Challenges and Paths to Global Justice

CHALLENGES AND PATHS TO GLOBAL JUSTICE

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CHALLENGES AND PATHS TO GLOBAL JUSTICE Edited by H. Richard Friman

challenges and paths to global justice Copyright © H. Richard Friman, 2007 First published in 2007 by PALGRAVE MACMILLAN™ 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010 and Houndmills, Basingstoke, Hampshire, England RG21 6XS. Companies and representatives throughout the world. PALGRAVE MACMILLAN is the global academic imprint of the Palgrave Macmillan division of St. Martin’s Press, LLC and of Palgrave Macmillan Ltd. Macmillan® is a registered trademark in the United States, United Kingdom and other countries. Palgrave is a registered trademark in the European Union and other countries. ISBN-10: 1-4039-7583-3 ISBN-13: 978-1-4039-7583-6 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Challenges and paths to social justice / edited by H. Richard Friman. p.cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN: 1-4039-7583-3 (alk. paper) 1. Social justice. 2. Human rights. 3. Globalization. 4. Power (Social sciences) I. Friman, H. Richard. HM671.C47 2007 303.3’72—dc22

2006048567

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. Design by Macmillan India Ltd. First edition: January 2007 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 Printed in the United States of America.

CONTENTS

List of Tables

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Notes on the Contributors

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Preface

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1 Introduction: Challenges and Paths H. Richard Friman 2 When International Protection Fails Maureen Lynch 3 The Success of Tradition: Lisan and the Reintegration of East Timorese Militia Members Chris Lundry 4 Rights-Based Approaches to International Development Lowell Ewert 5 Humanitarians with Guns: Globalized Rights, Cultural Space, and Militarized Aid in Afghanistan Aman Mojadidi 6 Pathways to Peace: Revolution versus Resolution Marie Pace 7 Contingent Ironies of Globalization: Rupert Murdoch, Patrimonial Politics, and Patriotism Barrett L. McCormick 8 Power, Justice, and Peace Building Kevin P. Clements 9 Religion, Power, and the American Empire Daniel C. Maguire

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119 135 153

Bibliography

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Index

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LIST

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Involuntary Returns

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NOTES

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CONTRIBUTORS

Kevin P. Clements is director of the Asia-Pacific Center for Peace and Conflict Studies, University of Queensland, Australia, and former president of International Alert (UK). His past positions also include president of the International Peace Research Association, director of the Quaker United Nations Office in Geneva, director of the Institute for Conflict Analysis and Resolution at George Mason University, and head of the Peace Research Centre at the Australian National University in Canberra. Lowell Ewert is a human rights lawyer and director of Peace and Conflict Studies, Conrad Grebel University College, affiliated with the University of Waterloo, Ontario. He has developed regional strategies for humanitarian relief, food distribution, local development, and democracy projects in Central Asia, the Middle East, and Latin America, and has worked with the Mennonite Central Committee and Mercy Corps International. H. Richard Friman is professor of political science, Eliot Fitch Chair for International Studies, and director of the Institute for Transnational Justice at Marquette University. He is the author of four books, and numerous book chapters and articles on transnational justice issues tied to the illicit global economy. Chris Lundry is a PhD candidate in the Department of Political Science at Arizona State University. His research interests include Indonesia, East Timor, and Southeast Asia in general, democratization, human rights, and development. He is currently writing and researching his dissertation on separatism in Indonesia and the Philippines. Maureen Lynch is director of research at Refugees International (RI), a Washington, D.C.-based humanitarian advocacy organization. Her current work is focused on the global problem of statelessness. Prior to joining RI, Dr. Lynch worked for the UN High Commissioner for Refugees and the Immigration and Refugee Services of America.

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Daniel C. Maguire is professor of ethics in the Department of Theology at Marquette University. He is the author or editor of 13 books, and is past president of the Society of Christian Ethics and president of the Religious Consultation on Population, Reproductive Health and Ethics. Barrett L. McCormick is professor of political science at Marquette University. His current research explores media markets and the transformation of China’s public sphere. He is the author of three books, numerous book chapters, and articles in leading journals on China and Asia. Aman Mojadidi is an independent consultant and former development and outreach officer for the nonprofit nongovernmental organization Help the Afghan Children (HTAC). Established in 1993, the HTAC provides educational, health, and emergency relief services through humanitarian aid and international development. Marie Pace is currently peace and development adviser for the United Nations Development Program in Nigeria. She holds a PhD in social science in affiliation with the Program on the Analysis and Resolution of Conflicts (PARC) at Syracuse University. She has taught at the University of Connecticut, Clark University, College of the Holy Cross, and the University of Massachusetts. Her chapter is adapted from her doctoral work on civil society’s contributions to justice and peacemaking in divided societies.

PREFACE

The origins of this volume lie in the twentieth annual conference of the Wisconsin Institute for Peace and Conflict Studies (WIPCS) held at Marquette University in 2004, and cosponsored by the Marquette University Institute for Transnational Justice. WIPCS is a consortium of 22 public and private colleges and universities from around the state exploring teaching and research on the roots of violence, on national and global security issues, and on all factors necessary for a just global peace. The Institute for Transnational Justice located at Marquette University provides multidisciplinary networking opportunities for research and teaching on issues of economic, political, and social justice that extend beyond national borders. This volume draws on a significantly revised selection of conference papers. The volume would not have been possible without the insights of the scholars, practitioners, and graduate and undergraduate students who participated in the 2004 WIPCS conference. In addition to the contributors to the volume, special thanks go to: Ian Harris, Eric Yonke, and Sarah Stillwell for facilitating the conference and encouraging the exploration of a more focused publication; Barrett McCormick and Ryan Hanley for their important insights; and Jeff Crean and Leah Manney for helping to compile the manuscript. The conference and project would not have been possible without the extensive support of the Eliot Fitch Endowment at Marquette University, the Helen Way Klinger College of Arts and Sciences, and especially Michael McKinney and Mary Dunnwald. Appreciation also goes to Anthony Wahl and Heather Van Dusen at Palgrave Macmillan for their efforts in guiding the manuscript to publication. Finally, my deepest gratitude goes to my wife, Julie, whose support and patience continue to humble me. H. Richard Friman Milwaukee

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Introduction: Challenges and Paths H. Richard Friman

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he new millennium has seen individuals, societal groups, nongovernmental organizations, governments, and international organizations intensifying calls for global justice. Some calls seek to address the legacies of past abuses while others envision a step toward the broader redistribution of rights, privileges, and obligations on a global scale. While few would deny that justice is a desirable goal, numerous interpretations exist concerning its meaning, the challenges it faces, and paths toward its realization. This volume draws on insights from a diverse group of scholars and practitioners on issues of: law and (re)integration; development, humanitarian aid, and cultural space; information and transformation; and power and peace. The authors reveal the complexity of global justice as a contested ideal and explore the intersection of local and global dynamics that pose challenges to and facilitate paths toward justice’s realization. Contending theoretical interpretations abound over the rights and obligations that should accrue to individuals, various aggregations of societal groups, and states.1 These interpretations reflect ideals, and combinations of ideals, that draw on different historical, moral, religious, and political traditions. Cutting across these interpretations are different conceptions of the appropriate balance between rights and obligations, between individual liberties and achieving broader societal equality, and between equality and fairness in access and outcomes. What does justice mean in the context of a world increasingly integrated economically, socially, and politically? Where and when does justice apply as an ordering principle for the conduct of relations between individuals, societies, and governments that extend beyond national borders? This chapter briefly explores these questions in theoretical scholarship on global justice and links them to the challenges and paths to justice’s realization explored by the contributors to this volume.

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Theoretical Approaches The Reverend Martin Luther King Jr. (1963), writing from his jail cell in Birmingham, Alabama, in April 1963, observed, “Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.” For scholars of justice, however, the premise that the world is interconnected in such a manner remains more a contested ideal than an observable reality. Insights into these debates can help to set broad conceptual contexts against which readers can explore the chapters that follow. This section briefly explores the arguments of John Rawls, the cosmopolitanism perspective, and the English school. Though clearly not the entirety of the justice literature, these arguments tend to permeate, both explicitly and implicitly, the ways in which modern scholars have envisioned global justice as well as the challenges to its realization, and thus offer a useful analytical starting point.

Rawls and Justice The arguments of John Rawls concerning challenges and paths to global justice build upon considerations of justice in domestic societies. For Rawls (1971, 11–17), justice is best explored in terms of an ideal social contract among members of a society. The contract is based on broad principles of fairness and is derived from a hypothetical “original position” where “free and rational” persons consider what is just while operating under a “veil of ignorance” that precludes any awareness of their own political and socioeconomic status or inequalities. Rawls (1971, 60) argues that the principles of justice that result from such considerations are twofold: first, “each person is to have an equal right to the most extensive liberty compatible with a similar liberty for others”; and second, “social and economic inequalities are to be arranged so that they are both (a) reasonably expected to be to everyone’s advantage and (b) attached to positions and offices open to all.” Liberties under the first principle include “political liberty (the right to vote and be eligible for public office) together with speech and assembly; liberty of conscience and freedom of thought; freedom of the person along with the right to hold (personal) property; and freedom from arbitrary arrest and seizure as defined by the concept of the rule of law” (1971, 61). The second principle refers to the “distribution of wealth and income and to the design of organizations that make use of differences in authority and responsibility, or chains of command” (1971, 61). Rawls (1971, 62) draws these principles from a broadly defined “conception of justice” that posits: “All social values—liberty and opportunity,

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income and wealth and the bases of self-respect—are to be distributed equally unless an unequal distribution of any or all of these values is to everyone’s advantage.” This broad conceptualization illustrates what Rawls (1971, 83) terms the “difference principle,” and lies at the heart of his arguments concerning distributive justice. Rawls (1971, 61) narrows the difference principle, however, by prioritizing political over socioeconomic equality and notes that deviations from the first principle “cannot be justified by, or compensated for, by greater social and economic advantages.” Socioeconomic inequality in the context of “equal liberty” is just, however, so long as such inequalities are in accord with the second principle (Rawls 1971, 75, 83). Rawls (1971, 4–5) explores these conceptualizations of justice primarily in the context of a democratic, well-ordered society—where “everyone accepts and knows that others accept the same principles of justice” and that the “basic social institutions generally satisfy and are generally known to satisfy these principles.” In his later work, Rawls turns more extensively to applying his argument to international considerations.2 The extent to which his arguments—especially those concerning distributive justice— hold beyond well-ordered societies and in the context of relations between societies remains a point of contention in scholarship on global justice.3 In The Law of Peoples, Rawls (1999, 3, 12) extends his arguments to relations among societies, as a speculative step intended to help “change the conditions of our social world.” He (1999, 6–7, 22) acknowledges that injustice lies in “great evils of the past and present,” including “unjust wars and oppression, religious persecution, and the denial of liberty and conscience, starvation and poverty, not to mention genocide and mass murder.” For Rawls (1999, 6–7), the sources of these and other evils ultimately lie in “the greatest forms of political injustice.”4 Thus, injustice is best eliminated by the processes of envisioning and realizing a Law of Peoples that is based on “just (or at least decent)” policies and institutions and embraced in “mutual relations” between the domestic societies that comprise the broader “Society of Peoples.” In this “realistic utopia,” relations do not take place directly among members of different domestic societies, but primarily through the interactions of their respective governments. The Society of Peoples envisioned by Rawls encompasses “well-ordered peoples.” These well-ordered peoples are found in “constitutional democratic societies” termed “reasonable liberal peoples” as well as in select hierarchical societies, termed “decent peoples.” Liberal democracies are the epitome of well-ordered peoples and embrace many of the “traditional principles of justice” that provide “the basic charter for the Law of Peoples.” As illustration Rawls draws on principles of international

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law such as respect for the freedom and independence of others; respect for treaties and nonintervention; limitations on war and conduct in war; respect for human rights; and a “duty to assist other peoples living under unfavorable conditions that prevent their having a just or decent political and social regime” (Rawls 1999, 29–30, 37). Well-ordered peoples also can include those nonliberal societies that allow for members of societal groups to be represented in “decent consultation hierarchies.” Though not as just as liberal democracies, such societies can be tolerated and treated as equal members in the Society of Peoples, as long as they do not hold “aggressive aims” against other societies, and as long as they embrace tools of “diplomacy, trade and other ways of peace,” elements of “reasonable and just law,” secure human rights, and “place moral duties and obligations on their peoples” (Rawls 1999, 4, 59–75). Rawls (1999, 113–114) argues that principles of distributive justice apply in the Society of Peoples. Extending the difference principle, he says that social and economic inequalities between member societies are not necessarily unjust as long as those “least advantaged . . . have sufficient resources to make intelligent and effective use of their freedoms and lead worthwhile lives.” In contrast, societies that are not well ordered are not part of the Society of Peoples. They do not merit toleration nor does the difference principle apply. Rawls (1999, 4, 81, 90, 106) posits three ideal types of societies that are not well ordered: “outlaw states” that lack respect for human rights and seek illegitimate ends through aggressive means; “burdened societies” that, through “historical, social and economic circumstances,” “lack the political and cultural traditions, the human capital and know-how, and, often, the material and technological resources necessary to become well ordered”; and “benevolent absolutisms” that, though “honoring human rights,” deny societal members a “meaningful role in making political decisions.” Of these three types of societies, outlaw states and burdened societies receive the greatest attention. Rawls (1999, 91–93) argues that in dealing with outlaw states a liberal society has the right to conduct war in self-defense “to protect and preserve the basic freedoms of its cultures and its constitutionally democratic political institutions.” Bringing outlaw states into the Society of Peoples, while desirable, requires well-ordered societies to make political judgments. Such judgments concern taking action through confederations and institutions and backed by economic or other sanctions. Challenges and paths to justice differ when dealing with burdened societies. Well-ordered peoples do have a “duty to assist” but not necessarily by the application of principles of distributive justice. Rawls (1999, 106–111 [107q]) argues for focusing on the

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political inequalities in burdened societies, especially political and cultural traditions that have inhibited the rise of “just (or decent) institutions,” as the root of socioeconomic inequalities. But neither force, which is precluded by the Law of Peoples, nor extensive intervention is posited as likely to effect cultural change. Instead, well-ordered peoples can offer “advice” emphasizing the importance of human rights as a means to help facilitate change, and they can provide material assistance. But transfers of wealth should only take place to the extent “necessary to establish just (or decent) institutions.” Cosmopolitanism and Justice Where a Rawlsian approach sees boundaries in the international application of justice based on the composition of domestic societies, the cosmopolitanism perspective envisions connections and obligations at the level of individuals that, with few exceptions, are mitigated neither by individual societies nor by their governments.5 Gillian Brock and Harry Brighouse (2005a, 4) observe, “The crux of the idea of moral cosmopolitanism is that each human being has equal moral worth and that equal moral worth generates certain moral responsibilities that have universal scope.”6 Exploration into the exact nature of these responsibilities lies at the heart of the cosmopolitanism perspective. David Held (2005, 12–13), for example, integrates multiple principles including: “active agency” tempered with the responsibility of individuals to be “aware of and accountable for the consequences of their actions,” and the provision of inclusive space for the participation of those “seriously affected by public decisions, issues or processes.”7 Kok-Chor Tan (2004, 11) notes the distinctions between “weak” and “strong” cosmopolitanism. The former limits moral responsibilities to “ensuring that individuals are able to live minimally adequate lives (however that may be defined)” while the latter advocates greater responsibility through considerations of distributive justice well beyond such minimal levels. Further distinctions exist between “moderate” and “extreme” cosmopolitanism concerning the relative importance of “cosmopolitan principles or goals” as the source of moral value, especially as individuals consider moral aspects of “patriotic concern and obligation” (Tan 2004, 11–12). Reflecting this distinction, the extent to which individuals within a given society have the “right to use nationality” as grounds for the discretionary application of principles of distributive justice to “distant others” remains contested.8 The debate over distributive justice is made more complex by differences over the form that (re)distribution should take.9 For example, Charles Beitz

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(1999, 137–141) advocates the application of a global difference principle as the basis for distributive justice. While acknowledging that natural human talents and natural resources are essential for “the material advancement of societies,” Beitz (1999, 137) argues that natural resources are finite and thus their distribution among societies—and the uneven ways in which they are appropriated by societies—is an issue of justice. Beitz (1999, 141) applies a global difference principle by suggesting that the criteria for (re)distribution could depart from an initial standard of equal individual claims to resources “if the resulting inequalities were to the greatest benefit of those least advantaged by the inequality.”10 Thomas Pogge (2001; 2005, 96q) takes the challenge further in arguing that the squalor of global poverty reveals the existence of a morally unjust “radical inequality.” Pogge (2005, 94–100) emphasizes the role of colonialism in creating an “unjust” status quo, perpetuated by the failure of the rest of the world not only to “do something” to redress this situation but also to meet the moral obligation of acting without “causing harm to others.”11 Though acknowledging that policy steps and institutional reform in poor countries can address the “most severe poverty worldwide,” he argues (2005, 103–105; see also Pogge 2001, 6–23) that this does not alleviate the moral responsibility of those in wealthier countries to work toward redistribution and global institutional reform. The English School and Justice In contrast to approaches to justice privileging domestic societies and individuals, the English school’s primary focus is on the international society of states. Grounded in the work of scholars such as Hedley Bull, Martin Wight, and R. J. Vincent, the English school explores the intersection of the international system of “power politics among states,” the international society of states, and the broader world society of “individuals, nonstate organizations and ultimately the global population as a whole” (Buzan 2004, 1–2, 7; Bellamy 2005a). Such exploration, however, has been uneven. The international system of anarchy, power politics, and limited international cooperation envisaged by realist scholars has been approached by the English school as a context, albeit less constraining than envisioned by realists, and counterpoint to the international society of states. In contrast, the more cosmopolitanism vision of a broader world society has received “relatively little attention and almost no conceptual development” (Buzan 2004, 11).12 The international society of states as defined by Bull (1977, 13, cited in Bellamy 2005a, 8) “exists when a group of states, conscious of certain common interests and values, form a society in the sense that they can conceive

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themselves to be bound by a common set of rules in their relations with one another, and share in the working of common institutions.” Debates within the English school as to the nature of this society—and, more specifically, the “normative context” of this society—have tended toward either “pluralism” or “solidarism.” Pluralist arguments offer a more bounded version of the international society of states focused on the “reciprocal recognition of state sovereignty and the norm of non-intervention” and, more basically, the “mutual recognition of the components’ rights to exist” (Bellamy 2005a, 10). The rules in a society based on the “plurality of states” allow for each state or the “political community” within each state “to develop its own way of life” including its own “moral and political codes” for those that constitute it (Bellamy 2005a, 10). Justice for pluralists lies in the extent to which states respect and act according to the rules and norms that assure the continued plurality of states (Dunne 2005, 73–74; Nardin 2005, 247). However, pluralists question universal claims of justice regarding obligations of states to embrace international redistributive justice or to sacrifice sovereignty in the name of humanitarian intervention in the affairs of other states. They warn instead that such considerations risk extending cultural biases of individual political communities regarding the common good at the price of international order (Bellamy 2005a, 10; Devetak 2005, 244). Solidarist arguments in the English school offer a broader vision of international society. For solidarists, the very rules and norms envisioned by pluralists and found in international law, concerning sovereignty and collective security against aggression, suggest that diverse communities are able to agree on and work to uphold “substantive moral standards” (Bellamy 2005a, 11). In addition to this “thin solidarity” underlying the society of states, solidarists also note that the expanding scope of human rights law reveals that there are greater linkages across diverse political communities regarding what is moral and just and thus the potential for a more expansive international society (Nardin 2005, 248).13 Still thicker solidarist arguments draw on growing concerns over globalization to expand the conceptualization of international society beyond that of states to incorporate a broader array of moral issues—economic and well as political—a more cosmopolitanism focus on individuals rather than states, and universal rather than bounded conceptualizations of justice.14 Challenges and Paths to Justice This volume seeks to raise questions for and help push the boundaries of prominent theoretical understandings and broader public discourse concerning challenges and paths to global justice. The contributors focus on a

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range of substantive issue areas and draw from an array of experiences and, to varying degrees, theoretical approaches. To facilitate this diversity the contributors have not been tasked with grounding their arguments in specific theoretical traditions. The remainder of this section both summarizes the following chapters and begins to explore the ways in which they speak to the theoretical approaches briefly summarized above. Clearly, the systematic bridging of contending theories is an important step for scholars seeking to conceptualize and theorize justice.15 The realization of such a bridge, however, lies beyond the scope of this volume. Law and (Re)integration The nature and role of law cuts across the prominent theoretical traditions explored above: as a component of political institutions within domestic societies, a means to institutionalize principles of equal moral worth and dignity for human beings, and as the centerpiece of the international society of states. Yet, law, and especially its implementation, can be both a challenge and path to global justice. In the following two chapters, Maureen Lynch and Chris Lundry analyze the intersection of law and justice, as applied to the international protection of refugees and the reintegration of those guilty of past crimes in postconflict societies. Maureen Lynch (Chapter 2) explores what happens to refugees, already at risk in their countries of origin, when they are denied access to fair and effective processes for determining asylum status. Despite international legal standards for asylum and refugee protections, thousands of refugees have been prevented from gaining access to relief by restrictive national policies and practices. Lynch points to the recent proliferation of “safe third country agreements” as undermining long-standing international legal principles of nonrefoulement. Such principles are intended to prevent the expulsion or return of refugees to their country of origin or other countries where they would be at risk of persecution. The means of forced return are diverse, ranging from physically preventing the arrival of refugees to narrowly interpreting international conventions to set unattainable standards of proof of refugee status. Lynch draws on detailed case studies conducted by the nongovernmental organization (NGO) Refugees International (RI), exploring 26 cases of forced return from Southwest and Southeast Asian and Latin American countries. Based on these findings, Lynch outlines extensive steps toward revitalizing the International Refugee Protection Regime including new linkages between advocacy organizations, the United Nations, and refugees themselves. This chapter raises questions for prominent approaches to justice, of which a few are noted here. What is the obligation of members of democratic,

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well-ordered societies to individuals fleeing from decent hierarchical societies, outlaw states, or burdened societies? Rawls (1999, 9–10), for example, explores immigration as an issue of political injustice, noting the impact of political persecution and oppression, flawed government policies and famine, and inequality and subjugation of women. Although the absence of just political institutions can help to explain why individuals might face persecution in and flee their countries of origin, to what extent is the path to justice limited to helping such societies—through advice, financial support, working through institutions, and employing the threat of sanction where necessary—to develop just institutions? The cosmopolitanism perspective and the solidarist arguments of the English school place equal moral worth on human beings, but what are the ramifications of such arguments for refugees and nonrefoulement? For example, how do principles of global distributive justice apply when “distant others” become less distant as they arrive as migrants (Couture and Nielson 2005, 193–194)? Immigration raises questions for the debate between moderate and extreme cosmopolitanism (Tan 2004, 123–131). For example, Jocelyne Couture and Kai Nielson (2005, 193) note principles of “compatriot priority” when they argue that cosmopolitanism “might recommend” that a country seek: “a careful balance between a reasonable opening of their borders and strong measures to protect the culture of their country. When it does so it must fully respect the rights of immigrants.” Yet does this balance alter when dealing with refugees? To what extent do refugees in fleeing prosecution face greater threats to their moral worth, and thus have greater claim for entry?16 Turning to the English school, human rights conventions suggest that laws and norms for the just treatment of refugees are a component of the international society of states. But what are the ramifications for the English school when the members of the society of states, especially its most powerful members, fail to uphold the spirit if not the letter of these provisions? Chris Lundry (Chapter 3) explores international efforts at state building and the recreation of civil society in postconflict situations, and the intersection of these efforts with culturally embedded legal traditions. Lundry traces the initial clash and subsequent resolution of the United Nations Transitional Administration in East Timor (UNTAET) and East Timorese customary law (lisan). For the United Nations, the introduction of Indonesian formal law following East Timor’s independence appeared to offer a better fit than lisan. The choice fit with models of dealing with postconflict societies that had been adopted in Kosovo, and appeared as less of a contradiction to international human rights norms. However, Lundry notes that as initial attempts at introducing a national legal system and processes of reconciliation failed, the UNTAET increasingly turned to lisan as a means of conflict

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resolution. He writes that this shift was not “a granting of permission” by the United Nations but instead “an acknowledgement of a process that was already taking place” at the local level. Lundry details the lisan process and its integration into community-reconciliation mechanisms, as well as the shortfalls of customary law in gender-related crimes, consistency, and the ability to deal with those Timorese and Indonesians most culpable for atrocities conducted during the transition to independence. The chapter reveals that despite these shortfalls lisan has played a restorative justice role in East Timor and thus can offer insights into the broader exploration of (re)integration in postconflict societies. This chapter also helps to raise questions for prominent approaches to justice. For example, what are the ramifications of envisioning justice without a sense of past history? Envisioning justice from an original position and a veil of ignorance as suggested by Rawls, for example, risks downplaying East Timor’s colonial history under Portugal, Japan, and Indonesia, and the ramifications of this history for the country’s transition from a burdened society. To what extent are the obligations of the Society of Peoples in this context simply the provision of advice and assistance necessary to establish just institutions? Lundry also notes the culpability of major powers in actions of the Indonesian government and Indonesian support of Timorese militias from the mid-1970s until East Timorese independence. To what extent were the actions of the United States and other countries during this period just, for example, given pluralist norms of sovereignty and noninterference in the international society of states? How essential was such tolerance to the preservation of international order or the preservation of cultural diversity noted by the pluralist approach of the English school? The emergence of lisan as a path toward reintegration in East Timor reveals the potential tension between traditional legal frameworks and mechanisms based on understandings of universal human rights and international legal frameworks. The chapter also reveals ways in which such tension can be resolved. Tension is of little surprise for Rawlsian and pluralist international society approaches, but what about the East Timorese and UNTAET steps toward its resolution? To what extent are these measures steps toward just or at least decent political institutions? Cosmopolitanism and solidarist approaches also acknowledge the potential tension between local cultures and universal rights frameworks; and the shortcomings of lisan especially in area of gender illustrate how local cultures can challenge the principle of moral equality of individuals. The role of lisan in East Timor, however, raises a broader issue concerning the extent to which permutations of restorative justice are consistent with cosmopolitanism and

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solidarist paths. As Lundry observes, “It makes little sense to discourage traditional methods of restorative justice” in non-Western societies at the same time “as Western states look towards restorative justice as a means to alleviate problems” in their own criminal justice systems. Development, Humanitarian Aid, and Cultural Space Paths to development, and the role of developed countries in facilitating or inhibiting such paths, lie at the forefront of considerations of global justice. That well-ordered societies and wealthier countries bear a moral responsibility to facilitate development is a common theme in Rawlsian, cosmopolitanism, and solidarist approaches. The extent of this responsibility and the manner in which these obligations are to be met, however, remain contested—especially in the intersection of such considerations with local cultural traditions, Western development models, and universal rights frameworks. Lowell Ewert and Aman Mojadidi analyze the intersection of development, humanitarian aid, and cultural space, as applied to rightsbased approaches adopted by the United Nations and NGOs and to the rise of militarized humanitarian assistance programs in Afghanistan. Lowell Ewert (Chapter 4) explores the shortfalls of paradigms commonly embraced by humanitarian aid and long-term development practitioners. Development paradigms have been criticized as worsening the plight of those being assisted and disrupting local cultural traditions. The tendency toward embracing the latest paradigm also has tended to overshadow essential development principles and “diminish the personal responsibility” of development workers for their actions, leading to growing cynicism. Ewert argues that rights-based development approaches, when properly conceptualized and implemented, have the potential to address such concerns. The chapter reveals that rights-based approaches grounded in a “philosophical paradigm in international human rights” are widespread. Examples range from the activities of the United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights (UNHCHR) and the Canadian International Development Agency (CIDA) to the activities of NGOs such Save the Children and ActionAid. However, Ewert sees such paradigmatic roots as limiting and argues instead for a more comprehensive path. His approach to rights-based development calls for incorporating standards of behavior embodied in local custom and law at the outset as a step toward developing viable development frameworks. The activities of the Mercy Corps in Indonesia and the PPIC-Work in Egypt reveal how development agencies can play a critical role in facilitating this process and creating rights-based development standards.

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Though drawing on international human rights principles found in international law, this chapter raises questions for Rawlsian, cosmopolitanism, and international society approaches. Ewert posits a layered rights approach—informed by a sense of subsidiarity that acknowledges the importance of international human rights principles but sees their silence on some aspects of development as providing an interactive space for local community norms and development agencies. The idea of interactive space for cultural traditions and international human rights norms is less the challenge here than Ewert’s emphasis on the ability of nongovernmental development agencies to engage this space. Ewert argues that NGOs are capable of rights creation that can alter local cultures thereby facilitating development and, though less developed in the chapter, the ability of development agencies through such process to, in turn, influence broader international norms.17 To what extent does this pattern coincide with the nature and channels for advice to burdened societies envisioned by Rawls? To what extent is it consistent with the broad obligation of inclusiveness envisioned by cosmopolitanism perspectives, or captured by solidarist perspectives on just paths to broadening international society? Ewert sees the foundational role of international human rights norms as helping to create a space within which NGOs can work with local cultural traditions to facilitate the rise of rights-based development. In contrast, Aman Mojadidi (Chapter 5) reveals that the space available to NGOs often is more constraining than empowering. Tracing historical patterns of domination and exploitation, Mojadidi addresses inequalities embedded within ideas and processes of globalization. His chapter focuses on the “globalizing efforts” of developed countries in the areas of development assistance, humanitarian aid, and human rights, with Afghanistan as the primary case study. Mojadidi argues that since the removal of the Taliban in 2001, an increasingly complex and expanded space is emerging where Afghan cultural identity is being simultaneously lived and created by local Afghans, diaspora returnees, human rights and development NGOs, and U.S. and coalition forces. Cultural shifts are taking place not only temporally but also spatially, both in and outside of Afghanistan. Human rights are embraced by some Afghans and viewed with suspicion by others, and the dividing lines often do not match the spatial shifts underway. Mojadidi argues that militarized human rights initiatives, where military action is justified in the name of humanitarianism and promotion of human rights, have taken center stage, feeding these suspicions and creating new challenges for NGOs seeking to provide basic economic, social, and cultural human rights. He describes an increasingly “globalized militarized humanitarianism” where humanitarian agencies are seen by the United States as “force multipliers” and the provision of humanitarian aid is linked

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to cooperation in rooting out hostile forces. In this context, according to Mojadidi, NGO efforts to maintain “a sense of neutrality, non-partiality, and/or independence” face serious ethical and logistical challenges. More extensively than Lundry, Mojadidi calls attention to the importance of historical context and the broader underlying dynamics of power. The latter lead pluralist approaches to the international society of states to view expansive human rights agendas with caution. Drawing on the work of Amartya Sen, Mojadidi also explores the tension surrounding even weak cosmopolitanism’s focus on the universality of the right to basic human needs. He notes that within Afghanistan, the perceived Eurocentric origin of basic needs arguments leads to “distrust over possible agendas.” Suspicions emerge even despite broad shared understandings in principle of the right of human beings to the provision of such needs. Distrust has been fed further by the prominence of the human rights rhetoric in the Soviet justification for the 1979 invasion and subsequent occupation of Afghanistan. It is Mojadidi’s arguments on “globalized militarized humanitarianism,” however, that raise more serious questions regarding challenges and paths to justice. Afghanistan appears as a country in transition from an outlaw state under, as Mojadidi notes, a “brutal” Taliban regime, to a burdened society. In light of this transition, what are the ramifications of Afghanistan for Rawls’ caution against the use of force to promote just institutions, or more broadly to facilitate cultural change? What are the ramifications of Rawlsian arguments for Afghanistan’s future? The Afghan case also raises questions for cosmopolitanism and the English school. To what extent is militarized humanitarianism, as an extreme form of humanitarian interventionism, antithetical to weak and strong cosmopolitanism and thick solidarist perspectives? What insights do these perspectives offer as to how NGOs can limit the impact of broader trends toward a globalized militarized humanitarianism in their efforts to facilitate paths to justice? Information and Transformation Challenges and paths to global justice lie in the ways in which individuals perceive and understand other individuals, societies, and countries. Rawls calls for members of domestic societies to envision a realistic utopia, and contends that a broader sense of the possible can be realized through combining first (and second) original positions and a veil of ignorance. Cosmopolitanism calls for envisioning individuals as all linked by moral equality of human beings. The English school calls for envisioning societies of thin and thick solidarity. Envisioning such possibilities has become more complex in the age of globalization. Opportunities for direct personal

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experiences with others and access to sources of information have increased dramatically but offer no guarantees that global justice will be realized. Marie Pace and Barrett L. McCormick analyze the intersection of information and transformation as applied to citizen diplomacy movements in the Middle East and the global media network of Rupert Murdoch. Marie Pace (Chapter 6) explores citizen peacemaking efforts and the tension that exists between addressing the structural sources of social conflict and facilitating nonviolent social change. Prioritizing the former can risk “polarizing and enflaming conflict” in ways difficult to resolve, while seeking conflict resolution without addressing its structural sources can lead to outcomes that are “shallow at best.” Pace seeks insights into paths to resolve these tensions through a detailed case study of citizen diplomacy movements, focusing on the Compassionate Listening Project and its efforts to address the Israeli–Palestinian conflict. Citizen diplomacy relies on face-to-face meetings between individuals from contending societies in an effort to reveal a common humanity. Compassionate listening utilizes the act of individual listening to grievances as a means to facilitate dialogue and reconciliation. Pace traces the emergence of the Compassionate Listening Project, and the efforts by its founder, Leah Green, to integrate citizen diplomacy and compassionate listening as an alternative to more adversarial activist approaches. Although the approach has facilitated dialogue, Pace argues that the project is distinguished by a third dimension that diverges from traditional citizen diplomacy. Rather than direct meetings between Israeli and Palestinian communities, the project sends delegations of North Americans, primarily Jewish Americans, to the region to meet with each community separately. The delegates are transformed by the experience in a way that addresses the structural roots of the conflict while limiting polarization. However, Pace observes that the project has been less successful in facilitating reconciliation between Israelis and Palestinians. The chapter’s exploration of the intersection of citizen diplomacy and compassionate listening raises questions for prominent theoretical approaches to global justice. For example, to what extent are citizen diplomacy and its message of a common humanity that transcends national borders consistent with the state diplomacy envisioned by the English school? What are the ramifications of compassionate listening for Rawlsian arguments concerning the ways in which well-ordered societies should deal with those that are not well ordered? Compassionate listening by definition acknowledges the legitimacy of the others’ voice and grievances. What ramifications do this pose for how the prominent theoretical approaches deal with grievances rooted in clashes of contending cultural traditions? The Compassionate Listening Project’s focus on North American delegates also raises questions. Rather

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than offering advice in a Rawlsian pattern, members of a well-ordered society traveled abroad to listen and returned having experienced transformation. Pace does not address here ways in which the delegates upon returning to the United States exerted a broader transformative effect on domestic society or on the U.S. policymaking process.18 In this context, to what extent does the Compassionate Learning Project fall short of attitudinal shifts envisioned by cosmopolitanism and solidarist perspectives? Finally, the chapter raises a more controversial question. To what extent are the Israelis and Palestinians best understood theoretically as well-ordered societies, burdened societies, or outlaw states? To what extent have these theoretical understandings coincided with the way in which Israel and the emergent Palestinian state have been approached in practice by other societies? Barrett L. McCormick (Chapter 7) explores the rise of global media networks, and their impact on the global diffusion of the rule of law, deliberative democracy, and peace. He argues that the business interests of the tabloid media networks have converged with patrimonial politics and the manipulation of nationalism, with ill effect. McCormick argues that while political leaders who actually own media networks are able to facilitate patrimonial politics through favorable media coverage and shifting public focus away from the erosion of rule of law, the rise of global media networks expands this opportunity to leaders who do not own their own networks. He illustrates the latter through a detailed case study of Rupert Murdoch’s media network from its roots in Australia to its expansion into the media markets of the United Kingdom, United States, and China. Patrimonial politics, McCormick writes, sacrifices the rule of law as “leaders trade material benefits for the loyalties of their followers.” McCormick reveals how Murdoch has been able to purchase newspapers, magazines, and television and satellite networks by leveraging access to global capital markets and powerful political leaders. He discusses how in exchange for the lucrative material benefits of media ownership, Murdoch and News Corporation provided British, U.S., and Chinese political leaders with support through favorable and often aggressively patriotic media coverage. Such coverage, McCormick argues, has imparted “only minimal information and simplistic analysis” while often branding alternative viewpoints and those who espouse them as traitorous. This chapter raises questions for prominent theoretical approaches to global justice. What role do the media play in well-ordered societies, in the transformation of members of such societies, and in the larger Society of Peoples envisioned by Rawls? To what extent do patrimonial politics and the erosion of deliberative discourse distort the just institutions of constitutional democratic societies? Given the trends posited by McCormick, are such

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societies still best understood as well ordered? How do these challenges affect the ability of democratic societies to play a leadership role within the Society of Peoples, and in dealing with non-well-ordered societies? For cosmopolitan perspectives, how has the rise of global tabloid media networks influenced the ways in which individuals become aware of and understand distant and not-so-distant others, and the effects of their actions on others? More specifically, how has the intersection of media networks and patrimonial politics affected understandings of moral responsibilities, and the relationship between considerations of nationality and distributive justice? McCormick observes that rather than being ideologically driven, Murdoch and the affiliates of News Corporation have embraced patriotic themes and inflamed nationalism out of considerations of profit. What are the ramifications of the patriotism card as played by the tabloid media for the international society of states and the broader world society envisioned by the English school? More broadly, to what extent can global media networks reinforce or undermine shared understandings of sovereignty, noninterference, and the diversity of political communities in the society of states? Power and Peace With the collapse of the Soviet Union, the structure of the international system changed. Though scholars differ on the extent to which a unipolar distribution of state power emerged, the United States entered the new millennium much more powerful than its closest rivals or allies (Huntington 1999, Mearsheimer 2001, Ikenberry 2002). Though the threat of superpower nuclear war has eased, structural shifts have not resulted in a new world order of peace and stability. Violent state fragmentation, ethnic conflict, and wars over resources and territory distinguished the 1990s, and its legacies carried over into the new century. At the same time, regional and global economic integration has intensified and, in turn, increased the flows of goods, services, capital, and, to a lesser extent, people across national borders. These trends have given rise to both optimism and concern over the impact of globalization (Mittelman 2000). Non-state actors have flourished in this context, both to the good and detriment of the society of states and the broader world society. Since the attacks of September 11, 2001, concerns have grown over the global reach and influence of terrorist networks on state and societal security and the responses of states to these networks. What are the ramifications of these changes for challenges and paths to global justice? Kevin P. Clements and Daniel C. Maguire analyze the intersection of power and peace in the new millennium, as applied to the war on terrorism and the risks of empire.

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Kevin Clements (Chapter 8) explores the efficacy of military and nonmilitary responses to terrorism. Terrorist challenges clearly exist but, as Clements argues, the U.S. response has “generated more chaos than stability” by conflating national and international terrorism, prioritizing military intervention, and devoting less attention to the political and economic structural conditions that create the “macro-environment” for terrorist activities. Exploring suicide terrorism as a strategic act, Clements turns to the sources of terrorism and ways in which nonviolent, nonmilitary responses might be able to better address these sources. For Clements, the essential step lies in addressing the structural conditions facilitating terrorism. Drawing on the work of Kenneth Boulding and Joseph Nye, he argues that doing so requires a shift from the relative emphasis placed on the exercise of threat and economic power to approaches relying more on integrative power. Clements writes that state reliance on threat and narrow economic self-interest plays into the hands of terrorist groups who depend extensively on violence and exploit conditions of economic inequity. Integrative approaches, when combined with the broader exercise of economic power, turn instead to redressing gaps in welfare and mutually beneficial exchange and building sustainable communities and rule-based systems of justice. Clements readily admits that while the prospects for such a shift in state policy appear unlikely, successes in the use of more integrative approaches in the resolution of civil wars offer a potential path. The chapter specifically explores William Long and Peter Brecke’s “forgiveness model” as a response to terrorism. Clements reveals impediments from states and terrorists alike to each of the model’s phases, but concludes that the exploration of such alternatives is necessary to avoid what is likely to be a never-ending war. This chapter complements and challenges prominent theoretical perspectives. Clements’ arguments illustrate cosmopolitanism and solidarist themes, including: the moral equality of individuals, the need to redress glaring poverty and inequality, the need to acknowledge responsibility for intended and unintended harm, and the need for cultural sensitivity in a world where the speed of communication has blurred the lines between local and global. Yet, arguing for greater distributive justice and cultural sensitivity still begs the question of what is the extent of the shift necessary for addressing structural sources of terrorism? To what extent does Clements resolve broader debates in the literature over the appropriate levels of such steps? Clements also stresses Rawlsian themes including the importance of civil society and rule of law as essential to sustainable communities. But he conceptualizes communities as both narrower and broader than nations or states. To what extent does his vision challenge the Rawlsian path to the Society of Peoples? In a reflection of the debates within the English school,

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Clements emphasizes the need for and questions the commitment of powerful states to the creation and support of societies of states, as well as broader societies based on principles of human rights, rule of law, and freedom and peace. Yet how can this commitment be realized, and to what extent is the path captured by pluralist or solidarist approaches? Clements calls on his audience to keep trying different approaches, no matter how utopian, to break what appears as an insurmountable impasse; and argues that it is ultimately up to the West, especially the United States, to adopt the just policies necessary to break the deadlock of global war on terror. Though prominent theoretical approaches to justice share the commitment to envisioning a utopian future, to what extent would they concur with the argument that the primary challenge and path to justice is found in the policy choices of the West’s most powerful state? Daniel Maguire (Chapter 9) explores the intersection of religion and empire, and the ramifications of this intersection for peace. He argues that the United States, rather than being a “humanitarian superpower,” reveals characteristics of empire: specifically, “hubris” grounded in claims of divine exceptionalism; “hypocrisy” that masks policies and practice of self-interest with rhetoric of compassion and altruism; and “self-destruction” embedded in the “costs of militarism and overreach.” The chapter illustrates these characteristics in U.S. economic, social, and military policy and practice, but ultimately focuses more on how insights of Judeo–Christian prophets offer an alternative path. Maguire uses these insights to reveal inconsistencies between U.S. policy and practice and American self-perception as a nation rooted in Christianity. He also uses these insights to suggest their relevance to addressing current challenges to justice and peace. Maguire notes the importance of compassion in Christianity as lived by addressing the plight of the poor rather than through military excess, and as exemplified in the struggle of Jesus on behalf of the poor and oppressed against the empire of Rome. Maguire traces a shift from early Israelite understandings of God as embracing and epitomizing the primacy of force and vengeance to a gradual rethinking of the limits of militarized violence and to a growing emphasis on realizing justice as a path to peace. Maguire contends that these insights remain relevant. He argues further that despite extensive military power and faith in such power, the United States increasingly is vulnerable in a world marked by terrorism, proliferation of weapons of mass destruction, porous borders, and relative erosion in economic and technological advantage. The utility of force and war in this context, and the morality of such practices and the sacrifices they entail, he argues, are questionable at best. Maguire concludes that the path to peace instead lies in educating

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cultures that have placed their faith in violence that such faith is misplaced. This chapter raises questions for prominent approaches to justice that hinge on the impact and responsibilities of the powerful. Like Clements, Maguire questions the ability of power, conceptualized in terms of the acquisition and exercise of military force, to address the challenges of the new millennium. Though both authors see the United States as central to peace, Maguire pushes his critique of U.S. policy and practice further. His arguments, at times, are similar to those raised in the theoretical approaches. For example, the risks of empire are addressed by pluralist approaches to the international society of states. Bull (1984, 14 cited in Devetak 2005, 244) warns of the risks to international order when individual “states ‘set themselves up as the authoritative judges of the common good, in disregard of others.’” The reliance on primacy of force and disregard of international norms and institutions also undermine the very basis of international society. The pluralist concern that state claims of universal morality are to be avoided due to cultural bias, however, fails to capture the nuance of Maguire’s argument. Specifically, what are the ramifications of the disconnect that exists among self-understandings of divine exceptionalism, universal morality, and religious society; the actual tenets of religious traditions; and U.S. policy and practice? Granted, given broad pluralist concerns with defending plurality, such nuance in addressing the sources of challenges to plurality may matter little. In contrast, Rawlsian, cosmopolitanism, and solidarist perspectives more systematically engage questions of cultural understanding, cultural space, and justice, albeit in different ways. To what extent do Maguire’s arguments concerning the intersection of religion and empire challenge the paths to global justice envisioned by such approaches? More specifically, Maguire argues for a humanitarian superpower that more accurately embraces the insights of the Judeo–Christian tradition. To what extent does this argument offer a viable path to global justice, given the world’s contending religious traditions? Or, are the insights regarding nonviolence and addressing socioeconomic inequality as paths to justice truly universal? Envisioning global justice and the challenges and paths to its realization requires the insights of scholars and practitioners. The intersection of theoretically based inquiry and on-the-ground experience can help push the boundaries of understanding and the sense of what is possible. The following chapters reveal that insights lie in this intersection and in the exploration of issues of law and (re)integration; development; humanitarian aid and cultural space; information and transformation; and power and peace.

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Notes 1. For example, see overviews in O’Neill (1991); Sterba (1999); Foot, Gaddis, and Hurrell (2003); and Nardin (2005). Andrew Hurrell (2003, 31–32) sees more of a common ground when he posits, “Instead of being merely a catch-all phrase to indicate concerns with ethics and morality, a coherent global justice agenda can be identified, both within recent practices of world politics and in the explosion of academic writing on international normative theory.” 2. Rawls briefly explores foreign policy issues in A Theory of Justice (1971, 337– 382) but focuses more on political principles than socioeconomic. 3. For an overview of this debate as applied to the role of international institutions, see Milner (2005). 4. For example, Rawls (1999, 9) notes democratic peace arguments to support his claims that democratic societies do not go to war with each other, and extends this to the use of weapons of mass destruction. 5. Such arguments are not limited to Rawls. For example, see the discussion and critique of David Miller’s work in Bell and Avner de-Shalit (2003). 6. The literature here is extensive. In addition to the contributors to the Brock and Brighouse volume (2005b), see, for example, Barry (1989), O’Neill (1991), Barry (1995), Nussbaum and Cohen (1996), Nussbaum (1999), Renigger (1999), Sen (1999), and Hinsch (2001). 7. Considerations of space, for example, come into play when considering the interaction of local cultures with “universal” human rights criteria as individuals and nations seek to improve the conditions for “human flourishing” for “poorly administered peoples” (Sypnowich 2005, 70–72). 8. The quotations are from Brock and Brighouse (2005a, 2–3 [quote], 5–8). In addition, see Nussbaum et al. (1996), Tan (2004, 11–-12), and Sypnowich (2005, 62–64). 9. Still further differences appear over what exactly should be (re)distributed. I am grateful to Ryan Hanley for noting this point. 10. Rawls (1999, 107–111) rejects the arguments of Beitz and others for a global difference principle as missing the importance of the need to focus on the establishment of political institutions, and potentially risking redistribution beyond the capacity of well-ordered societies. 11. Rawls posits a “second original position” as well as a veil of ignorance as paths to envisioning a broader Society of Peoples. While such steps allow for the consideration of rights and obligations without biases of privilege or its absence, they also preclude consideration of historical legacies, such as colonialism, that have facilitated the rise of burdened societies and outlaw states. Thus, Rawls relieves well-ordered societies that may have benefited from colonialism from any sense of responsibility for conditions of injustice stemming from historical, economic, or social circumstances. 12. The latter is a shortcoming that the English school recently has turned to in greater detail, especially in the context of globalization. For example, see Buzan (2004) and contributors to Bellamy (2005b).

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13. Nardin (2005) applies this distinction to solidarists. For a brief discussion of differences between thick and thin cosmopolitanism, drawing on the work of Michael Walzer, see Renigger (1999). 14. For example, see Devetak and Higgott (1999); Linklater (1999); Foot, Gaddis, and Hurrell (2003); Bellamy (2005a, 11–20); Buzan (2005); and Reus-Smit (2005, 92). However, this solidarist expansion of international society risks blurring the English school’s distinction between the international society of states and world society, and thus raises questions about the school’s central claims that insights lie in exploring these interactive but distinct dimensions. 15. Nardin (2005, 248–263), for example, observes that neither the pluralist nor solidarist approaches to the international society of states or the intersection of this society with a broader world society sufficiently conceptualize or theorize justice. He argues for a theory of justice that explores which “moral principles are properly enforceable in a society of states” as well as in a global society. Nardin argues that justice is best linked to areas where a “common morality” exists among the political communities that comprise the society of states, and in the case of global justice held by a global civil society. 16. Kok-Chor Tan (2004, 124n16) briefly notes that such balance considerations for liberal nationalists would not apply to “genuine refugees, who most liberals would say are entitled to unconditional admittance” though this has rarely been the case in practice. 17. There is extensive scholarship on the role of NGOs and intergovernmental organizations in norm creation influencing local cultural traditions and broader international development norms. For example, see Finnemore (1996) and Keck and Sikkink (1998). 18. The latter objective is suggested implicitly in Pace’s discussion of the origins of the project, especially the interests of its founder, Leah Green, and helps to explain the paradox of what Pace terms the “third side.”

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When International Protection Fails Maureen Lynch

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ccess to asylum can mean the difference between life and death. Yet asylum policies around the world have become increasingly restrictive. Every day, individuals are refused admission into and expelled from countries without having access to fair and effective status-determination processes. Some are returned to countries where their human rights cannot be guaranteed. Despite the existence of international agreements, states often fail to protect refugees, fearing threats to national security, domestic destabilization, infiltration by armed groups or traffickers, depletion of scarce resources, and influx of more refugees. Sometimes xenophobia or racism determines a state’s response. International agencies also fall short in their protection operations. What happens to the tens, even hundreds, of thousands of refugees prevented from claiming asylum each year? Are they within reach of the international community and its protection? If not, why? How do they survive? Or do they? The purpose of this chapter is to answer these questions. It identifies international standards for and response to forced return; documents the experience and outcomes of 26 cases of forced return from China, India, Tanzania, Panama, and Thailand; and then offers concrete recommendations to reduce the life-threatening problem of refoulement. Human Rights: International Protection and Nonrefoulement A legal link between human rights and refugee protection is found in Article 7 of the 1966 United Nations International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (United Nations 1966) which states: No one shall be subjected to torture or to cruel, inhuman or degrading treatment or punishment. In particular, no one shall be subjected without his free consent to medical or scientific experimentation.

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In addition, Article 14 of the 1948 Universal Declaration of Human Rights affirms the “right to seek and enjoy in other countries asylum from persecution.” The 1951 Convention Relating to the Status of Refugees (United Nations 1951) was the first in a series of human rights treaties that transcribed the ideals of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights into legally binding obligations. The first part of Article 33 states: No contracting state shall expel or return (“refouler”) a refugee in any manner whatsoever to the frontiers of territories where his life or freedom would be threatened on account of his race, religion, nationality, membership of a particular group or political opinion.

Today, the principle of nonrefoulement is widely considered a rule of customary international law and is thus considered binding on all states regardless of whether they have acceded to the 1951 Convention Relating to the Status of Refugees or the 1967 Protocol Relating to the Status of Refugees (Jastram and Achiron 2001). Because a person is a refugee from the moment he or she fulfills the conditions of Article 1 of the convention, nonrefoulement applies to all refugees, including asylum-seekers whose status has not yet been determined and those seeking entry into a country, lawfully or not (Goodwin-Gill 1996). According to the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR), the principle applies not only in the country of origin but in any country where a person has reason to fear persecution. In recent years, this has become a concern in the case of “safe third country” agreements. The “safe third country” concept is applied to allow the removal of asylum-seekers and refugees to countries where they have or could have sought asylum and where their safety would not be jeopardized, whether in that country or through return from there to the country of origin (Van Selm 2001). This agreement forces most refugees to seek protection in the first of two countries in which they set foot. In fact, they are often returned to that country with limited rights of appeal. The European Council on Refugees and Exiles (ECRE) has exposed and documented cases in which, owing to this practice, asylum-seekers have been bounced from one country to another without any state taking responsibility for examining the asylum claim—in some instances even resulting in refoulement (European Council on Refugees and Exiles 1995). The prohibition on forced repatriation continues until the fear of persecution ceases, and the individual’s state can assure security and protection. The principle of nonrefoulement demands that return to the country of origin must be the result of the “exercise [of ] one’s own free and unconstrained will,”

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that is, in the “absence of any physical, psychological or material pressures” (Jamal 2000). Another challenging situation arises under cessation of status, such as when temporary protection is terminated because of general changed conditions in the state of origin. At that time an opportunity to file applications for refugee status and complementary protection, including the human rights bars to refoulement, should be provided. While the Organization of African Unity (OAU) Convention Governing the Specific Aspects of Refugee Problems in Africa of 1969 declares the principle of nonrefoulement without exception, the Refugee Convention, Article 33(2), expressly provides that the benefit of nonrefoulement cannot be claimed by a refugee for “whom there are reasonable grounds for regarding as a danger to the security of the country . . . or who, having been convicted by a final judgment of a particularly serious crime, constitutes a danger to the community of that country.” Where expulsion is allowed, Article 33 of the 1951 Convention limits the places to which refugees can be sent and prohibits the expulsion or refoulement of a refugee to the frontiers of territories where his life or freedom would be threatened on account of his race, religion, nationality, membership in a particular social group, or political opinion. A state considering suspending the principle must carefully examine and be able to demonstrate that the individual poses a clear danger to the public or to national security. The proportionality of the sentence faced relative to the crime, circumstances of the crime, and other factors must be considered. Despite these standards, refugees are denied access to rightful processes. Violations of nonrefoulement often take place in areas where there is little or no outside access or monitoring, such as airport transit areas, on ships at sea, or in remote locations. More specifically, forced returns may and do occur when states engage in the following. Prevent Arrival A country can violate the nonrefoulement principle by preventing refugees from arriving on its shores or land borders. In June 1996, Liberians fled their war-ravaged capital of Monrovia. Some 2,000 refugees on the ship Bulk Challenge were refused entry by several West African nations until Ghana bowed to international pressure and accepted them. Another vessel, the Zolotitsa, carrying about 450 Liberian and other West African refugees, tried to dock in Nigeria, Benin, Togo, Ghana, and the Ivory Coast over the course of three weeks. Eventually, the refugees were forced to return to Liberia and face the same conditions from which they had fled (Kuruk 1999).

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Deny Access to Asylum Process Since April 1997, U.S. immigration inspectors have been able to remove persons who do not have a chance to express a fear of return to their country of origin under the Illegal Immigration Reform and Immigrant Responsibility Act (IIRIRA) of 1996. As part of the process, aliens who are subject to expedited removal and assert a fear of being returned to their home country or country of last residence are to be provided a credible fear interview. The expedited removal law “contemplates that persons interdicted at sea and brought to the United States could be afforded a credible fear screening. However, in the clear majority of interdictions . . . the United States has opted not to do so, resulting in the frequent return of persons without any asylum screening” (United States Committee for Refugees 2000). Tolerate Corruption and Arbitrary Fines Refugees may be forced by corrupt guards to pay arbitrary fees with cash, labor, sexual favors, or other means to gain entry. The narrative accounts of Liberian refugees who fled to Guinea in the 1990s revealed harsh treatment and exploitation on both sides of the border (Lynch and Kun 2003). One refugee reported, “People who paid were allowed to go. Those that didn’t have any money were punished and some sent back.” Another reported, “Those who did not have money were punished severely, sometimes forced to collect trash or clean the checkpoint. Women were forcibly taken as wives for commanding officers. The men are often turned back.” Interpret the Refugee Convention Narrowly Forced return can take place when states deny that the asylum-seeker is, in fact, a refugee. There are many individuals who transit international borders, and it is important to distinguish between economic migrants and refugees, for example, through the use of expeditious, yet humane, procedures. The problem in these cases is not blocking of access to procedures, but setting the well-founded fear of persecution standard too high, in effect requiring a clear probability of persecution, or ability to document past persecution, or a demonstration that persecution will occur in every corner of the country of origin; state authorities also fail to appreciate the risk inherent in membership in particular social groups, or fail to recognize non-state agents of persecution.

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Remove Persons by Force Refugees may be forcibly or physically removed from a potentially safe place. One case involved Colombians seeking safety in Panama. During the weekend of April 18–21, 2003, some 109 refugees, including 63 children, were taken at gunpoint to a helicopter that then transferred them from the eastern Panamanian town of Punusa to the Colombian side of the border, where they were dumped without food, water, or shelter as night fell (Ludwick 2003). Coerce Return or Provide Misleading Information to Induce It Increasingly, individuals are treated in a manner such that they feel left with no choice but to leave the host state. Based on the experience of Forum Asia with refugees in the region, the use of coercion and harassment has been divided into four levels: (a) refugees do not have a real choice, but nevertheless agree to repatriate for family reunification; (b) refugees decide to accept repatriation because pressure and daily harassment in the camps become untenable; (c) refugees are given the choice of going back or being put in jail, or they have their ration book confiscated, leaving them with no alternative to signing up for repatriation; and (d) refugees are simply pushed onto trucks after being detained to prevent escape (Forum Asia 2003). The Government of Bangladesh has used coercion to force the Rohinygas to return to Myanmar. Despite promises by the Russian government not to expel Chechens, pressure by cutting assistance has been put on refugees in Ingushetia where a large number of the civilians displaced by the ongoing violence in Chechnya have sought safety. As camps have been shut down and tents removed, services and food distribution have been cut off for the Chechens as well (Lynch 2002). State Responsibility and Practice Refugee flows have become more complex. States have to grapple with mixed movements, asylum fatigue, security concerns, and insufficient resources. It is true that governments have the right to take measures aimed at safeguarding security, but they must do so in conformity with their human rights obligations (Feller 2003). Nevertheless, refoulement can never be justified legally or morally, and the responsibility for safeguarding the rights of refugees remains with states. They must ensure adequate investigation of the applicant’s claim for asylum and a full and thorough determination of refugee status to safeguard a refugee against refoulement.

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Over time nonrefoulement has been defined in a number of universal and regional instruments relating to refugees, which borrow heavily from universal human rights principles (Donkoh 2000 and Troeller 2003). Instruments that address nonrefoulement include the following: ●

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European Convention for the Protection of Human Rights and Fundamental Freedoms, 1950 (Article 3) UN Convention relating to the Status of Refugees, 1951 (Article 33) General Assembly Resolution 2132 (XXII) Declaration on Territorial Asylum, 1967 (Article 3) UN International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, 1966 (Article 7) Principles Concerning the Treatment of Refugees, Asian-African Legal Consultative Committee, Bangkok, 1966 Resolution of Asylum to Persons in Danger of Persecution, Committee of Ministers of the Council of Europe, 1967 Organization of African Unity (OAU) Convention Governing the Specific Aspects of Refugee Problems in Africa, 1969 (Article II) American Convention on Human Rights, 1969 (Articles 5 and 22) African Charter on Human Rights and Peoples Rights, 1981 (Article 5) UN Convention Against Torture and Other Cruel, Inhuman or Degrading Treatment or Punishment, 1984 (Article 3) Cartegena Declaration on Refugees, 1984

Generally speaking, most states fulfill their obligations to protect refugees. Others, however, avoid their responsibility by pointing to a lack of resources, threats to national security, fears of domestic political destabilization, infiltration by armed groups or drug traffickers, and the arrival of even greater numbers of refugees. A summary table (Table 2.1) compiled from nearly a decade and a half of information collected by the U.S. Committee for Refugees, while not comprehensive, reveals that some 2.4 million people may have been denied access to a fair refugee determination procedure. In 2004 Refugees International (RI) released a report called Forced Back that included a list of countries that have forced back individuals; while not intended to be complete, the report demonstrates the sheer breadth of the problem (Lynch 2004). There is a secondary problem as well that should not be overlooked: lives of individuals unable to seek asylum or who, when forcibly returned, seek protection via illegal channels and are put at risk indirectly. Such individuals often lack documentation, a problem that results in refugees not being able

When International Protection Fails Table 2.1

Involuntary Returns

From Angola Australia Bahamas Bangladesh Burundi Cambodia China Congo/Zaire/Kin Cte d/Ghana/Togo Croatia Djbouti Dominican Rep Gabon

Gambia Georgia Germany Greece Guinea Guinea-Bissau Hong Kong India Indonesia Iran Iraq Israel/OPT Italy Japan Jordan Kazakhstan Kenya Kuwait

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To Congo/Zaire The seas Cuba Haiti Myanmar CongoKinshasa Vietnam North Korea Burundi/ Rwanda Liberia B-H Yugoslavia Ethiopia Somalia Haiti EquatorialGuinea Rwanda Senegal RF/ Chechnya B-H Yugoslavia Iraq/Syria Liberia Senegal Vietnam Myanmar Sri Lanka Cambodia Afghanistan Iraq Iran Lebanon Albania China Iraq Libya China Somalia Uganda Jordan/OPT Iraq

1989– 1993

1994– 1998

1999– 2002

3,000

800

3,000 400 313 17 116,225

350 21,000

5 350 21,000

400

11,100

313 17 94,325 5

4,300

13,000 400 2,534 18 8

125 10,600

1,000 2 168 200

2,950 1,000 3

138 6,610 18,729 1,000 100

808

13,585 1,900

200

23,150 183 279,488 96,000 400 1,700 140

270,000 50 2

5,200 402 8 3

1,800 1,237 60,000 7,000

200

Total

13,000 400 6,834 18 8 125 11,600 2 168 200 138 9,560 19,729 3 1,000 100 14,393 2,100 23,150 183 549,488 96,050 2 400 22,200 140 402 8 3 1,800 1,237 60,000 7,200 (Continued )

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Table 2.1 (Continued ) From Lebanon Libya Lithuania Malaysia Mexico Namibia Nepal Nigeria Pakistan Panama Romania Rwanda Saudi Arabia Sierra Leone South Africa Sudan Switzerland Tajikistan Tanzania Thailand

Turkey Uganda UK US

Venezuela Yemen Yugoslavia Zaire Zimbabwe

To Iraq Egypt Turkey Indonesia At sea Guatemala Angola China Chad Afghanistan Iran Colombia Sri Lanka Burundi Iraq Somalia Liberia Mozambique Zimbabwe Ethiopia VC B-H Afghanistan Burundi/Rwanda Myanmar Cambodia Laos Iran Iraq Congo-Kinshasa Cuba Cuba El Salvador Guatemala Haiti Colombia Somalia Croatia/B-H Burundi Rwanda Mozambique

Total Source: Lynch (2004, 26).

1989– 1993

1994– 1998

1999– 2002 300

1,000 3 414 9,100 321,000

109,423 700

3,800 40

391 140 23 178 102 400

3,000 400 7,000

4,283 960 40 232,600 1,600 22 240 233 6,000 6,500 576 288 448,049

45,000 14,500

247 820 13 1,015

7,755 6,249 41,199

14,370

12,000 714 1,400

25 145 200 4,782

10,365 5,330

438 4,000 2,000 15,000 5,000 1,404,445

725,259

366,183

Total 300 1,000 3 414 9,100 430,423 700 4,191 40 3,140 23 578 102 7,400 4,283 960 40 232,600 1,600 22 240 233 12,000 51,714 22,400 576 288 272 449,014 200 13 5,797 7,755 6,249 65,934 5,330 438 4,000 2,000 15,000 5,000 2,495,887

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to exercise their political, civil, social, economic, and cultural rights, hampering access to public services such as education and health. Refugees who do not possess proper documentation and permits have also been prevented from finding regular employment and have had to seek employment in the informal economy or in illegal activities such as supplying guerrilla groups or cultivating and trafficking drugs (Gottwald 2003). These concerns were raised in the submission by nongovernmental organizations (NGOs) to the general debate at the Executive Committee of the High Commissioner Program (UNHCR ExCom) in 2003 that said: The trends we have seen in terms of refugee protection are extremely worrying. We see the very states that have, in the past, committed themselves to protecting refugees, retreating from some of the most fundamental obligations under international and refugee and human rights law.

There are few international consequences for states that fail to protect refugees. Other than protests to the government, there is little that the international community, represented by the UNHCR, has done when host countries are abusive toward refugees. (Jacobsen 2002) At the individual level, it is extremely difficult to verify the fate of those forced back to their country of origin or all of its effects on any individual, his or her family, or social group. Interviews with refugee protection advocates reveal there is actually little information about what happens to individuals who are forced back without fair process (Frelick 2003, Lowman 2003, Pack 2003, and Paul 2003). This is a life-threatening problem for refugees. UNHCR’s Mandate and Response Refugee protection is the UNHCR’s primary mandate. Despite its efforts, the agency is not able to ensure that states fulfill even minimum obligations toward those forced to flee their countries (Troeller 2003). The rationale for the agency’s less-than-adequate response to forced returns has been based on issues such as changes in state responses to refugees, political and financial challenges, and the frequent lack of access to populations at risk. The UNHCR’s Department of International Protection reports that there is a trend toward tougher asylum regimes, which may, in some cases, lead to less-welcoming reception of asylum seekers (Hoisaeter 2003). The department also notes the problem of questionable practices such as the use of coercion and the fact that population movements now occur against a backdrop of the threat of terrorism, leaving countries to feel they have more leeway when public safety is at stake and can therefore justify expulsion.

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Another problem is that the UNHCR relies on government donations. This fact can make the agency retreat from pressing a broader agenda of rights protection as long as refugees are fed and housed in reasonably sanitary conditions. As a result, it has been suggested that “the problems that go unaddressed are: preventing involuntary refoulement, physical assault, militarization of camps, and insuring the right to receive basic education” (Lawyers Committee for Human Rights n.d.). Less-than-adequate funding takes a toll on another aspect of the agency’s work: staffing. A 2002 U.S. Government Accounting Office report (United States General Accounting Office 2003) identified another challenge for the UNHCR. The report highlighted that the UNHCR had 1,301 professional staff, including 402 (31 percent) in headquarters and 899 (69 percent) serving in the field. Professional staff members carry out the UNHCR’s core mandate of protecting refugees and the organization’s strategic objectives. Of the professional staff, 320 were protection officers. When a review determined that 117 additional protection positions were needed, only 21 were created owing to funding constraints. To its credit, the UNHCR has looked at ways to revitalize the 1951 convention and its protocol, in particular, through the Global Consultations on International Protection. Launched in October 2000 and carried out between 2001 and mid-2002, the consultations were intended to promote better understanding of the strengths, limitations, and potential of the 1951 convention. Following the Global Consultations, the UNHCR completed an Agenda for Protection (AGP). The AGP is intended to combine clear goals and objectives with suggested activities to strengthen refugee protection. The target of the whole process was to make the international response more reliable and effective, as well as to ensure greater equity in the sharing of responsibilities and burdens. During the 53rd session of the ExCom in October 2002, the high commissioner called for the development of tools, in the form of multilateral “special agreements,” to complement the 1951 Convention. The high commissioner termed these tools Convention Plus. There is, however, little external evidence that the progressive dialogue or its outputs have had significant effect on the experiences of individual refugees. The submission of NGOs to the UNHCR’s Oversight Activities for the 2003 Pre-ExCom again emphasizes the unresolved problem: “We are concerned about reports of returnees being jailed, tortured, or even killed. The apparent lack of follow-up to cases of such returns must be rectified as these signify a failure of the international protection system.” What this all means is that there is a tremendous gap between the refugee who needs protection and the response of states under obligation to provide it. The purpose of this

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study was to examine how refugees are forced to return and the outcomes of cases of refoulement. Method Individuals known to have been refouled to their country of origin and survived were interviewed. Due to the fact that collection of information is difficult among displaced populations, the research plan focused on the programmatic assessments to conflict areas around the world scheduled by RI. Based in Washington, D.C., RI is a nonprofit, independent, refugee advocacy organization. A general questionnaire was prepared and carried by the staff on relevant field missions. Country visits took place between the months of April and June 2003. Qualitative analysis was then used to locate and describe the existence of any patterns as well as to explore common themes. Methodological Considerations Interviewing refugees for the present study presented a number of challenges: (a) finding and accessing individuals who were willing to be questioned about their personal refugee experiences; (b) translation obstacles; and, (c) the lack of appropriate measures. Nevertheless, the important and unique value of this project can be found in what interviewees can offer to the global understanding of the impact of refoulement. Another methodological concern in the study of refugees is the reluctance of refugees to talk to outsiders. Contextually, years of military and ideological turmoil in refugee-producing countries have led to conditioned fear and distrust of inquiries on any topic. For this reason the vocabulary to be used must be carefully selected. The diversity of refugees’s experiences prior to leaving their country and after arriving in the host country makes studying them challenging. There are as many experiences as there are refugees (Leslie 1993). Questionnaire and Interview Procedure A highly structured interview instrument, consisting of a battery of fixedchoice questions, was deemed inappropriate for studying refugees with their varying experiences and different levels of education and language ability. However, some standardization was required for collection of comparable information from each respondent. What was sought was a design that was informal and as nonthreatening and unobtrusive as possible. The form chosen

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was a semistructured interview schedule with personal interviews to be used as the primary form of data collection. The earliest form of interview protocol was developed and reviewed by individuals who conduct assessment missions for RI. The survey was subsequently revised to its present format. The conversations were held in locations identified as safe and agreed to by the interviewees such as social service agencies, women’s organization headquarters, and in public facilities at unusual hours for business operations. The translators were individuals who were sometimes familiar with the interviewees. Teams of two RI staff members conducted the interviews in each country. One member of the team would lead and the other would supplement the line of questions. The length of interviews ranged from ten minutes to two hours, with the typical interview lasting between twenty and forty minutes. No recording equipment was used. The conversations were recorded in handwriting only. The interviewers were, at all times, conscious of the interviewees’ concerns. In one case, an interview was terminated due to the interviewee’s unease. Data Management Manual categorization and retrieval can provide a high degree of sensitivity. For the present study, the following procedure was used. The interview notes were transcribed by interviewers and provided to the researcher. The text was read and reread for familiarity and understanding. Using self as an instrument of the research, the review for initial impressions was done by the researcher to identify common themes and patterns. The cases were assigned a number in the order in which the interviews were provided to the researcher. The interviews were reread for the purpose of gaining factual information about the individuals, locations, and sequence of events. Simple tables were constructed for each interviewee showing identification, geographic indicators, and highlights of the main points addressed. Data analysis was initiated with a basic organizing system developed by writing the names of key codes on separate pages to allow for recording, expansion, and comparison within and across families. Coded information was read and studied for commonalities and exceptions. Efforts were made to ensure that any unique identifying information had been excluded to maintain the confidentiality of the individuals. Findings During field visits to China, India, Tanzania, Panama, and Thailand, RI staff members spoke with 26 individuals about their experiences of forced return.

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The interviewees described a wide range of experiences. In their own cases and in those of close relatives, the response to returns by their country of origin ranged from officials’ lack of awareness, to interrogation followed by release, to extended imprisonment and harsh physical treatment. Two accounts of returnrelated death were noted but could not be independently verified. While this report provides a brief overview of the study’s findings, a more complete account is offered in the RI’s publication, Forced Back (Lynch 2004). Cause and Nature of Flight The reasons stated by the interviewees for fleeing their country of origin included ethnic persecution, death of family members due to lack of food, and economic survival. One interviewee was a member of an ethnic minority group and had fled because of targeted persecution. Another had left home because both parents and siblings had died of starvation. The manner in which refugees crossed international borders varied significantly. The largest number of interviewees in this sample traveled with one or more family members. In at least one case, the refugee traveled with individuals who were not family members. A refugee described traveling with a cousin and two friends. Another crossed with a man she met at the border. She explained to the interviewer, “There are North Korean men who look for women along the border to sell them. The women don’t pay; the Chinese client pays.” She said she knew “in the back of her mind” she was going to be sold. She was taken to a Korean-Chinese man’s house. She thought she might be sold, so she escaped. Length of Time in Host Country before Arrest The length of time the interviewees had spent in the host country before they were refouled varied substantially. The Myanmarese refugees deported as a group from Thailand had spent extended time in the country as recognized refugees, for periods ranging from six to eleven years. The length of time for North Koreans in China ranged from several days to several years. The Chinese police caught one interviewee’s brother and father one week after their arrival in China and sent them back to North Korea. Another interviewee was arrested three months after arrival, and one after four months. Arrest and Return The treatment of the interviewees at the time of the initial arrest or detention varied tremendously. One woman named Cecelia was detained when

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she crossed from Colombia to Panama and asked for refugee status. The border police told her they do not give status and that the only option was to be returned to Colombia. Some of the interviewees were seemingly marked for return by random police checks because officials knew their whereabouts or they were noticed when they were traveling without proper identification. Arrests were made at any time and often involved groups of people rather than individuals. Little or no information was provided to the refugees about the place they were being taken to. Statements about the well-being of family members or the destination turned out to be untrue. Reflecting on a group return operation that was started under the pretext of acquiring official documentation, one interviewee recalled: None of the repatriations were voluntary. We were told to go to the school to sign papers. We could see a helicopter in the schoolyard. Some people ran away. We were forced to sign the agreement. The officials said, “Sign this or we will break your face.” Some people were hit while being taken away.

Four interviewees reported spending time in asylum country jails after arrest. An asylum-seeker said: I was selling bamboo in the market place. Police came there and asked me where I was from. They handcuffed me and took me to jail. I repeatedly asked why. They interrogated me. I was beaten with a stick. When I asked why they said it was because I am a bad person.

Then this interviewee heard that he would be sent back to his country of origin with a group of 70 people. At 3 p.m. the same day, they were put in a car. Some of the other refugees were able to pay bribes, and the “soldiers asked them to run away.” No information had been provided to the deportees about their destination; and the interviewee did not realize he had been returned to his country of origin until two soldiers pointed guns at the group of returnees. In another country, an asylum-seeker was jailed for nearly a week. He was denied due process and received little food. From the jail the police took him by truck to a border area and left him on the road to find his way to his country of origin. Outcomes The fate of most forced-back refugees is not well known, but the interviews obtained for this study provided some insights into the experience of such

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refugees. One interviewee acknowledged she was the only member of a large group of forced returnees who, because of her marriage to a national and the intervention by a human rights group, was able to return to the country of asylum. The fate of the others in the group is unknown. Refugees forced back to a place where lives and rights may in danger sometimes pay the ultimate price. Several interviewees indicated that the result of return is death. One man was sent to a labor-training center where he fell sick, was released, and died three days later. One interviewee made reference to the life-threatening outcomes of forced return, saying: “The first question they ask you when you are deported to North Korea is “Have you been to church?” Those that say “yes” will be killed right away or sent for life to a prison camp.” Another interviewee confirmed, “People trying to go to South Korea are sent somewhere else, and they are killed.” Colombians reported that a group of individuals repatriated from Panama in December 2003 were rumored to have been killed on their return. After arrival in another country of origin, one individual reported, “We had to sit in the hot sun for close to three hours before we were taken to the police station, where they told us they would test our blood.” Another individual who was part of the same group said they were questioned by the police, but managed to avoid taking a blood test. Two of the interviewed refugees were released from confinement within two days due to illnesses. Other individuals were detained for extended periods of time. One prison experience was described this way: The prison was about 5 square meters and 40 people stayed there. You kneeled and could not move at all. You even have to sleep in that position or you will be punished. My wife gave birth in that position.

Another asylum seeker reported: I was handed over to police. They asked me for an ID card and when I could not produce it, they accused me of links to [ethnic resistance] and imprisoned me with 23 others. They gave me a small tin of rice with stones twice a day. Every day I was beaten by the guards. In court I was accused of breaking immigration law and told I would spend my life in prison unless I paid bribes to the judge.

The same individual recalled being struck with a stick on the head some 20 times a week. The interviewee sa id jailers pulled the refugees’ hair and ears. “We had to work hard, but couldn’t sleep because of the watchmen.”

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A woman interviewee said that when she was forced back, many families were separated. “There were babies in arms, lots of children. Mothers had to leave children behind. In some cases the oldest daughters became heads of households.” Survival Finding a way to survive was clearly the main issue. A quarter of the interviewees had been forcibly returned on more than one occasion, and, still fearing for their very lives, found their way back in search of a safe place. The interviewees reported that they returned quite quickly, though not all attempts were successful. One man got off the bus. Another went back in only nine days, while for yet another it took one month to return. The spouse of one interviewee and their child tried to return to China, but they were arrested inside North Korea. The child was sent to an orphanage and the adult to a labor-training center where the parent fell sick, was released, and died. The child tried four more times to cross before finally being successful. One interviewee in Panama said, “I am scared, afraid of being returned again.” Another professed: All I want is to have documents and stay safely. I don’t want to go back. My children are in Colombia. Here, I am rejected but sleep well. There, I must sleep with one eye open and my bags always packed.

One interviewee from North Korea articulated a common sentiment held by refugees, “I want to go back to North Korea if the situation gets better.” For others, survival means no looking back. A North Korean refugee interviewed in China remarked, “We don’t want to go back. The people that are alive now know how to live and do whatever it takes to survive.” Another said, “If I am arrested one more time, I don’t know what I’ll do.” A third said, “Our only plan is to try to survive day by day.”

Reviving the International Refugee Protection System The international refugee protection regime can be revived. The first step is to examine what has worked and then identify potential additional approaches.

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Preventing Refoulement: What Works There are very few documented cases of situations in which refoulement has been prevented or stopped in process. These cases illustrate practical solutions that can be replicated to prevent further refoulement. ●

●

●

●

Observers. Only the refugees themselves and eyewitnesses can verify when individuals are denied access to asylum or provide details about what happens to them subsequently. The challenges to using observers to prevent refoulement include a lack of both human and financial resources and funding that must be at a level commensurate with the problem. Targeted and Unceasing Advocacy. First-hand information gathered by observers must reach and change the behavior of responsible parties. The challenge is that advocacy sometimes takes many years to achieve a particular goal or is not successful in the end. Diplomacy. The UNHCR considers diplomatic approaches a key element in its protection activities throughout the world. While this means is less visible than other forms of protection that are used, the agency reports it has been effective in some cases. Legal Channels. The use of legal action to prevent deportation/extradition or presentation of amicus curiae briefs in leading cases can often be valuable and more effective than public pressure, as courts have powers of enforcement.

Potential Approaches: What Might Work and Should Be Tried Concerned individuals and agencies alike have proposed a wide variety of durable solutions to the problem of refoulement. Such approaches include, but are not limited to: ●

●

Joint and Timely International Responses. There must be clear and immediate responses to violations of international law. Condemnation can have a marked effect, especially if the offending government is already worried about its image or concerned that adverse publicity could threaten foreign aid. Human Rights Mechanisms and Development of a Monitoring System. International human rights treaties often have monitoring mechanisms, allowing independent experts to review states’ compliance and make recommendations on performance. States are usually required to report on the implementation of recommendations, and

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some treaties allow individuals to file petitions alleging abuse of their rights. In the case of forced returns, reviews could be used to document observations and help ensure compliance with international standards of refugee protection (Gorlick 2000). The Human Rights Watch and Amnesty International (AI) have both called for an independent mechanism to monitor compliance with the Refugee Convention. At the 2003 UNHCR Pre-Executive Committee meeting (United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees 2003), it was noted that few cases involving refugee or asylum seekers have been brought to the Convention Against Torture (CAT) Committee under Article 3. In particular, the discussions highlighted that NGOs should trigger emergency UN human rights mechanisms such as CAT to address human rights violations, including forced returns. Risk Assessments. The UNHCR does not conduct global risk assessments of the threat levels to refugees to help determine the number and distribution of all staff posts. Media Engagement. The use of media can expand the quantity and quality of information gathering and dissemination, except in the rare instance when it prompts further negative behavior. Strengthened Relationships and Coordination of the UNHCR and NGOs. Efforts to improve information sharing can only help improve the international refugee protection system. Implementation of Proposed Operational Changes. The Global Consultations produced many practical recommendations for expediting and streamlining procedures and set objectives for the UNHCR, states, NGOs, and other protection partners (Global Consultations on International Protection 2001). The challenge now is to implement these changes. Conclusion and Recommendations

International refugee protection saves lives. It protects the rights of individuals fleeing persecution to leave their country, seek asylum in other countries, and access asylum-determination procedures, all without fear of being returned to a territory where life and rights are threatened. Based on the 1951 Convention Relating to the Status of Refugees and the 1967 Protocol Relating to the Status of Refugees, international human rights and humanitarian law, national legislation, and jurisprudence, nonrefoulement is binding on all states and includes rejection at the frontier, interception, and indirect refoulement.

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More than half a century after the adoption of the 1951 convention, there is no real safeguard for many of the individuals who seek protection from persecution and no accountability from states that withhold it. No fewer than 2.4 million people have been denied access to fair refugee-determination procedures and are at risk of refoulement. The lives of individuals forced back continue to be at risk, directly and indirectly. States hold primary responsibility for protecting refugees, but instead of enhancing the function of the system, they race to protect themselves against refugees rather than provide protection for them. To justify their anti-refugees policies, they point to a host of domestic economic and security issues. Others avoid responsibility by painting the issue as one of criminality. The UNHCR itself has been less than successful at fulfilling its mandate to protect refugees, and must do far better. The interviews with 26 refugees in five countries confirm the lack of protection available to individuals in need of it. Lives can be saved by using methods known to reduce refoulement and integrating them with new approaches. Refugees need, and are entitled to, protection. Their lives depend on it. The RI recommends that all states: cease forced returns and vigilantly uphold the principle of nonrefoulement in response to both legal obligations and a renewed humanitarian spirit; implement procedures for expeditiously processing all temporarily admitted persons; educate border officials on standards for the treatment of refugees and asylum-seekers; initiate disciplinary sanctions or judicial proceedings against violators; compile and maintain reliable data on numbers of migrants, asylum-seekers, and detainees, duration and conditions in detention, and outcomes for the returnees; proactively encourage the presence of humanitarian observers and monitors; and, undertake regional efforts to protect refugees. The RI recommends that the UNHCR: revive the spirit of refugee protection, with all staff committing to refugee protection as their number one priority; implement the objectives of the Agenda for Protection; work with states on education, data collection, and regional efforts; increase the number of protection officers; track cases of returned refugees; provide clear information about how the agency’s protection budget works; and, ensure safe and easy access to offices and information. The RI recommends further that the United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights (UNHCHR): work with sister agencies to outline and operationalize its protection function and carefully assess the benefits of moving the headquarters office to New York. More broadly, the RI recommends that the international community, including the UN, NGOs, civil society, and refugees themselves: provide

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observers and monitors who will work for effective international response; condemn violations of nonrefoulement and push world leaders to respond; target regional policy-making bodies with advocacy messages; and promote refugees as advocates when their lives will not be endangered. Finally, the RI recommends that donors: demand protection for refugees from states and responsible agencies; view protection monitoring as a priority and offer funds for additional observers; request risk assessments; and stay informed by attending protection strategy meetings.

3

The Success of Tradition: Lisan and the Reintegration of East Timorese Militia Members Chris Lundry

Today is the end of 24 years of suffering, violence, and division for our community. In 1999 we saw the Indonesian soldiers and militia leave. On 20 May 2002 we celebrated our independence as a nation. But it is only today that we as a community can be released from our suffering from this terrible past. Let us roll up the mat, and this will symbolize the end of all of these issues for us. From today we will look only forward. Let us now eat and dance together, and celebrate the future. Community leader, Maliana (Chega! 2005, section 9.6.1)

W

hen East Timor was conferred sovereignty in May 2002, its leaders and citizens began redefining themselves amidst a multitude of outside influences, including most recently the United Nations Transitional Administration in East Timor (UNTAET), as statebuilding proceeded. Central to any state’s growth is the development of a system of law that facilitates an economy, ensures contracts, and maintains order. During the early stages of the UNTAET, a perceived absence of law caused the administration to reject customary, unwritten practices in East Timor in favor of enforcing an amalgamation of legal procedures in an attempt to create order from apparent chaos. For a variety of reasons, however, the UNTAET changed its stance and acknowledged elements of East Timorese customary law (lisan in Tetum).1 This chapter begins with a brief history of East Timor before narrowing its focus to the problem of returning militia members following the referendum

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of September 1999 and the debate over customary law. Next is an explanation of lisan, including its concepts, practice, and associated problems. The following section describes the concept of restorative justice with an emphasis on the role of indigenous justice as an exemplar. The chapter ends with a discussion of the implications of the implementation of customary law in East Timor. This chapter also acknowledges the growing line of inquiry into transitional justice in postconflict situations. East Timor: Background In early 1974, over 450 years of Portuguese colonial presence in East Timor began to unravel with the Carnation Revolution in Lisbon. Faced with determining their own fate, the East Timorese began to organize and form political parties, the vast majority favoring independence. By mid-1975, however, it was apparent that East Timor’s behemoth neighbor, Indonesia, which controls West Timor, had other plans. After provoking a brief civil war through the infiltration of political parties by provocateurs and other attempts at destabilization, Indonesia had made clear its desire to take the territory of East Timor (Jolliffe 1978, 118–119, 120–133, 136–143). On November 28, 1975, the Revolutionary Front for Independent East Timor (Frente Revoutionária do Timor-Leste Independente, FRETILIN), the majority party at the time, declared independence knowing of an impending invasion. On December 7, 1975, the invasion came. Within a few months, some 60,000 East Timorese were dead, and within five years that number was estimated to be as high as 200,000, representing approximately one-third of the population (Jolliffe 1978, 278, 301; Jardine 1995, 22; Pilger 1994, 16).2 International reaction to the invasion varied. Some postcolonial states condemned the invasion, but their condemnations carried little weight. The United States knew about the invasion but attempted to cover up that knowledge: Henry Kissinger and Gerald Ford were in Jakarta the day before the invasion and gave Suharto the green light, asking him to postpone the invasion for a day to allow them to leave the country (Burr and Evans n.d.). Daniel Patrick Moynihan, the U.S. representative to the United Nations (UN), stymied subsequent UN attempts to remove the Indonesian military from East Timor (Moynihan 1978, 247). Australia, Britain, and Japan also were complacent, if not complicit. A small band of guerrillas maintained a low-level war with Indonesia throughout its occupation, but with a nod and a wink from the major powers Indonesia had effectively taken the territory and conspired to silence with the states most able to condemn the invasion (Nevins 2005).

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The occupation was particularly brutal and marked by widespread famine and disease, forced resettlement, random killings, rape, and forced labor. The Indonesians acted with impunity, whereas the slightest suspicion of collusion with the guerillas brought the East Timorese lengthy prison sentences, torture, or death. Young men and boys, considered to be the next generation of resistors, were often “disappeared.”3 The military leaders responsible for the invasion became the owners of industry and agriculture and the governors of the territory, while the East Timorese remained poor and powerless (Aditjondro 1994, 55–62). The Indonesians uprooted traditional systems of culture and spirituality and forcefully attempted to replace them with Indonesian ones. Throughout the occupation, East Timorese resistance was widespread but underground. In the wake of the 1997 East Asian economic crisis, Indonesia’s long-standing dictator Suharto was forced out of power amidst increasing calls for justice and democratization in Indonesia. His successor, B. J. Habibie, under increasing pressure from the international community, assented to a UN-supervised referendum to be held in August 1999. Immediately after the announcement, the Indonesian military (Tentara Nasional Indonesia, TNI) increased recruitment of militia members throughout East Timor, often forcefully. Militias made up of the East Timorese had been used in East Timor since shortly after the invasion in order to cow the population and gather intelligence. After the announcement of the referendum, however, this recruitment campaign increased significantly in its scope and forcefulness. These militias, paid, supplied, and trained by the TNI (and including members of the TNI and police), threatened anyone suspected of being pro-independence, and they attempted to sway the vote for remaining integrated with Indonesia.4 Their attempts found little success. Four days after the referendum that saw over 98 percent turnout of those registered amidst little-attempted voter fraud, the votes were tallied; over 78 percent had voted for independence from Indonesia. The militias and the TNI began the implementation of a well-planned scorched earth policy (Nevins 2005, 141–142). Pro-independence East Timorese became targets for public killings, houses were razed, and international monitors and media were threatened. By the second week of September most of the unarmed UN Assistance Mission in East Timor had evacuated, leaving the territory defenseless against marauding militias and their Indonesian backers. Within three weeks, the time it took for the United Nations to receive approval for sending in an armed intervention force, East Timor lay in ruins. The TNI and its militias had displaced over one-half of the population, and killings and rape were widespread. They destroyed between 70 and 80 percent of all buildings throughout the territory, including

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in the most rural areas, and the infrastructure lay in ruins. Over 200,000 people were forced at gunpoint into Indonesian territory, mostly West Timor, where some still remain in deplorable conditions to this day, considered bargaining chips by militias desperate to retain any semblance of power.5 The UNTAET was forced to start from scratch in rebuilding East Timor, with a strained relationship between the indigenous elites and the UN staff. One of the points of contention between the two groups was the fate of the militia members who had begun returning from West Timor shortly after the destruction. Because many of the militia members were forced to join and their participation was limited, their culpability in the tragedy was deemed less than those who joined voluntarily or led the militias (Nevins 2005, 144). Since East Timor is made up of mostly rural and tight-knit communities, local elites felt as though they were best equipped to determine the culpability and fates of the returning militia members through lisan. Furthermore, after a public consultation mediated by representatives of local elites, and expressions of remorse and the desire to rejoin the community by those found guilty, a decision would be made regarding the compensation required for restoration and reintegration. One of the most widely discussed solutions among the East Timorese was putting militia members to work rebuilding the houses that they had destroyed, a punishment considered appropriate given the extent of destruction and the lack of available material and labor. The UNTAET, however, deemed otherwise (Jones 2000). The imposition of Indonesian formal law, excepting those provisions that ran counter to the UN Declaration of Human Rights, was considered the most practical solution.6 From the standpoint of the UNTAET, East Timorese jurists, what few there were, were trained in Indonesian law and the East Timorese were familiar with it. The United Nations would follow the criminal procedure code of the “Kosovo model” (Martins 2002). Furthermore, the possibility of coerced labor as a way to facilitate reintegration, no matter the circumstances, was viewed as setting a dangerous precedent and contrary to international human rights norms. The trials would be held in the capital city of Dili, often far from the site of the transgression and unseen by the victims, and prison sentences would be served in Dili and imposed appropriate to the degree of guilt of the perpetrator (Jones 2000). Since the UNTAET was effectively sovereign in East Timor, its decisions were binding.7 Nevertheless, a debate ensued over which system was most appropriate in dealing with these returning militia members. Tribal and village leaders protested that the policy was unfair and not consistent with their traditions. If East Timor was to be a free state, decisions such as these should be left up to the local leadership, they argued.

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Furthermore, the utility of reconstruction efforts seemed obvious on its face; the futility of court proceedings, inaccessible to and not understood by the victims, seemed illogical; and the inherent lack of community restoration in a process far removed from the victims made little sense. To some it appeared as though those guilty would depart for a while, and after their time in prison expect to be reintegrated into the communities to which they had caused so much harm (Guterres 2000). The absence of news regarding court proceedings in Dili in reaching distant communities intensified concerns (Ranheim 2001). Others noted the lack of sufficiently trained East Timorese legal professionals and the time the trail process would take (Mydans 2001, 6). The United Nations’ decision caused significant confusion among not only the population but also the police, judges, prosecutors, and lawyers (JSMP 2001, 6–7). Compromise became the agreeable solution. Realizing the importance of a national process of reconciliation, in August 2000, political and religious leaders, NGOs, and civil society groups led a call for a commission in order to deal with issues surrounding crimes from 1974 through the Indonesian occupation and the aftermath of the referendum. The UNTAET also realized the problems associated with enforcing a strictly formal system and acknowledged the legitimacy and utility of using lisan throughout East Timor. This recognition by the UNTAET was an acknowledgement of a process that was already taking place, not a granting of permission. Local means of justice were being carried out without the sanction of the UNTAET; occasionally crimes would be reported to the UN Civilian Police but they would do nothing in response, so people proceeded with lisan on their own (Nug 2002). The backlog of cases requiring trials also were years’ long, and continued to grow as more militia members returned from West Timor. Furthermore, the environment in East Timor—one of gross social inequality, rampant unemployment, and frustration at the slow speed of reconstruction—continued to foster crime. On July 13, 2001, the UNTAET’s transitional administrator Sergio Vieira de Mello signed Regulation No. 2001/10, establishing the Commission for Reception, Truth and Reconciliation (CAVR, from the Portuguese Commissão de Acolhimento, Verdade e Reconciliação). By November the CAVR’s steering committee—made up of representatives from the National Council of Timorese Resistance (Conselho Nasional de Resisténcia Timorense), several NGOs, the Catholic Church, the UN High Commission for Refugees (UNHCR), and relevant branches of the UNTAET—was meeting and drawing up a plan. The CAVR became fully operational in early 2002. It included 7 national commissioners and 25 to 30 regional commissioners, all East Timorese, with support from international technical

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experts. The CAVR was given a two-year mandate, with the possibility of a six-month extension after evaluation (UNTAET 2001). It remained at full capacity until its report was given to President José Alezandre “Xanana” Gusmao on October 30, 2005. On December 20, 2005, the CAVR was formally dissolved, although a skeleton crew remained at work in order to finish the CAVR’s mandate of distributing its final report. The CAVR was designed with three main functions in mind: “truth seeking” the investigation of human rights abuses in East Timor from April 2,1974, through October 25, 1999; community reconciliation; and making policy recommendations regarding justice to the emerging East Timorese government (UNTAET 2001). It was designed to differentiate between more serious crimes, which required formal prosecution through the Serious Crimes Unit of UNTAET, and less serious crimes, which could be handled by traditional means (lisan) through a branch of the CAVR called the Community Reconciliation Project (CRP).8 For the latter, a panel of local leaders convenes, chaired by a regional commissioner, and meets with the accused, the victim(s), and witnesses in order to facilitate a Community Reconciliation Agreement (CRA). If all parties agree, the CRA is signed and the matter is settled upon completion of the act recommended for the perpetrator (Hei 2006; de Vasconcelos 2006). The CRA is registered with the district court that holds jurisdiction over the area and, if accepted, the CRA becomes an Order of the Court, and the deponent becomes immune from further prosecution (Chega! 2005, section 9.2.2, 49). By setting up and convening the CRP and granting it authority, the UNTAET acknowledged the utility of lisan in East Timor. Several problems remain unanswered, however. After a description of lisan, and its applications with regards to militia members, I will return to these problems in order to more fully flesh out the relationship between the UN and the local processes. Lisan As a form of traditional justice, lisan predates Portuguese colonialism. It is used in a variety of contexts in order to settle disputes and restore harmony to not only the parties in disagreement but also the community at large. Although there are a variety of lisan systems throughout East Timor, the differences are mainly procedural; the goals and substance are essentially the same (de Vasconcelos 2006; cf. Melton 1995, 126–133). In large cities such as Dili and Baucau, where people from all regions live, the origin of the perpetrator determines the ceremony, but anyone considered to be part of the local community can participate, regardless of their place of origin (de Vasconcelos 2006).

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To begin the process, the victim or complainant must approach the chefe povoasaun (hamlet leader) or chefe de suco (village leader). The suco, or village, is the highest level for conflict resolution through lisan. A complaint is registered and the accused is contacted. The accused must partake in the proceeding; he or she is liable to be banished or face severe social sanctions for nonparticipation.9 Kabitas (elder consultants), liurai (traditional leaders), and ukun-nain adat (traditional legal experts) are also contacted, and a meeting time is agreed upon. The meeting is held in a communal meeting area and is opened with a speech by one or more of those presiding over it. Often the speech follows a ritual meal or drinking, and betel nut may be shared among the participants during the proceeding. The proceeding may include the unfolding of a traditional mat that symbolizes the opening of the ceremony. The victim is the focus of the proceedings, and states his/her grievances, and willingness to resolve the conflict. The offender then speaks, admitting wrongdoing, a desire to reconcile with the victim and the community, and a willingness to submit to the decision of the leaders. The leaders consult and recommend compensation. Compensation can take many forms: morten (stone or coral necklaces), pigs, chickens, cows, tais (weaving), clothes, jewelry, money, or community service. Often a pig is killed and eaten as a communal meal following the ceremony, with all the participants present (das Neves 2002; Hei 2002; Perreira 2002; Angelina, ca. 2001). There may be a symbolic “cleansing” performed as well.10 For CRP proceedings under the CAVR, representatives of the CAVR including a National Commissioner were present.11 Lisan has been used to solve other problems in East Timor besides the return of militia members. Traditional areas of conflict such as land disputes continue to be adjudicated through lisan, as well as problems that the police have been unable to solve, such as gang fighting in Manufahi (“Reconciliation” 2001, 9). Once the reparation or compensation is made, the matter is considered settled.12 The goals of lisan are not only compensation for the victim and reintegration of the offender, but also deterrence and definition of the parameters of acceptable behavior (da Silva 2002). Shame is one of the mechanisms of lisan and the shame of a criminal act weighs heavily on the family of the guilty, providing it the incentive to take part and ensure that the matter is settled amicably (da Silva 2002). During the Portuguese period, lisan was widespread as a dispute-resolution method. Formal Portuguese colonial justice was applied only in serious cases, such as those threatening Portuguese rule or murder (da Silva 2002). As Portuguese colonial rule was marked by the benign neglect common in

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Portuguese colonies, there was little interference in the lives and systems of the East Timorese outside of the larger cities. As long as the Portuguese were able to collect their resources (sandalwood, and later coffee) and taxes, they interfered little in the day-to-day lives of the inhabitants of far-flung regions. Although there were occasional attempts of revolt among the East Timorese, these were generally put down violently by the Portuguese administration. During the Indonesian occupation, lisan remained widespread, acknowledged by the Indonesians as acceptable in resolving some kinds of disputes, and viewed by the East Timorese as a way to resolve disputes without using Indonesian formal justice that was viewed as “an instrument of selective oppression rather than a means of protection of the rights of the people” (das Neves 2002; Chega! 2005, section 9.1.2, 19). Similar to the Portuguese period, crimes were differentiated in order to determine the appropriateness of using lisan to deal with the dispute, although a more refined practice evolved: criminal proceedings were directed to court, but civil disagreements were allowed to be resolved through lisan. Often, however, if the Indonesian police did not want to deal with the crime, they referred criminal offenses back to the local chief to resolve through lisan if the parties were willing to pay a bribe. All parties considered lisan the quickest and easiest way to deal with a problem (da Silva 2002). Following the destruction of September 1999, the East Timorese formal justice system was essentially nonexistent. Most legal practitioners during the Indonesian period were Indonesians who fled before or during the scorched earth campaign. The few East Timorese who had received legal training during the Indonesian period were hampered by the fact that most were not allowed to practice; few, if any, had practical legal experience. Because of the immediate need for a legal system, the UNTAET created four district courts (Dili, Suai, Baucau, and Oecussi) and a national court of appeal, presided over by 25 judges, 13 prosecutors, and 12 public defenders. Yet their lack of experience, confusion surrounding the implementation of law, and the overwhelming caseload caused the UNTAET to review and incorporate lisan as an acceptable and immediate method of conflict resolution in some cases (JSMP 2001, 6–7; Martins 2002). Furthermore, when the militia members returned home, they occasionally faced violence at the hands of their neighbors since there was no reintegration process, little communication, and much hostility and resentment between pro-independence and pro-integration supporters. Since the East Timorese communities are mostly small and tight-knit, even in larger cities such as Dili, Baucau, and Suai, there was a community awareness of who was responsible for transgressions, and to what degree (Nevins 2005, 144).

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This knowledge lessens or prevents conflict during proceedings; the criminal knows that he/she is guilty and also knows that the victim(s) and community at large know (Perreira 2002). If the accused denies wrongdoing, or if either party deems lisan unacceptable before or during the proceedings, the case is referred back to the UN Civilian Police to be handled by the formal court system. A total of 1,541 requests were made for CRP hearings, and 1,371 cases proceeded, taking place in every district of East Timor. Cases that were not heard by the CRP included those in which the community refused to meet with the deponent; the deponent was found to have committed a serious crime; the deponent did not attend the proceeding; the hearing was adjourned before completion; or the case was determined inappropriate for lisan (Chega! 2005, section 9.4.1, 102). NGOs and other community groups monitored the CRP hearings with what appears to be widespread community acceptance, and success. Although lisan appears to be an agreeable solution for all involved, there remain a few pressing problems associated with its use, for example in the realm of gender-related crimes. Although women played a very important role during the resistance, their status is still relatively lower than men’s (Franks 1996). There is a lively feminist movement in the larger cities, often extending to the countryside through educational forums, but serious changes in the perception of women have yet to take root outside of cities. Wives, for example, are often considered property, and beatings are considered a right of husbands. Gender-based criticism of the CRP process reflected these and other problems associated with the status of women in the society (JSMP 2004, 38–39). Cases of rape administered through lisan have become examples of its shortcomings and reflect the local mores in indigenous law. Cases have been settled through lisan with the offender being fined around US$20 (a good sum of money in a country with a per capita income of under US$400, but considered frightfully inadequate by critics), a pig, tais, or other payments. The payment usually goes to the victim’s family, not the victim. In some cases the rapist is forced to marry the victim, although the victim has to agree. But often this is the decision of the family, or social pressures offer no other alternative to the victim; the victim is essentially forced into the marriage as well (Ranheim 2001; da Silva 2002). Rape is considered a “serious crime” and if reported to the police, must be adjudicated through a formal process (UNTAET 2001). However, many rapes go unreported, and therefore remain outside of the purview of the police. Another problem is the unwillingness of criminals to divulge fully the degree of their participation. In Aileu, for example, after a lisan meeting,

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one of the attendees expressed dismay that the militia members did not fully disclose the extent of their participation in the violence. As a result, though the militia members were nominally reintegrated, they remained under suspicion and were the targets of resentment (Mesquita 2001). This problem is mitigated by the openness of the ceremony. The local community is present, and anyone can contribute to the proceedings to help ensure all of the perpetrator’s digressions are mentioned, although nobody can be compelled to testify (de Vasconcelos 2006). There have also been reports of accused wrongdoers being forced into lisan ceremonies under threat and compelled to admit to crimes that they possibly did not commit, without adequate provisions for determining guilt by way of admitting acceptable evidence (Martins 2002). There are also questions about consistency, first, regarding the doling out of compensation (although this reflects the different systems operating within East Timor), and second, in determining the suitability of referring a crime to village authorities. The local police make the latter decision for crimes that are reported to them, and possibly try to lessen their workload by referring cases to lisan (Alexander 2002; Nug 2002). Disproportional compensation has also been a concern, but there have been no complaints of disproportionate compensation (de Vasconcelos 2006). Rather, sometimes “victims and the wider community” have helped the perpetrator carry out the tasks stipulated by lisan, and in many cases a verbal apology was all that was required by the victims (Chega! 2005, section 9.4.4, 113; section 9.5.5, 134). To those seeking consistency and the setting of precedent, formal law would alleviate, to some degree, a number of these concerns. Oscar da Silva of Yayasan Hak (the Rights Institute) observes that some of the accused are in favor of formal justice because a prison cell would amount to a guaranteed roof over their heads. Similarly, some of the victims, who are told to forgo revenge in favor of lisan, may think that immediate revenge in the form of murder could lead to imprisonment which could also improve their living conditions (da Silva 2002). When one considers the lot of many rural East Timorese, whose food supply is often not guaranteed and whose houses and property may have been destroyed in September 1999, this position does not seem as far-fetched and irrational as it may appear. That being stated, there has been very little revenge and retribution carried out against returning militia members. Anecdotal evidence shows that there have been very few acts of violence committed against returnees, and these are low-level acts consisting of hazing or the very rare case of a beating. There have been no acts of murder committed against returnees, despite admissions of murder among some accused (Nug 2006). At the time

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of publication of the CAVR’s final report, 1,371 perpetrators had successfully undergone lisan, more had requested that the program continue, and all parties had acknowledged that the process “has contributed significantly to the maintenance of peace in their communities and settling past divisions” (Chega! 2005, section 9.1.1, 2). When contrasted with other postconflict transitional societies, East Timor stands out for its remarkably low level of retribution. Finally, many are of the opinion that these local processes, designed to facilitate reconciliation among those guilty of lesser crimes, may temper calls for an international tribunal to deal with those responsible for more serious crimes. An ad hoc tribunal organized by the Indonesian government and convened in March 2002 in Jakarta led to the acquittals of 12 of the 18 defendants. Another five were acquitted on appeal. The final defendant, Eurico Guterres, the leader of the Dili-based Aitarak (Thorn) militia, was sentenced to ten years’ imprisonment but remained free until a final appeal was rejected in March 2006. The tribunal was roundly criticized as a sham, and most people in East Timor, especially recent victims, were of the opinion that nothing short of an international tribunal would be acceptable in order to bring to justice the higher-ups responsible for the violence and destruction (dos Reis 2002; “Ex-Timor” 2006). The founding of the Truth and Friendship Commission (TFC) between Indonesia and East Timor in December 2004, designed for those guilty of abuses to admit their guilt, has brought ridicule from most civil society groups in East Timor. The commission has no power to prosecute, the results of the commission cannot be used as evidence in any subsequent trials if they were to happen, and it lacks any form of compulsion for those guilty on the Indonesian side to testify. It is widely considered a whitewash.13 This section provided the background of the East Timor conflict with an emphasis on the debate surrounding the return of militia members and a description of lisan and some of its problems. The next section will place lisan in the context of restorative justice, a growing movement in criminology that has increasingly turned to indigenous systems of justice in the hope of solving some of the problems associated with formal justice. Restorative Justice In this chapter, the term restorative justice is used, but the idea comports with several other terms such as reparative justice, satisfying justice, transformative justice, and earned redemption. The concept of restorative justice has also been linked to processes followed by particular indigenous cultural

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groups as aboriginal or indigenous justice (Melton 1995; Bazemore 1998; Nicholl 2000). Regardless of the terms, all the concepts espouse similar attributes.14 Restorative justice places emphasis on reintegrating the criminal into the community through shame or public acknowledgment of wrongdoing.15 There is an emphasis on communication between the victim and the perpetrator, through mediation by representatives of the community. Restorative justice seeks to redress the losses of the victim, as opposed to retributive justice that leaves the victim out of the process and makes the state the entity to which the criminal owes a debt. Restorative justice is juxtaposed against Western theories of justice, of which Conrad G. Brunk (2001, 36–47) notes four dominant types: retributive, utilitarian deterrence, rehabilitative, and restitution. Brunk finds shortcomings in all four that may be overcome by restorative justice. Western justice is retributive, hierarchical, adversarial, punitive, and “guided by codified laws and written rules, procedures, and guidelines” (Melton 1995, 126). Power is expressed vertically, and justice is based on the notion that since the victim has suffered, so must the criminal. Ada Pecos Melton (1995, 126) asserts that reduction in crime and reparation to the victims are not the goals of this system, despite claims to the contrary that incarceration acts as a deterrent. Western law is adversarial, and focuses on the act committed. Plaintiffs and deponents rarely interact, except with hostility. The criminal is held accountable to the state, as opposed to the community. Retributive justice likens a moral wrong, or “sin,” to a legal wrong, or “crime” (Brunk 2001, 36–37). In contrast, the indigenous system is “guided by . . . unwritten customary laws, traditions, and practices that are learned primarily by example and through the oral teachings of tribal elders” (Melton 1995, 126). It is holistic in that everyone in the community is involved because, presumably, everyone has a stake in restoring justice. The key concepts of the indigenous system of justice include “restorative and reparative justice and the principles of healing and living in harmony with all beings and with nature” (Melton 1995, 126). The victim is the focal point, and the offender must act to regain trust and dignity within the community while restoring personal and community harmony. Crime is viewed as a natural human error, and the criminal remains a part of the community, helping to define the parameters of acceptable and unacceptable behavior for all (Melton 1995, 127). According to Melton (1995, 127), the American system attempts to divorce any religious aspects from legal proceedings, whereas “invoking the spiritual realm through prayer” is a fundamental part of restorative justice.16 Law is linked to elaborate relationships such as kinship in the community. Restorative justice does not separate conflicts and their resolution into various segments, such as is the case in Western proceedings, but rather combines all aspects.

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Melton (1995) divides traditional forums for adjudication into five groups: family forums, community forums, traditional courts, quasi-modern tribal courts, and modern tribal courts. Each group corresponds with the nature of the crime or the identity of the claimants. Some quasi-modern and modern courts incorporate indigenous justice methods for certain offences, such as juvenile delinquency. Tribal law reflects the values, mores, and norms of a tribe as expressed in its customs, traditions, and practices. Often these are stated explicitly through the use of narratives spoken by tribal leaders during the proceedings. Offenders are often required to verbally relate their account of what transpired, and often, as part of the restorative process, take part in ceremonial sweats, fasting, purifications, and other methods (Melton 1995, 132–133). Compliance is important because there is little direct coercion, but coercion is also usually meted out via feelings of community. There is much conflict between the advocates of Western justice and those who champion indigenous forms, and the two are at odds, as the former is adversarial and the latter communal. New ways may be needed, however, in order to preserve traditional methods of justice in the face of pressure to “modernize” (Melton 1995, 133). Melton’s description of indigenous justice is, as stated above, closely related to many facets of restorative justice. John Braithwaite (2000, 281– 298) writes of similar processes in Japan and among the Anante of Afghanistan. He also notes the importance of civil society rather than the state as the site for restorative justice.17 On the role of the community in restorative justice, Gordon Bazemore (1998, 773) notes: “Because crime is viewed as a result of a breakdown in social bonds that link individuals and communities, and is, in addition, a cause of a further weakening in these bonds, the justice response to crime at the community level must also involve citizens and community groups in repairing damaged relationships or building new relationships.” Kent Roach (2000, 263–269) outlines three different directions that programs of restorative justice could potentially follow, each currently present in popular and academic discourse. These directions are: restorative justice as retributive accountability; restorative justice as rehabilitative healing; and restorative justice as deterrent crime prevention. The path of restorative justice, argues Roach, “will in large part depend on the politics of restorative justice and how different constituencies and interests mobilize around issues of punishment and restorative justice.” Richard Delgado (2000, 751–754), critical of restorative justice, points out the potential and real problems associated with the implementation of restorative justice. These include lack of consistency; inequality of bargaining power (the victim is empowered at the expense of the defendant, but

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cf. Bazemore 1998, 771); waiver of constitutional rights; failure to address what he characterizes as society’s need for retribution or justice; lack of state oversight on the process; and limited applicability. Delgado, however, appears quick to dismiss restorative justice based on an apparent affinity for retributive justice and an apparent misunderstanding of some precepts of restorative justice. For example, in the current retributive system one does have the right to waive constitutional rights, as exemplified by the Fifth Amendment and the Miranda warning in the United States. What is certain, however, is that there is apparently a lack of empirical evidence, perhaps due to the relatively recent introduction of restorative justice principles, to validate either side’s position.18 Rather, Kathleen Daly (2001) embraces a much more cautious stance, noting the uncertainty surrounding restorative justice and arguing against the claims of some of its proponents but allowing for others. Whether or not restorative justice can help solve some of the problems associated with retributive justice systems is a question far from answered. The lack of long-term empirical data is one of the problems, together with some potential problems that critics have exposed. Given the high percentage of the population imprisoned, high rates of recidivism, and disproportional numbers of minorities incarcerated, American criminologists are understandably looking for solutions to these problems. Restorative justice shows promise, and by examining and understanding procedures in other societies in a holistic manner as opposed to a procedural approach, we may learn from societies not long ago deemed backward or primitive. East Timor and Restorative Justice East Timor’s lisan is yet another form of indigenous justice that is essentially restorative in theory and in practice. The shift in thinking in the UNTAET administration regarding lisan was pragmatic, and showed a willingness to accept local practices in spite of serious doubts based on Western ideas of law and justice. The ideas of reintegration and bringing to justice those who are responsible for causing damage are not unique to East Timor. Other nations that have undergone radical and violent changes face these same challenges. South Africa is a key example. The South African Truth and Reconciliation Commission was designed with restoration as a goal, as opposed to retribution and state-centered revenge, in order to foster a “culture of human rights,” though its overall success is often criticized (Wilson 2000, 76). The procedures of the reconciliation process in South Africa mirror those of restorative justice: the necessary involvement of the community, the need

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for those guilty to admit guilt publicly, and the need to reintegrate wrongdoers into society in order to recreate a community. Criticisms of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission include the granting of amnesty to perpetrators of serious crimes and the leaders responsible for ordering them. There are other cases as well. Rwanda, in the wake of massacres in 1994, found its justice system overwhelmed by the number of cases to be tried. The dearth of qualified legal professionals only made matters worse. In October 2001 the Rwandan government held elections to choose 260,000 local judges who would oversee a traditional process, gacaca, that predates Western contact and emphasizes restoration and reintegration (“Rwanda” 2001). Again, however, justice in Rwanda has been criticized for many of the same reasons as in South Africa. Postconflict retributive violence also has been frequent in both cases. Although there have been a few successful prosecutions of militia members accused of “serious crimes” through the formal justice system in East Timor, the vast majority of lesser crimes will most likely never make it to court. The United Nations’ initial ineffectiveness at resolving issues of justice based on its insistence of how the problem must be treated echoed Braithwaite’s observation of the world’s criminologists’ incredulity at some American counterparts, who professed superior expertise on the state of the discipline despite America’s abysmal record of recidivism (Braithwaite 1989, 5–6; Irwin and Austin 1997). Arguments in favor of codified, retributive justice can be traced back to the emergence of courts and systems of fines in medieval England. Some, such as Max Weber (1946 [1958], 159–179), have noted the relation between codified law and economic and political development. Others have noted the perceived economy and efficiency of rationalized, retributive systems of justice sponsored by the state, codified into written law, and internalized by all (Foucault 1979).19 Yet others, however, have pointed out that ignoring indigenous viewpoints and imposing Western notions of efficiency may be another form of the exercise of Western hegemony and instead of helping indigenous populations may actually do more harm (Lauderdale and Toggia, 1999). As many Western states look toward restorative justice as a means to alleviate problems such as increasing rates of imprisonment, high recidivism, and disproportionate imprisonment of minorities, it makes little sense to discourage traditional methods of restorative justice that may help solve these problems and foster reconciliation in communities wracked by years of brutal occupation. Although there are several factors that led to the UNTAET’s recognition of lisan, such as pragmatism, the insistence of leaders, and the realization that it was already in operation, the continued

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monitoring of lisan in East Timor will no doubt shed light on its efficacy and add to the increasing body of knowledge of other indigenous systems that has begun to provide models and examples from which Western systems may learn. Conclusion This chapter is meant as a specific and focused look into one aspect of justice in East Timor following its brutal history under Indonesian rule. As such, some final caveats are in order. The East Timorese most responsible for the violence, that is the leadership and organizers of the militias, remain in West Timor and elsewhere in Indonesia. They have become a problem for the Indonesian government, which does not wish to acknowledge its connection to them, and they continue to cause small-scale disturbances in the border region. Although lisan has been effective in reintegrating lowerand mid-level militia members, it would not be as effective or perhaps even desirable as a reintegrative measure for the most culpable of East Timorese. With regard to the comparatively low level of revenge and retribution in East Timor, some downplay the fact that in other cases, such as Kosovo and Rwanda, perpetrators and victims continue to live in close proximity, whereas in East Timor those most guilty continue to reside in a different nation-state. This chapter’s narrow focus also prevents a broader discussion of the issue of justice in East Timor. The Indonesian government and military are guilty of egregious crimes against humanity over the 24-year occupation of East Timor, and most Western powers are guilty of complicity, knowing fully well what was happening but unwilling to act on East Timor’s behalf because of geopolitical and economic considerations.20 Their complicity based on these considerations continues, as attempts to create an international tribunal to bring those responsible for these crimes against humanity are blocked at every turn (Nevins 2005). In interviews I conducted in early 2006, subjects repeatedly expressed that people were simply tired of conflict that may allow for some of the success of lisan, but they also felt that dwelling on the “small fish” of the conflict would remove the focus from the “big fish.” There remains widespread support in civil society for an international tribunal, despite the East Timorese government’s proclamations to the contrary (de Oliveira 2006; Hei 2006; Nug 2006). Finally, the continuing existence of lisan throughout nearly 500 years of colonial domination and in the face of adamant opposition in the early stages of its final foreign administrator shows the relationship of law and society. Laws are culturally embedded, and not simply abstractions. The

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persistence of lisan in East Timor shows that politics and law do not operate in a void, but rather reflect and grow with the society for which they serve, adapting to new circumstances. In the scope of this work, the lack of coordinated violence against former militia members, given the overall climate in East Timor of rampant poverty, high unemployment, and general frustration, shows considerable success, and I believe it is the success of tradition. Notes 1. Tetum is the lingua franca of East Timor, derived from a local dialect but used throughout the territory, and lisan is a Tetum term for the indigenous justice process that covers many areas of dispute. It is analogous to the term adat in Indonesian, and in interviews conducted in Indonesian in East Timor the two terms were used interchangeably. The Tetum usage of the term lisan is not borrowed directly from the Malay or Indonesian term “lisan,” meaning oral or spoken, but they may have similar etymology. Nahe biti (unrolling the mat) is another term that is used, although less frequently, to describe the process. 2. The figure is often disputed, especially by the Indonesian side, but it reflects Catholic Church census data, considered the most accurate by independent analysts (Dunn 1983, 320–323). The recently published report by the CAVR puts the death toll between 102,800 and 183,000 (Chega! 2005, section 6.2.1, 57). This figure reflects statistical uncertainty based on methodological problems with data gathering. Many in East Timorese civil society regard even the higher figure an underestimate. 3. These disappearances were often preceded or followed by visits to the family of the victim, in which the representative of the police or military would tell the family that the young man had been sent to study in Jakarta (disekolahkan). A cliff between Ainaro and Suai that was the site for disposal of the area’s victims has been nicknamed “Jakarta” for this reason, and the term disekolahkan has gained acceptance in the military as euphemism for “disappearances.” 4. This practice has been mirrored in other areas in Indonesia agitating for independence, including most recently West Papua (“W. Papua” 2000). 5. Although at this point most who remain in West Timor are militia members and their families or those who wish to remain Indonesian citizens. Some militia members have been sent to the restive province of West Papua, where they continue to intimidate the population there into accepting Indonesian rule (“Indonesia” 2000). 6. Indonesian law, however, recognizes adat in some cases for local conflicts, often involving land disputes (Ter Haar 1948). 7. For the first time in history, the UN was the de facto sovereign authority of a state. Jarat Chopra likens the UNTAET period in East Timor to a “preconstitutional monarchy”; the legislative and executive powers were in the hands of one man, Sergio Veira de Mello, the special representative of the secretary general, the transitional administrator, and the head of the UN’s Office for the

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9.

10.

11. 12. 13.

14. 15.

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Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs. The international staff was immune to prosecution. Finally, because the World Bank will disperse funds only to a sovereign government or public international organization, de Mello signed the agreement as head of state. Complaints regarding the United Nations’ sovereignty were widespread and based on several factors, leading to “calls for civil disobedience against the UN, and talk of declaring unilateral independence from another group of ‘invaders’” (Chopra 2000, 27–39; Linton 2001). Although the original document establishing the CAVR explicitly forbids anyone accused of a serious crime to go through the process of lisan, the CAVR has backpedaled: those responsible for more serious crimes may go through lisan in order to facilitate reintegration but with the understanding that a formal process will follow (although there has been no decision—or precedent— whether evidence or testimony submitted during lisan will be admissible). This decision was made in the interest of facilitating an immediate solution to violence in reaction to returning militia members and with the knowledge that given East Timor’s caseload trials for militia members may take years (Martins 2002; Alexander 2002). Those guilty of less-serious crimes cannot be tried formally for the same acts after going through lisan (UNTAET 2001). Banishment is also the harshest possible punishment meted out for the offender after the proceeding. Prior to the Portuguese colonial period, a death sentence could be handed down, but this practice stopped at some point during the colonial era (da Silva 2002). In Liquiça, for example, a coconut is opened, a leaf is dipped into the liquid, and shaken over the participants. In Maliana, an elder chewing betel breathes over the forehead of the participants, spraying a small amount of red spittle on their foreheads. In Oecussi, the end of conflict is symbolized with the ceremonial sheathing of a katana (machete), which is then wrapped in a tais (weaving) (de Vasconcelos 2006). An excellent illustration of the CRP process as well as the frustration of the formal legal system is portrayed in the 2006 documentary Passabe. Except in cases of serious crimes, as noted above (Hei 2002). The TFC is publicly supported by the East Timorese leadership. This support, however, has its roots in bilateral political and economic ties. Indonesia is East Timor’s biggest trading partner and the source of many of its goods. The political support enunciated by the leadership reflects a pragmatic desire to maintain cordial relations so as not to endanger these ties. Members of the East Timorese NGO community jokingly refer to the commission as “Timor Fried Chicken.” One notable difference among types is the degree to which procedure is codified with written rules, (cf. Roach 2000, 273; Daly 2001). Restorative shame, and its importance as a deterrent, is differentiated from stigmatizing shame. John Braithwaite (1989, 12–13) viewed shame as the answer to the question not of why some people commit crimes, but why so many people do not.

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16. See also Hadley (2001, 9): “Restorative Justice, with its principles of repentance, forgiveness and reconciliation, is . . . a deeply spiritual process.” 17. For noting the important connection between civil society and trust, see, for example Putnam (1995, 65–78) and Fukuyama (1995). 18. Although Bazemore (1998, 800) argues that recent empirical evidence is pointing in favor of restorative justice. 19. In his genealogy of punishment and prisons, however, Foucault limits his analysis to the Western, mostly French, evolution of punishment and ignores others, such as indigenous forms of justice. 20. The recently released final report of the CAVR, a 2,500-page document, details the abuses of the entire 24-year Indonesian occupation, as well as the complicity of foreign governments in supporting the occupation politically and militarily. It contains sections on the return of militia members, including the incorporation of lisan into the CAVR’s mandate, and its successes (Chega! 2005).

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Rights-Based Approaches to International Development Lowell Ewert

“I

t’s a great idea, but how do you do it?” This was a question I heard at least four times from one puzzled conference participant during a presentation on a rights-based approach to development given at the International Civil Society Forum in Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia. The skeptic then continued, “The UN and other development agencies have struggled for years to understand how to actually implement a rights-approach and they have not been able to come up with a model that works.” The primary reason that a rights-based approach is not used effectively by many development agencies is that a great deal of confusion exists within and among the advocacy, development, and human rights communities about what it means. Few people who use the term likely have the same understanding about its implications for the development community. As a consequence, it is difficult for the staff of nongovernmental organizations (NGOs) to understand the practical implications of this approach for relief and development agencies or to reconcile it with other models of development. This lack of clarity discourages development agencies from trying it. Since a rights-based approach is ill defined, it is difficult to know what one is, when it has been successfully implemented, and how to measure or evaluate its long-term impact. As a result, some development workers tend to call any humanitarian intervention a rights-based approach. In their minds, the intervention is advancing the human rights of the beneficiaries when food is made more available to the poor, housing accessible to the homeless, health care provided to the underserved. It can be argued that almost all the work of

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international development agencies can be described using the language of the International Covenant on Economic, Social, and Cultural Rights (Brownlie 1992, 114–124). While the language of the covenant is vague, it represents the world’s first consensus about the minimum social, economic, and cultural standards to which everyone is entitled. By using the logic that enhancing the quality of life is promoting human rights, any development strategy can be simply repackaged to fit within the definition of a rightsbased approach. Other development workers focus on the participatory nature of a rightsbased approach and conclude that it is nothing more than good development. Good development, after all, almost always rests firmly on dialogue and partnership with those who will benefit from the development plan. When beneficiaries become true partners in the development process, interventions tend to be more successful, more sustainable, and have a greater ripple effect. Still others fail to see the added value of a rights-based approach and hence take no concrete steps to implement it. Additionally, donors and host governments often fear the language of a rights-based approach because it may smack of cultural imperialism due to the perceived Western origin of human rights. They may additionally react negatively due to a perception that it is another strategy in a long history of inappropriate or unwelcome meddling in the internal affairs of other nations or cultures. Inappropriate meddling is likely to precipitate a hostile host government reaction that harms both the poor and the civil society organizations attempting to mediate on their behalf. It is my contention that a rights-based approach to development has the potential to be highly effective and sustainable because it strengthens the intangible structure of law or custom in a community at the same time that it advances a particular intervention. Said more simply, a rights-based approach creates the glue that holds any project together while simultaneously achieving the countable objectives that are often demanded by donors. The result of implementing a tangible project while simultaneously strengthening the intangible infrastructure composed of human relationships makes for a more durable and sustainable outcome. This chapter will explore some of the more commonly understood definitions and practices of a rights-based approach to development currently expressed or implied by donors and development agencies. It will conclude with a proposal to expand the common framework for understanding a rights-based approach. This chapter will provide beneficiaries, civil society development agencies, donors, and host governments with a more consistent and holistic language. This language will alleviate the concerns that a

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rights-based approach is simply the latest in a series of imperialistic development methodologies and provide a vision for how a rights-based approach can be in the best interests of all development players. Common Criticisms of Development Relevant to a Rights-Based Approach Development practitioners are legendary for their ability to be creative, respond quickly to humanitarian emergencies, and to interject themselves and critically needed resources into situations that are dangerous or unstable. Their flexibility, innovation, ability to learn from past successes or failures, and courage is laudable. The lives of millions of desperate people have been improved, at least in the short term, because of the determination and tenacity of development practitioners who have stared humanitarian disasters in the face and not blinked. International development practitioners are equally adept at responding to the devastating impacts of poverty, disease, and disempowerment even though these crises are not generally thought of as emergencies and the responses do not need to be carried out under the stress of urgent timelines. Practitioners have demonstrated their willingness to abandon development practices that have been shown to be ineffective, to experiment with new approaches before they have a proven track record, and to believe that failure should not necessarily be considered to be such if useable lessons have been learned as a result. While acknowledging that much of the work of humanitarian or longterm development practitioners is worthwhile, the experimental approaches used by development practitioners often lead to several common criticisms that are pertinent to the discussion of a rights-based approach to development. First, the interjection of technical or material assistance can worsen the plight of those being aided. Aid can exacerbate poverty. This concern is especially true in situations of conflict. When international assistance is given in the context of a violent conflict, it becomes a part of that context and thus also of the conflict. When given in conflict settings, aid can reinforce, exacerbate, and prolong the conflict; it can also help to reduce tensions and strengthen people’s capacities to disengage from fighting and find peaceful options for resolving problems. Often, an aid program does some of both: in some ways it worsens the conflict, and in others it supports disengagement. But in all cases, aid given during conflict cannot remain separate from that conflict (Anderson 1999, 1). What is missing is a yardstick against which to measure the appropriateness of development interventions. It is not always in the best interests of the subjects of development

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to be given assistance. New development paradigms, such as the emergent rights-based approach, need to demonstrate that they are based on the best interests of those being served and will not result in greater harm by spreading underdevelopment, disempowerment, and conflict. Second, because humanitarian and development workers are so adaptable, they are prone to try untested new methodologies and discard old ones as soon as they are deemed to be outmoded. No strategy is sacrosanct. All strategies can potentially change, probably should change, and will likely do so after their shortcomings are exposed. Consequently, when aid interventions are fluid, it is difficult to find a bedrock principle on which the practice can be firmly anchored. Although there is much to affirm in the flexibly and adaptability shown by development workers, it diminishes the personal responsibility of the development worker for his/her actions. If change is expected and failure is a part of learning, one can begin implementing a development paradigm even before all of its nuances are understood. If things do not work out as planned, one should simply learn from the mistakes that were made and move on. Unfortunately, it is often not that easy for the beneficiaries who typically pay the direct consequences of the ineffective strategy or the indirect consequence of greater insecurity that results when expectations collapse. Third, when change, adaptability, and flexibility become the hallmark of a practice, it is difficult to take seriously any development strategy—new or old. The result is cynicism toward any new development theory. It may only be nothing more than the latest flavor of the month that is hailed as the savior of the day, loved by donors and development agencies in the short term, and then discredited and discarded tomorrow. One can historically trace this same cycle over the past few decades—ranging from great hope to great disappointment with each of the dominant development paradigms. They were at first seen to be the answer to the needs of the poor, then highly touted by donors and development practitioners alike, and subsequently discredited when weaknesses were discovered. Last, well-meaning development practitioners have often promoted strategies that have proven effectiveness, but which disorder local traditions and cultures when transplanted into the wrong soil. As of yet, there is no onesize-fits-all development strategy that is compatible with every local custom and religious tradition, and which always empowers and uplifts the intended beneficiaries. Development is not as predictable as are the laws of physics, and hence needs to be approached with far greater sensitivity. It is my contention that a rights-based approach to development is indeed something new and that it has an answer for the criticisms named above that are often leveled at emergent development paradigms. A rights-based approach

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is not simply old wine in new bottles. It is also not the wrong wine mislabeled as something that has universal appeal. It originates from a theoretical and political foundation that differs from other development paradigms. As such, a rights-approach has greater international weight, persuasion, and applicability. It requires a development worker to think differently and to look at the intangible structure of law as an asset—a shield that can protect even while it is often used by abusive governments as a sword to cause harm. The Foundation for a Rights-Based Approach A rights-based approach to development has emerged from two separate but complementary international political movements that provide a new way of looking at the work of relief and development agencies. First, the notion of a rights-based approach to development only emerged after an evolving right to development was articulated. Franklin Roosevelt is given much credit for being the first to articulate a connection between rights and development, although it was not explicitly so acknowledged at the time. In his widely quoted State of the Union address on January 6, 1941, in which he outlined “four essential human freedoms,” Roosevelt publicly called for the following freedoms to be universally recognized: the freedom of speech and expression; the freedom of religion; the freedom from want; and the freedom from fear. Roosevelt elaborated on this theme three years later when he stated, “We have come to a clear realization of the fact that true individual freedom cannot exist without economic security and independence. ‘Necessitous men are not free men.’ People who are hungry and out of a job are the stuff out of which dictatorships are made” (Newman and Weissbrodt 1990, 362). Several years later, the United Nations Charter further elaborated on this link between development and rights. In Article 55, the charter tasks the United Nations to promote “higher standards of living, employment, and development; solutions to international economic, social and health problems; international cultural and educational cooperation; and respect for human rights” (Brownlie 1992, 5–6). By combining concern for the protection of civil rights and development in the same article, the United Nations was implicitly affirming the inseparability of the two notions. Subsequent UN-based efforts to clarify the linkage often focused on simply reaffirming the interdependence of development and rights. The Proclamation of Tehran, adopted in 1968, states, “Since human rights and fundamental freedoms are indivisible, the full realization of civil and political rights without the enjoyment of economic, social and cultural rights is impossible” (Proclamation of Tehran, 1968). Building on this momentum,

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the Declaration on Social Progress and Development adopted in 1969 “further emphasized the interdependence of these two sets of rights, and by the early 1970s, the concept of a right to development emerged as a human right” even though it was not so stated in any binding international treaty at the time (Sengupta 2002, 839). Second, the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, adopted in 1948, three years after the UN Charter, reaffirmed and reinforced the relationship between development and human rights by its provisions that made no distinction between civil and political rights on the one hand and economic, social, and cultural rights on the other (Brownlie 1992, 21–27). All rights were recognized as equally valid and the enjoyment of all rights was seen to be a prerequisite for a peaceful world. By being one unified document, the Universal Declaration inextricably linked development and human rights. The implementation of the principles inherent in the Universal Declaration was subsequently delayed due to the beginning of the Cold War during which time the tension between development and human rights became entangled with superpower rivalry. Nations within the Soviet sphere of influence emphasized the priority of economic, or development, rights over civil and political rights. In contrast, Western-looking governments tended to take an opposite view. Hence, one could more realistically claim a right to housing, food, or health care in Soviet-dominated states than in the West. The contrary view originating from the United States was that abridgments of the freedom of expression, conscience, religion, and free and open votes were the true rights. It was believed in the United States that the economic and social emphases of the Soviets were simply preferences that could be achieved once the real rights were realized. The practical result of this conflict between competing world views was that the implementation of the Universal Declaration, which was originally envisioned to be accomplished through the adoption of one unified treaty, was not only delayed, but split into two separate instruments. The first treaty, the Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, contained many of the individualistic civil and political principles that are enshrined by Western, liberal, democratic societies in documents such as the U.S. Bill of Rights and the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms. The second, the Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights, correspondingly emphasized community principles that guarantee persons the physical necessities—food, job, health care, and an adequate standard of living— to support life. If the guarantees contained in this covenant are to be realized, a right to development is clearly implied. Despite the apparent willingness of political leaders in the late 1940s to link development with human rights, it took decades for the world

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community to finally and incrementally agree that development might be more than just a human aspiration. Even among those who believe development to be a human right, there remain differences about whether it is a direct human right (e.g., there is a right to development such as that implied by the Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights and various UN-initiated resolutions) or whether it is, instead, the logical outcome of the respect for civil and political rights. In other words, this latter approach would argue that if civil and political rights are respected, development is a logical outcome. This brief overview reveals that various human rights pronouncements and documents have been responsible for breathing life into a rights-based approach to development and for nurturing it during the early years of its existence. As such, human rights can be seen to be a foundational cornerstone for a rights-based approach. However, seeing such an approach as only linked to international human rights treaties limits its potential impact. This approach to development can, without rejecting the nurturing human rights home from which it emerged, be far more effective if it grows and incorporates an expanded view of rights. Paradigm Shift Needed Most rights-based models of development are based on a philosophical paradigm of international human rights. While important, this approach leads to fundamental shortcomings that reduce the potential effectiveness of a rights-based approach. I am not arguing that the current approaches are wrong, just that they are not as effective as they could be if they more intentionally incorporated an expanded view of a rights-approach. The paradigm shift I am suggesting would address the two common misunderstandings of rights that are evident in current right-based models. First, limiting rights-based models to be based on international law overlooks the primary function of human rights law. Human rights treaties are most effective when never needed. The goal behind the adoption of human rights treaties is to become as unnecessary as possible. If the people in any nation need to rely on international treaties to protect them, the protective potential is indeed remote. International remedies are the last measure of protection, not the first. If customary practice, local or municipal law, provincial or state law, federal and constitutional law are working the way that they should, appeal to international human rights law will almost never occur. By dropping the focus from international law to local custom or municipal law, rights become most immediately applicable, most sustainable, most durable, and the most accessible remedies for violations.

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It therefore behooves the human rights advocate to keep one eye on the north star of human rights to ensure navigation toward the desired destination while dropping the gaze of the other eye to the grass roots level where the direct impact will be most felt and where the most immediate change is possible. Second, most rights-based approaches express a narrow view of what rights are. Rights are far more expansive than those that are enumerated in international human rights treaties and declarations. Rights are more properly defined to include not only law and treaties but also to encompass some independent standard with perceived legitimacy or fairness to determine who is right. As a shorthand for such independent standards, we use the term rights. Some rights are formalized in law or contract. Other rights are socially accepted standards of behavior, such as reciprocity, precedent, equality, and seniority. (Ury et al. 1993, 7)

Virtually any practice that is illustrative of commonly understood appropriate conduct, or any document that defines the relationship of various parties to each other (such as a workplace human resource manual, university course syllabus, microcredit loan agreements used by microenterprise agencies) is part of a rights-based system. Rights do not start and end with international human rights treaties. Nor are national and international formal legislative or quasi-legislative bodies the sole creators of rights. While many rights-defining documents are indeed legislative in origin and therefore difficult to directly influence when being developed, many of the instruments that define rights are nonlegislative. That is, they are created, adjusted, amended, or discarded outside of a formal parliamentary or legislative process. While these privately created rights are not to be in contradiction to law, there is usually no requirement that they be as limiting as law. Law creates a floor, not the ceiling, of the just world structure we hope to build. The bottom line is that rights create the structure that determines how we as individuals will live together without having to resort to the use of raw power to be safe, or to advance our interests. The rights structure additionally arbitrates how societies that are highly diverse can function without mass chaos or civil violence and how different nations can live side by side without war. Law is a structure that defines the nature of peaceable relations, even though those in authority at times abuse it. The legitimacy of law comes from setting standards that guide future actions and are consistently applied so that all persons are subject to the same rules enforced equally. It is mostly mundane and impacts virtually every aspect

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of our lives in ways that we often do not recognize until it is absent or disrupted. Only then do we not take it for granted and understand its pervasive impact. This expansive view of rights opens numerous new avenues for implementing a rights-based approach to development that will likely be more effective and sustainable than an approach that solely relies on international human rights principles. This approach brings rights to the level encountered by beneficiaries on a daily basis and allows for more meaningful impact. It also allows for far more flexibility as this approach to rights can be adapted more quickly to respond to changing environmental and social realities. Finally, it offers more local ownership as this approach can substantially incorporate standards and rules that have already been affirmed by the community. These community norms will often significantly reflect cultural norms, rather than simply being based on human rights principles that have been developed out of the public eye by diplomats. A weakness of this expanded approach is that it forces the development worker to come to terms with the inconsistency of rights. Rights are seldom absolute and different rights are often in tension with one another. What a rights framework attempts to do is to develop a formula that enables society to find a balance between competing or conflicting rights. This balance is determined by resort to a kind of hierarchy—linking international human rights, constitutional, federal, state or provincial, and municipal law, and private rights—that gives greater deference to some rights over others but also reflects a synergy between the layers. For example, though ultimately supreme, if international human rights standards are silent on a specific concept, great freedom is given to other levels to reflect prevailing social, community, and cultural values. In other words, development agencies can create their own standards that are not inconsistent with international human rights standards and when they do so they slowly begin a process of changing customary practices in the nation where they work. As practices become more accepted and expected, they gain in strength and their rights value correspondingly increases. To illustrate through metaphor, international human rights provisions are analogous to the foundation of a house as they represent the unchanging bedrock values and principles. Laid upon the human rights foundation are the walls and roof represented by federal, provincial, and municipal law. Supplementing the external structure are internal walls and doors that represent the cultural and other agreed practices of the occupants. These more flexible walls give the interior of the house its unique character and can be moved around as desired as long as they do not interfere with the structural integrity of the house.

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Clearly, an impersonal structure does not make a home. A house cannot make those inside appreciate each other, want to form a community together, genuinely respect or love each other, or proactively nurture the human spirit. But without the structure that a house provides, human interaction as we know it will be fraught with hardship, injustice, and terror. Without the space inside the house where the values of humanity can be practiced, life will be cold, impersonal, and not fully realized. While rights are incapable of ensuring that individuals will personify these relational values that give life meaning, rights make it more likely that these values will be manifested. Rights-Based Models The following is a synopsis of how several donor or development agencies have articulated a rights-based approach to development. It should be noted that this is not an exhaustive list of agencies but is rather meant to be representative of several key and different perspectives. United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights (UNHCHR) The UNHCHR explicitly roots for a rights-approach to development on international human rights treaties but is silent on how the various other levels of rights described above also create rights: A rights-based approach to development is a conceptual framework for the process of human development that is normatively based on international human rights standards and operationally directed to promoting and protecting human rights. Essentially, a rights-based approach integrates the norms, standards and principles of the international human rights system into the plans, policies and processes of development. The norms and standards are those contained in the wealth of international treaties and declarations. . . . The definition of the objectives of development in terms of particular rights—as legally enforceable entitlements—is an essential ingredient of human rights approaches, as is the creation of express normative links to international, regional and national human rights instruments. (UNHCHR n.d.)

The UNHCHR emphasizes that the elements of this approach to development include linking civil, political, economic, social, and cultural rights. It further elaborates the approach by incorporating principles such as “accountability, empowerment, participation and non-discrimination and attention to vulnerable groups.”

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Canadian International Development Agency (CIDA) While CIDA does not appear to have an overall rights-based development strategy, it has developed a comprehensive Child Rights Approach (CRA) to development that is based on the Convention of the Rights of the Child (CRC) and UNICEF Canada’s view of a rights-approach. Given Canada’s leadership role in negotiating the 1989 CRC, and subsequently in promoting its ratification, it makes sense that its official development agency, CIDA, would promote this specific subset of rights as a priority. A training manual copyrighted by UNICEF Canada and prepared for CIDA to assist Canadian development agencies implement a CRA to development describes a CRA in the language of process, or empowerment (CIDA 2002, 32): A rights-based approach asks us to shift beyond meeting children’s needs to the realization of children’s rights. Although rights cannot be realized if needs are not met, simply meeting needs is not enough. Rights cannot be separated from needs (inextricable link between needs and rights). What this changes in our work is including a focus on process as well as outcome, the “how” as well as the “what”; instead of focusing on outcomes, we focus on outcomes and process.

However, despite this process or empowerment language, most of the balance of the subsequent manual and training seems to focus on a more legalistic application of specific articles of the Convention on the Rights of the Child to development. Its listing of the principal human rights instruments upon which a child rights approach is based includes 10 international treaties and no reference is made to constitutional, federal, state or provincial, and municipal or private law (CIDA 2003, 22–24). The CRA approach includes in the list of basic principles that must be applied to development work the principle of “universality and inalienability, indivisibility, interdependence and inter-relatedness, non-discrimination and equality, participation and inclusion, accountability and the rule of law” (CIDA 2003, 12 [emphasis in original]). All of these principles are directly linked to international human rights and are meant to highlight various tensions that may exist in how they are applied. It recognizes that there are few absolute rights and that almost everything we commonly refer to as a right is a principle that is often in conflict with other rights. These rights, therefore, must be balanced against other principles and not enjoyed absolutely. This approach challenges development practitioners to understand how their work fulfills the objectives of the various international human rights instruments, particularly the Convention on the Rights of the

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Child. The CIDA training exercise is designed to fully acquaint the participant with the specific provisions of the CRC, and help the participant evaluate whether acts are consistent with, or in violation of, the CRC. The strength of this approach is that it challenges the development practitioner to be aware of the fundamental provisions of the CRC and to continually ask, “How will the proposed development intervention impact the rights of children?” The repeated emphasis inviting child participation in the development process highly affirms the process-oriented nature of the CRA. The weakness of this approach is that it leads to a disempowering dichotomy where the solution to the needs of children may either become the obligation of the state to deliver (such as providing education for all) or where all it takes to promote a rights-approach is to give children a voice. Save the Children The model disseminated by Save the Children blurs the line between child rights and a more generic rights-based approach. It argues that child rights and the more comprehensive rights-based approach share the same principles and common practice (Theis 2004, vii). It is based on an assumption that “power issues lie at the root of poverty and exploitation” and that a rights-approach is one way that people can demand the reallocation of power (Theis 2004, 2). By confronting “the fundamental causes of poverty, abuse and exploitation,” a rights-based approach is necessarily holistic (Theis 2004, 18). The goal of a rights-based approach is the realization of human rights, be they what are commonly known as civil and political rights; economic, social, and cultural rights; or rights defined by some other human rights instrument. The proposed methods used to accomplish a rights-based approach include: Pressure decision-makers to change policies, laws, programmes and budget allocations; . . . mobilize people to demand changes in policies and resource allocations; . . . utilise mass media to raise awareness and to report abuses of power and rights violations; . . . establish and monitor standards, rules and procedures. Create systems of incentives and sanctions to enforce these standards; . . . audit the quality of government services; . . . monitor and report human rights violations; . . . establish and support human rights watchdog organizations and functions; . . . educate the public and decision-makers about human rights; . . . [and] use courts to claim entitlements and to achieve justice and equality. (Theis 2004, 6)

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Oxfam America Oxfam America is an example of an agency that has been a strong proponent of a rights-approach to development even though, in its own words, “rights had never been made the centerpiece of our development approach” (Offenheiser and Holcombe 2001, 3). Oxfam has always had a significant concern for promoting the interests of marginalized groups, but only recently affirmed this as being part of a rights-based approach to development. According to Oxfam (Offenheiser and Holcombe 2001, 5), such an approach defines poverty as social exclusion. Instead of focusing on creating an inventory of public goods or services that must be provided and then seeking to fill the deficit via foreign aid, the rights-based approach focuses on trying to identify the critical exclusionary mechanisms. What are those systemic obstacles that are standing in the way of people’s ability to access opportunity and improve their own lives? From the very outset, the rights-based approach centers on structural barriers that impede communities from having rights, capabilities and the capacity to choose.

The key to responding to the challenge of exclusion, according to Oxfam, is to work through civil society that interacts with the state and the economy to shape society and to deal with five primary aims that are derived from human rights principles. These five aims, which Oxfam attempts to incorporate into its strategic development planning, are: the right to sustainable livelihood; right to basic social services; right to life and security; right to be heard; and the right to identity (Offenheiser and Holcombe 2001, 19). What these five aims reflect is a very strong interest in addressing both civil/political rights and economic, social, and cultural rights through empowering beneficiary action. Mercy Corps Mercy Corps is an example of a relief and development agency that has for all intents and purposes embarked on a rights-based approach to development but called it something else. Its involvement in rights-based programming has been progressive and “shows a broadening from peace and justice, to include human rights and then, in recent years, to more consciously integrate these components with participatory development, multi-sector involvement, and other elements under the civil society umbrella” (Field 2002, 2). Beginning with an emphasis on loosely defined

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justice concerns, Mercy Corps then leapfrogged into a focus on human rights until it encountered internal resistance due to the perceived political nature of rights. The language of civil society was more understandable both to Mercy Corps staff and beneficiaries and hence the rights focus was repackaged. However, the core principles of civil society as defined by Mercy Corps were essentially lifted from the Universal Declaration of Human Rights and included: the notion of the centrality of citizen participation, increasing the ability of people to hold power accountable, and supporting initiatives that allow citizens to work for peaceable change. Mercy Corps has attempted to try to incorporate these principles into much of its development work, thereby operationalizing human rights through a modified process of development. With this approach, Mercy Corps was clearly a leader in defining a civil society strategy for development agencies that up until its early work in the mid-1990s had mostly remained unarticulated by others. Its foundation, however, was based on international human rights law. ActionAid The ActionAid definition of a rights-approach includes two fundamental components: first, to “be the realization of the human rights of those affected by conflict and disasters” and second, it is an approach that “rests, to a large extent, on its legal foundation, whose rudiments cover a wide range of moral and legal principles, norms, institutions and procedures as the local, national and international levels” (Nicolas 2000). According to this framework, a rights-based approach is one that is based on rights. Although the language of this definition appears to also embrace rights not of an international character, it is clear that “international human rights law, humanitarian law and refugee law” define the foundation to a rights-based approach (Nicolas 2000). The strength of the ActionAid approach is that ActionAid is the agency that has most clearly defined the added value that a rights-based approach brings to development, thereby bringing clarity to why this approach should be attempted. Rights-Based Approach and Peace Practice What the above summary has shown is that most of the rights-based approaches are firmly rooted in an understanding of international human rights law. None explicitly attempts to incorporate an expanded view of law,

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although it is difficult not to interact with local law in some way as a normal part of any development activity. None also is theoretically designed to explore how law can be created outside of the formal legislative process and all implicitly assume that rights are entitlements that are created by someone else. The following two very brief illustrations will show some of the very practical steps that development agencies have taken to implement an expanded view, a rights-approach that creates rights outside of reference to human rights instruments. Mercy Corps Mercy Corps has been working in Indonesia since 1999 and has had a significant project focus in the Ambon region that was the scene of much intercommunal violence and tension in the late 1990s and early 2000s. As part of their effort to aid in the reconstruction process following the end of the conflict, Mercy Corps funded the rebuilding of homes in several communities. It intentionally used the Humanitarian Charter and Minimum Standards in Disaster Responses (also known as the Sphere standards) that had been developed by a coalition of development agencies to determine what type of structures to build. By using the Sphere standards at a time when it was under no legal obligation to do so, Mercy Corps was empowering these standards. This also resulted in creating greater expectations on the part of other humanitarian relief and rebuilding providers to do likewise. This impacted even governmental responses; as one Mercy Corps staff commented, after they began using the Sphere standards, they overheard local government officials indicate that government projects would begin doing so as well. Additionally, Mercy Corps’ practice of posting signs at visible places near projects giving information about the size of the project, which it was not required to do, was effective in ensuring that the project was accountable to donors and community alike. The practice reduced suspicion, encouraged other NGOs to do likewise (another NGO reportedly copied the language used on a Mercy Corps’ sign verbatim and used it at their own project site) as well as gave the community a better sense of comparison regarding evaluation of similar government-initiated projects. Therefore, by being accountable to clients, Mercy Corps was living out its core principles. Through posting signs at project sites, Mercy Corps was changing structures and societal expectations that subsequently took on a life of their own. The impact of these standards is likely to live on in Ambon well after Mercy Corps leaves the region.

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Partners in Technology Exchange/ Mennonite Economic Development Associates Two Canadian partners have collaborated to sponsor a project being carried out in Egypt entitled Promoting and Protecting the Interests of Children who Work (PPIC-Work) that is designed not to eliminate child labor, but rather to reduce its harm. The primary goal of PPIC-Work is to promote small enterprises through the extension of credit and provision of business advisory services. The project is based on the assumption that neither is eliminating all child labor a realistic goal nor is it, probably, ultimately in the best interests of working children. It acknowledges that there are many forms of child labor that are repugnant, abhorrent, and harmful from which children should be immediately removed. It also recognizes that eliminating child labor altogether may, unintentionally, cause more harm to children who are then left with fewer and more damaging options. Project managers have decided to deliberately incorporate a rights-based approach into significant aspects of PPIC-Work at several levels. First, at the stakeholder level, working children are given an explicit voice in project decisions. As such, their participatory rights are acknowledged and reaffirmed. Their rights are respected. Second, at the local structural level, PPIC-Work is collaborating with a group of employers and other stakeholders to develop a draft model code of conduct for employers who hire children. While this model code will initially apply only to small entrepreneurs who are connected to this particular microcredit scheme, model codes and standards often take on a life of their own that outlives the immediate application. In other words, even though this code will only apply to applicants for funds to this particular project, by being a part of a code that will become public, as opposed to merely being a private contractual matter, it will contribute to developing new customary standards that will have a wider and more sustainable impact. Third, PPIC-Work has intentionally linked its grass roots work, and lessons learned, with a broader policy dialogue. It has done this by engaging a variety of different stakeholders in a discussion that is aimed at developing a stronger, more realistic response to child labor. The first stage of this process involved a meeting held in Ottawa in February 2004 at which approximately 30 representatives from 21 civil society, government, or international agencies participated. The agreed purpose of this one-day conversation was to identify and expand common areas of understanding in programming that protects and promotes the interest of working children. This event was also designed to explore the possibility of increasing the collective capacity in programming that protects and promotes the interests of working children.

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An attempt was made to invite to this event persons who could represent much of the diversity of opinion toward the issue of child labor with an emphasis (but not exclusively) on a Canadian perspective. As such, participants included representatives from: four international development NGOs actively involved in projects in several countries that promote small enterprises often employing children; two national agencies that are especially concerned about child labor in Egypt; Canadian labor movement that has worked to combat child labor; a U.S.-based human rights group that has issued reports on child labor; the office of a Canadian senator who has taken a keen interest in this issue; two global UN agencies (UNICEF and ILO/IPEC) that have taken the lead in attempting to ban child labor; two Canadian governmental departments; several other organizations that and representatives who have demonstrated a keen interest in working children generally; and several university academics who have conducted research on issues related to child labor or who have consulted on projects that employ children. The summary of the sense of this gathering was prepared, distributed to all participants, and will now be used as the basis for the next proposed round of discussions that will likely include more international representatives from civil society, more governmental representatives, and more direct stakeholders. The long-term goal of this project is to take the experiences gained from the microcredit project located in Upper Egypt and bring these to an international policy discussion that will inform how the difficult challenge of child labor is addressed. What these two examples from Mercy Corps and PPIC-Work have tried to show is how development agencies can be involved in what is essentially creating rights or standards. The efforts of both agencies are directed at being proactive in developing or empowering standards. Standards can be created that range from the very micro level, pertaining to local projects that subsequently impact community understandings, to the macro level that eventually interact with international law.

Conclusion There is still much to learn about how a rights-based approach to development can most effectively be implemented by development agencies. Many different models are currently being developed that build on the strong international consensus of international human rights that has evolved since the foundation document, the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, was adopted in 1948. A rights-based approach, far from being either simply the latest flavor of the month or nothing more than simply the last in a series

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of imperialistic development strategies being forced on unsuspecting peoples, is based on the universal need for law and on the attention that the world community is giving to human rights. The Convention on the Rights of the Child, for example, is one of the world’s most ratified documents. Other human rights treaties have been signed and ratified by governments representing people dominated by every major religious, political, or economic tradition or practice. A human rights approach is not simply a Western approach. It is a contemporary approach that reflects the emergent political consensus. A rights-based approach to development based on human rights is, therefore, always appropriate. Additionally, a rights-based approach that incorporates rights defined by instruments other than international human rights has the potential to be more immediately applicable and simultaneously more amenable to adoption. Rights are not static but rather can evolve and change to meet community needs. Rights are also very local. As such, rights originating elsewhere than in international documents can show great promise if one is looking for it.

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Humanitarians with Guns: Globalized Rights, Cultural Space, and Militarized Aid in Afghanistan Aman Mojadidi

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ver the last several years, Afghanistan has once again floated in and out of television, radio, and front-page news stories. Much has been the cause of this media resurgence: the infamous Taliban emerged in 1994 and seized Kabul by 1996; the events of September 2001 highlighted Afghanistan’s status as a terrorist breeding ground; the U.S.-led invasion followed in October of the same year with a U.S.-backed interim government led by Hamid Karzai installed; the conferences held in Bonn in 2001, Tokyo in 2002, Berlin in 2004, and most recently London in 2006 to lay out a political and economic framework for the country; and national presidential and parliamentary elections held in 2004 and 2005 respectively. However, the Afghanistan experience only continues to become more complicated and increasingly difficult to understand due to the multifaceted nature of Afghanistan’s postconflict condition. In particular, there are complex and often contradictory agendas, goals, hopes, and ambitions regarding the space humanitarianism—defined in the context of this chapter as the provision of basic economic, social, and cultural (ESC) human rights through humanitarian aid and development activities—occupies in Afghanistan today. This is an important point in trying to begin understanding how the U.S. invasion of Afghanistan, beyond a mere response to the events that took place in September 2001, fits within a long tradition of geopolitical incursions into troubled nations of the world through the use of humanitarian rhetoric. One only needs to

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look back at the colonizing campaigns of the British in India and the French in Algeria, to name only a couple, to see how this tradition of civilized societies championing human rights in savage and oppressed lands is firmly rooted within a colonial paradigm. This paradigm continues to shape the foreign policy of developed nations (advanced in industrial capability, technological capacity, economic productivity, and military strength—such as the United States) toward the underdeveloped world (under developed implying an action carried out upon these nations, as opposed to and quite different from, undeveloped implying an inherent, natural condition). As such, the desire, in essence the need, to legitimate invasion through militarized models of humanitarianism for providing basic ESC human rights to the oppressed of the world has become a palpable and all-too-familiar phenomenon. The last several years in Afghanistan are no exception. But regardless of whether the providers are military or civilian, how does one critique the provision of these basic rights and humanitarian action? It is difficult to argue against the construction of a school that potentially will provide education to children long denied that right, or the digging of a well to provide that essential right of water often taken for granted in developed countries with the availability of endless natural, spring, vitamininfused, and fruit varieties. This chapter will attempt a critique by discussing how the use of militarized models of humanitarian assistance in the provision of basic ESC human rights, both through relief aid and development activities, are part of larger globalizing processes that are infringing upon the civilian humanitarian space in Afghanistan occupied by civilian NGOs. Furthermore, the use of relief aid, development, and human rights rhetoric will be explored as part of geopolitical strategies rooted within the historical framework of colonial expansion and exploitation. Such patterns raise serious ethical implications for the provision of basic rights by civilian NGOs attempting to distance themselves from political and military actors and maintain a sense of neutrality, non-partiality, and independence in their work within the cultural space of Afghanistan. Some of the questions this chapter will attempt to address are: how can the militarized provision of basic ESC human rights be understood as part of the broader, historical processes of globalization; in what way does this militarized humanitarianism fit within the framework of a human rights movement that includes basic ESC rights; how can this model be understood within the ever-changing cultural space of a country like Afghanistan; and, is there a blurring of lines between military and civilian actors in the humanitarian provision of these rights, and what does this mean within the context of Afghanistan? Certainly, answering these questions only begins to deal with a complicated issue such as this. But, at the least, it will provide

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a modest contribution to further understanding where Afghanistan fits within an increasingly militarized humanitarian framework. Goods-free Globalization Globalization is an all-encompassing buzzword laden with meaning that often remains intangible and ambiguous. One thing regarding globalization is clear, however: as a transnational process, globalization dominates the spatial and temporal dynamics of today’s world systems. These dynamics, be they ideological, political, material, economic, militaristic, technological, or cultural, are shaping global relationships both across borders as well as within them. Very little is left out of globalization’s far-reaching transnational flow. This seemingly pervasive extension of connections across the world lies at the very core of the globalizing process. Globalization, therefore, can be understood as “the intensification of worldwide social relations which link distant localities in such a way that local happenings are shaped by events occurring many miles away and vice versa” (Giddens 2001, 245). I would add that these worldwide social relations, in order to exist in the global realm, are simultaneously local processes of constructing social meaning that interact in the global sphere. In other words, meaning is not defined and controlled by any particular actor in the globalization theater. So, for example, the meaning of militarized intervention partially in the name of humanitarianism as created and understood by the United States in Afghanistan (as salvation, liberation) may be created, and thereby understood, very differently by some on an indigenous level (as occupation, intimidation). Globalization, therefore, is ultimately a social exchange where meaning is constructed through dialectical relationships that are at once both global and local, and potentially in contradiction. There are no assurances, however, that these relationships have been or will be equal ones. It is this potential, perhaps inevitable, inequality in globalized dynamics that significantly shapes the relationships formed between the developed and underdeveloped nations. In today’s increasingly integrated world, these relationships are further understood as the direct result of “a permanent traffic in ideas of peoplehood and selfhood” (Appadurai 2001, 254). However, the traffic in ideas is not enough to bring about the kind of unequal globalized relationships we see in the world today. For that to happen, the ideas of globalization must be transformed into the disproportionate actions of globalization: such as the way the U.S. has sought to maintain a dominant global position by economically indenturing countries in the third world through the restructuring and privatization policies of the International Monetary Fund (IMF) and the International Bank for Reconstruction and Development (World Bank).

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As such, this prevailing inequality embedded within the globalizing process is intricately connected to historical systems of colonial expansion and the enduring relations and power structures created through those unequal systems of action. Put more succinctly, “Globalization, though it may be a new term, is an age-old process and one firmly rooted in the history of colonialism” (Ellwood 2001, 13). It is the active materialization of globalizing ideas into globalizing actions, often through the use of military force, that disproportionately shapes and affects relationships between developed and underdeveloped countries. Globalization is, therefore, clearly a dialectical process in the Marxist sense: a process of change through the conflict of opposing forces (developed and underdeveloped nations) whereby the weaker of two aspects of the contradiction succumbs to the stronger and transforms into an aspect of a new contradiction, thereby perpetuating the disproportionate power structures between developed and underdeveloped countries. As a particular manifestation of these relationships, humanitarian aid and development efforts play an important role in these globalized systems of action. Essentially born out of the postcolonial era immediately following World War II, aid and development initiatives initially were the result of global considerations for helping to rebuild European countries devastated by the war, a product of which was the formation of the World Bank. However along with a destroyed Europe, a global space called the third world, consisting of former colonies struggling to stand on their own feet after decades of colonial rule, also emerged from the ruins of war. As Europe swiftly recovered throughout the 1950s, and the rapidly growing industries of the United States found themselves quickly in need of new markets, the World Bank and the broader international aid and development effort “turned its interest to the newly-independent countries of the Third World” (Ellwood 2001, 31). It was during this time that the aid and development enterprise, as it continues to exist today, emerged and “the notion was born that it was possible and necessary to organize and accelerate economic and social change” (Uvin 2004, 12). This necessity translated into a desire to not only “organize and accelerate” change, but to exert a degree of influence over the shape of these newly independent nations’ social structures. A primary method for achieving this goal was through the use of humanitarian aid and development initiatives; “At the level of social groups, therefore, development implies an increasing capacity to regulate both internal (as between men and women, governments and citizens) and external (as in between nations such as the U.S. and Afghanistan) relationships.” (Rodney 1972, 9). The keen interest in the underdeveloped, postcolonial world through international aid and development initiatives in the 1950s

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has become a complex arena through which the ideas, goals, and agendas of developed nations may be further extended through the process of globalization. As part of these initiatives, humanitarianism as the provision and spread of ESC human rights has become significantly useful to developed nations in servicing the need for continuing influence over underdeveloped societies. This humanitarianism is further supported by a universalist human rights movement that provides much of the foundation for this transnational, transcultural human rights process. The Rights Movement In looking at the human rights movement of which humanitarianism is a part, and dealing with the globalizing efforts of developed nations to provide human rights in the world, the underlying agendas may be less apparent and explicit intentions less contestable. It is easier to address the origins of these agendas, and the relational inequities in globalizing processes, when exploring the more blatant historical framework related to colonial expansion such as direct occupation, subjugation, and exploitation of natural and human resources. However, when speaking of human rights and the desire to provide these rights to disadvantaged peoples in the world, the situation becomes much more complex. For example, take a statement made by First Lady Laura Bush soon after the U.S. invasion of Afghanistan: “Because of our recent military gains in much of Afghanistan, women are no longer imprisoned in their homes . . . The fight against terrorism is also a fight for the rights and dignity of women” (Abu-Lughod 2002, 784). This is certainly a noble cause, and a seemingly valid justification for the military invasion of a sovereign nation. But this statement and more so the actions it refers to are disconnected from similar historical patterns during the colonial era; in fact they are almost replicas of those patterns One need only look at the British in India intervening in practices such as child labor and suttee (the practice of Hindu widows willingly immolating themselves on their husbands’ funeral pyres) to see how human rights can be used to justify rule and military invasion (Abu-Lughod 2002, 784). Furthermore, there is a perception that human rights are something belonging to the developed world and subsequently given to underdeveloped societies. This perception greatly influences how members of both societies perceive human rights and humanitarian initiatives. To understand how these complexities exist within the framework of globalizing processes, a brief discussion about the perceived Eurocentric roots of the human rights movement and the movement’s relationship to humanitarianism seems appropriate.

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Complications with what is considered the Eurocentric concept of human rights and their subsequent transnational provision upon a decolonizing world scene became highlighted in the immediate aftermath of World War II. The post-World War II world, after having witnessed the genocidal atrocities carried out against Europe’s Jewish population, saw the need to try and bring the nations of the world together under an umbrella of accountability and cooperation. During this time, industrialized nations, particularly the United States and eventually, once again, Europe, were reaffirming their economic and technological supremacy in the world. Simultaneously, newly independent countries were appearing on the world stage as colonial control over underdeveloped countries by these developed nations began to transform. In 1945, the United Nations was established in order to deal with these newly emerging relationships and to help strengthen them among member states. Since then, several declarations on the rights of the world community have been drafted including the Universal Declaration of Human Rights in 1948 and the International Covenant on Economic, Social, and Cultural Rights in 1966. Although declarations and covenants are in effect simply statements of intent that are not legally binding (Uvin 2004, 10), what is taking shape, within a Eurocentric framework, is the beginnings of a movement that seeks to defend and provide human rights on a global scale. This framework, however, is not to be confused with the actual notion of human rights itself. Human rights, particularly those rooted within humanitarian notions of livelihood and basic needs, must be understood as an idea that exists above and beyond nations. It is built upon appreciation of a “shared humanity” and these rights “are not derived from citizenship of any country, or membership of any nation, but taken as entitlements of every human being” (Sen 1998, 40). However, this universalist perception regarding human rights is often contested; and criticisms exist over the imposition of what is perceived as the Eurocentric origin of human rights themselves. “Many scholars, activists, and government officials, especially but not exclusively from third-world [underdeveloped] countries, have argued that human rights emanate from Western political, cultural, or religious values and are therefore not universally valid” (Uvin 2004, 17). In other words, problems exist not with the morality of human rights, but rather the contestable universal validity of these rights when perceived as promoting Eurocentric values and belief systems. And these criticisms are not without justification, for “There is a tendency in Europe and the United States to assume, if only implicitly, that it is in the West (developed world)—and only in the West—that human rights have been valued from ancient times” (Sen 1998, 40). The tendency

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fosters the critical positions of those who challenge this notion. Furthermore, this tendency in Europe and the United States negates the history of human rights found in several traditions throughout history and around the world. Intellectual, cultural, and religious traditions from Confucianism to Buddhism to Islam contain evidence of an appreciation and insistence on fulfilling and preserving the rights of all people. In the third century BCE, political inscriptions of the Buddhist Indian emperor Ashoka exemplify him as being “in favor of tolerance and individual freedom, both as part of state policy and in the relation of different people to each other” (Sen 1998, 41). Similarly, “A Jewish scholar like Maimonides in the twelfth century had to run away from an intolerant Europe and from its persecution of Jews for the security offered by a tolerant Cairo and the patronage of Sultan Saladin” (Sen 1998, 42). These brief examples serve to challenge the notion that the idea of human rights is the exclusive domain of contemporary developed nations, and offered to underdeveloped countries as part of some civilizing mission reminiscent of earlier colonial motivations. This said, when we return to the discussion about a contemporary human rights movement, particularly its manifestation in Afghanistan, it becomes necessary once again to critically examine the space occupied by the globalizing agendas of developed nations. This movement, its embeddedness within a Euro-framework, and its belief in the inherent transculturality of human rights, may be seen as legitimizing and perpetuating relational inequalities between developed and underdeveloped countries. As concepts become law, laws become movements, and movements become globalized, it is possible to forget the temporal and spatial origins of these elements. When initiatives are made by the developed world to enshrine human rights in laws and declarations that are imbued with universal legitimacy, it is important to remember that these laws are “without doubt linked to the dictates of power” (Uvin 2004, 21). Many would argue here that laws and declarations have been signed and ratified by underdeveloped countries as well, and therefore do represent certain universal inclinations. This acceptance of human rights by the international community is especially relevant when dealing with the basic humanitarian needs embedded within the ESC rights of the world’s people. One will find few cultures, religions, or governments that would (at least in theory and on paper) deny their people their basic rights to food, security, education, and a decent living. But it should also be understood that: [Although] many declarations exist, and international courts and scholars have declared some of these mandatory or customary, . . . all this happened in a world of Western intellectual and political hegemony . . . Imagine if

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Hitler’s Third Reich had won the Second World War . . . The face of international law, and human rights law a fortiori, would be very different. And what if we lived in a China-dominated world? (Uvin 2004, 21)

Though referring to human rights laws specifically, the suggestion here is incredibly important in addressing the human rights movement that is born out of those laws. Once again it is crucial to understand that it is not some inherent distaste for human rights that guides these criticisms, but rather a distrust of the possible agendas behind a Euro-centered human rights movement. Therefore, we see that: Although the human rights movement arose in Europe, with the express purpose of containing European savagery, it is today a civilizing crusade aimed primarily at the Third [underdeveloped] World. It is one thing for Europeans and North Americans, whose states share a common philosophical and legal ancestry, to create a common political and cultural template to govern their societies. But it is quite another to insist that their particular vision of society is the only permissible civilization which must now be imposed on all human societies, particularly those outside Europe. (Mutua 2003)

In Afghanistan today, a particularly extraordinary and significant development in the human rights movement is being imposed in many respects on the country. This development is the greater use of human rights through humanitarianism rhetoric in the U.S. foreign policy, and the parallel provision of these rights through U.S. military operations. The threetiered principles of justice, peace, and aid/development have come to support, and justify, the actions of an increasingly globalizing military. The U.S. military mission to Afghanistan was meant to not only counterattack an al-Qaeda stronghold and “battle against those who had masterminded or supported the September 11 attacks, but also as a humanitarian mission” (Clark 2004, 83). It is this humanitarianism wrapped within military operations, or humanitarian interventions, which is of interest here. The escalating scope of humanitarian interventions from nations of the developed world, particularly the United States, has become an important component of globalization’s steady advance around the world. A humanitarian intervention is defined as “an armed intervention in another state, without the agreement of that state, to address (the threat of ) a humanitarian disaster, in particular caused by grave and large-scale violations of fundamental human rights” (Wilson-Roberts 2000). Ideologically noble as it may be, the use of military might to achieve humanitarian goals is highly problematic as increasing efforts at militarizing the provision of human rights contribute to the imposition, under humanitarian

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guises, of underlying dominant agendas onto the underdeveloped world. Furthermore, the decision of when human rights abuses have reached a point where they justify an intervention is ultimately political rather than driven by any true humanitarian inclination; “Defining when abuses are ‘grave’ or when there is a ‘disaster’ is highly subjective and the nature of the decision . . . would inevitably be highly politicized” (Wilson-Roberts 2000). This political decision-making process is clearly evidenced by the different responses the United States and Europe had toward the crises in Kosovo and Rwanda—taking immediate interest in reports of genocide on the edges of Europe while allowing the situation in Rwanda to reach catastrophic proportions before responding. However, it is the particular manifestation of this militarized humanitarianism inside Afghanistan that has transformed the aid and development environment inside the country and created friction within the cultural and humanitarian space of Afghanistan. But before addressing the increasingly complex relationships between a globalizing, militarized humanitarianism and the civilian work of aid and development NGOs inside Afghanistan, it is necessary to discuss the cultural space where these strange bedfellows in the promotion of basic ESC human rights in Afghanistan find themselves today. Culture Unbound The last 30 years in Afghanistan have brought about a kind of political, social, and economic upheaval that is difficult for many to even comprehend. Decades of continuous conflict have altered the cultural space where Afghans experience themselves, as well as the culture they simultaneously create and participate in. Destroyed infrastructures and civil services, shifting demographics, altered family patterns, and massive emigrations have contributed to this alteration in where and how Afghans create and express their culturally lived experiences. Identifying and understanding the cultural space in Afghanistan, therefore, first requires a brief discussion of the idea of culture itself. Defining culture has historically been an endeavor in constant flux, with varied definitions filling the role simultaneously. In order to capture the multitudinous nature of culture as a social system, culture must be seen as: The semantic space, the field of signs and practices, in which human beings construct and represent themselves and others, and hence their societies and histories. It is not just merely an abstract order of signs, or relations among signs. Nor is it just the sum of habitual practices . . . Culture always contains within it polyvalent, potentially contestable messages, images, and actions.

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It is, in short, a historically situated, historically unfolding ensemble of signifiers-in-action, signifiers at once material and symbolic, social and aesthetic. (Comaroff and Comaroff 1992, 27)

This definition allows for the understanding of culture as a system unbound by history, geography, tradition, or conceptual renderings; culture is a system that naturally changes through time. The argument of this chapter is that not only does culture change temporally, but that this change also occurs spatially: as in Afghan culture existing outside the country’s borders and manifesting itself in the United States, Europe, Australia, and elsewhere. There is, therefore, no geopolitically defined space where Afghan culture lives. These temporal and spatial changes in Afghanistan, as in most societies, occur partially as the result of two general factors—the various forces at work within Afghanistan itself and contact between Afghanistan and other societies. To understand cultural space in Afghanistan, it is therefore necessary to conceptually envision the space as one that is unbound historically, geographically, traditionally. As briefly mentioned above, the scope of forces and contacts has significantly transformed the space within which various actors in Afghanistan engage in their particular culturally lived experiences in and out of the country. These actors are not simply the Afghans who have lived through the last three decades of political and social upheaval, but today include the Afghan diaspora, international military soldiers, the United Nations, international consultants, expatriates, and international aid and development workers, to name just a few. What is developing is an increasingly complex and expanded space where Afghan culture is being simultaneously (re)created and lived. Before discussing the contemporary state of cultural space in Afghanistan, I will briefly mention how the culture, and the space it occupies, of Afghanistan has experienced historical transformations that contribute to the contemporary difficulty in explaining Afghan culture and Afghan cultural space. The political borders that make up the space now known as Afghanistan (or Land of Afghans) are relatively recent constructions. For most of its history, “the region now included within the boundaries of Afghanistan was a borderland between empires that ruled from India, Iran, or Tartary (Central Asia)” (Rubin 2002, 19). The conquerors of this space included Genghis Khan, Timur the Lame (Timurlenk, Tamerlane), various TurcoMongol groups such as the Safavids, Shaybanid Uzbeks, and Mughals, and by the eighteenth century more localized Pashtun tribes. However, it was the unique position Afghanistan held in the nineteenth century that came to define its geopolitical, if not cultural, boundaries. Afghanistan found

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itself nestled between two encroaching imperial powers: Russia descending from the north through Central Asia, and Britain advancing northward from India. Although attempting to maintain independence through two Anglo-Afghan wars, in the late 1800s “Afghanistan confronted modernity through its forced integration into the Eurocentric state system as a buffer between the Russian and British empires” (Rubin 2002, 5). It was not until after the Third Anglo-Afghan War in 1919 that King Amanullah Khan won independence for Afghanistan and thereby officially solidified the space we know of today. The cultural and, as of 1919, the geopolitical landscape of Afghanistan however was not a culturally, linguistically, or ethnically homogeneous space. Attempts to encapsulate a heterogeneous society under one national identity proved, and continue to prove, to be somewhat of a challenge. This is partially due to the constructed-ness of national identity, for “Nationalism is not the awakening of nations to self-consciousness: it invents nations where they do not exist” (Gellner 1964, 169). Furthermore, as the creation of Afghanistan demonstrates, a nation and thereby national identity is not inherent to an area or its peoples, but rather “it is an imagined political community . . . imagined because the members of even the smallest nation will never know most of their fellow members, meet them, or even hear of them, yet in the minds of each lives the image of their communion” (Anderson 1991, 6). These constructed beginnings of the Afghan national identity simultaneously reflect the constructed beginnings of an imagined, unified Afghan cultural identity, and thereby an imagined cultural space as well. And even as semblances of national and cultural solidarity grew, the heterogeneous cultural space of Afghanistan continued to convolute the sense of shared space. This is partially reflected in the civil conflict that followed the withdrawal of Soviet troops, and later financial and military support, from Afghanistan. Though relatively united for over a decade against a common enemy, once this shared Soviet enemy was gone, the multifaceted tensions that had developed among the mujahideen groups manifested in another ten years of inter-ethnic but intra-national bloodshed. As Afghans left the country throughout the Soviet-Afghan/AfghanAfghan wars, and became refugees around the world, the constructed cultural space of Afghanistan expanded at a rate unseen before this period of upheaval. Wherever Afghans went, Afghan culture went with them. As years passed, and generations were born outside of Afghanistan, cultures became more and more integrated, and definitions of what Afghan culture is or should be became less manageable. Therefore, the cultural space of Afghanistan, the space where what it means to be Afghan materializes, continued to be (re)imagined and (re)constructed through the experiences

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of an Afghan diaspora—one that has expanded the boundaries of Afghanistan’s cultural space far beyond the borders of that small Central Asian country. Simultaneously, international influences from countries such as Iran, former Soviet Union, Saudi Arabia, Pakistan, the nations of Europe, and the United States have been active within Afghanistan for decades: shaping Afghan culture and cultural space not only through their presence in Afghanistan, but by shaping a boundaryless Afghan society through increased interaction with Afghan refugees who have come to reside within these nations’ borders. All the while, humanitarian aid organizations have attempted as earnestly as possible to be providers of the Afghan people’s basic ESC human rights both inside Afghanistan and in the refugee communities of border nations. These interactions have, over the last 30 years, transformed Afghanistan into a conflict culture encompassing spaces both within and without the country’s borders. Culture and space have not been shaped solely by Afghans themselves, but by a wide range of cultural and political actors. Today, the cultural space of Afghanistan is perhaps more destabilized than ever. Since the U.S. invasion to remove the brutal Taliban regime from power, international interest and involvement in Afghanistan has grown rapidly. Among those increasingly involved in Afghanistan are Afghan expatriates returning from the diaspora to take up ministerial posts, start their own NGOs, open restaurants and hotels, and otherwise work in various capacities towards the (re)construction of their country. This does not mean, however, that the expanded Afghan cultural space is shrinking back to fit within Afghanistan’s borders; quite the contrary. It is looping around yet again, creating spaces within spaces where people’s culturally lived experiences inside and outside the country continue contributing to further changes and perhaps complications in attempts to define Afghan culture and the space it occupies. An example of this complication comes from a story told to me about an international conference where delegations from around the world, including Afghan women from Afghanistan and other countries, were convened to discuss the way forward for advancing women’s rights within Afghanistan. At one point the Afghan women were encouraged to get together and strategize as a group. The women from Afghanistan requested the moderator to allow them to meet separately from the Afghan women who had come to the conference from other countries. The reasoning was that this group felt the Afghan women from other countries were far too Westernized to be truly representative of women within the country. Through these temporal and spatial shifts, any continuity of space and the cultural artifacts within it are challenged; and the seeming intangibleness of Afghanistan’s cultural space becomes its defining feature. The continuing transformations of Afghanistan’s cultural space resonate with a

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postmodernity that “swims, even wallows, in the fragmentary and chaotic currents of change as if that is all there is” (Harvey 1990, 44). By a fragmented cultural space, I am referring to the “boundary-less” and “incompleteness” of that space as it is continuously shaped and reshaped further, reflecting a fundamental component of the globalization process as it exists within “a multidimensional global space with unbounded, often discontinuous and interpenetrating sub-spaces” (Kearney 1995, 550). Therefore, rather than understanding Afghanistan’s cultural space as a defined entity within a defined area, it is more useful to see it as a globalized integration of forces that neither begin nor end inside Afghanistan; an integration that is heterogeneous, ephemeral, fragmented, chaotic, and ultimately malleable. It is precisely this malleable arena where the framework of humanitarianism as the provision of basic ESC human rights has established itself within the conflict culture of Afghanistan. More than any previous period, human rights rhetoric and attempts to provide these rights have taken center stage in Afghanistan. As such, the guiding principles of human rights for all have become a central factor in the globalizing actions of developed nations within Afghanistan’s cultural space. This is not to imply that attempts have not been made to address human rights of all kinds in Afghanistan before. In fact, Afghanistan has signed and ratified several international treaties for the protection of human rights including the Covenant on Economic, Social, and Cultural Rights (ratified April 24, 1983); Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (April 24, 1983); Covenant on the Elimination of Racial Discrimination (August 5, 1983); and the Convention Against Torture (June 26, 1987). More recently, Afghanistan ratified the Convention on the Elimination of Discrimination Against Women (March 4, 2003). It is interesting to note here that all of these treaties were ratified while Afghanistan was under Soviet occupation. The extent to which they were actually upheld during that time is, however, another matter. What is of importance here is that part of the former Soviet Union’s justification for occupying Afghanistan was the promotion and provision of human rights, particularly basic ESC rights. Although the ratification of these treaties seem more an attempt to appease the international political community rather than the result of any real intent (or ability considering the highly effective armed resistance in Afghanistan) to provide these rights to the Afghan people, it is humanitarianism and the provision of rights as a justification for military action that is of profound interest. Simultaneously, the United States provided assistance to the Afghan resistance-controlled refugee camps and the resistors themselves in Peshawar, Pakistan, using some of the same humanitarian/rights rhetoric while international aid organizations and the

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United Nations served as implementing partners, willingly or not, for the U.S. human rights agenda in the region. What becomes evident then is that humanitarianism in Afghanistan though perhaps more centrally utilized today than in earlier periods is neither a recent phenomenon nor one that is disconnected from contemporary globalizing agendas. Furthermore, the empowerment of people through the provision of their rights, in and of itself, contributes to shaping the cultural space where these rights are exercised; “any struggle to reconstitute power relations is a struggle to reorganize their spatial bases” (Harvey 1989). This might be evidenced by projects that are intended to alleviate poverty but do not reach the poorest of the poor, or that focus on women due to their historical subjugation, thereby reshaping the power relations as well as the space within which these relations play out. Humanitarianism and the provision of basic ESC human rights in Afghanistan are therefore part of renewed attempts at creating a culture of rights within the country’s constantly changing cultural space; an effort that is far from contestable. But while the Afghan government continues to build its own capacity for establishing this rights culture throughout the country, the NGOs that have been doing the job for the last 30 years are seeing their efforts being infringed upon by globalizing, increasingly humanitarian-minded military forces that see the provision of basic ESC human rights as a useful tool in shaping or at least controlling Afghan society. Militarizing Aid In writings about humanitarianism, there are numerous books and articles that discuss at length the political realities of spreading and providing basic ESC human rights around the world. That humanitarianism is deeply politicized is widely accepted throughout the aid and development NGO community. It is understood that “any transformation in society is inevitably a political process” (Black 2002, 111). The politicization of humanitarianism in Afghanistan is no different. What is less of an accepted reality however, and one that has become an issue of intense debate within the aid and development community, is the increasingly militarized humanitarian agenda promoted by U.S. foreign policy and implemented inside Afghanistan through U.S.-led military forces. The use of military forces in the defense and provision of basic ESC human rights, through humanitarian interventions, is nothing new in and of itself. The military meddling of some nations in the domestic affairs of others has been justified through humanitarian and human rights rhetoric since the colonial era as discussed earlier in this chapter.

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As a product of this history, the particular manifestation of a militarized humanitarian movement in Afghanistan today is embedded within the historically rooted globalizing agendas of developed nations enacted upon the underdeveloped world. However, the increasing encroachment on the humanitarian space occupied by NGOs that was seen in Somalia, Bosnia, Rwanda, and Kosovo has seemingly come to fruition in Afghanistan. What this movement has done is completely transform the space within which humanitarian NGOs operate inside Afghanistan. As the primary defenders and providers of basic ESC human rights to Afghans for almost the last 30 years, NGOs have found the humanitarian space they operate in being increasingly occupied by military forces likewise setting their sights on the provision of humanitarian assistance. What exists now is a complex arena where contradictory humanitarian agendas are clashing, as the lines that have traditionally separated military operations and civilian NGO activity are being dangerously eroded. In Afghanistan today, humanitarianism no longer belongs solely to civilian groups such as national and international NGOs operating in the country. This de-territorialization of humanitarianism by the U.S.-led military forces (hereafter referred to as Coalition Forces) in Afghanistan has resulted in a civil-military interface between assistance NGOs and the Coalition Forces engaging in humanitarian activity. This militarization of aid is part of a broader globalizing, humanitarian initiative among the leading nations of the developed world as they increasingly confront what are considered postconflict situations such as Afghanistan. In its simplest form, the initiative comprises two stages termed coherence and integration. Coherence refers to “the attempt to coordinate, bring together, or join political [including military] intervention with other relevant types of action, including humanitarian and human rights actions” (Donini, Niland, Wermester 2004, 3). The next stage, integration, is coherence actualized “through managerial methods and/or institutional or structural reform” (Donini, Niland, Wermester 2004, 3). Coherence and integration facilitate the institutional transformation of political, military, and humanitarian roles within Afghanistan, and subsequently the cultural and humanitarian space where these roles are played out. A policy paper from the National Defense University explains how that institution seeks to “meaningfully incorporate the participation of non-governmental institutions (NGOs) into the National Defense University’s revamped program of Interagency Training, Education, and After Action review (ITEA)” (NDU 2004). The transformation is therefore part and parcel of an ideology that drives the current militarized humanitarian agenda used in achieving the globalizing, neocolonial objectives of developed nations (in this case, primarily

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the United States). These objectives, such as instilling a particular brand of democracy, promoting free-market capitalism, and winning the war on terrorism, are necessary in securing the developed world’s influence in Afghanistan and the region. But the participation of the Coalition Forces in the human rights arena poses serious risks to the civilian actors that have long occupied this space in Afghanistan. This participation in militarized humanitarianism within Afghanistan is largely structured through the framework of what are known as Provincial Reconstruction Teams (PRTs). When they were created, the primary mandate of the PRTs was to establish security in areas where civilian aid providers already operated. The original name for these teams was Provincial Security Teams, later changed to the seemingly less force-oriented Provincial Reconstruction Teams. However, the joint military and civilian PRTs had neither the equipment nor the personnel necessary to properly carry out this part of their mission. As a result, the PRTs soon began increasing the activity of their other mandates “including active combat operations, intelligence gathering, psychological operations, and the conduct of ‘hearts and minds’ campaigns through the provision of what is termed humanitarian assistance, primarily in the form of basic medical services, food distributions, and small infrastructure projects” (Costy 2004, 157). These “hearts and minds” campaigns serve to provide Afghans with a wide range of basic ESC human rights such as the right to health care, the right to food security, the right to water, and the right to education. However, the aid community has criticized the PRTs for supporting military objectives first and foremost, while the provision of humanitarian aid is used merely as a tool for achieving those objectives. The incidences of militarized assistance projects being carried out by armed personnel in civilian clothing, U.S. officials and Coalition officers referring to humanitarian organizations as force multipliers, and U.S. military planes dropping leaflets in Afghanistan’s southern region encouraging people to provide information about hostile forces or risk losing humanitarian aid are further examples of how humanitarianism fits within the developed world’s globalizing, militarized agendas in Afghanistan. Ultimately, what these actions are creating is a blurred image of the provision of basic ESC human rights throughout the country. As a result, there is increasing suspicion in Afghanistan of the motives of aid organizations that have long been able to work in the country with some semblance of neutrality, regardless of the politics that may have surrounded their work. Among the majority of the population, this translates into the relatively more benign expressions of frustration and distrust in what the potential agendas of these militarized humanitarians might be. However, among hostile actors in the country that see the Coalition Forces’ presence

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in Afghanistan as an unwelcome occupation, this has translated into a very serious, and ultimately fatal, misconception of the relationship between both national and international NGOs and Coalition Forces. According to the Afghanistan Non-Governmental Security Organization (ANSO), an issue of serious concern in Afghanistan today is the increase in charges “that NGOs are somehow in collusion with the Coalition Forces currently conducting offensive operations inside Afghanistan. This perception has resulted in the aid community being considered a legitimate target for insurgents and belligerents. Statistics from 2003 through 2005 exemplify the increased insecurity faced by aid workers in Afghanistan. In 2003, there were 12 reported killings of aid workers while in 2004 the casualty rate doubled to 24 (ANSO and CARE Report 2005). And while numbers are still being tallied for 2005, unofficial reports estimate a significant increase from the previous year in the deaths of aid and development workers (particularly Afghan nationals) in different parts of the country. Furthermore, the appropriation of humanitarian aid by military actors creates significant problems for humanitarianism itself as it becomes increasingly confused with military objectives. While it is difficult to argue against the provision of these basic rights in Afghanistan, regardless of the provider, it must be understood that on a fundamental level there are “contrasts in the respective purposes [agendas] of humanitarian, development, and military support, and in the powerful organizational cultures and interests of the institutions that represent and promote them” (Costy 2004, 161). The institution of the PRTs in Afghanistan, and their role in promoting particular “interests” and “purposes” through acts of humanitarianism in Afghanistan, has the civilian aid community increasingly concerned that the PRT framework reflects the “beginnings of a new doctrine of militarized aid that could have serious future implications for their operational space” (Costy 2004, 159). Conclusion This brief chapter has attempted to address several issues of significance within the humanitarian framework of Afghanistan today. The themes of globalization, human rights, cultural space, and humanitarianism have each been explored in their own right, as well as in the way they intersect in Afghanistan and the broader globalizing world. As a perpetuation of the unequal relations between nations of the developed and underdeveloped world, globalization has manifested itself in a variety of ways one of which is the international provision of humanitarian assistance to people in countries such as Afghanistan. However, the globalizing agendas of developed

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nations promoted through increasingly militarized humanitarian initiatives (such as “hearts and minds” campaigns) in many ways “amounts to a license for interventionism so deep and unchecked it resembles neo-colonialism . . . unbound by outside control, unconstrained by procedure, unaffected by outcomes” (Uvin 2004 196). I would further add that the potential underlying intentions of this brand of interventionism also continue to go largely unexamined. The boundaryless characteristic of Afghanistan’s cultural space has facilitated this agenda through its absorption of a wide range of cultural influences that can play important roles in (re)constituting Afghan culture and the space it occupies, a space that neither begins nor ends inside Afghanistan itself. It should be understood that this (re)constitution includes aspects of the economic, political, social, and ultimately cultural landscapes of Afghanistan as well as other nations. As such, “Transformation would be a better way of describing this process than the rather prosaic and pedestrian reconstruction” (Leader and Atmar 2004, 166). Within the framework of military action, humanitarianism becomes a tool in the ongoing globalizing agenda of the United States and partner developed nations to establish significant influence over these intersecting forces inside of Afghanistan. Whether this influence of change is in the sphere of political restructuring, women’s empowerment, or infrastructural development, this all translates into a politically inspired reshaping of the culturally lived experiences of Afghans within Afghanistan. Perhaps this is nothing new, for it has often been expressed “that aid [the provision of basic ESC human rights] is always used as an instrument of foreign policy, and in this regard, Afghanistan is no different” (O’Brien 2004, 193). However, the impact this is having on NGOs and humanitarian space in Afghanistan is indelible. As humanitarianism in Afghanistan becomes not only more politicized but also increasingly militarized, even the hope for NGO neutrality in Afghanistan’s ongoing conflict has been extinguished. The provision of basic ESC human rights is rapidly being shaped into a with us or against us situation where either humanitarian organizations get on board this militarized restructuring of aid in Afghanistan or get left at the station. As a result of this increased militarization, hostile forces in Afghanistan have even further limited the civilian aid community’s role to one of against us, and have subsequently increased the number of attacks against aid workers to unprecedented levels. Medicins Sans Frontieres (MSF) ended 24 years of operations in Afghanistan after five of its staff members were brutally killed in a region of the country thought to be relatively secure. At issue was a fundamental ideological conflict with the increased militarization of humanitarianism in Afghanistan. In an editorial

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that appeared in the Wall Street Journal on August 19, 2004, the president of the MSF International Council Dr. Rowan Gillies stated that: All factions want us to choose sides . . . that aid workers should call for “more military presence” and have “closer cooperation” with one warring party [the Coalition] is merely another example of this logic. We refuse to choose sides, just as we refuse to accept a vision of a future where civilians trapped in the hell of war can only receive . . . aid from the armies that wage it.

As the militarization of humanitarian operations continues to shape a variety of economic, social, cultural, and political forces at work in Afghanistan, the challenge remains for aid organizations to critically examine their own agendas and relationships within the country. If they fail to do so, they may end up as unwitting partners in the implementation of a twenty-first century humanitarianism that masks the globalizing, neocolonial, and militarized aspirations of increasingly powerful nations.

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Pathways to Peace: Revolution versus Resolution Marie Pace

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hen pursuing social change, questions about what should be the first priority have been a long-standing matter of philosophical interest and debate. What is more important? Is it efforts that expand individual and personal capacities? Or is it efforts that seek to redress systems and structures? Do we start with the world out there— focusing on the distribution of power and resources within and between societies—or the world within—aiming to develop awareness, growth, and commitment to change on a personal level? While various approaches to peace building and social justice can be located along the full range of this spectrum, discussions about how to approach these endeavors in a complimentary, integrated way are fairly new. Consequently, tensions do exist around how to set priorities. For instance, those committed to promoting attitude change must contend increasingly with critical perspectives that prioritize an address of the structural roots of social conflict. On the other hand, those who pursue strictly the structural roots at the heart of a conflict situation—often the tactics and goals of critical social movements—are at risk of polarizing and inflaming conflict in ways that do not easily lead to constructive resolution. In other words, the bridge-building skills of the peacemaker are crucial to conflict transformation work. At the same time, bridge-building skills devoid of a critical social justice perspective are shallow at best. Since the 1960s the field of conflict resolution has grown parallel to and in conjunction with the development of social movements (Kriesberg 2001, 407–426). From his experience as both a mediator and a nonviolent activist, John Paul Lederach (1995) has written about the distinct differences

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between social justice activists and conflict-resolution practitioners along with a tension that often exists between the two. He sums up this tension in a brief dialogue with a friend (1995, 11): [The friend] asked rhetorically, “You know the trouble with the activists?” and answered, “They assume that having the vision and speaking out for nonviolent social change is the same as having the technique and skill to.” “On the other side of the coin,” I responded, “having the technique and skill does not necessarily provide the vision.”

In short, Lederach is suggesting that either approach—the revolutionary and resolutionary camps, as he calls them—is shortsighted and flawed to the degree that one is exclusive of the other; and, that both camps have something important to gain from one another. This chapter tells the story of how one citizen-peacemaking effort—the Compassionate Listening Project—was born out of an internal struggle over how to integrate both the revolutionary and the resolutionary aspects of peacemaking. The story is significant because of what it illustrates about certain trends in contemporary citizen attitudes and assumptions about citizen peace-building interventions in divided societies. Based on qualitative research conducted from January 1999 through the winter of 2001, I looked at how citizens involved with this project constructed and reconstructed the meaning of peace building, reconciliation, and justice through their words, behaviors, and interactions. Placed in the context of citizens’ emerging role in divided societies, what follows is an examination of the Compassionate Listening Project, a look at what it is, and how it has evolved into being. A New Form of Peacemaking In January 1998, 22 American Jews traveled to Israel, Gaza, and the West Bank as self-anointed peacemakers of the first Compassionate Listening delegation. Their stated objective was to go and to listen. Over the course of their two-week stay, this delegation was audience to an array of voices, representing diverse locations throughout the political and social landscape of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. They began in a Palestinian village outside of Jerusalem, where they met with town council members. From there they traveled to Hebron where they stayed with Palestinian families and visited with Israeli settlers. They met with Israeli peace activists, Palestinian refugees, journalists, dialogue groups, founding members of the PLO, and officials from the Israeli government. Sixteen American Jews also went to Gaza,

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traveling on a Palestinian bus into the city with an entourage of Palestinian soldiers. When they got there, one of their visits was to the home of Sheik Yassin, the spiritual leader of Hamas. At the end of the meeting with Sheik Yassin, similar to other meetings, the Compassionate listeners all stood with their hands out, palms up, as they offered blessings upon departure. Since this first Compassionate Listening trip, the project has led over a dozen delegations, taking more than 500 individuals, to Israel, Gaza, and the West Bank. These ongoing missions are organized by the Compassionate Listening Project, a North America-based, nongovernmental organization (NGO) founded and directed by Leah Green. When I first encountered this project, I became curious about the degree to which the ethos, ideals, and goals of the project seemed to be resonating with a wide range of individuals. The resonance was reflected largely in the steady growth of the project and the enthusiasm with which participants would speak about it. The present study is largely based on this original curiosity. I focused on how different project constituents were interpreting and responding to the encounters and their experiences. Embedded in this, I suspected, were clues to how certain populations are making sense of issues of identity, conflict, and peace, and the kinds of actions they are attempting as a result. A Hybrid Strategy The Compassionate Listening trips are each composed of about 15 delegates who have all successfully applied and paid for the experience of listening, sometimes to individuals with whom they may disagree deeply. Delegates often describe these trips as intense, challenging, transforming, life-altering experiences. Indeed, for many of the Jewish participants, just crossing the line into East Jerusalem and checking into the Palestinian-run hotel—base camp for the duration of the trip—is an experience of tremendous meaning and challenge. Organized and guided by the project’s small staff of coordinators and facilitators, the mission begins with an intensive training in Compassionate Listening. Among other activities, this training usually includes a role-play, performed by Israeli and Palestinian friends of the project, which plunges delegates directly into the murky, tangled depths of the conflict. From there delegates go on to attend as many as 30 listening sessions, each lasting anywhere from one to three hours. The substance of these sessions usually includes dramatic, personal stories of tragedy and loss, as well as stories of courage and hopefulness for the possibilities for peace. In addition to absorbing the content of these sessions, delegates negotiate the physical, emotional, and intellectual complexities of the landscape they are traversing: the disparities between East and West Jerusalem, for that

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matter between North American privilege and the hardships of third world poverty; the tensions of traversing borders; the difficulties and joys of traveling in a group; and the troubling nature of identity often including their own. The above description of the first Compassionate Listening delegation contains clues about the many complex features of the project. The citizens on this trip were just that—ordinary citizens, who somehow cared enough about the Israeli–Palestinian conflict to travel there to listen, look, and learn. The fact that these were American Jews meeting with the spiritual leader of a terrorist organization suggests that these individuals were prepared to cross enemy lines for the sake of peace. The fact that this meeting took place at all suggests the kind of networks that are in place allowing for such a meeting to happen. The diversity of individuals and organizations the delegates meet with reveals that the key agenda for the trips involves a direct engagement with various facets of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. Yet, they went to listen, exposing the use of a methodology, or tool. Finally, the blessings that were exchanged at the end of this meeting reveal how the use of ritual and spirituality is perhaps also an aspect of this project’s ethos or modus operandi. Only when these diverse features are teased out and brought into focus does a composite of the project’s hybrid nature begin to emerge. Defining how the Compassionate Listening project is situated within, between, and among other peace-building efforts contains some slippery challenges. The project organizes trips to Israel and the Palestinian territories based on the ideals and traditions of citizen diplomacy efforts that trace back to the 1980s, as its history shall demonstrate. The project also incorporates a methodology—compassionate listening—that is in line with human-relations approaches to conflict resolution, and more specifically in line with approaches to dialogue, coexistence, and reconciliation. Considering that the project is founded upon an integration of these two distinct features—citizen diplomacy and the use of a conflict-intervention technology—examining how the project is situated within both traditions is an important starting place for defining the project. Complicating this analysis, however, is a third central feature of the project. The citizen diplomacy movement was founded on the ideals of what would happen when American and Soviet citizens, enemies in the Cold War, came together in ways that each could see and experience the humanity of the other. Similarly, human-relations approaches to conflict resolution in general are designed to facilitate face-to-face encounters between the primary adversaries in a conflict situation. In contrast, the Compassionate Listening Project is primarily founded on encounters that

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do not involve direct meetings between the Israelis and the Palestinians. The third key feature of the project, therefore, involves considering the complex nature of these North American delegates as a third party, or third side to the conflict. Genesis of the Project The project founder and director, Leah Green, first started establishing connections in Israel and the West Bank in 1982. She lived in Israel that year while attending Hebrew University. As the war with Lebanon escalated, the Israeli society was deeply divided for the first time about its military activities. Profoundly affected by the mood in Israel at the time, Green saw a direct connection between the war in Lebanon and the occupation in the West Bank, and she became politicized as a result. Her involvements were many: she was active in Israeli peace groups; she started working for a Palestinian human rights organization in the West Bank; she followed a yearlong course in dialogue and coexistence at Neve Shalom; and, she started organizing Jewish-Palestinian dialogue groups at Hebrew University. Green also became passionate about the peoples and cultures of the region. At the same time that she embraced her Jewish identity (working to improve her Hebrew and changing her name from Laura to Leah), she also studied Arabic and spent as much time with Palestinians as she possibly could. Green’s father, a delegate on the fourth Compassionate Listening Trip in 1999, talked to me about visiting her for a week during these early days (A. Green 1999): She was very into making friends with the Palestinian side. One of the best meals we had was with her in a Palestinian restaurant that was owned by one of her friends. And nobody else in those days was going into East Jerusalem. When we came out at night the streets were empty and people just thought you were crazy going over there. Walking through the Old City Leah would pop into these shops on the Arab side and we’d get invited in for tea. She’d be talking to them in Arabic and it was just really a pleasant experience for us, even though there were difficulties.

Although obviously a willing, good sport during this adventure, Allen Green made clear when we spoke that at the time he did not share his daughter’s passion for getting to know “the Palestinian side.” Like most conservative Jews actively involved with his synagogue, Green was an avid Zionist. As such, he was a strong supporter of Israel’s perspective in the raging conflict, and deeply suspicious of the Palestinians. Mainstream in

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these respects as an American Jew, Allen Green would come to represent a key audience that Green aimed to reach with the eventual establishment of the Compassionate Listening Project. The reasons for this are important to the story of how the Compassionate Listening Project, originally a citizen diplomacy effort tout court, came to include this conflict-resolution component as a second defining feature of the project. Eighteen years passed between her father’s first visit and a second occasion when Leah would have the opportunity to introduce her father to her Palestinian friends. This time he was traveling with his wife and their 13-year-old daughter, all delegates on the fourth Compassionate Listening Trip in November 1999. Much had changed during the space of that first and second trip. Outwardly, following the eruption of the first Intifada, the overall conflict had given way to a peace process. These macro changes in the sociopolitical landscape were paralleled by micro changes in the internal landscape of attitudes and perspectives. An examination of the changing context in the space of those 18 years provides important clues to how these changes are linked to the evolution of the Compassionate Listening Project. The Early Roots The beginnings of the Compassionate Listening Project can be traced to the 1980s. During the same time that Leah Green was establishing her long-term relationship with the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, a particular type of social movement—citizen diplomacy—was beginning to surge in the United States. The backdrop to this period was the Cold War and the Reagan administration’s militant foreign policy. The peace movement was at its height in the early years of this decade, rallying around such issues as nuclear disarmament and test ban treaties. In contrast to the political activism of the peace movement, the citizen diplomacy movement was founded on an alternative approach to social transformation. This approach centers on achieving mass changes in perception or consciousness (Lofland 1993). In this regard, citizen diplomacy efforts of this decade sought primarily to establish relations between ordinary people in the United States and in the Soviet Union. Throughout the 1980s, countless groups of Americans traveled to the Soviet Union with a sense of responsibility and mission. Meeting with every stratum of Soviet society, from politburo members to peasants, these groups were motivated by the belief that the expansion of dialogue between the two countries at every level was laying the groundwork for peace between the two superpowers.

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The Compassionate Listening Project can be considered a child of this era of citizen diplomacy. In its original incarnation, it was a project of the Earthstewards Network, an organization established on the ideals of citizen diplomacy during the Cold War. The founder, Danaan Parry, was once a research physicist with the United States Atomic Energy Commission. Distressed by the possibility that his work might contribute to the creation of more atomic weapons, Parry left his job to study psychology and eventually devoted his life to citizen diplomacy work. Toward this aim, he was responsible for bringing numerous groups of Soviet citizens to the United States and American groups to the Soviet Union. These efforts were based on the desire “to melt the fear and prejudice that has often divided the people of these countries” (Earthstewards n.d.). Embedded in this statement is one of the core assumptions of the era, namely, that people themselves are not the enemy, but rather their false sense of awareness is. Eventually, these same values and ideals would become the foundation of other projects in other parts of the world. Peace Trees Vietnam, for instance, is an ongoing project that takes service-oriented missions to Southeast Asia, where delegates work with local populations to reverse the legacy of war by replacing land mines with trees. Oriented toward generating the conditions of consciousness for a more peaceful world, mainly through contact and service, these missions would serve as the model for the pre-Compassionate Listening delegations. With the end of the Cold War, the original context that had given rise to the citizen diplomacy movement had evaporated. The collapse of the Soviet Union gave way to dramatic changes in the international political order. World conflict would no longer be characterized by bipolar tensions between two superpower nations. No sooner had a triumphant peace movement sparked conversations about a Cold War peace dividend, than hopes were dashed in 1990 and 1991 when the United States went to war with Iraq, and George Bush triumphantly announced the New World Order (Chomsky 2001, 5–26). During the Gulf crisis, the Bush administration indicated repeatedly that the Arab-Israel conflict would be the administration’s next priority (Gerner 1991). The United States’s victory in the Gulf War thus paved the way for a U.S.-brokered peace process between Israelis and Palestinians. In line with these shifting political tides, according to Leah Green, Danaan Parry saw the Middle East as the next frontier for the citizen diplomacy movement. In 1990, just prior to the Gulf War, Earthstewards had organized its first citizen diplomacy mission to the region. Both residents of Bainbridge Island, Washington, Leah Green and Danaan Parry met for

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dinner one night and she took a look at the itinerary he had planned. Here is how she tells it (L. Green 1999): He knew two Palestinians in the West Bank. That’s it . . . I said, “Well, listen. I just happen to have lived over there for a couple years. I’m pretty connected. I worked in the peace movement for a while. I’d be happy to at least give you a good experience and connect you to everyone.”

This is what Green did, proving herself an invaluable resource during the trip. In the end, Parry handed Green the program. As Green (1999) puts it, “He basically handed me the reins to my life work!” Over the next seven years, Green would take a couple of groups a year under the auspices of the Earthstewards Network. She described these early missions as “straight citizen diplomacy: just taking anybody and everybody that wanted to come and just going in and really exposing people to everyone.” Although, everyone and anyone turned out to be individuals who were largely secular, from the political left, and who had an interest in the conflict. During a time when efforts to initiate and sustain a dialogue with Palestinians were both controversial and in many cases illegal and dangerous, Green was leading these North American groups across the Green line into the West Bank (Golan and Kamal 1999). From the beginning, Green was convinced of the power of these trips for herself, for the participants, and for those with whom they would meet. In an article from the popular, progressive magazine, Yes, Green (2002) describes one of the early encounters that happened spontaneously while walking through a refugee camp: It’s 1991. The first Intifada is raging. A group of Americans walks quietly through the twisted alleys of al-Fawwar refugee camp near Hebron. We can hear Israeli soldiers moving through the other side of the camp. We turn a corner and come upon a middle-aged Palestinian woman picking through rubble. Our host explains to her that we have come to listen to the people of Israel and Palestine—to see the situation firsthand and listen to their stories. As our host translates, we learn that until recently, the pile of rubble was her home. She cries with rage as she tells us that her youngest son was shot and killed by the Israeli army and her oldest son has just been sentenced to life in prison by a military court. After the sentence was handed down, her home was bulldozed. She and her two daughters are left with only the makeshift shed that housed their animals. The woman begins to wail: “Why do Americans hate us? What have we done to you? We’ve lost everything! We are just struggling to survive . . . ” We stand in shock as she continues to give voice to her anger and her grief.

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Then, quite unexpectedly, she takes out a handkerchief, wipes her eyes, and invites us inside her shed for tea. We sit with her on her dirt floor, drinking watered down, sweet tea, and begin to listen to one another. This was the participants’ first awareness that many Palestinians believed the United States was waging war on them.

More than a simple evocation of the power of these encounters, Green’s portrayal illustrates what she saw as noteworthy about the trips. The emphasis is on how participants are exposed to the living realities, concerns, and perspectives of those experiencing the day-to-day tragedy of the conflict. Further, participants are exposed to perspectives that serve to directly implicate them in the conflict. In other words, the trip informs participants in ways that challenge existing narratives about the conflict and their relationship to it, an agenda potentially providing a basis for action. Seen in this light, these pre-Compassionate Listening missions had political and philosophical implications that extended beyond the original conception of the citizen diplomacy movement of the Cold War. The earlier parent movement placed emphasis on the internal shifts in perception and consciousness that would result from people-to-people encounters, while declaring that this was decidedly nonpolitical. In his book about the American peace movement of the 1980s, John Lofland (1993) is critical of what he calls their “polite strategies,” asserting that the emphasis on idealism and emotional motifs resulted in “disguised” or “polite” political agendas devoid of substance. In contrast, as a result of the politically charged nature of the straight citizen diplomacy trips, Green would soon find herself grappling with this charged landscape and unanticipated consequences. These consequences, and in particular her response to them, became important to the future of the project. Furthermore, they are suggestive of certain evolving perceptions, beliefs, and assumptions about the nature of conflict and about how best to work to resolve them. Citizen Diplomacy A good number of the Jewish participants who ended up going on these early trips—most of them secular and without a strong relationship to Zionism, according to Green—were hardly representative of the mainstream American Jewish population, which was staunchly Zionist in its support of Israel. Green noted, nonetheless, that these trips were especially powerful for the Jewish participants as they tugged at the fragmented and often discarded roots of their identities. From this observation in the beginning, Green began envisioning a key aspect of the future of the

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project: she wanted to attract mainstream Jews, individuals who were deeply invested in their Judaism. Although she would have success with this agenda, she would then very quickly reverse this decision, orienting the project instead to recruit from a more general population of constituents with mixed backgrounds (L. Green 1999). The shifts in her thinking are indicative of the organic nature of the project and the iterative process through which Green is thinking about the project and making decisions. Tracing this iterative process reveals the evolving nature of the questions and concerns that Green was prioritizing and with which she was grappling. Green’s original desire to recruit from mainstream Jewish communities was in response to observations she made about the effect of these delegations on the participants. She found it troubling that individuals would come away from her trips with anti-Israeli and pro-Palestinian sentiments. At the same time that it was important for her to expose people to the injustices experienced by the Palestinians, she feared that her efforts, instead of being helpful, were contributing to the problem. Part of the problem, as she saw it, was the polarization that characterized the conflict. She expressed the problem in this way (L. Green 1999): Bringing so many people through . . . I mean, I used to feel horrible after some trips because I try to stay out of it and I try to just connect people to everybody and let them come to their own conclusions. But what kept happening was people were coming away just feeling so angry at Israel, Israelis and Jews, and so sympathetic to the Palestinians that I didn’t know for a while if I was doing a disservice to the whole situation.

Rather than healing the divisions that were at the root of the conflict, by inciting anger and blame, Green was concerned that she was aggravating these divisions. The problem she was experiencing is one that many conflict-resolution strategies strive to overcome. Commonly, when exposed to competing narratives in a conflict, what occurs is either a rejection of one’s own story or a rejection of the other’s (Cobb 1994). Green was struggling to elicit a response that would transcend this dualism. Another way of expressing the question I heard her grappling with is this: how could she continue exposing North Americans to the living realities of the conflict in a way that would evoke a sense of interest, regard, and care for all parties involved in the conflict? For Green, part of the answer to this dilemma would be in offering the trips to individuals who were connected to their Jewish communities and

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for whom their Jewish identities were a big part of their lives. She explained why she saw this as so important thus (L. Green 1999): Because they would have to grapple with this situation and come to terms with it. They would not become anti-Israeli. They would not become anti-Semitic or pro-Palestinian. They wouldn’t see it in black and white. They would struggle with it. And this issue is not black and white. I began to feel that this was a Jewish issue for America, more than anybody else. And if I could lead people in to really struggle with it, they wouldn’t just say “This is pathetic. Jews are oppressing others. I can’t be Jewish any more.” I knew it would be really difficult for them, but those were the people that I started to dream about reaching.

Early on, Green dismissed this dream of recruiting from mainstream Jewish communities as a “pie in the sky” dream. She assumed that the people that she was trying to reach did not want to be reached. In the early days of the Earthsteward’s missions, there was a lot in place to support this conclusion. Until the Oslo Accords were signed in 1993, it was illegal for Israelis to meet with members of the PLO. Characteristically, American Jewish sentiment has generally been to the right of Israel’s center. With this in mind, it would be hard to imagine large numbers of American Jews flocking to cross the Green line. As political sentiments about the conflict began to change in Israel, they also began to shift in the United States. In 1987, with the outbreak of the Intifada, Israelis and mainstream American Jews alike saw the ugly face of the Israeli occupation. They saw, on television for the first time, Israeli soldiers breaking the bones of Palestinians and they were shocked that Israelis could be doing this. Up until 1993, Green describes what it was like when she would give talks about her experiences in the region and then how suddenly the mood would shift (L. Green 1999): When I used to give talks, right wing, pro-Israeli people would come to heckle and stuff. And I always had to deal with those people. And people would stand up and say, “She’s on Arafat’s payroll. Don’t listen to her.” Things like that. Overnight, I became the mainstream! Overnight I was saying the same thing as Yitzak Rabin, the Prime Minister of Israel. And so the twists of fate!

After the signing of the Oslo Accords, not only did it become possible for Green to reach a mainstream Jewish population, but she suddenly also perceived that she was offering a service that could not be found elsewhere (L. Green 1999): So for the first time after that in 1993, it really became possible for me to reach mainstream Jews without them thinking that they were gonna be a

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traitor. So everything just kind of fell into place and my dreams came true. And I realized that they don’t have invitations. They don’t have options for coming in a way that isn’t anti-Israel or that’s not an anti-Israel experience or outcome.

A common theme among American-Jewish delegates who have traveled with the project echoes this sentiment. Repeatedly, participants speak about feeling troubled in their relationship with Israel. Many have stayed away from Israel for years, sometimes decades, because, as many of them put it, they could not find a “responsible” way to come. Perhaps more than anything else, the Compassionate Listening Project has come to represent, for the individuals who go on these trips, Jews and non-Jews alike, just that: a responsible way to go to Israel and engage with what is happening on the ground in the region. Importantly, Green was navigating a sensitive divide that exists within the peace movement in general, and within the Jewish community in particular. Lofland’s (1993, 2) critique about the Cold War citizen diplomacy movement—“the emphasis on idealism and emotional motifs resulted in agendas devoid of political substance”—is telling in this regard. Lofland writes as both an academic and an activist deeply involved with the peace movement during this era. Agendas of political substance during that time were infused with large doses of anti-imperialist discourse. The post-Cold War peace movement has not been any different. It is openly critical of the United States’ foreign policy and its long track record of support for oppressive, antidemocratic regimes. In the case of Israel, opposition to Israel’s occupation in the Palestinian territories and outrage against Israel’s human rights violations is the standard line. The United States’ military support of Israel is often cited as a negative factor in the ongoing conflict. Sympathy for the plight of the Palestinians, along with support for the Palestinian nationalist struggle, is another common theme within the international peace movement. In contrast, the peace movement in Israel is deeply divided between those who align with the critical anti-imperialist perspectives of the international peace movement and those who stand in alliance with Israel (Kaminer 1996). Similarly, within the United States, the mainstream Jewish community has largely taken a defensive stance against a peace movement that it perceives as pro-Palestinian, thus undermining to Israel’s security and survival (Rosenthal 2001). By adopting Compassionate Listening as the guiding framework for these trips, Green may have intuitively stumbled on a way through the morass of political and ideological differences and structured a discursive space, acceptable to a diverse range of constituents in the

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conflict, for speaking about their experience. The adoption of Compassionate Listening added a new dimension to the trip: suddenly these delegations became shaped by a methodology that is claimed to be a tool for building peace and reconciliation between Arabs and Jews. Compassionate Listening The history of how Compassionate Listening, as a methodology or tool, came to be adopted and integrated into the project’s framework and format, adds further dimension to the complex social world of this project. The eventual move to adopt the methodology as the guiding framework for the trips became Green’s way out of the conundrum she was experiencing both personally and as the director of these missions. As someone informed by the critical perspectives of the international peace movement, she believed that exposing people—in this case Americans, and in particular Jewish Americans— to the day-to-day injustices of the ongoing Israeli-Palestinian conflict would offer an important contribution to the transformation of the struggle. Yet, as a Jewish American with an expressed love for Israel, she experienced the process of doing this as problematic. In particular, Green reflects about how her own anger, and the anger of the participants, became something she saw as needing to be addressed, and how Compassionate Listening, as a methodology, became her answer as to how to do that. Describing her preCompassionate Listening trips, she says (L. Green 1999): Well, I know that some people were coming out of my pre-Compassionate Listening trips really angry. And, this is one thing that motivated me to do the compassionate listening. I think it was a reflection of where I was at. I was really angry at Israelis. And I knew I needed this for myself. It started scaring me when I began seeing people who graduated from my trips mirror back to me this kind of outrage that went beyond . . . It seemed really antiSemitic to me. And I just went “Uh oh! That’s not helping.”

Similar to Green, Lederach (1995) identifies himself as someone with a foot in both activist and peacemaker camps. He addresses the limits and the value of activism in a way that echoes Green’s concern. Activism’s adversarial strategies can heat up conflicts in destructive ways. At the same time, he acknowledges how peacemakers often build on the work of activists who, precisely through agitating social tensions, have cultivated an acute awareness of the issues at the base of the conflict. Looking for a way to address her dilemma, Green ended up reconnecting with both individuals and ideals from the Cold War citizen diplomacy

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movement. She came across a small pamphlet entitled Pieces of the Mideast Puzzle: Israelis and Palestinians, written by a woman named Gene Knudson Hoffman (2001). This pamphlet outlined Hoffman’s vision of something that she was calling “Compassionate Listening” and what this might offer to the ongoing struggle between Israelis and Palestinians. Hoffman had been an active member of the interfaith nonviolent movement, the Fellowship of Reconciliation (FOR) since 1951. Along with the many other Cold War citizen diplomats of the era, she had worked during the 1980s “to put a human face on the Soviets” (Hoffman 2001). More specifically, she worked to create a US/USSR Reconciliation Program for FOR in 1983. With the end of the Cold War, Hoffman became another Cold War citizen diplomat who had turned her attention toward the Middle East. Following two trips to Israel and the occupied territories, Hoffman presented a proposal to FOR in 1991 that built on years of work aimed to develop the concept of listening as a reconciliation process (Hoffman 2001). Attracted to what this approach could add to her project, Green made contact with Hoffman. While still with Earthstewards, Green began a dialogue with Hoffman about the possibility of incorporating compassionate listening into her trips. In 1996, Hoffman traveled with a delegation. Also aboard this particular trip were two women, Carol Hwochinsky and Lorissa Keats, who would become the designers and facilitators of the compassionate listening component for the first of these new-style delegations in January 1998. Hwochinsky has since traveled with almost every delegation as the lead facilitator and trainer, working to further develop the training module. Following this first trip, Keats, like Hoffman, would assume more of a background role with the project through becoming a member of the Advisory Board (Keats 1998, Hwochinsky 1999). Like Green, Hwochinsky and Keats brought to this initiative a combination of skills and experience that arose from historical, social, and cultural contexts. Friends and colleagues for many years, both Keats and Hwoschinsky were therapists by profession, who had actively cultivated an interest in conflict resolution. Further, both were active members of the Foundation for Global Community (FGC), a volunteer-based organization that also dates back to the early citizen diplomacy efforts in the Soviet Union. As volunteers for the FGC, Keats and Hwoschinsky had gained experience organizing and facilitating face-to-face dialogue between influential moderates in Armenia, Azerbaijan, and the Nagorno-Karabakh region (Keats 1998, Hwochinsky 1999). During the 1990s, ideas about the value of grassroots participatory processes fueled a wave of activities and projects, of which the ArmeniaAzerbaijan initiative is an example. Ideas that linked citizen dialogue and

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action with peace building were gaining prominence. Suggesting the degree to which such ideas, along with certain features of citizen diplomacy work, were becoming part of the mainstream, the Armenia-Azerbaijan initiative received its funding from the Eurasia Foundation, United States Institute for Peace, William and Flora Hewlett Foundation, and Winston Foundation for World Peace. In this new era of citizen diplomacy, the tensions that existed between the Cold War citizen diplomacy movement and the activist peace movement would persist. While one stresses the need for addressing the structural roots of conflict, the other stresses the need to work for the transformation of individual hearts and minds. Hoffman (1991, 9) articulates her relationship to this tension as she talks about how her vision for Compassionate Listening grew from a frustration with the peace movement that she had experienced for many years: For most of my forty years with the peace movement, I felt that something was missing, something was out of harmony. Somehow we peace people, who wanted no enemy, always seemed to have one. In our country, it’s been mostly our government. But there were the Nazis, the anti-communists, the military-industrial complex, the torturers, the contras—and most recently, the Israelis. Sometime ago I recognized that terrorists were people who had grievances, who thought their grievances would never be heard, and certainly never addressed. Later I saw that all parties to the conflict were wounded, and at the heart of every act of violence is an unhealed wound. I began to search for a way we peace people might help heal these violence-causing wounds.

Frustration with the adversarial nature of activist politics led to the resulting model for Compassionate Listening, which is grounded in a perspective that prioritizes the psychological bases of conflict, the unhealed wound, within individuals. Importantly, however, the emphasis on listening provided Green with a way through the polarizing narratives of identity and activist politics that she found so unhelpful. There is an interesting irony in the observation that while the Compassionate Listening Project has adopted a methodology founded on a rejection of adversarial politics, many of the project’s activities—such as the hands-on rebuilding of demolished Palestinian homes—are directly political in that they challenge contested Israeli policies. The Compassionate Listening Project does not espouse or pursue an articulated political or social justice agenda. In fact, Green’s success in attracting a wide range of diversity in its constituency, representing a variety of political perspectives and positions, suggests that it could not have been possible without alienating many and

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thus altering the nature of the project. The project has come to be designed around the core belief that everyone—in the words of one participant, “left/ right, secular/religious, political/spiritual”—has a piece of the answer. In line with this, the project has been notably successful in developing and maintaining relationships with some of the most dissenting, marginalized voices in Israel and the Palestinian territories, such as right-wing settlers and Hamas leaders, at the same time that it continues to attract an increasing diversity among its North American participants. In the Yes article, Green (2002) articulates her satisfaction with the incorporation of this new component into the project and what she sees as the power and potential of listening: Although we are not always ‘successful’ in our own eyes, Israelis and Palestinians on all sides feel and appreciate our intention, which seems to be the most important factor. When we listen with the intention of building empathy and understanding, we also quickly build trust, and possibilities emerge. We have been able to bring opposing sides together in one room to listen to each other because our intentions are trusted. Our experience has demonstrated that people want to take risks for peace, and will take risks, if given an opportunity to really be heard.

Green claims that in the past decade no one has declined a listening session with the project. Against the backdrop of a crumbled peace process, and a new cycle of violence in the region, Green’s vision—emphasizing listening as one of the keys to breaking the cycles of violence—is supported by the many who resonate with the project’s intentions and continues to expand and grow. The collapse of a peace process has not discouraged those committed to the ideals of the project. Green continues to maintain and build relationships across enormous difference. Is it that Green has found a successful formula for navigating the morass of identity and activist politics? Or, is this just another example of what Lofland criticizes as polite, disguised, or timid politics? Any attempt to address these questions, must eventually contend with the third party, or third side element of the project’s delegations. The Third Side Upon adopting the methodology of Compassionate Listening, a key goal of the project became reconciliation, the resumption of the relationship between conflicting parties. In the case of this project, however, between whom and about what is the resumption, the reconciliation? What gets rejoined or

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remembered when a group of North Americans, many of whom are Jewish, travels to Israel with the intention to listen to various parties in the protracted Israeli-Palestinian conflict? Given that the Compassionate Listening delegates meet with and listen to each side of the conflict separately, how, if at all, are the effects of these encounters transferred to the wider conflict? In other words, given that the primary adversaries of the conflict are not meeting in face-toface encounters, how can the project be doing what it claims to be doing? On the surface, at least, a contradiction exists between how the method of Compassionate Listening is described in the project literature and the actual design of the project. The Compassionate Listening Project’s website offers this about Compassionate Listening as a conflict-resolution technology or tool: “[It] is based on a simple yet profound formula for the resolution of conflict: adversaries giving the gift of listening” (Compassionate Listening 2006). Yet the project itself is not based on bringing the primary adversaries in the conflict together; instead, it functions mainly in a thirdparty role, shuttling among multiple parties. The third key feature of the project therefore involves considering what actually goes on during these encounters, together with the complex nature of the North American delegates as a third side to the conflict. When the content of the Compassionate Listening encounters and the identity of the individuals involved are examined up close, the declared simplicity of the methodology of Compassionate Listening—that listening heals and supports reconciliation—breaks down. In terms of their identity, what is noteworthy is the insider/outsider nature of these North American delegations. William Ury’s (2000) third side framework helps to flesh out and identify the location that these delegates have as outsiders to the conflict (as neutral bystanders, concerned world citizens, concerned U.S. citizens, or students of the conflict) and as insiders (Jewish Americans, Palestinian Americans, friends, or activists aiming, for instance, to affect U.S. foreign policy). For many Jewish North Americans, for instance, the citizen diplomacy and reconciliation features of the project are linked through encounters with Palestinians that serve to challenge deeply internalized Zionist narratives. For others, especially for those closely aligned with activist peace movement values, it would be encounters with right-wing Israelis that would prove to be the most challenging, surprising, and transforming. Elsewhere (Pace 2005), I examine the content of these encounters: how both the Compassionate Listening delegates and those they meet with make sense of these experiences, and the kinds of actions that are inspired as a result. Diverse in many respects, it is the insider/outsider element of the project’s third-side nature that is perhaps its most complex and compelling feature because of the manner in which it gives context to the project and its activities.

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Conclusion Since the end of the Cold War, the world of international diplomacy and peacemaking has been expanding to include an increasing number and variety of non-state actors. The citizen diplomacy movement is one facet of this expanding terrain. Embedded in this close look at the Compassionate Listening Project and how it came into being are valuable insights into the various conceptual handles that these peace builders are using to organize experience and guide action. One of the most obvious yet striking observations I made while conducting field research was that everyone I encountered, regardless of where they were positioned ideologically or politically, proclaimed a deep desire for peace. The differences lie in how peace is defined and conceptualized and in the strategies that are embraced for achieving the goal. For most social movements, the conceptual handles, or theories of social change, go largely unarticulated. In the case of this particular citizen peace-building effort, my aim has been to flesh out these theories of action into a visible foreground so that they are available for analysis. In the case of the Compassionate Listening Project, a careful look at the evolving nature of the project and its three defining, interrelated features— citizen diplomacy, compassionate listening, and the third-side nature of the delegations—reveals an ongoing tension between revolutionary and resolutionary approaches to peace building. More specifically, Leah Green has struggled with how to expose North Americans (in particular, Jewish Americans) to what many perceive as the structural roots of the conflict while not acting to further aggravate polarizing tensions. This examination of the project’s history and ongoing evolution reveals some of the ways that citizen peacemakers are aiming at to pursue social justice agendas (which often aggravate social tensions) and agendas of reconciliation (which seek to heal the same tensions) at the same time. This tension at the heart of the project is, therefore, arguably an important one because of how it highlights some of the core complexities involved while actively and simultaneously holding the concerns and perspectives of many sides of a conflict.

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Contingent Ironies of Globalization: Rupert Murdoch, Patrimonial Politics, and Patriotism Barrett L. McCormick

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he arguments that globalization promotes democracy and democracy promotes peace have considerable appeal. Prominent authors such as Thomas Friedman (2005) argue that globalization facilitates good government. Like Hernando de Soto (2000), who argues that poor people need rule of law to participate in markets, Friedman sees arbitrary government and corruption as obstacles to creating wealth. Many others have followed Immanuel Kant to argue that in democracies people learn the habit of settling disputes through deliberation and compromise and are thus less likely to engage in violence and war (Kant 1957; Friedman 2000). Many would agree that rule of law, democracy, and international law and organization are indeed worthy ideals. It may even be that globalization can facilitate reaching these ideals. Globalization is also capable of contingent ironies, such as those posed by media magnate Rupert Murdoch. Murdoch’s enterprise is global in scope and could not have been built without his ability to move resources around the world to take best advantage of the different opportunities afforded in different places. Contrary to the expectation that globalization promotes the rule of law, Murdoch has an extraordinary talent to obtain personal favors and promotes politicians who deal in patrimonial politics. Rather than promoting democracy, Murdoch’s media have favored entertainment and incivility over information and deliberation. The final irony may be that while authors like Friedman generally argue that the principal benefit of globalization is that it helps poor countries become more like wealthy

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countries, Murdoch’s corrosive effect is felt most strongly in rich and powerful countries like the United States. Pinning blame for the rise of nationalism or the decline of civility on any one individual is not entirely fair. Other media barons have perpetrated similar political and economic strategies. Media tabloidization reflects structural trends such as the quest for profit in media increasingly subject to corporate control. Rising levels of nationalism can also be linked to structural trends. But structural explanations are incomplete. This is, as James Fallows (2003) has stated, “the Age of Murdoch” and Rupert Murdoch himself has had a critical role in making it so. Patrimonial Politics in Wealthy Liberal Democracies in the Twenty-first Century Italy’s Silvio Berlusconi provides an ideal type of the style of politics that Murdoch facilitates. Berlusconi is exemplary because he is both the entrepreneur who established and owns Italy’s commercial television networks and has served as Italy’ s longest ruling prime minister since World War II. Paul Ginsborg’s (2004) biography makes a powerful claim that even in the largest and wealthiest democracies purely personal political projects can have a decisive impact. Berlusconi is not entirely without political ideology as he endorses a roughly pro-American stance, including both substantial support for the invasion of Iraq and neoliberal deregulation and reduced taxes. But at least Berlusconi is connected to his own pursuit of wealth, and, especially, to his attempts to avoid criminal sanctions for deeds he and his companies have committed in the past years. As prime minister, one of Berlusconi’s major programs has been to block the magistrates who have investigated his and his firms’ various abuses and filed charges against him. In Berlusconi’s case, the relationship between political office and personal interest is so close that on occasion, when the lawyers defending him in court in Milan have encountered difficulties, they have flown to Rome, where as members of parliament they have changed the relevant laws. Some have dismissed Berlusconi as a clown—“Burlesquoni” in the Economist’s (2003) memorable words. This perhaps suggests that he is a uniquely Italian figure, but my hypothesis is that he is but the purest example of a common phenomenon. George W. Bush, like Berlusconi, was first a businessman who relied on political connections to gain wealth and has since become a politician who offers others opportunities to gain wealth in exchange for support. Like Berlusconi, whose media empire was rescued at a critical juncture by his patron, Prime Minister Craxi, Bush’s early career was dependent on his father’s power and prestige. His early oil company,

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Arbusto, never succeeded in ordinary business terms, but was purchased by another oil company that offered Bush, then the vice president’s son, generous terms and a seat on their board. When that firm also failed, it was similarly purchased by Harken Oil, which also offered Bush a seat on their board. With the help of a U.S. ambassador, Harken landed a contract to drill for oil in the Persian Gulf despite never having drilled offshore or outside the United States. Bush’s first major financial success also was based on a sale of the briefly more valuable Harken stock, which was later investigated by the SEC for insider trading. Bush’s effort to avoid legal sanctions was led by the attorney, Robert Jordan, whom his father subsequently appointed ambassador to Saudi Arabia. The proceeds from that sale were in turn used to join a consortium that bought the Texas Rangers (the rest of whose members put up far more money than Bush, but who nonetheless gave him a prominent role), and the Rangers’ success was contingent on obtaining government financing for a new stadium. Once in office, George W. Bush switched from being a businessman who profited from political connections to being a politician who won support by granting political favors. As governor of Texas, one of his most memorable actions was exempting the University of Texas endowment from sunshine laws and then using its funds to support investments undertaken by businessmen who would in turn contribute campaign funding (Conason 2000). Once in the White House, Bush’s cabinet was touted as being a cabinet of self-made entrepreneurs, but was actually mostly made up of men who, like Bush, had succeeded in protected or regulated industries where success was contingent on lobbying and political connections (Surowiecki 2002). Subsequent scandals linking the unsuccessful conduct of the war in Iraq with the use of cronies to staff the Coalition Provision Authority and the incompetent response to Hurricane Katrina with cronies in the leadership of the Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA) may have excited more public attention, but confirm a pattern established long ago. Like Berlusconi, George W. Bush has been dismissed as stupid or goofy, but for all that he may lack detailed knowledge of or interest in the details of domestic policy or world events, it would be more appropriate to see him as a master of a traditional form of politics. Ginsborg’s (2004) title calls attention to “patrimony” in Berlusconi’s politics, and by this he calls attention not just to the wealth that Berlusconi has accumulated, but also to Max Weber’s ideal type of patrimonial politics.1 The general plan of this sort of politics is for superiors to trade material benefits for the loyalty of their followers who in turn trade benefits for loyalty from their followers thus establishing chains of loyalty that reach from high to low. This form

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of politics, Weber correctly finds, has been present in various forms and to differing degrees in all societies in all times. What Berlusconi adds to make this traditional form of politics successful in a contemporary wealthy democracy is his expert use of television. Berlusconi’s commercial channels are primarily for entertainment. Viewers are far more likely to find heavily gendered and erotically charged images than information about public affairs. In that environment, Berlusconi, as Ginsborg (2004, 111 citing, in part, Porinaro 1995, 21–22) explains, appears as a “‘great communicator,’ [who is] careful to use simple language and attentive to all the details that make up a television frame . . .” He is “the unrivaled salesman of escapist dreams,” the “munificent sponsor of a great football team, and a self-made tycoon who is seen by many Italians as wealthier more successful version of themselves.” The considerable similarity between Bush and Berlusconi—both constructed as self-made successful businessmen who have retained the manner of common folk and both of whom despite being at the center of power and privilege have construed themselves as opponents of and persecuted by elites—breaks down in that however well Bush uses the media, unlike Berlusconi, he does not own the media. It is precisely at this point that we come to Rupert Murdoch, who has worked in partnership with a series of leaders, including most recently George W. Bush, to create a media world like Berlusconi’s that makes the style of politics that Bush pursues seem virtuous. Globalization and Fox News One of the central ironies of this chapter is that while patriotism is one of the main themes of George W. Bush’s administration and of the media that support him—including, and especially, Rupert Murdoch’s Fox News— Murdoch was only able to create the Fox Network because globalization had proceeded to the degree that he could move capital and ideas from one country to another with relative ease. Rupert Murdoch’s career has taken him from continent to continent.2 He was born in 1931 in Melbourne, Australia, the son of Sir Keith Murdoch, who directed the Melbourne-based Herald and Weekly Times group of media properties. In 1952 he graduated from Oxford, and in 1954 he took over a small publishing company, News Limited, which was most of what remained of his recently deceased father’s media properties. Over the next 15 years he gained control of an increasingly large portion of the Australian media, and in 1969, returned to England where he gained control over the troubled News of the World and the Sun, both of which he

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published as tabloids. Success in these ventures allowed him to purchase American media properties beginning in 1973, including the New York Post and the Village Voice in 1976 and Twentieth Century Fox Film Corporation in 1985. He gained Securities and Exchange Commission approval in 1986 to purchase television stations needed to found the Fox Television Network. He founded Sky Television, a satellite service in the United Kingdom, in 1989. In 1993 he purchased STAR TV, a Hong Kong-based satellite television service broadcasting to most of East, Southeast, and South Asia. He founded the Fox News Channel in 1996, and in 2003, purchased a U.S. satellite network, DirecTV. Globalization was a prerequisite for the growth of News Corporation. Namely, it was the success of News Limited in Australia that provided the capital required to purchase the British tabloids, News of the World and the Sun, and to make them profitable, and it was the tremendous profits that the tabloids eventually generated that made it possible for Murdoch to create the Fox Television Network in the United States. These two steps are only the beginning of the News Corporation’s global reach. The firm now has full or partial ownership of satellite television systems broadcasting in the United States, the United Kingdom, Italy, Australia, Asia (reaching India, Indonesia, and China among other countries), and Latin America; 175 newspapers in Australia, the United Kingdom, the United States, Fiji, and Papua New Guinea; magazines in the United States, Canada, and Australia; book publishing in the United States, Europe, Canada, and Australia; and assorted other properties ranging from sports franchises in North America and Australia to outdoor advertising in Eastern Europe (News Corporation 2004). Even to say that it was British tabloids that paid for the creation of Fox Television understates the degree and complexity of News Corporation’s global operations. The key transaction in the creation of the Fox Network was the purchase of seven television stations from Metromedia in 1985 for US$2 billion. This was a complicated undertaking that required access to special facilities in the United States, the United Kingdom, and Australia. The deal would not have been possible if News Corporation had not been an Australian registered firm. Australian laws permit firms to go more deeply into debt than do most other industrialized nations’ laws, and News Corporation was going so deeply into debt as to require extraordinary leniency. But the amount of money that Murdoch required was not available in Australia. For this, he turned to the wide open financial markets of Ronald Reagan’s America, and in particular, sought the assistance of Michael Milken, the American junk bond financier who would later be sent to jail for racketeering and fraud. Milken had a hand in both bringing

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Murdoch and John Kluge, the owner of Metromedia, together and raising US$1.2 billion to finance the deal. Finally, in 1985, the tabloids were not so profitable as to be able to support these bonds. At that time British newspapers were constrained by militant and corrupt printers’ unions. However, much as Reagan’s America was a good place to raise money for speculative corporate acquisitions, Margaret Thatcher’s Great Britain was a propitious location for increasing profits by breaking unions. Murdoch moved his tabloids to new facilities in Wapping where he was able to install more efficient presses. The unions mounted a spirited and protracted struggle against the move, but to complete the circle Murdoch engaged the services of an Australian trucking firm whose drivers were willing to cross the strikers’ picket lines.3 Even the ostensible patriotism of Fox News is but the application of a global strategy to an opportunity that Murdoch saw in an American market. Richard Viguerie (Viguerie and Franke 2004, 220), a conservative media activist, explains that for Murdoch, Fox News was not an ideological quest. He explains that Murdoch calls himself a “moderate libertarian,” and the often-titillating content found in Murdoch’s tabloids and on the Fox Network certainly demonstrates that he does not share Viguerie’s conservative cultural values. During the 1990s, Ted Turner’s CNN had demonstrated the potential for cable news channels. The concurrent success of bombastic right-wing talk radio provided another clue. But, as Viguerie points out, it took an entrepreneur of special caliber to see the potential for combining these two ideas and to make the new network a success. Part of what Murdoch brought to the effort was his knowledge of what had worked in other countries’ media markets. This included knowledge of the type of leader that was required. The founding head of Fox News, Roger Aisles, has impeccable American credentials, having enjoyed a long career in, among other fields, American television and Republican Party politics, which he effectively brought together in the Fox News Channel. Aisles’s career started at the “Mike Douglas Show,” where in 1967 he offered then candidate Richard Nixon some advice on how to use television that so impressed Nixon that Aisles was invited to become a campaign advisor. Aisles went on to work for the Reagan and George H. W. Bush campaigns. Aisles’s success in devising negative television commercials that construed Michael Dukakis as a wimp led his superior in the latter campaign, Lee Atwater, to say that he had two speeds, “Attack and Destroy,” and led Time to call him the “dark prince of political advertising” (Collins 2004, 36; see also Auletta 2003, 265–266). In a 1990 campaign he generated criticism when he publicly called Illinois senator Paul Simon “slimy” and a “weenie” (Collins 2004, 36). By 1993 Aisles had tired of politics and was hired by

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NBC to lead CNBC. One of his special projects there was the creation of the cable channel “America’s Talking,” which united his political sensibilities and television expertise by introducing a talk radio format to cable. Aisles was angered when NBC collaborated with Microsoft to turn America’s Talking into MSNBC and did not trust him to lead the new effort. Rupert Murdoch, though, saw virtue in Aisles’s approach, and Aisles was receptive when Murdoch asked him to lead the launch of the Fox News Channel. While Aisles brought something American to Fox News, Fox News also reflected Rupert Murdoch’s global experience, not least as developed in his British tabloid, the Sun. Kevin MacKenzie, that paper’s most successful and longest standing editor, anticipated much of what Roger Aisles would do at Fox News. Both men share a profane personal style that would seem to set the tone for their media. Both earnestly strive to make their product more fun than their rivals, and both favor an aggressive take-no-prisoners style of journalism to accomplish that goal. In both cases this aggressive attitude involves a lot of shouting, although it would appear that Kevin MacKenzie is more likely to shout at his own staff than Roger Aisles whose broadcasters shout at their interlocutors. Both claim that this style reflects popular tastes, and view their critics as left-leaning elites, and their critics’ criticisms as undeserved persecution. It seems very likely that Rupert Murdoch sees himself as an unaccepted outsider and encourages this stance. Commenting on a scandal in which CBS’s Dan Rather initially defended a memo that proved a forgery, Murdoch stated, “If it had been us, we would have been crucified . . . All of the traditional media is against us” (Strupp 2004). Actually, Rather was subjected to stern criticism, not least by Fox News. Many of the poses that Fox News would adopt in the aftermath of the September 11, 2001 attack and during the second Bush administration’s invasion of Iraq had been rehearsed by the Sun during the Falklands War 20 years earlier (Page 2003, 329–357). While the Sun’s jingoism was well within the tradition of British tabloids, editor Kevin MacKenzie went all out to claim the mantle of the most patriotic paper. Like Fox News, the Sun questioned the patriotism of politicians that it found insufficiently aggressive, for example calling the Foreign Office, whose secretary, Lord Carrington, had evidently not anticipated the invasion, a “safe haven for appeasers since Munich.” When a BBC journalist, Peter Snow, and a rival tabloid, the Mirror, called for negotiations, the Sun stated “there are traitors in our midst” and explicitly accused both of treason (Page 2003, 334). Like the banners that Fox would run at the bottom of the screen, the Sun’s masthead sported the slogan “The Paper that Supports Our Boys.” When the Argentines offered a negotiated settlement based on joint sovereignty,

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the Sun’s response was the headline “STICK IT UP YOUR JUNTA.” the Sun’s most controversial coverage came when British ships sank the Argentine cruiser General Belgrano, a ship so old as to be militarily useless and which was at the time outside the exclusion zone declared by the British. The Sun raced to press with incomplete information and ran the headline “GOTCHA,” which many saw as lacking in respect for the 368 Argentine sailors who died (Chippindale and Horrie 1999, 128–151). Fox correspondent Geraldo Rivera’s appearance on camera with a pistol and his promise that if he should find bin Laden he would kill him as well as their condemnation of Peter Arnett as a traitor for his reports from Baghdad matched the Sun in both style and substance. Fox News’s patriotism was a grand success in both politics and economics. Fox News’s commentary played an essential role in persuading the American public to go to war and in marshaling support for the war as it was being conducted. Their aggressive patriotic tone set a standard that other media felt compelled to match (Rutherford 2004, especially 97–99). The post–September 11 atmosphere and the Iraq War, in turn, created the environment in which Fox News replaced CNN as the leading cable news channel. Murdoch’s experience in China furthers the argument that for Murdoch this was a global business strategy rather than a personal ideological crusade. It might be possible to understand the patriotism of the Sun and Fox Television as more compatible than contradictory. But News Corporation’s use of patriotism on its Chinese subsidiary, Phoenix Television, raises serious issues. Phoenix Television is headquartered in Hong Kong, broadcasts content principally oriented to a Mainland Chinese market, and garners revenue from advertisers trying to influence Mainland consumers. The counterpart of Roger Aisles at Phoenix Television is Liu Changle, Murdoch’s partner in this enterprise. While Aisles has a background in Republican Party politics, Liu has a background in the Chinese military and media (McGregor 2005, 201–208). Murdoch and his son James (who until recently was the head of Murdoch’s Asian operations) have, as we shall see below, offered support for the Chinese leadership and pledged their intent to keep their broadcasts within the Chinese government’s ideological standards. This has resulted in broadcasts so patriotic that in 1999 the British government protested Phoenix Television’s Kosovo coverage, calling it “rabidly anti-British.” As an anonymous Chinese media commentator stated, “Phoenix was trying to do what CCTV (China’s main state-owned network) was not allowed to do, which was to tap into popular outrage and fervent nationalism” (cited in Curtin 2005, 155–175). While many in the audience and the journalists and editors at the Sun, Fox News Channel, and Phoenix Television no doubt experience this patriotism as their own

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sincere sentiment, in all these cases, patriotism also reflects Murdoch’s global business model. Patrimonial Politics on a Global Scale The most prevalent theories of globalization hold that globalization strengthens rational-legal politics and political transparency. This kind of argument has often been applied to less-developed countries outside the Anglo-Saxon and European sphere. The North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA), for example, has been cited as a means of overcoming corruption in Mexico. The 1997 East Asian financial crises are widely blamed on crony capitalism in East Asian countries. China’s involvement in world trade and specifically in the WTO is often understood as putting pressure on that country’s government to strive for international standards of law and transparency. Rupert Murdoch’s success complicates this argument. His global business deals have only been possible because of the close relationships he has established with and the favors he has received from leaders at the highest levels of many governments. Murdoch’s story suggests that crony capitalism is an essential part of globalization as we have known it so far, and that crony capitalism is deeply rooted in Western politics. Bruce Page (2003, 1) perceptively starts his biography of Rupert Murdoch by reporting the latter’s flat denial that he has ever asked for a political favor, criticizing Murdoch’s earlier biographer (Shawcross 1997; 1999) for accepting this denial, and going on to make Murdoch’s extraordinary ability to win favors a central theme in his own book. There is nothing extraordinary in a media firm seeking favorable rulings. The communications industry spends $125 million a year on lobbying, and the former chairman of the Federal Communications Commission, Michael Powell, stated: “A day in the life of the FCC . . . is listening to company after company argue for policy changes in their self-interest” (Wakefield 2002, 36–37 [cited in McChesney 2004, 45–46]). But Murdoch is surely one of the more accomplished seekers of favor. Writing in 1998 to explain the link between Thatcherism and the emergence of Sky Television, Murdoch’s British satellite television service, Anthony King (1998) notes four special moments when political favors contributed to Murdoch’s success: his purchase of the Times and the Sunday Times in 1981; his establishment of Sky Television; the merger of British Satellite Broadcasting and Sky Television to form BskyB; and BskyB’s successful bid for exclusive coverage of English professional football’s Premier League.

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These British examples are easily matched by Australian examples. Perhaps the most striking of these occurred in 1979. At that time Murdoch owned two television licenses, but, according to the Australian Broadcasting Act, these were forfeit unless he was a resident of Australia. In fact, at the time, he held a U.S. green card, was living in New York, and only visited Australia for a few days a year. In addition, from 1975 to 1982, the personal income tax forms he filed with the Australian Tax Office claimed partial relief on the basis that he lived principally in New York. Nonetheless, he was allowed to keep the licenses on the basis that his “real place of living” was his family’s Cavan property in New South Wales. By 1985, Murdoch was facing a similar dilemma in the United States, inasmuch as he was barred from purchasing the television stations required to create the Fox Network unless he became a U.S. citizen. Despite the earlier assurances he had given the Australian authorities, he solved the problem by becoming a U.S. citizen. Murdoch has had no less success with the American authorities than with the Australian and British authorities. Neil Chenoweth (2001) has documented one of his most remarkable successes, namely, winning regulatory approval for his purchase of the former Metromedia Television stations that formed the foundation of the Fox Television Network. As noted above, only Americans can own American television stations, but News Corporation had to be registered in Australia to take advantage of Australian laws allowing higher levels of corporate debt. Chenoweth (2001, 61) explained that the solution was: The Metromedia television stations were American-owned because he (Murdoch) and Barry Diller owned 75 percent of the voting stock of 20th Holdings Corporation, the holding company for the stations, and thus he and Diller controlled the stations. At the same time the News Lawyers would tell the U.S. Securities and Exchange Commission that News Corp, a foreign company, controlled 20th Holdings. It held 99.9 percent of the company as nonvoting stock and could force Diller and Murdoch to sell the voting stock back to it at any time.

When Murdoch created Fox News in 1996, one of the most important problems was to get the new channel onto as many cable systems as possible (Robichaux 2003). This was problematic because one of the nation’s premier cable operators, Time Warner, had recently purchased his principal rival, CNN, and had no interest in making things easy for a potentially dangerous rival. CNN’s founder and former director, Ted Turner, had become a vice president at Time Warner and promised to “squish Rupert like a bug.” New York City, where a Time Warner subsidiary had an exclusive cable contract,

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was a particularly strategic market as it was home to the most influential critics and advertisers, many of who could not be counted on to travel to other locations to see the new channel. New York officials, for reasons that will be explained below, proved as helpful to Murdoch as officials in Canberra, London, and Washington, by loudly supporting his cause and eventually volunteering to give up a public access channel to make space for Fox News. This, and some complicated dealing involving Murdoch’s sale of an interest in a satellite broadcasting system that had posed a threat to cable in general, solved the problem. More recently, Murdoch won approval for his purchase of DirecTV— seemingly giving him the U.S. satellite network he had sought without success for decades. The noted media commentator James Fallows (2003) among others saw then Federal Trade Commission (FTC) chair Michael Powell’s decision to lift media cross ownership restrictions as another major victory for Murdoch. Murdoch has also succeeded in winning a series of concessions from Chinese leaders. Phoenix Television, which was originally a satellite network that was sometimes pirated by Chinese cable operators, has won legal access to cables in parts of Guangdong Province. He now enjoys joint production facilities with Hunan Satellite Television. Murdoch has recently been named the director of China Netcom, a major telecommunications firm listed on the Hong Kong stock exchange, but largely owned by Chinese interests, and otherwise has been allowed to make a series of investments in Chinese media and technology firms that have previously been closed to international investment. Murdoch succeeds in winning favors because he assiduously courts leaders at the highest levels of politics. Part of what he offers is his charm, which by all accounts is considerable, but his use of his media to return political favors can also be very persuasive to political leaders in all kinds of political systems. Partisanship in Murdoch’s media is centrally directed and concerns what is covered and how it is covered as well as what goes into editorials. There is considerable documentary evidence that Murdoch regularly intervenes in the operation of his properties to establish editorial policy and to determine what stories will be covered and how they will be covered. This is evident even in the case of the Sunday Times where he had stipulated that the paper would retain its editorial independence in order to win approval of its purchase. The editorial policy of the Fox News Channel programs would appear to be managed in this way (Greenwald 2004). The extent of the editorial management of News Corporation is suggested by the finding that all 175 of Murdoch’s newspapers endorsed George W. Bush’s invasion of Iraq (Greenslade 2003).

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According to Page (2003, 120–123), the first head of government that Murdoch won over was John “Black Jack” McEwen who served as prime minister of Australia for only a month following an emergency, but who remained influential with his successor and fellow Australian Labor Party member, John Gorton. This was consequential inasmuch as in 1969 when Murdoch was negotiating to buy his first British tabloid, News of the World, and needed prompt access to more foreign exchange than he could obtain without special permission. He was able to place a call to McEwen who circumvented normal procedures by immediately calling Gorton who granted the necessary approval. Murdoch’s success in Britain was built on a close relationship with British leaders. Margaret Thatcher and Murdoch enjoyed each other’s respect and friendship. More importantly, the Sun—adopting a strategy that other Murdoch media would subsequently follow—not only threw its editorial support behind her, but chose what stories to report and how to report them in a manner that she could celebrate. Conversely, her Labor Party opponents were belittled and humiliated. Murdoch’s warm relationship with Conservative leaders lasted through John Major’s first election, following which a headline from the Sun claimed, with some if not complete justification, “IT WAS THE SUN WOT WON IT.” Tony Blair, who had assiduously avoided criticizing Murdoch, won power only after winning his support, and was then revealed to have personally endorsed Murdoch’s bid to purchase an Italian television network during a phone call to the Italian prime minister, Romano Prodi. The approval of Murdoch’s complicated ownership of the Fox Network came after some years of vigorous support for Republican leaders in the United States. Murdoch’s purchase of the New York Post came in time for him to throw that paper’s full support behind Ronald Reagan in 1980. Reagan was grateful for the Post’s staunch support in what was otherwise a Democratic bastion and sent the Post a plaque to commemorate his gratitude. The New York Post clearly serves a political rather than an economic function as it lags far behind its rival New York tabloid, the New York Daily News, and, according to Ken Auletta (2003, 119–140), loses at least US$20 million a year. This is a price that Murdoch is willing to pay. When asked about this by Auletta (2003, 122), Murdoch replied, “That’s one week’s interest to me.” Murdoch’s ability to obtain support from New York City leaders to get the new Fox News on the local cable had a similar background. Murdoch was a major campaign donor for the New York state Republicans and Mayor Giuliani’s wife, Donna Holloway, worked for a Murdoch-owned television station. It was about this time, too, that Murdoch’s book publishing unit

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offered the Republican Congressional leader, Newt Gingrich, an advance of $4.5 million, which was later declined in the face of intense criticism and scrutiny from the House ethics panel. Murdoch has similarly courted Chinese leaders. He started badly shortly after purchasing the STAR TV satellite television system in 1993, baldly stating that technology allowed telecommunications to circumvent political control. When the Chinese government proved this false by banning and destroying the dishes required to receive his signal, Murdoch recanted and spent the next decade flattering the Chinese leaders. This included statements of support for the People’s Republic from him and his son James on a variety of issues including criticisms of the Western media’s treatment of China’s human rights record, the Falungong Movement, the Dalai Lama, and so forth. This campaign also involved taking steps to change the way Chinese leaders are understood in the West, including selling Hong Kong’s leading English language paper to a pro-Beijing entrepreneur (whose has subsequently sacked correspondents producing reports critical of China); restricting reports critical of China in the Times of London; canceling an agreement to publish the memoirs of Chris Patten, the last British governor of Hong Kong with whom the Chinese government had often quarreled; and offering Deng Xiaoping’s daughter a handsome advance for a book she was to write on her father. By 1998, the Chinese leader Jiang Zemin had proclaimed Murdoch helpful and a welcome guest in Beijing. Ideology and Business The size and diversity of News Corporation complicates any analysis of its ideology and business practices. As discussed, the political line of Murdoch’s publications has ranged from supporting the Chinese Communist Party to publications that are on the right wing of politics in the United States, the United Kingdom, and Australia, to the Village Voice. Murdoch’s publications have a similar range in their standards of journalism. His quality outlets include the Australian, the Times (of London), and the Weekly Standard, but he also publishes tabloids, including the National Inquirer’s rival, the Star. Fox Television broadcasts The Simpsons, which one serious analyst finds one of the most important sources of social commentary on American TV and to lean to a Democratic understanding of United States (Cantor 1999). In one episode of The Simpsons, Murdoch supplied the voice for a character that seemed to satirize a media baron not unlike Rupert Murdoch. Despite this diversity, there are some general conclusions. Most commentators who write about Rupert Murdoch agree that his business interests

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primarily drive stands taken by his papers. Stuart Crainer (1999, 111–112) sees even his willingness to toe the Chinese Communist Party line as an astute business strategy that will pay handsome dividends.4 While Page is critical of Murdoch, he sees the positions of Murdoch’s media in the United States, the United Kingdom, and Australia as being largely driven by the same sorts of considerations that drive his Chinese media. This conclusion is generally compatible with David McKnight’s (2003) finding that Murdoch was a pioneering neoliberal. McKnight reports that between 1975 and 1983 Murdoch’s Australian flagship, the Australian, was one of the first places where neoliberal ideologies gained a major public forum. This conclusion is also in consonance with the Viguerie assessment discussed above. The point is that neoliberalism serves Murdoch’s business interests. As with Berlusconi, neoliberalism evidently implies tolerance for dubious relationships between businessmen and political authorities. Business interests also facilitate incivility. As previously discussed, Murdoch’s media involve a lot of shouting, both literally in the case of his Fox News Channel commentators, and figuratively in the case of loud headlines in his tabloids. Murdoch is committed to making news programming entertaining and understands incivility as fun. At the height of the Fox News Channel’s struggle to gain access to the New York cable system, a struggle widely understood as a conflict between Murdoch and Ted Turner, the New York Post ran a headline asking “IS TED TURNER NUTS? YOU DECIDE.” Replacing investigative journalism with loud commentators also cuts costs. Leonard Downie and Robert Kaiser (2002) have contrasted familyowned media such as the New York Times and the Washington Post that are committed to civic values with some corporate media that are far more exclusively focused on financial considerations. They fear, in particular, that the latter type of media is less willing and less capable of undertaking indepth or investigative reporting. Murdoch’s media, with the exceptions noted above, are far more likely to fall in the latter category. At the time of the second Iraq War, Fox News had 1,250 full-time and freelance employees and 17 bureaus, only 6 of them overseas. In contrast, CNN had 4,000 employees and 42 bureaus, 31 of which were overseas (Auletta 2003, 275). This is not to say that CNN is a model of in-depth reporting or investigative journalism. CNN has been most successful with eyewitness reporting, for example, being able to put a camera in a strategic location and quickly broadcast dramatic images as exemplified by Peter Arnett’s pictures from Baghdad during the first Iraq War. Murdoch’s media often fail to meet even this minimal standard of journalism.

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In sum, the media world created by Rupert Murdoch and News Corporation is one in which leaders like Silvio Berlusconi and George W. Bush who practice patrimonial politics are presented to the public as patriotic leaders striving to protect legitimate national interests and dignity, and as particularly wise for working to establish open markets in which anyone might become as rich as they already are. The presentation comes in a format that a large portion of the audience finds highly entertaining, but which actually imparts only minimal information and simplistic analysis. This type of media generates political support for leaders connected to Murdoch, wins Murdoch lucrative privileges, and returns enormous profits. Because the United States is the world’s sole superpower, the role of this sort of media in the United States is particularly important. It can hardly be surprising that Americans who watch Fox News are prone to gross factual errors in their understanding of world affairs. In October 2003, at a time when no weapons of mass destruction had been found in Iraq, when it was widely acknowledged that there were no meaningful links between al-Qaeda and Saddam Hussein, and when international public opinion was overwhelming critical of the American invasion of Iraq, one study found that only 20 percent of those who regularly watched Fox News had accurate perceptions on all three of these points. Those who had inaccurate perceptions on these issues were far more likely to support the war (Kull 2003). In Robert McChesney’s (2004, 122–123) memorable quip, it is as if in 1941 America had gone to war with many Americans believing that it was the Chinese rather than the Japanese who had attacked Pearl Harbor. Similar media in other countries also have potentially very grave consequences. In China, for example, the government has attempted to legitimate itself by fostering nationalism. It also exercises a restraining hand when nationalist criticisms threaten important economic relationships or are directed against the government itself. In flirting with the limits of what the government will tolerate, Phoenix TV pressures the already strident Chinese government to adopt even harsher stands toward neighbors such as Japan and Taiwan. China’s nationalists could easily see an armed attack on Taiwan as legitimate. In sum, globalization has given Rupert Murdoch a business interest in promoting the fortunes of politicians who will bend laws to return personal favors and in exciting nationalist passions that have and could again result in international conflict. It could be that globalization is still capable of promoting good government and that democracy is still capable of promoting peace, but Rupert Murdoch demonstrates that those are not the only possible outcomes. If we want better, we will have to work to make it that way.

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Notes 1. The original source for this is Weber, Roth, and Wittich (1978), but for a useful analysis, see also Bendix and Roth (1971, especially 156–169). 2. Murdoch’s career has already been chronicled in three major biographies: Shawcross (1997), Chenoweth (2001), and Page (2003). 3. Detailed accounts of the creation of Fox Television can be found in Chenoweth (2001) and Page (2003). 4. Michael Curtin (2005), however, finds that Phoenix has lost large sums.

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Power, Justice, and Peace Building Kevin P. Clements

D

espite the fact that twenty-first century statistics on war, genocide, and political violence have been moving in a positive rather than a negative direction (Human Security Centre 2006, 1–9), this is neither generating higher levels of individual or collective well-being, any heightened sense of national or global security, nor any greater sense of social and economic justice. On the contrary an increasing number of individuals and groups in the industrialized North are facing an “epidemic of depression” and there are growing levels of fear and uncertainty about the future (Seligman 2005, 210). Some of these fears are realistic and based on very legitimate anxiety about things such as global warming and pandemics such as avian flu and AIDS. Other threats, however, such as nuclear terrorism, while difficult and awesome to contemplate have a relatively low probability and seem to be advanced by governments and other actors in order to justify a consolidation of political power and an expansion of military expenditure. In particular there is considerable anxiety about terrorism—some of it realistic but most of it improbable. Terrorism and Violence While there is mounting evidence to suggest that militarized responses to terrorism have generated more chaos than stability over the past four years, the U.S. Department of Defense has now committed itself to a long-term war against terrorism and terrorist movements. In the Quadrennial Defense Review released on February 3, 2006, the Department of Defense argued for U.S. armed forces to be prepared for a “long war” against terrorism and nontraditional asymmetric threats, and advocated the development of

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Special Forces to facilitate this end. The major goals are as follows: defeating terrorist networks; countering nuclear, biological, and chemical weapons; dissuading powers such as China, Russia, and India from becoming adversaries; and, creating a more robust homeland defense (U.S. Army 2006). The Review calls for an increase of 15 percent for Special Forces, including establishing a 2,600 strong marine unit to train foreign militaries, conduct reconnaissance, and carry out strikes. It also recommends converting ballistic missile submarines to submarines capable of carrying 150 conventionally armed Tomahawk cruise missiles in order to reach “denied areas.” While this Review might make some military sense, it makes very little political or economic sense in the post-Afghanistan and post-Iraq environment. Both of these campaigns and the occupations that have followed have demonstrated some severe limits to U.S. military power and raised very deep questions over the wisdom of military intervention as a response to terrorism. Neither intervention, for example, has advanced the international arms control and disarmament agenda—the original pretext for invading Iraq. Nor have they removed the sources of terrorism—the justification for invading Afghanistan—or promoted democracy in the Middle East and the cause of larger freedom in the rest of the world. On the contrary, they have generated a steady stream of Western, Afghan, and Iraqi casualties, and arguably a much larger pool of Islamic terrorists than that which existed prior to the invasions. Furthermore, this initiative is based on a profound misunderstanding of terrorist dynamics. Monty Marshall and Ted Gurr (2005, 63–66), for example, make an interesting distinction between national and international terrorism. In national terrorism, a single country provides the actors, the target, and the location. In international terrorism, the actor attacks a foreign target “within his home country” or acts against targets in other countries. In their analysis of all terrorist events for the 10 years from 1991 to 2001, Marshall and Gurr discovered that 91 percent of all terrorist incidents were national in origin and target. These accounted for 94 percent of the 32,264 fatalities (Marshall and Gurr 2005, 66). This trend continues. International terrorism is not the primary source of political fatalities, and yet theorists and policymakers talk primarily in terms of international terrorism and the global reach of international terrorists and use this to justify increased military expenditures (Higgie 2005, 103). The world military expenditure in 2004, for example, was $1.4 trillion. This was the sixth year in a row that it had increased in size. The U.S. defense budget in 2005 was $415 billion. This figure excludes the Iraq supplemental budgets expected to top $90 billion this year. The 14 percent increase in the 2005 U.S. defense budget amounted to $49 billion—which is over half of

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what the entire world spent on overseas development assistance, roughly $79 billion in 2005. The U.S. defense budget is also larger than the combined total of that of the nine next-biggest spenders on defense. The United States is responsible for 47 percent of the world’s military spending (SIPRI 2005). It is in its interests, therefore, to assert the unpredictability of global terrorism as a major justification for its expenditures. The sad fact, however, is that the numbers of people killed in terrorist incidents, while tragic, do not begin to compare to those killed in other kinds of political violence. Adding the numbers of people killed in terrorist incidents from “September 11, 2001 through early 2005” to the 32,264 who died in terrorist incidents between 1991 and 2001 brings the total to approximately 38,000 over the past 15 years (Marshall and Gurr 2005, 71–73). The careful manipulation of terrorist threat and anxiety in the West is focused largely on symptoms, rather than terrorism’s causes. It is rare for any political discussion of terrorism to address its statistical probability or lethality. This alone makes it all the more important to understand the underlying dynamics of terrorism so that it can be dealt with effectively and nonviolently. The U.S. Department of State and the National Security Agency commissioned a special investigative team—the U.S. Political Instability Task Force—to try and identify the underlying sources of all kinds of national and international terrorism. This task force analyzed a large number of sophisticated data sets, and developed the following correlates of incidents of terrorism and other types of political violence (Marshall and Gurr 2005, 72–73). These correlates, while not causes of terrorism, were present in all terrorist incidents. The ones identified were as follows: poverty, underdevelopment, and misdistribution of resources; weak regimes and poor governance; poor regional integration; and, bad neighborhoods. At a structural level, therefore, these are the issue areas that need to be addressed if we are to deal with some of the underlying conditions conducive to terrorist activity. They do not explain specific terrorist acts, but are part of the macroenvironment within which terrorist activities take place. What is interesting and depressing is that the countries most at risk of terrorism are addressing very few of these areas. On the contrary, many of the resources that could be directed to these problems are being diverted into the war on terror, and the expansion of national security services all around the world. Terrorism is increasingly being used as the primary justification for an expansion of hard state power. Instead of working to create conditions conducive to human security, it could be argued that the United States and some of its allies are doing exactly the opposite, that is, generating conditions that create new kinds of insecurity.

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At the Millennium Plus Five Summit in New York in September 2005, for example, the U.S. delegation tabled 750 amendments to the emerging consensus document two weeks before the summit began, thereby sabotaging global efforts to develop more holistic policies and programs that might have brought the security, development, and human rights agendas closer together. As a result, the human security aspirations of Secretary-General Kofi Annan’s Millennium Summit Report, In Larger Freedom, were not given the political support they needed in order for detailed policy prescriptions and action plans for the United Nations and its members to be developed. This is a pity, since Kofi Annan’s report was aimed at developing conditions that would make terrorism less, rather than more, likely. As he put it (2005, ix): In the 21st century, all states and their collective institutions must advance the cause of larger freedom—by ensuring freedom from want, freedom from fear and freedom to live in dignity. In an increasingly interconnected world progress in the areas of development, security and human rights must go hand in hand. There will be no development without security and no security without development. And both development and security also depend on respect for human rights and the rule of law.

More recently, Robert Pape (2005), in his book Dying to Win: The Strategic Logic of Suicide Terrorism, has established some new ways of thinking about suicide terrorism that he considers the deadliest and most destructive of all terrorist behavior. Pape is careful not to generalize from this type to all other forms of terrorism, but since he has done an analysis of all suicide terrorist events since 1980, I want to summarize his arguments in order to see how they complement the recommendations that flow from the conclusions of the U.S. Political Instability Task Force and also as a guide to understanding nonsuicide terrorism as well. Pape’s analysis is important also in terms of figuring out whether there may be other ways of responding to terrorist threats besides punishment, denial, and capitulation. In particular, I want to argue that there is a range of nonviolent options that should be considered before more coercive solutions are proposed. Pape (2005, 9–10) identifies three different kinds of terrorism: “demonstrative terrorism,” aimed at generating publicity in order to recruit activists, publicize grievances, and win over third parties; “destructive terrorism,” aimed at coercing opponents through the threat of injury or death (irrespective of whether or not support is won in the process); and “suicide terrorism,” which he argues is the most aggressive form. The last is aimed at coercing opponents even if it means angering potential supporters.

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Pape (2005, 21) then explores suicide terrorism through history, and develops what he calls his “causal logic” of this kind of terrorism. This operates at three levels—strategic, social, and individual. To some extent, this analysis complements the task force report very neatly indeed. At the strategic level, Pape’s thesis is that suicide terrorists use coercive power against democratic states in order to get them to cease the occupation of territory that the terrorist groups consider their legitimate homeland. This is an important source of political grievances, which plays on the poverty, marginalization, bad governance, lack of regional integration, and bad neighborhoods identified in the task force report. Thus, when seeking solutions to questions of terrorism, it is vital that states ask themselves whether or not they are illegally or unjustifiably occupying land that belongs to someone else. If they are, there is a high probability that violent terrorist action will be considered a legitimate response to illegal occupation, Pape claims. At the social level, Pape argues that suicide terrorism will only be sustained and legitimated if it receives the popular support of local communities, and is motivated at the individual level by altruism, rather than despair or egotism. He uses the classical Durkheimian suicide typology, arguing that although this might be a slight perversion of what Durkheim understood by altruistic suicide (since it causes the death of others), it can be justified as altruistic because suicide terrorist groups are communally organized and the terrorists themselves claim to be acting on behalf of aggrieved communities. Pape (2005, 19–23, 46) then argues that the major strategic purpose of all the terrorist groups he explores (Hezbollah, al-Qaeda, the Tamil Tigers (LTTE), Sikhs from Babbar Khalsa International, Parti Karkaren Kurdistan (PKK), and others) is the elimination of foreign occupation. Foreign occupation is defined in terms of control of territory, and not military occupation alone. This means that some suicide terrorist groups are objecting not only to direct military occupation, although this is a very potent mobilizing factor, but also to what is considered inordinate political and military influence. In this analysis, for example, the Gulf States of the Arabian Peninsula would be considered possible targets because of the presence of foreign bases or external military and political influence. In Pape’s analysis they would be considered prime prospects for terrorist resistance activity. All the terrorist groups Pape investigates are part of much larger political campaigns that receive considerable public support. Their goals are secular and political, rather than religious (although religion, in many cases, is a powerful means of distinguishing the invader from the resister). Thus, when seeking to understand terrorist threats, it is vital to understand something of the issues or grievances and mobilizing capacity of the movements on

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whose behalf the terrorists claim to be acting. It is vitally important to know, for example, whether or not the occupier is willing to negotiate with the terrorists, and how flexible they are likely to be. This is important for both the wider political movement and for its terrorist associates. The central argument that Pape advances is that suicide terrorism, far from being the irrational act of a deluded individual responding to Islamic fundamentalism, for example, is in fact strategic. It has a plausible and legitimate logic, and this needs to be understood if we are to address it at its source. Pape does this very systematically by analyzing movements, leaders, ideologies, and individual bombers involved in suicide terrorism. In relation to al-Qaeda, for example, he thinks that the movement has been reified far too much. It is deliberately misunderstood and has become a bogey justifying a wide range of political behavior. He wishes to demystify the movement. In doing so, he unconsciously confirms the arguments of Marshall and Gurr. He sees al-Qaeda as “less a transnational network of like-minded ideologues . . . than a cross-national military alliance of national liberation movements working together against what they see as a common imperial threat” (2005, 104). If he is right, it is important to start asking questions about the nature of the current imperial threat as well as the assumed threat from al-Qaeda or any of the other terrorist groups that have emerged in the last 20 years or so. If most suicide terrorist behavior can be explained in terms of resisting what is perceived as unacceptable imperial or national occupation, this is an extremely important finding in terms of devising a range of political solutions. Because of his background in security affairs, Pape proposes a largely military strategy to respond to the strategic logic of suicide terrorism, and the individuals and groups that fuel it. His conclusions are as follows. Because suicide terrorism (and arguably, quite a lot of other kinds of terrorism) is essentially a rejection of national or foreign occupation of what is considered a sacred homeland, Pape argues that the solution lies in part in changing the military and political direction of U.S. policy, especially in the Middle East. He suggests that the United States should identify what victory might look like, and what strategy might deliver it. He asserts that the United States should define victory as the separate objectives of “defeating the current pool of terrorists” and “preventing a new generation from arising” (2005, 238–239). His argument directs attention away from any arguments based on the clash of civilizations or dialogue between religions. On the contrary he argues that “the taproot is American military policy” (2005, 240). He thus argues for a military withdrawal from Iraq as soon as possible, a quick settlement of the Palestine/Israel problem, and

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what he calls “offshore balancing”—establishing local military alliances, while maintaining the capacity to rapidly deploy military forces (2005, 247–250). He also argues strongly that any attempt by the West to force Muslim societies to transform “is likely to dramatically increase the threat we face” (2005, 245). All of these proposals are responses to direct and indirect military-political occupation, which he sees as fuelling insurgency and terrorism. I agree with Pape on the necessity of withdrawing foreign troops from the Middle East as soon as is practically feasible. I also agree with the necessity of ceasing imperial interference in the domestic affairs of states in the region. I think that the idea of “offshore balancing,” however, is not likely to be as successful as the assertion of a quite different noninstrumental relationship between both states and peoples in the Middle East and the West, and between the West and other sites of national terrorism. Those of us concerned about justice, peace, development, and security, therefore, have to ask what are the realistic nonviolent alternatives in the twenty-first century and what sorts of analyses and policy prescriptions are likely to deliver more structural stability, justice, peace, and real political freedom than the current policies driving the global agenda. Alternatives to Violence I argue that there is a pressing need to develop radical nonviolent alternatives to violence if we are to consolidate some of the peaceful gains of the previous century. To do this effectively requires a radical critique of current policies, an enhanced capacity for global empathy and a willingness not to be constrained by the realm of the feasible. On the contrary, there is an urgent need to begin some serious discussions about desirable alternatives to the current cycles of violence and revenge. By expanding our possibility boundaries, we should be able to discern some nonviolent paths to replace the violent ones. This is not a new process. The biblical psalmists, 2,000 years ago, looked forward to the time when “Love and faithfulness met together and justice and peace kissed each other”(Psalm 85). Despite this ancient aspiration, justice, development, peace, and reconciliation have remained rather elusive. One would have thought that a rapidly integrated, globalized world would generate conditions for higher levels of social, cultural, and political sensitivity. Yet this has not happened. On the contrary many of the dynamics that generated higher levels of globalization have in fact exacerbated some existing fault lines and we have not developed mechanisms for

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facilitating civil discourse across these divisions. As Timothy Garton Ash (2005, 13) observes: For centuries there has been a good rule for the co-existence of civilisations. It said, “When in Rome do as the Romans do.” Globalisation has undermined that rule. Because of mass migration, peoples and their cultures are physically mixed up together. Rome is no longer just Rome; it is also Tunis, Cairo and Tirana. Birmingham is also Kashmir and the Punjab, while London is all of the world. Because of worldwide mass media, there is no such a thing as local offence or local intimidation. Everything can reach everyone. Competing cultures try to spread their norms around the globe: George Bush for western-style democracy, Pope Benedict the XVI for Catholicism, Omar Bakri Muhammed for Sharia Law.

The annihilation of space through time, primarily through the speed of global communications, has broken down some of the rigid boundaries between different sociocultural systems without putting mechanisms in place for developing a new awareness of cultural difference, meaning, and significance, and cognitive mechanisms for processing this information in a culturally sensitive fashion. The whole world is, therefore, local. No longer do we need to say “act locally think globally,” because every local action is global and vice versa. We are all witness to things and events that we have to process through very specific cultural lenses and this is generating considerable ethical and cognitive dissonance and an inability to understand the short- and long-term sociopolitical consequences of our actions. If we are to develop some viable nonviolent strategies for dealing with violence, for example, it is vital that we deal first with the daily existential violence that confronts the vast majority of the world’s population. This is much more pressing than the probability of terrorist violence at some stage in the future. How do we explain to the world’s poorest, for example, that the richest fifth of the world’s people consumes 86 percent of all goods and services while the poorest fifth consumes just 1.3 percent? How do we justify the fact that the 3 richest people in the world have assets that exceed the combined gross domestic product of the 48 least developed countries or that the world’s 225 richest individuals (of whom 60 are American with total assets of $311 billion) have a combined wealth of over $1 trillion which is equal to the annual income of the poorest 47 percent of the entire world’s population? How do we explain to Africans that the average African household today consumes 20 percent less than it did 25 years ago while Americans spend $8 billion a year on cosmetics or $2 billion more than the estimated annual total needed to provide basic education for everyone in the

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world (United Nations 1998, 1–13; United Nations 2000, 1–15). To deal with some of these structural sources of violence it is important to resensitize ourselves to the specific meaning of poverty and direct violence for each individual and his or her family. We need to humanize the statistics. In particular it is critically important not to privilege United States or Western suffering over the suffering of everyone else in the world. The preventable death of anyone, anywhere in the world, diminishes all of us as human beings. Part of being human, therefore, is a willingness to open ourselves to the precariousness of life and to try and diminish this precariousness for everyone irrespective of their class, position, or geographical location (for example, see Butler 2004). Moving from a narrow sense of national to a broader concept of the human interest is a powerful way of dissolving class and national differences. This is a moment in human history when top-down and bottom-up violent solutions to problems are generating more problems than they are resolving. Because of this there is a need to rethink some fundamental questions about power, justice, development, and peace building. Each one of these concepts and processes is crucial to building a more just and peaceful tomorrow. We need to understand something about each one of these dimensions if we are to generate more progressive policies than those currently in place. Power and politics are two dynamics that can be utilized for positive or negative purposes. Civilized politics, aimed at advancing the common good, is about how to constrain the powerful in order to make them democratically responsible and accountable and how to utilize political power to maximize freedom and justice. There is always a delicate balancing act between the rights and responsibilities of citizens versus those of states in relation to all of these objectives. Over the centuries, however, democratic polities have endeavored to strike a balance between individual liberty, civil and political rights, and national security and wider state responsibilities. Sometimes the balance swings in favor of citizens and sometimes in favor of states. At this particular moment in history, the bias is very much in favor of national and state security with sustained attacks on individual liberty. Whether this is a passing or a permanent phase is an important question for all of us. Kenneth Boulding (1989), in his book The Three Faces of Power, provides a useful tripartite definition of power that helps us explain something of what is happening within the world right now. His three faces of power are threat power, economic (or exchange) power, and integrative power. Threatbased concepts of power rest on the threatened destruction of someone else’s

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person or property or alternatively the threatened withdrawal of some benefit currently in place or which might be in place. The application of such threats, according to Boulding, results in submission, defiance, flight, counterthreat, or disarming behavior. Threat-based power, however, is always risky because it is impossible for the threatener to control responses, and social science has highlighted that most people respond negatively to threat and sanctions. It is also highly likely to generate violent outcomes. Boulding (1989, 67) defines economic power as “What the rich have more of than the poor.” This means that we have to develop some concept of net worth in accounting terms and how this net worth is arrived at. People become rich through economic productivity and successful accumulation. But they also become rich through theft and exploitation, or the processes whereby ostensibly mutually beneficial exchanges benefit one party more than the other. In any event, the power of the market is another critical face in the Boulding power trio. Economic power can be used to advance the common good or to promote self-interest. The challenge, for most citizens, therefore, is to work out ways in which economic wealth and exchange maximize welfare and justice for all rather than benefit the few at the expense of the many. Integrative power is what Boulding calls the power of legitimacy, respect, loyalty, affection, and love. He argues that this is the most fundamental form of power and critical to the success of all others. Certainly, as he points out, illegitimate threat and wealth are very unsuccessful compared to legitimate threat and wealth. Illegitimate power of whatever kind will always tend to produce defiance and resistance. None of these faces of power exist in absolutely pure form, and each connects to the other in sometimes positive and sometimes perverse ways. The reality is, however, that threat-based power (which is critical to the domain of the state) is most likely to generate resistance and violence. The other two faces can and do produce more positive outcomes most of the time. The challenge facing us in the peace research field therefore, is how we can expand exchange-based economic power and integrative power, while reserving threat-based power for those extreme circumstances in which threat has legitimacy, and is likely to yield positive rather than negative outcomes. This is similar to Joseph Nye’s (2004) argument about the assertion of “soft power” over “hard power” in the pursuit of U.S. foreign policy objectives. The promotion and sustenance of economic and integrative power are very closely linked to the promotion of justice and fairness. Both these faces of power, however, need clear rule-based systems of justice and a rule of law that apply equally to the governed and the governing. They need judicial

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systems that are willing to move beyond revenge and punishment toward ideas of rehabilitation, restitution, and more optimally restorative concepts of justice. In addition, integrative power requires a thriving civil society and widespread acknowledgment of the limits of state coercive power. Integrative power is critical to the idea of community. It is within communities rather than nations or nation-states that people realize their deepest ambitions. These communities can be families, neighborhoods, professional groups, friendship groups, trade unions, and recreational and religious groups. If Boulding is right, wherever state systems or non-state actors rely primarily on threat, force, coercion, and punishment, entrepreneurial economic activity will be challenged as also the integrative power or the self-sustaining power of community. Integrative Power and the War on Terror One of the most devastating consequences of September 11 and the subsequent declaration of the oxymoronic, never-ending war against terror, has been the willingness of many modern industrialized states to regress toward threat-based power and place significant question marks over the self-governing capacity of individuals and groups to organize their own economies and communities in ways that will generate higher levels of stability and peacefulness. In this way, terrorist threat has challenged the enlightenment project as states play on real threats and imagined threats and then develop fear-based systems inimical to enlightened politics and the flourishing of free communities. Al-Qaeda members, as we know from bitter experience, are masters in the application of threat-based power. For their supporters, however, they work also to ensure economic well-being and justify their actions on a basis of Islamic legitimacy. They certainly ensure that their cadres are surrounded by high levels of loyalty, affection, and integration. Their goals, insofar as they have been articulated, are the assertion of a new Islamic caliphate in the Middle East and an end to corrupt and authoritarian regimes within the region. Their aim, in other words, is the creation of political systems that advance a particular Wahabi-based view of politics and religion. This view is very confrontational to the West and threatening to more moderate positions within the Middle East. They pursue these objectives through terror and terror tactics and in their own narrow terms have been remarkably successful over the past few years. Richard Rubenstein (2001, 1) asserts: “Terrorism is violence by small groups claiming to represent massive constituencies and seeking by ‘heroic’ provocative attacks to awaken the masses, redeem their honour, and generate

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an enemy over reaction that will intensify and expand the struggle.” Unfortunately, on the basis of this definition, it is fair to say that the U.S. and coalition responses to al-Qaeda’s threat, and the military actions in Afghanistan and Iraq, have been disproportionate and have indeed generated an enemy overreaction that has now propelled us into a very vicious cycle of violence within the Middle East and elsewhere. As Olivier Roy (2004, 1) observes: “Under the pretext of President George Bush’s declared war against terrorism, the West seems ready to enter into a global conflict that it avoided during the cold war. Bush and Osama Bin Laden both want to persuade us that the world is divided—them and us, believers and non-believers, barbarism and civilization.” The question, therefore, is whether there is any inclination and movement at this moment to consider alternatives to force, coercion, and military threat in the struggle against terror and terrorism? The related question is whether these are likely to be successful? Related to both of these questions is another: Whether there is any commitment on the part of the most powerful industrialized nations in the world to act in ways that advance justice, freedom, and peaceful relationships, and a resolute adherence to the rule of law, human rights, and the promotion of sustainable community or communities which is where most of us live, move, and have our social and political being? What I would like to propose is that unless we, in the West, are willing to practice a bit of political jujitsu or aikido and do something disarming, we may indeed be fated to a never-ending war against vague enemies for a very long time. William Long and Peter Brecke (2003) note very remarkable levels of success in civil wars where the protagonists were willing to develop and apply what they call a “forgiveness model” to the conflict. This model did not seem to yield the same results in relation to interstate conflict but the approach itself is worth considering as a possible alternative to a never-ending war against terror. They argue very strongly for a reassertion of the power of emotions in decision-making and for identifying ways in which such emotions might break impasses and generate virtuous actions to replace the vicious ones. This forgiveness model, as summarized by Stuart Kaufman (2004, 145–146), has four phases: The first phase is acknowledgement of the harm done by the conflict, which allows participants to overcome the emotions of anger and shame that the conflict engendered. The second phase is a changed identity including a new understanding of the other party. This involves overcoming grief and fear in order to see oneself as something more than a victim in the relationship, and to see the other as something other than an enemy. The third phase is

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accepting “partial justice” and giving up revenge. The fourth phase is a call for a new relationship between the parties. . . . [All of these phases] contrast this model of conflict resolution with the rationalist bargaining model.

Applying this model to the never-ending war against terror and the wars in Iraq, Afghanistan, Chechnya, and Israel/Palestine is very salutary. It is clear that antagonists on all sides of these conflicts remain locked in a vicious cycle of threat, violence, and revenge. They all still sustain the illusion that they will be able to prevail militarily even if most of the conflicts listed above seem more in the category of a hurting stalemate or on the brink of imminent defeat rather than on the verge of victory. There is an assumption in all of these wars—led largely from Washington but echoed in London and Canberra, Moscow and Jerusalem—that threat and overwhelming force will win the day and that the West and civilization will defeat all terrorists and prevail militarily. On the other side, wherever and whatever that other side is, there is an equally strong conviction that while the Coalition of the Willing has huge military resources at its disposal, these apparent strengths are also their weaknesses. This is the point of asymmetric warfare; when confronted by overwhelming force those who lack such force will probe for weaknesses, exploit them, and try to turn these to their advantage. If terror tactics work, these will be adopted; if some other tactic is called for, this too will be adopted. These individuals and groups, which are a very disparate group and cannot all be lumped under the al-Qaeda label, believe that the coalition, Russia, and Israel can and will be immobilized and maybe even defeated by bottom-up terrorist activity. Both sides to the war on terror, therefore, have decided that their political or religious objectives will be achieved largely by military means. Thus we have exactly the opposite of the forgiveness model. In fact, we have a vengeance model at work, extracting revenge for September 11 as well as the Morocco, Madrid, Bali, and Jakarta bombings and the ongoing terrorist incidents between Russians and Chechens and between Israel and Palestine. Applying the Long and Brecke (2003) model to the policies and practices of all sides in the war on terror demonstrates how committed the sides are to policies that will result in harm to all and advantage to none. To take the issue of acknowledgment, for example, there has been no acknowledgment except for propaganda purposes, of the harm done and hurt caused by whoever was responsible for September 11 and all the other terrorist acts that have taken place over the past few years. On the contrary, those who have used such terror tactics have been impressed by their disruptive capacity. Terror can and does paralyze. Because of this and because of the media’s

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appetite for blood—the old adage that if it bleeds it leads—we are treated to endless examples of barbaric behavior, such as executions on the Internet, kidnappings, suicide bombings, and senseless assaults on all sorts of civilians and others assumed to represent oppressive power. The unwillingness to acknowledge responsibility tends to confirm the demonized and dehumanized stereotypes that both sides hold of the other. Because the West is engaged now in a never-ending war against all terrorists, there has been no acknowledgment of the top-down harm done to innocent civilians in Palestine, Chechnya, Afghanistan, or Iraq. The killing of 40,000 Chechens and the displacement of thousands more by the Russians, for example, requires some explanation and has to be taken into account when trying to understand the appalling acts committed by the Chechens at Breslan in North Ossetia. Similarly, Israel’s terrorizing of Palestinian refugee settlements and arbitrarily executing known terrorists fuels the pool of suicide bombers. The unwillingness of the West to recognize the democratically elected Hamas government in Israel is another example of political marginalization that will have very negative consequences for the promotion of democracy and for peace in the Middle East. There is never any acknowledgment here of the ways in which these acts might be perpetuating the cycle of violence. Similarly, until Abu Ghraib was exposed, there was no admission by the United States of human rights violations of prisoners of war or the murder of prisoners in custody. We still are not sure exactly what is happening and has happened in Guantanamo Bay although more and more unfortunate revelations seem to come out every few months. The fact that the U.S. army has pressed charges against those soldiers accused of human rights violations at Abu Ghraib, and issued murder charges against those soldiers who suffocated General Mowhoush during interrogation represents some progress toward acknowledging unacceptable military behavior under the rules of war. In fact, as long as both sides are hanging on to the prospect of a military victory and the assertion of victor’s justice, there is little disposition to acknowledge responsibility or complicity in top-down or bottom-up acts of terror. On the contrary, once actors have embarked on a violent strategy to pursue political ends, there is a reluctance to admit any liability for minor or gross violations of human rights. Those who are victorious will impose their will and assign blame and responsibility to those who are vanquished. On the second criteria of the forgiveness model—namely, a willingness to change identity—there is an almost constitutional reluctance on the part of al-Qaeda, the coalition, Russia, or Israel to modify or change their identities in order to seek new understanding of the other parties. We are not talking about major changes of identity; we are talking about a capacity for

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empathy and understanding, and a willingness to stand in the shoes of the negative other to see what the world looks like from their perspective. One of the things that I have discovered from many years of trying to engage in collaborative problem-solving in very difficult parts of the world is that a willingness to acknowledge some degree of responsibility for a vicious action, or for conditions that generate vicious actions, is a prerequisite for the development of conciliatory gestures and the creation of conditions conducive to problem-solving and conflict-transformation. While many individual Americans might be willing to overcome their grief and fear in order to see the United States as something other than a victim, and capable of demonstrating friendlier nonenemy intentions to ostensible antagonists, there is little disposition on the part of the administration to do so. On the other side, the leadership of al-Qaeda, Abu Sayef, and Jemaah Islamiyah are equally reluctant to do the same. Both protagonists, at the leadership level, therefore, end up reaffirming their own victimization and enemy stereotypes of the other side. This tends to result in a strange symbiosis between the terrorist and the counterterrorist. Both need the other to survive through time. It ought to be possible, therefore, to contemplate unilateral, bilateral, and multilateral changes to this relationship. The fact that this is not happening suggests that much wider political interests are being served by maintaining the enemy image of the other. The third phase of accepting partial justice in order to advance peace processes has not been engaged by any of the current antagonists in the war on terror. The idea of partial justice is probably anathema to most jurists but it makes immense sense to me as a peace builder. There can be no absolute justice for those who have seen their loved ones killed in senseless acts of terror or counterterror. For example, more than 3,000 innocent civilians were killed on September 11; 20,000 civilians have been killed in Afghanistan since 2002; over 100,000 Iraqi civilians have been killed in Iraq since the invasion (Boseley 2004), and there have been 3.9 million killed directly and indirectly in the war in the Congo since 1998 (IRC 2006). How do we begin getting a sense of justice or closure here? Justice for whom? Who will compensate Palestinians for their loss of life or innocent Israelis for theirs? Who will compensate the families of those killed in Iraq or Afghanistan? Who will compensate the families of the 2,000 plus U.S. troops killed in Iraq, and when will the West start mourning African deaths? And perhaps most importantly, which perpetrators will be brought to account for such actions and where? Can we envisage a situation, for example, where the United States might be willing to revisit its decision not to join the International Criminal Court

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as a step toward developing an international rule of law? Through all of this is the additional problem of working out ways of ensuring that there will be no impunity conferred on anyone who has engaged in minor or gross violations of human rights. This too is an essential prerequisite for effective problem solving and long-term peace building. The reality is that there is little probability that individual victims or observers will ever fully understand the aggression that has removed loved ones and it is equally unlikely that there will ever be total justice for those who have committed acts of violence. There is never any justification for terrorist action against innocent civilians but equally there is no legal justification for the invasion of Iraq or for building a wall through IsraelPalestine. There is certainly no justification for Israeli invasion of Gaza and the West Bank or for undermining liberty to advance security in democratic societies. Who is in a position to bring the perpetrators of such acts to account in an internationally recognized court of law? This is why we are left with notions of partial justice as we struggle with ways of holding states and non-state actors to account for acts of violence. So what concept of partial justice might help break the impasse between terrorists/counterterrorists? Would populations and politicians support some notion of partial justice in the development of processes that result in an end to terrorist activity and the war on terror? It is my contention that the most crucial factor in the delivery of justice postconflict are mechanisms that enable all sides to tell their stories; describe their own suffering and feelings of hurt; and create opportunities for former protagonists to acknowledge the pain caused to others; apologize; make restitution; and design processes to promote unity and reconciliation. Whether we are near such a situation in the war on terror is moot but thinking about and signaling such a process is crucial to a successful exit strategy—unless, of course, there is a desire to maintain the war on terror in perpetuity. Conclusion Is there any inclination to develop a new or changed relationship between the contenders in the war on terror? Or are we fated to perpetuating a never-ending war based on simplistic and racist stereotypes? I see no evidence that the Bush administration or other members of the coalition of the willing are prepared to reconsider how they think and feel about the diverse terrorist groups that are coalescing against the United States and United States’ interests at this moment. There is no willingness to reframe perceptions, and to rehumanize the dehumanized and demonized other. There is no willingness to acknowledge that terrorists may have needs and interests that could be

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satisfied in ways other than on the shifting urban battlefields of the Middle East. On the contrary, as Rohan Gunaratne (2005) states, “It might be possible to talk with some terrorists but for the most part they have to be eliminated before they eliminate us.” This kind of we-they thinking, and a willingness to rush to summary and arbitrary judgment generates self-fulfilling prophecies. If you are a terrorist who has been designated for elimination, there is no inclination to show mercy or to talk. On the other side, those who are engaged in terrorist battle with the United States show a similar disinclination to see diversity within America, to acknowledge that this is an immensely pluralistic and divided society. The United States, both state and people, are lumped together as a single evil empire that needs to be humbled before discussions can take place. Both of these perspectives are self-defeating, both generate deep divisions within and between nations and people, and neither helps the other side figure out ways to promote gestures, conversations, and negotiations that will start isolating the extremists from the moderates and laying the ground for negotiations that might put an end to senseless acts of violence. It is disturbing that President Bush won the 2004 election largely on his credentials as a better, stronger, more decisive commander-in-chief rather than an effective problem-solving president. The emphasis on his military rather than his diplomatic or political power was extremely problematic and dangerous. When countries elect commanders-in-chief and embark on permanent open-ended wars against amorphous and largely invisible enemies, when such nations are willing to sacrifice liberty and the rule of law for security, when there is a willingness to subvert the United Nations and practice a la carte multilateralism, and a tendency to place oneself and one’s nation above the law for reasons of national security, the rest of the world has reason for concern. There should be no annihilation without representation but equally there is a need for us to explore and try alternative models before these look even more utopian than they appear at this particular juncture in the narrative. Most of all we need to move beyond revenge. As Nobel Prize-winning poet Seamus Heaney (1990, 77) put it in his translation of Sophocles’ Philoctetes, “The Cure at Troy”: Human beings suffer, they torture one another, they get hurt and get hard. No poem or play or song can fully right a wrong inflicted and endured.

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Kevin P. Clements The innocent in gaols beat on their bars together. A hunger striker’s father stands in the graveyard dumb. The police widow in veils faints at the funeral home. History says, Don’t hope on this side of the grave. But then, once in a lifetime the longed for tidal wave of Justice can rise up and hope and history rhyme. So hope for a great sea change on the far side of revenge. Believe that a further shore is reachable from here. Believe in miracles and cures and healing wells.

9

Religion, Power, and the American Empire Daniel C. Maguire

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einhold Niebuhr (1960, 80–89) spoke aptly of “the feeble mind of a nation.” If individual persons were so unaware of the facts of their lives as nations often are, we would classify them as retarded. An example is at hand: it is just now dawning on the feeble mind of this American nation that we are an empire. Is it unfair to call the United States an empire? What an empire does is use its military and economic power to control weaker peoples for its own interests. Clearly, then, Ronald Reagan was guilty of redundancy when he spoke of the “evil empire.” By definition, all empires are evil and all are marked by three things: (1) an idolatrous, self-worshiping hubris, (2) hypocrisy, and (3) a malignant thrust toward self-destruction through the costs of militarism and overreach. All this is present in spades in the American empire. We have 800 military installations in 130 countries and our Special Forces operate in nearly 170 nations. We spend more on the military than the next 18 nations combined. If nations will not let us in, we invade them militarily or we tell them we will boycott them out of our market. We take up 20 percent of Okinawa’s arable land for our bases and if they protest, they are threatened by denied access to our purchasing power. We have overthrown some 25 governments since 1945, but would take a dim view if any nation tried to overthrow ours. We flood the world with our culture and technology (Blum 2000; Johnson 2000; Sardar and Davies 2002; Jewett and Shelton 2003; Johnson 2004; Bacevich 2005). Americans take this awesome display of power for granted. Obvious questions do not penetrate the imperial mind. How would we feel if Indonesia

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opened a naval station in Florida? Or Russia an air station in Michigan? Would that not strike us as surpassingly odd! Yet we do this as though it were our birthright given us by God. What we are doing is what empires do, convinced as all empires are that their kind of might makes right. Empire as Deviant Religion Arnold Toynbee (1966, 112) said that it might well be that “nationalism is 90 percent of the religion of 90 percent of the people of the Western World and of the rest of the World as well.” He has persuasive evidence. Toynbee traces how the human race moved from nature worship to state worship as communities became more organized and more impressive 5,000 years ago. Nature gods suddenly became state gods as we began to worship the power that came with collectivizing, as simple Neolithic villages gave way to such as the towering Sumerian city-state. Nature worship was humanity’s first religion. There were wind and water and sun gods and olive goddesses as well. But as we formed the first city-states, these became more impressive than nature itself and we transferred our worship there. Suddenly Enlil the wind-god becomes the deification of Nippur; Nanna the moon-god is the deification of Ur; Athena the olive goddess is now the deity that is Athens just as the water-god Poseidon becomes the deification of the state of Corinth. In Toynbee’s (1966, 107) words, “The local communities have become divinities, and these divinities that stand for collective human power have become paramount over the divinities that stand for natural forces. The injection of this amount of religious devotion into nationalism has turned nationalism into a religion, and this a fanatical one.” Back to the United States which proclaimed itself from the start as being the new Zion and the new Rome; with such creedal beginnings, cultic, nation-worshiping patriotism is fully ablaze. The flag of this new Zion is as sacred as the shrines to Augustus. Burning that flag would be a desecration comparable to trashing a statue of Augustus or an effigy of Caesar, or the burning of the Koran or the Catholic Eucharist. This symbolic sacralization of power befogs the optic nerve of citizens and stifles their obligation to be the attentive consciences of their nation. This gives undue immunities to the powerful few that we call government. “The worst of madmen is saint gone mad,” said the poet Alexander Pope. And the worst of saints is a nation that feels itself divinely appointed to remake the world in its image. Empire is a religious feat. From “Gott Mit Uns” (“God is with us”) on the buckles of Hitler’s soldiers to claims of manifest destiny, religion is employed to write the writ for genocide and imperial plunder. As Walter Wink (1984, 140) says, “Evil never feels safe unless it wears the mask of

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divinity.” At the end of the nineteenth century, U.S. senator Albert Beveridge claimed without fear of contradiction that God had “marked” the American people to lead in “the redemption of the world.” President Woodrow Wilson said that upon America “there rests nothing by the pure light of the justice of God,” a light that, he said, first dawned with “the Christian Era” (Wills 2003, 26–28). Christianity is the main sinner in generating and sustaining the idolatries that infuse American patriotism. George W. Bush (2002) joins the pious chorus even while waging two illegal, constitutionally undeclared wars, stating, “Our nation is the greatest force for good in history.” In an epic of American hubris, George S. Phillips of Ohio, shortly after the Civil War, wrote in his literally incredible book, The American Republic and Human Liberty Foreshadowed in Scripture, that God’s Old Testament promise to found a nation purely obedient to him was fulfilled, when, he, God, founded the United States of America. The Bible, according to Phillips, was written to announce our coming. He found with exegetical wizardry that Isaiah and Daniel clearly foretold the day and the hour of the Declaration of Independence; Isaiah predicted the Boston Tea Party and even the coming of Chinese immigrants to California. Phillips roared on to this conclusion: “The United States is to fill the earth . . . so to occupy the place of government in the world, as to leave room for no other government” (Clebsch 1968, 191–192). Phillips would have thrilled to George W. Bush’s statement to the United Nations that nations that are not with us are irrelevant. Hypocrisy: The Mask of Empire Nations building empires for their own economic and political advantage must always wear a mask, always put a noble face on their rapacity, whether it be to exercise “une mission civilatrice,” to assume in Kipling’s phrase “the white man’s burden,” “to make the world safe for democracy,” “to promote freedom,” “to promote the revolution of the proletariat,” or to act out our “manifest destiny.” Never the raw truth of exploitation, always the mask. The first secret of mask making is displaced indignation. Minor issues stir fervent moral passions. Same-sex marriages threaten our civilization and our homes and the Constitution must be amended to stop them. Abortion is more attended to than the carnage of our military adventures. The cerebrally dead Terri Schiavo’s feeding tube overshadowed the slaughter being inflicted on Iraqi citizens. President Bush even agonized in his 2004 State of the Nation about performance-enhancing drug use by athletes. And Rome burns.

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Double standards are part of the fabric of imperial deceit. We violate the United Nations Charter, to which we are committed by treaty, to punish Iraq for violating 17 Security Council Resolutions. Meanwhile, Israel has violated 33 such resolutions and receives 10 million dollars a day in aid, some of which is used to develop and maintain their nuclear weapons of mass destruction (Galeano 2003, 17; El-Kawa 2004, 1–2). Our military raids are disguised as justified by the spread of freedom and democracy. Yet we have nurtured and profited from dictatorships in Iran, Iraq, South Korea, South Vietnam, Cambodia, Indonesia, the Philippines, Greece, Spain, Angola, and throughout Latin America. Jonas Svimbi, responsible for half a million deaths, was called “the truest hero of our times” by Jean Kirkpatrick, and “Abraham Lincoln” by Ronald Reagan. The Buddhists are wise in seeing that greed and pride are the parents of delusion. We picture ourselves as a gentle and compassionate nation, a pro-life people. We thus feel called to remake the world in our blessed image. Comparisons reveal the sham. Let us start with Sweden. Sweden lives in a dangerous locale, neighbor in the past to Nazi Germany and Soviet Russia. Sweden has not been in a war for 200 years. The country’s military establishment is entirely based on purely defensive weaponry that could threaten no one. Clearly, we are not like that. When George W. Bush said al-Qaeda attacks us because they hate freedom and democracy, Osama Bin Laden, in an audiotaped response noted that Sweden has freedom and democracy and al-Qaeda has no interest in attacking them. Next, Costa Rica. In 1948 they decided that, in spite of surrounding instability and peril, they did not need an army, just a police force. And they have done quite well for 60 years without it. Clearly, we are not like that. Let us go to France, that nation that was so friendly to us in the past, telling us not to cross the world and invade Vietnam, that it would be a quagmire costing us much in life and fortune. Friendly advice, unheeded. France provides free childcare for all toilet-trained children. We are not like that. In fact, in the United States, childcare workers receive nine cents an hour less than parking lot attendants. In France also, single mothers get government subsidies for the first three years of the child’s life. We are definitely not like that. Let us go back to Sweden where law requires every corporation to give 18 months of paid parental leave upon the birth of a baby, a leave that can be prorated over the first eight years of the child’s life. We are certainly not like that. Let us go to Denmark where there is free dental care for all children until the age of 18. It is during those years you either get a healthy mouth, the gateway to all of your health systems, or it never happens. Again, we are not like that. They have universal health care in all of the

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Scandinavian countries. Everything is free unless you can afford a co-pay and it takes as little as 6.5 percent of their gross domestic product whereas as we spend 14 percent (and now possibly more) and leave 40-some million uncovered. So we are not like those Scandinavian countries. The European countries also guarantee four to six weeks of annual vacation for all persons, mandated by law. They are very family-friendly, and we are not like that. And finally, a United Nations survey of 152 nations found the United States was only one of six with no national policy of paid maternity leave (Kilkert Andolsen 1998; Hobgood 2000; Albrecht 2002; Philips-Fein 2002; Schwartz-Nobel 2002; Shipler 2004). Our idolatrous, unbiblical self-praise, to put it mildly, is self-serving and a cover-up. Our necrotic national conscience needs to harken to the call that Jeremiah (3:12) addressed to a nation: “Acknowledge your guilt.” This is not a text you will hear invoked when this imperial nation comes to worship itself at the National Cathedral. The Lubricious Perquisites of Empire Hubris is the protective armor of imperial arrogance. American hubris is indignantly resistant to embarrassing data. Of the 22 richest nations of the world, we are first in wealth and last in developmental assistance. “The United States devotes a smaller percentage of national income to development assistance than nearly any other developed nation—less that one-tenth of 1 percent, compared to 0.97 percent for the Danes, 0.89 percent for the Swedes, 0.55 percent for the French, and 0.31 percent for the Germans. Even in absolute terms, if we exclude U.S. aid to Israel and Egypt, which is largely military aid used in Israel to occupy and oppress Palestinians and in Egypt to suppress democracy, the United States—with 265 million people— spends less on development assistance than Denmark, a nation of five million.” Meanwhile, recall, we villainously squander billions of dollars a month making war on oil-rich Iraq (Mazur and Sechler 1997, 10–11). To illustrate the gluttony of military spending, Clyde Prestowitz (2003, 26) takes us on a tour of the aircraft carrier Kitty Hawk. This colossus is almost three football fields long and twenty stories high; it has six thousand people on board, seventy airplanes, and it is never lonely. It has in its entourage two submarines, three frigates, a couple of destroyers, and a massive group of people constituting a carrier task force. How many of these carrier battle groups do we have? Thirteen. How many does the rest of the world have? Zero. Given our domestic needs and the needs of the 1.3 billion people struggling to live in absolute poverty, there is a name for our military budget: criminal waste.

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Empires maintained by force, fall. Their security and control needs overwhelm them. Their military with its ravenous budget becomes a sacred cow to which national and international human needs are sacrificed. For social analysis of our self-induced unraveling, let us take a hint from the Gospels that say, “Where your treasure is, there your heart follows.” In other words, show me your national budget and I will tell you what you are, I will tell you what you truly treasure, and I will tell you where your heart really is. Let us look more closely at the military budget and think of its suicidal implications. We are spending 10 thousand dollars a second, 31 million dollars an hour, 24-hours a day on military power (Wheeler 2005, 1–2). Even people who were in the Reagan administration said after the collapse of the Soviet Union that we could get by with half of that amount (Maguire 2005, 129–130). And, in this very religious nation, let us put empire in a religious perspective. Jesus and Empire Jesus was crucified by an empire. With all deference to Mel Gibson, he was not killed so that his suffering would expiate our sins, a very bad piece of theology that would turn God into a sadistic monster who would feel he had to torture his son to death in order to make up for the sins of other people. No, Jesus was crucified as a rebel against empire. He was part of the rebellious communities of Judea and Galilee where crucifixion was the regular Roman penalty for rebellion. Their crops were stolen. Tribute to Caesar meant your grain was taken from your barn; your animals were taken away from you by Caesar so that the people in the empire homeland could live gloriously and well. We in the United States are really now the New Rome, the empire, living gloriously and well, with a cold indifference to the misery that our military and economic power is wreaking on the world’s poor. Jesus died fighting the likes of us. That thought should stalk the conscience of a country that thinks itself “a Christian nation” (Maguire 2005, 3–21). Suppose we dare to retire one of these carrier battle groups. What could we do with that money that would point it toward life and not toward death? We could double the salaries of all the elementary and high school teachers, the perennial orphans of our national conscience. With a little more of our wasted military spending, we could buy some munitions from the military and blow up every inferior school building in the United States of America. We will have contests. The girl who writes the best essay gets to push that handle down and watch the building crumble; and in its place we will build something beautiful, something worthy of our children. We could take another few million dollars an hour from military uselessness

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and change our trains. You have to go to Europe, to Japan, to see a modern train. We invented the magnetic levitation train but it was the Japanese who perfected it and tested it, going at 320 miles an hour. We could then take more of those wasted military dollars and end hunger and thirst on earth. That would truly fight terrorism. People do not crash airplanes and send suicide bombers after a nation bent on ending illiteracy, hunger, and thirst. Jeremiah 23 might have been talking to the American empire when he said: “Their course is evil and their might is not right.” That language applies to any empire and we are an empire placing our trust in weaponry and not in the compassion that builds peace. Being a military superpower has not made us secure; becoming a humanitarian superpower would. Howard Zinn (2004; 2006) often reminds us that the more modest nations of the world do not fear terrorism. With between 40 and 50 billion dollars a year—less than it takes to wage war for a year in Iraq—we could finance all public college and university education, making it all free to qualified students as civilized nations in Europe do. For every dollar spent on the G.I. Bill after World War II, the government got a return of almost seven dollars (Reed 2001, 53–58). Introduce a G.I Bill of Rights for all citizens. Totally free. The Deuteronomist put this thought into the mouth of God, a thought that empires like ours with their gorged military budgets repudiate. “I summon heaven and earth to witness against you this day: I offer you the choice of life or death . . . Choose life and then you and your descendants will live” (Deut. 30:19). When Idealism is Realism Abraham Heschel (1962, 166) states the dramatic fact: the Israelites “were the first [people] in history to regard a nation’s reliance upon force as evil.” Nothing in their setting was conducive to this insight. The sociology of knowledge is hard pressed to explain how these simple tribes, surrounded by superior and hostile forces, could dream a dream of peace, unmatched to our day—but increasingly seen as indispensable common sense. In the logic of empire, it would be considered madness to so disparage kill-power since, as illustrated by our budget, the ruling faith of this nation is that kill-power is the sacrament of safety and to it we will sacrifice our young and our fortune. Biblical religion demurs with Nobel Prize-worthy insights. The early Israelites started out as bellicose as any of their neighbors. Since God-talk reflects our deepest convictions, their God at the beginning was the exterminator par excellence. “The Lord is a warrior . . . majestic in strength” who lets loose “fury” and unleashes the “blast” of divine “anger” (Exod. 15:3–8).

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This God also was into empire and preemptive war. His plan for Israel, “Nations shall bring you their wealth” or else. “The nation and kingdom that will not serve you shall perish; those nations shall be utterly laid waste” (Isa. 60:11–12). Any who dare resist Israel will be crushed: “Whoever is found will be thrust through, and whoever is caught will fall by the sword. Their infants will be dashed to pieces before their eyes, their houses will be plundered, and their wives ravished” (Isa. 13:9, 15–17; Nelson-Pallmeyer 2003). No Geneva Convention for this God. So early Israel married the sword as the truest source of safety until they learned the fallacy and futility of this and instituted a divorce. In an epochal awakening they came to the conclusion that swords and kill-power are not the route to security and peace; they abandoned the weapons-make-us-safe creed that still animates U.S. foreign policy. They dinned the point home relentlessly. “Dismayed are all those whose strength was their God”; those who trusted in kill-power (Hab. 1:11). “Neither by force of arms nor by brute strength” would the people be saved (Zech. 4:6). “Not by might shall a man prevail” (1 Sam. 2:9; RSV). Military power will be discredited. “The nations shall see and be ashamed of all their might” (Mic. 7:16; RSV). Those who boast of these state-of-the-art weapons “totter and fall, but we rise up” (Ps. 20:6–7). “Their course is evil and their might is not right” (Jer. 23:10; RSV). “The song of the military” will be silenced, and fortified cities will become a ruin (Isa. 25:5, 2). The message is drummed home: violence does not work; it bites back at you. God orders Joshua to disarm. “Hamstring their horses and burn their chariots” (Josh. 11:6). “There is no peace for the wicked” (Isa. 57:21). The inverse of which is that if you do not have peace, it is your fault. You took the wrong approach. “Because you have trusted in your chariots, in the number of your warriors, the tumult of war shall arise against your people and all your fortresses shall be razed” (Hos. 10:13–14). For leaders to ask their people to trust arms for deliverance is “wickedness” and “treachery” (Hos. 10:13). Arms beget fear, not peace. You cannot build “Zion in bloodshed” (Mic. 3:10). Therefore, “I will break bow and sword and weapon of war and sweep them off the earth, so that all living creatures may lie down without fear” (Hos. 2:18). Notice, the distrust of arms is seen as a norm for “all living creatures,” not just for Israel. War delivers peace to no one. The insight that began to be birthed here—rough and imperfect, but stunning in its implications—was that just war is an oxymoron. The so-called just-war theory is only a modification of the primitive theory that war is a normal extension of statecraft—good if certain norms and amenities are observed. The cold presupposition of the just-war theory is that the slaughter and mayhem of war, done properly, is rational. Israel pioneered, and

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early Christianity intensified, the more radical idea that slaughter is never a moral means to decent social goals. There are many modes of power; in the biblical perspective, violent power is the most delusional and least successful. Isaiah acknowledged that all of this was a new thing. Referring to the exodus, he writes with biting irony that “chariot and horse [were drawn] to their destruction, a whole army, men of valor; there they lay, never to rise again; they were crushed, snuffed out like a wick.” The way of such warriors is not the “way through the wilderness”; you will not get where you want to go by way of war. “Cease to dwell on days gone by and to brood over past history. Here and now I will do a new thing; this moment it will break from the bud. Can you not perceive it?” (Isa. 43:16–20). Justice, not war, brings peace. “Justice will redeem Zion” (Isa. 1:27). Justice “shall yield peace” (Isa. 32:17). Redemption—for which peace is another name—would not be a divine trick. It comes about when we abandon the ways of war and follow the path of Tsedaqah. Because justice shall redeem Zion, says Isaiah, “all nations shall come streaming to it” to learn this approach to peace. “They shall beat their swords into mattocks and their spears into pruning knives; nation shall not lift sword against nation nor ever again be trained for war” (Isa. 22:4; Mic. 4:24). Hostility is not intrinsic to the species. The day can come when “they shall not hurt or destroy in all my holy mountain” (Isa. 11:9). That is, the whole earth must be taught to abandon this madness before it self-destructs. The message is clear: “If you go on fighting one another, tooth and nail, all you can expect is mutual destruction” (Gal. 5:14). As Jesus said, right before his death, “Put up your sword. All who take the sword die by the sword” (Matt. 26:52). “How blest are the peacemakers [and how sensible!]; God shall call them his children” (Matt. 5:9). If you follow the traditional rules of conflict, “all you can expect is mutual destruction” (Gal. 5:14; Maguire 2005, 111–135). The inutility of kill-power has never been more evident than today as the military power of the world’s last remaining superpower stands embarrassed and quagmired. The Realistic Visionaries The position of the Israelite and Christian prophets is sound. If we are afraid to walk any distance from our homes at night, if the world is immersed in wars and rumors of wars, if our budgets are bled by the endless mustering of horses and chariots, if a quarter of the world’s children are hungry, the prophets would only say: “You trusted your horses and chariots; you shall be destroyed. You squandered your trust and money on gods of

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metal, on military towers of Babel, and created despair. And from despair come desperadoes. Beat those swords into farming tools and turn the earth green with hope and not red with the horror of shed blood.” Jesus and the prophets of Israel were realists. Their insight into the weakness of the sword is born out even today. Mohandas Gandhi, Martin Luther King, and Nelson Mandela showed the power of nonviolent resistance. Almost bloodlessly dictators such as Ferdinand Marcos and at least seven Latin American despots have been driven out. As Walter Wink (2003, 1–2, 52) writes, “In 1989-90 alone fourteen nations underwent nonviolent revolutions.” Gene Sharp lists 198 different types of nonviolent actions that are on the historical record, but neglected by historians and journalists who prefer to report on the flash of war. Compare the results: Britain’s Indian colony of 300 million people was liberated nonviolently at a cost of about 8,000 lives, whereas France’s Algerian colony of about 10 million was liberated by violence at a cost of almost 1 million lives (Sharp 1973; Sider and Taylor 1982). Compare these successful cases of nonviolent resistance with the American quagmires in Vietnam, Afghanistan, and Iraq; the Russian quagmire in Chechnya; the Israeli quagmire in the occupied Palestinian territories, and ask, who are the realists, the prophets of Israel, Jesus, and Gandhi or the imperial warriors with their belief that might makes right and kill makes peace? The Superpower Fiction September 11, 2001, proved that a handful of men with nothing more than box cutters and penknives as weapons could destroy the Twin towers and the Pentagon, symbols of American economic and military strength. This signaled the end of nation-versus-nation warfare as in World War II. As Karen Armstrong (2001, vi) says, “It was an attack against the United States, but it was a warning to all of us in the First World.” It made us aware of “a new nakedness and a raw [and new] vulnerability.” If our policies inspire hatred around the world, and they do, the angry of the world have the means to get at us (Sardar and Davies 2002). The National Security Strategy of the United States in 2002 admitted that America is now threatened less by conquering states than by failing ones, less by fleets and armies than by catastrophic technologies in the hands of the embittered few. A recent estimate by information warfare specialists at the Pentagon reveals how vulnerable developed nations are. The study estimated that a well-prepared attack by fewer that 30 computer whizzes with a budget of less than 10 million dollars “could bring the United States to its knees,

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shutting down everything from electric power grids to air traffic control centers” (Elgin 2000, 110, 117). The meaning of protected borders has changed. That changes everything regarding security. Borders now mean all our penetrable, unprotectable areas: our 1,000 harbor channels, our 3,700 passenger and cargo terminals, the 7 million cargo containers moving in and out of all parts of our ports, factories, and refineries, our fish farms and mega-farms, our chemical plants and nuclear energy facilities. To penetrate any of this is to penetrate us and these areas are all penetrable. Ponder the vulnerability of the 8 million daily riders on New York’s subways: are we ready to subject all of them to the scrutiny now given in airports, and even airport security is full of leaks. A single rifle in the hands of two men could change life for 22 days in the nation’s capital and in Virginia. Mere hundreds of trained and motivated gunmen could paralyze our nation with catastrophic effect on all commerce. The term protected borders is obsolete. Unsophisticated poor from Latin America penetrate almost at will. Highly trained persons intent on entering face minimal challenges from our porous security systems. Recall too that the nuclear genie is out of the bottle and for sale on the international market, with nations like Pakistan called by some the K-Mart of nuclear weapons. The nuclear club is burgeoning, with interest being shown in atomic bombs in Saudi Arabia, Iran, Japan, Argentina, Brazil, Australia, and South Korea. For the United States with its huge caches of nuclear and other weapons to preach disarmament is like the village drunk urging sobriety. We, in effect, have made nuclear weapons the coin of the realm. Those that have them, like Pakistan, Israel, and North Korea, we do not attack: those that do not, like Iraq, we invade. We bless Israel’s weapons of mass destruction and invade Arab states on the mere suspicion they might want them. Atomic devices that fit in a suitcase, and can be easily hidden in huge cargo containers, are now technically feasible. Angering nations by our aggressive policies motivates those with access to use them and we should anticipate their use in the United States if present trends continue. President Bush in his 2001 State of the Union address said our safety is due to “the might of the military.” On the contrary! Our military with its weapons of mass destruction is now the model for any nation that wants to be taken seriously. Israel understood that and Arab states, of course, want to follow suit. We are in this mess because of our naive faith that more weapons and bigger military budgets bring security, ignoring the need to find out why people hate us enough to die hurting us. The biblical prophets would scorn us: “You have trusted your horses and chariots and failed in justice, compassion, and wisdom. You shall be destroyed.”

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The Benign Protector Illusion A cherished and long-tenured American right-wing illusion is that our multiple military forays around the world are motivated by the need for one great nation to keep order so that the whole world might be safe. Generosity is at the heart of our militarism in this myth. Why else would we bankrupt our educational and health care systems and allow our infrastructure to decay, unless we were driven by a noble mission? As Vaclav Smil (2005, 631–632) writes: “America’s foreign policy has been imbued with moral (and moralistic) convictions about the duty to act as a global promoter of freedom, a call to action that unites John F. Kennedy and George W. Bush.” This myth is so powerful that it can blind us to economic realities. The days of America as the supreme hegemon on the earth are numbered. With the rise of China and India and other nations and with the change in the nature of war, American supremacy is in rapid decline. Smil (2005, 632) looks into the future and sees “a profoundly altered United States: economically weaker and technically less competent, with an impotent currency, rampant corruption, and distant memories of superpower glory.” It is an old story, the decline of empires in a fog of denial and self-deception. The radical mother of Jesus saw the collapse of imperial power as fate: “The arrogant of heart and mind he has put to rout, he has brought down monarchs from their thrones . . . the rich sent away empty” (Luke 1:52–53). Is All War Therefore Immoral? That question is brilliantly answered in the United Nations Charter. The policing paradigm for justifying war is enshrined in that charter. The charter was meant to put an end to the vigilante approach to war employed by empires and illustrated by Adolph Hitler and by the preemptive war policy of George W. Bush. In the civilizing view of the United Nations, statesponsored violence, war, could only be justified in a communitarian setting under the restraints of enforceable international law, just as national police violence can only be justified in a communitarian setting with enforceable legal restraints. The United Nations was founded to make this internationally possible. Nations, such as the United States, long accustomed to vigilante warring, have frustrated the United Nations and its charter. This is a sad irony since the United States was a principal shaper of this United Nations policing paradigm for justifying war. Richard Falk (2003, 19) writes: World War II ended with the historic understanding that recourse to war between states could no longer be treated as a matter of national discretion,

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but must be regulated to the extent possible through rules administered by international institutions. The basic legal framework was embodied in the UN Charter, a multilateral treaty largely crafted by American diplomats and legal advisers. Its essential feature was to entrust the Security Council with administering a prohibition of recourse to international force (Article 2, Section 4) by states except in circumstances of self-defense, which itself was restricted to responses to a prior “armed attack” (Article 51), and only then until the Security Council had the chance to review the claim.

This noble, civilizing moment in human moral history, has been trashed and all of us must shoulder and bear blame. No wonder Pope John Paul II called George Bush’s vigilante invasion of Iraq “a defeat for humanity.” Teaching Feeble-Minded Nations How can we reach and teach cultures so gripped in their faith that violence and preparation for violence are their only safety? Step one is to show that even superpower power does not work. It is no match for insurgents who have the unbeatable trinity of advantages: invisibility, versatility, and patience. Perhaps even feeble-minded nations can be embarrassed, and embarrassment can be educational. History offers grist for this kind of education. In the fourteenth century, European war began to change and some were slow to see it, and there is a lesson in that for the warrior American nation today. The late medieval warriors had thought it proper to do their mayhem in an orderly way, with soldiers dressed in different colors meeting on a field The French arrived at the Battle of Crecy in 1346 to engage the enemy British in this “proper” way. They were rudely surprised and mowed down by the arrows of English peasant longbowmen. Killing at a distance had been introduced quite effectively. It should have made an impression. The feeble mind of French warriors missed the point. As Barbara Ehrenreich (1998, 176–179) recounts: “As if in a state of collective psychological denial, the French repeated the disaster of Crecy by riding to their deaths in a hail of arrows again at Poitiers in 1356 and once more, in 1415, at Agincourt.” Might it occur to obtuse American war planners today that World War II is over. In that war, soldiers in different costumes did battle with heavy equipment. Vietnam was our Crecy. It took us 11 years to realize that and retreat, but we still did not learn. Iraq and Afghanistan are our Poitiers and Agincourt. As we rumble down the streets of Iraq, conspicuously uniformed like World War I and II warriors, with our machinery clanking and roaring, audible from blocks away, insurgents are free to wait and pick from the many easy targets we present It is not an epic of intelligence, and this seems

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to be slowly dawning on the American public. Common sense may yet be the solvent for the stunningly effective propaganda that has carried this debacle forward. The Cult of War It has been said that there are no atheists. Everyone worships and deifies something or someone. The god of empire clearly is Mars and as long as the United States remains an empire we are worshiping piously and with bowed heads at the shrine of Mars, whatever other creeds we verbalize. Mars, like the gods of old, demands sacrifices of blood and treasure. This American empire pays these sacrifices in full measure. It offers the blood of the children of the poor (not the children of the rich) whom we recruit as soldiers, and it pours money into its metal icons of destruction, while neglecting the infrastructure and ecology that are the womb of life on this privileged planet. It may be that we are a fatally flawed species, destined for a short tenure in this corner of the universe. Yet hopeful visions have flickered in our midst. Sparks of wisdom persistently appear. The inutility of war may be dawning in this world and in this belligerent nation. Before the invasion of Iraq, 10 million people around the world demonstrated for peace, the largest and most international protest in history. If this and other peace movements are omens of diminishing enchantment of the demonic mystique of war, we could be at the turning of the ages, and that is our last best hope.

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Index

Abu Ghraib 148 ActionAid 11, 76 Afghanistan 11–13, 55, 81–99, 136, 146–149, 162 Provincial Reconstruction Teams (PRTs) and 96–97 Africa 142 Aisles, Roger 124 Algeria 162 al-Qaeda 88, 133, 140, 145–149, 156 Amnesty International 40 Annan, Kofi 138 Armstrong, Karen 162 asylum 8–9, 23–42 Australia 44, 123, 128, 130, 132, 163 Bazemore, Gordon 55 Berlusconi, Silvio 120–122, 133 Bietz, Charles 5–6 Bin Laden, Osama 146, 156 Bosnia 95 Boulding, Kenneth 17, 143–145 Braithwaite, John 55, 60 Brecke, Peter 17, 146 Brighouse, Harry 5 Brock, Gillian 5 Brunck, Conrad G. 54 Bull, Hedley 6–7, 19 Bush, George W. 120–122, 129, 133, 146, 151, 155, 163–165

Canadian International Development Agency (CIDA) 11, 73 Child Rights Approach (CRA) and 73–74 Changle, Liu 126 Chechnya 147–148, 162 Chenoweth, Neil 128 China 15, 23, 34, 38, 126–127, 129, 131–133, 164 citizen diplomacy 14, 104, 106–118 American-Soviet 104, 106–107, 109, 113–114 clash of civilizations 140 Clements, Kevin P. 16–19 CNN 124, 128, 132 Colombia 34, 36 colonialism 84 compatriot priority 9 Compassionate Listening Project 14–15, 101–118 conflict resolution 101–104, 117–118 cosmopolitanism 2, 5–6, 9–10, 12–19, 21 distributive justice and 5–6 moderate versus extreme 5 strong versus weak 5 Couture, Jocelyne 9 Crainer, Stuart 132 crony capitalism 127 culture 5, 11, 13, 19 defined 89–90 Afghanistan and 89–94

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Index

da Silva, Oscar 52 de Soto, Hernando 119 Delgado, Richard 55–56 development 11–12, 84–85, 141, 143 criticisms 65–67 rights-based approach 11, 63–80 Durkheim, Emile 139 distributive justice 3, 5, 17 Downie, Leonard 132 Earthstewards Network 107–108, 111, 114 East Timor 9–11, 43–61 Commission for Reception, Truth and Reconciliation (CAVR) 47–48, 53, 60–61 Community Reconciliation Agreement (CRA) 48 Community Reconciliation Project (CRP) 48–49, 51, 60 Guterres, Eurico 53 Indonesia and 44–46, 50, 53, 58–59 Kosovo model 9, 46 lisan process and 48–61 Portugal and 44, 4–50 restorative justice and 56–58 Truth and Friendship Commission (TFC) 53, 60 United Nations and 43, 45–48, 56–57, 59 United States and 44 Ehrenreich, Barbara 165 English School 2, 6–7, 9–10, 12–20 international society 6–7, 19 pluralism versus solidarism 7, 21 thin versus thick solidarism 7, 13, 21 European Council on Refugees and Exiles (ECRE) 24 Ewert, Lowell 11–12 Falk, Richard 164 Fallows, James 120, 129 Fellowship of Reconciliation 114

Foundation for Global Community 114 forced return 8, 23–42 forgiveness model 17, 146–150 Forum Asia 27 Friedman, Thomas 119 Gandhi, Mohandas 162 Ginsborg, Paul 120 global difference principle 6 global justice 1–21 Rawls and 2–5, 9–10, 12–20 cosmopolitanism and 5–6, 9–10, 12–19 English School and 6–7, 9–10, 12–19 global media networks 15–16 globalization 7, 12–13, 16, 20, 141–142 definitions, 83 democracy and 119, 127 human rights and 83–89 media markets and 122–133 patrimonial politics and 119–133 Green, Allen 106 Green, Leah 14, 21, 103–118 Gunaratne, Rohan 151 Gurr, Ted 136, 140 hard power 137 Heaney, Seamus 151 Held, David 5 Hoffman, Gene Knudson 114 human rights 7, 13, 18, 23–24, 27, 39, 63–99, 146 basic rights 86–87, 156–157 disadvantaged peoples and 85 economic, social and cultural (ESC) rights 81–82, 87, 89, 93–96 the West and 86–88 women and 51, 85, 92 Human Rights Watch 40 human security 137–138, 143 four freedoms 67

Index humanitarianism 81, 93 militarized 11–13, 89, 93–99 Hwochinsky, Carol 114 India 23, 34, 162, 164 Indonesia 44–46, 50, 53, 58–59, 77, 153–154, 156 immigration 9 International Monetary Fund 83 International Refugee Protection Regime 8 international law 3–4, 7–8, 24, 69–71, 76–77 Iraq 126, 129, 132–133, 136, 140, 146–150, 156, 166 Italy 120–122 Japan 44, 55, 163 justice 141, 143–144, 161 absolute justice 149 partial justice 149–150 See also global justice just war 160 Kaiser, Robert 132 Kant, Immanuel 119 Kaufman, Stuart 146 Keats, Lorissa 114 King Jr., Martin Luther 2, 162 Kosovo 9, 46, 89, 95, 126 Lederach, John Paul 101–102, 113 lisan 9, 43–61 Lofland, John 109, 112 Long, William 17, 146 Lundry, Chris 8–9, 11, 13 Lynch, Maureen 8 MacKenzie, Kevin 125 Maguire, Daniel C. 16, 18–19 Mandela, Nelson 162 Marshall, Monty 136, 140 Marxism 84 McCormick, Barrett L. 14–16

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183

McKnight, David 132 media tabloidization 120 Medicins Sans Frontieres 98–99 Melton, Ada Pecos 54 Mercy Corps 11, 75–77 Middle East 14, 107, 136, 139–140, 145 Egypt 11, 78–79 Israeli-Palestinian conflict 14–15, 102–118, 140, 147–150, 162 military spending 136–137 Mojadidi, Aman 11–13 Murdock, Rupert 14–15, 119–120, 122–133 Fox Network/News and 122–129, 132–133 ideology and 131–133 News Corporation and 15–16, 123, 129 patriotism and 124–127 Phoenix Television and 126, 129, 133 Sky Television and 123, 127 STAR TV and 123, 131 the Sun and 125–126, 130 Nelson, Kai 9 Niebuhr, Reinhold 153 nongovernmental organizations (NGOs) 8, 11–12, 31, 40–41, 47, 63, 77, 82, 89, 94–98, 103 nonrefoulement 8, 23–42 nonviolence 141–142, 160–162 North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA) 127 North Korea 35, 37–38 nuclear weapons 163 Nye, Joseph 17, 144 Organization of African Unity 25, 28 Convention Governing Specific Aspects of Refugee Problems in Africa 25, 28

184

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Index

Oslo Accords 111 Oxfam America 75 Pace, Marie 14 Page, Bruce 127 Panama 23, 27, 34, 36, 38 Pape, Robert 138–141 Parry, Danaan 107–108 patrimonial politics 15–16, 119–133 peace 16–19, 76–77, 101–118, 119, 141, 143 Phillips, George 155 Pogge, Thomas 6 power 143–145 Promoting and Protecting the Interests of Children who Work (PPICWork) 11, 78–79 Rawls, John 2–5, 9–10, 12–20 difference principle 3 distributive justice 3–4, 17 Law of Peoples 3 Society of Peoples 3, 10, 15–17, 20 Reagan, Ronald 130, 153, 156 realism 6, 159–162 refoulement (See nonrefoulement) refugees 8–9, 23–42 Refugees International 8, 28, 33–42 religion 1, 18–19, 86–87, 109–112, 140, 145 empire and 154–155, 158–160, 166 war and 159–161 restorative justice 10, 53–58, 145 Roach, Kent 55 Roosevelt, Franklin 67 Roy, Olivier 146 Rubenstein, Richard 145–146 Russia 27, 147–148, 154 Rwanda 57, 89, 95 Save the Children 11, 74 safe third country 24 Sen, Amartya 13

Sharp, Gene 162 Smil, Vaclav 164 soft power 144 Somalia 95 South African Truth and Reconciliation Commission 56–57 South Korea 37 sovereignty 7,16 Soviet Union 13, 16, 68, 91–93, 104, 106–107 structural violence 142–143 subsidiarity 12 Taliban 12–13, 92 Tan, Kok-Chor 5 Tanzania 23, 34 terrorism 16–18, 104, 145–150 national 136–137 international 136–137 responses to 135–151 September 11, 2001 and 16, 81, 125, 145, 147, 162 suicide terrorism 17, 138–140 Thailand 23, 34 Thatcher, Margaret 130 Toynbee, Arnold 154 underdeveloped 82, 84 undeveloped 82 United Kingdom 15, 44, 82, 85, 91, 124–127, 130 United Nations 8, 63, 86, 90, 151, 155 1951 Convention Relating to the Status of Refugees 24–25, 28, 40 1967 Protocol Relating to the Status of Refugees 24, 40 Agenda for Protection 32 Convention against Torture and Other Cruel, Inhuman or Degrading Treatment or Punishment 28, 40, 93

Index Convention on the Elimination of Discrimination against Women 93 Convention on the Elimination of Racial Discrimination 93 Convention on the Rights of the Child (CRC) 73–74, 80 Declaration on Social Progress and Development 68 Global Consultations on International Protection 32 High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR) 24, 31–33, 39–41 International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights 23, 68, 93 International Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights 64, 68–69, 86, 93 Millennium Plus Five Summit 138 Proclamation of Tehran 67 UN Charter 67, 156, 164–165 UN High Commissioner for Human Rights (UNHCHR) 11, 72 UN Transitional Administration in East Timor (UNTAET) 9–10, 43, 45–48, 56–57, 59 Universal Declaration of Human Rights 24, 46, 68, 76, 79, 86

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185

United States 15, 18–19, 44, 68, 104, 106–107, 112, 123, 128–130, 133, 142–143, 149 Afghanistan and 81–99, 149, 165 empire and 153–166 Illegal Immigration Reform and Immigrant Responsibility Act (IIRIRA) 26 International Criminal Court and 149–150 Iraq and 120–121, 136, 149–150, 164–165 military spending and 157–159 Political Instability Task Force 137–138 terrorism and 135–151 U.S. Committee for Refugees 28 Ury, William 117 Viguerie, Richard Vincent, R.J. 6

124

Weber, Max 57, 121 Wight, Martin 6 Wilson, Woodrow 155 Wink, Walter 162 World Bank 83–84 World Trade Organization (WTO) 127