroli 1995: 2). These responsibilities stem from practised forms of solidarity evident in the republican ideals of “liberty, equality, community” (Pettit 1999a: ch. 4; Maynor 2003). Republicans are keen to indicate that solidarity and community membership are an important part of the lived practices of responsibility and reciprocity which stem from a self-​interest in collectively avoiding domination, rather than responsibilities of an abstract legal or philosophical nature. While these forms of solidarity are a “thick” sense of moral responsibility, republicans are keen to emphasize the political nature of patriotism and citizenship rather than nationalism. According to Maurizio Viroli (1995: 13), patriotism is primarily motivated by “shared memories” of the desire to live in a country characterized by liberty, and by “resistance against oppression and corruption” rather than a commitment to cultural homogeneity and ethnic nationalism. In short: while nationalism may be a “partial replacement” for patriotism (Miller 1999: 67), it is not sufficient for the active and political conception of citizenship required to control a republican state. The fourth element is the international context required to support the republican state. Republicanism’s conception of individual liberty requires a “free state,” because “we cannot consider ourselves in possession of our liberty unless we live as citizens of a state which is free not merely from internal domination by monarchs or oligarchies, but also from external domination by other states” (Skinner 2010: 100). Avoiding external domination and dependency requires various military and diplomatic capacities; but the republican tradition’s development of law and institutions to enable liberty domestically is also reflected in the external vision of republicanism which seeks to institutionally moderate the capacity of powerful states or transnational actors to dominate (Pettit 2014:  ch. 6; 2010; Slaughter 2005; Laborde and Ronzoni 2016). Consequently, Pettit’s account of republicanism is based on the view that various publics around the world need to direct their respective states to collaboratively develop various forms of international law that further the cause of non-​domination by constraining the power of states and non-​state actors (Pettit 2010: 79–​86; 2014: 153). Pettit (2014: 153) couches this legal activity in terms of an ideal framework of “globalized sovereignty.” This is founded on the recognition that the liberty and sovereignty of people in a state is dependent upon common global rules and forms of governance. Putting it another way, Richard Beardsworth (2015: 78) indicates that the delegation of sovereignty to effectively protect its population from transnational threats is a fundamental political responsibility that a state has to its population: “they have the duty, that is, to pool and/​or yield external sovereignty (sovereign independence) in order to maintain internal sovereignty (the maintenance of primary domestic state functions).” This account sees international institutions as an expression of sovereignty, not an abridgement of sovereignty. This account of globalized sovereignty recognizes that while republican states will extend their sovereignty to international institutions to moderate arbitrary power, it

630   Steven Slaughter accepts that not all states are going to be republican and thus supports the sovereignty of all societies—​republican or not. As such, Pettit is couching his argument in a manner very similar to John Rawls’s The Law of Peoples, and therefore emphasizes the feasibility of his account with respect to existing political conditions (Pettit 2010: 153–​9). However, the substance of the international elements of republicanism are more contested than the preceding elements of the republican corpus. In particular, the impact of contemporary globalization and of non-​state actors leads to markedly different accounts within contemporary republican theory as to what forms of governance and political activity republicanism requires. It is thus necessary to orientate republicanism with respect to existing positions within IR theory and IPT.

Republicanism and the Study of International Relations In advancing the importance of international cooperation and power, republicanism intersects with both realist and liberal positions in IR theory. In particular Daniel Deudney (2007: 4) claims that realism and liberalism are “incomplete fragments” and the intellectual decedents of nineteenth-​century republican thought (see also Onuf 1998: 13–​16). While republicanism is clearly evident in liberalism’s focus on individual liberty, democratic states, and the importance of international cooperation and institutions, realism’s focus on the state, prudence, and power in the context of anarchy also demonstrates nineteenth-​century republican preoccupations with security. Indeed Deudney (2007:  7) claims that realism specifically “emerged from reflections on the security of republican, democratic, and liberal polities.” Thus the position that develops out of republicanism is one which seeks to facilitate the democratic existence of states in a way which avoids the alternatives of hierarchy and anarchy among states. In this view, states delegate public power to international institutions as a necessary response to ways destructive forces change via technological developments which enable violence to be exercised over greater geographic contexts, which thereby necessitates arrangements that can be confederal or even federal in response to continental and global impacts of violence and insecurity (Deudney 2007: 13–​16). Deudney sees security as involving domestic and international politics in a manner which relates to both realism and liberalism, while also proposing political solutions which require international cooperation in a manner congruent to Pettit and other contemporary republicans. While Deudney’s argument ultimately appears similar to liberal accounts of international cooperation, it articulates a more demanding picture for the creation of an international order which entails common forms of governance between states. In one sense this is evident in the historical argument developed by Deudney. While most neo-​ Roman scholarship sees the republican account as an interconnected series of historical reflections on the lessons learnt from Rome, which in turn also has reflections on

Republicanism and IPT   631 ancient Greece, Deudney’s account outpaces contemporary republican scholarship by arguing that republican polities from the polis onwards were actually responding to internal and external threats to the polity. Deudney does give a historical illustration as to how the dynamics of providing liberty and security shaped external political relations in the early history of the USA. He contends that from 1781 until 1861 the “Philadelphian system” existed at the edge of the Westphalian system operating within Europe, and that the states of the American Union “went beyond confederation,” but fell short of being an internally sovereign state (Deudney 2007: 161). Consequently, Deudney (p. 179) offers a historically grounded account of what the external dimensions of republicanism might resemble in practice by claiming that the external ethos of the American Union could best be referred to as “negarchy,” as the Union sought to avoid the alternatives of hierarchy and anarchy among its composite states. This account offers an interesting contrast to the idea of sovereignty being uniform and ubiquitous, yet still echoes Pettit’s institutional account of globalized sovereignty and the distinctly republican refrain that cooperation between republican states is normal and necessary. Despite the idea of globalized sovereignty accurately capturing the international dimensions of republicanism, there are some dissenting views as to how the republican tradition should be externally developed in a context of globalization. First, there is the position of Jose Luis Martí (2010) that a global republic or a civitas maxima should be developed in an era of globalization, with a global constitution which constrains all actors in manner stronger than articulated by Pettit. This view embraces the idea of enacting a centralized global state, and is similar to the approach of cosmopolitan democracy (see Held 1995). Second, there is the transnational position of James Bohman, which concurs with the general republican argument for international law but advances the more radical argument that non-​domination requires citizens to have an active capacity to “create and modify their own obligations and duties” rather than these being developed from the responsibilities of citizens to the republican state (Bohman 2008: 197; 2007: 55). This entails the capacity for citizens to initiate global political deliberation, which requires that some aspects of citizenship be global in scope and be committed to the liberty of all humanity (Bohman 2008: 192). This mean that a republic must ensure that its boundaries and membership remain “open” (Bohman 2008:  208). This fluid vision of republicanism differs significantly from Pettit’s focus on the constitutionalism of the state. Common to these two dissenting views is the idea that Pettit’s account of globalized sovereignty assumes too much when it contends that states are the most important actors in world politics. However, while the focus on the state needs to be questioned given the ongoing impact of contemporary globalization, the realization of a republican civitas maxima seems as far away as ever, despite the proliferation of global forms of governance. Furthermore, Bohman’s idea of citizens being committed to all of humanity appears to be beset by questions regarding the willingness of citizens to support this responsibility. However, while Bohman’s synthesis of republicanism and cosmopolitanism is open to the charge that he neglects fundamental questions about how republican citizens are nurtured, there is no doubt that transnational reflection and action in regard

632   Steven Slaughter to domination is required in the context of globalization (Slaughter 2014). Furthermore, there is increasing recognition of the importance of transnational activism in contesting political authority and dominant ideas and discourses in world politics (Dryzek 2006). Thus there is a need to support Pettit’s focus on the republican state and extending sovereignty to encompass greater consideration of transnational activism and political deliberation, because the types of domination that republicanism needs to consider are fluid and changing, especially with regards to transnational problems and harms which affect particular groups and locales in diverse ways. Consequently, it is the case that the types of political institutions and the dispositions of citizens need to also adapt to changing political, economic, cultural, and technological dynamics. However, this chapter contends that Bohman’s focus on republican citizens and transnational reflection shifts republicanism in a more radical and critical direction, away from liberalism and issues of institutional design. It is important to emphasize that republicanism does have a heritage which includes a more radical legacy, based upon balancing competing interests in society and striving for an egalitarian society, which also focuses upon the roles of citizens in political life (Bellamy 2002). The best-​ developed engagement of republicanism with critical thought is the position termed “critical republicanism” by Cécile Laborde (2010: 50), which derives from “Frankfurt-​ style critical theory an interest in social critique and in social change” and starts by considering existing institutions and relationships in order to “identify their dominating and oppressive features, and advocate their transformation” (see Chapter 6). This position illustrates some of the sympathies between republicanism’s attention to non-​ domination and critical theory’s consideration of emancipation, while recognizing and valuing the wide-​ranging empirical work into domination conducted by critical theory, post-​structuralism, and related fields of scholarship. While this position disagrees with Bohman’s account of global citizenship and asserts that citizens still need to relate to republican states, it reiterates the republican impulse that “domestic and international reform must go hand in hand” (Laborde 2010: 64). It is also open to more diverse political practices beyond the republican state which have the capacity to identify forms of domination and promote non-​domination. It is important to indicate that the idea of critical republicanism is an interpretation that emphasizes particular aspects of republicanism and does not dismiss Pettit’s account. In particular, it contends that republicanism needs to more fully consider the civic roles of citizens in an era of various forms of transnational activism, and thus pay more attention to practical ways that domination can be identified and addressed by citizens acting outside the state. While republicanism certainly possesses an institutional account of political activity, as evident in the conception of globalized sovereignty, it also has the intellectual resources to support a civic account that sees citizens as being active political actors who work through and beyond the state as activists who seek to realize non-​domination. Such activity is evident in the claim of James Tully (2014: 33–​6) that citizenship includes both “civil” activity related to authority and “civic” activity generated by various overlapping forms of political activity generated by groups of citizens separate from the activity of states. Such civic activity is referred to as “diverse

Republicanism and IPT   633 citizenship,” and refers to various cooperative forms of activity created by traditional indigenous ways of organization, lived cooperative economic collectives, or activist networks (Tully 2014: 33–​6). Furthermore, Stuart White (2002: 258–​60) sees the possibility of various forms of “transnational republican solidarity” between citizens and activists of different states. These types of political activity have a capacity to transcend the republican state. Indeed, Onuf (1998: 18) indicates that republicans call for both “local civic activism and a cosmopolitan view of the human condition,” and attempt “to resolve the tension implicit in this polarity to the benefit of their communities and the world as a whole.” The goal here is to develop citizens who are able to bridge the gap between republican thought and various forms of political practice that promote non-​domination in the context of globalization. Consequently we can see that republicanism is a tradition that encompasses institutional activity and civic activity which has normative assumptions and implications that bisect existing positions within IPT scholarship. In particular, republicanism possesses both communitarian/​particularist and cosmopolitan/​universalist aspects (see Chapter 3). The republican conception of justice is one of liberty understood as non-​domination, and republicans see the domination of others as cause for real moral concern wherever it occurs (Pettit 2014: xxiii). This is a universal concern that animates a generalized aspiration for the minimization of vulnerability and subjection. While this extended concern does seem to move republicanism towards cosmopolitanism, republicanism possesses an account of political community that advances the idea that being a citizen is not an abstract status or only a bundle of rights but an ongoing responsibility for the political operation of the state. While republicanism does not actively embed ethnic or nationalistic norms or a predefined conception of the good life, it is founded on political virtues and norms which revolve around public responsibility and oversight. Thus contemporary republicans see “freedom as a particular and contingent achievement” which depends upon lived political responsibilities between citizens and the state which rely on specific forms of trust and reciprocity, and at “the global level, it is not possible to reproduce the practices, institutions and virtue essential to founding and maintaining republics” (Laborde 2010: 49; see Pettit 2014: 157–​9). Ultimately, without an empowered world state that is checked and balanced, it is the case that while republicanism’s assertion of non-​domination is universal, the political means whereby non-​domination is enacted are not. A joint consideration of both republican and diverse citizenship has the potential to contribute to republican theory. Yet it should be noted that, while Pettit’s focus on augmenting the state has an institutional focus, it is possible to extend his account of contestatory democracy to regional and international forums as another check against arbitrary power. Citizens, for example, could have plebiscitary or “editorial” options to appeal to IGOs when state leaders fail to address domination (Pettit 2006: 16–​20), which therefore opens up space for the input of transnational civil-​society organizations. The important upshot of republican citizens is that they could reinforce globalized sovereignty. However, even this consideration of the impact of activists needs to be both broader and more radical. The further engagement of republican thought with critical

634   Steven Slaughter and post-​colonial forms of thought is required to reflect on the ways historical injustice frames and constitutes domination. While this is an issue that Pettit (2014: 153) explicitly leaves aside, given the structural and discursive effects of colonialism and post-​ colonialism on developed, indigenous, and developing societies around the world, it requires further consideration from those involved in the republican tradition. This is not to say that diverse forms of citizenship are in themselves sufficient to address all forms of domination (Bell 2014), but rather that republicanism needs to consider various practices that attempt to moderate domination beyond the traditional institutions proposed by republican thought. Given the nature of global problems facing citizens, more attention also needs to be paid to the challenges facing citizens who operate both to direct their state and to act within the channels of transnational civil society to promote non-​domination. This will require citizens to consider domination and non-​ domination in more specific empirical terms.

Republicanism and Real-​World Politics While problems of tyranny from autocrats and oligarchies still persist in the world, the types of domination confronting contemporary republicans are more diffuse, complex, and global than the ones facing early modern republicans. Indeed, it is clear that contemporary globalization creates a range of challenges which transcend states and require globalized sovereignty. First, the republican response to the issue of international security is to focus on ways to promote law and restraint in domestic and international political contexts. As Pettit’s idea of globalized sovereignty outlines, non-​domination is only possible in the context of mutual institutional restraint between states. In a similar vein, Deudney (2007: 252–​9) emphasizes the importance of both international arms control agreements and domestic checks and balances over nuclear weapon use in order to promote nuclear restraint. There is also a concern for the internal operation of states built into republican thought which is apposite for the pervasive nature of civil conflict and instability within states around the world in recent decades. While Pettit acknowledges that not all states will be republican, it is the case that republican IPT would clearly encourage and develop states which are republican, or at least representative, and therefore help other societies to develop their own locally responsive forms of state practice. This is not to say that republicanism would support all liberal arguments for peace-​ building. Michael Barnett (2006: 90) has criticized contemporary liberal post-​conflict reconstruction as being too dogmatic in terms of what rebuilding a post-​conflict society would look like, and claims that “republicanism’s emphasis on deliberative processes allows space for societal actors to determine for themselves what the good life is and how to achieve it.” While such activity may be driven by the needs of republican states to promote global security, international efforts to promote human security and create

Republicanism and IPT   635 local political agency which articulates the needs of post-conflict society must be paramount (Pettit 2014: 186). Second, the republican response to economic issues such as global poverty and global financial instability is one borne out of the impulse to regulate and “constrain” capitalist markets (Dagger 2006: 160; Slaughter 2005; Laborde and Ronzoni 2016). Republicanism’s aim is a society of common liberty where everyone is free from domination, not a society where wealth is maximized. This position contrasts significantly with prevailing liberal and neo-​liberal impulses. Indeed, “conspicuously missing from republican thought throughout its long and complex history is any conception of economic activity, of the economy as a sphere of activity that can (if given a chance) operate according to its own logic” (Onuf 1998: 247). Pettit sees republicanism as falling short of a socialist agenda by protecting private property and promoting the socioeconomic independence of people from the will of others (Pettit 1997a: 158–​63). Thus there is support within republicanism for unconditional minimum-​income models and the provision of public goods such as education and health. Republicanism will also support inheritance taxes and “progressive consumption” taxes in order to prevent inequality (Dagger 2006: 164–​5). For this to occur within any state, common rules will be required within the account of globalized sovereignty to ensure that transnational businesses are held to common laws and forms of taxation. Furthermore, any assistance to developing countries needs to be conducted on a multilateral rather than a bilateral basis in order to avoid “clientelising the recipient country” (Pettit 2014: 186). The idea underpinning the republican approach is that liberty must have a material basis, and this basis requires global rules which enable particular states to make their own determinations as to how this material basis could work. Third, the republican willingness to regulate economics in order to promote non-​ domination also pertains to pressing forms of global ecological degradation and harm such as climate change. Republicans see these forms of environmental harm not just as being an issue between humans and nature but as a case where people exercise the capacity to dominate other people over time and space which can sharply restrict the choices of future generations and people in other states. Coupled with this willingness to democratically regulate society is the motivation to protect and value the environment in specific places and for particular political communities, rather than having an abstract ethical concern for the environment. Republicans can be seen to be “vitally concerned with the key challenge of sustainability—​how to extend the life of a specific historical community and its cherished and hard-​won values and practices, especially freedom” (Barry and Smith 2008: 138). Consequently, republican civic virtues would see the political consequences of environmental issues within its conception of liberty as requiring the extension of globalized sovereignty to regulate global environmental issues and develop environmental international institutions. Pettit’s account of contestatory democracy could operate to ensure that these institutions and regulations are non-​arbitrary and effective (Slaughter 2008). This impulse is applicable to multi-​ generational issues like climate change, and to more specific questions of food security and cross-​border pollution which have the capacity to dominate people.

636   Steven Slaughter While republican scholars have advanced these institutional efforts to address prominent global problems, activist efforts have also been evident. This chapter has argued that an account of republican IPT needs to engage with both efforts, as developing republican institutions is only part of the legacy of republicanism. This entails considering the actual and prospective role of activists with regards to security, economic, and environmental issues. Indeed, Tully (2014: 85) indicates that these problems are tightly interconnected by historical forms of political practice which are underpinned by unjust forms of neglect and non-​recognition of peoples living at the margins of these political practices. As a consequence, Tully (2014: 97) emphasizes the need for citizens to develop forms of diverse citizenship in the form of specific cooperative and non-​violent civic practices and activism within and across states, in order “to reform the institutions of representative government and global governance from within” (see Chapter 21). While this echoes the work of scholars who want to develop transnational forms of political deliberation separate from the state (Dryzek 2006), the impulse generated by critical republicanism is that addressing global problems requires considering the potential of citizens and activists alongside the institutional and normative arguments of republican scholars (Slaughter 2014). The claim here is not that diverse citizenship is a replacement for republican citizenship, but rather that republican citizenship needs to be informed by the various forms of diverse citizenship that deliberate and act on questions of domination from a wider range of perspectives. This is a crucial way to develop a political context of deliberation and contestation which can support the effectiveness of republican states and efforts to develop globalized sovereignty.

Conclusion Like many accounts of IPT, the republican account articulated here is an ambitious normative ideal and political programme. Republicanism requires elaborate institutional arrangements at an interstate level and significant changes in the way people perceive democracy, authority, and political responsibility. Indeed, the key feature of republicanism as a form of IPT is its focus on liberty and the view that power must be controlled domestically and internationally by citizens to enable a republican conception of liberty to exist. Despite some republican scholarship considering the possibility of a world state, the republican conception of liberty is a counterpoint to cosmopolitan arguments because it sees no tension in reinvigorating the state and developing stronger forms of international institutions. The goal of Pettit’s account of globalized sovereignty is not to create self-​interested and chauvinistic states but rather to develop wider circles of non-​ domination through the presence of both publicly responsive states and international institutions. However, this chapter has also argued that the institutional account of republicanism developed by Pettit needs to be informed by the civic account articulated by more radical and critical scholarship which considers the influence of diverse forms of transnational activism. A republican IPT informed by both accounts is relevant to a

Republicanism and IPT   637 world that bears witness to various forms of domination and insecurity. A republication approach to IPT should take power seriously, and advocate a move towards a world shaped by the universalism of non-​domination that is mediated and in a real sense constructed by citizens acting to avoid subjection.

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638   Steven Slaughter Skinner, Q. (2010). On the Slogans of Republican Political Theory. European Journal of Political Theory 9(1): 95–​102. Slaughter, S. (2005). Liberty Beyond Neo-​ liberalism:  A Republican Critique of Liberal Governance in a Globalising Age (Basingstoke: Palgrave Press). Slaughter, S. (2008). The Republican State and Global Environmental Governance. The Good Society 17(2): 25–​31. Slaughter, S. (2014). Transnational Democratisation and Republican Citizenship: Towards Critical Republicanism. Global Constitutionalism 3(3): 310–​37. Tully, J. (2014). On Global Citizenship: James Tully in Dialogue (London: Bloomsbury). Viroli, M. (1995). For Love of Country (Oxford: Clarendon Press). White, S. (2002). Republicanism, Patriotism, and Global Justice. In D. A. Bell and A. D. Shalit (eds), Forms of Justice (Lanham, Md.: Rowman and Littlefield), 251–​68.

Pa rt I X

F OR A N D AG A I N ST R E A L P OL I T IC S A N D I N T E R NAT IONA L P OL I T IC A L T H E ORY

­c hapter 48

Realist Cha l l e ng e s Duncan Bell

Realism casts a long shadow over international political theory. For many scholars, especially those working on global justice, it is a pernicious foe that needs vanquishing to secure political and theoretical progress. For its advocates, especially in International Relations (IR), it serves as a blunt reminder of the limits of morality in international affairs. However, realism is a shape-​shifting body of thought compatible with assorted ethical and political orientations. Today it is produced in two disciplines, and there is often little engagement between them. IR has long been its home. Whereas the “classical” realism of Morgenthau, Herz, and Carr was explicit about its ethical commitments, the bulk of recent IR scholarship has claimed the mantle of social scientific knowledge. Intellectual historians have partially undercut this positivist self-​image, recovering the complexity of classical realism, but this has not (yet) been matched by the development of new realist ethico-​political theories.1 Contemporary realists, for example, have had little to say about questions of international socioeconomic inequality and (re)distribution. The state of the art in political theory is rather different. While realism was long dismissed as a crude form of realpolitik—​if acknowledged at all—​recent years have witnessed a surge of interest in developing realist theories (Rossi and Sleat 2014). This literature too has striking gaps. Above all, it fails to say much about international politics. A central task for realists in the coming years will be to initiate constructive dialogues across these disciplinary boundaries, and to produce a new body of realist international political theorizing. This chapter discusses some challenges that realism poses, but also challenges that realism itself faces.

The Feasibility Challenge Despite their manifold differences, realists tend to converge on some core claims about international politics.

642   Duncan Bell a. Politics is a domain of human activity structured by power and coercion. The ever-​ present potential of conflict, including but not limited to lethal violence, accounts for much of the intensity of political life. b. Within political communities, power and the possibility of conflict can usually be constrained or channelled by institutions, although they can never be eliminated. In contrast, relations between political communities unfold largely in a context of “anarchy.” The interstate system is shaped and reproduced by the asymmetric distribution of power, where power is defined in multidimensional terms (but especially military and economic capacity). c. Governments adopt a hierarchy of priorities, invariably placing the “national interest” above other considerations. At the core of the “national interest” lies “national security.” Although ideas about the content of the national interest vary, this ranking is found in all types of regime. d. The most powerful states set the terms of global interaction and dominate international institutions. Relations between “great powers” are frequently marked by fierce competition. Although such states voluntarily enter arrangements that constrain their behaviour, they will not adopt policies that fail to conform with their interpretation of the national interest. Binding agreements and institutions—​ indeed, the very possibility of international cooperation—​are thus limited in their scope and effects, at least where they are seen to challenge the interests of the powerful. Let us call this “analytical realism.” Adopting this account has significant implications for achieving international reform. Feasibility concerns enter the construction of a normative political theory at three points: first, in elaborating and justifying action-​guiding principles; second, in designing institutional schemes to implement those principles; and third, in identifying efficacious strategies to help realize the principles and create the institutions (Gilabert and Lawford-​Smith 2012). Analytical realism is relevant chiefly at the second and third stages. It identifies significant constraints on the ability to create a just global order. The normative literature on global poverty presents a good test case. Much of this work, especially in an egalitarian cosmopolitan vein (see Chapter  9), argues that wealthy states have extensive duties to redistribute wealth to poorer ones, and that the basic norms and institutions of the system need fundamental reform. Political theorists have displayed great ingenuity in devising policy proposals to ameliorate crippling poverty—​Thomas Pogge’s (2002) “Global Resources Dividend” (GRD) is but one of the best-​known examples. Yet state behaviour has changed little. The same might be said of progress in democratizing international institutions (or replacing them with more legitimate ones) (see Chapters 29 and 34). Configured in a deeply hierarchical manner, the world remains scarred by poverty and violence. Analytical realists have little difficulty in identifying the political dynamics that account for this situation, and the factors blocking significant reform. Indeed, realists view many normative theories as impractical expressions of wishful thinking. This is most evident in

Realist Challenges   643 plans that demand that the most powerful states cede key aspects of their sovereignty, or that sovereignty itself be dissolved or replaced by new cosmopolitan structures. While sovereignty is far from monolithic, and while major states do sometimes pool control over elements of domestic and foreign policy decision-​making—​notably in the European Union—​this is almost always where it is seen to be in the national interest. States typically rank issues such as global poverty or inequality low on their list of priorities. We can distinguish between “hard” and “soft” constraints on political action. The former include facts about what is “logically, conceptually, metaphysically, and nomologically impossible,” and they set absolute limits on realizability. The latter are chiefly economic, institutional, and cultural, and they are in principle changeable (Lawford-​ Smith 2013: 252, 255). Some soft constraints, though, are much “harder” than others, insofar as they are deeply entrenched and sustained by power elites. The constraints identified by analytical realism are typically at the harder end of the “soft” spectrum. They are theoretically changeable, but (the realist insists) the probability of change occurring in the foreseeable future is very low. We can distinguish two types of soft constraint in relation to global distributive justice:  economic and political. Because citizens and government officials usually reject expensive policies that fail to appeal to self-​interest, a distributive policy proposal is economically feasible in relation to financial burdens it would impose on the governments and/​or citizens of wealthy states. This understanding of feasibility combines two distinct claims. The first refers to individual motivation, identifying an unwillingness to bear high economic costs on behalf of alien others. The second relates to the electoral dynamics of democratic societies: officials intent on remaining in power will not countenance expensive policy proposals unless they can effectively link them to the perceived self-​interest of a wide constituency. Many cosmopolitan theorists are sensitive to both of these dimensions. Pogge (2002: 1, 205), for example, argues that “modesty is important if the proposed institutional alternative is to gain the support necessary to implement it and is to be able to sustain itself in the world as we know it.” Economic conditionality, sometimes combined with accounts of the motivational plausibility of liberal principles, often seems to exhaust feasibility questions for normative theorists. Yet economic feasibility does not address key aspects of state motivation and compliance. This is the domain of political feasibility. Realists argue that the norms and institutions shaping international politics place significant constraints on the range of realizable policy options. While an obvious point, it is nonetheless one that receives little sustained attention in the global justice debates (see Chapter 8). Such constraints would include the centrality of the national interest in the calculations of state leaders, the overriding importance accorded to sovereignty, the daunting collective action problems generated by great power competition, the routine prioritization of security over distribution, and the subservience of international institutions to dominant states. The major geopolitical context for the foreseeable future is the brute fact of American predominance and challenges to it from Russia and China. Any attempt to enact global reform will have to deal with the fierce rivalry between them.

644   Duncan Bell Both economic and political feasibility conditions need to be met if a proposal is to have any chance of adoption. As such, Pogge’s GRD runs into trouble. The reason for this lies not in the economic costs it would impose, but rather in the demand that states cede a significant element of sovereign control over the financial proceeds resulting from the extraction and sale of natural resources within their jurisdiction. For realists, this has no hope of gaining support from the relevant agents in the key states. For moral arguments to shift government policy, one of two conditions usually have to hold: (1) the policy domain is exogenous to perceived core national interests; (2) the moral convictions and public pressure actually conform to, or are aligned with, dominant perceptions of the national interest. If this is right, it raises thorny ethical questions about the extent to which reform proposals should be adjusted to the perceived national interests of the most powerful states (Bell 2018). As this brief sketch highlights, analytical realism presents a major challenge to the feasibility of many ambitious proposals for global reform. It suggests, minimally, that far more attention be paid to “non-​ideal” theorizing, and especially to identifying strategies for reform in a world of great power competition. Yet it is important to recognize the limited scope of this challenge. It only applies to the second and third stages of theory construction. As such, it leaves untouched the project of “ideal theorizing” (see Chapter 50), which chiefly falls into the first stage. Analytical realism is thus normatively indeterminate. One could, in principle, accept its tenets and hold cosmopolitan egalitarian moral views. Likewise one could utilize analytical realist reasoning to underwrite a conservative defence of the status quo. Relevant for addressing feasibility, analytical realism does not represent a distinctive normative contribution to international political theory.

Three Myths A number of myths have inhibited dialogue between political theory and IR. Perhaps the most pervasive is that realists deny space for moral reflection in international politics. According to Charles Beitz, realists contend that “moral judgments have no place in discussions of international affairs or foreign policy” (1999: 15). Even some self-​proclaimed realists accept this dispiriting picture. Thus Raymond Geuss charges Morgenthau and his fellow travellers with denying that “moral considerations play a very considerable role” in politics (2001: 55). Call this the myth of amorality. Yet realist theorizing encompasses a rich array of ethical arguments. Rather than characterizing it as a distinctive normative theory, it is best understood negatively, as a family of positions that challenge moralism, not morality. Moralism, for Geuss, is a “kind of moralised preaching and an associated assumption about the causal efficacy and cognitive significance of making moral judgements.” In causal terms, the moralist places great weight on the ability of moral argumentation to shape the world. In cognitive terms, the moralist believes that moral judgements should

Realist Challenges   645 have a privileged status. Combined with these claims is the belief that “it is possible to attain a kind of absoluteness, apodicticity and definite determinateness of judgement.” Rejecting these assumptions, the realist is committed to “a certain kind of open-​ endedness, indeterminacy and context-​dependence or at any rate to agnosticism about absolute and categorical judgement” (Geuss 2015: 4–​5). For Geuss, moralism is an ideal type, but it is closely approximated in the philosophy of Plato and Kant, and it dominates contemporary political philosophy, especially that indebted to Rawls. From this perspective, contemporary debates over global justice are hamstrung by their moralism.2 Realists stress contingency, context, fallibility, conflict, power, and the significant limits (not irrelevance) of human reason and moral argumentation. Usually sceptical about the value of “ideal” theorizing, political theory realists are largely united by the methodological injunction that theorizing “should begin (in a justificatory rather than a temporal sense) not with the explication of moral ideals (of justice, freedom, rights, etc.), which are taken to settle the questions of value and principle in the political realm but in an (typically interpretive) understanding of the practice of politics itself ” (Rossi and Sleat 2014: 690). On this account, the defining feature of realism is “the attempt to give autonomy to political normativity” (p. 690). This moves well beyond the empirical claims of analytical realism (though it may align with them), and establishes a particular way of understanding the role of political theorizing. Beyond that point of convergence, realists differ in numerous ways. For David Runciman, the dangers of moralism come in two basic forms. The first is that it is well intentioned but politically inefficacious, because it distracts attention away from the workings of power. It serves as a smokescreen. A stronger argument is that moralism is deliberately cultivated by elites to give an idealistic gloss to their self-​ interested actions, thus becoming “a weapon in the hands of the privileged” (2016: 4). Moralism of this kind is not confined to academic philosophical debate; it is a feature of general political discourse. Thus Runciman (2006) argues that in pushing for war against Iraq, Tony Blair was so convinced of his own moral probity that he was prepared to overlook countervailing evidence and charge on, with predictably disastrous consequences. The conviction politician thinks it is possible to transcend politics. “That belief is dangerous because their response when they encounter the messy reality is to deny it, or to ignore it, or to insist they can mould it to their higher purposes, which only makes the mess worse” (Runciman 2016: 5). Yet Max Weber teaches a lesson that realists are prone to forget, namely that the realist critique of moralism can lead them to fall prey to self-​deception: “an insistence on the hold of power can morph into an inflexible realpolitik; an emphasis on the unavoidability of contingency can become a form of fatalism; a focus on legitimacy can become a celebration of order at all costs” (Runciman 2016: 8). Realists, then, can succumb to the cognitive and ethical vices they warn against. The other two myths can be dispatched more straightforwardly. The myth of state-​ centrism suggests that realism is necessarily committed to the normative priority of the state, thus underwriting the “Westphalian” system. However, realist attitudes towards the state are more complicated. Most realists have been state-​centric in the analytical sense: they regard states (or at least the most powerful of them) as the key actors

646   Duncan Bell in world politics. This is an empirical claim. Many realists are also normatively state-​ centric, assigning the state a privileged ethical status in international affairs. But these two positions are not necessarily connected. One can be committed to analytical realism while rejecting the normative priority of the state. Even classical realists were open to replacing the state with new institutional forms. Morgenthau once wrote: “Nothing in the realist position militates against the assumption that the present division of the political world into nation states will be replaced by units of a quite different character, more in keeping with the technical potentialities and the moral requirements of the contemporary world” (1985: 10). During the 1950s he and Herz argued that the Promethean nuclear power available to humanity rendered the main rationale for the state—​its ability to protect its citizens—​obsolete. This led both thinkers, albeit rather hesitantly, to argue that the nation-​state model was outdated, and to suggest the necessity of a global state. Realism, then, can challenge existing political forms in the name of human flourishing. William Scheuerman (2011) has developed this point, identifying a strand of “progressive realism” (including Carr, Morgenthau, and Herz) that offers conceptual and normative resources for imagining cosmopolitan political forms. In particular, he argues that realists insightfully stressed that cosmopolitan institutions require extensive social foundations to function. Despite the fact that realists are not necessarily committed to normative statism, most political theory realists today say little about politics beyond the state (Bell 2017). But a political theory that cannot address international relations is radically incomplete, and fails to achieve the task of theorizing in a realist mode. Moreover, Runciman is right to caution that realists must acknowledge forms of power—​especially those of capital and technology—​that escape the rigid juridical framework of the state system. “Conceptions of power and legitimacy in early twenty-first century [ . . . ] realism,” he writes, “continue to have a distinctively twentieth-​century feel to them, in that they identify power and legitimacy with the state and with the communicative and coercive instruments available to the state” (Runciman 2016: 2) To illuminate the real may require breaking away from traditional forms of realist analysis. This is a major challenge for realist theorizing, not least because many realists remain wedded to a view that the basic character of international politics is unchanging. A third myth is that realism is inherently conservative. IR is plagued by many misleading typologies. One of the most pernicious is the purported contrast between realism and liberalism, which shapes pedagogy and writing alike.3 There is some truth to this charge, insofar as many realists have been conservative and much post-​Waltzian realist IR constitutes “a stodgy and rather self-​satisfied defence of the international status quo” (Scheuerman 2011: vii). But this does not exhaust realist politics. While it is arguable that all conservatives should be realists, realism is not necessarily conservative. Most classical realists defended liberal political visions. As Herz once wrote, “there is no essential opposition of realism and idealism” (1981: 202). The same is true of the recent burst of realist writing in political theory: with only a handful of exceptions (e.g. Geuss 2008) they deploy realist insights to bolster liberalism. And realism, as we shall see, is also compatible with more radical forms of politics. It is thus a mistake to view realism

Realist Challenges   647 as a distinct substantive position in (international) political theory—​it does not present a coherent, consistent worldview. Rather, realist commitments are compatible with various ethico-​political stances. These myths are not straightforwardly false. Some realists have evacuated morality from international affairs; many are state-​centric; and realism dovetails neatly with conservatism. Instead, they present a monochrome image that bears little relation to the more sophisticated expressions of realism found in political theory and IR.

The Liberal Realism of Fear Navigating between conservative realism and ambitious visions of transformation, liberal realists seek to create the conditions necessary for liberal values to flourish in a brutally competitive world. They reject the former as too fatalistic, too wedded to the logic of power and conflict; they reject the latter because such visions are insufficiently attentive to the limits of moral argumentation, and because of the dangers of moralism. Liberal realism takes different forms. Among the “classical” realists, Herz offered the most explicit account of what he termed “realist liberalism.” A German émigré whose thought was haunted by the terrors of mid-​twentieth-​century Europe, he was clear about what was at stake. “The human cause will be lost if the liberal ideal is forgotten, even as surely as it is lost if left to the utopian Political Idealist” (1951: v). He divided political thinking into ideal types: political realism and political idealism. Realism acknowledged “the implications for political life of those security and power factors which [ . . . ] are inherent in human society,” while idealism fatally downplayed such factors. The most important was the “security dilemma.” Since “politically active groups and individuals are concerned about their security from being attacked, subjected, dominated, or annihilated by other groups and individuals,” they seek to avoid this fate and consequently “can never feel entirely secure in a world of competing units.” As such, they are compelled to acquire “more and more power for themselves” (Herz 1951: 14). Exemplified in the abject failure of the League of Nations, idealism was blind to such power dynamics. But idealism was not identical to liberalism, and he argued that a “basically liberal philosophy may be founded on the insights supplied by Realism, at the same time that it is guided ethically by the standards of Idealism, namely concern for the individual and the free development of human personality, and insistence on the universality of these standards” (p. 227). Realism was about means, not ends. In international affairs this entailed an emphasis on prudence, restraint, coexistence, humility, and incremental reform, as well as a fierce rejection of attempts to dominate the international system. Like most realists, Herz’s political thought focused chiefly on questions of political violence and international organization, saying little about economic (re)distribution. Liberal realism can be read as an instance of the “liberalism of fear.” The liberalism of fear focuses on avoiding cruelty, not on specifying ideal conditions for human flourishing. It does not “offer a summum bonum toward which all political agents should strive,

648   Duncan Bell but it certainly does begin with a summum malum, which all of us know and would avoid if only we could. That evil is cruelty and the fear it inspires, and the very fear of fear itself ” (Shklar 1989: 29). Shaped by a historically informed scepticism about the capacity of humans to (peacefully) transcend their circumstances, it aims instead to ameliorate human suffering. Eschewing the “intense moralism” of much contemporary philosophy, such liberals insist that political theorists attend first to the “only certainly universal material of politics: power, powerlessness, fear, cruelty” (B. Williams 2005: 22, 59). Neither Judit Shklar nor Bernard Williams wrote much about international politics. Instead, Stanley Hoffmann presented the most extensive articulation of the realist “liberalism of fear” (1981; 1998). Conservative realists, he argued, conjure a world that is descriptively inaccurate and normatively undesirable. They fail, that is, to recognize that moral norms can motivate human action and help to sustain political order, while defending a perverted form of politics by insisting on the absolute priority of the “national interest.” Yet he also cautioned that many liberal visions were implausible, even dangerously optimistic. While it remained the “only comprehensive and hopeful vision of world affairs,” liberalism nevertheless “needs to be thoroughly reconstructed—​ and that task has not proceeded very far, either in its domestic or international dimensions” (Hoffmann 1995: 177). Liberal internationalism needed reconstruction because it was premised on a series of false beliefs about the possibility of international reform. It was unrealistic in its understanding of international competition and conflict—​“the plight of the liberal vision results from the fallacy of believing that all good things can come together” (p. 167)—​and because it failed to offer a plausible account of transition, expressing “a vision of harmony that remained rather vague about how to reach nirvana” (p. 164). Methodologically, Hoffmann’s critique focused on questions of feasibility. Dismissive of “ideal” theorizing—​it had “little relevance to reality” (1981: 2)—​he argued that liberals needed to work within the existing constellation of arguments deployed by political elites. Willing the good after we have defined our idea of the good is simply not enough; if we think that the game needs to be improved or needs to be transformed, we can do this only by working through the actors themselves; exhortations are not sufficient. We have a duty to show how the idea is compatible with or can be made compatible with the actors’ self-​interest. (Hoffmann 1998: 63)

It was essential, he argued, to locate ethical concerns in context. “All ethical judgements in politics,” he warned, “are historical judgements. They are [ . . . ] contextual or situational: they are not separable from the concrete circumstances, from the actual cases” (1981: 27). Patient diplomacy, piecemeal reform, institutional cooperation, the pressure of public opinion: all could help to improve the international system. Hoffmann’s liberal realism was predicated on a distinction between domestic and international politics. Presided over by a central government, domestic politics is more amenable to realizing ethical principles. Indeed, he argued that the state was the most appropriate site for fostering liberal values. Liberal cosmopolitans “step outside of the

Realist Challenges   649 limits of traditional liberalism (which saw universal values of its creed realized in and through a world of states, not a world state)” (1995: 170). International politics is an anarchical order populated by societies expressing very different, and often antagonistic, value systems. The liberalism of fear was a response to this structural constraint. It “modestly aims at damage control—​but today that in itself is a revolutionary aspiration” (Hoffmann 1998: 51–​3; Shklar 1989: 23). Like that of Herz, Hoffmann’s political thought remains more suggestive than systematic. Rather than construct an overarching normative theory, he sketches various reformist proposals for how states (and other organizations) should act to limit interstate violence, uphold human rights, protect vulnerable peoples, and address economic inequalities. A more radical strand of realism rejects this moderate reformist account. Geuss is the leading figure in contemporary radical realism, although other thinkers can also be seen as arguing in the same vein, including Chantal Mouffe (2005: 90–​118). Radical realists are not committed to defending existing institutions and ordering principles—​indeed, they offer excoriating attacks on them. They challenge both the status quo and the ameliorative reformism of liberal politics. Carr is the most famous IR radical realist. Developing a heterodox Marxist perspective, he indicted the hypocrisy of the liberal world order bequeathed by the British empire. Unlike Carr, contemporary radical realists (like the liberals) have so far done little to flesh out an empirically rich picture of international politics and its pathologies (Scheuerman 2013). Yet they offer a promising way of thinking about the power asymmetries and gross injustices of the international order. One key difference between liberal and radical realisms concerns their attitude towards utopia. While the liberalism of fear is “entirely nonutopian” (Shklar 1989: 26), radical realists often embrace utopian thinking. Carr insisted that “[u]‌topia and reality are [ . . . ] the two facets of political science. Sound political thought and sound political life will be found where both have their place” (1956: 10). Geuss likewise advocates the utopian possibilities of realism. He contrasts “being realistic” with being “a realist.” The latter rejects moralism, the former is not a theoretical stance but rather a “policy, attitude or disposition to behave in a certain way,” which typically involves accepting the prevailing order. The person who is “realistic,” that is, “tries to cut his desires to fit the cloth which his particular society has made available” (2015: 15). Commitment to the former does not entail commitment to the latter. The realist need not be realistic. Geuss distinguishes between two senses of utopianism: The content-​based usage refers to the fact that the utopian project is outside the bounds of what are conventionally thought to be politically or morally possible, or that it focuses on human needs and desires that cannot be satisfied in the basic structure of society as it now exists. The more form-​based use describes utopian thinking as presenting the advantages of a final state to be attained without giving an account of how we are to get there. (2015: 18)

The latter sense is close to moralism, and it was this kind of utopianism that Marx (in his critique of “utopian socialism”) and Carr (in his critique of liberal “idealism”) rightly lambasted. Content-​based utopianism, however, is compatible with realism as a form of

650   Duncan Bell radical critique. Realism of this kind need not be constrained by the feasibility worries discussed earlier. Geussian utopianism is less concerned with fixed blueprints and ideal societies than with developing “a more historically informed analysis of existing, but changing, dissatisfactions and needs, and possible (contextually and historically specific) ways of satisfying them” (Geuss 2015: 18). Yet as with the liberalism of fear, this position has yet to be developed systematically. This is the challenge facing both liberal and radical realists in the coming years.

Conclusion Realism, then, is an amorphous category employed in different ways across political theory and IR. It lacks a determinate set of political commitments. While realists of all stripes emphasize the centrality of power and conflict in politics, they specify the meaning and interrelation of the concepts in contrasting ways, and draw radically different political implications from them.

Notes 1. For bibliographical discussion, see Bell (2008; 2018). Partial exceptions include M. Williams (2005), Lebow (2003), and Scheuerman (2011). 2. Less sceptical of Rawlsianism, Coady (2008) offers the most developed critique of moralism (see also Bell 2010). 3. This opposition is less common in political theory than in IR: see Bell (2008) and Rossi and Sleat (2014).

References Beitz, C. (1999 [1979]). Political Theory and International Relations, rev. edn (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press). Bell, D. (ed.) (2008). Political Thought and International Relations:  Variations on a Realist Theme (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Bell, D. (2010). Political Realism and the Limits of Ethics. In D. Bell (ed.), Ethics and World Politics (Oxford: Oxford University Press), 93–​111. Bell, D. (2017). Realism and International Relations. Philosophy Compass 12(2): 1–12. Bell, D. (2018). Security and Poverty: Realism and Global Justice. In M. Sleat (ed.), Realist Political Thought: Confronting Conflict, Motivation, and Morals in Institutions and Practices (New York: Columbia University Press). Coady, C. A. J. (2008). Messy Morality: The Challenge of Politics (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Geuss, R. (2001). History and Illusion in Politics (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Geuss, R. (2008). Philosophy and Real Politics (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press).

Realist Challenges   651 Geuss, R. (2015). Realism and the Relativity of Judgement. International Relations 29(1): 3–​22. Gilabert, P., and H. Lawford-​Smith (2012). Political Feasibility:  A Conceptual Exploration. Political Studies 60(4): 819–​20. Herz, J. (1951). Political Realism and Political Idealism:  A Study in Theories and Realities (Chicago: Chicago University Press). Herz, J. (1981). Political Realism Revisited:  Response. International Studies Quarterly 25(2): 201–​3 Hoffmann, S. (1981). Duties Beyond Borders:  On the Limits and Possibilities of Ethical International Politics (Syracuse, NY: Syracuse University Press). Hoffmann, S. (1995). The Crisis of Liberal Internationalism. Foreign Affairs 98: 155–​77. Hoffmann, S. (1998). World Disorders:  Troubled Peace in the Post-​Cold War Era (Lanham, Md.: Rowman and Littlefield). Lawford-​Smith, H. (2013). Understanding Political Feasibility. Journal of Political Philosophy 21(3): 243–​59. Lebow, R. N. (2003). The Tragic Vision of Politics: Ethics, Interests, and Orders (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Mouffe, C. (2005). On the Political (London: Routledge). Rossi, E., and M. Sleat (2014). Realism in Normative Political Theory. Philosophy Compass 9(10): 689–​701. Runciman, D. (2006). The Politics of Good Intentions: History, Fear and Hypocrisy in the New World Order (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press). Runciman, D. (2016). Political Theory and Real Politics in the Age of the Internet. Journal of Political Philosophy 25(1): 3–​21. Scheuerman, W. (2011) The Realist Case for Global Reform (Cambridge: Polity). Scheuerman, W. (2013) The Realist Revival in Political Philosophy, Or: Why New is Not Always Improved. International Politics 50(6): 798–​814. Shklar, J. (1989). The Liberalism of Fear. In N. Rosenblum (ed.), Liberalism and the Moral Life (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press). Williams, B. (2005). In the Beginning was the Deed: Realism and Moralism in Political Argument, ed. G. Hawthorn (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press). Williams, M. (2005). The Realist Tradition and the Limits of International Relations (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press).

­c hapter 49

T he Mar xist C ri t i qu e of Internat i ona l P olitical T h e ory Andrew Davenport

The Marxist critique of IPT does not aim at the latter’s specific themes, with which Marxism has generally not concerned itself, but rather at the field as a whole in that it contests the validity of the terms in which International Political Theory (IPT) typically thinks international politics. This fundamental rejection derives from the fact that Marxism sees the international space and understands its dynamics in an entirely different way from IPT. In order to reconstruct the Marxist critique of IPT, therefore, this chapter first of all sets out, in very general terms, how IPT thinks international politics and thus what its characteristic interests and categories are. These are then contrasted with how Marxism has traditionally construed the dynamics of power in the international arena, and what it tends to see when it looks at international politics. From there, the reasons why Marxism in IR does not speak the language of IPT and does not engage in its debates become clear, and it can be seen how and to what extent Marxism works as a critique of IPT’s conception of the international. The central concepts in this critique are the central concepts of Marxism as such: capital and class. Marxism developed its view of international relations from the basic terms of its theorization of capitalist society, and these underpin its notion of “real politics,” both domestic and international. This notion, traditionally committed to the “unity of theory and practice,” is (in contrast to IPT) focused not on normative rule-​making and the elaboration of conceptions of justice but on irreconcilable class conflict and fundamental social change. The critique of IPT developed through capital and class can be said to work on two levels, one of substance and one of form. At the first level, the Marxist argument is that capital supplies the content of and is the driving force behind international politics in the contemporary era, and is therefore central to any proper understanding of it. This is the approach that Marxism in IR has generally concentrated upon developing. At the second level, the argument is that capital is not a narrowly “economic” category but

The Marxist Critique of IPT    653 should be understood as an encompassing sociocultural phenomenon, one that generates the forms through which liberal capitalist society understands itself, and that the critique of capital is also a critique of those forms. This line is much less developed in Marxist IR, but it can be argued that it would reach further into IPT and, if properly elaborated, constitute a more powerful critique.

Viewing the International Space IPT in general starts from the position that the international is a political space divided among multiple sovereign states that are formally free, independent, and equal entities, although it is well aware that there are enormous differences of power and capability among these entities.1 While recognizing the centrality of these states to international politics and the importance of the nation-​state as the fundamental political unit of the contemporary world, IPT does not stop there; unlike some versions of Realism in IR, it does not treat those states as so many “billiard balls,” such that the nature of the political arrangements on the inside can be set aside for purposes of understanding external politics. Instead, IPT acknowledges that alongside the states there is a plurality of actors in the international sphere: from global corporations, through NGOs and civil society groups, to religious associations, and on. Further, and again in contrast to some elements within Realism, IPT does not regard the international realm as necessarily conflict-​ ridden, such that states must be guided primarily by self-​interest, fear, and a basic desire for survival. Rather, it sees the international as a complex, many-​levelled space of interaction, partly conflictual and partly cooperative. To focus solely upon power capabilities is not enough because for IPT the international, more than just a system objectively constituted by states that are in themselves separate and discrete entities, forms a kind of society, or at the least a space of dynamic and developing multilateral engagement. It is thus necessary to think about the relations between actors in the international sphere in terms that reach beyond questions of brute power and interest. From this derives the characteristic concern of IPT with normative questions, with the elaboration of the ethical dimensions of international affairs, and with questions of right and responsibility, authority and justice. IPT in its main currents is thus typically concerned with determining how far the kinds of relations between persons, and between governments and citizens, that ideally characterize the interior political space can be extended across borders; that is, how far political theory can become international political theory. As a general principle, the aim of IPT is to explore ways of making the international into a more normatively regulated space and a more legally ordered space, a space of determinate rights and duties of actors in relation to one another. It is also concerned with exploring how far universal norms can be negotiated among and adhered to by social and cultural traditions that possess sometimes widely differing value systems. Hence the leading themes of IPT: human rights (see Chapter  22), humanitarian interventions, responsibility to protect (see Chapter  25),

654   Andrew Davenport Just War and the ethics of combat (see Chapter 17), global economic inequality, climate change responsibilities (see Chapter  40), and so forth. There is of course enormous debate and disagreement over these many complex issues, but the encompassing framework within which the discussion takes place and the conception of the international and of international politics that is assumed by it is broadly shared: agreements and institutions can be established, rules and norms can be elaborated according to ethical principles, which over time significantly shape and sometimes decisively change the behaviour of international actors. IPT, then, recognizes the international as a divided space, one where there is a constitutive tension between the particularity and closure of the state internally, which produces the identity of a political community, and the universality of the wider society of the “global polity” within which each bounded state exists and upon which each depends in a variety of ways. Certainly, IPT recognizes that the international is a space traversed by power and often by violence (see Chapter 15), and that there are very considerable differentials of wealth and opportunity within the global polity. But it also sees the international as a societal space of negotiation among actors, one in which a constructive politics is both desirable and possible, even if the nature of the political environment in which the actors operate is in important respects not the same as that to be found internal to a state. It is a space in which norms can be elaborated and in which power can be regulated and made accountable—​and so ultimately a space in which the pursuit of a conception of justice is a meaningful ambition. This is where the crucial break between Marxism and IPT is to be located, and therefore where the root of the Marxist critique of IPT lies. Marxism also thematizes a constitutive tension between particularity and universality in the international sphere. However, it articulates this not as “international society, global polity” (Brown 2015) but as a contradiction between the closed political entity of the liberal-​bourgeois nation-​ state and the progressively universalizing tendency of the world market within which each state exists and must struggle for advantage. It also sees power and violence as defining features of the international space; but its view of the nature and sources of violence in the contemporary world, understood within a broader historical theory of domination, displaces in its thinking about international relations the traditional centrality of inter-​state conflict (hence Marxism’s indifference to e.g. the Just War tradition). However, while it partly shares these perceptions with IPT, Marxism is altogether less sanguine than the latter about the virtues, or even the point, of ethical critique, and about the value and meaningfulness of elaborating norms and rules for governing the international. Marxism shares with IPT the perception that the international is a space occupied by multiple types of actor, not merely states as in traditional conceptions of geopolitics. However, emphatically unlike IPT, it does not see the international as essentially a shared societal space that makes discussion and negotiation possible. Nor, in fact, does it understand the domestic political space in those terms either. For Marxism, politics, both domestic and international, ultimately expresses, even if through many layers of mediation, a conflict that necessarily arises out of the fundamental division that is structurally intrinsic to modern society. No amount of norms and rules can eliminate

The Marxist Critique of IPT    655 that division. In fact, ultimately they only serve to obscure it: the more they are elaborated, the more the real truth is lost to sight. The division in question is of course the class relation. In modern society, that relation is between the bourgeois capitalist class and the proletariat. As Marxism understands it, the division between these two classes is intrinsic to the social form of capital, which is conceptualized as being shaped by the incessant and unlimited process of the self-​ valorization of value. The class division is recognized as irreconcilable within the context of capitalist society; only a transformation in the form of the basic social relations as a whole could overcome this structural antagonism through which capitalist society works. It is by means of these two determinations, capital and class, that Marxism has gone about theorizing international politics; and when the international is viewed in this way, a very different conception is produced from that characteristic of IPT. In order to understand how Marxist thinking works as a critique of IPT, it is therefore necessary to grasp how the former understands capital and class and why it builds its conception of the contemporary world, including international relations, around these concepts. It is hardly possible here to summarize the totality of Marx’s thinking on these subjects—​ which was in any case unfinished and is much disputed—​let alone the range of subsequent Marxist interpretations. Nevertheless, a number of essential elements can be set out that serve to indicate something of the scope of Marx’s conception of capital. These, in turn, provide the context for then looking more closely at the major strands of Marxist thinking about international politics and understanding why they take the approaches that they do and how, collectively, they can be said to constitute a critique of IPT.

Capital and Class Wrestling, in his early writings, with the legacy of Hegelian Idealism in the German thought of his day, Marx came to the conclusion that the form of historical labour is the principal determinant of society. The primary task confronting all societies—​one that has to be fulfilled before anything further can be taken into account—​is to produce and reproduce their own existence. If that process is not continually and successfully undertaken, the society ceases to exist. This idea of what is primary led Marx to the further conclusion that the most basic relations of any society are what he termed its “relations of production”: the social relations within which the process of the production and reproduction of a society takes place. The totality of society’s capacity to reproduce itself, both material-​technological and intellectual-​cognitive, representing the sum of its capability of controlling nature, is what Marx referred to as the “forces of production.” In the Marxian conception, this capability develops historically within a specific set of relations of production until such time as the forces of production can no longer expand within those relations. At that point, a historical transformation occurs by which new relations of production that promote the continued development of society’s productive capacity come into existence. Further, the relations of production have historically

656   Andrew Davenport always taken the form of relations of domination—​class relations.2 From the origins of the division of mental and manual labour, those who ruled have lived off the labour of those who were subordinated. The form of the class relation develops along with the development of the forces of production and the successive changes in the relations of production. These are, very briefly, the essential determinants of the theory of history—​ what came to be canonized in the Marxist tradition as Historical Materialism—​within which Marx elaborated his analysis of capitalist society. In capitalist society the class relation is simplified to the greatest degree. Setting aside owners of land, there are essentially just two major classes, as determined by relationship to the means of production: the bourgeoisie, which owns the totality of society’s material productive capacity, and the proletariat, which owns nothing and therefore has to sell its labour power as a commodity to the bourgeoisie, by means of the wage relation, in order to survive. Capitalist society is characterized by generalized exchange, and what Marx demonstrates is how this continual process of all-​round exchange objectifies the medium of exchange—​value, expressed in money—​and sets it free so that it takes on a life of its own. The purpose of production in capitalist society is thus no longer the provisioning of society with the material necessities of life but rather the accumulation of value, abstract “wealth,” through the continual generation of surplus value in the production process. A central part of Marx’s theory is his demonstration of the way in which a surplus arises out of generalized exchange: the worker in the production process produces more value than is represented by the cost of reproduction of his own commodity, his labour power, so that the product of the production process contains more value than did the elements that went into it. The surplus produced by the worker is then appropriated by the capitalist, who has bought all of the various elements used and is therefore entitled to the final product. Capitalism, as a process typified by exchange, thus depends both upon the class division and upon a highly mediated form of exploitation. Finally for present purposes, capitalism should be understood as a uniquely totalizing form of society—​for the first time in history actually a social system. Once the value-​ form comes into its own, and attains independence from any necessary material integument, it knows no limit. As Marx demonstrates, capital must continually expand or the system falls into crisis. This conceptual limitlessness works in several dimensions. First, the capitalist accumulation process is infinite, continually driven onwards by competition: there can never be enough wealth. Secondly, the logic of value, dissolving or incorporating non-​capitalist modes of social reproduction, ceaselessly extends the reach of the commodity form, so that to an ever-​increasing degree all aspects of society are drawn into the system. Capital is endlessly inventive in finding ways to make every part of society functionally useful to the accumulation process. Thirdly, capital relentlessly expands spatially. “The tendency to create the world market is directly given in the concept of capital itself,” Marx wrote in the Grundrisse in the late 1850s (1973: 408), and it is surely part of the experience of neo-​liberalism in the early twenty-​first century to witness the truth of that statement. Now, in the contemporary world, nowhere is left out and, by virtue of the telecommunications technology it has innovated, capital as financial flows traverses the entire world in an instant.

The Marxist Critique of IPT    657

Marxism in IR It is the understanding of capital and class as the defining, determinative features of modern society that characterizes the various ways in which Marxist thought has gone about conceptualizing international politics and global affairs generally. This leads Marxism to see the international space in a radically different way from IPT.3 Even while acknowledging inequalities of power and wealth in the international sphere, IPT is nevertheless predicated on the belief that these can be rectified or at least ameliorated through the promulgation of norms and values and the allocation of rights and responsibilities. Marxism, by contrast, perceives power and domination to be much more deeply rooted in the international space. For it, international politics is to be understood on the one hand as an expression of the conflicts and contradictions of capitalist class rule on a global scale, and on the other as the ongoing story of the subordination of relatively non-​capitalist or “backward” parts of the world to the power of capital. It is marked by conflict between major capitalist powers over dominance within the world market; cooperation is between capitalists in order to establish and maintain power over both the global proletariat and parts of the world consigned to subordinate positions in the global economy. (Ideally, of course, Marxism classically envisaged an equal and opposite form of international cooperation, that between the proletariats of the various nations.) These two lines of thought characterize what can broadly be taken to be the three distinctive schools of thought within IR Marxism.4 The interest here is not in the strengths and weaknesses of these various schools and the details of their theorizing, but rather in the general terms in which they conceptualize international politics and thus how they can be understood as constituting a critique of IPT. First, the theory of imperialism. Empire and imperialism have together always been the signature motif of Marxist thinking about international politics, its characteristic rhetoric. Imperialism theory goes back to debates, primarily between Central European and Russian Marxists—​Hilferding, Luxemburg, Lenin, and Bukharin—​in the period before the First World War (see Brewer 1980 for a survey). It represents the first concerted effort within the Marxist tradition to link together an understanding of capitalist development with a theory of international politics, Marx and Engels themselves having generally treated the latter more as localized questions of political tactics and strategy than problems of theory.5 In the theory of imperialism, capitalism was understood to have entered a new phase—​monopoly capitalism—​that transformed the dynamics of international politics. Where for many decades Britain had dominated as the first developed capitalist power, now there were a number of huge national centres of accumulation, massive concentrations of capital, that vied with each other for shares of the world market and for division of the areas that constituted the still non-​capitalist world. This inter-​imperial rivalry, in an unregulated international space, would eventually lead to inter-​capitalist war, which was how the First World War was traditionally understood by Marxism (see e.g. Hobsbawm 1987). Imperialism theory remained the predominant

658   Andrew Davenport mode of understanding international politics within Marxism throughout the twentieth century, and as largely European inter-​imperial rivalry gave way first to the Cold War duopoly and then to American monopoly, so the term “imperialism” came to refer more and more to so-​called “US empire,” a perception given renewed life at the turn of the millennium by the apparently aggressively militaristic and assertively unilateral foreign policy posture of the George W. Bush administration, which provoked a rethinking and updating of theories of empire (Callinicos 2009; Harvey 2003; Panitch and Gindin 2012). The second broadly Marxist school is World Systems Theory.6 This has its origins in the 1960s, in the context of Dependency Theory and the attempt to understand the problem of the “Third World” in opposition to the then dominant liberal Modernization Theory. Grounding itself on the historical binary it posits of “world empires” and “world systems,” World Systems Theory, in contrast to imperialism theory, represented an attempt to break out of methodological nationalism and to conceptualize the world system that capital has produced as an integral whole (Wallerstein 1991). To this extent, it has generally given primacy to the world market rather than to the inter-​state system. It conceptualized the former through a fundamental threefold, primarily economic, division: core, semi-​periphery, and periphery. The core is the major, developed capitalist powers; the semi-​periphery some relatively small buffer zones; and the periphery virtually everywhere else, the vast areas of the world once subjected to direct or indirect imperial domination by the European capitalist empires. In understanding the historical working of the capitalist global economy, World Systems Theory has been primarily interested in how, through the recycling of value between the areas into which the global system is divided, the dominance of the core and the subordination of the periphery are maintained. Finally, there is the school of Neo-​Gramscian theory in Marxist IR, which came to prominence in the early 1980s in response to the turbulence in the international system in the previous decade and what seemed, at the time, to be a decline in US preponderance.7 Its essential question was how to conceptualize the long-​term stability of the capitalist world order, and, in particular, how to understand the way in which the various capitalist powers had, as a whole, been brought under the leadership of the USA. Where once inter-​imperial rivalry was thought to explain relations between capitalist states, after the Second World War the former rivals to an increasing extent came to acquiesce in the dominance of one state, the US, willingly following its leadership in most aspects of the construction of international order. In search of an explanation for this phenomenon, attention was turned to the thinking of the prewar Italian Marxist, Antonio Gramsci, and his reflections both on the relation between the capitalist state and civil society and on how a dominant class wins the support of subordinate classes to its project of leadership (Gramsci 1971). The panoply of Gramscian concepts—​principally: historical bloc, passive revolution, and above all hegemony—​were imported from the national context in which Gramsci developed them into the international realm, and were used to explore the various dimensions of US leadership, or hegemony, amid wider

The Marxist Critique of IPT    659 debates both within Marxism and more generally about whether or not, within a changing global economy, US dominance was on the wane. Even from this brief sketch it is evident that Marxism by no means shares IPT’s view of the international realm. For Marxism, it is capitalism that is in every respect the fundamental category, as the force that has created the modern world. As a result, Marxism understands the international as a space determined by the power of capital, whether that be in the form of the dominance of the collective but nationally divided global capitalist class, or of capitalist nation-​states, or of capital itself, in the abstract, through the workings of the world economy. Marxism’s critique of IPT, then, would be that even when the latter addresses issues such as global economic inequality, it does not comprehend the depth and extent of the power of capital: it remains a distributional critique (“social justice”) within the terms of bourgeois capitalist society, rather than a critique of the social relations of capital as such. For Marxism, to the extent that IPT does not recognize this and does not properly grasp capital theoretically, it does not understand the force that more than any other shapes the international realm. For Marxism, IPT’s primary failing is thus that it does not properly appreciate Marx’s indispensable perception: that “capital is a larger, more creative, more nearly total form of power than anything else in human history” (Brown 2005: 68).

Extending the Critique? Thus far, the Marxist critique of IPT is largely indirect: it is a question of two different ways of looking at the international space and understanding its dynamics, with Marxism implying that IPT does not grasp the meaning of capital and so misconstrues its significance. To this extent, the Marxist critique remains external to IPT rather than immanent to it. However, perhaps it would be possible for Marxism to reach further into IPT and to develop its critique not just at the level of content but at that of form as well. In its mainstream, IPT can be considered an essentially liberal discourse. Anthony Lang observes that “the general presumptions of statehood, international human rights, international economics and war revolve around themes that arose in 19th-​century liberal thought. International law, as the language through which international affairs take place, best expresses this latent liberalism” (Lang 2015: 7). The typical terms of the IPT discourse are drawn from this liberal language: rights and responsibilities, ethics and norms, equality and inequality, pluralism, legality, global citizenship, and so forth. Thus IPT, both in its conceptualization of the challenges and difficulties of international affairs and in its ideas of how to address and resolve them, exists within an essentially liberal experience of the world. As such, it ought not to be beyond the critical reach of Marxism. For the latter is, in its ambitions, much more than an economic theory. It is, rather, a critique of liberal bourgeois society as a whole, in all its manifestations, one from which none of the characteristic categories of liberal thought should be immune (Sayer 1985). Marx’s analysis of bourgeois society began with an engagement with liberal

660   Andrew Davenport political theory, Hegel’s Philosophy of Right, and there are at least significant elements of a radical critique of the liberal political subject in one of the important occasional texts from the 1840s, “On the Jewish Question,” in which Marx denounces the form of political emancipation typical of the liberal subject as limited and incomplete, still essentially a version of unfreedom compared to the fully “human emancipation” that he posits in opposition to it (Marx 1992). Part of the ambitious but often still only embryonic critique of capitalist society that Marx launches in his early writings, before the turn to political economy, is thus the critique of the liberal conception of the human being as a rights-​bearing subject, and of its modern political status as a citizen. This line of critique is by no means entirely lost when Marx comes to devote his full theoretical attention to the question of capital. In many respects, in fact, it is deepened in the analysis; but the change of conceptual language means that the far-​reaching implications of the critique of capital often remain latent within the text and are not explicitly drawn out. Take, for example, one of the crucial moments in the argument of volume 1 of Capital, the point at which Marx reaches the limits of his consideration of the sphere of simple circulation and is confronted with the conundrum of how a surplus can arise in a system characterized by the constant equalization that is implied in generalized exchange. The theoretical crux is that the surplus must arise both through circulation and not through circulation (Marx 1990: 268–​9). The sphere of circulation is, in Marx’s famous satirical words, a very Eden of the innate rights of man. It is the exclusive realm of Freedom, Equality, Property and Bentham. Freedom, because both buyer and seller of a commodity [ . . . ] are determined only by their own free will. [ . . . ] Equality because each enters into relations with the other as with a simple owner of commodities and they exchange equivalent with equivalent. Property because each disposes only of what is his own. And Bentham, because each looks only to his own advantage. (Marx 1990: 280)

However, once the wage contract is concluded, equality gives way to hierarchy, the capitalist striding confidently out in front and the worker following on reluctantly behind, as they leave the sphere of circulation and descend together into the abode of production, where the worker will be put to labour and the capitalist will reap the rewards. The critical implications of this important moment of transition are extensive. It is a presupposition of Marx’s argument in Capital that the system works as it says it does. That is, that equivalent is exchanged for equivalent throughout. The rules and norms of commodity exchange are scrupulously adhered to: nobody cheats, nobody robs anybody else by taking more than they are entitled to, everyone’s rights and responsibilities are acknowledged. This is because Marx was aware that the systematic production of a surplus could not be explained by unequal exchange: if X illicitly appropriates some of what is in fact owed to Y, then that only redistributes the surplus; it does not explain how it arises in the first place. What Marx shows is that by virtue of the class relation and the status of labour power as a commodity, the laws of equality, of equivalent exchange,

The Marxist Critique of IPT    661 intrinsic to capitalist society necessarily become through their own development laws of appropriation. The system simultaneously fulfils its standards of equality and justice and violates them. The transition from the sphere of circulation to the abode of production is a dramatic moment in the dialectic of essence and appearance in Capital. Circulation is the sphere of appearance, where all the actors are free and equal and there is no coercion involved. However, the sphere of circulation is not self-​sustaining because no continual surplus can arise within it. It is therefore necessarily reliant on production, where the capitalist has absolute power over the worker and appropriates the totality of what the latter produces. It is thus production that is the essence that appears in circulation; but it can only appear there in a form other than, in fact the opposite of, itself. Although it is not explicitly elaborated as such within Marx’s text, this implies a critique of the liberal subject and of its values of justice and equality as they are constituted and expressed through the norms of the sphere of circulation. What Marx demonstrates in Capital is that ideally bourgeois society operates exactly according to its own, much-​ trumpeted notions of freedom and fairness, but that precisely in doing so it rests upon and perpetuates class division. It is not merely that justice conflicts with injustice; rather, justice contains injustice within itself, inherently so, such that they cannot be separated from each other. This also complicates the normative dimension (to use liberal language) of Marx’s theory. For again, Marx shows that according to the logic of capital, of free and fair exchange, the worker receives exactly what he should receive and what he is entitled to, the value of his labour power as represented in the wage.8 What this means is that Marx’s critique of capital is far from being a distributional critique. It is instead a critique of the form of wealth that is produced in capitalism—​value—​and of the social relations of production as a whole that necessitate it (Postone 1993). As such, it is also an immanent critique of liberal bourgeois conceptions of justice.

Conclusion That the elements in Marx’s thought from which a sustained critical account of the liberal subject and liberal notions of right, equity and justice might be derived have not been developed by Marxism in IR as a critique of the mainstream of IPT is perhaps a consequence of the still unsettled nature of the status of the international within Marxism. As the latter has consolidated as a subfield in IR, so it has gradually come to confront the basic problematic of the discipline, the international as such, and to ponder its relation to Marx’s thought, historical materialism, and the theory of capital. The schools of Marxist thought within IR surveyed above are theories of international relations and the dynamics of international politics, but they are not theories of the international itself. The depth and ambition of Marx’s theory, starting from what it takes to be the fundamental social relations of production, would seem to demand that no social determination should ultimately be extraneous to it, outside the reach of the theory. But that is essentially the problem that the international currently poses to Marxist thought

662   Andrew Davenport in IR: how can the existence of the fragmented global political space of the states system be explained from within the perspective of Marxist thought? Among those who have addressed this question, no consensus has been established, some denying any conceptual relation between capital and the international (Teschke 2003), others affirming a necessary connection but on functional rather than conceptual grounds (Wood 2003). Relatedly, an important body of work has sought to ground the international sociologically by elaborating the originally Trotskyan idea of uneven and combined development (Rosenberg 2013). The significance of this deficit in the present context is that if the international is not comprehended as intrinsic to the world of capital, then the Marxist critique of IPT remains what it has so far been, an external one, by implication rather than direct engagement: they are simply two different and competing ways of looking at a given object. If, however, the international was to be understood as itself a determination of the capitalist mode of production, then the critique could become a more powerful and compelling internal one, comprehending IPT as the necessary, and necessarily limited, understanding that the liberal world has of its international dimension—​an understanding at the level of appearance rather than essence.

Notes 1. For recent general introductions to the field of IPT, see Brown (2015) and Lang (2015). 2. Thus the famous opening sentence of part 1 of the Communist Manifesto: “The history of all hitherto existing society is the history of class struggles” (Marx and Engels 2002: 219). 3. At least from its mainstream. On its “left wing,” some within IPT have positioned themselves in proximity to the Marxist understanding of deep, objective structures of power and exploitation. See e.g. the work of Andrew Linklater on emancipation and harm. 4. For a more extensive review of the different schools of Marxism in IR, see Teschke (2008). 5. In one of his plans for Capital, in six volumes, Marx indicated that he intended to write a volume on international relations. But, like much of Capital, this was destined to remain no more than a plan. 6. Representative texts of this broad-​ranging school include Arrighi (1994), Chase-​Dunn (1989), and, most importantly, Wallerstein (1974–​89). 7. The founding text for IR is Cox (1983). See further Cox (1987), Gill (1994), and Morton (2007). 8. On the complexity of the category of exploitation in Marx, see Arthur (2004: ch. 3).

References Arrighi, G. (1994). The Long Twentieth Century: Money, Power, and the Origins of Our Times (London: Verso). Arthur, C. J. (2004). The New Dialectic and Marx’s Capital (Leiden: Brill). Brewer, A. (1980). Marxist Theories of Imperialism: A Critical Survey (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul). Brown, C. (2015). International Society, Global Polity (London: Sage).

The Marxist Critique of IPT    663 Brown, W. (2005). Edgework:  Critical Essays on Knowledge and Politics (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press). Callinicos, A. (2009). Imperialism and Global Political Economy (Cambridge: Polity). Chase-​Dunn, C. (1989). Global Formation: Structures of the World-​Economy (Oxford: Blackwell). Cox, R. (1983). Gramsci, Hegemony and International Relations:  An Essay in Method. Millennium: Journal of International Studies 12(2): 162–​75. Cox, R. (1987). Production, Power, and World Order: Social Forces in the Making of History (New York: Columbia University Press). Gill, S. (ed.) (1994). Gramsci, Historical Materialism and International Relations (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Gramsci, A. (1971). Selections from the Prison Notebooks (London: Lawrence & Wishart). Harvey, D. (2003). The New Imperialism (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Hobsbawm, E. (1987). The Age of Empire, 1875–​1914 (London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson). Lang, A. F., Jr (2015). International Political Theory: An Introduction (London: Palgrave Macmillan). Marx, K. (1973). Grundrisse:  Foundations of the Critique of Political Economy (London: Penguin). Marx, K. (1990). Capital, vol. 1 (London: Penguin). Marx, K. (1992). Early Writings (London: Penguin). Marx, K., and F. Engels (2002). The Communist Manifesto (London: Penguin). Morton, A. D. (2007). Unravelling Gramsci: Hegemony and Passive Revolution in the Global Political Economy (London: Pluto Press). Panitch, L., and S. Gindin (2012). The Making of Global Capitalism: The Political Economy of American Empire (London: Verso). Postone, M. (1993). Time, Labor, and Social Domination: A Reinterpretation of Marx’s Critical Theory (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Rosenberg, J. (2013). Anarchy in the Mirror of Uneven and Combined Development. International Politics 50(2): 183–​230. Sayer, D. (1985). The Critique of Politics and Political Economy: Capitalism, Communism and the State in Marx’s Writings of the mid-​1840s. Sociological Review 33(2): 221–​53. Teschke, B. (2003). The Myth of 1648: Class, Geopolitics, and the Making of Modern International Relations (London: Verso). Teschke, B. (2008). Marxism and International Relations. In C. Reus-​Smit and D. Snidal (eds), The Oxford Handbook of International Relations (Oxford: Oxford University Press), ch. 9. Wallerstein, I. (1974–​89). The Modern World System, vols 1–​3 (New York: Academic Press). Wallerstein, I. (1991). Societal Development, or Development of the World-​ System? In Unthinking Social Science: The Limits of Nineteenth-​Century Paradigms (Cambridge: Polity), 64–​79. Wood, E. (2003). Empire of Capital (London: Verso).

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The Case for Ideal T h e ory Laura Valentini

In recent years, political theorists have devoted increasing attention to questions of methodology. The debate on so-​called “ideal vs non-​ideal theory” is at the heart of this methodological turn, and prominently features controversies about international political morality. Specifically, some of the most ambitious views in International Political Theory (IPT) are routinely criticized for being too “ideal” or “utopian.” Targets of these criticisms include cosmopolitan theories defending global distributive equality (see Chapter 9), theories of global democracy (see Chapter 29), and so-​called “revisionist” just war theory (see Chapter 17). My aim in this chapter is to evaluate whether, and if so under what conditions, the critique of excessive idealism succeeds. I argue that success is rare. I proceed as follows. In the second section, I clarify terminology and distinguish between two reasons why a theory may be labelled “ideal”: either because it contains idealizations or because it is insensitive to feasibility constraints. In the third section, I address objections raised against international political theories that contain idealizations. I show that whether the presence of idealizations invalidates a given theory depends on the role those idealizations play within the theory as a whole. In the fourth section, I address objections raised against theories that (allegedly) fail to take sufficient account of feasibility constraints (see Chapter 48). I argue that those objections only threaten normative theories that claim to deliver practically efficacious guidance. Purely evaluative theories, and normative theories that do not aspire to practical efficacy, are unaffected by this “feasibility” critique. I thus conclude, in the fifth section, that there is nothing wrong with ideal theorizing as such, but only with certain misuses of it. Throughout, I illustrate these broader methodological points—​which I have partly defended elsewhere1—​by reference to examples drawn from some of the most prominent areas of IPT: global justice, global democratic theory, and just war theory.

The Case for Ideal Theory    665

What Is an Ideal Theory? One often hears political theorists refer to “ideal” and “non-​ideal” theory. Yet what the labels “ideal” and “non-​ideal” stand for is far from clear (for overviews, see Stemplowska 2008; Valentini 2012; Stemplowska and Swift 2012). What is more, the very notion of “a theory” is ubiquitously, yet loosely, invoked. First, by “a theory” I mean a set of propositions, entailed by principles, that play a given functional role in an agent’s understanding of reality (List and Valentini 2016: 536–​ 7). Depending on the relevant functional role, we can distinguish between positive and normative/​evaluative theories. A  theory is normative when its propositions include deontic operators (such as “ought,” “must,” “may”), and it is evaluative when its propositions include evaluative predicates (such as “good,” “bad,” “just,” “unjust”). Otherwise, it is positive. Biological and physical theories—​e.g. Darwin’s theory of evolution or Einstein’s theory of relativity—​are positive. Theories of international justice and of the just war, by contrast, belong to the normative or evaluative domain. In this contribution, I  focus on normative and/​or evaluative theories that may be described as “ideal.” The distinction between ideal and non-​ideal theory was first introduced by John Rawls (1999a: 8, 215; cf. Simmons 2010). An ideal theory, according to Rawls’s definition, is a theory designed assuming “full compliance”—​i.e. all agents act as they ought to—​and “favourable conditions”—​i.e. circumstances are such that individuals’ basic rights and needs can be met (Rawls 1999a: 475–​6). A non-​ideal theory, by contrast, is a theory characterized by partial compliance, and/​or the lack of favourable conditions. That said, in the recent literature, the notion of ideal theory has attracted several rather broader understandings. Two of them, which I discuss below, are particularly prominent. On one understanding, normative and/​or evaluative theories are “ideal” to the extent that they involve idealizations. Idealizations, in Onora O’Neill’s (1996: 41) well-​known characterization, are falsities introduced for theoretical purposes. Full compliance and favourable conditions are just two examples of idealization: it is plainly false that, in our world, everyone complies with the demands of justice, and that favourable conditions always obtain. Other idealizations include statements such as: “there is no disagreement about justice across different societies”; “soldiers in war face no uncertainty”; “society is a closed system”; or “individuals are always altruistically motivated.” A second understanding of ideal theory has developed in connection with debates about so-​called feasibility constraints (e.g. Räikkä 1998; Gilabert and Lawford-​Smith 2012; Lawford-​Smith 2013; Wiens 2015b). From this perspective, the more insensitive to feasibility constraints a theory is, the greater its level of idealism. Feasibility constraints are those physical, biological, political, psychological, and economic facts that make the prescriptions of a normative theory hard, if not impossible, to realize. Theories of international political morality that prescribe considerable global redistribution, demand global democratic participation, or make the permissibility of killing in war dependent

666   Laura Valentini on individuals’ moral liability are often regarded as “ideal” in this sense—​since their prescriptions appear to be either impossible or at any rate extremely hard to fulfil. For the sake of completeness, I should mention that there is also a third understanding of ideal theory in the current literature. This is ideal theory understood as offering an endpoint towards which we should aspire. This understanding of ideal theory is contrasted with transitional theories of justice (see Chapter 12), detailing how to make progress justice-​wise, without necessarily achieving the ideal (Sen 2009; Wiens 2015a; 2012). Due to space constraints, I set this third understanding aside in the present chapter, and focus on the previous two. It has become quite common to object to (international) political theories by virtue of their being ideal in either of the two senses I focus on. Behind these critiques stands the following general concern. A key aim of (international) political theory is to help us address pressing normative questions that arise in today’s international realm: wars, refugee crises, global poverty, and much else. Ideal theories, however, are doomed to fail in this respect. At best, they are useless; at worst, their application to current (international) affairs will deliver bad outcomes (see e.g. Mills 2005; Farrelly 2007; McCarthy 2004; Sen 2009; Wiens 2015a; Miller 2013; cf. Valentini 2009).2 In what follows, I examine the validity of this critique in relation to (i) theories of international political morality that contain idealizations and (ii) theories that disregard feasibility constraints.

Responding to the Charge of Idealization Several normative/​evaluative theories of international politics contain idealizations. Here I offer three prominent examples. • Cosmopolitan theories of global distributive justice that recommend applying the outcome of Rawls’s original-​position thought experiment to the world at large (see e.g. Beitz 1999; Pogge 1989). To the extent that Rawls’s thought-​experiment contains idealizations (not only about full compliance and favourable conditions, but also in the characterizations of the parties behind the veil of ignorance), those idealizations are carried forward in cosmopolitan theories that globalize its conclusions. • Rawls’s statist theory of international justice, outlined in The Law of Peoples, contains several idealizations, including its assumption that societies are relatively independent units, distinguished into five categories: liberal, decent, burdened, outlaw states, and benevolent absolutisms (Rawls 1999b). The theory, in other words, assumes away much of the complexity of contemporary international politics. • Revisionist theories of the just war, which often assume away some of the most physically and psychologically debilitating circumstances of war (see e.g. McMahan 2009; Fabre 2012; Frowe 2014).

The Case for Ideal Theory    667 Does the fact that these theories contain idealizations suffice to put their tenability into question? Critics of ideal theory as idealized theory would answer in the affirmative. This unconditional affirmative answer is unwarranted. Whether the presence of idealizations affects the plausibility of a normative theory, I suggest, depends on the level at which the idealizations are introduced. As Christian List and I have argued elsewhere, one should distinguish three levels at which idealizations may be encountered in the construction of a normative theory. First, the idealizations might be contained in the theory itself, namely in the body of propositions entailed by its principles. Second, the idealizations might be contained in the conditions of applicability of the theory, namely in the set of circumstances and agents to which the theory is meant to apply. Third, idealizations may be contained in the arguments or evidence offered in support of a given theory (List and Valentini 2016: 545–​6). Which kinds of idealizations are dangerous? While the presence of idealizations within the theory itself is problematic, this is for reasons other than those cited by critics of idealization. To say that a theory contains idealizations is to say that some of its propositions are false in relation to their subject matter. If a theory of international political morality is idealized in this first sense, all this means is that its prescriptions are incorrect. For instance, if the theory prescribes global socioeconomic redistribution, but this is not in fact what global justice requires, then the theory is “idealized”: it contains a false statement about international justice. What critics of idealized theorizing typically have in mind are idealizations that feature at the level either of the arguments offered in support of a normative theory or of the conditions of applicability of the theory, which I discuss in turn. An example of the former is offered by cosmopolitan theories of justice: both (i) “relational” theories that globalize the outcome of Rawls’s original position on the ground that there exists a “global basic structure of society” (e.g. Beitz 1999; Pogge 1989)  and (ii) “non-​relational” theories that advocate global equality independently of the existence of a global basic structure or particular global relationships (e.g. Caney 2005; for the labels “relational” and “non-​relational,” see Sangiovanni 2007). As mentioned earlier, “globalizing” Rawls’s original position involves importing all of the idealizations that characterize it. These include not only the assumptions of full compliance and favourable conditions, but also a given description of the “contractors” who are to choose the relevant principles of justice. Famously, they are prevented from knowing facts about themselves—​including their talents, abilities, and social class—​by being placed under a “veil of ignorance.” These assumptions are clearly counterfactual: they involve falsities about the world in which we live. But does the fact that they figure in the argument supporting Rawls’s theory—​i.e. the fact that Rawls’s principles would be chosen in the original position—​necessarily imply that the theory itself is somehow undermined? It is far from clear why it should (List and Valentini 2016: 545–​6; cf. Lawford-​Smith 2010). The original position is meant to model circumstances of fairness, such that its output may also be regarded as fair. One may of course object to the original position on the grounds that its modelling of fairness is unconvincing. But this would be a substantive objection, not a methodological one having to do with idealization. Consider the

668   Laura Valentini following analogy. When considering whether the grade we have given a student whose identity we know is fair, we may want to ask whether we would have given the same grade had we not known the student’s identity. To be sure, this is a counterfactual claim, yet its counterfactual nature, per se, does not appear to invalidate its heuristic value. Perhaps we can think of a better counterfactual, say one in which not only the identity of the paper’s author is concealed but also the handwriting of the author is easier to read. Poor handwriting may in fact negatively influence examiners. Still, the use of idealizations in the evidence/​arguments used in support of a theory is not per se problematic. Similar conclusions may be drawn with respect to even starker instances of uses of idealizations in the “evidence” supporting a theory. Consider the counterfactuals marshalled by “non-​relational cosmopolitans” in support of the view that justice demands equality between individuals independently of whether they share a Rawlsian basic structure, or other kinds of special relationships. For example, we may be invited to imagine individuals in completely separate plots of land, who do not know each other, and who are differently off: one has plenty, the other very little, and neither deserves his or her fortune or misfortune. We are then asked whether this deeply unequal distribution of resource strikes us as unjust. A positive answer to this question is evidence in support of non-​relational cosmopolitanism. To be sure, the far-​fetched scenario involving two individuals is far from an accurate description of the world today. Yet its point is not to offer such a description, but only to prove that our convictions about egalitarian justice do not depend on the presence of a basic structure or special relationships. And to do so, precisely those relationships have to be (counterfactually) assumed away. This is a familiar technique in causal reasoning. To establish that our headache does not depend on chocolate consumption, we stop eating chocolate and see whether the headache persists. Similarly, to prove that (our thinking about) justice does not depend on special relationships, we assume them away, and test whether our intuitions persist in such counterfactual—​relationship-​free—​scenarios. The foregoing discussion has shown that the use of idealizations in the arguments or evidence offered in support of a normative theory is not per se a source of concern. Resort to idealization as such does not make an argument a bad one—​though of course many arguments can contain idealizations and also be weak or unsuccessful, for reasons that are independent of the mere fact that they feature those idealizations. Let me finally turn to idealization at the level of the conditions of application of a normative theory. By “conditions of application,” I mean the circumstances under which its prescriptions hold. For example, consider the conditional prescription: “One ought to abide by the law if most of one’s fellow citizens comply with it.” The duty to abide by the law, here, applies in circumstances of near-​full compliance. But the above conditional prescription tells us nothing about what we should do when very few comply with the law. Several theories of international political morality are characterized by the presence of idealizations at the level of their conditions of application. Rawls’s “law of peoples” and contemporary revisionist theories of the just war are two prominent examples. Rawls’s principles of international justice are designed assuming a world populated

The Case for Ideal Theory    669 by societies that are fairly self-​contained, and independent of each other. This is also a world in which societies can be easily classified in the following mutually exclusive categories: well-​ordered peoples, burdened/​less-​developed societies, benevolent absolutisms, and rogue regimes. In a world populated by these types of societies, Rawls’s principles apply. It is of course almost superfluous to say that today’s world is far from the simplified one Rawls envisages (Shue 2002). Poor societies can also be rogue regimes. Liberal societies are often implicated in the institutional deficits of developing countries. Furthermore, societies are not relatively independent, but deeply interconnected through the global economy (Pogge 2001). What this means is that the prescriptions contained in Rawls’s eight principles may well not apply to, or be appropriate for, the world in which we live. Strictly speaking, they are silent about it. If we want the theory to be able to guide our action in real-​world circumstances, this form of idealization is of course problematic. That is, conditional on the aim of the theory being real-​world action guidance, idealizations in its conditions of application render the theory highly likely to be unsuccessful: we have very little reason to believe that principles that are appropriate for Rawls’s simplified world also work for ours. Though, if the aim of the theory is not to guide action in real-​world circumstances, but simply to outline a number of conditional prescriptions taking the form “In such and such circumstances, one ought to perform such and such actions,” then the presence of idealizations in the theory’s conditions of application is not per se problematic. In the case of Rawls’s theory of international justice, it seems interpretively plausible to suggest that The Law of Peoples is indeed meant to apply to existing circumstances—​ indeed, it is meant to guide the foreign policy of liberal societies. To that extent, the presence of idealizations in its conditions of application justifiably raises concerns. The charge of problematic idealization is warranted in this case (Valentini 2009). Let me now turn to just war theory. Key tenets of just war theory—​especially of jus in bello, as famously discussed by Michael Walzer (1977)—​are the moral equality of combatants and non-​combatant immunity. The former corresponds to the idea that combatants enjoy the same moral status independently of whether they are fighting on the “just side”; the latter to the idea that deliberately targeting non-​combatants is impermissible. Recently, the Walzerian—​“orthodox”—​paradigm has been challenged by so-​called “revisionist” just war theorists, who wish to tie the permissions and prohibitions applying to individuals in war to their moral liability (see e.g. McMahan 2009; Fabre 2012; Frowe 2014). The revisionist picture of the just war—​and of jus in bello specifically—​ seeks to make just war principles more “continuous” with ordinary peacetime morality and the ethics of self-​defence. On revisionist views, the status of combatants in war should depend on whether they are responsible for unjust threats. Furthermore, for revisionists, some non-​combatants may also be legitimate targets, to the extent that they share responsibility for serious enough wrongdoing. Partly due to their focus on individual defensive killing, revisionist just war theorists often develop their prescriptions against the background of highly stylized scenarios, some of which involve far-​fetched self-​defence situations—​e.g. ray-​guns and sizeable

670   Laura Valentini individuals falling down wells or bridges (e.g. Frowe 2014: 22; McMahan 2009: 172). The psychological duress, collectivist dimension, and uncertainty that characterize war are not given much weight. Although, as discussed earlier, the use of stylized scenarios serves useful theoretical purposes, it also casts doubt on whether the prescriptions arrived at by appeal to them are appropriate for their intended context of application: war (Shue 2008). Some contemporary revisionist just war theory, then, might also be susceptible to the charge of idealization, at least to the extent that its prescriptions are (i) meant to apply to war as we know it and yet (ii) have been developed and tested assuming circumstances that rarely obtain in real-​world wars (cf. Valentini 2017; Lazar and Valentini 2017). I shall return to this point in the next section. The foregoing discussion has shown that the presence of idealizations in a normative theory raises interesting concerns only when the idealizations are found in the theory’s conditions of application. In that case, there might be a mismatch between the theory’s prescriptions and the domain for which they are intended (i.e. the real world). If so, those prescriptions are ill-​suited to apply to existing circumstances. Otherwise, the presence of idealizations in the arguments offered in support of a theory is not per se problematic. And the presence of idealizations in the theory itself is problematic, but uninterestingly so: it simply means that the theory includes false propositions about its subject matter (be it international distributive justice, the just war, or something altogether different).

Responding to the Charge of Feasibility-​Insensitivity A second set of challenges raised against ideal theories of international political morality concerns their insensitivity to feasibility constraints. Once again, several such theories exist. Here are some well-​known examples: • Theories of global distributive justice, including the consequentialist view that one ought to give away all of one’s surplus resources to combat global poverty (Singer 1972), and the cosmopolitan egalitarian injunction to globalize Rawls’s difference principle (Beitz 1999; Pogge 1989). Both kinds of prescriptions appear to ignore feasibility constraints such as individuals’ lack of selfless altruism, and the absence of global institutions powerful enough to realize cosmopolitan global equality. • Theories of global democracy prescribing the democratization of global politics (e.g. Held 1995; Archibugi 2008; Marchetti 2008). These have been routinely accused of ignoring feasibility constraints, such as the lack of inclusive institutions at the global level, as well as the lack of a “global demos” (Miller 2010). • Revisionist theories of the just war that extend the ethics of self-​defence to contexts of war. These are often criticized for failing to take into account the psychological,

The Case for Ideal Theory    671 epistemic, and institutional feasibility constraints that are typical of wars. As a result (so the critique goes), if implemented, their prescriptions would be counterproductive: leading to more wrongful killing than alternative, orthodox prescriptions (e.g. Buchanan 2006; Shue 2008; cf. McMahan 2008). Once again, whether the charge of feasibility-​insensitivity is warranted or not depends on the particular theory we are looking at, and its specific aim. First, there is an entire class of theories for which feasibility constraints are immaterial, namely purely evaluative theories (Gilabert 2011). These theories do not aim to set out prescriptions and permissions, “oughts” and “mays.” Instead, they aim to develop standards of evaluation, allowing us to determine whether a given state of affairs is good or bad, just or unjust. Since such theories do not issue any “oughts,” they need not concern themselves with “cans”—​with what is possible or feasible. A state of affairs can be bad, unfair, or regrettable even if nobody is responsible for bringing it about, and nobody can remedy it. For example, a natural catastrophe without remedy can be bad, and perhaps even “unfair” or “unjust” if it hits a specific group of innocent individuals. So, to the extent that theories are meant to be exclusively evaluative—​hence not directly action-​guiding—​feasibility-​ insensitivity is not a concern (Gilabert 2011; Gheaus 2013; Valentini 2017: 19–​20). And it may very well be that some demanding cosmopolitan theories requiring global equality, or global democracy, are best understood as purely evaluative in this sense. They tell us that there is something to be regretted in the fact that our world is unequal, and globally undemocratic, even if bringing about a democratic and egalitarian world is currently not in anyone’s power. In doing so, these purely evaluative theories may play an important critical function, by highlighting the existence of problematic power relations—​even if they fail to provide a clear path to remedying them.3 But the retreat to pure evaluation is unlikely to satisfy critics, nor is it one that international political theorists will particularly want to undertake. For many, the whole point of theorizing about international political morality is to deliver prescriptions helping us to orient ourselves in the real world. And when theories are prescriptive, as opposed to purely evaluative, feasibility constraints matter: “oughts” are valid only when it is possible/​feasible for their addressees to act on them—​or so I shall assume for present purposes. There are two broad classes of feasibility-​insensitivity for normative theories. First, there are theories whose prescriptions are genuinely impossible to realize. Second, there are theories whose prescriptions are unlikely to be acted upon. In what follows, I consider each in turn. First, some theories may place demands on us that we simply cannot fulfil. Theories requiring global democracy or equality now might be of this kind. No matter how well-​ intentioned individuals or states might be, global equality or democracy are long-​term goals that cannot be brought about today. Any theory demanding their immediate realization would thus problematically fall foul of the “ought implies can” constraint (cf. Meckled-​Garcia 2008). That said, the most charitable reading of international political theories advocating global democracy or cosmopolitan equality is as evaluative theories, accompanied by ancillary prescriptions requiring existing agents to do what they

672   Laura Valentini “reasonably can” towards the achievement of these long-​term goals. A commitment to global democracy or cosmopolitan equality may thus give rise to what Pablo Gilabert (2012) calls “dynamic duties,” namely duties to gradually bring about conditions under which the demands of global justice (or global democracy) can be realized. These duties, however, would be constrained by feasibility considerations. Second, we can turn to theories issuing prescriptions that can be fulfilled, but whose fulfilment is unlikely. Peter Singer’s (1972) demanding principle of global beneficence is a case in point. People are simply unlikely to be motivated to donate as big a portion of their earnings as Singer recommends. In fact, faced with Singer’s extreme requests, they are likely to ignore them. Similarly, it might be argued that revisionist just war theory asks too much of those engaged in a war. The epistemic and psychological burdens it places on soldiers are so great that they are unlikely to be willing to carry them. Consequently, the institutionalization of revisionist just war theory risks being counterproductive: the relevant prescriptions and prohibitions are likely to be either ignored or misapplied (Shue 2008; McMahan 2008; Lazar and Valentini 2017). What to say about this line of critique? Several responses can be given. Each of them shows that “feasibility-​insensitivity” complaints directed at theories whose prescriptions are unlikely to be realized are not really about feasibility, but ultimately derive from deeper moral controversies. In some cases, a prescription being unlikely to be realized is just a symptom of the prescription being over-​demanding (Estlund 2011: 222–​3). For example, Singer’s “solution” to global poverty has come under attack precisely for this reason. Each individual, so the argument goes, should be allowed to give some priority to one’s own wellbeing and the wellbeing of those near and dear to one (Scheffler 1994). Yet Singer’s position on global justice ignores this morally salient fact. The “feasibility critique” here simply boils down to a substantive moral disagreement about the costs individuals may reasonably be asked to bear.4 Similar reflections can be advanced in the case of revisionist theorists of the just war: asking soldiers not to take up arms or not to defend themselves when in doubt about the justice of their cause may simply be too costly. In other cases, a theory’s being unlikely to be realized is not a symptom of its over-​ demandingness, but just a by-​product of people’s weakness of will or selfishness (Estlund 2014; 2011). In that case, the “feasibility” critique genuinely has no bite if the theory is meant to track “the morally right answer.” Yet the critique does have bite if the theory in question is meant to set out principles that should be efficacious when embodied in existing laws and institutions. For example, it may be that, in a fully just society, the tax rate on the richest segment of the population should be 70 per cent (I use a similar example in Valentini 2017: 26–​7). Yet, under existing circumstances, one can foresee that such a tax rate would result in considerable tax evasion, tax avoidance, and people relocating to other countries with a more favourable tax regime (cf. Estlund 2011). This being so, a theory setting out prescriptions to be embedded into institutions and policies should take account of likely compliance with them. This point is well understood by revisionist theorists of the just war, who are explicit about the fact that they are only setting out principles of the “deep” morality of war, rather than principles to be embedded in the “laws of war” (McMahan 2008; Lazar and Valentini 2017). The latter, revisionist

The Case for Ideal Theory    673 theorists admit, ought to instead take account of likely compliance and other feasibility considerations. In sum, whether the feasibility-​insensitivity critique applies or undermines a given theory depends on the aim of that theory. If the theory is purely evaluative, feasibility constraints are irrelevant to its validity. If the theory is prescriptive or normative, such constraints matter. Prescriptions must satisfy the “ought implies can” proviso. Yet they need not satisfy an “ought implies likely” constraint, as David Estlund (2011) has already argued at length. Whether moral demands are likely to be realized or not may matter morally only when low likelihood is a sign of over-​demandingness, or when principles are meant to offer policy or institutional prescriptions. Otherwise, the fact that one is unlikely to act on certain moral demands simply signals one’s moral weakness.

Conclusion In this chapter, I have offered a moderate defence of ideal theory in international political theorizing. I have suggested that critiques pointing to theories’ use of idealizations and insensitivity to feasibility constraints succeed only in a limited number of cases. Global democrats, cosmopolitan egalitarians, and revisionist just war theorists may be guilty of all sorts of mistakes in their theorizing, but the charge of “excessive idealism” is for the most part unlikely to suffice to invalidate their accounts. I have also, indirectly, shown that charges of excessive idealism are too indefinite to carry much significance. Instead of employing the catch-​all expression “ideal theory,” it is better to level one’s charges against each position one disagrees with, pointing to the presence of idealizations where none should be, or to the prescriptions issued by the target theory being too demanding, impossible to realize, or counterproductive when institutionalized. Without further explanation, a vague charge of “excessive idealism” carries very little, if any, weight.

Acknowledgements I am grateful to Chris Brown, Robyn Eckersley, Seth Lazar, Pietro Maffettone, and David Wiens for their helpful comments.

Notes 1. This chapter offers an application of ideas developed in Valentini (2009; 2017) and in List and Valentini (2016) to the domain of IPT in particular. 2. I am here setting aside the so-​called “realist” critique of Rawls-​inspired political theory. For discussion, see Duncan Bell’s contribution to this volume (Chapter 48). 3. I am grateful to the Editors of this Handbook for pointing this out to me.

674   Laura Valentini 4. Another critique of Singer’s view relates to its lack of sensitivity to the structural causes of poverty. A  policy change, oriented towards greater individual or state donations, in the absence of deeper structural reforms of the global economy, may contribute to perpetuating the status quo or possibly have detrimental effects. See e.g. Kuper (2002). This illustrates the general trade-​off between policy and structural reforms we are likely to face when trying to make the world more just.

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The Case for Ideal Theory    675 McMahan, J. (2008). The Morality of War and the Law of War. In D. Rodin and H. Shue (eds), Just and Unjust Warriors: The Moral and Legal Status of Soldiers (Oxford: Oxford University Press), 19–​43. McMahan, J. (2009). Killing in War (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Meckled-​Garcia, S. (2008). On the Very Idea of Cosmopolitan Justice: Constructivism and International Agency. Journal of Political Philosophy 16(3): 245–​7 1. Miller, D. (2010). Against Global Democracy. In K. Breen and S. O’Neill (eds), After the Nation: Critical Reflections on Post-​Nationalism (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan), 141–​60. Miller, D. (2013). Justice for Earthlings: Essays in Political Philosophy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Mills, C. W. (2005). “Ideal Theory” as Ideology. Hypatia 20(3): 165–​83. O’Neill, O. (1996). Towards Justice and Virtue: A Constructive Account of Practical Reasoning (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press). Pogge, T. (1989). Realizing Rawls (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press). Pogge, T. (2001). Rawls on International Justice. Philosophical Quarterly 51(203): 246–​53. Räikkä, J. (1998). The Feasibility Condition in Political Theory. Journal of Political Philosophy 6(1): 27–​40. Rawls, J. (1999a). A Theory of Justice (Oxford: Oxford University Press). Rawls, J. (1999b). The Law of Peoples: With “The Idea of Public Reason Revisited” (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press). Sangiovanni, A. (2007). Global Justice, Reciprocity, and the State. Philosophy & Public Affairs 35(1): 3–​39. Scheffler, S. (1994). The Rejection of Consequentialism:  A Philosophical Investigation of the Considerations Underlying Rival Moral Conceptions (Oxford: Clarendon Press). Sen, A. (2009). The Idea of Justice (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press). Shue, H. (2002). Rawls and the Outlaws. Politics, Philosophy & Economics 1(3): 307–​23. Shue, H. (2008). Do We Need a “Morality of War”? In D. Rodin and H. Shue (eds), Just and Unjust Warriors: The Moral and Legal Status of Soldiers (Oxford: Oxford University Press), 87–​111. Simmons, A. J. (2010). Ideal and Nonideal Theory. Philosophy & Public Affairs 38(1): 5–​36. Singer, P. (1972). Famine, Affluence, and Morality. Philosophy & Public Affairs 1(3): 229–​43. Stemplowska, Z. (2008). What’s Ideal about Ideal Theory? Social Theory and Practice 34(3): 319–​40. Stemplowska, Z., and A. Swift (2012). Ideal and Non-​Ideal Theory. In D. Estlund (ed.), The Oxford Handbook of Political Philosophy (New York: Oxford University Press), 373–​89. Valentini, L. (2009). On the Apparent Paradox of Ideal Theory. Journal of Political Philosophy 17(3): 332–​55. Valentini, L. (2012). Ideal vs. Non-​Ideal Theory:  A Conceptual Map. Philosophy Compass 7(9): 654–​64. Valentini, L. (2017). On the Messy Utopophobia vs Factophobia Controversy: A Systematization and Assessment. In M. Weber and K. Vallier (eds), Political Utopias (New  York:  Oxford University Press), 11–​34. Walzer, M. (1977). Just and Unjust Wars:  A Moral Argument with Historical Illustrations (New York: Basic Books). Wiens, D. (2012). Prescribing Institutions Without Ideal Theory. Journal of Political Philosophy 20(1): 45–​70. Wiens, D. (2015a). Against Ideal Guidance. Journal of Politics 77(2): 433–​46. Wiens, D. (2015b). Political Ideals and the Feasibility Frontier. Economics & Philosophy 31(3): 447–​77.

Index

Abizadeh, A. 389 Abrahamian, E. 277 Abrahamsen, R. 430 Abu-​Laban, K.  347 Abu-​Lughod, L.  347, 350 accountability 3 cross-​cultural accountabilities  460–2 for decentred political authority  456–8 definition of 453 in global economic governance  453–64 multi-​scale social strategies  458–60 proxy accountability  457–8 social accountability  459 transnational accountability  458, 459–60, 461–2, 463 unaccountable power problem  454–6 Acemoglu, D. 112 Acker, J. 88 Ackerly, B. 94 active denial system (ADS)  241 Actor Network Theory (ANT)  250 Adams, J. Q.  432 Adams, T. 248 Additional Protocols (API, 1977)  233, 235, 237 Adler, E.  39–40, 293, 294 Adorno, T. 75 ADS (active denial system)  241 Affiliated Network for Social Accountability in East Asia and the Pacific (ANSA)  461 African Union  395 Agamben, G.  80, 301 Agathangelou, A. M.  374–5 Agenda 21: 179, 533 ‘Agenda for Peace’  304 agent regret  137–8, 139 Ahrensdorf, P. J.  22, 24 aid aid for mutual benefit  552–7

divergence from duty of rescue from mass despair 549–52 ethical foundations of  546–57 to fragile states  555–6 and gay rights  549 historic rationales for  548–9 and human rights  549 aid agencies  295–6 air pollution  179 Albertyn, C. 352 Alderman, H. 591 Alezander, L. A.  55 Allan, P.  614, 618–19 Allen, C.  251, 252 Allott, P. 64 Althusser, L. 621 Alston, P. 304 Alter, K. J.  64 Altman, D.  371, 372 American Journal of International Law 66 American Political Science  52 American Revolution  291, 292 Amnesty International  296 Amon, J. J.  360 Amsterdam Declaration  467 analytical realism  642–4 anarchy 63 Anderson, E. 487 Anderson, S. 252 Andrieu, K. 157 Aneja, U. 323 Anghie, A.  24, 65, 68, 175 Annas, J.  588, 589, 590, 591 Anonymous 262 ANSA (Affiliated Network for Social Accountability in East Asia and the Pacific) 461 Anscombe, E. 588

678   Index ANT (see Actor Network Theory) Anthias, F.  347, 348, 349, 351–2 Anthropocene challenges to IPT  468–75 deep-​time interdependencies  470 and democracy  472–3 functional interdependence  469–70 and global governance  467–77 global inequality in  119–20, 123–4, 471–2 global interdependence  468–9 human agency, redefinition of  473–5 and uncertainty  471 Antigone (Sophocles)  21 antinomianism 591 API (Additional Protocols, 1977)  233, 235, 237 Apostolopoulos, Y. 87 Appiah, A. 290 Aquinas, T.  213, 215–16, 223 Arab Spring (Arab Awakening)  203, 233, 282–4 Arat, Z. F. K.  351 Archibugi, D.  387, 400, 420, 670 ARC International and ILGA  371 Arendt, H.  61, 291, 300, 390 authority  196, 197–8, 199 and critical theory  77 on Kant  575, 577 rules 204 violence 197–8, 279 Aristotle  577, 579–80, 583 eudaimonia 582 Nicomachean Ethics  590, 592–3, 594, 595 phronesis 576 Politics 593 Arkin, R. 251 Arkin, W. 238 Armitage, D.  22, 25, 61 Armstrong, C.  295, 492n2 Arneil, B. 347 Arnould, E. 514 Aron, R. 51 Arquilla, J.  248, 259 Arrighi, G. 662n6 Arthur, C. J. 662n8 Arthur, P. 154 Articles on Perpetual Peace (Kant)  63 Asimov, I.  252–3

associational justice  120–1, 122, 126 Association of Southeast Asian Nations (ASEAN) 310, 394–5 asylum seekers  521, 524 asymmetric conflict  233–44 associated targets  239–40 human shields  236, 237, 243 and IPT  234 nature of  235–6 participatory liability  238–41 proportionality 237 soft war  241–3 uniforms, lack of  236–7, 243 see also guerrillas/​guerrilla warfare atmospheric aerosol loading  474 Attfield, R.  180, 181, 183 Audi, R.  589, 590–1 Augustine of Hippo, St  22, 201, 210–11, 215–16 Austin, J.  62, 204 authority  196, 197–8, 199 humanitarian actors and  324–5 violence and  196–200 Autonomous Weapons Systems  248, 251 Axelrod, R.  54, 263 Aymara Indians, Bolivia  349 al-​Azami, M. M.  201 Bäckstrand, K. 457 Bacon, C. 514 Baechler, J. 590 Bainton, R. 201 Bai, X. 473 Baker, S. 181 Balibar, E. 77 Ball, D. 514 Bamberger, M. 515 Ban Ki-​moon  136, 320, 330, 371, 569 Barber, B. 435 Bargu, B. 80 Barham, B.  514, 515 Bar Joseph, U.  236, 239 Barkbu, B. 124 Barnes, M. 566 Barnett, M. humanitarianism  317, 324, 497, 503, 504, 565 republicanism 634

Index   679 Barry, B.  118, 181–2, 189, 402 Barry, C.  528–9 Barry, J. 635 Bartelson, J. 615 Bartkowski, M. 281 Bartley, T. 459 Bashir, O. 324 Bassel, L.  350–1, 353 Bassett, T.  514, 515 Basu, S. 94 Battaly, H. 589 Bauböck, R. 12 Bauer, P.  486–7 Bauman, Z. 249 Baxter, B.  183, 184, 188 Beardsworth, R. 629 Becchetti, L. 514 Becker, J. 304 Becker, L. C.  587 Becker Lorca, A.  65, 69 Beckerman, W.  181–2, 184, 185, 186, 187, 190n2 Beckett, J.  60, 63 Beck, U.  84, 471 Bedford, K. 379 Begby, E. 215 beheading 195, 206 Beissinger, M. 348 Beitz, C. R.  22, 54, 55, 118, 670 communitarianism  39, 40, 44–5 cosmopolitanism  37, 38, 39, 44–5 distributive justice  104, 105, 666 duty of assistance (DA)  485 and English School  55 ethical foreign policy  498, 499, 644 global democracy  417 human rights  44–5, 293, 299, 306, 307, 308 just war theory  223 LGBTQ rights  373–4 political legitimacy  402 and practical turn in liberal IPT  43 theory of justice  667 Belkin, A.  89, 90–1, 579 Bellamy, A.  203–4, 216, 217, 321, 335, 336 Bellamy, R.  627, 632 Bell, C. 159 Bell, D.  25, 634, 504 Bell, D. A.  345

Benhabib, S.  388, 402 Benjamin, W.  75, 198–200, 206 Benner, T.  456–7 Bentham, J. 62 Berlin, I. 585 Berman, N.  63, 65 Berman, S. 434 Besson, S. 44 Betts, A.  522, 523, 525 Betts, R. 583 Bevir, M.  217, 605 Bexell, M. 417 Bhuta, N. 325 Biene, J. 618 Biggar, N. 216 Bilal, S. 510 Billon, P. 514 bin Laden, O.  202 biocentrism 188 biodiversity loss  179, 187, 474 bioterrorism 361 Bismarck, O. von  65–6 Björkdahl, A. 161 Black, J. 457 Blair, J. 606 Blair, T. 645 Blake, M.  38, 176n1, 517n5, 526 coercion 106, 120 distributive justice  105, 106 Bleiker, R.  575–6, 600 Bloch, M. 216 Bloor, D. 577 Blum, G. 317 Boas, I. 469 Bob, C. 310 Bodin, J. 22 Boellstorff, T. 372 Boesenecker, A. 161 Bohman, J.  78, 400, 422, 445, 631, 632 Boisen, C. Boko Haram  556 Bolivia 349, 514 Boltanski, L. 409 Bonacker, T. 155 Booth, K.  50, 498, 500 borders, control of  520–2 Borg, J. S.  606

680   Index Borradori, G. 80 Börzel, T. A.  309 Bosanquet, B. 26 Boucher, D. 41 Bourguignon, F. 487 Boutros-​Ghali, B Bouvet, H. 213 Bovens, M. A. P.  460 Bowen, J. 351 Bowles, S. 431 boycotts 273 Boyle, J. 60 Brahimi Report  321 Braidotti, R. 437 brain drain  527–9 Braithwaite, J. 150 Brandt, R. B.  590 Brasset, J. 41 Braun, M. 214 Brecke, P. 600 Brett, A. 69 Brexit controversy  83 Bridoux, J.  429, 432, 433 Brilmayer, L. 143 Brincat, S. 614 Brock, G. 516n2, 527 Bromley, P. 170 Brondizio, E. S.  467 Brown, C.  3, 24, 36, 40–1, 139, 166, 216, 217, 268, 306, 613, 654, 662n1 ethical foreign policy  499 history of IR  49, 50 Brown, G. W.  362 Brown, L. D.  455, 459 Brownlie, I. 27 Brown, T. 361 Brown, W.  80, 659 Brubaker, R. 348 Brunkhorst, H.  79, 387–8 Brunstetter, D. 214 Brysk, A. 304 Buchanan, A.  299, 488, 671 cosmopolitanism 37, 38, 39 global democracy  415, 418, 422, 423 humanitarianism 316 international law  44–5 political legitimacy  400, 401, 408, 410 and practical turn in liberal IPT  43

Buchanan, B. 266 Buckinx, B. 410 Buck-​Morss, S.  81, 82 Bukovansky, M. 132 Bulley, D. 41 Bull, H.  22, 40, 50, 55, 499, 503, 504 Bunch, C.  350, 351 Burchill, S. 156 Burgis-​Kasthala, M.  149 burqa ban  343, 353 Burrage, H.  345, 350 Bush, G. W.  240, 542 Butler, J.  80, 89 Butterfield, H. 504 Butterfield, R. 209 Byers, M. 68 Cabrera, L.  388, 400 Callicott, J. B.  188 Callinicos, A. 658 calmative agents  241 Calo, M.  514, 515 Cambodia  293, 461, 462 Cameron, D. 376 Campaign to Stop Killer Robots  251 Campbell, M. 150 Canada: indigenous peoples  172–3 Canadian International Development Agency (CIDA) 560 Cancun, United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change (COP-​16)  535 Canetti, D. 241 Caney, S.  120, 162, 358, 484, 562, 667 capital punishment  198 capitalism 652–3, 655–61 and class  655–6 Marx’s critique of  659–61 monopoly capitalism  657 Caraway, T. L.  124 care: and humanitarianism  563–7 care ethics  95 Carens, J. H.  520, 531n1 Carr, E. H.  50, 51, 498, 504, 646, 649, 650 Carter, A. 282 Casebeer, W. D.  604 Cass, D. 62

Index   681 Cassese, A.  144–5 Cavelt, D.  262–3 CBD (Convention on Biological Diversity)  533 CBDR (common but differentiated responsibility) principle  533, 534, 537, 539 Celis, K. 353 censorship 242 Centre for International Development Issues, Netherlands 515 Centres for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) 361 Chad 550, 556 Chamayou, G.  248–9 Chamberlain, N. 23 Chambers, S. 441 Chang, H.-​J.  122, 124 Chappell, T.  587, 588 Charlesworth, H. 88 Charter 77, Czechoslovakia  278, 502 Chase-​Dunn, C. 662n6 chemical pollution  474 chemical weapons  241 Chemical Weapons Convention (1992)  241 Chenoweth, E. 282 Chen, S.  471–2 Chesterman, S.  455–6, 457 Chhachhi, A. 564 Chicago Tribune 209 Chiesura, A.  183, 184, 186, 187, 188, 189 Chimni, B. S.  145 Chopra, M. 531n2 Choucri, N.  264, 267 Christianity 200–1 Christiano, T. 418 Christine de Pisan  213, 215 Christov, T. 25 Churchill, W.  22, 23, 580 Cicero (Marcus Tullius Cicero)  21 CIDA (see Canadian International Development Agency) circumstantial luck  133–5, 140 civil disobedience  273, 274 civil resistance  273 antagonists and  280–1 concept of  274–7 and democratic outcomes  281–3 power politics and nonviolent struggle 277–80

civil society participation  445, 447 Clapper, J. 263 Clarke, J. 622n3 Clarke, K. M.  150 Clarke, R. 253 Clarke, R. A.  265–6 Clark, G. 51 Clark, G. K.  216, 217 Clark, H. 239 Clark, I.  23, 68, 212 Claude, I. 169 Clausewitz, C. von  27, 199, 262 Cleckly, H. 606 Clément, M.  618, 621 climate change  134, 138, 184–5, 474 aid for mitigation of  556–7 climate models  471 and inequality  182 and migration  469 temperature target  475 climate debt  470 climate equity  533–44 challenges for  535–7 real-​world climate efforts  541–3 climate migrants  470 Clinton, H.: gay rights  371, 372, 374, 375 Cmeil, K. 292 Codex Florentino 26 coercion democracy and  388–9 distributive justice and  105, 106 human rights and  313 inequality and  120 nonviolent coercion  276–7 R2P and 334 violence and  198 cognitive overload  249–50 Cohen, J. L.  78–9, 81, 82, 150, 306, 388 Cold War  145, 278, 321, 495, 501, 502, 548 Cole, P.  520, 526 collateral damage  250, 296–7 Collier, P.  111–12 Collingwood, R. G.  24 Collins, R. 327 colonialism 112, 197 Commission on Social Determinants of Health (CSDH)  363

682   Index common but differentiated responsibility (CBDR) principle  533, 534, 537, 539 communicable diseases  357 communitarianism  39–41, 42, 44–5 constructivist (new) communitarianism 39–40 cosmopolitan/​communitarian debate  35–7, 40–1, 42, 55 conditionality  124, 313, 514, 548, 549, 551, 554 Conference on Security and Cooperation in Europe (CSCE)  502 Confucius 27 Connelly, J. 189 Connor, W. 344 Conrad, J. 266 constitutive luck  137–9, 140 constructivism 3–4 constructivist (new) communitarianism 39–40, 42–3 contemporary asymmetric war: challenges of 234–44 contestatory democracy  628 contingent pacifism  222 Convention 169 Concerning Indigenous and Tribal Peoples in Independent Countries 170, 171 Convention on Biological Diversity (CBD) 533 Convention on Crimes Against Humanity 304 Convention on Preventing and Combating Violence against Women and Domestic Violence 146 Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination against Women  359 Convention on the Rights of the Child  359 Cook, J. 268 Cook, R.  499–500 Cooley, A.  305, 309 COP-​16 (United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change, Cancun) 535 COP-​19 (United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change, Warsaw) 539 COP-​20 (United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change, Lima) 539

COP-​21 (Paris Agreement, United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change) 472, 475, 534–5, 539–40, 542 Cordesman, A. H.  238–9 Cornish, P. 267 cosmopolitan democracy  631 cosmopolitan equality  671–2 cosmopolitanism  35–9, 40, 42, 44–5, 290–1 cosmopolitan/​communitarian debate  35–7, 40–1, 42, 55, 175 critical theory and  74, 76–8, 84 Habermas and  76, 78 and minority rights  171–2 and political legitimacy  406 and R2P  331–3, 334, 336, 337 republican cosmopolitanism  78 rooted cosmopolitanism  173 and sovereignty  332 terrestrial cosmopolitanism  171–3 Costanza, R.  183, 185, 186 Costa Rica  511–12 Cottingham, J. 601 Council of Castile  24 Council of Europe Convention on Preventing and Combating Violence against Women and Domestic Violence 146 European Charter for Regional or Minority Languages 170, 171 Framework Convention for the Protection of National Minorities (FCNM)  170, 171, 176nn7&8 Covell, C.  22, 25, 27 Cover, R. 205 Cox, R.  7, 76, 495, 662n7 Crane, R. S.  300 Craven, M.  63, 68, 69 Crawford, N. C.  239, 600–1, 602 Crenshaw, K. 354n3 crimes against humanity  63, 67, 149, 155, 332, 496 Crisp, R. 588 critical theory  3–4, 7, 74–84 critiques of empire  81–3 future of sovereignty  83–4 Habermasian 76–9 and international relations  75–6

Index   683 post-​structural responses to war on terror 79–81 Cronin, A. K.  618 cross-​cultural accountabilities  460–2 Crutzen, P. 467 CSCE (see Conference on Security and Cooperation in Europe) CSDH (see Commission on Social Determinants of Health) cultural difference  39 cultural identity  343, 348 cultural rights  310 currency speculation  124–5 Curren, R. 179 Cushman, F 603 Cutler, A. C.  455 Cutler, C. 405 cyber espionage  267 cyber justice  268 cyber security  259–69 cyber conflict, nature of  263–5 cyber espionage  267 cyber institutions and governance  267–8 cyber power and force, nature of  265–6 cyber threat, nature of  262–3 definitional issues  261–2 legalist/​moralist debate  268 Sony Hack  260, 263 cyber warfare  241–2 Daase, C.  614, 615, 618, 621 Dagger, R.  627, 635 Dahbour, O. 388 Dahl, H. M.  95 Dahl, R. A.  400 Dallmayr, F. R.  461 Daly, H.  181–2, 183, 185, 186 Damasio, A. 602 D’Amato, A. 60 D’Amico, F. 371 Daniels, N. 358 Dany, C. 447 Darby, D. 365 Darfur conflict  324 Darwin, C. 256 d’Aspremont, J. 63

Das, R. 588 Davidson, D. 576 Davies, S. E.  361 DDoS (distributed denial of service)  264 De Búrca, G.  408 Declaration of the Five Cabinets, Aix-​la-​Chapelle  66 Declaration on the Establishment of a NIEO 145–6 Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous People  170, 171, 175, 176n6 Declaration on the Rights of Persons Belonging to National or Ethnic, Religious or Linguistic Minorities 170, 171 deep-​time interdependencies  470 deforestation 179 de Groot, R.  183, 184, 186, 187, 188, 189, 223 Deitelhoff, N. 446 De jure belli ac pacis (Grotius)  148 de la Boétie, É.  274 de la Chapelle, B.  267 deliberation and deliberative democracy  441–3 development of  443–6 empirical evidence  446–9 and global governance  440–50 deliberative democracy  345–6, 441–3, 444–5, 446–7, 448–9 deliberative supranationalism  444 Demchak, C. 267 democracy 3 ‘all affected’ approach  388, 391–3, 396 ‘all subjected’ approach  388, 389, 390 Anthropocene and  472–3 common activities approach  389–90, 392–5 contestatory democracy  628 deliberative democracy  345–6 democracy support  428–31 democratic transformation, directions for 394–8 ethics of promotion of  427–38 global democracy  387, 390, 400 and global governance  385–98 and global political legitimacy  400–11 procedural democracy  350–2 and republicanism  628

684   Index democracy (cont.) social movements  398 and sovereignty  404 substantive democracy  345–6 transnational democracy, scope of  388–94 varied liberal ethics and democracy promotion 431–4 see also global democracy democracy promotion  428–38 ethics of  431–4 ethics of alternative models  434–7 democracy support  428–31 depoliticization of democracy promotion 428 ethics of  431–4 liberal consensus on democracy in promotion 429 local ownership in policy agenda  430 Democratic League of Kosovo (LDK)  239 Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC)  321, 322, 326 Dennett, D. 415 deontology 587–92, 597 Department for International Development (DFID) 553, 555 Der Derian, J.  23 Derrida, J.  80, 205 de Sousa Santos, C. A.  78, 84 deterrence 264–5 Deudney, D.  630–1, 634 Deveaux, M.  346, 351, 352 Devetak, R.  630–1 Dewey, J.  402–3 DFID (see Department for International Development) Dhamoon, R. K.  347, 354n3 Dhawan, N. 161 dignity 306, 364–5 Dingwerth, K. 445 Dipert, R. R.  268 direct-​deliberative polyarchy  444 Discourses, The (Machiavelli)  50 distributed denial of service (see DDoS) distributive justice  147, 423: see also global distributive justice Dobson, A.  180, 181, 187, 188 Doctors without Borders (Médecins Sans Frontières, MSF)  295, 300, 323–4, 569

Dollar, D. 549 Dombrowski, P. 267 Domingo, F. C.  259 dominium 628 Donaghue v. Stevenson 579 Doppelt, G. 39 Doris, J. M.  590 Douglas, L. 67 Douthat, R. 230 Douzinas, C.  77, 79, 373 dowries: India 350 Doyle, M.  39, 49 Dragusanu, R. 515 Drahos, P. 150 drones 247–50 Drucker, P. 372 Dryzek, J. S.  180, 397, 400, 406, 442, 473 global democracy  416, 420–1, 423–4, 445, 446 republicanism 632, 635 Dua, E. 173 Dübgen, F. 616 Duggan, L.  375–6 Dumont, L. 230 Duncombe, C. 621 Dunne, T. 613 Dunn, J. 25 Durkheim, E. 225 duties of rescue  546–57 aid for mutual benefit  552–7 duty of rescue from catastrophe  546, 550 duty of rescue from mass despair  547, 549–52, 553, 554–5 duty of assistance (DA) concreteness of  486–8 content of  485–92 precision of  488–92 and public policy  486–9, 492 Rawls 483–4, 485 Duvall, R. 267 Dworkin, R.  61, 421 Earth Summit, Rio de Janeiro  533 earth system boundaries  474–5 Earth System Governance Project  476 Eberle, C. J.  268 Ebrahim, A. 459

Index   685 Eckersley, R.  472, 541 ecocentrism 188 ecologism 188 Economic and Social Council (ECOSOC) 396 economic warfare  241–2 Edkins, J.  563, 564 Edmonds, D. 581 education inequality  119 Ehrenreich, B. 256 Eichengreen, B. 125 Ekins, P.  183–4, 185, 188 Elder, S.  514, 515 electromagnetic weapons  241 Elements of the Philosophy of Right (Hegel)  28 Elias, N. 203 El-​Khawas, M. A. 531n2 Elliott, M. A.  225, 230 Elshtain, J. B.  91, 201, 215 Elster, J.  447, 600 Emejulu, A. 353 emotions 600–9 empire 81–2 empirical inquiry  10–11 empirical research  4–5, 8 EMU (European Monetary Union)  83 Enemark, C. 212 Engels, F. 662n2 English School  3, 42, 55–6: see also Bull, H. Enloe, C.  88, 91, 92 Enquiry into the Foundation and History of International Law in Europe, An (Ward) 68 environmental governance  38–9 environmental justice: and sustainability 179–90 Epstein, H. 549 Eriksen, E. O.  444 Erman, E. 408 Eslava, L.  61, 65 Estlund, D.  10, 415, 672, 673 ethical foreign policy  495–505, 644 ethical reasoning  41–2, 43 Ethics (Spinoza)  28 ethics of care care and humanitarianism  563–7 feminist practical  559–70 IPT and  560–3

ethics of recognition  612–22 literature on  613–15 ethnic cleansing  153, 167, 332 Euben, P. 138 European Charter for Regional or Minority Languages 170, 171 European Council  429 European Monetary Union (EMU)  83 Evans, G.  333, 499, 500 Evans, T. 364 ‘Evidence’ (Asimov)  252–3 expectations: horizon of  25–6, 27, 28, 29 experiences: space of  25–6, 28 Fabre, C.  196, 226, 666, 669 Fabry, M. 622n2 fair trade  508–16 alternative approach  513–16 banana farming  512, 514 coffee growers  512, 515 practice-​based accounts of  509–13 and public policy  508–16 Falk, R. A.  60 Fanon, F.  197, 199, 206, 616, 621 FARC-​EP (Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia-​People’s Army)  618–19 Fariss, C. J.  304 Farmer, P. 358 Farrell, A. 351 Farrell, H. 305 Farrelly, C.  423, 666 FAS (Federation of American Scientists) 238–9 Fass, A. 472 Fassin, D.  299, 316–17 fasting 273 feasibility challenge to realism  641–4 economic feasibility  643–4 feasibility-​insensitivity  670–3 political feasibility  112–13, 643–4 feasibility constraints  8, 9, 407, 415–16, 420, 665 democracy 385, 400 insensitivity to  670–3 Federation of American Scientists (FAS) 238–9

686   Index Feinberg, J. 133 Feldman, I. 290 female genital mutilation (FGM)  12, 308, 345, 350–1 female prostitution  91 feminism feminist theory  3–4 practical ethics of care  559–70 feminist IPT  87–97 applicability of  96–7 gender and sexuality, signification of  92–6 gender, meaning of  89–92 women in global politics  88–9 Feminist Majority Foundation (FMF)  351 Ferree, M. M.  351 Ferretti, M. P.  448 Ferris, E. G.  323 Festa, L. 300 FGM (female genital mutilation)  12, 308, 345, 350–1 Fierke, K. 562 financial aid  486–7 Financial Transaction Tax (Tobin Tax)  124–5 Finkelstein, L. S.  405 Finnemore, M.  305, 529 Fishkin, J. S.  441, 442 Fixdal, M. 268 Flathman, R. 197 Fletcher, G. F.  222 Flockhart, T. 613 Floyd, J. 409 FMF (Feminist Majority Foundation)  351 Foot, P.  588, 603 Foot, R.  501, 502 Ford, H. 209 foreign policy  495–505 definition of 497 ethics and  497–501 Forsberg, T.  616, 617 Forsythe, D. P.  230 Forsyth, M. 22 Fossum, J. E.  444 Foucault, M.  61, 195, 199, 200, 307 Fox, J.  455, 459 Framework Convention for the Protection of National Minorities (FCNM)  170, 171, 176nn7&8

Francis of Assisi, St  22 Franck, T.  64, 146, 147 Franke, K. 377 Frankfurt School  74, 75, 84 Fraser, N.  77–8, 346, 365–6, 442, 613, 614, 621 Frazer, E. 80 Frazer, M. L.  601 Frede, D. 587 Fredman, S. 150 Freeden, M.  432, 453–4, 461 freedom fighters  235–6 Freedom House  305, 309 Freeman, S. 484 French, P. 132 French Revolution  291, 292 Friedman, A. 241 Friedman, M.  52–3 Friedrich, D. 448 friendships 526 Frost, M.  42, 53, 55 Frowe, H.  666, 669–70 Fukuda-​Parr, S.  596 functional interdependence: new types of 469–70 Fung, A.  392, 397, 410, 411n2 Furceri, D. 124 Gacaca tribunals, Rwanda  155, 160 Gadamer, H. G.  582 Gage, P. 602 Galaz, V. 474 Gallagher, A. 334 Gallie, W. B.  306, 434 Gallup, J.  111–12 Galston, W. 483 Galston, W. A.  283, 415 Galtung, J. 206n3 game theory  52 Gammon, E. 600 Gandhi, M. K.  23, 274–6, 279 García-​Godos, J.  619 Gardam, J.  296–7 Garretón, M. A.  280 Gartzke, E.  260, 262, 264, 266, 267 Garvey, N. 459 Garwood-​Gowers, A.  333

Index   687 Gas War, Bolivia  349 Gathii, J. T.  145, 146 Gaventa, J. 459 Gavison, R. 225 gay rights  371, 372, 374–9, 549: see also LGBTQ rights Gazzaniga, M. 605 Gbagbo, L. 321 GCF (Green Climate Fund)  542–3 Gearty, C. 373 Geers, K. 265 gender theory  3–4, 94 Geneva Conventions  233, 255, 293, 318 genocide  139, 146–7, 149, 167, 332, 503 Rwanda 155, 160 Gentili, A. 213 Gentz, F. von  50 geo-​engineering  469–70 George, A. L.  265 Gerstenberg, O. 444 Geuss, R.  409, 415, 595, 596, 644–5, 646, 649–50 Gheaus, A. 671 Gibney, M. 524 Gibson-​Graham, J. K.  156 Gilabert, P.  9, 120, 415, 642, 665, 671, 672 Gilligan, C.  560–1, 562–3, 565 Gill, S. 662n7 Gilman, N.  145, 146 Gindin, S. 658 Gintis, H. 431 Giovanni da Legnano  213–14 Givoni, M. 324 Gladwell, M. 312 Glanville, L. 335 global climate governance  470 global constitutionalism  79 global democracy  387, 390, 400, 414–24, 435–6, 670, 671–2 empirical constraints on construal of 415–18 empirical constraints on promotion of 418–21 moral concerns  421–4 moral constraints on construal of  421–2 moral constraints on promotion of  422–4 global distributive justice  103–16, 666, 670

application of principles of  111–12 conceptualization of subject matter of 114–15 content of principles of  107–11 desirabilty 113 formulation of questions of  114 possibility and political feasibility  112–13 scope of  104–7 global economic governance  453–64 cross-​cultural accountabilities  460–2 for decentred political authority  456–8 definition of 453 multi-​scale social strategies  458–60 proxy accountability  457–8 social accountability  459 transnational accountability  458, 459–60, 461–2, 463 unaccountable power problem  454–6 global egalitarianism  118–27 associational justice  120–1, 122 global inequality  119–20 justificatory respect  121, 126 membership-​dependent cosmopolitanism 120–2, 126 practice, context, and critique  126–7 reforms 122–5 Global Environmental Facility  542–3 global freshwater use  474 global governance  385–98 Anthropocene and  467–77 deliberation 440–50 democratic deficit  386–8 democratic transformation, directions for 394–8 social movements  398 transnational democracy, scope of  388–94 global governance networks  457 global inequality  119–20, 123–4, 471–2 global interdependence: new types of  468–9 globalization: democratic deficit  386–8 globalized sovereignty  629–30, 631, 636 global justice theory  3 global legal pluralism  78–9 global poverty  111, 119–20, 125, 339, 543, 550, 553, 635, 642–3, 666, 670, 672 global sexuality politics  370, 372 global warming  179

688   Index Goerzig, C. 618 Goetz, A.-​M.  455 Golder, B. 307 Goldstein, J. 91 Goldstone, D. J.  268 Goodhart, M.  422, 455 Goodin, R.  391, 402, 418, 423, 482 Good Kill (film)  255 Goodman, W. 265 Goodwin, B. 254 Goodwin-​Gill, G. S.  27 Gorbachev, M. 502 Gordon, J. 242 Gordon, U. 174 Gornitzka, A. 448 Gosine, A. 379 Gould, C. 418 Gould, H. 205 governance institutions: democratic deficit 386–8 Gramsci, A.  279, 658–9 Grant, R. W.  400, 455 Grasso, M. 541 Gratian (Flavius Gratianus Augustus)  215–16 Gready, P. 150 Great Recession  122 green capitalism  189 Green Climate Fund (GCF)  542–3 Greene, J.  603–4 green political theory  3–4 Grewal, I. 347 Grewe, W. 68 Griggs, D.  179, 181–2, 185 Gronau, J.  615–16 Gross, M. 212 Gross, M. L.  266 Grotius, H. ( Hugo de Groot)  21–2, 27, 49, 61, 148, 213, 215–16 group polarization  443, 449 groupthink 443, 448 Guardian Datablog  235 Guelff, R. 27 guerrillas/​guerrilla warfare  233, 235–7, 238–9, 242 just warfare  243–4 political wings  239, 240 Guetzkow, H. S.  269

Guitton, C. 262 Gulf War (1991)  217, 261 Gustafsson, K.  614, 617, 621 Gutner, T. 408 Guzman, A. 68 Haacke, J. 614 Haas, P. M.  471 Habermas, J.  75, 80, 81, 83, 306, 346, 420, 444, 449 critical theory  76–9 international legal system  74, 150 Hadfield, A. 497 Hafner-​Burton, E.  309, 313 Haidt, J.  603, 606–7 Haldemann, F. 620 Hall, I.  25, 50, 217 Halsaa, B. 351 Hansen, L. 262 Hansen, T. O.  155 Hanson, D. 23 happiness (eudaimonia) 581, 582 Hardt, M.  81–2 Harel, A. 238 Hare, R. 606 Harraway, D. 436 Harries, R. 217 Hart, H. L. A.  204, 579 Harvey, D.  351, 658 Haskell, T.  291, 300 Haufler, V.  405, 455 Hauser, M. 603 Havel, V. 278 Haydar, B. 492n3 Hayden, P. 613 Hayward, T. 188 headhunting 195, 206 health 357–67 as basic human right  358–60 infectious diseases  361–2 pandemics 361 poverty and  363–6 recognition theory approach to human rights 364–6 social determinants of  360–3 health inequalities  119, 362, 364, 366

Index   689 health security  360–3 Heathcote, G. 65 Hegel, G. W. F.  28, 50, 56, 118, 622n1, 660 Hehir, A.  204, 335 Heins, V.  613, 614, 621 Hekman, S. 95 Held, D.  27, 387, 400, 420, 436, 455, 631, 670 Helsinki Accords  55, 278, 292 Helsinki Final Act, Conference on Security and Cooperation in Europe (CSCE)  502 Helsinki Watch Committees  502 Henkin, L. 304 Herodotus 21 Herz, J.  504, 646, 647 Hess, D. 280 Heymann, J. 567 Heyward, M. 538 Heywood, M. 366 Hezbollah 203, 237 Higate, P. 91 High Ambition Coalition  539–40 Hill, C. 497 Hill Collins, P. 354n3 Hinton, A. L.  158 Hitler, A.  22, 23, 67 HIV/​AIDS  357, 366, 531n2, 550 HMI (Human Machine Interaction)  250 Hobbesian tradition  23 Hobbes, T.  22, 23, 25, 28, 29–30, 60–1 Hobsbawn, E.  214–15, 657 Hobson, C. 616 Hobson, J. A.  432 Hoffman, M. J.  537 Hoffmann, S.  648–9 Höglund, K. 161 Holland, T. E.  63 Hollinger, D. 291 Hollis, M. 498 Holst, C. 448 Holsti, K. 498 homocapitalism 378–9 homocolonialism 377–8 homonationalism 376–7 homonormativity 375–6 homosexuality 91–2 Honig, B. 464 Honneth, A.  364, 365

Hoover, J. 373 Hopgood, S.  155, 292 Hopwood, B. 180 Horkheimer, M.  75, 76 Horton, K. 487 Hovell, D. 64 Howard, M. 247 Howse, R.  63, 65 HRW (Human Rights Watch)  240 Hughes, C.  460, 462 Hughes, J. 235 Hull, I. 69 human capital  183, 184–5, 186, 187 human dignity  255–6 humanitarian action  38–9, 316–27 conflicting values  324–5 individualization of war  317–18 values and principles  318–19 see also United Nations (UN ) humanitarian intervention  66, 139, 203, 223, 224, 229: see also responsibility to protect (R2P) doctrine humanitarianism  289–301, 497, 503–4 activities 297–9 care and  563–7 humanity and history  290–3 and human rights, differences between 293–4 principles 295–7 purpose of  294–5 relationship to politics  297 and sovereignty  299–300 and suffering  300–1 Humanitarian NGOs  323–4 humanitarian warfare  39 Human Machine Interaction (HMI)  250 human rights  44–5, 76–8, 289–301, 304–14, 501–2, 549 activities 297–9 empirical problems  309–12 foundations 305–7 gay rights as  374–9 and humanitarianism, differences between 293–4 humanity and history  290–3 impact assessments  393–4 and international migration  520–31

690   Index human rights (cont.) LGBTQ rights as  370–2 multipolarity 312–13 personhood 307–8, 310 principles 295–7 purpose of  294–5 recognition theory  364–6 and sovereignty  299–300 structural problems  305–8 and suffering  300–1 see also health Human Rights Charter  310 Human Rights Committee  359 human rights institutions  43 human rights movement  64 Human Rights Watch (HRW)  240 human shields  236, 237, 243 Hume, D.  52, 61, 576, 578, 584–5, 601, 602, 604 Humphrey, M. 620 Hunter, I. 61 Hunters, The (Salter)  255 Hunt, L.  291, 292 Hurka, T.  588, 590 Hurrell, A.  42–3, 418 Hursthouse, R.  590, 591, 592 Hutchings, K.  41, 76, 80, 95, 159, 559, 570n1 Hutchinson, J. F.  299–300 Hutchison, E. 600 Huyse, L. 160 IBON International  396 ICANN (see International Corporation for Assignment Names and Numbers) ICC (see International Criminal Court) ICESCR (see International Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights) ICIs (international cooperative initiatives) 538 ICISS (see International Commission on Intervention and State Sovereignty) ICJ (see International Court of Justice) ICRC, see International Committee of the Red Cross idealism 647 ideal theory  10, 664–73 definition of  665–6

feasibility-​insensitivity  670–3 idealizations 666–70 IFRC (International Federation of Red Cross and Red Crescent Societies)  290 Ignatieff, M. 503 IHL (international humanitarian law)  233, 234, 251, 296–7, 325 IHRL (international human rights law)  74, 77, 84, 325 IICK (Independent International Commission on Kosovo)  136–7 IISS (International Institute of Strategic Studies) 238 Ikäheimo, H.  612, 614 Iliev, R. 263 ILO (International Labour Organization)  170, 171, 396 IMF (International Monetary Fund)  124, 514, 554 Imhof, S. 514 immigration  38–9, 123: see also migration impartiality  296, 299, 318, 319, 320–1 imperialism theory  81–2, 657–8 imperium 628 independence  295, 296, 318 Independent Expert on Sexual Orientation and Gender Identity (SOGI)  371 Independent International Commission on Kosovo (IICK)  136–7 indigenous peoples  349–50 individual rights: and just war theory (JWT) 221–31 inequality 311 climate change and  182 and coercion  120 education inequality  119 global inequality  119–20, 123–4, 471–2 health inequality  119, 357 sustainable development and  182 wealth inequality  119 infectious diseases  361–2 innocent causation  138 input legitimacy  402–3 insurgents 243–4 Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC)  134, 179, 180, 184, 471 international anarchy  445–6

Index   691 International Bank for Reconstruction  548 International Commission on Intervention and State Sovereignty (ICISS)  136, 330, 568–9 International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC)  251, 293, 299–300 core principles  295, 296–7 international cooperative initiatives (ICIs) 538 International Corporation for Assignment Names and Numbers (ICANN)  261, 267 International Court of Justice (ICJ)  145, 148 International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights 359 International Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights (ICESCR) 358–9, 362–3 International Criminal Court (ICC)  63, 145, 149, 155, 156–7, 304 international criminal justice  66–7 International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda (ICTR) 149 International Criminal Tribunal for the Former Yugoslavia (ICTFY)  149 International Federation of Red Cross and Red Crescent Societies (IFRC)  290 International Finance Corporation, World Bank Group  554 international humanitarian law (IHL)  233, 234, 251, 296–7, 325 international human rights law (IHRL)  74, 77, 84, 325 International Institute of Strategic Studies (IISS) 238 international justice  143–51 concept of  146–8 as international criminal justice  149–50 statist theory  666 International Labour Organization (ILO)  170, 171, 396 international law (IL)  60–9, 143–51, 175, 227–8 Charter/​Westphalian order  144–5 classical international law  62–3 critique of 65 historical turn  68–9 and international relations  68 modern international law  63–5

normativity and centralization  63–4 war and crime  65–7 international legal positivism  62–3 international migration: human rights and 520–31 International Monetary Fund (IMF)  124, 514, 455 International Organization for Migration (IOM) 530 international political theory (IPT) capabilities approach  593–7 and IR  35–6 practical turn  43–4, 481–3 Rawls’ duty of assistance  483–4 and real world politics  481–92 international relations (IR)  3–4, 10, 39–41, 495–505 constructivist IR theory  56–7 ethics and foreign policy  497–501 history of  48–51 and international law  68 and IPT  35–6 normative political theory and  54–6 phronesis 24 realist/​pluralist traditions  38 scientific study of  51–4 international thought, history of  21–30, 56 emblematic past  22–3, 26, 28 experiences/​expectations  25–6 historical past  25, 26 practical past  23–4, 26 intersectionality  310, 349, 352–3, 354n3 intervention  3, 66, 499 IOM (International Organization for Migration) 530 IPCC (Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change)  134, 179, 180, 184, 471 Iraq War (2003)  205 Irish Republican Army (IRA)  243 Iser, M.  613, 620, 621–2 Ishay, M. R.  306 Isidore of Seville  213 Isiksel, T. 79 IS/​ISIS  236, 262, 371 Islam 343, 347 Muslim culture  345–6 Muslim women  352–3 and violence  201–2

692   Index Islamic extremism  195 Islamic State (IS/​ISIS)  236, 262, 371 Islamophobia 353 is/​ought statements  52, 222, 604, 605 Israel Ministry of Foreign Affairs  236 Issacharoff, I. 238 JAB (see jus ad bellum) Jackson Preece, J.  169, 176n4 Jackson, P. T.  597 Jacobs, M.  180, 183, 185, 186 Jahn, B. 24 James, A.  107, 108, 416, 509–11, 512 Janis, I. L.  443 Jardine, M.  238–9 Jefferson, T. 432 Jeffery, R.  22, 23, 214 Jeffreys, S.  92–3 Jensen, B.  263, 264 Jervis, R. 583 JIB (see jus in bello) Joas, H. 409 job insecurity  122 Joerges, C. 444 Johannesburg Declaration, World Summit on Sustainable Development  473–4 Johns, F. 62 Johnson, J. 402 Johnson, J. T.  210, 212, 215 Johnson, S. 112 Jones, R. E.  55 Jordan, A. 181 Jörke, D. 446 Josling, T. E.  445 Joyce, R. 604 Judah, T. 239 judgement 575–85 (in)formality of  576–8 and politics  581–5 practical problems  579–81 Jung, C. 348 Junger, S. 255 jus ad bellum (JAB)  215, 222, 225, 227, 228–9, 248 jus ante bellum 249 jus cogens 146–7, 387–8

jus in bello (JIB)  215, 222–3, 224, 225, 226–7, 228–9, 230, 248–9, 669 justice environmental justice and sustainability 179–90 global distributive justice  103–16, 666, 670 transitional justice  153–63 justificatory respect  121, 126 just war theory (JWT)  3, 55, 221–31, 248–9, 666, 669 just conduct in war  225–7 ‘just,’ definition of  209–12 just resort to war  223–5 just war tradition  209–18 outline of  221–3 in real world  227–31 responsibility, concept of  253–5 revisionism  223–5, 226–30, 231, 670–1, 672–3 ‘tradition,’ definition of  214–17 ‘war,’ definition of  212–14 Kaempf, S. 242 Kagan, S. 492n3 Kahn, P.  255–6 Kaldor, M.  317, 321 Kalyvas, S. N.  239 Kamradt-​Scott, A.  362 Kanbur, R. 486 Kanie, N. 475 Kant, I.  49–50, 56, 63, 575, 587–8 emotions 601, 606 political emancipation  75–6 Urteilskraft (art of judgement)  576–8 Kaplan, M. 52 Kapur, R.  350, 351 Kapur, S. 275 Karp, D. J.  132, 293 Karpowitz, C. F.  443 Kates, R. W.  473 Katz, J. 87 Kaufman, W. 217 Keal, P. 499 Keck, M. E.  230 Kedar, A. 605 Keene, E.  22, 25, 27

Index   693 Keller, A.  614, 618–19 Kello, L.  260, 264 Kelsay, J.  201, 216 Kelsen, H.  60, 306 Kennan, G.  10, 51, 495, 497 Kennedy, D.  64, 65, 66, 68, 147, 306 Kent, S. A.  345 Kenya 348 Keohane, R. O.  37, 44, 54, 157, 455 climate equity  537–8 global democracy  418, 422 political legitimacy  400, 401, 408 Keys, B. J.  304 Khadduri, M.  201–2 Khader, S.  566–7 Kiehl, K. 606 King-​Hall, S.  284 King, M. L., Jr.  275–6, 279 Kingsbury, B.  148, 150, 457 Kinsella, H. 215 Kissinger, H. 501 Klabbers, J. 64 Kleine, M. 446 Klein, N.  304, 594 Klick, J. 516n3 Knake, R. K.  265–6 Knight, J. 402 Knobe, J. 605 Knop, K. 61 Knorr, K. 498 Knutsen, T. 22 Kocher, M. 239 Koenig-​Archibugi, M.  400, 457, 459 Koenigs, M. 603 Kohlberg, L.  560–1 Kohler-​ Koch, B.  448 Kolb, R. 215 Kolers, A.  171–2 Koller, D. 149 Koplow, D. A.  241 Korteweg, A. 353 Koselleck, R.  25–6 Koskenniemi, M.  62, 63, 65, 68, 143 Kosovo crisis  136–7, 238, 239, 244, 300, 309, 324 Kouvo, S. 146 Kramer, M. H.  593

Krever, T. 67 Krisch, N.  62, 405, 456 Kroll, L. 472 Krüger, A. K.  159 Kukathas, C.  350, 354n2 Kuosmanen, J. 150 Kupperman, J.  589, 590 Kurjanska, M.  511–12 Kurzweil, R. 252 Kymlica, W. 39 Kymlicka, W. 344 Kyoto Protocol  533, 534, 535, 537, 539, 542 Laborde, C.  627, 629, 632, 633, 635 labour market liberalization  124 Laclau, E.  158, 435 Lafont, C.  82, 374 Laitinen, A. 612 Lakey, G. 276 Lakoff, A. 362 Lambourne, W. 158 land degradation  179 land use change  474 Lane, M. 487 Lang, A.F. Jr  24, 45, 63, 659, 662n1 Langø, H.-​I.  263 Laqueur, T. 291 Larson, F. 195 Laslett, P. 25 Lasswell, H. 60 Latour, B.  250, 436 Lauren, P. 292 Lauterpacht, H. 64 law authority of  198–9 violence and  204–5 Lawford-​Smith, H.  9, 415, 642, 643, 665, 667 Law, J. 250 Lawler, P. 501 law of armed conflict (LOAC)  233, 234 Law of Nations or Principles of International Law, The (Vattel)  49 Lawrence, B. 173 Lawrence, W. W.  256 Lawson, G.  61–2 Lawson, S.  262–3

694   Index Lazar, S.  222, 223, 228–9, 670, 672 LDK (Democratic League of Kosovo)  239 League of Nations  49 Lebow, R. N.  24, 583, 614–15 Lee, A. 514 Leebaw, B. 296 legal frameworks  268 legalism 156–8 legal positivism  62–3 Legnano, G. da  213–14 Leiserowitz, A. A.  473 Lener, M. 448 Leon-​Portilla, M.  26 Leviathan (Hobbes)  25, 28 Levin, T. 350 Lewis, J. A.  262 Lewontin, R. 249 LGBTQ rights  370–80 critical theoretical approach  373–4 gay rights as human rights  374–9 global sexuality politics  372 homocapitalism 378–9 homocolonialism 377–8 homonationalism 376–7 homonormativity 375–6 as human rights  370–2 liberal cosmopolitanism  648–9 liberal democracy  431–2 liberal feminism  344–5, 350–2 liberal hegemony  615–17 liberal institutionalism  54 liberal internationalism  648 liberalism  431–3, 520, 630 liberalism of fear  647–50 liberal multiculturalism  344–5, 347–50 Libicki, M. C.  264 libido dominandi doctrine  211 Libya 333 Liddell Hart, B.  280 Lie, J. 87 Lind, A. 372 Lindemann, T.  614, 615 Lindsay, J. R.  260, 262, 264, 266 Linklater, A.  24, 37, 40–1, 56, 68, 76, 203, 291, 499, 662n3 List, C.  132, 400, 416, 665, 667 Lister, M.  525, 526–7

Livingston, D.  576, 578 Lloyd, G. E. R.  216 LOAC (see law of armed conflict) Long, D. 50 Long, S. 371 Long, W. J.  600 Lorimer, J.  61, 64 Louden, R. B.  588 Louis XVI, King of France  195 Love, J. B.  239 Luban, D.  39, 55, 223–4, 225 Lucas, J. R.  131 luck 131 circumstantial luck  133–5, 140 constitutive luck  137–9, 140 resultant luck  135–7, 140 role of  133–9 Lui, D. 510 Lund Recommendations on Effective Participation of National Minorities 170, 171 Luskin, R. C.  441 Lyon, S. 515 McCarthy, T.  82, 666 McCarty, R. 601 McDermott, P. 351 MacDonald, K.  405, 406, 408 MacDonald, T.  416, 418 McDougal, M. 60 McEvoy, K.  157, 161 McGee, R. 459 McGeer, V. 607 Mac Ginty, R.  161 McGregor, L. 161 Machiavelli, N.  22, 23, 27–8, 50 MacIntyre, A. C. 176n1, 604, 627 Mackintosh, J. 22 Macklem, P. 175 McInnes, C. 362 McMahan, J.  196, 209, 226, 227, 666, 669–70, 671, 672 McMahon, P. 515 Magone, C. 298 Malcolm, N.  23, 30 male prostitution  87, 89, 90–3, 95–7

Index   695 Mali 334, 555–6 Malloch-​Brown, M.  549 Maltais, A. 540 Mandaville, P. 202 Manin, B. 441 Mani, R. 158 Manning, W. 27 Mansbridge, J. 443 Maoz, Z. 266 Mapel, D. 496 Mapping Militant Organizations  238–9 Marchetti, R.  388, 390, 670 Marco, C. 514 Marcuse, H. 75 Markell, P.  621–2 Markoff, J. 248 Marks, S. 304 Marshall, S. 459 Marsh Commission (1997)  267 Martel, F. 372 Martí, J. L.  631 Martin, B. 280 Marxism capital and class  655–6 critique of IPT  652–62, 659–61 international political space  653–5 in IR  657–9 Marx, K.  56, 75–6, 118, 649, 655, 656, 662nn2&5 critique of capitalism  659–61 mass atrocities  300, 330–9 mass poverty  548, 552, 553, 555 Masullo Jiménez, J.  280–1 Mathews, F. 436 Mato Oput, Uganda  155 Matthias, A. 254 Maurer, P. 289 May, L.  216, 222 Maynor, J.  627, 629 Mazower, M. 61 McPherson, C. B.  431 MDGs (Millennium Development Goals)  549, 555, 596 Meaningful Human Control (MHC)  251 Mearsheimer, J.  10, 51, 54 meat consumption  469 Meckled-​Garcia, S.  488, 671

Medda-​Windischer, R. 176n3 Médecins Sans Frontières (MSF, Doctors without Borders)  295, 300, 323–4, 569 media warfare  242–3 Mégret, F. 149 Meier, B. 161 Meier, P. 353 Meinecke, F.  23, 50 Meisels, T.  240–1 Mellinger, A.  111–12 Mellor, M. 180 membership-​dependent cosmopolitanism 120–2, 126 Mercer, J.  600, 602, 603 Merry, S. E.  310 methodological pluralism  30 Meyer, J. 170 MHC (Meaningful Human Control)  251 Michelet, J. 216 Midgley, M. 256 Mieth, F.  157, 161 migration 176n3, 520–31, 565–6 climate migrants  470 intimates 525–7 motivational/​institutional constraints 529–30 refugees  77, 521–2, 523–5 rights of migrants  77 skill-​based  527–8 state duties  522–9 trends in  521–2 vulnerable populations  527–9 Mikdashi, M. 377 Milanovič, B.  123, 124 Miles, K. 65 Milford, A. 514 military pacifism  222 military prostitution  87, 89, 90–3, 95–7 Millennium Development Goals (MDGs)  549, 555, 596 Miller, C. 618 Miller, D.  104, 126, 138, 388, 453–4, 517n5, 520, 524, 629, 666, 670 duty of assistance (DA)  490–1 fair trade  508, 512, 514 nation-​states  173, 174 political legitimacy  400, 411

696   Index Miller-​Dawkins, M.  456, 459, 460 Mill, J. S.  66 Mills, C. W,  24, 666 Mills, K. 204 Milošević, S. 277 minority rights  166–75, 348–9, 352 importance of 175 within IPT  171–4 minority problems to minority rights 168–70 minority question in IR  167–8 misrecognition  364, 365–6, 614, 621 Mitzen, J.  445–6 mobilization 311 Moellendorf, D. 484 Mohanty, C. T.  351 Mohawk Nation  349 Moisi, D. 600 Mokyr, J. 112 Möller, N.  415, 417, 419–20 Montague, P. 589 Montefiore, S. S.  23 Montgomery bus boycott  275 Montreal Declaration  371 Montreal Protocol  535–6 MONUSCO (UN Mission in the Democratic Republic of the Congo)  322 Moon, K.  89, 91 Moore, D. 267 Moore, G. E.  256, 588, 604 moral accessibility  41–2 moral agents  132 moral cosmopolitanism  520, 563 moral egalitarianism  38 moral particularism  39 moral responsibility  130–40 judgements of  131–2 Moravcsik, A.  68, 267 Mor, B. D.  242 Moreno, J. 249 Morgan, J. 540 Morgenthau, H. J.  10, 50–2, 504, 646 Morris, J. 335 Morseletto, P. 475 Mörth, U. 417 Morton, A. D. 662n7 Mouffe, C.  80, 435, 649

Movimento Sanitário, Brazil  366 Moyn, S.  55, 61, 78, 154, 292, 304, 311 MSF (Médecins Sans Frontières, Doctors without Borders)  295, 300, 323–4, 569 Muchembled, R.  203, 206 Muldoon, J. 25 Müller, H. 446 multiculturalism 343–54, 551 deliberative democracy  345–6 liberal feminism  344–5, 350–2 liberal multiculturalism  344–5, 347–50 policy conflicts  352–3 and postcolonial feminism  347–52 and procedural democracy  350–2 and substantive democracy  347–50 Munster, Treaty of  67 Murphy, A. B.  27 Murphy, L. 490 Murray, D.  514, 515 Muslim culture  345–6 Mussolini, B. 22 mutual benefit aid and  552–7 aid for mitigation of climate change  556–7 aid to fragile states  555–6 Chinese infrastructure-​for-​resource deals 553–4 subsidies for commercial investment  554–5 Mutua, M. W.  375 Nagel, T.  57, 119, 120, 176n1 circumstantial luck  133–5 distributive justice  104, 105 resultant luck  135–6 An-​Nahda party, Tunisia  282–3 Nanwani, S. 456 Nanz, P.  445, 447 Narayan, U.  350, 351, 565 Nardin, T.  3, 49, 50, 55, 214, 215, 496 Narlikar, A.  455, 457 nationally determined contributions (NDCs) 534, 535 National Movement for the Defense of the Right to Health, Paraguay  366 National Rifle Association  310

Index   697 nation-​states and minorities  167–9, 171, 173–4 and sovereignty  79, 84 natural capital  183–5, 186, 188–9 natural law  198 Naurin, D.  447, 448 NDCs (nationally determined contributions) 534, 535 Negri, A.  81–2 Neier, A. 311 Nelkin, D. K.  133 Nel, P.  616, 621 neo-​positivism  11 Neuman, M. 298 Neumann, I. 617 neuroscience 602–5 neutrality 295–6, 318 Nevins, J.  238–9 new (constructivist) communitarianism 39–40, 42–3 Newell, P. 459 new international economic order (NIEO) movement 145–6 new realism  8–10 New York Times 323 Neyer, J. 444 Ngcwangu, S. 514 Nicaragua v. United States (1986)  66 Nichols, S. 605 Niebuhr, R.  10, 51 NIEO (new international economic order) movement 145–6 Nissenbaum, H. 262 nitrogen cycle  182, 474 Non-​Aligned Movement  326 non-​ideal theory  4, 9, 665 non-​intervention  3 non-​lethal weapons  241 nonviolent action  273–84 civil resistance  273, 274–81 power politics and nonviolent struggle 277–80 satyagraha 274, 275 nonviolent disintegration  277 normative inquiry  10–11 normative theory  4, 5–8, 10, 51–4 Nouwen, S.  149–50

Nunes, J. 361 Nunn, N. 515 Nuremberg trials  149, 156, 496 Nussbaum, M. C.  308, 344, 351, 587–8, 596 Nye, J. S.  261–2, 266 Nystrom, L. E.  603 Oakeshott, M.  22, 23, 26, 28 Oakley, J. 588 OAU (see Organization of African Unity) Obama, B.  217, 268 Oberman, K.  520, 528–9 O’Brien, G. 180 O’Brien, R. 455 O’Callaghan, S. 324 ocean acidification  474 OCHA (see Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs) O’Donnell, G. 437 O’Driscoll, C.  196, 223, 268 OECD (see Organisation for Economic Co-​operation and Development) offensive realism  54 Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs (OCHA)  319 Office of the High Commissioner for Human Rights (OHCHR)  319 Ohlin, J. D.  222 Okin, S. M.  344, 346, 350 Olsen, J. P.  459 O’Neill, J.  181, 183, 184, 187, 188, 189–90 O’Neill, O.  132, 416, 419, 601, 606, 665 O’Neill, S. 613 Onuf, N. G.  24, 615, 621, 626, 630, 633, 635 Orford, A.  66, 204, 320 Organisation for Economic Co-​operation and Development (OECD)  457, 521, 522, 557 Organization for Security and Co-​operation in Europe (OSCE)  170, 171 Organization of African Unity (OAU)  395 Organization of American States  170, 171 Orlando, V. 67 O’Rourke, C. 159 OSCE (see Organization for Security and Co-​operation in Europe) Osiander, A. 22

698   Index Otto, D. 65 ‘ought implies can’ principle  107, 580, 671, 673 output legitimacy  402–3 Øverland, G. E. 492n3, 528–9 Overseas Development Institute  292 Owens, P. 197 Oxfam 119, 323 ozone layer depletion  185 pacifism  201, 221–2, 230, 273 Paddon, E.  320, 321, 322 Pagden, A. 25 Pahuja, S.  63, 69 Palestinian Liberation Organization (PLO) 618–19 Pandolfi, M.  316–17 Panetta, L.  248–9 Pangle, T. L.  22, 24 Panitch, L. 658 Pantuliano, S. 324 Papadopoulos, Y. 406 Pape, R. A.  261 Parekh, B. C.  345, 347 Paris Agreement, United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change (COP-21)  472, 475, 534–5, 539–40, 542 Paris, R. 336 Parker, J. 65 Parkinson, F. 22 Park, S. 456 Parks, B. C.  540 Parris, T. M.  473 participatory liability  238–41 Pasek, J.  181–2, 184 Pateman, C.  24, 351, 435 Pateman, R.  238–9 paternalism  308, 310, 332, 565, 566–7 Paternotte, D. 373 patriotism 629 Pattberg, P.  475, 538 peacekeeping  319, 320–2, 325 Peace of Westphalia  27 Peach, L. J.  94 Pearce, D.  184, 190n1 Pearl, Daniel  195 Pearson, Z. 146

Pedersen, S. 69 Pelikan, J. 215 Peloponnesian Wars (Thucydides)  247 People’s Health Movement  366 Perpetual Peace: A Philosophical Sketch (Kant) 49 Perritt, H. H.  238–9 Peskowitz, A. 242 Peterson, V. S.  88, 90, 94 Peterson, W. 344 Pettit, P.  132, 410, 631 republicanism  626–8, 629, 630, 632, 633–5 Pettman, J. J.  88 Pettys, T. E.  601 Pevnick, R. 531n1 PGMs (precision-​guided munitions)  238 Pham, P. 157 Philadelphian system  631 Phillips, A. 354nn1&2 Phillips Curve  52 Philp, M. 409 Phoenix Program, Vietnam War  239 phosphorous cycle  474 phronesis 24, 576 Picq, M. 90 Pictet, J.  295, 318 Piewitt, M. 447 Piketty, T.  119, 125, 311 Pinker, S.  202–3 pinkwashing 310, 377 Pinto, C. J.  238–9 Plastina, A. 514 Plato  28, 60–1, 212–13, 583 PLO (see Palestinian Liberation Organization) Pocock, J. G. A.  25, 216 Pogge, T.  38, 43, 118, 119, 132, 516n2, 643, 666, 667, 669, 670 distributive justice  103, 104, 105, 111 duty of assistance (DA)  484, 485, 488 global resources dividend (GRD)  642, 644 health issues  360, 366 public policy  481–92 duty of assistance and  486–9, 492 Fair Trade and  508–16 IPT norms and  481–3 Law of Peoples and  483–4 political feasibility  112–13

Index   699 political legitimacy choice-​making process  401–4 governance capability and  401–7 new research agenda  407–10 political moralism  9 political realism  8–10, 278–9 Pollock, F. 75 polluter pays principle  138 Pomeranz, K. 112 Porter, T.  405, 455 positive theory  10, 11 positivist law  198 Posner, D. N.  348 Posner, E. A.  305, 534, 537, 541 postcolonial feminism  347–52 postcolonial intersectionality  349, 352–3 Postero, N. G.  349 post-​human democracy  436–7 Postone, M. 661 post-​structuralism  3–4 Pouliot, V.  293, 294 poverty  105, 111, 119–20, 642 health and  363–6 mass poverty  548, 552, 553, 555 power, balance of  49, 50, 52, 53–4 practice-​based normative theory Fair Trade and  509–13 global political legitimacy and  408–10 praxeology 37, 41, 43 precision-​guided munitions (PGMs)  238 Predelli, L. N.  351 Price, M. 525 Price, R.  11, 12, 40, 42, 43 Princen, T.  476–7 Prince, The (Machiavelli)  28, 50 Prinz, J. J.  605 problem-​solving theory  7–8 procedural democracy  346, 350–2 proportionality  237, 268, 296–7 Proposed American Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples  170, 171 prospective moral responsibility  131–2 prostitution female 91 male  87, 89, 90–3, 95–7 psychology 602 psychopathic behaviour  606–7

Puar, J. 377 public diplomacy  242–3 public policy  481–2 public policy networks  456–7 public processions  273 Pufendorf, S. von  21, 22, 49, 215–16 Putin, V.  372, 617 Questions on the Heptateuch (Augustine of Hippo) 210 Qureshi, A.H.  510 R2P (responsibility to protect) doctrine, see responsibility to protect (R2P) doctrine Radcliffe, S. A.  349, 352–3 radical democracy  435 Raghuram, P.  560, 570 Rahman, A. 350 Rahman, M. 378 Räikkä, J. 665 Rajan, R. 487 Ralph, J. G.  67 Randle, M. 281 Rao, R.  309, 372, 378–9 Raphael, C. 443 rational choice theory  52 rational cosmopolitanism  601–2, 606 Ratner, S. 147 Ravallion, M.  471–2 RAWA (Revolutionary Association of the Women of Afghanistan)  351 Rawls, J.  9, 11, 24, 37–8, 55, 120, 316, 403, 516n2, 595, 596, 665, 666, 670 democracy  345, 417, 420, 421 duty of assistance (DA)  483–4, 485–6, 488, 489, 490, 491 human rights  306, 308, 525 justice  54, 103, 104, 667, 668–9 law of peoples  483–4, 485, 491, 668 modern international law  63, 64 society of peoples  483–4, 485 Raynolds, L. 514 Razack, S. 347 Raz, J.  196, 307, 308

700   Index realism  76, 221–2, 230, 641–50 analytical realism  642–4 feasibility challenge  641–4 liberal realism  647–50 and moralism  644–5 myth of amorality  644–5 myth of inherent conservativism  646–7 myth of state-​centrism  645–6 see also new realism see also political realism real-​world politics  4 IPT and  481–92 republicanism and  634–6 reciprocity 106–7 recognition 365, 612–22 literature on  613–15 and misrecognition  621 status recognition  615–20 of terrorists  617–19 of victims  619–20 Redfield, P. 293 Refugee Convention, see United Nations (UN): Convention Relating to the Status of Refugees refugees  77, 521–2, 523–5 regime change  55–6, 233, 236 Reichberg, G. M.  215 Reid, D.  183, 184 Reidy, D. A.  484, 491–2 Reiff, D. 563 Reinicke, W. H.  456–7 Reinl, J. 371 Reisman, W. M.  60 religion: and violence  200–2 Rengger, N. J.  3, 24, 49, 50, 204 Renner, J. 620 rent refusal  273 reparation and impunity principles  619 republican cosmopolitanism  78 republicanism 626–37 core features of  627–30 and IR  630–4 and real-​world politics  634–6 Republic, The (Plato)  28 Requerimiento, Council of Castile  24 responsibility 253–5 moral responsibility  130–40

responsibility to protect (R2P) doctrine 82, 203–4, 243–4, 300, 304, 320, 330–40 alternatives to  337–8 challenges to  333–4 and cosmopolitanism  331–3, 334 efficacy of  334–8 and humanitarian intervention  300, 330–1, 332, 333–4, 336 ICISS report  568–9 prioritization of goals  338–40 and statism  331–3 responsibility while protecting (RwP)  333 restorative justice  158–60, 162 restraint 264–5 resultant luck  135–7, 140 retributive justice  156–8, 162–3 retributive legalism  67 retrospective moral responsibility  131–2 Reus-​Smit, C.  11, 40, 41, 43, 230, 306 Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia-​ People’s Army (FARC-​EP)  618–19 Revolutionary Association of the Women of Afghanistan (RAWA)  351 Rhodes, R. A. W.  405 Richards, N. 136 Ricoeur, P. 622 Rid, T.  262, 265, 266, 267 Rieff, D. 323 Right to Health and Health Care Campaign, India 366 Ringdal, N. J.  87 Ringmar, E.  614, 617 Rio Declaration on Environment and Development 533 Risse-​Kappen, T.  583 Risse, M.  36, 38, 103, 488, 511–12 Risse, T.  309, 444, 446, 529 Roberts, A.  27, 277 Roberts, J. T.  540, 541 Robinson, F. 95 Robinson, J. 112 Robins, R. 150 robots 251–4, 256 Rockström, J.  179, 184, 185, 187, 474 Rodan, G.  460, 462 Rodin, D. 224 Rodriguez-​Garavito, B.  78, 84

Index   701 Rodrik, D. 112 Rogers, P. 243 Romania 167, 348 Ronchi, L. 514 Ronfeldt, D. 259 Ronzoni, M.  107, 108, 409, 416, 629, 635 Roosevelt, F. D.  23 rooted cosmopolitanism  173 Ropp, S. C.  529 Rorty, R.  255, 257 Rosen, A. M.  537 Rosenau, J. N.  498 Rosenberg, J. 662 Rosen, S. P.  600 Ross, A. A. G.  600 Rossi, E.  9, 126, 505, 641, 645 Roth, K. 311 Rottmann, S. B.  351 Routley, R. 188 Routley, V. 188 Ruan Zongze  333 Ruben, R.  514, 515 Rubenstein, J. 457 Rudder, C. 455 Ruddick, S. 560 Rueschemeyer, J. D.  431 rules 204–5 Runciman, D.  645, 646 Runyan, A. S.  88 Rural Women’s Movement, South Africa  352 Rushton, S. 362 Russell, A. L.  264 Russett, B. 583 Russo, A. 351 Rwanda  136, 139, 320–1, 330–1 International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda 149 Gacaca tribunals  155, 160 RwP (responsibility while protecting)  333 Sabaratnam, M. 161 Sabel, C.  408, 444 Sachs, J.  111–12 Sadat, L. N.  304 Salter, J. 255 Salter, J. A.  444

Salter, M. 160 samizdat publications  278 San-​Akca, B.  266 Sandel, M. 176n1, 553, 627 Sanders, L. M.  443 Sands, P. 67 Sangari, K. 351 Sanghera, G. 161 Sangiovanni, A.  105, 106–10, 120, 409, 416, 517n5, 667 Saouli, A. 203 Sartori, M. 61 Sartre, J.-​P.  621 Sayer, D. 659 Scanlon, T. M.  55, 491 Schacht, J. 201 Scharpf, F. W.  402, 403, 411n3 Scheffler, S. 672 Scheinin, M. 304 Scheipers, S. 212 Schelling, T. 52 Scheuerman, W.  79, 420, 646, 649 Schick, K. 613 Schlosberg, D. 189 Schmidt, B. 49 Schmitt, C.  24, 29, 65, 67, 68, 80–1 Schmitt, M. 268 Schmitz, H. P.  292 Schneewind, J. B.  588 Scholte, J. A.  388, 416, 420–1, 423–4, 445, 455, 459 Schouten, P. 24 Scott, S. 68 SDGs (specific sustainable development goals) 179 sea-​level rise  470 Sebenius, J. K.  115 secession 38–9 Seckinelgin, H. 373 Second Lebanon War (2006)  239 self-​defence  63, 198, 214, 217, 223–4, 227–8 self-​determination  27, 76, 82–3, 167, 243 Arab Spring  203, 233, 282–4 asymmetric conflict and  233, 235–6, 237 humanitarian actors and  324–5 indigenous peoples and  175 international law and  64, 66 just war theory and  223, 224

702   Index Sen, A.  121, 363, 419, 512, 593–6, 608, 666 Severs, E. 353 sexual orientation  310–11: see also LGBTQ rights Shachar, A.  347, 354n2 Shacknove, A. E.  523 Shapcott, R. 299 Shapiro, I. 143 Sharma, N. 172 Sharp, G.  276–7, 280 Shaw, R. 161 Shaybani, M.  201–2 Sheley, J. 87 Shepherd, L. 90 Sherman, N. 590 Shklar, J.  62, 67, 156, 647–8, 649 Shridharani, K. 276 Shue, H.  55, 118, 229, 669, 670, 671, 672 health and poverty  359–60, 361 Sikkink, K.  153, 230, 292, 304, 317, 529 Simmons, A. J. 411n1, 665 Simmons, B. 304 Simmons, B. A.  60 Simpson, A. 349 Simpson, G. 145 Singer, J. D.  52 Singer, P.  188, 487, 490, 498, 601, 670, 672 Singer, P. W.  241 Sinn Féin, Ireland  618–19 situationism 251 situationist experimental psychology  590 Sjoberg, L. 215 Skinner, Q.  25, 28–9, 626, 627, 629 Skouteris, T. 63 Slaughter, A.-​M.  455–6, 457 Sleat, M.  8, 9, 126, 505, 641, 645 Slim, H.  298, 317, 319 Slote, M. 589 Smith, A.  607–8 Smith, D. 268 Smith, G. 189 Smith, K. 635 Smith, L. 366 Smith, M.  498, 606 Smith, N. H.  613 Smith, R. 212 Smith, S.  41, 497

Smith, T. 428 Smoke, R. 265 Snead, O. C. (2007)  605 Snidal, D. 11 Snyder, J.  12, 156, 169 social accountability  459 social contract  63, 146, 199, 223–4 social democracy  434–5 society: and violence  202–4 soft war  241–3 SOGI (Independent Expert on Sexual Orientation and Gender Identity)  371 Sohn, L. B.  51 solar radiation management  469 Solomon, D. 589 Solomon, R. C.  602 Soltau, F. 541 Sommerville, B. 603 Song, S.  346, 347, 351 Sonmez, S. 87 Sophocles 21 Sørensen, E. 411n2 Souter, J. 524 sovereign equality  82 sovereignty  3, 27, 74, 76–84, 332, 404 crisis of  79–81 critiques of empire  81–3 end of  76–9 future of  83–4 and global political legitimacy  400–11 Hobbes 29–30 and republicanism  629–30 Sparrow, R.  253–4 species loss  179 specific sustainable development goals (SDGs) 179 Spinello, R. 268 Spinoza, Baruch  28 Spivak, G. C.  372 Sriram, C. 158 Stammers, N. 373 Standing, G. 122 statism  173, 331–4, 336 Statman, D.  133, 256 Steans, J.  88–9 Stears, M.  11–12, 126, 464 Stefan, W.  179, 180, 182, 184, 185

Index   703 Steffek, J.  403, 408, 423–4 Steinhoff, U. 209 Stein, J. G.  583 Stemplowska, Z. 665 Stephan, M. J.  239, 282 Stevenson, H. 397 Stiglitz, J.  311, 594 Stoermer, E. 467 Stoeva, P. 362 Strachan, H. 212 stratospheric ozone depletion  185, 468, 471, 474 Strauss, L. 23 Streck, C. 537 Streeck, W. 83 strikes 273 Strömbom, L. 614 Strong, T.  575–6 structural realism  53, 54 Stuxnet worm  260, 262 Suarez, F. 61 Subramanian, A.  112, 487 subsidiarity 395 substantive democracy  345–6, 347–50 Suganami, H. 24 Sundberg, M. 487 Sunder, M. 350 Sunstein, C. 443 Sun Tzu 27 sustainable development  179–90 capital and  183–4 concept of  180–3 definition of  180, 181 distributive goal of  182–3 limited substitutability  186 metric of  181–2 objections to  187–90 strong sustainability  185, 186–7, 188 unjustified anthropocentrism  188 weak/​strong conceptions of  183–7 weak sustainability  184–5, 188 Suzuki, E. 456 Swanton, C.  589, 591, 592 Swift, A.  419, 665 Sylvester, C.  88, 95 Symons, J.  371, 372 Syse, H. 215

TAC (Treatment Action Campaign), South Africa 366 Taliban, Afghanistan  618–19 Tallberg, J.  419, 447 Tallgren, I.  67, 149 Tallinn Manual  268 Tang, S. 600 Tan, K.-​C.  120, 484, 497 targeted killing  239 Tasioulas, J.  63, 64, 485, 492n1 tax systems  551–2 Taylor, C.  408–9, 461, 462, 612, 613, 614 Taylor, P.  188, 514 Taylor, T. 249 Teitel, R. G.  63, 156, 157, 289, 317, 326 Terra, L. 170 terrestrial cosmopolitanism  171–3 terrorism  80, 233, 235–6 bioterrorism 361 9/​11 attacks 74, 205, 309 Paris attacks (November 2015)  309 Terry, F. 323 Teschke, B.  662&n4 Teson, F. 516n3 Tetlock, P.  579, 584, 585 Teubner, G.  78–9 Thévenot, L. 409 Thiel, M. 90 Thomas, D. C.  502 Thompson, A. 408 Thompson, D. F.  443 Thompson, J.  40–1, 138 Thomson, J. J.  603 Thoreson, R. R.  372, 373 Three Laws of Robotics (Asimov)  252–3 Thucydides 26, 247 Thun, C. 351 Thurer, D. 318 Tickner, J. A.  88, 91 Ticktin, M.  290, 565–6 Tikk, E. 267 Tilton, T. 434 Tobin, J.  124–5 Tobin Tax (Financial Transaction Tax)  124–5 Tokyo tribunals  149, 156 Tolstoy, L. 274 Top Gun (film)  255

704   Index Torfing, J. 411n2 Toros, H. 618 Torres, L. 351 Totten, M. 217 Toubia, N, 350 Tractatus de Bello, de Represaliis et de Duello (Giovanni da Legnano)  213 trade law  38–9 Trade-​Related Aspects of Intellectual Property Rights (TRIPS)  366, 509–13 tradition: definition of  214–17 traditional justice  160–1, 162 transcendental institutionalism  121 transitional justice  153–63 history of  154–5 restorative justice  158–60, 162 retributive justice  156–8, 162–3 traditional justice  160–1, 162 transnational accountability  458, 459–60, 461–2, 463 transnational corporate accountability  459 transnational democracy  388–94, 445 transnationalism 406 Treatment Action Campaign (TAC), South Africa 366 Trebbi, F. 112 Trejo-​Mathys, J.  410 Triadafilopoulos, T. 353 Trianosky, G.  588, 590 TRIPS (see Trade-​Related Aspects of Intellectual Property Rights) Tronto, J. C.  562, 564, 565, 566, 567 Truong, T.-​D.  564, 569 truth commissions  158–9, 162 Tsáchila women, Ecuador  349 Tsing, A. L.  461 Tuck, R.  25, 68 Tully, J.  25, 632–3, 635 Turiano, L. 366 UDHR (see Universal Declaration of Human Rights) Ulas, L. 420 UNCESCR (see United Nations Committee on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights) 3

UN Charter  144, 204–5, 319–20, 501 UN Commission on Human Rights  619 UN Conference on Sustainable Development (2012) 476 UN Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide 501 UN Convention Relating to the Status of Refugees  522, 523, 525 UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous People  170, 171, 175, 176n6 UN Declaration on the Rights of Persons Belonging to National or Ethnic, Religious or Linguistic Minorities 170, 171 UNDP (see United Nations Development Programme) UN Economic and Social Council (ECOSOC) 396 UNEP (United Nations Environment Programme) 467 UNESCO 170, 171 UNFCCC, see United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change UN General Assembly  145–6, 619 UN Group of Governmental Experts (GGEs)  261 UNHCHR (see United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights) UNHCR (see United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees) UNHRC (see United Nations Human Rights Council) UN Human Development Report (2004)  170 UN Human Rights Due Diligence Policy  326 UN Human Rights Up Front initiative  326 United Nations (UN)  319–23, 325–7 appropriateness of, in Anthropocene  472–3 LGBT rights  371 migration figures  521–2 mission settings  320–2 non-​mission settings  322–3 One Humanity report  569 robust peacekeeping  320–2 and war 66 United Nations Committee on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights (UNCESCR) 360

Index   705 United Nations Development Programme (UNDP)  159, 170, 357, 472 United Nations Environment Programme (UNEP) 467 United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change (UNFCCC)  533, 535–40, 541–3 COP-​16:  535 COP-​19:  539 COP-​20:  539 COP-​21 (Paris Agreement) 472, 475, 534–5, 539–40, 542 equity commitments  537–8 equity ideals  538–40 United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights (UNHCHR)  304, 359, 371 United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR)  521, 530 United Nations Human Rights Council (UNHRC)  240, 359, 371 United Nations Millennium Development Goals  549, 555, 596 United Nations Operation in Somalia (UNOSOM) 320 United Nations Organization for Migration (UNOM) 530–1 United Nations Security Council (UNSC)  204, 371, 372, 387 Universal Declaration of Human Rights (UDHR)  43, 292, 358, 501 Universal Declaration on Cultural Diversity 170, 171 UN Millennium Declaration  145 UN Mission in the Democratic Republic of the Congo (MONUSCO)  322 UNMOVIC 205 UNOM (United Nations Organization for Migration) 530–1 UNOSOM (United Nations Operation in Somalia) 320 UNSC (United Nations Security Council)  204, 371, 372, 387 UN Sustainable Development Council  476 UN Tribunal on the Law of the Sea  148 Upton, C. L.  590 USAID 549 US Department of Defence  251–2

US Department of the Navy  240 US State Department  429 utilitarianism 587–92, 597 utopianism  40, 50, 78, 278–9, 410, 484, 649–50 Utting, P. 459 Valentini, L.  105, 120, 123, 408, 416, 488 global democracy  418, 419, 421 Valkila, J. 515 Value Added Tax (VAT)  551 van Boven, T.  619 van der Hel, S.  471 van der Linden, H.  249 Van Der Stoep, J.  462 Van Evera, S.  54 van Zyl, L.  591, 592 Varaki, M. 64 Vashdi, D. R.  241 Vasquez, J. A.  265 VAT (Value Added Tax)  551 Vattel, E. de  22, 49, 63, 215–16 Velvet Revolution, Czechoslovakia  278 velvet revolutions  278, 282 Verdirame, G. 318 Verweij, M. 445 Victor, D. G.  537–8 Vienna Convention on the Law of Treaties (1969) 146 Vienna World Conference on Human Rights 304 Vietnam War: Phoenix Program  239 vigils 273 Vincent, R. J.  500 Vinck, P. 157 Vinjamuri, L.  12, 156, 161 violence 195–206, 279 and authority  196–200 biblical references to  200–1 and colonialism  197 decrease in  202–3 law and  204–5 regulation and governance of  200–5 and religion  200–2 society and  202–4 against women  146 see also just war theory (JWT)

706   Index Viroli, M.  627, 629 virtue ethics  587–94, 597 Vitoria, F. de  49, 61, 63 Volpp, L.  347, 350, 351 Vreeland, J. R.  124 Wade, L. 350 Waldorf, L. 161 Waldron, J. 290 Waligore, T. 410 Walker, M. U.  140, 559, 561 Walker, R. B. J.  22, 23, 24, 27, 28 Walker, W. 204 Wallach, W.  251, 252 Wallerstein, I.  658, 662n6 Walt, S. 51 Waltz, K.  10, 22, 53, 61, 498 Walzer, M.  39, 55–6, 126, 217, 388 ethical foreign policy  498–9 just war theory  55, 209, 223–5, 226, 227, 669 nation-​states  173, 174 war crimes  149, 155, 236, 332, 619–20 war crimes trials  66, 67 Ward, R. 68 war on terror: post-​structural responses to 79–81 Warren, M.  406, 409 Warrick, P. 253 wars 66 definition of  212–14 human control  251–3 human-​machine interface  249–51 individualization of  317–18 of self-​defence  214 soft war  241–3 Warsaw International Mechanism on Loss and Damage 539 Waskow, D. 540 Wassenaar Agreement  261 Wasserstrom, R. 223 Waters, M. 230 Watt, M. W.  201 WCED (World Commission on Environment and Development)  179, 180–1, 183, 188, 473 wealth inequality  119

Weber, C.  76, 90, 374, 515–16 Weber, J. 515 Weber, M. 645 Weigel, G. 215 Weil, P. 63 Weisbach, D.  534, 537, 541 Weissman, F. 298 Weiss, T.  295, 297 Weiss, T. G.  405 Weldemichael, A. T.  239, 244 Wellman, C. H.  520, 526 Welsh, J. 335 Wenar, L. 484 Wendt, A.  22, 267, 400, 604, 605, 614 Westlake, J. 63 Weston, B. 60 Westphalian system  3, 22, 67, 74, 76, 144, 146, 631, 645 Wheeler, N. J.  66, 137, 500 White, H. 515 Whitehead, A. 256 White, S. 633 White, S. K.  7 Whitman, R. 616 WHO (World Health Organization), see World Health Organization (WHO) Wickens, E. 87 WIDE 119 Widerberg, O. 538 Widmaier, W. 600 Wiens, D.  665, 666 Wieringa, S. 564 Wight, M.  41, 50, 51, 60, 61–2, 504 history of international thought  21, 22, 23, 56 Wilkinson, C. 372 Wilkinson, I. 301 Wilkinson, R. 405 Willetts, P. 396 Williams, B.  9, 126, 408, 409, 648 moral luck  133, 137–8, 139, 140 Williams, B. G.  261 Williams, H.  22, 24 Williams, J. 196 Williams, M. 455 Williams, M. C.  28, 616 Williams, M. S.  409

Index   707 Williams, P. 321 Williams, R. 217 Wilson, B.  514, 515 Wilson, P. 50 Wilson, W. 428 Winter, B. 87 Wise, T.  514, 515 Witte, J. M.  456–7 Wittgenstein, L.  577, 578 Wohlforth, W. 495 Wolfensohn, J. 549 Wolff, C. 22 Wolff, R. 601 Wolf, R.  615, 616–17 Women’s Court, Sarajevo 622n3 women’s rights  343–54 deliberative democracy  345–6 liberal feminism  344–5, 350–2 liberal multiculturalism  344–5 policy conflicts  352–3 postcolonial feminism  350–2 and procedural democracy  350–2 and substantive democracy  347–50 Wood, E. 662 Woods, N.  455, 457 World Bank  183, 455, 548 and global inequality  119, 123–4, 471 and immigration  123–4 and poverty  548–9 in Uganda  379 World Bank Group: International Finance Corporation 554 World Commission on Environment and Development (WCED)  179, 180–1, 183, 188, 473 world-​disclosing theory  7–8

World Environment Organization  476 World Health Organization (WHO)  359, 362, 529–30 health inequality  119, 357 World Human Rights Court  304 World Social Forum  435 World Summit on Sustainable Development: Johannesburg Declaration 473–4 world systems theory  658 World Trade Organization (WTO)  82, 122, 124, 148, 447, 455 Trade-​Related Aspects of Intellectual Property Rights (TRIPS)  366, 509–13 Wroebel, M. G.  125 Xanthaki, A. 175 Xi Jingping  268 Yashar, D. J.  348 Yoder, J. H.  201 Yogyakarta Principles  371 Young, I. M.  91, 94, 132, 143–4, 174, 402 Young, L. 603 Young, M.  62, 64 Yuval-​Davis, N.  349 Zartman, W. 618 Zeitlin, J. 408 Zerriffi, H. 514 Zizek, S. 80 zoocentrism 188 Zürn, M. 456