Handbook of Global International Policy (Public Administration and Public Policy)

Handbook of Global International Policy edited by

Stuart S. Nagel University of Illinois Urbana, Illinois

M A R C E L

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PUBLIC ADMINISTRATION AND PUBLIC POLICY A Comprehensive Publication Program Executive Editor JACK RABIN Professor of Public Administration and Public Policy School of Public Affairs The Capital College The Pennsylvania State University—Harrisburg Middletown, Pennsylvania

1. Public Administration as a Developing Discipline (in two parts), Robert T. Golembiewski 2. Comparative National Policies on Health Care, Milton I. Roemer, M.D. 3. Exclusionary Injustice: The Problem of Illegally Obtained Evidence, Steven R. Schlesinger 4. Personnel Management in Government: Politics and Process, Jay M. Shafritz, Walter L. Balk, Albert C. Hyde, and David H. Rosenbloom 5. Organization Development in Public Administration (in two parts), edited by Robert T. Golembiewski and William B. Eddy 6. Public Administration: A Comparative Perspective, Second Edition, Revised and Expanded, Ferrel Heady 7. Approaches to Planned Change (in two parts), Robert T. Golembiewski 8. Program Evaluation at HEW (in three parts), edited by James G. Abert 9. The States and the Metropolis, Patricia S. Florestano and Vincent L. Marando 10. Personnel Management in Government: Politics and Process, Second Edition, Revised and Expanded, Jay M. Shafritz, Albert C. Hyde, and David H. Rosenbloom 11. Changing Bureaucracies: Understanding the Organization Before Selecting the Approach, William A. Medina 12. Handbook on Public Budgeting and Financial Management, edited by Jack Rabin and Thomas D. Lynch 13. Encyclopedia of Policy Studies, edited by Stuart S. Nagel 14. Public Administration and Law: Bench v. Bureau in the United States, David H. Rosenbloom 15. Handbook on Public Personnel Administration and Labor Relations, edited by Jack Rabin, Thomas Vocino, W. Bartley Hildreth, and Gerald J. Miller 16. Public Budgeting and Finance: Behavioral, Theoretical, and Technical Perspectives, Third Edition, edited by Robert T. Golembiewski and Jack Rabin 17. Organizational Behavior and Public Management, Debra W. Stewart and G. David Garson 18. The Politics of Terrorism: Second Edition, Revised and Expanded, edited by Michael Stohl

19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30.

31. 32. 33. 34. 35. 36. 37. 38. 39. 40. 41. 42. 43. 44.

45. 46. 47.

Handbook of Organization Management, edited by William B. Eddy Organization Theory and Management, edited by Thomas D. Lynch Labor Relations in the Public Sector, Richard C. Kearney Politics and Administration: Woodrow Wilson and American Public Administration, edited by Jack Rabin and James S. Bowman Making and Managing Policy: Formulation, Analysis, Evaluation, edited by G. Ronald Gilbert Public Administration: A Comparative Perspective, Third Edition, Revised, Ferrel Heady Decision Making in the Public Sector, edited by Lloyd G. Nigro Managing Administration, edited by Jack Rabin, Samuel Humes, and Brian S. Morgan Public Personnel Update, edited by Michael Cohen and Robert T. Golembiewski State and Local Government Administration, edited by Jack Rabin and Don Dodd Public Administration: A Bibliographic Guide to the Literature, Howard E. McCurdy Personnel Management in Government: Politics and Process, Third Edition, Revised and Expanded, Jay M. Shafritz, Albert C. Hyde, and David H. Rosenbloom Handbook of Information Resource Management, edited by Jack Rabin and Edward M. Jackowski Public Administration in Developed Democracies: A Comparative Study, edited by Donald C. Rowat The Politics of Terrorism: Third Edition, Revised and Expanded, edited by Michael Stohl Handbook on Human Services Administration, edited by Jack Rabin and Marcia B. Steinhauer Handbook of Public Administration, edited by Jack Rabin, W. Bartley Hildreth, and Gerald J. Miller Ethics for Bureaucrats: An Essay on Law and Values, Second Edition, Revised and Expanded, John A. Rohr The Guide to the Foundations of Public Administration, Daniel W. Martin Handbook of Strategic Management, edited by Jack Rabin, Gerald J. Miller, and W. Bartley Hildreth Terrorism and Emergency Management: Policy and Administration, William L. Waugh, Jr. Organizational Behavior and Public Management: Second Edition, Revised and Expanded, Michael L. Vasu, Debra W. Stewart, and G. David Garson Handbook of Comparative and Development Public Administration, edited by Ali Farazmand Public Administration: A Comparative Perspective, Fourth Edition, Ferrel Heady Government Financial Management Theory, Gerald J. Miller Personnel Management in Government: Politics and Process, Fourth Edition, Revised and Expanded, Jay M. Shafritz, Norma M. Riccucci, David H. Rosenbloom, and Albert C. Hyde Public Productivity Handbook, edited by Marc Holzer Handbook of Public Budgeting, edited by Jack Rabin Labor Relations in the Public Sector: Second Edition, Revised and Expanded, Richard C. Kearney

48. Handbook of Organizational Consultation, edited by Robert T. Golembiewski 49. Handbook of Court Administration and Management, edited by Steven W. Hays and Cole Blease Graham, Jr. 50. Handbook of Comparative Public Budgeting and Financial Management, edited by Thomas D. Lynch and Lawrence L. Martin 51. Handbook of Organizational Behavior, edited by Robert T. Golembiewski 52. Handbook of Administrative Ethics, edited by Terry L. Cooper 53. Encyclopedia of Policy Studies: Second Edition, Revised and Expanded, edited by Stuart S. Nagel 54. Handbook of Regulation and Administrative Law, edited by David H. Rosenbloom and Richard D. Schwartz 55. Handbook of Bureaucracy, edited by Ali Farazmand 56. Handbook of Public Sector Labor Relations, edited by Jack Rabin, Thomas Vocino, W. Bartley Hildreth, and Gerald J. Miller 57. Practical Public Management, Robert T. Golembiewski 58. Handbook of Public Personnel Administration, edited by Jack Rabin, Thomas Vocino, W. Bartley Hildreth, and Gerald J. Miller 59. Public Administration: A Comparative Perspective, Fifth Edition, Ferrel Heady 60. Handbook of Debt Management, edited by Gerald J. Miller 61. Public Administration and Law: Second Edition, David H. Rosenbloom and Rosemary O’Leary 62. Handbook of Local Government Administration, edited by John J. Gargan 63. Handbook of Administrative Communication, edited by James L. Garnett and Alexander Kouzmin 64. Public Budgeting and Finance: Fourth Edition, Revised and Expanded, edited by Robert T. Golembiewski and Jack Rabin 65. Handbook of Public Administration: Second Edition, edited by Jack Rabin, W. Bartley Hildreth, and Gerald J. Miller 66. Handbook of Organization Theory and Management: The Philosophical Approach, edited by Thomas D. Lynch and Todd J. Dicker 67. Handbook of Public Finance, edited by Fred Thompson and Mark T. Green 68. Organizational Behavior and Public Management: Third Edition, Revised and Expanded, Michael L. Vasu, Debra W. Stewart, and G. David Garson 69. Handbook of Economic Development, edited by Kuotsai Tom Liou 70. Handbook of Health Administration and Policy, edited by Anne Osborne Kilpatrick and James A. Johnson 71. Handbook of Research Methods in Public Administration, edited by Gerald J. Miller and Marcia L. Whicker 72. Handbook on Taxation, edited by W. Bartley Hildreth and James A. Richardson 73. Handbook of Comparative Public Administration in the Asia-Pacific Basin, edited by Hoi-kwok Wong and Hon S. Chan 74. Handbook of Global Environmental Policy and Administration, edited by Dennis L. Soden and Brent S. Steel 75. Handbook of State Government Administration, edited by John J. Gargan 76. Handbook of Global Legal Policy, edited by Stuart S. Nagel 77. Handbook of Public Information Systems, edited by G. David Garson 78. Handbook of Global Economic Policy, edited by Stuart S. Nagel 79. Handbook of Strategic Management: Second Edition, Revised and Expanded, edited by Jack Rabin, Gerald J. Miller, and W. Bartley Hildreth

80. Handbook of Global International Policy, edited by Stuart S. Nagel 81. Handbook of Organizational Consultation: Second Edition, Revised and Expanded, edited by Robert T. Golembiewski 82. Handbook of Global Political Policy, edited by Stuart S. Nagel 83. Handbook of Global Technology Policy, edited by Stuart S. Nagel 84. Handbook of Criminal Justice Administration, edited by Toni DuPontMorales, Michael K. Hooper, and Judy H. Schmidt 85. Labor Relations in the Public Sector: Third Edition, edited by Richard C. Kearney 86. Handbook of Administrative Ethics: Second Edition, Revised and Expanded, edited by Terry L. Cooper 87. Handbook of Organizational Behavior: Second Edition, Revised and Expanded, edited by Robert T. Golembiewski 88. Handbook of Global Social Policy, edited by Stuart S. Nagel and Amy Robb 89. Public Administration: A Comparative Perspective, Sixth Edition, Ferrel Heady 90. Handbook of Public Quality Management, edited by Ronald J. Stupak and Peter M. Leitner 91. Handbook of Public Management Practice and Reform, edited by Kuotsai Tom Liou 92. Personnel Management in Government: Politics and Process, Fifth Edition, Jay M. Shafritz, Norma M. Riccucci, David H. Rosenbloom, Katherine C. Naff, and Albert C. Hyde 93. Handbook of Crisis and Emergency Management, edited by Ali Farazmand 94. Handbook of Comparative and Development Public Administration: Second Edition, Revised and Expanded, edited by Ali Farazmand 95. Financial Planning and Management in Public Organizations, Alan Walter Steiss and ‘Emeka O. Cyprian Nwagwu 96. Handbook of International Health Care Systems, edited by Khi V. Thai, Edward T. Wimberley, and Sharon M. McManus 97. Handbook of Monetary Policy, edited by Jack Rabin and Glenn L. Stevens 98. Handbook of Fiscal Policy, edited by Jack Rabin and Glenn L. Stevens 99. Public Administration: An Interdisciplinary Critical Analysis, edited by Eran Vigoda 100. Ironies in Organizational Development: Second Edition, Revised and Expanded, edited by Robert T. Golembiewski 101. Science and Technology of Terrorism and Counterterrorism, edited by Tushar K. Ghosh, Mark A. Prelas, Dabir S. Viswanath, and Sudarshan K. Loyalka 102. Strategic Management for Public and Nonprofit Organizations, Alan Walter Steiss 103. Case Studies in Public Budgeting and Financial Management: Second Edition, Revised and Expanded, edited by Aman Khan and W. Bartley Hildreth

Additional Volumes in Preparation Principles and Practices of Public Administration, edited by Jack Rabin, Robert F. Munzenrider, and Sherrie M. Bartell Handbook of Developmental Policy Studies, edited by Stuart S. Nagel Handbook of Conflict Management, edited by William J. Pammer, Jr., and Jerri Killian

Annals of Public Administration 1. Public Administration: History and Theory in Contemporary Perspective, edited by Joseph A. Uveges, Jr. 2. Public Administration Education in Transition, edited by Thomas Vocino and Richard Heimovics 3. Centenary Issues of the Pendleton Act of 1883, edited by David H. Rosenbloom with the assistance of Mark A. Emmert 4. Intergovernmental Relations in the 1980s, edited by Richard H. Leach 5. Criminal Justice Administration: Linking Practice and Research, edited by William A. Jones, Jr.

To the people who stimulated my awareness of international policy, including: Harold Guetzkow, Ernst Haas, Charles Lerche, Frank Magruder, Frederick Schuman, and Quincy Wright.

Preface

This handbook on global international policy is one in a set of six global policy handbooks. The other five deal with economic, technology, social, political, and legal policy. Public policy studies in the past have tended to emphasize domestic policy rather than cross-national policy. This has been especially true of American policy studies, which tend to be especially nation-bound. This is also true, to some extent, of policy studies in France, Russia, China, Brazil, and elsewhere. When American policy studies show an interest in other countries, these other countries tend to be exclusively Western European countries. This sixvolume set, however, will include all the regions of the world, consisting of Africa, Asia, Eastern Europe, Latin America, North America, and Western Europe. Public policy studies also tend to place a lot of emphasis on methods of analysis and the policy process. They do not get much into substance, especially at the professional or scholarly level, as contrasted to undergraduate textbooks. That is so because scholars have traditionally considered substance to be not as philosophical or theoretical as methods or processes. In this six-volume set, however, each volume is devoted to a different substantive field, including economic, technology, social, political, international, and legal policy. The discussions are more theoretical than most substantive discussions because they emphasize comparisons across places, across times, and across different substantive fields. Furthermore, the discussions are practical in terms of applicability to real-world problems. Scholars and others who study comparative government unfortunately tend to overemphasize structures like federalism, separation of powers, legislatures, v

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chief executives, and supreme courts while neglecting public policy, which this series emphasizes. Comparative government scholars also tend to emphasize area studies which involve specialization in a single country or subregion, as contrasted to this set of six volumes which cuts across six regions and six policy fields. Thus the key objective of this set is to encourage more cross-national and cross-policy research and applications. The set not only advocates more of this kind of research but practices what it advocates by providing almost 200 studies in six volumes which average about 30 studies per volume. This should be a landmark set in the disciplines of both public policy studies and cross-national studies. Stuart S. Nagel

Contents

Preface Contributors

1. International Policy: An Introduction Stuart S. Nagel 2. What Price Empire? A Study of Costs and Benefits of American Involvement in Zaire During the Mobutu Era John F. Clark

v xi

1

21

3. The Conflict in Eritrea Reconsidered Seifudein Adem

43

4. Spanish Enclaves in North Africa Heriberto Cairo

57

5. A Problem-Centered Approach for Understanding Foreign Policy: Some Examples from U.S. Foreign Policy Toward Southern Africa Helen E. Purkitt

79

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Contents

6. Beginning and Ending the Cold War in East Asia Gavan McCormack

103

7. Increasing the Strategic Compatibility of the ROK and DPRK Laure Paquette

119

8. Defense by Other Means: Australia’s Arms Control and Disarmament Diplomacy Ramesh Thakur 9. A Palestinian State: Evaluating the Risks Efraim Inbar 10. Nationalism Against Lost Legitimacy: Slovenes Versus the Yugoslav Military Ljubica Jelusˇic˘ 11. Russian Peacekeeping Joseph L. Nogee

143

165

185

203

12. From the Brezhnev Doctrine to Partnership: The New International Relations of Eastern Europe Gregory O. Hall

229

13. Civil-Military Relations from Westphalia to the European Union Glen Segell

251

14. The European Public and Post–Cold War Security Policy Andrew H. Ziegler, Jr.

287

15. National Culture or International Trade? The Labour Government’s Media Policies Des Freedman

311

16. International Integration/Subnational Conflict: The Zapatistas and International Relations J. Donovan Malley

335

17. Wars and the Military: Civil Instruments for Politics in Colombia Adolfo Leo´n Atehortu´a Cruz

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Contents

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18. Elite Images and Post–Cold War Foreign Policy DecisionMaking: The United States in Haiti Dorcas Eva McCoy

367

19. Emerging Trends in International Security: American Foreign Policy Options Robert H. Puckett

387

20. U.S. Foreign Exchange Interventions: Domestic Politics and International Factors Quan Li

393

21. Security Policy at the Dawn of the Nuclear Age: The Case of the Aircraft Nuclear Propulsion Project Carolyn C. James

417

22. Expanding the Existing Nuclear Disarmament Regime: Prospects for Bilateral U.S.–Russian Cooperation George A. MacLean

439

23. Economic Development and International Transportation Along the Border: Exploring Feasibility Issues for State and Local Governments Nadia Rubaii-Barrett and William A. Taggart

Index

463

483

Contributors

Seifudein Adem Institute of Social Sciences, University of Tsukuba, Ibaraki, Japan Heriberto Cairo Facultad de Ciencias Polı´ticas y Sociologı´a, Universidad Complutense de Madrid, Madrid, Spain John F. Clark Department of International Relations, Florida International University, Miami, Florida Adolfo Leo´n Atehortu´a Cruz Colombia Des Freedman don, England

Estudios Juridicos, Universidad del Valle, Cali,

School of Social Sciences, University of North London, Lon-

Gregory O. Hall Department of Political Science, St. Mary’s College of Maryland, St. Mary’s City, Maryland Efraim Inbar Department of Political Science, Bar-Ilan University, Ramat Gan, Israel Carolyn C. James International Institute of Theoretical and Applied Physics, Iowa State University, Ames, Iowa xi

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Contributors

Ljubica Jelusˇic˘ Defence Studies Division, Department of Political Sciences, Faculty of Social Sciences, University of Ljubljana, Ljubljana, Slovenia Quan Li Department of Political Science, Pennsylvania State University, University Park, Pennsylvania George A. MacLean Department of Political Studies, University of Manitoba, Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada J. Donovan Malley Department of Political Science, University of Wisconsin– Madison, Madison, Wisconsin Gavan McCormack Research School of Pacific and Asian Studies, Australian National University, Canberra, Australia Dorcas Eva McCoy Department of Political Science, University of Central Florida, Orlando, Florida Stuart S. Nagel Department of Political Science, University of Illinois, Urbana, Illinois Joseph L. Nogee Department of Political Science, University of Houston, Houston, Texas Laure Paquette Department of Political Science, Lakehead University, Thunder Bay, Ontario, Canada Robert H. Puckett Department of Political Science, Indiana State University, Terre Haute, Indiana Helen E. Purkitt Political Science Department, United States Naval Academy, Annapolis, Maryland Nadia Rubaii-Barrett Department of Government, New Mexico State University, Las Cruces, New Mexico Glen Segell

Institute of Security Policy, London, England

William A. Taggart Department of Government, New Mexico State University, Las Cruces, New Mexico

Contributors

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Ramesh Thakur Department of Peace and Governance, United Nations University, Tokyo, Japan Andrew H. Ziegler, Jr. Department of Political Science, Methodist College, Fayetteville, North Carolina

1 International Policy An Introduction Stuart S. Nagel University of Illinois, Urbana, Illinois

Win-win or super-optimizing analysis of public policy problems tries to find feasible solutions which can enable conservatives, liberals, and other major viewpoints to come out ahead of their best initial expectations simultaneously. The elements in the analysis include (1) conservative goals and alternatives, (2) liberal goals and alternatives, (3) relations between the major alternatives and goals, (4) the development of win-win solutions, and (5) feasibility hurdles to overcome. The feasibility hurdles to be overcome include economic, administrative, political, psychological, legal, international, and technological hurdles, also the disruption of displaced firms and individuals. As applied to international policy we are referring to (1) international competitiveness, (2) tariff reduction, (3) making provisions for workers displaced as a result of tariff reduction, (4) immigration policy, (5) international refugees, (6) volunteerism in technical assistance, (7) foreign factories in the United States, (8) U.S. factories going abroad, (9) dollar exchange rates, (10) international economic communities, and (11) exporting democracy in making foreign policy decisions.1

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I. INTERNATIONAL POLICY: THE U.S. AND THE UNITED NATIONS A. Conservative and Liberal Positions The key conservative goal in this context, relating to the role of the United States in helping the United Nations to bring peace to Bosnia, is to save U.S. dollars and save lives. The conservatives weren’t always so oriented toward isolation. They were very interventionist back in the days of the cold war, especially in regard to curtailing the expansion of the Soviet Union. But at the present time, they do espouse more of an isolationist, less of an intervention, policy than liberals do. The conservative alternative for saving U.S. dollars and lives is to keep U.S. troops at home. They feel it’s more important to develop the United States first. The liberals, on the other hand, are more oriented toward being the policemen of the world traveling around with the goal of promoting world peace (Table 1). More idealistic or maybe more naive, they believe in what is sometimes referred to as a social worker ideology, which necessitates intervention. B. Win-Win Solution The win-win solution saves U.S. dollars, U.S. lives, and promotes world peace simultaneously. An approach recommended by some who specialize in international relations is the use of a volunteer UN force. This would result in American troops never being sent to Bosnia, Somalia, or anywhere else. The United Nations

Table 1 The U.S. and UN Peacekeeping Criteria

Alternatives Conservative: Isolationism, minimum U.S. involvement Liberal: Interventionism, substantial U.S. involvement Neutral: In between SOS: Volunteer UN force

Conservative: Saving U.S. dollars and lives

Liberal: Promote peace, prosperity, and democracy

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International Policy: An Introduction

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would have its own volunteer force, a force similar to the French Foreign Legion. It would consist of people from all over the world who would join partly out of idealism, partly because it pays some money. They would not be allowed to join unless they had some military experience of some kind, indicating an aptitude for military training. It would provide an opportunity for Vietnam War veterans, Russian soldiers who had fought in Afghanistan, and others to participate in a force which would be devoted to a righteous cause. The officers would be officers who had served in the militaries of their various countries. As a result there would be no American soldiers in this UN force. While Americans may join the UN force, they would be Americans acting on their own. They would be volunteering to serve. They would not be drafted or, as in the case of current Americans serving in Bosnia, ordered to go because their unit was called. These soldiers are not completely volunteers. Soldiers in the UN force would be pure volunteers, pure in the sense they would be joining with the agreement to go wherever they are sent. If they refuse to go, for ideological or other reasons, then an option can be provided where they can quit. In such a case it might be fair to have them pay back something in return for their training. Such an arrangement has many possibilities. A plan such as this hypothetical UN force has been opposed in the past by the United States because it was feared that the UN could not be trusted to have its own volunteer force. Strictly by the numbers, the UN in the past has been too much under the control of developing nations or nations under the control of the Soviet Union. But now, with the breakup of the Soviet Union, the United States dominates the UN as the only super power in the world. The volunteer force would not be a threat to the United States. Though a bit behind in its payments, the United States is the leading source of funds to the UN, which further adds to its influence. If the United States doesn’t like what the volunteer force is doing, it could just cut off the funding, use its veto power in the Security Council, or use its influence among other countries. This kind of volunteer force would prevent American lives and American dollars from being used, yet it could still be very effective in promoting world peace. It is possible that the volunteer force might call upon member countries to supply additional troops at some time, but this would be handled as the need arose. This represents another kind of winwin solution. One feasibility problem for this issue is the psychological problem. It would be conceived that such a force might represent the muscle behind some type of world government which could partly deprive the United States of its sovereignty. Some countries might fear the volunteer force will march in and take over. As with all the other obstacles, it’s necessary for this problem to be overcome if this win-win solution has any hope of being adopted. People have to realize that a UN volunteer is not be a threat to them. In no way would the people with blue helmets serving in Bosnia invade the United States.2

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II. INTERNATIONAL PROSPERITY A. Exchange of Goods 1. Improving International Competitiveness The conservative position (evident in the Bush Administration) has been to emphasize that government regulation increases business expenses and thereby reduces international competitiveness. The liberal position (evident in the Carter Administration) has been to emphasize the need to lower tariffs, break-up monopolies, and encourage more labor-management teamwork. The neutral position has been to avoid substantial changes in regulation, tariffs, and other such controversies. The SOS alternative (evident in some elements of the Clinton Administration) is to emphasize government investment in technological diffusion and the upgrading of skills (Table 2). This alternative is capable of increasing the profits of business and the wages of labor. It can also result in better products at lower prices for both domestic and international markets. 2. Evaluating Alternative Positions on Tariffs On the issue of tariffs, conservatives who believe in free competitive markets both internationally and domestically tend to favor low tariffs (Table 3). Likewise, so do liberals who have an internationalistic orientation and who recognize the mutual benefits from buying overseas goods that have low prices, high quality, and the ability to stimulate competitive activity on the part of American firms.

Table 2 International competitiveness Goals Alternatives Conservative: Decrease government regulation Liberal: 1. Lower tariffs 2. Anti-trust action 3. Labor-management teamwork Neutral: Keep as is SOS OR WIN-WIN: Government investment in technology diffusion and upgrading of skills

Conservative: Business profits

Liberal: Labor and consumers

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Table 3 Tariff Height Goals Alternatives Conservative: 1. Pro-business conservatives, high tariffs 2. Free world market conservatives, low tariffs Liberal: 1. Pro-union liberals, high tariffs 2. International liberals, low tariffs Neutral: Middling tariffs SOS OR WIN-WIN: Well-placed subsidies and tax breaks

Conservative: High businesses

Liberal: High wages

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On the other hand, conservatives who support monopolistic American businesses with their unreasonable profits are in favor of high tariffs. Likewise, prounion liberals who do not want foreign competition are also in favor of high tariffs. Traditionally, American conservatives have supported high tariffs, and American liberals have supported low tariffs. The new SOS position is to support low or no tariffs, especially to stimulate worldwide competition to the long-run benefit of more efficient production and more prosperous consumption. The object is to develop plans for well-placed subsidies and tax breaks that will enable the United States to compete effectively for world market shares without the interference and mutual downgrading of high tariffs. That especially means encouraging the adoption and diffusion of new technologies, and the upgrading of worker skills to be able to put the new technologies to good use. The result, at least in the long run, is likely to be high business profits, high workers’ wages, low consumer prices, high consumer quality, and lower tax rates in view of the increased Gross National Product (GNP) as a tax base. 3. Getting Japan and Other Countries to Reduce Tariffs On this policy problem, conservatives and liberals have the same general goal of reducing foreign tariffs. In order to be a controversy, there must be a difference of opinion as to the best alternative to use in achieving that goal. The conservative position tends to emphasize retaliatory raising of tariffs as the most effective way of reducing foreign tariffs. The liberal position tends

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to emphasize negotiation and bargaining without explicit threats, but with promises of mutual tariff reduction. The neutral position is some of both. There is a controversy here because conservatives and liberals perceive differently the relations between the alternatives and their shared goal. The conservative perception is that threats will accomplish their goals, but conciliatory negotiation will not. The liberals perceive that negotiating is more likely to work well, and that threats will not. In calculating the total scores, conservatives give more weight to their perceptions than to the perceptions of liberals. Likewise, liberals give more weight to their perceptions. On a 1–3 scale, each group gives a weight or multiplier of about 3 to its own perceptions, and a weight of about 1 to the other group’s perceptions. The super optimum solution (SOS) should be perceived as doing better than the neutral alternative by both conservatives and liberals (see Table 4). That enables the SOS to score higher on the conservative totals than the conservative alternative, and higher on the liberal totals than the liberal alternative. The SOS might include a subsidy to enable efficient domestic producers to bypass the foreign tariff. For example, if U.S. rice producers are unable to sell to Japanese consumers because there is a $1 tariff on each bushel of rice, then it might be worthwhile for the U.S. government to subsidize the rice farmers to the extent of $.90 per bushel. This may be enough to enable the U.S. rice produc-

Table 4 Getting Reduced Tariffs Goals

Alternatives Conservative: Threaten retaliatory tariff increase Liberal: Negotiating mutual tariff reduction Neutral: Some of both SOS OR WIN-WIN: 1. Subsidy to bypass foreign tariffs 2. Positive incentives

Conservative: 1. Reducing foreign tariffs 2. Conservative perception

Liberal: 1. Reducing foreign tariffs 2. Liberal perception

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International Policy: An Introduction

7

ers to make a profit in spite of the Japanese tariff. It would be worth it to the U.S. government if the subsidy enables a lot of people to stay employed and brings in a large amount of income to add to the GNP. Otherwise, the subsidy may not be cost-effective. Such a subsidy is more likely to make sense where the Japanese government is under intense pressure from a politically powerful Japanese industry to retain the tariff. The SOS can also include positive incentives. An example might be that the U.S. will agree to share in developing or marketing a new technology with Japan in return for a lowering of the tariff on rice. That positive incentive may be enough to stimulate the Japanese government to find a different way to subsidize Japanese rice farmers, rather than providing them with a tariff which hurts Japanese food consumption. 4. Negotiating Free Trade in Farm Products Table 5 is based on a September, 1993 news report that the United States was seeking to have France reduce its subsidies to French soybean farmers. A $1 subsidy can have the same effect as a $1 tariff. In the case of the $1 tariff, a $2 quantity of U.S. soybeans costs the French consumer $3, which is higher than the $2.50 that the French farmer charges. In the case of the $1 subsidy, the French farmer can make a profit by charging $1.50, which undercuts the $2 charged by the American farmer. The conservative U.S. negotiator would threaten a big tariff increase on French wines to force the soybean subsidy down. That may help American wine

Table 5 Negotiating Food Sales Outlets Goals

Alternatives Conservative: Retaliatory tariff increases (⫹20%) Liberal: Lower U.S. tariffs without return (⫺20%) Neutral: Keep tariffs as they are SOS OR WIN-WIN: Reciprocal tariff reduction

Conservative: Aid U.S. producers (raise profits)

Liberal: Aid U.S. consumers (lower prices)

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producers, but it hurts American wine consumers. The liberal U.S. negotiator may lower U.S. wine tariffs (expecting France to reciprocate) without receiving much in return. That hurts U.S. wine producers, but it helps American wine consumers. The SOS may be to agree to lower the U.S. tariff on French wines if France will lower the subsidy on French soybeans. The result is that U.S. soybean producers, U.S. wine consumers, and French soybean consumers are all helped. The reciprocal arrangement is a net plus to the United States if we have more soybean producers than wine producers, and if the U.S. wine producers can be diverted into something more profitable. The arrangement is also a net plus to France if they have more wine producers than soybean producers, and the French soybean producers can be diverted into something more profitable. This kind of mutually beneficial reciprocal tariff reduction is a good example of an SOS solution where all sides come out ahead. This can be contrasted to a neutral compromise between a retaliatory increase and a unilateral decrease. Such a compromise which results in retaining the tariffs may hurt U.S. soybean producers, U.S. wine consumers, French wine producers, and French soybean consumers. The harm is greater than a reciprocal reduction, although not so bad as a retaliatory tariff increase of French wines, which may even increase French farm subsidies, rather than reduce them. 5. The North American Free Trade Agreement U.S. exporters and investors are helped by free trade with Mexico because (1) Mexicans can buy more U.S. products if there are no Mexican tariffs artificially raising the price of American products, (2) Mexicans can buy more U.S. products if they have more income as a result of working in factories that have expanded as a result of American capital, and (3) U.S. investors can make money and add to the U.S. GNP by investing in Mexican factories which are now able to export to the United States because U.S. tariffs have been dropped. U.S. consumers are helped by free trade with Mexico because (1) they can buy products made in Mexico at lower prices because they no longer have a U.S. tariff artificially raising the prices, (2) they can benefit from low prices that should result from decreased labor expenses associated with some products made in Mexico, possibly stimulated with American capital, and (3) U.S. consumers include business firms that buy producer goods less expensively from Mexico and thereby make American firms more internationally competitive. U.S. firms and workers who are not sufficiently competitive would be hurt by the North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA), but this can be minimized by (1) retraining workers and firms so they can be more competitive in their old products or new products, (2) side agreements with Mexico that require upgrading of labor standards in Mexico, and (3) disrupted workers and firms may

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benefit from the increased prosperity of the United States as a result of more exporting, better overseas investing, and better buys for U.S. consumers. Mexicans can benefit in the same ways as Americans by just substituting for the three goals (see Table 6) (1) non-competitive Mexican (2) Mexican exporters and investors, firms and workers, and (3) Mexican consumers. The opponents of NAFTA are referred to in Table 6 as conservatives, and the advocates are referred to as liberals. That is done partly to simplify the calculation of the tools. It is also in accordance with the fact that conservatives have traditionally been in favor of high tariffs, although in recent years that is less true than in the period of 1800 through the 1930s. B. Exchange of People 1. U.S. Immigration Policy Saying that conservatives favor more restrictions on immigration than liberals do is not quite true. Those who favor restrictions do tend to be people who emphasize racial purity, but also working people who resist immigrant competition.

Table 6 NAFTA Goals

Alternatives Conservative: 1. Opponents 2. Labor unions and weak business firms Liberal: 1. Advocates 2. Intellectual liberals 3. Business interests Neutral: Middling SOS OR WIN-WIN: 1. Free trade 2. Retraining 3. Side agreements 4. Expanding the economy

Conservative: Non-competitive U.S. firms and workers

Liberal: 1. U.S. exporters and investors 2. U.S. consumers

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Likewise, those who favor relaxing restrictions may be liberals who want to provide opportunities to minority people from developing nations, but also conservative business people who welcome cheap labor (Table 7). Greatly restricting immigration could refer to having very low quotas for different parts of the world. It could refer to requiring jobs in advance or having relatives in the United States. Mildly restricting immigration means allowing much higher immigration figures and not requiring jobs in advance. Greatly restricting immigration does tend to avoid unemployment of American workers at least in the short run. In the long run, ambitious immigrants may enhance the economy so as to provide more employment opportunities. Mildly restricting immigration does welcome ambitious people, although it may also welcome people who could be a drain on the economy. An SOS solution that enables all sides to come out ahead might emphasize jobs for displaced workers. That would mean special programs to upgrade the skills or workers in areas where there is high immigration. An SOS solution might also emphasize ambition criteria in determining who is eligible to come to the United States. Such criteria might favor those who are themselves seeking higher education or educational opportunities for their children. Such criteria might exclude people who have a high probability of being on public aid, as indicated by various predictive characteristics, including responses to interviews. If an immigrant does commit a crime or wrongly applies for public aid, he can be sent back with both a free ticket and a suspended sentence to be reinstituted if he breaks the terms of the sentence.

Table 7 Immigration Goals

Alternatives Conservative: Greatly restrict immigration Liberal: Mildly restrict immigration Neutral: In-between SOS OR WIN-WIN: Jobs for displaced workers and ambition criteria

Conservative: Avoid unemployment

Liberal: Welcome ambitious people

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2. International Refugees International refugees are people who have been forced out of their nations by war or natural disasters, and they are at least temporarily waiting to return, or to go on elsewhere (Table 8). Emigrants are people who are voluntarily leaving their homes and going to other nations where they are considered immigrants. The conservative position is to keep refugees out partly to protect national purity, but also to avoid competition for jobs. The liberal position is to let refugees in partly to help them, out of sympathy, but also in recognition that they may provide useful labor and innovative ideas through themselves or their children. The compromise is to let some refugees in, but on a selective basis with restrictions. The SOS solution might be to upgrade the skills of international refugees through organized international efforts, possibly under the direction of the United Nations. With greater skills, the refugees might be more acceptable to both conservatives and liberals, given their increased productivity and ability to enhance the economies of the countries to which the refugees go. 3. Volunteerism in Technical Assistance Hiring expensive, experienced technicians for technical assistance programs may be highly effective in producing results desired by liberals, but it is contrary to cost-saving desired by conservatives. Relying on the initiative of idealistic volunteers like missionaries may not be effective, but would be cost-efficient. The

Table 8 Refugees Goals

Alternatives Conservative: Refugees out Liberal: Refugees in Neutral: Between SOS OR WIN-WIN: Upgrade skills

Conservative: Protect national purity

Liberal: Promote quality of life of refugees and society

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neutral compromise is to have volunteers in the field, but salaried professionals in Washington government agencies like the Peace Corps (Table 9). Each major alternative can be referred to as Position 1 and Position 2, rather than as conservative or liberal. Position 1 (relying on volunteers) is conservative in having low cost, but not conservative in producing pro-business results. Position 2 (relying on paid professionals) is liberal or generous in spending, but not liberal in results in being pro-labor or pro-consumer. The SOS alternative might be to work through professional associations. For example, engineering associations would actively recruit engineering volunteers. Lawyer associations would recruit lawyer volunteers, and so on. One would thereby get high experts for the price of idealistic volunteers. C. Exchange of Factories 1. Foreign Factories in the United States The basic issue here is whether encouraging foreign-owned factories to locate in the United States provides more benefits than costs in terms of national employment and income (Table 10). The benefits mainly consist of providing jobs for Americans who work in factories. The costs mainly consist of increasing the competitiveness of foreign firms to take away American customers from American firms and thereby decrease employment in those American firms. Encouragement of foreign-owned factories could consist of tax benefits and subsidies or simply being allowed in on an equal basis with American factories. The issue is similar to the issue of allowing foreign products into the United States on an equal basis with American products, meaning no tariffs or other restrictions. Doing so is good for the American consumer. It also stimulates

Table 9 Volunteerism Goals

Alternatives Conservative: Buy technical assistance Liberal: Rely on do gooders Neutral: Volunteerism agencies, e.g., Peace Corps SOS or win-win: Work through professional associations

Conservative: Cost-saving and efficiency

Liberal: Effectiveness

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Table 10 Foreign Factories in the United States Goals Alternatives Conservative: No encouragement for foreign factories in U.S. Liberal: Substantial encouragement Neutral: In between SOS or win-win: Improve competitiveness of U.S. firms

Conservative: U.S. profits

Liberal: U.S. jobs

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American business to operate more efficiently. It also facilitates American firms in being able to sell overseas. In addition to the same consumer benefits of now having tariffs on foreign products, encouraging foreign-owned factories in the United States provides American job opportunities. It does, however, increase foreign competitiveness by reducing their transportation costs. It may also make American consumers more willing to buy foreign products knowing that the products have been made in the United States, even though the firm is headquartered elsewhere. There is currently division within the Clinton Administration on this issue, but those in favor of encouraging foreign-owned factories are winning on the grounds that there is a net increase in jobs and other benefits. The Clinton compromise may result in a net increase in jobs, but (at least in the short run) it also results in a decrease in the profits of competing American businesses. Although, the net increase in jobs may result in an overall increase in the GNP, more than offsetting the decrease in profits. An SOS solution would seek to increase both U.S. jobs (thereby pleasing liberals) and U.S. profits (thereby pleasing conservatives). Such a solution would permit foreign-owned factories, with the jobs that they offer, to locate in the United States. At the same time though, public policy would seek to improve the competitiveness of U.S. firms so they would not be driven out of business by the foreign-owned factories. That could be done by establishing training programs to upgrade the skills of the workers. The business firms could also be given funding to facilitate adopting new, more efficient technologies. This combination of training and technologies should enable the firms resisting foreignowned factories to be able to withstand the competition. At the same time, there is a big enough market to allow the incoming foreign factories to be profitable.

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An SOS solution might also provide temporary investment money to enable American firms to build factories overseas to be closer to foreign markets. That may be a separate issue, although related. Doing so provides jobs for foreign workers. There may still be a net gain to the U.S. GNP if the foreign sales bring in U.S. income that more than offsets the loss of jobs to foreign workers. This may be especially so if U.S. factories overseas are supplemented by an expansion of related factories in the United States in order to supply those overseas factories with parts and related products. 2. U.S. Factories Going Abroad The problem here is whether there should be any restrictions or encouragement relating to American companies locating factories abroad (Table 11). The conservative position is no restrictions. The liberal position is to prohibit U.S. firms from locating abroad when doing so involves going below American fair labor standards as in the Fair Labor Standards Act (FLSA) statutes. A compromise position would be to allow companies to locate factories abroad with a relaxing of the FLSA standards but still making them at least partly applicable. Conservatives are interested in promoting business profits. Liberals are interested in promoting employment for American labor under good wages and working conditions. Business profits are promoted if an overseas factory has closer access to customers, raw materials, or skilled inexpensive labor. Those profits become part of an increased U.S. national income. Locating factories over-

Table 11 U.S. Factories Abroad Goals Alternatives Conservative: No constraints Liberal: Prohibit U.S. firms abroad from violating fair labor standards Neutral: No free trade agreements without fair labor guarantees SOS or win-win 1. Free trade agreements with guarantees 2. Import tax on goods made with unfair labor standards

Conservative: Business profits

Liberal: Good working conditions

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International Policy: An Introduction

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seas can also facilitate selling abroad which helps in the trade deficit whereby we would otherwise be buying substantially more than we would be selling. The U.S. factories operating abroad may be producing products especially for the American market which can be sold at a lower price to Americans than if the products were made in factories located in the United States, where labor and resources might be more expensive. The disruption to American employment can be reduced in various ways. One is to have free trade agreements with foreign countries whereby they agree to establish and enforce fair labor standards on American companies and other companies. Another approach is to subsidize the upgrading of relevant American labor skills to make American labor more competitive, or to enable displaced workers to go into other higher paying jobs. A third approach might be to place an import tax on goods made with unfair labor standards by U.S.-owned companies or others. The companies could avoid the tax by upgrading their foreign labor standards. The three-part approach could be considered as moving in a super-optimum direction where both business and labor come out ahead. In the long run, the free movement of goods and factories across international boundaries would have the effect of raising the national income of all the countries involved, thereby producing a more general super-optimum solution. The problem of U.S. factories going abroad especially relates to factories moving to developing nations like Mexico or Southeast Asia. A partial justification is that doing so helps those developing nations to build their economies so they can become better customers for American products, better suppliers to American producers and consumers, and better outlets for American investment. For example, wages earned by Mexican workers in U.S. factories located in Mexico can be an important part of the ability of Mexicans to buy American goods.

D. General Exchange Facilitators 1. Dollar Exchange Rates A high dollar value means that $1 will buy many units of the currencies of other countries (Table 12). A low dollar value means that $1 will buy relatively few units of the countries. If the dollar has a relatively high value, then we have difficulty selling to other countries because they have to give a lot of units of their currencies in order to get a dollar. If the dollar has relatively low value, then we have difficulty buying from other countries because Americans have to give a lot of dollars in order to get the currencies of other countries. If we concentrate on improving the quality and prices of American goods, then we can sell a lot of American goods to other countries without lowering the value of the dollar. A big effect of selling a lot more to other countries is the

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Table 12 Value of the Dollar Goals

Alternatives Conservative: High dollar value Liberal: Low dollar value Neutral: Middle dollar value SOS or win-win: Improve quality and price of U.S. goods

Conservative: Buy from other countries

Liberal Sell to other countries

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increase in the American national income. That enables us to have a lot more money to buy from other countries without raising the value of the dollar. Thus, improving the quality and price of American goods through upgrading technologies and skills is a good SOS solution because it can achieve both goals of increased buying and increased selling simultaneously. This is in contrast to manipulating the value of the dollar which achieves one goal but does not achieve the other goal in a typical tradeoff pattern. 2. International Economic Communities The relations between each alternative and each goal in creating international economic communities can be shown on a 1-5 relations scale (Table 13). A 5 means highly conducive to the goal, a 4 means mildly conductive, a 3 means neither conducive nor adverse, a 2 means mildly adverse, and a 1 means highly adverse to the goal. The conservative goal is given a weight or multiplier of 3 by conservatives on a 1-3 scale of weights, but a weight of 1 by liberals. The liberal goal is given a weight or multiplier of 1 by conservatives, but a weight of 3 by liberals. A single plus sign shows the winning alternative on the liberal totals before considering the SOS alternative. It is likely to be the liberal alternative. A single plus sign can also show the alternative that wins on the conservative totals before considering the SOS alternative. It is likely to be the conservative alternative. Double plus signs can show the alternative or alternatives that win on each total after the super-optimum solution (SOS) is considered. The SOS should score

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Table 13 International Economic Communities Goals

Alternatives Conservative: Nationalism and separatism Liberal: One world or world government Neutral: Regional government SOS or win-win: Economic community

Conservative: National identity and stature

Liberal: Quality of life in terms of jobs and consumer goods

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higher than both the former conservative winner on the conservative totals and simultaneously higher than the former liberal winner on the liberal totals. The creation of an international economic community (IEC) scores well on the conservative goal of national identity and stature. No sovereignty is given up. Each member of the community gains some stature by being associated with a larger, more powerful body than itself. The IEC also promotes the liberal goal of quality of life in terms of jobs and consumer goods by (1) allowing for the free flow of job applicants across international boundaries, (2) removing tariff barriers to higher consumer standards of living, and (3) providing for a better division of labor among the countries which facilitates more jobs and more consumer goods.3

III. EXPORTING DEMOCRACY A. Humanitarian Versus National Interest Criteria in Making Foreign Policy Decisions When people differ on foreign policy the differences are not that liberals are in favor of a kind of soft or pacifist or humanitarian foreign policy and the conservatives are in favor of a tough foreign policy. That is an absolute myth. It all depends on who the enemy is. It is interesting how flexible conservatives can be when

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the enemy is Nazi Germany in the 1930s, and how tough they can be when the enemy is Communist Russia in the 1960s or 1970s. Also, the distinction between national interest and humanitarian criteria should not be considered the same thing as hard-line and pacifist (Table 14). One can advocate a humanitarian approach for highly mercenary, hard-nosed reasons. The material in the SOS Policy book (see note 1) does that partly by saying that humanitarian foreign policy is good business. We do much better business with democratic governments than with dictatorial ones. We can defend encouraging democracy on do-gooder grounds, but that is normally not very effective. If it can be defended on money-in-the-pocket grounds, it gets more support. Also, from a purely military perspective, promoting democracy is good. We have better allies among democratic countries than among dictatorial countries. France and England are more likely to be allies of the United States in any world conflict than whatever dictatorships are left in the world, or past ones like Franco’s Spain. By definition, nationalistic dictators are not very cooperative. One thing that keeps fascists from taking over the world is they are so nationalistic they cannot work well with each other, whereas democracies can. If one talks about the issue as being national interest versus humanitarian interest, then we really have a tradeoff situation.

Table 14 Promoting International Democracy Especially China Post-Cold War Goals

Alternatives Conservative: Trade without free speech conditions Liberal: Trade but with free speech conditions SOS or win-win: 1. Trade 2. Tariff reduction conditions 3. Freedom of religion conditions 4. Free speech conditions

Conservative: Business profits

Liberal: Democracy including free speech and freedom of religion

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Notes: Trade also leads to conditions 2, 3, and 4. Conditions 2, 3, and 4 may be agreed to in return for a reduction in charges of copyright piracy and for an increase in technology transfer (including student exchange); more important than aid. Winners are U.S. conservatives, U.S. liberals, China, and other countries.

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1. The national interest people sound like some kind of hard-hearted group that wants to be friends with any dictator that is pro-American. 2. The humanitarian interest people sound like a bunch of softies that want to maybe go to war on behalf of anybody that claims to be in favor of democracy, although the usual humanitarian types just endorse democratic governments but are not willing to fight for them. They still come out as being naive regardless whether they are pacifists or aggressive humanitarians. 3. When the issue is stated in those terms, it is hard to find a compromise. With a compromise, the national interest people sound like they are giving up the national interest, and the humanitarian people sound like they are being inhumane. One way to decrease the possibility of a compromise or an SOS solution is to label one side Total Righteousness I, and the other side Total Righteousness II. The point made here is not so much that talking in terms of national interest versus humanitarian interest leads to an inherent tradeoff conflict. One point that can be made is that the people who claim to be advocating the national interest are usually advocating their own ideological interest in the sense that both liberals and conservatives tend to take a hard-line, hawkish position depending on who the external enemy is. Likewise, the humanitarians are highly flexible depending on who the external enemy is. Conservatives may show great humanitarian concern for what is going to happen to blacks in South Africa if there is a U.S. boycott of South African products. They do not, however, show such interest about blacks in the United States. Different distinctions: 1. Truly hawkish people and truly pacifist people that are hawkish no matter who the enemy is and that are pacifist no matter who the enemy is. 2. Hawks that flip-flop depending on who the enemy is, and likewise with pacifists. 3. Those who advocate a national interest who support dictators and those who advocate a national interest who support democratic governments. 4. We can also have pacifists who support democratic governments but not dictators, although they will support either democratic socialistic or democratic capitalistic governments. In other words, in determining where the flipflops occur, one may need to think in terms of capitalism versus socialism and democracy versus dictatorship. A super-pacifist will support not going to war against Hitler. Likewise, a super-hawk would support going to war against Canada if Canada says something nasty, regardless what effect going to war has on America’s economic interest or whether the other country is capitalistic, socialistic, dictatorial or democratic. The super-hawk overreacts to insults regardless where they come from. The common hawk only overreacts to insults if they come from, for example, a communist government, but this type of person thinks nothing of the pro-American Turkish

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government torturing American prisoners as long as they stay pro-American with regard to allowing American air bases. That is one reason the cold war hawks do not like Amnesty International, because AI finds fault with pro-American governments at times, and even with the United States government. This introduction is not meant so much to be a taxonomy of hawks and doves and national interest people versus humanitarian people. It is meant to talk about how supporting democracy in dispute resolution and foreign policy is super-optimum solution. It simultaneously promotes both the national interest and humanitarian considerations.4 This Handbook on International Policy contains chapters dealing with the above international issues and other international issues. The chapters are organized in terms of international policy in Africa, Asia, East Europe, and Latin and North America.

NOTES 1. For further details on win-win analysis, see Nagel, S. (1997). Super-Optimum Solutions and Win-Win Policy: Basic Concepts and Principles. Westport, CT: Quorum; Nagel, S. (1998). Public Policy Evaluation: Making Super-Optimum Decision. Aldershot, UK: Ashgate; and Nagel, S. (1998). Policy Within and Across Developing Countries. Aldershot, UK: Ashgate. 2. For further details on peace policy, see Crocker, C., Hampson, F., and Aall, P. (eds.). (1996). Managing Global Chaos: Sources of and Responses to International Conflict. U.S. Institute of Peace; Carnegie Commission on Preventing Deadly Conflict. (1997). Preventing Deadly Conflict: Final Report with Executive Summary. New York: Carnegie; and Stuart Nagel, S., and Mills, M. (eds.). (1991). Systematic Analysis in Dispute Resolution. Westport, CT: Quorum. 3. On prosperity, see Blake, D. and Walters, R. (1987). The Politics of Global Economic Relations. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall; Lawrence, R., Bressand, A. and Ito, T. (eds.). (1996). Integrating National Economies: A Vision for the World Economy: Openness, Diversity, and Cohesion. Washington, DC: Brookings; and Browne, W. and Hadwiger, D. (eds.). (1986). World Food Policies: Toward Agricultural Interdependence. Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner. 4. On democracy, see Gillies, D. (1996). Between Principle and Practice: Human Rights in North-South Relations. Toronto, Canada: McGill-Queen’s; Hanski, R. and Suksi, M. (eds.). (1997). An Introduction to the International Protection of Human Rights. Turku, Finland: Institute for Human Rights; and Cingranelli, D. (ed.). (1996). Human Rights and Developing Countries. Greenwich, CT: JAI Press.

2 What Price Empire? A Study of Costs and Benefits of American Involvement in Zaire During the Mobutu Era John F. Clark Florida International University, Miami, Florida

I. METHODOLOGICAL DIFFICULTIES AND APPROACH To ask whether or not one country has benefitted, overall, from its relations with another over a thirty-two-year period reveals extremely difficult methodological problems. First, one might suppose that each country has an objective interest vis a` vis one another, particularly with regard to security, that make their needs clear. This was essentially the approach of post-World War II realism: the proverbial rational actor could figure out what security needs her state had in a given international environment, and she could calculate what alliances would be necessary. To put it only slightly differently, one could discover objective national interests that states must inevitably defend (Morgenthau 1982). In this regard, neo-realism is close to the older variety, though neo-realism proposes an even simpler formula, one that allows the national interest calculus to be made from the structure of the system alone. As Morgenthau’s 1950 work demonstrates, however, rational individuals frequently disagree over what specific policies in fact serve the national interests of states. Worse still, the concept of the ‘‘national interest’’ has been subjected to a devastating critique since the 1960s. James Rosenau (1971), for instance, provided one useful deconstruction of this term (well before deconstruction was popular). Of course, Rosenau’s decision-making approach was based on the no21

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tion that only when a particular leader determined a state’s interest could the term have any meaning. Later, many of those thoroughly schooled in, and sympathetic to, realism have taken the same approach (Bull 1977). The idea of national interest continues to be subjected to harsh critiques in contemporary research as well (Finnemore 1996). Needless to say, those who would take a constructivist approach to international relations1 challenge the realist concept of the national interest even more vigorously. If one rejects the idea of being able to identify an objective national interest, then one is left only with decision-makers and their goals, which are extremely difficult to identify and lay out (Clark 1995). Particularly over the thirty-twoyear period, during which time the specifics of goals changed frequently, one might need a completely separate study simply to outline American goals in Congo/Zaire. Moreover, focusing on the goals alone would be to ignore a key point of this study: that many of the goals themselves did not benefit the United States. This observation, of course, forces us to grope back towards some objective standard of interest, which, as we just argued, is largely, if not completely, a chimera. Accordingly, this study will make use of a common sense and conventional approach, which is to use ‘‘interests,’’ subjectively defined, as the standard. It is largely in the subjective defining of interests, of course, where the controversy lies. We shall simply ask, however, how America benefitted from its relationship with Zaire in three areas: security, economics, and diplomacy. Only the second of these can be quantified in any meaningful way, and even in that category the quantification is fraught with difficulties. Moreover, one must ask whether American investors, as well as the American economy overall, benefitted from the American relationship with Mobutu’s Zaire.2 Another methodological problem for this study is to imagine what U.S.Zairian relations might have been like if Mobutu had never come to power. This question arises because Mobutu owed the credit of his long rule largely, if not wholly, to American support. Indeed, unilateral American intervention in Zaire during the First Republic (1960–65) has been thoroughly documented (Weissman 1974; Kelley 1993). Moreover, a number of recent studies have dealt a severe blow to the formerly mainstream view that the United States supported a neutral United Nation to the Congo in 1960–1964.3 Thus, we are specifying the hypothesis question somewhat, by asking, ‘‘To what extent has the United States benefitted from its relations with Zaire given that it is largely responsible for Mobutu’s long tenure in office?’’ Returning to the question of what kind of government—and international orientation—the Congo would have evolved in the absence of American support for Mobutu, one certainly cannot know for sure. Nonetheless, a great many African nationalists, as well as sympathetic Europeans and Americans, believe that Congo’s first, freely-elected Prime Minister, Patrice Lumumba, would have sur-

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vived in power for some time without American intervention. For American policy-makers in 1960 and after this was the worse-case scenario, insofar as many believed that Lumumba would, sooner or later, orient Congo towards the Soviet Union and other communist powers (Schatzberg 1991). Accordingly, when considering what the United States may have gained from its relationship with Congo/Zaire, it is useful to consider, among other possibilities, what U.S.-Zairian relations might have been like if Lumumba had survived in power over a long tenure, as did many other African presidents of the era.

II. IMPLICATIONS OF THE CASE FOR THEORY AND POLICY This case study should be of interest not only to students of intervention or Zaire, but to those of neo-imperialism and to foreign policy analysis as well. From the 1960s to the 1980s, the focus of study on U.S. policy in Congo/Zaire has been on intervention. As Weissman (1974) and later Schraeder (1994) have demonstrated, however, the periodic interventions of the United States in Zaire, to install and maintain Mobutu, as well as the economic and rhetorical support that he has received over the years, add up to more than that; these interventions constitute, essentially, a case of international patron-client relations. There was a sort of bargain between Mobutu and various American administrations in the 1965– 1990 period: Mobutu received U.S. aid, material, and rhetoric, with which he maintained his power,4 in return for which he made his services, and those of Zaire, available to the United States. Does this case, then, constitute one of imperialism? It seems to be precisely the kind of case that Galtung (1971) had in mind in his structural definition of imperialism. For most, though, the term ‘‘clientage’’ is probably more descriptive. Nonetheless, this case is directly relevant to the vast literature on the nature of imperialism, and it does contribute to the great debates on the causes and consequences of imperialism. Thus, the case of Zaire under Mobutu is directly relevant to other cases where the United States may be cultivating clients with an eye towards gaining strategic, political and/or economic benefits. While most of the literature on imperialism has asked why do peoples organized into states seek empires, the answers to this question have always assumed an answer about the results of imperialism. For this reason, the question of imperialism is relevant to the policy analyst. One category of views on imperialism derives from the famous work of John Hobson, Imperialism (1901), Lenin (1917), who followed him, and by a host of other left-liberal critics and Marxists (Mommsen 1977). These thinkers, diverse as they are, were united in their belief that imperialism was intimately linked to capitalism, either as it misfunctioned, (Hob-

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son), or, simply, as it matured (Lenin). Moreover, as complex and diverse as their views are, the contemporary advocates of world system theory, including Amin, Galtung, Gunder Frank, and Wallerstein, among many others, continue to share this view (cf. Mommsen 1977: 113–41). Inevitably, their view is that imperialism obviously redounds to the (short-term) benefit of the imperial state, particularly its ruling class, no matter how inevitable it is that the imperial state will ultimately collapse from its internal contradictions. Only occasionally, and with limited success, have such thinkers attempted to document the economic gains that modern imperial powers derive from their empires, but all have assumed such gains. Another great category of views on imperialism stems from realist thinking about international relations. This view reverses the power-money equation of the radicals, arguing that the preeminent reasons why states need imperial control are power-strategic oriented. This view, observable in the classic works of Thucydides and Machiavelli, continues to guide the thinking of many writers on imperialism. In fact, there are two realist accounts of why great powers engage in imperialism. In the first, the propensity of a state to engage in imperialism is directly related to national power capacities, and not ideology or internal structure (Choucri and North 1975). In the second, the structure of the international system, ‘‘the logic of the anarchy’’ 5 compels states to expand outward, for strategic reasons. Under either account, the realist position holds that, though the financial costs of empire may be great, states are compelled to expand outward. Realists are far less certain than radicals that outward expansion, often imperialism, redounds to the benefit of the imperial state. Neo-mercantilism, which is essentially (realist) nationalism applied to economics, clearly does assume that states derive economic benefits from capturing markets and excluding other states from them. Political realists, however, necessarily interested in security first and foremost, are just as likely to view imperial control of foreign territories to be a drain on resources, albeit a drain justified by the strategic advantages. Hence, in this realist view, the national leader is acting rationally in the short term to protect interests, though he may be impoverishing his state further over the longer term. One realist study, Paul Kennedy’s influential book, The Rise and Decline of the Great Powers (1987), takes this latter realist approach. It is also among those rare studies that combines an explanation of the sources of imperialism with an analysis of the results. For Kennedy, the great powers enjoy their status chiefly through mastery of some cutting edge technique of production, or ability to produce products with the highest value added. This accords with the first realist account of power status (which in turn leads to expansion). In turn, his study argues that ‘‘imperial overstretch,’’ or the (expensive) tendency of great powers to be drawn outward to protect themselves, is one key cause of decline for great powers.

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A third view of imperialism derives, among other things, from the work of Joseph Schumpeter.6 Schumpeter’s claim, of course, ran contrary to both realist and radical thinking about the origins of imperialism. It contradicted Marxist thinking by insisting that states would become less imperialistic as they became more (truly) capitalist (and democratic). Indirectly, this claim also contradicts the realist view which says, essentially, that more powerful states are more likely to accumulate empires. Schumpeter argues, in essence, that imperialism is not a production of modernization, but rather a product of atavistic impulses of domination connected to lingering elements of monarchism, militarism, and mercantilism, all pre-modern and non-rational. In this view, imperialism is driven almost completely by internal forces within the imperial state, and not by circumstances created by the international environment. It coincides with the liberal view that non-democracies are both more war-prone and more imperialistic. This view most directly suggests that imperialism may not benefit the imperial state. Without explicitly arguing for such a view, one recent study of European imperialism in Africa paints a picture of imperialism driven mainly by national rivalries (Pakenham 1991), a view that corresponds partly with the Schumpeterian view and partly with the realist view. The European imperial powers in the period between 1875–1890 seemed to realize that their projects were, for the most part, money losers, in the short term. Yet they worried, rationally, that their rivals would gain economic advantage from their colonial acquisitions, and that their rivals might gain some strategic advantage over them. More importantly, however, the imperial impulse was stimulated by (non-rational) political calculations about internal politics, including notorious fights in the British and French Parliaments. This approach would not predict substantive gains for the imperial state. Each of the three approaches described here has a compelling internal logic. Moreover, each suggests something about whether imperial states should expect to reap gains from their foreign expansion. The Leninist model, and its neoimperialist successors, clearly predict that imperial states gain from the external territories that they hold; the (political) realist model suggests that imperial states may pay a great deal, materially, for their empires, while they derive strategic benefits from them; and the Schumpeterian model suggests that imperial states are likely to pay more than they gain from their efforts to control foreign territories.

III. ARGUMENTS FOR AN AMERICAN BENEFIT As noted above, there is an intriguing agreement among those who supported American relations with Mobutu, and of those who opposed it. The agreement lies in the belief that the United States has benefitted by sustaining Mobutu in power over the past thirty years. They do differ, however, on the substance of

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how the United States benefits. Loosely, their arguments correspond to the radical and realist views of imperialism, respectively. The radical group believes that American policymakers responded primarily to U.S. economic interests in installing and supporting Mobutu; they assume that American corporate interests have reaped great rewards from the U.S.-Zairian relationship. The realist group, generally believes that America reaped substantial strategic and diplomatic rewards from its relationship with Zaire under Mobutu. Meanwhile, no study has systematically reviewed the overall costs and benefits to the United States. The cases for an American economic gain have always been implied, rather than explicit, and many have been made with great subtlety and insight. Among the earliest analysts to draw a connection between U.S. business interests and American policies was Stephen Weissman (1974), author of an exceptional study of U.S. policy in the 1960–1964 period. However, Weissman implies rather than documents the connection he seeks to make. Beginning with the Eisenhower administration, he begins by noting the business connections of Secretary of State Christian Herter (Mobil Oil), Undersecretary of State Douglas Dillon (Dillon Read, others), Secretary of Defense Thomas Gates (Drexel and Co., Morgan Guaranty) and influential former Ambassador Robert Murphy (Corning Glass International; Morgan Guaranty). All of these companies had direct or indirect assets, interests in investing in the Congo or stakes in Belgian businesses, which in turn had investments in the Congo. In explaining the behavior of these policymakers, which was generally to support Belgian interests, and to support the more conservative elements in Congo, Weissman begins by stressing their strong anti-communist and deference towards America’s NATO ally, Belgium. Then, he ‘‘adds on’’ the business interest argument, usually by implication. For instance, Weissman (1974:49) says of Robert Murphy, [His] views, and similar ones prevailing in the Foreign Service, can be explained by the inclination of European-based diplomats to internalize colonialist ideology. However, it is not unimportant that Murphy gravitated toward and was selected by international business after his retirement from the Foreign Service, and that the Congo policy of Morgan Guaranty Trust was in no way different from that of Robert Murphy.

More generally, he states on the following page that, ‘‘It is not excluded that conservative perspectives on the Congo may, in some cases, have been strengthened by tangible [material] interests,’’ (Weissman 1974:50). Weissman paints a similarly subtle and intriguing picture of the Kennedy administration’s key policymakers on the Congo, including Undersecretary of State Chester Bowles, U.N. Ambassador Adlai Stevenson, Assistant Secretary of State for African Affairs, G. Mennen Williams and Assistant Secretary of State

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for International Organization Affairs, Harlan Cleveland. Interestingly, all were liberal in the domestic context, supporting civil rights reform and other Democratic Party ideals; yet all also had ties to American business with interests or potential interests in the Congo. Weissman concentrates on Stevenson, who, as a lawyer, had ties to American Metal Climax, Reynolds Metals Co., and the infamous diamond concern, Leon Templesman and Son. Weissman is admirably careful, noting that ‘‘Stevenson’s business supporters had divergent interests and policies in the Congo . . .’’ and that Stevenson’s liberal ideals were at least equal with his material interests, but he concludes: ‘‘Nonetheless, it is probable that Stevenson’s overall concern for Africa was promoted by his business connections; and it is not all excluded that these interests influenced, in some measure, Stevenson’s Congo policy’’ (1974:129). A subsequent study by David N. Gibbs (1991), building on Weissman’s work, paints a somewhat different picture of the role of business interests. Gibb’s argument is simpler and more direct in that he viewed economic interests as the pre-eminent influence on the policymakers; he nearly always rejects any purely strategic or ideological arguments, or adds them almost as an afterthought. Yet his argument is far more complex in arguing that the conflicts among different business interests in the Congo are the key to understanding American policy. Gibbs argues that the key Eisenhower administration officials all supported Belgium, and, indirectly, Katangan independence because of their business ties in Belgium or Katanga (a region of Zaire). In turn, he argues, different groups of Kennedy administration officials had business interests in either Zaire as a whole, or particularly in Katanga, which explains the bureaucratic in-fighting over Congo policy in the Kennedy era. In Gibb’s account, the United States finally supported the U.N. missions that crushed the Katanga secession because those interests were stronger. According to Gibbs (1991), business conflict declined sharply between 1963–1965 because the regimes of Cyrille Adoula and Moise Tshombe were so unstable that the overall interests of foreign capital were threatened, but conflict re-emerged once Mobutu was safely in power. This time, the conflict was between American and Belgian capital. The most notable manifestation of this conflict was in the dispute over the nationalization of the enormously powerful coppermining company that had dominated Katanga, the Union Minie`re du Haut Katanga (UMHK). As the UMHK was controlled by its Belgian parent, the Socie´te´ Ge´ne´rale, the Belgians naturally fought to prevent its nationalization. According to Gibbs (1991:172), however, ‘‘the USA strongly favored the Congolese . . . American officials pressured the UMHK to make concessions to the Congolese.’’ As Gibbs portrays it, the United States firmly supported Mobutu both in his disputes with Belgium, and with the uprisings in Zaire, possibly sparked by UMHK influence, eventually prevailing in this contest.

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More importantly for our purposes, Gibbs follows up his analysis by indicating that American capital interests took the next logical step of expanding operations in the Congo. During the nationalization period, Maurice Tempelsman and other investors were actively seeking to greatly expand American investments in Congo. According to Gibbs (1991:188), in the deluge of investment that followed, the United States ‘‘probably gained more than any other country. American companies were clearly favored over all others.’’ He then goes on to describe a rush of American companies into Zaire including Union Carbide, Engelhard Minerals, Continental Grain, G.M., Goodyear, and Cyanamid International. Other companies, including Morrison-Knudson, Westinghouse and I.T.T. secured service or technical assistance contracts for the Inga-Shaba electricity project. Meanwhile, Tempelsman reaped huge rewards as a diamond merchant and broker for various other American companies which began investing in the Congo. Finally, a number of American banks, including First National City, Chase Manhattan, Morgan Guaranty Trust and many others, began loaning the Zairian state large sums for its development projects. In all of these areas American capital was displacing Belgian capital. While Gibbs’ is the most notable study of this variety, a number of others take the same basic view. For instance, Katwala (1979) took the view that copper was the dominant element in the Zairian economy, and that Zairian copper was dominated by foreign capital.7 Askin and Collins (1993:77) have argued that the main targets of Zairianization in the 1960s were ‘‘small or mid-size enterprises owned by expatriates of comparatively modest means and limited political clout’’ but that ‘‘Mobutu continued to build mutually beneficial relations with more influential foreigners.’’ All these authors assume, and some try to demonstrate, that American foreign policy is guided by capital interests; moreover, all assume that Mobutu is simply an American client, who has ‘‘opened the door’’ of Zaire to American capitalists whom, presumably, have reaped great rewards from their investments. The argument of Mobutu’s supporters, those taking a realist view of U.S.Zairian relations, can be made more succinctly. Their arguments have three dimensions. First, they make the strategic argument that the United States benefitted by having a strong anti-Soviet ally in the heart of Africa. Clearly, Eisenhower administration officials believed that the Soviet Union would have gained an important strategic advantage over the United States if it had secured access to bases in Zaire. Not only those sources which emphasize this concern in the thoughts of American officials, but even those emphasizing other concerns (Weissman 1974; Gibbs 1991) acknowledge this area of concern, which is expressed in the memoirs and public documents of all of the principals involved. The goal of denying Zaire to the Soviets was a constant from Eisenhower to Bush (Schraeder 1994) and the United States itself has used the Kamina base in

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Zaire as a staging post for a number of military operations, especially in Angola (Schatzberg 1991). Those sources cited in the paragraph above merely recorded the thinking of key policymakers who seriously believed in Zaire’s strategic importance. The views of these policymakers were backed by important national security figures as well as certain strategic analysts with academic credentials. Among these analysts were Hahn and Cottrell (1976), who ominously warned of the potential Soviet threat in Africa. In their view, the Soviet Union posed a serious threat to shipping lanes around Africa, and intended to increase its presence in Africa.8 Even the more sober David Albright (1987:53) warned in 1987 that ‘‘the West generally and the United States specifically will face a formidable [Soviet] adversary in Africa in the years immediately ahead.’’ The Harvard-educated Bruce Porter (1984) portrayed each Soviet intervention in the Third World as an escalation over its previous involvement.9 All of these analyses implied that the United States should not turn its back on any strategically important allies in the developing world. The second realist argument is that Mobutu was an important political asset of the United States who would support U.S. initiatives in Africa and elsewhere. This notion grew over the years as Mobutu proved his staying power again and again. American officials argued that Mobutu’s own army could fight for American causes in Africa, where it would be politically impossible for U.S. troops to serve. Moreover, Mobutu himself could serve as a mediator in conflicts that the United States wished to resolve. Irvin Hicks, the Bush administration’s deputy assistant secretary for African affairs, made precisely these arguments in defending Mobutu in 1990.10 A third strategic argument is that Zaire’s mineral production has been vital to the United States and the West in general for both strategic and economic reasons (for example, Hahn and Cottrell 1976). Among the most important minerals produced in Zaire are industrial diamonds, copper, cobalt, and uranium.11 The first two minerals have mostly economic significance, since the Zairian supply is influential on world prices, and could adversely affect U.S. industrial production, notably, industrial diamonds are used in the petroleum industry. The significance of uranium is readily apparent, insofar as it may be processed into fuel for nuclear power plants, or into weapons-grade material.12 Cobalt is a particularly ‘‘strategic’’ metal because it is used to make heat-resistance alloys, which are used in the production of jet aircraft engines, among other uses. These two sets of arguments are clearly connected to the classic arguments about imperialism. Both Weissman and (more forcefully) Gibbs, argue that the economic motivations were primary influences on U.S. policymakers who supported various regimes in Zaire, including Mobutu. Gibbs follows up by discussing large-scale American investments in the country during subsequent years.

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The strategic arguments about the U.S. relationship with Zaire are clearly in the realist-political tradition of arguments about imperialism. As is revealed in the next section, however, all of these arguments are at least overstated.

IV. COSTS AND BENEFITS: AMERICA’S RELATIONS WITH MOBUTU’S ZAIRE In our analysis of the benefits that the United States gained from its relationship with Zaire, we begin with the strategic arguments. Obviously, the United States succeeded in its denial goal of preventing Zaire from becoming a base of Soviet operations in the area. Yet, one may legitimately ask whether the Soviets had such a goal; in the case of Angola the Soviets never established such bases, which were, in fact, prohibited by the Angolan constitution. Undeniably, the Soviets did have access in Angola, during their long years of bringing in Cuban troops and supplies. In any case, it seems unlikely that if Lumumba had remained in power, he would have allowed such an affront to Congolese sovereignty, or that the Soviets would have sought such a base. It is far more likely that the Soviets would have followed a cautious approach that would not have invited U.S. intervention. Zaire was an important African base for U.S. activities during the Cold War. According to Stockwell (1978), Kinshasa became the central CIA headquarters for the United States in Africa during the 1970s, and it continued to be so into the 1990s. While this situation may reflect a goal fulfilled, one may ask to what degree the goal served U.S. interests. That is, it is not clear how intelligence gathered through agents in this post rendered the United States richer or more secure. While the CIA agents could conveniently spy on putative Marxist-Leninists in Luanda and Brazzaville, their main purpose must have been to alert both American and Zairian officials to the dangers posed by Mobutu’s opponents to his rule. Thus, the most important role for the CIA was to keep Mobutu in power, which in turn had dubious benefits for the United States. Another strategic aspect of U.S. access to Zairian territory was that Zaire became a base for covert U.S. assistance to Angolan resistance groups, which fought the MPLA (Popular Movement for the Liberation of Angola) government there. Overt use of Zairian territory occurred in at least two different periods, in 1975–1976 and again in the mid- 1980s. In the first instance, the United States began supporting the FNLA (Front for the Liberation of Angola) in its struggle against the MPLA in January 1975; in fact, a Zairian-FNLA force invaded Angola in August 1975 and reached to within 20 miles of Luanda in November before being defeated by Cuban-MPLA forces (Young and Turner 1985; Stockwell 1978). In the second instance, the Reagan administration undertook a policy of funneling aid to UNITA (Union for the Total Independence of Angola) through

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bases in Zaire.13 Indeed, the United States revitalized the old Belgian base at Kamina for this purpose; aid to UNITA through this source was important to keeping the force armed at the time, because the December 1988 Angola-Namibia Peace Accords effectively terminated South African aid to UNITA through Namibia.14 The arguments that access to Zaire for purposes of supporting Angolan opposition groups benefitted the United States can easily be undermined. First, one could point out that none of these efforts led to the overthrow of the Angolan regime, which remains in power to this day and apparently won the 1993 elections. The only counter-argument to this would be that U.S. efforts (a) kept the Angolan government off-balance and hence unable to engage in regional mischief and (b) that they cost the Soviet Union considerably in supporting the Angolan regime. In answer to the first argument, one might ask whether and how Angola was a threat to the region; it certainly lacked the military power to threaten South Africa. And in answer to the second argument, one might ask which side spent more in keeping the Angolan conflict alive. One might further ask whether Cuban troops, considered to be a major threat to regional security by U.S. conservatives, would have ever been in Angola absent U.S. and South African intervention. Finally, one might note that Gulf Oil, and subsequently Chevron, did a brisk business in Angola throughout the 1970s and 1980s (thanks to the protection of their assets by Cuban troops). Another aspect of the strategic argument is that Zaire’s armed forces themselves served as a proxy for American power in the region. In fact, there was only one instance, besides Angola, where Zairian troops played such a role, which was in Chad in 1983. At that time, the regime of Hisse`ne Habre´, which had come to power with French and American backing, was under attack by Chadian rebel and Libyan troops. To bolster the regime, the Reagan administration provided some $25 million in military aid, and some 1800 Zairian troops were transported to Chad in July 1983; however, the regime was only saved (temporarily) by the dispatch of 3000 French paratroopers the following month (Lemarchand 1987). Anyone with a passing familiarity with the effectiveness of the Zairian army would hardly be surprised by the non-impact of its presence in Chad. The same army was routed by pathetically ill-equipped rebel forces that intervened in Shaba in 1977 and 1978,15 and its record of collapse in the face of Kabila assaults in 1997 is well known. The argument that the United States and the West depended on Mobutu because of Zaire’s minerals has also been grossly overstated. In the cases of copper and uranium, Zaire’s percentage of world production was too small a percentage to have much of an impact. For instance, Zaire’s historical production of uranium through the end of the 1970s was only about 10 percent of the combined U.S.-Canadian total.16 Similarly, Zaire’s copper production is too small a percentage of world production to have much affect on world prices; between 1988–1993, Zaire production declined by nearly 90 percent, from 465,000 tons

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to 48,000 tons, while world prices simultaneously hit a six-year low in September 1993 (EIU 1995). Likewise, the source of industrial diamonds is widespread enough that no one producer can be decisive. Hence, the economic impact of having these minerals disappear from world markets would have hardly been catastrophic. The only metal of real strategic significance coming from Zaire has been cobalt, because of its use in aircraft engines. Through the 1970s and 1980s, Zaire was responsible for about 60 percent of the Western world’s supply of cobalt. When Zaire’s production was knocked out for nearly a year in 1978, world prices did rise sharply, though there never was a shortage (Schatzberg 1991). During the same year, Zambia, the West’s other major supplier, nearly doubled its output. During the same short period of time, the Pratt and Whitney aircraft engine manufacturing firm developed a new alloy, not relying on cobalt, for use in its jet engines. As a company vice president observed at the time, ‘‘There was no reason to change as long as cobalt was $6 a pound; but at $45 a pound, you make the change’’ (Business Week 1979:47). Finally, there is no reason to believe that Lumumba, or any other Zairian leader, would have denied cobalt to the West, foregoing such a large source of revenue; as in the case of Angolan oil, economic interests would likely have prevailed (Young 1985). Mobutu’s conservative champions also claimed that the United States reaped important political and diplomatic benefits in sustaining Mobutu’s regime. A U.S. Agency for International Development study, for instance, asserted that Mobutu contributed to important African mediation and peace-keeping efforts, particularly in the Western Sahara and Angola disputes (US AID 1987). In reality, the value of such support was circumscribed by the Mobutu regime’s illegitimacy and ineffectiveness. As Edouard Bustin (1987:74) observed in the same era, Zaire’s seemingly unending crisis . . . left it singularly deficient when it came to projecting power or exercising leverage on its environment, even at the regional level. Zaire’s contribution or impact on issues affecting Africa or on Third World concerns over the past quarter century has been virtually nonexistent. [emphasis added.]

Indeed, this observation applies equally well to Zaire’s military and diplomatic impact in central Africa and beyond. As for Mobutu’s usefulness as a mediator, his most important such role was in the Angola peace talks in the summer of 1989. Assessing Mobutu’s role in the talks, Rothchild and Hartzell (1990:26) claimed that ‘‘Mobutu deserved the acclaim he received for his role as intermediary,’’ and that all sides ‘‘praised him extensively for his mediatory role.’’ In the end, however, these talks were a failure, and the antagonists returned to war. According to Rothchild and Hartzell (1990:27), Mobutu’s mediation failed partly because his ‘‘past seemed to stand in the way.’’ Noting that both parties eventually expressed distrust of Mobutu,

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they concluded that, ‘‘The mediator . . . had become part of the problem of peace in Angola.’’ Nor could Mobutu afford to be an unapologetic supporter of the United States during the cold war. Notoriously, Mobutu’s ‘‘authenticity’’ campaign in the early 1970s constituted a frank rejection of Western values and the Western contribution in Africa. Mobutu was also strongly influenced by his 1973 trip to China and, according to Young and Turner (1985), the Chinese ambassador in Kinshasa may have been Mobutu’s closest advisor during 1973–1974. Likewise, at the September 1973 Afro-Asian summit, Mobutu strongly denounced Western imperialism, and then severed his relations with Israel on the eve of the Yom Kippur war (Young 1978). Two years later, after new Ambassador Dean Hinton arrived in Zaire, and criticized Mobutu, the Zairian President expelled him from the country, and in June 1975, he even accused the CIA of plotting to overthrow him (Young and Turner 1985). As Lemarchand (1978) has noted, Mobutu had to be publicly defiant towards the United States on occasion to shore up his own (weak) nationalist credentials. These arguments serve to undermine the view of Mobutu’s cold war supporters. It cannot be demonstrated with any confidence at all that the United States reaped important gains, either strategic or diplomatic, by sustaining Mobutu in power. Hence, even if their actions were ‘‘rational’’ in the cold war context, their post hoc justifications for their actions were largely spurious. In fact, America’s political association with Mobutu hurt the American image in the world, and undermined the moral authority of the United States. Moral authority, in turn, is a power resource, from which other benefits may be derived. The last category of possible benefits to the U.S. is the economic category. The most relevant questions are how much money have American firms made in Zaire since 1965, and how much foreign aid has been spent to support Mobutu? The answers are that the United States has spent considerable aid money on the Mobutu regime, and that American firms have made little money, an answer likely to surprise those who imagine that the United States has dominated Zaire’s economy and reaped huge profits as a result. Writing in 1985, Young and Turner mentioned only three predominately American firms that had established manufacturing and marketing branches in Zaire between 1969–1972: General Motors, Goodyear Tire, and Midema (a flour mill in Matadi owned by Continental Grains). A 1984 U.S. Department of Commerce list of over 100 major business operations in Zaire adds only one more to the list, Zaire Gulf, which started operations in 1973 (U.S. Department of Commerce 1984).17 The Mobil Oil Company, in partnership with the Zairen state, also markets petroleum products in Zaire. Yet even the companies on this scant list have not fared very well in Zaire. As Young and Turner noted (1985) the Goodyear tire factory, the largest of the manufacturing enterprises, only operated at 20 percent capacity, and never turned a profit.

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More profitable for American firms were the management, consulting and construction contracts that accompanied the infamous Inga-Shaba project. Two predominately American firms, Westinghouse and Morrison-Kundsen, made reasonable profits by fulfilling contracts to help the Zairian state build the two Inga dams on the Congo river, and the Inga-Shaba power lines, which were to carry power from the dams to the copper center in Shaba. Since the completion of this project in 1982, however, no similar such opportunities have arisen. Pan-American airlines briefly managed Air Zaire before also quitting the country. Many, many other American companies considered doing business in Zaire, only to be daunted by the unfavorable prospects of making a profit. As Young and Turner (1985:222) ruefully commented in 1985, ‘‘There remain only the banks holding the Zaire debt.’’ It is far from clear that these debts will ever be paid, given the current state of the Zairian economy. Even Gibbs (1991: 194), whose entire argument rests on the idea that American policymakers had profits foremost in mind is left to weakly admit that, ‘‘It is true that many of the investments turned out to be disastrous failures.’’ Indeed. Young and Turner (1985) suggested that the total U.S. business investment in Zaire only totalled some $200 million at the end of the 1970s. As Zaire’s economic decline accelerated in the 1980s, no significant new American investment in the country has occurred. Meanwhile, the Goodyear plant was sold in 1987; the GM auto assembly plant was stormed and picked bare by looting Zairian citizens during the country’s 1991 riots; all that remains is the skeleton of steel girders overseen by a single sleepy guard.18 Also of interest is the fact that the Continental Grains plant relied on free American wheat, given under the P.L. 480 program, as its source of flour (Young and Turner 1985). Yet, over the period between 1965–1992, the United States gave $309 million in military aid and $1.11 billion in official development assistance to Zaire (calculated from Schraeder 1994). These totals were certainly higher than any modest tax receipts that the U.S. government gained from profits made by American companies in Zaire. None of this is to deny that some American companies and individuals have profits in Zaire; they certainly have. Rather, the point is that Zaire has been an exceedingly unfriendly place for American (indeed, any foreign) capital overall. As demonstrated by Askin and Collins (1993), the individuals or companies that have made profits in Zaire are those which have developed personally warm relations with Mobutu or his most senior cronies and which have paid substantial bribes to them. The most notorious of these individuals has been Maurice Tempelsman, and recently none other than the American evangelist Pat Robertson has been developing a similar close relationship to Mobutu (and Zaire’s diamonds). But investments based on bribes and personal relations hardly make for a congenial investment environment overall.

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Lastly, against the neo-imperialist view of American domination, there is the neo-imperialist view that it was in fact Belgium which has reaped the reward of Mobutu’s long rule. This is quite explicitly the argument of Depelchin (1992). Although Depelchin (1992:101) does argue that Mobutu ‘‘opened the door wide to American, European and Japanese capital . . .’’ (one of two references to the United States in his book), he makes no argument that American capital replaced Belgian capital in Zaire. (However, his analysis does end in 1974.) LumumbaKasongo (1992) argues even more explicitly that it has been Belgium that has dominated the Zairian economy, even after Mobutu’s Zairianization and ‘‘authenticity’’ movements of the early 1970s. Analyzing the period between 1982–1988, Lumumba-Kasongo shows that the volume of Zaire’s trade with Belgium and Luxembourg rose steadily. Zairian imports from those two countries rose steadily from $157 million in 1982 to $339 in 1988. Meanwhile, the total volume of American exports to Zaire between 1986–1989 was a mere $113 million! (U.S. Department of Commerce 1990). While this data is fragmentary, to be sure, it hardly paints a picture of American domination of the Zairian economy. Is this finding that American capitalists have made little money in Zaire surprising? Hardly so to those who know the results of Mobutu’s rule well. Granted, it appeared in the late 1960s that Mobutu was restoring a measure of order to a society ravaged by five long years of bitter civil war between 1960– 1965 (Willame 1972). By the 1980s, however, only one analyst (Callaghy 1984) argued that Mobutu was slowly creating a national consciousness among the Zairian people, and thus expanding the reach of the state, though he was well aware of the venality of Mobutu’s rule. Many others were intensely aware of the increasing corruption in the Zairian state, and Young and Turner (1985) thoroughly documented its decline in the beginning in the early 1970s. By the early 1990s, MacGaffey (1992) could convincingly demonstrate that the (fragmentary) formal state structures were largely irrelevant to economic life in most of Zaire. By the mid-1990s, one author was arguing that the best label for the state in Zaire was the ‘‘extractive state’’ (Clark 1997). In this environment, it is hardly surprising that foreign investors, excepting the most daring, dogged and those with deep personal contacts, had lost all interest in Zaire.

CONCLUSION While the evidence that the United States benefitted little from its relationship as cold war ‘‘patron’’ of Zaire is strong, this does not, of course, prove anything about the motivation of the American national leaders who supported Mobutu for over 25 years. Perhaps Gibbs thesis is correct, that the value of their stocks was utmost in the minds of the U.S. policymakers who urged American support

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of Mobutu during the early days. Yet both Weissman and Gibbs also acknowledge that these same policymakers were also strong anti-communists. Thus, can we really ever know what truly motivated these men to urge the policies they did? It seems altogether possible that their motivations were multiple and reinforcing, and that no one can say with certainty which were dominant. The neoimperialist explanation does, however, raise the question of why the United States continued to support Mobutu—indeed, why U.S. support sharply increased in the 1980s—after it was already quite clear that Mobutu was running Zaire in such a way as to make substantial American profits there virtually impossible. Reagan administration policymakers couched their explanation of support for Mobutu partly in strategic, or realist, terms. Given the Soviet-Cuban presence in Angola, and the Namibia and South Africa liberation wars, this explanation resonated well with those sensitive to Soviet expansionism. Yet, as we previously argued, the strategic arguments, too, were largely hollow. Older realists would doubtless explain the American relationship with Zaire in terms of the balance of power. In pre-nuclear times, of course, controlling territory, building large armies and establishing close alliances with large, powerful states were the major ways of enhancing security. The relationship with Zaire must have soothed the fears of those who looked anxiously at African maps that showed Angola, Congo, Mozambique, and Ethiopia all colored in red. A more important piece of the puzzle, it would appear, is ideology. The most obvious answer for why Reagan and Bush supported Mobutu his thoroughgoing anti-communism of the 1980s, stands up rather well under scrutiny. This explanation also explains why Bush began, incrementally, to distance himself from the Mobutu regime after the Cold War ended.19 One may note that U.S. support for Mobutu survived the end of the Soviet-Cuban ‘‘threat’’ in southern Africa, which was definitely ended with the signing of the Angola-Namibia peace accords in 1988. More of the answer lies, however, in the Schumpeterian appreciation for non-rational and pre-modern motivations for imperialism. In retrospect, American officials and political insiders, did reap one reward from the U.S. relationship with Zaire: the psychic reward of being able to put Zaire in ‘‘our column’’ in the cold war competition. One senses ‘‘the shadows of forgotten ancestors’’20 in the actions of American policymakers. On the one hand, there was a primordial, or at least, pre-modern desire for empire, for glory, for greatness in the actions of a powerful state seeking alliances all over the globe, including in Zaire. This motivation was entirely non-rational, in that an empire is rarely profitable or necessary (strategically), but rather, as in Kennedy’s account, actually brings on decline. On the other hand, there was an equally primordial fear of domination by ‘‘the other,’’ in this case the Soviet Union. While fear of the Soviet Union in general was certainly not irrational, fear that the Soviet Union would sap Amer-

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ican strength by its influence in southern Africa is less clearly rational. At least, those who took the asymmetrical view of containment (Gaddis 1982) looked upon the view that every Soviet gain must be offset by a countervailing American advance as wrong-headed. In the sense that the Cold War context was important to the psychic satisfaction derived from U.S. influence in Zaire, the realist strategic concerns are relevant to this explanation, but not because of rational calculation. The structural realist understanding of world politics, rationalist to its core, cannot possibly explain why the United States maintained a costly, unrewarding and embarrassing relationship with Mobutu’s Zaire. Yet the older brand of realism, that which appreciated the multiple dimensions of the human personality (Morgenithau 1946), does much better. Like the view of Schumpeter, the older realist view acknowledges the non-rational motivations that often impel national leaders to acquire empires. Like the followers of Schumpeter, they are also aware that the costs of imperialism, or even of international patrimonialism, are likely to be greater than the rewards.

NOTES 1. As does Onuf (1989); for a brief but useful discussion of the constructivist approach, see Chapter 1, pp. 35–65. 2. Most knowledgeable observers of Zaire believe the United States was at least involved in Mobutu’s 1965 seizure of power, Weissman (1979:273) cited in Schatzberg (1991:63); cf. the comment of Young and Turner (1985:53) that ‘‘the American embassy [in Kinshasa] certainly had advance knowledge of the coup and encouraged the takeover.’’ 3. See radically critical views of the U.N. mission, in terms of its American bias: Orwa (1985), Gibbs (1991), and Collins (1992); for a more cautious, but still critical view, Clark (1994). 4. Though this is by no means to say that Mobutu has no internal resources on which he relies for support. He does have such resources, and many were generated by his own efforts, rather than by American aid. Notably, Mobutu relies on the Zairian classe politique, which he largely created, on his economic clients, whom he established through nationalizations in the 1970s (Young and Turner 1985) as well as on his ethnic kinsmen, who serve him as loyal advisors and constitute his praetorian guard (Clark 1995). 5. Cf. the analysis of structural realism by Buzan et al. in their book, by this name (1993:91–97). For both the original realists and neo-realists, the tragedy of international politics is that the structure of the system compels national leaders to seek domination. 6. See particularly Schumpeter’s essay, ‘‘The Sociology of Imperialism,’’ (originally published in 1919) in Imperialism and Social Classes (1955); two useful interpreters, among others, are Doyle (1986) and Mommsen (1977).

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7. While Depelchin (1992:195) focuses exclusively on the role of the Belgian joint stock companies, he does note that ‘‘[Mobutu] has opened the door wide to American, European, and Japanese capital.’’ 8. Reminiscent of crude Soviet propaganda, the cover of their monograph features a map of Africa with a large hammer and sickle imposed over it. 9. Beginning with the first Soviet intervention in Indonesia in the late 1950s and ending with the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan. See particularly the chart, (Porter 1984: 243). 10. Cited in the New York Times, April 11, 1990 and in Schatzberg (1991:8). For U.S. praise of Mobutu as a mediator in the Angola negotiations, see David B. Ottaway, ‘‘US Hails Angolan Talks as ‘‘Watershed,’’ Washington Post, June 24, 1989, pp. A18, A22. 11. Manganese, coal, iron ore, gold, silver and other metals are also mined in Zaire, particularly Katanga. 12. As Schatzberg (1991:73) notes (citing Yakemthouck 1986:7) the first atomic bombs ever constructed were made from Congolese uranium. 13. U.S. support to Angolan resistance groups was outlawed by the 1976 Clark Amendment in the interim period. Although the Clark amendment was overturned in July 1986, congressional testimony (U.S. House, 1987) suggests that the Reagan administration was providing aid, thereby circumventing this law, some years earlier. 14. See, Africa Confidential, 5 August 1987, and 27 May 1988. 15. According to Young, (1978). Compare the observations of Schatzberg (1988:67) about the assessment of Tanzanian troops who crossed through parts of eastern Zaire in 1979. Indeed, the Zairian army’s forte appears to be the looting of its own citizens (Schatzberg 1988:55–67). 16. Financial Times (London), November 15, 1982, p.5. In addition, other major producers include Niger, Australia, Gabon, South Africa, and the Central African Republic. 17. Only 50 percent of Zaire Gulf was held by Gulf Oil (now owned by Chevron) of the United States. American capital had a stake in some of the smaller Zairian companies, but these were quite small. For instance, 45 percent of the stock in Zairep, an oil exploration company, was owned by Amoco; Mobil and Texaco marketed a portion of the refined petroleum products sold in Zaire. 18. The author was able to tour the ghostly factory in May 1994. 19. Not surprisingly, Mobutu’s most determined critics never admitted that American policy changed any under Bush. Yet Bush’s appointment of Melissa Wells, a strong Mobutu critic, as ambassador to Zaire, was symbolic of the severe deterioration of U.S.-Zairian relations during Zaire’s interminabl National Conference, which lasted from 1991–1993. 20. The phrase is from the title of a book by Carl Sagan and Ann Druyan (1992).

REFERENCES Africa Watch. (1993). Zaire: inciting hatred. 5:10. Africa Watch. (1992). Zaire: two years without transition. 4:9.

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Africa Confidential (AC). Various issues. Albright, D. E. (1987). Soviet Policy Toward Africa Revisited. Washington, D.C.: Center for Strategic and International Studies. Askin, S. and Collins, C. (1993). External collusion with kleptocracy: can Zaire recapture its stolen wealth? Review of African Political Economy 57:72–85. Braeckman, C. (1992). Le dinosaure: Le Zaire de Mobutu. Paris: Fayard. Bull, H. (1977). The Anarchical Society: A Study of Order in World Politics. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Bustin, E. (1987). The foreign policy of the republic of Zaire. The Annals of the American Academy of Political and Social Science 489:63–75. Buzan, B. Jones, C. and Little, R. (1993). The Logic of Anarchy: Neorealism to Structural Realism. New York: Columbia. Callaghy, T. (1984). The State-Society Struggle: Zaire in Comparative Perspective. New York: Columbia University Press. Choucri, N. and North, R. C. (1975). Nations in Conflict. San Francisco: W. H. Freeman. Clark, J. F. (1994). Collective interventions after the cold war: reflections on the UN mission to the congo, 1964–64. Journal of Political Science 22:93–116. Clark, J. F. (1995). Evaluating the efficacy of foreign policy: an essay on the complexity of foreign policy goals. Southeastern Political Review. Clark, J. F. (1997). The extractive state in Zaire. In L. Villalon (ed.), Between Transformation and Decay: The State in Africa, Boulder, CO.: Lynne Rienner. Collins, C. (1992). Fatally flawed mediation: cordier and the Congo crisis of 1960. Africa Today, 39(3):5–22. Collins, C. (1995). Ethno-regionalism and the prospects for democratization in Zaire. In H. Glickman, (ed.) Democratization and Ethnic Conflict in Africa. Atlanta: ASA Press. Depelchin, J. (1992). From the Congo Free State to Zaire, 1885–1974: Towards a Demystification of Economic and Political History. A. K. Armah (trans.). London: CODESRIA. Doyle, M. W. (1986). Liberalism and world politics. American Political Science Review, 80(4). Dungia, E. (1992). Mobutu et L’Argent du Zaire: Re´ve´lations d’un diplomate, ex-agent des Services Secrets. Paris: Harmattan. Economist Intelligence Unit [EIU]. (1995). Country profile: Zaire, 1994–1995. London: EIU. Elliot, J. and Dymally, M. (eds.). (1990). Voices of Zaire: Rheotric or Reality. Washington, D.C.: Washington Institute Press. Faes, G. (1993). L’implosion. Jeune Afrique 1700:21–23. Finnemore, M. (1996). National Interests in International Society. Itacha, NY: Cornell University Press. Gaddis, J. (1982). Strategies of Containment. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Galtung, J. (1971). A structural theory of imperialism. Journal of Peace Research, 8(2). Gibbs, D. (1991). The Political Economy of Third World Intervention: Mines, Money and U.S. Policy in the Congo Crisis, Chicago: Univ. of Chicago Press. Hahn, W. F. and Cottrell, A. J. (1976). Soviet Shadow Over Africa. Miami, FL: University of Miami, Center for Advanced International Studies.

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Hobson, J. A. (1901). The Social Problem. London. Jaster, R. (1990). The 1988 peace accords and the future of south-western Africa. Adelphi Paper 253. London: International Institute for Strategic Studies. Kamitatu-Massamba, C. (1971). La grande mystification du Congo-Kinshasa: Les crimes de Mobutu. Paris: Maspero. Katwala, G. J. (1979). Export-Le growth: the copper sector. In G. Gran (ed.) Zaire: The Political Economy of Under-development. New York: Praeger. Kelly, S. (1993). America’s Tyrant: The CIA and Mobutu of Zaire. Washington, D.C.: The American University Press. Kennedy, P. (1987). The Rise and Fall of the Great Powers. New York: Random House. Kennedy, P. (1985). The crisis in Chad. In Bender, G. et al., African Crisis Areas and U.S. Foreign Policy. Berkeley: University of California Press. Lemarchand, R. (1987). Burundi Since the Genocide. London: Minority Rights Group. Lemarchand, R. (1978). The CIA in africa: how central? how intelligent? In Lemarchand, (ed.) American Policy in South Africa: The Stakes and the Stance. Washington, D.C.: University Press of America. Lumumba-Kasongo, T. (1992). Zaire’s ties to Belgium: persistence and future prospects in political economy. Africa Today, 39(3):23–48. MacGaffey, J. (1992). Initiatives from below: Zaire’s other path to social and economic restructuring. In Hyden, G. and Bratton, M. (eds.), Governance and Politics in Africa, Boulder, CO.: Lynne Rienner. Mandelbaum, M. (1988). The Fate of Nations: The Search for National Security in the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Mokoli, M. M. (1992). State Against Development: The Experience of Post-1965 Zaire. Westport, CN.: Greenwood Press. Mommsen, W. (1977). Theories of Imperialism. P. S. Falla (trans.) Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Morgenthau, H. (1982). In Defense of the National Interest. (Rpt. from 1950.) Landham, MD: University Press of America. Morgenthau, H. (1946). Scientific Man Vs. Power Politics. Chicago: Univ. of Chicago Press. Ndjemoti, J. and Shabani, P. (1994). L’Ae´roport International de Ndjili: I’enfer des voyageurs, Pe´riodique Des Droits de l’Homme, 009. Ngonde R. Mulambu, A. and Mulambu, A. L. (1993). Hoˆpital Mama Yemo de Kinshasa: On y entre OK, on en sort KO. Pe´riodique Des Droits de l’Homme. 007. Nzongola-Ntalaja, G. (ed.) (1986). The Crisis in Zaire: Myths and Realities. Trenton, NJ: Africa World Press. Onuf, N. G. (1989). World of Our Making: Rules and Rule in Social Theory and International Relations. Columbia, SC: University of South Carolina Press. Orwa, D. K. (1985). The Congo Betrayal: The UN-US and Lumumba. Nairobi: Kenya Literature Bureau. Pakenham, T. (1991). The Scramble for Africa, 1976–1912. New York: Random House. Pascoe, W. W. (1986). Strengthening the U.S.-Zaire relationship. Backgrounder (Heritage Foundation) December 5. Cited in Kelley 1993. Porter, B. (1984). The USSR in Third World Conflicts: Soviet Arms and Diplomacy in Local Wars, 1945–1980. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

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Rosenau, J. N. (1971). The Scientific Study of Foreign Policy. New York: Free Press. Rothchild, D. and Hartzell, C. (1990). The road to Gbadolite: great power and African mediations in Angola. Paper presented at the annual meeting of the African Studies Association, Baltimore, Maryland, November 1–4. Sagan, C. and Druyan, A. (1992). Shadows of Forgotten Ancestors. New York: Ballantine. Schatzberg, M. (1988). The Dialectics of Oppression in Zaire. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Schatzberg, M. (1991). Mobutu or Chaos? The United States and Zaire, 1960–1990. Lanham, MD: University Press of America. Schraeder, P. (1994). United States Foreign Policy Toward Africa: Incrementalism, Crisis and Change. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Schumpeter, J. A. (1955). Imperialism and Social Classes. Cleveland. Stern, R. (1989). Insurance for third world inconvertibility protection. Harvard Business Review. 62. Stockwell, J. (1978). In Search of Enemies: A CIA Story. New York: Norton. U.S. Agency for International Development. (1987). Congressional presentation for security assistance programs, fiscal year 1988. Washington, D.C.: AID. U.S. Department of Commerce. (1990). Foreign Economic Trends and Their Implications for the United States: Zaire. U.S. Department of Commerce. (1984). Overseas Business Reports: Marketing in Zaire. U.S. House of Representatives. (1987). Possible violation or circumvention of the Clark Amendment. Hearing before the Subcommittee on Africa of the Committee on Foreign Affairs, 100th Congress, 1st Session, July 1. Weissman, S. R. (1974). American Foreign Policy in the Congo, 1960–1964. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Weissman, S. R. (1979). CIA covert action in Zaire and Angola: patterns and consequences. Political Science Quarterly. Willame, J. C. (1992). L’Automne d’un despotisme: pouvoir, argent et obe´ssiance dans le Zaire des anne´es quartrevingt. Paris: Karthala. Williame, J.-C. (1972). Patrimonialism and Political Change in the Congo. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Yakemtchouk, R. (1986). Les relations entre les Etats-Unis et le Zaire. Studia Diplomatica, 39. Young, C. (1978). Zaire: the unending crisis. Foreign Affairs. 57:169–85. Young, C. (1994). Zaire: the shattered illusion of the integral state. Journal of Modern African Studies, 32(2):247–63. Young, C. (1985). The Zairian Crisis and American Foreign Policy. In G. J. Bender, J. S. Coleman, and R. L. Sklar (eds.) African Crisis Areas and U.S. Foreign Policy. Berkeley: University of California Press. Young, C. and Thomas Turner, T. (1985). The Rise and Decline of the Zairian State. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press.

3 The Conflict in Eritrea Reconsidered* Seifudein Adem University of Tsukuba, Ibaraki, Japan

I. INTRODUCTION On April 25, 1993 Eritreans voted to secede from Ethiopia in a UN monitored referendum. The implication of this decision resounded far beyond what used to be the Red Sea province of Ethiopia. The referendum was significant in that it sealed the end of what was regarded to be the bloodiest and the longest civil war in Africa. It was also significant because it marked the first and successful case of secession in post-colonial Africa, opening what was then feared to be the Pandora’s box in Africa. Was the Eritrean case so strong as to merit setting a precedent? 1 Does it enjoy historical as well as legal backings? What was the nature of the conflict in Eritrea? How did the Cold War, and its end, affect the Eritrean conflict? These are the questions that will be briefly addressed in this essay with a view to establishing: (a) that notwithstanding the little scholarly attention it received, religion has provided a strong impetus in the origin and development of the Eritrean conflict, and (b) that the independence of Eritrea, and the political arrangements that were made thereafter, fail to adequately answer the main question for which the Eritrean struggle was launched in the first place. But before addressing these formidable theses, what follows is a brief historical background of the territory.

* This is a slightly revised version of a paper prepared for delivery at the XVIIth World Congress of the International Political Science Association held in Soul, Korea, August 17–21, 1997. The original title of the essay was: The Role of Religion in Domestic Conflict: A Case Study of Eritrea.

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II. HISTORICAL OVERVIEW The modern political history of Eritrea began on January 1, 1890 when Italy occupied the territory and called it Eritrea, after the Latin name for the neighboring Red Sea, Mare Erythraem.2 Before this Eritrea had never enjoyed any form of unity, never had a government of its own, never even had a name.3 The struggle over the territory nevertheless predates the time when Eritrea became the official colony of Italy. The competition over the control of the Red Sea— which was regarded as the major artery for international trade between the Far East, Europe, and the Muslim Empires of the Middle East and its coastal areas— can even be traced back to much earlier times.4 As far as Ethiopia’s relations with Eritrea is concerned, in the early centuries of Christianity, a Christian kingdom centered in Axum, in present-day highland Eritrea, ruled an area roughly equivalent to the province as constituted, and later Amhara (Ethiopian) control was never consistent.5 The Eritrean conflict was an important, though diluted, extension of the age-old rivalry between Islam and Christianity in the region. Therefore, in order to reconsider the main features and the broader implications of the war in Eritrea it is useful to begin with a brief account of its historical background which is admittedly far too complex to be fully treated here.6 As stated previously, it was at the end of the last century that Eritrea became part of the Italian colonial territories in Africa. Italians ruled the territory from 1890 until 1941. At that time, the British military administration replaced the Italians. From the closing years of the 1940s, the future of Eritrea began to be hotly debated in the UN General Assembly. In general, there were three positions that were reflected during the UN General Assembly debates.7 The positions could be summarized as follows: Ethiopia’s position, as presented by its representative, maintained that Italian expansion into Eritrea had always been resisted by Ethiopia to which Eritrea was connected by race, religion, language, and culture. Union of the two territories, Ethiopia and Eritrea, would thus be the right solution. The spokesman for the Muslim League of Eritrea asserted that Eritrea’s population was predominantly Muslim and that the remainder was not homogeneous and his group was opposed to the transfer of any part of Eritrea to Ethiopia. Egypt, on the other hand, favored the transfer to Ethiopia of that part of Eritrea forming part of the Ethiopian plateau and whose population favored such a union. The remainder, Muslim inhabited area, could logically be added to the Sudan. At the end of the debate there emerged among the great powers and in the United Nations a compromise based essentially on Ethiopia’s historic rights and economic and strategic need. The UN General Assembly adopted the idea of a federation of Ethiopia and Eritrea in December of 1950. On September 15, 1952 the British flag was lowered from the government house in Asmara and the federation came into being.8 Shortly after the federation was put into effect the head of

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the U.S. delegation and Chairman of the Ad Hoc Political Committee on Eritrea welcomed ‘‘the firm determination of the Ethiopian government to respect the federal act and the autonomy of Eritrea.’’ 9 In spite of the rhetoric, the federation lasted only ten years. In 1962 Emperor Haile Selassie abrogated the federal treaty and made Eritrea one of the country’s fourteen provinces or, as he put it, reunified it with its motherland. In so doing the emperor made effective use of the very institutions that were meant, among other things, to bring the colonial era to an end. One such institution, the Organization of African Unity, was not only feeble but it was hegemonized by Ethiopia. In this regard, the remarks the emperor made ten years before annexing the territory was quite telling. . . . through the return in 1952 of its historic ports on the Red Sea and of the long lost territory of Eritrea, Ethiopia has not only regained access to the sea, but has been one of the few states in the post-war world to have gained lost territory, pursuant to post-war treaties and in application of peaceful methods.10

Why did Emperor Haile Selassie abrogate the internationally established status of Eritrea? In fact, Eritrea could have gained full independence as its quest for independence was not markedly different from that of Libya or Somalia at the time. It was the convergence of the perceived interest of the United States and Ethiopia which made the federal option the realistic solution to the problem. Besides, U.S. policy makers did not want to offend the emperor who was internationally popular. Most importantly, it was the relevance of the region in the overall U.S. strategic objective that seems to have shaped American policy. The then U.S. Secretary of State, John Foster Dulles, remarked that, ‘‘From the point of view of justice, the opinion of the Eritreans must receive consideration. Nevertheless, the strategic interest of the United States in the Red Sea basin and considerations of security and world peace make it necessary that the country has to be linked with our ally.’’ 11 Emperor Haile Selassie was also straightforward in acknowledging the U.S. role: ‘‘If, today, the brother territory of Eritrea stands finally united under the Crown and if Ethiopia has regained her shore lines on the Red Sea, it has been due, in no small measure, to the contribution of the United States of America.’’ 12 In the late 1950s a master-client type of relationship between the United States and Ethiopia was in the making. At the same time there emerged what was thought to be significant challenges to the Imperial Government of Ethiopia. The Nasserist revolutionary fervor was on the rise in the region. Soon after achieving independence in 1960, Somalia was making claims, with the backings of Nasser and other Arab leaders, to a third of Ethiopia’s territory. During the same period, the success of an internal military coup was prevented only with the help of U.S. military intelligence. But most importantly, the landing of the Egyptian army in nearby Yemen, following a revolution in that country, ostensibly to show solidar-

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ity with the local ally appeared potentially dangerous to the emperor as another possible Egyptian ally, the Eritrean Liberation Movement formed in 1965 in Cairo, seemed to be in the making. In 1961 an open military operation was launched by the Eritrean Liberation Front (ELF). In the meantime, Ethiopia had launched an intensive diplomatic effort. As early as 1954, the emperor was trying to win the hearts and minds of the policymakers in the United States by stressing the religious basis of his country’s profound orientation toward the West.13 The United States positively responded to the plea of the emperor by offering significant military and economic assistance to Ethiopia. The most important outcome, however, was the conclusion of the lend-lease agreement, and the establishment of a military communication center in Eritrea. No wonder, then, that when the emperor tore up the international agreement and annexed Eritrea, the United States remained silent. In spite of the breach of its treaty, the United Nations also remained silent as no one was prepared to offend the internationally popular Emperor Haile Selassie.14

III. FOREIGN INVOLVEMENT IN THE ERITREAN CONFLICT The Eritrean Liberation Front (ELF), whose armed units were made up of military organizations of Eritrean nomadic Moslem tribes,15 began its operation in Eritrea in 1961. Yet the struggle got momentum only after 1964 when financial and military aid from the Syrian Baathist regime began to flow to the rebel bases in the Sudan. This period coincided with the rivalry between Syria and Egypt for the leadership of the Arab world Syria expressed, both in words and deeds, its solidarity with the ELF which it saw ‘‘as an Arab liberation movement fighting an imperialist, pro-American, and pro-Israeli regime.’’ 16 In addition, Article 7 of the 1957 Constitution of the Baathist Party included Eritrea in the region which is inhabited by the Arab nation.17 The 1960s brought about a period of marked changes in the Eritrean conflict. This was due mainly to the gradual involvement of the Soviet Union in the affairs of the region. During the time of Khruschev, Ethiopia’s relations with the Soviet Union was so cordial that Haile Selassie was invited to Moscow and was given an oil refinery and an aid credit of U.S. $100 million.18 But in the Sixties, the Soviet Union was tempted by the emergence of new developments. At this time an irredentist Somalia was born; an indigenous communist party was very active in the Sudan; and the Eritrean Liberation Front had started guerrilla activities against the Imperial regime. After Colonel Numieri took over state power in the Sudan in 1969 and swore his allegiance to Moscow, the situation became even more favorable for the latter to easily transfer arms to the camps of the Eritrean insurgency in the Sudan. In the earlier period, Soviet support to the

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movements in Eritrea was channeled indirectly. In the meantime, the United States continued to give unreserved support to Ethiopia’s Eritrean policy: . . . when unimpeded access to the Kagnew Telecommunications station and other intelligence and military installations in Eritrea guided U.S. foreign policy toward Ethiopia; support within the national security bureaucracies for the territorial status quo [of Ethiopia] remained virtually unquestioned. It was greatly feared that an independent Eritrea would terminate access to what at the time was considered to be one of the most valuable U.S. telecommunications centers in the Middle East.19

The most important support for the Eritreans came from the Arab countries. The interest of the Arab world in Eritrea could be explained in terms of several interrelated factors. First, it should be noted that Ethiopia was one of the first countries to recognize the state of Israel to which the latter reciprocated by extending military and technical assistance. This ‘‘friendly’’ gesture of Ethiopia was construed as symbolic of a Jewish-Christian alliance in the Red Sea region. The cooperation between the two countries, Ethiopia and Israel, was prompted, aside from the traditional Ethiopian view towards Israel and the Bible, by their perception of the presence of a common enemy in the region in the form of panArabism and its tendency to view the Middle East—including the Western Coast of the Red Sea–as constituting the Arab world. In addition, the fact that the Eritrean separatist movement had its beginning in the Muslim rebellion in Eritrea led the Arab world to view the Eritrean independence movement as an inseparable part of the struggle of Arab people for their inalienable rights of self-determination. Thus, it became part of the strategic objective of the Arab world to assist in the birth of an independent and Muslim Eritrea. Conversely, Israel viewed the Eritrean separatist movement as a potential threat to its long-term objectives in the region and hence gave unquestioned support for Ethiopia’s war efforts to crush the movement. It is beyond the scope of this essay to discuss the whole issue of the changing levels and nature of the involvement of external forces in the Eritrean conflict.20 As for the general pattern of the involvement of Middle Eastern countries, two features were observable. Before the demise of the Imperial regime in 1974, Ethiopia was militarily strong and diplomatically influential. At this period, it seemed that the attitude of the Arab states depended largely on their location. States lying away from the Red Sea and thus not exposed to Ethiopia’s military and diplomatic might could afford to indulge in full ideological identification with the Eritreans and extend them material support. This was true of Iraq, Algeria, and Libya as well as the Palestine Liberation Organization (PLO). On the other hand, those states bordering Ethiopia and the Red Sea were not strong enough and subsequently not willing to confront Ethiopia militarily and diplomatically. Yet the support of the latter group of countries could have been very crucial for the Eritrean secessionists. These

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states include Saudi Arabia, Sudan, and Somalia. It was only when Ethiopia was weakened by the military-Marxist revolution that neighboring countries began to adopt the posture of confrontation. Ironically, open Arab support for Eritrean separatists came at a time when Ethiopia severed diplomatic relations with Israel. Following the reopening of the Suez Canal in June 1975, the Red Sea again became one of the most important international waterways. After eight years, oil was again being shipped from the Persian Gulf to the West through the Red Sea. In January 1977, a Kuwaiti newspaper reported that a Saudi-Sudanese-Egyptian body was established with the aim of coordinating the defense of the Red Sea and that Yemen and Jordan, together with Djibouti and Eritrea once they achieve independence, would be expected to join it.21 Meanwhile Ethiopian leaders saw this concerted Arab effort as a declaration of jihad. On the other side of the spectrum, the old allies of the Eritreans—Libya, PDRY (Peoples Democratic Republic of Yemen), and PLO—were now supporting the Ethiopian government. In 1981 Ethiopia, Libya, and South Yemen signed a Tripartite Treaty of Friendship and Cooperation, and by this time the overall Eritrean nationalist campaigns had been weakened both militarily and diplomatically. There had been frequent, violent rivalries among factions in which ideological as well as religious factors played a great part. Despite Somali effort to mediate and reconcile the Eritrean movements, the split widened and three groups (which have to various degrees been identified with Arab support) in 1983 ‘‘decided to join militarily and politically to create a new major weapon in the Eritrean peoples struggle.’’ 22 Although the Eritreans had won remarkable victories, the general trend of the fighting since 1978 was in favor of the Ethiopian side. This was mainly because of much larger resources, and the apparently open-ended, if costly, support Ethiopia received from the USSR. In the late 1980s the military pendulum was again swinging in favor of the Eritrean separatists. Although Ethiopian leaders continued to seek a military solution to the problem, they were now under pressure to ‘‘talk peace seriously.’’ This was demonstrated, among other things, by the first ever visit of the Ethiopian Vice President to Kuwait in August 1989 to seek Gulf support in talks with the Eritrean People’s Liberation Front (EPLF).23 Consequently, the late 1980s saw intensive official and unofficial talks between the separatist movements and the Ethiopian government. It should be noted, however, that this belated change of policy or its semblance was not due to genuine desire for a political solution to the problem on the part of the government. Instead the explanation lay in the fact, as Newsweek put it, that once a master of a Cold War politics, [Colonel] Mengistu became its victim.24 Upon the visit of the Ethiopian head of state to the then USSR in 1988, General Secretary Gorbachev told him that he desired to see a just solution to the Eritrean problem on the basis of the multinational Ethiopian state.25 The implication of Gorbachev’s statement was rightly interpreted as suggesting a federal structure such as that which existed before 1962. To the dismay of the Ethiopian government, in May 1991 the U.S. government

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blessed the rebel groups desire to form a provisional government in Ethiopia and Eritrea pending the outcome of a referendum to decide the status of the latter. The fact that the United States supported the idea of a referendum in Eritrea with full knowledge of the likely outcome represented a significant change in U.S.-African policy. Rather than giving unquestioned support for the territorial integrity of the Ethiopian Empire as had been the case since the 1950s, the United States became associated with a policy that was calling into question the hallowed OAU’s concept of the inviolability of frontiers.26 Now that we have the advantage of hindsight, it is possible to cast a critical look at the Eritrean conflict.

IV. RE-EVALUATION OF THE ERITREAN QUESTION Contrary to the emotionally charged claims of the main protagonists and their sympathizers, there seems to be broader agreement among scholars in the field that the mainly Christian-populated, highland part of Eritrea was historically part of Ethiopia in several ways.27 Yet Eritrea in its present form was created and so named by the Italians toward the end of the last century. In so doing Italy did not take into account the physical geography, past history, or the racial and cultural complexion of its inhabitants. As Trevaskis succinctly put it, Italy created Eritrea by an act of surgery: by severing its different people from those with whom their past had been linked and by grafting the amputated remnants to each other under the title of Eritrea.28 Geographically and culturally, Eritrea is divided into two parts: the Muslim populated lowland of the west and north and the Christian populated highland. Essentially the Muslim populated regions of Eritrea had never (with the exception of short episodes) been under the political control of the Ethiopian emperors. These regions annexed to Eritrea by the Italians between 1890 and 1894 cannot historically be considered part of Ethiopia. In earlier times the Abyssynians (Ethiopians) raided the [Eritrean] lowlands but never remained to garrison them; they plundered but never governed.29 On the other hand, the Christian populated highlands were undoubtedly an integral part, indeed, the cradle of the Ethiopian civilization.30 Culturally, [highland] Eritrea has always, in an anthropological and psychological sense, been part of greater Ethiopia. Eritrean history is Ethiopian history for at least the past 2,500 years.31 Partly because of the ethnic similarity of the population of the Eritrean plateau with that of highland Tigre, Italy (during its occupation) administered the two areas as one unit. For this reason, the contention that ties between Ethiopia and Eritrea were severed many centuries ago is quickly belied by the language, religion and other cultural traits shared by the highland population north and south of Ethio-Eritrean boundary line.32 In the past, the plateau districts [or highland Eritrea] were subdivided into a large number of sub-districts that were variously administered on behalf of the Ethiopian emperors by officers known as

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farasaina.33 Yet presently Eritrea represents a paradoxical case of a country denying parts of its recorded history and culture because they do not fit present political requirements.34 In short, the highland Eritrea has historically been more a part of Ethiopia’s political framework than have the provinces of southern Ethiopia occupied by Ethiopia in the late nineteenth century.35 Some scholars have dealt with the theme of national unity and identity in Eritrea. Lionel Cliffe, for instance, maintains that whereas Eritrea could have been portrayed as a territory with several nationalities, like others in Africa, it is now accurate to talk about the Eritrean nation that has evolved through a long and bitter war and also through the traumas of internal conflict.36 Given the presence of peoples in Eritrea who are historically, culturally, and religiously very distinct from one another it is difficult to provide supportive evidence to such a claim. Instead, what Trevaskis, a leading British colonial administrator of the territory, wrote more than three decades ago equally applies to present-day Eritrea, ‘‘They [the Eritreans] are not in any accepted sense a single people but a conglomerate of different communities which are themselves in most cases akin by culture and blood to their neighbors in Ethiopia, the Sudan, and the French Somaliland [Djibouti].’’ 37 It was not a mere coincidence that the first open rebellion against Ethiopia broke out in the Muslim populated lowland and not in the Christian highland. The same is true of the fact that the organized struggle in Eritrea against Ethiopia began in September 1961 by Muslim separatists. In other words, despite the fact that the Imperial action affected all Eritreans alike, it was the Muslims who initiated the war of liberation. As John Markakis observed, ‘‘Independence appealed mainly to Muslims in Eritrea who, for obvious reasons, were opposed to any link with Ethiopia. Many Christians, on the other hand, favored the Ethiopian connection, as a guarantee of their own political predominance in Eritrea.’’ 38 Christian elements joined the struggle en masse only after the mid-seventies after Haile Selassie’s policy of Amharization had alienated them. This could perhaps be explained also in terms of the fact that Christians, inhabiting as they do ‘‘the cradle of the Abyssynian civilization,’’ felt it may not be that bad to be ruled by an Abyssynian (Christian) emperor. After all, Christian (highland) Eritreans are identical in all aspects to the Ethiopian Christian Amharas except for the slight differences in the language they spoke. Whatever the case, this lends support to the view that the Eritrean separatists were primarily Muslims, and have been in rebellion against a long-standing Christian theocracy.39 When Colonel Mengistu, despite his earlier Leninist rhetoric, in the late eighties nominated his first Minster of Religious Affairs and soon after agreed to divide Eritrea administratively into Muslim and Christian areas,40 he was not merely trying to buy time. Although it is probable that the measure was designed to divide and rule, in a sense it was also an acknowledgment, albeit belated, of the significance of religion in the Eritrean conflict.

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During the last phase of the Eritrean conflict, highland Christian elements prevailed and now disproportionately dominate state power in the independent Eritrea. This situation cast a doubt on whether the independence of Eritrea will bring to an end to the problem without addressing the root cause, because of which the struggle was launched by Muslim dissidents. As mentioned earlier on, there had been different proposals put forth about the status of Eritrea when the subject was debated in the UN General Assembly beginning in the late 1940s. One of the proposals stipulated that the lowland Eritrea region—whose inhabitants share more or less similar cultural, linguistic, and religious features with the bordering Sudan—should be added to the latter. This position was supported by the United States until its global strategy made it ‘‘in the best interest of Ethiopia’’ to include Eritrea as part of Ethiopia. This was the first chance to rectify the injustice done to the Muslim Eritreans. Had there been a genuine desire to redress the mistake, the absence at that time of such institutional barriers as the OAU principle of the inviolability of colonial borders was favorable to bring about a lasting solution to the problem. With the passage of time, Emperor Haile Selassie left no stone unturned to legitimize his unjustified incorporation of the territory into his empire.41 Furthermore, the specific interest that the United States developed in Eritrea, as the result of the location of one of its most important military communications centers in the Middle East, resulted in its unquestioned support for the territorial integrity of the country.42 While this unquestioned U.S. support to Imperial Ethiopia was mainly due to the former’s strategic interest in the region, it was the fear of antagonizing African state (by putting into question the avowed principle of the Organization of African Unity mentioned earlier) that restrained the United States from giving open support to the independence of Eritrea during the Marxist-military regime. But with the collapse of Soviet communism and the end of the Cold War, Africa as a whole lost its value in American global strategy. The United States not only encouraged a referendum to be held on the fate of Eritrea but also cared less if the voters were given enough choice. In 1981 the Eritrean Peoples Liberation Front (EPLF) put forward a seven point program for a peaceful solution which included ‘‘the Eritrean people to be offered the choice in a referendum between full independence, federation, or regional autonomy.’’ 43 In 1993, in a referendum monitored by the United Nations, the EPLF gave the Eritreans the choice between freedom and slavery! Consequently, the legal and constitutional implication of the outcome of the referendum causes one to harbor suspicions, ‘‘The referendum is seen as an expression of the will of the people but its legal status is unclear as it is the product of an unelected and self-appointed provisional government in Eritrea and the result has been accepted in advance by an equally unelected and self-appointed government of Ethiopia.’’ 44 It seems that another opportunity has been missed for resolving the problem once and for all. The way in which the Eritrean issue was handled will, at best,

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smother the problem. As stated earlier, the inviolability of borders drawn up by colonial powers is one of the sacred principles of the Organization of African Unity (OAU). In the past this had become the major stumbling block in any discussion aiming at rectifying some of the most conspicuous injustices done by the former colonial powers. The Eritrean independence contravened this longrespected principle as ‘‘Eritrea became the first African state to gain independence from an African state.’’45 Whether the Eritrean independence would one day prove to be the Pandora’s box of Africa as it was feared remains to be seen.46 But it is regrettable that the independence did not address the real issue for which the battle was launched. Given the deep-rooted mutual suspicion and given the unjustifiable predominance47 of Christian elements in the present Eritrean government it can only be hoped that another episode of the conflict does not lie ahead. In any case, what the future holds remains to be seen, although groups that had taken part in the armed struggle and grown up with it have already established an opposition movement—The Eritrean National Pact Alliance.

CONCLUSION To sum up, the Eritrean conflict (1961–1991) was initiated by a group of Muslims to counter the anticipated predominance and pressure from the Christians. Over the years, the characteristic features of the conflict underwent significant changes. Yet, despite the ideological color the elite on both sides tried to paint the movement, religion continued to play a cnetral role. Partly becasue of the dazzling rhetoric from both sides about the greater significance of ideology, and partly because of the complexity and thorny nature of religious issues, the subject received little attention. It should be reiterated here that in post-independence Eritrea, religion is likely to continue to play a pivotal role. This is so because religious animosity, which the independence of the territory helped only to smother, dates back to the very old times of the introduction of Christianity and Islam into the region. The deep-rooted nature of the animus minimizes the possibility of compromise and accommodation. Moreover, unlike the different ideologies or political philosophies that were employed by the ruling elite to temporarily justify their end the utility of which had been changing depending on circumstances, it is not likely for the religious values to get transformed so easily. It was not a mere coincidence that the Eritrean government accused the government of the Sudan of assisting Islamic fundamentalist groups who are bent on destabilizing Eritrea. While the degree of hostility between the two countries may be variable depending on the time, there are clear indications that religion is likely to assume larger significance in the future. International as well as regional political climate is of such a nature

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that religion would become what communism, though in less durable and consistent fashion, once was, that is, a basis for forging alliances with regional powers as well as mustering domestic support. Subsequently, further polarization of religious groups in Eritrea, and the lack of interest in rectifying past mistakes could provide additional impetus to an already tense situation.

NOTES 1. Eritrea has become the first state in Africa to emerge as a result of a secession. This was against the avowed principle of the Organization of African Unity which advocates the inviolability of colonial borders. Whatever the short term and long term repercussions, Eritrea has thus set a precedent. For the rationalization of the OAU’s position, see S. A. Ekipo, ‘‘Eritrea: The OAU and the Secession Issue,’’ Africa Report, November-December, 1975, pp. 33–36. For a brief analysis of the international and regional factors that eased Eritrea’s path to independence, see, D. Pool, ‘‘Eritrean Independence: The Legacy of the Derg and the Politics of Reconstruction.’’ African Affairs, Vol. 92, No. 39, 1993, pp. 389–402. 2. H. Erlich, The Struggle Over Eritrea, 1962–78. War and Revolution in the Horn of Africa, Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1983, p. 2. 3. G.K.N. Trevaskis, Eritrea: A Colony in Transition: 1941–52, Westport: Greenwood, 1960, p. 4. 4. According to M. Abir, the Horn of Africa became marginally involved in the struggle between Western Christianity and Islam from the time of the Crusaders. See M. Abir, Ethiopia and the Red Sea, London: Frank, 1980, p. xx. 5. F. Halliday, ‘‘The Fighting in Eritrea,’’ new left review, Vol. 6, No. 7, 1971, p. 57. 6. For a chronology of the Eritrean conflict, see, M. Ottoway, ‘‘Mediation in a Transitional Conflict: Eritrea,’’ The Annals of the AAPSS, Vol. 518, November 1991, pp. 69–81. 7. For the details of the debates, see U.S. Department of State Bulletin, Vol. 21, July– September 1949, pp. 368–372. 8. Erlich, The Struggle Over Eritrea, pp. 7–10. 9. See Report to the general Assembly by Ad Hoc Political Committee, December 5, 1952, U.S. Department of State Bulletin, Vol. 27, No. 693–705, October–December 1952, p. 999. 10. Emperor Haile Selassie’s Address to a Joint Session of the Senate and the House of Representatives on May 28, 1954, U.S. Department of State Bulletin, Vol. 30, No. 779, May 31, 1954, p. 868. 11. Quoted in B. H. Selassie, Conflict and Intervention in the Horn of Africa, New York: Monthly Review Press, 1980, p. 56. 12. Quoted in T. Lyons, ‘‘The United States and Ethiopia: The Politics of a PatronClient Relationship.’’ Northeast African Studies, Vol. 8, No. 2–3, 1986, p. 56. 13. For details see Emperor Haile Selassie’s address to the U.S. Congress, May 28, 1954, U.S. Department of State Bulletin, Vol. 27, No. 693–705, October–December, 1962, p. 869.

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14. ‘‘EPLF’s Peace Offensive,’’ New African, July 1989, p. 2. 15. A. Krylov, ‘‘Islam and Nationalism: Two Trends of the Separatist Movements in Ethiopia,’’ Northeast African Studies, Vol. 12, No. 2–3, 1990, p. 171. 16. ‘‘Battle for the Red Sea,’’ Africa Report, March–April, 1975, p. 16. 17. D. Kindie, ‘‘An Aspect of the Geopolitics of the Red Sea,’’ Northeast African Studies, Vol. 12, No. 2–3, p. 126. 18. P. B. Henze, ‘‘Communism and Ethiopia,’’ Problems of Communism, May–June 1981, pp. 58–59. 19. P. Schraeder, ‘‘The Horn of Africa: US Foreign Policy in an Altered Cold war Environment,’’ The Middle East Journal, pp. 589–590. 20. For a fuller and detailed discussion of the subject see, for instance, Erlich, The Struggle Over Eritrea, pp. 55–70. Also see, K. Shehim, ‘‘Israel-Ethiopian Relations: Change and Continuity,’’ Northeast African Studies, Vol. 10, No. 1, 1988, pp. 25– 37. 21. Erlich, The Struggle Over Eritrea, p. 82. 22. Economist Intelligence Unit, No. 4, 1985, pp. 17–18. 23. Middle East International, January 15, 1990, p. 45. 24. Newsweek, January 15, 1990, p. 45. 25. Economist Intelligence Unit, Country Report, 1988, p. 23. 26. Schraeder, The Horn of Africa, p. 587. 27. For an attempt to provide a theoretical justification for Eritrean independence, see A. Tekle, ‘‘Another Ethiopian-Eritrean Federation? An Eritrean View,’’ The World Today, March 1991. For a claim that the Eritrean case for independence is stronger than that of many other secessionists, see ‘‘Eritrea: Onions, Potatoes, T-54s,’’ The Economist, March 20, 1993, p. 56. 28. Trevaskis, Eritrea: A Colony in Transition, pp. 10–11. 29. Ibid, p. 6. 30. Erlich, The Struggle Over Eritrea, p. 11. 31. Henze, Communism and Ethiopia, p. 70. 32. For a penetrating historical analysis of how common identity is shared by people living in parts of Eritrea and Tigre see, A. Abbay, ‘‘The Trans-Mareb Past in the Present,’’ The Journal of Modern African Studies, Vol. 35, No. 2 (1997), pp. 324– 329. 33. Trevaskis, Eritrea: A Colony in Transition, p. 11. 34. Ottoway, ‘‘Mediation in a Transitional Conflict,’’ p. 171. Also, for how the EPLF tried to invent a new identity and misrepresented historiography, see Alemseged, ‘‘The Trans-Mareb Past,’’ p. 330. 35. A. Wood, ‘‘Rural Development and National Integration in Ethiopia,’’ African Affairs, October 1983, pp. 521–522. 36. L. Cliffe, ‘‘Forging a Nation: The Eritrean Experience,’’ The Third World Quarterly, Vol. 11, No. 4, October 1989, pp. 143. 37. Trevaskis, Eritrea: A Colony in Transition, p. 11. 38. J. Markakis, ‘‘Ethnic Conflict and the State in the Horn of Africa,’’ in K. Fukui and J. Markakis (eds.). Ethnicity and Conflict in the Horn of Africa, London: James Currey, 1994, p. 127.

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39. Ali A Mazrui, ‘‘Black Africa and the Arabs’’, Foreign Affairs, April/July 1975, Vol. 53, p. 737. 40. Africa Contemporary Record, 1988–89, pp. B307–308. 41. An exposition of how Ethiopia cleverly manipulated the existing international and regional institutions and norms is found in R. Iyob, ‘‘Regional Hegemony: Domination and Resistance in the Horn of Africa,’’ The Journal of Modern African Studies, Vol. 31, No. 2, 1993, pp. 256–275. 42. An account of how a symbiotic type of relationship developed between Ethiopia and the United States is given in, T. Lyons, ‘‘The United States and Ethiopia,’’ Northeast African Studies, Vol. 8, No. 2–3, 1986, pp. 53–75. 43. Africa Contemporary Records, New York: Africana, 1981, p. B174. 44. Africa Research Bulletin, April 1–30, 1993, Vol. 30, No. 4, p. 10961. 45. Quite understandably, the present leaders of Eritrea argue that the independence of Eritrea is not in variance with the charter of the OAU. The President of Eritrea, Isayas Afeworke, stated that Eritrean independence does not set a precedent for anywhere else in Africa, see Africa Research Bulletin, May 1–31, 1993, p. 10997. 46. Eritrea’s secession was also feared to be a Pandora’s box of Ethiopia as well. As Colonel Mengistu stated on one occasion: ‘‘Even though the Eritrean problem takes the form of disruption in one region of our country, the tendency is very dangerous one because it could jeopardize the sovereignty, historical unity and independence of the people of Ethiopia.’’ See Africa Contemporary Record, 1988–89, p. 309. 47. At first glance, the distribution of cabinet portfolios and regional administrative posts appear roughly proportional and balanced between Christians and Muslims. But a closer look at the power distribution and earlier records of the EPLF vividly demonstrate that the new government structure is intended to serve more as a mechanism of control than to provide an effective channel for the majority of the people to express their voices. For the list of government appointees, see Africa Research Bulletin, June 1–30, 1993, p. 11032.

4 Spanish Enclaves in North Africa Heriberto Cairo Universidad Complutense de Madrid, Madrid, Spain

Ceuta, Melilla, the Pen˜o´n de Ve´lez de la Gomera, the Pen˜o´n de Alhucemas, and the Chafarinas Islands are the Spanish enclaves in North Africa. They are not very well known and there is not a lot of literature on them [1]. Even some of the most specialized works are not very accurate on some points [2]. The city of Ceuta, called Sebta in Arabic, is on a narrow isthmus that connects Mt. Hacho (155 meters) to the mainland. The total surface area of the territory is 19 km2. It is situated on the African side of the Strait of Gibraltar, and is Africa’s closest point to Europe. The population according to the last census (1991) was 73,208. Melilla is on the North African Mediterranean coast, 16 kilometers south of Cape des Trois Fourches. The city is situated mainly on a flat semicircle surrounded by mountains and its surface area is 12 km2. Its population according to the last census (1991) was 56,600. Pen˜o´n de Ve´lez de la Gomera, called Hayeda Bades by the Moroccans, is a sheer rock, 225 meters long and 100 meters wide, which is connected to an islet, 110 meters long and 65 meters wide. Its greatest height is 75 meters. Currently both are connected to Morocco by a sandy isthmus 100 meters long. Without a civilian population, there is only a token military presence. Pen˜o´n de Alhucemas, called Al-Hoceima by the Moroccans, is a small flat island, 170 meters long and 80 meters wide, 1300 meters off the Moroccan coast. Its greatest height is 27 meters. Currently there is no civilian population and only a token military presence.

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The Chafarinas are three small rocky islets (Congreso, 900 meters long and 500 meters wide, Isabel II, 500 and 400, and Rey, 300 and 200), located 11 kilometers off the Moroccan coast very near the Morocco-Algeria border. They were inhabited until 1975; currently there is only a token military presence. Most of the issues which have arisen around the enclaves are usually defined as ‘‘state problems,’’ and ignore the expectations and concerns of the populations affected. In this chapter I try to avoid this bias. To this end I shall try to delimit two discursive fields: that of the states and that of the populations of the cities. This is not to say that they are completely independent of each other, but it is quite obvious that the so-called raison d’E´tat and the wishes of the populations concerned are not always compatible. I shall therefore study briefly the evolution of the political links between the Iberian peninsular territories and Ceuta and Melilla, from their incorporation to the modern world system until their current political-administrative status within the Spanish state and European Union. I then discuss the positions of the states, bearing in mind the Spanish and Moroccan states’ geopolitical discourse, which are fundamental to an understanding of ‘‘Spanishness’’ and ‘‘Moroccanness.’’ Finally, I analyze the population of the cities and their political systems at the local level.

I. INTRODUCTION: ENCLAVES, NATIONAL IDENTITY AND GEOPOLITICAL DISCOURSE Enclaves are ‘‘small pockets of land lying outside the main territory, as islands within the territory of neighboring states’’ [3]. We cannot find abundant literature on them from a political-geographic perspective. The classic work by Robinson should be mentioned [4], and we could also quote some works on particular enclaves, from Robinson’s study of West Berlin [5] to recent papers on Walvis Bay by Simon [6] or on Kaliningrad by Fairlie [7]. If we extend the concept of enclave (which is not nonsense at all, because of the similarities) to places like Hong Kong, Macao or Gibraltar we are able to find some further studies, for example, Kelly on Hong Kong [8]. The neglect of enclaves is surprising because the relevance of their analysis is wide. Usually their boundaries are under great stress and ‘‘from their study may come a greater understanding of the nature and functions of boundaries elsewhere’’ [9]. Because of the relative simplicity of their geoeconomic or geostrategic functions it is easy to discern the value of the enclaves. Often they are

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also an important element of the territorial consciousness of the states, and constitute very important landmarks of their symbolic raison d’eˆtre. Quite different is the situation concerning the reflection on the relations between identity and territory. The relevance of those relations has been pointed out, from the work of Gottmann, which stated that territory was the ‘‘expression of the psychological features of human groups’’ [10] and so a vital element of self-preserving identity; or the seminal paper of Soja [11], asserting the functional nature of territoriality which provides identity to human beings, to the more recent works of Massey [12] or Levy [13]. Identities are not given but constructed. There is nothing natural (not even skin color, religion, or place of birth) in an identity. The emergence of an identity requires the establishment of the Other against whom self-assertion is possible. So the identity narratives are not an expression of true history, nor are they defined by a people’s character. Narratives of collective identities, such as national identities, are made out of selected historical memories and common myths [14]. Past, territory, and culture are the three pillars of identity narratives [15]. But identity ‘‘does not derive from some internalized history. It derives, in large part, precisely from the specificity of its interactions with ‘the outside’ ’’ [16]. Territory is a pillar of the identity narratives, and these are an important element of geopolitical discourse. We understand by discourse those ‘‘frameworks that embrace particular combinations of narratives, concepts, ideologies, and signifying practices, each relevant to a particular realm of social action’’ [17]. Geopolitical discourse thus includes those signifying practices about the territory which are incorporated and communicated by the political elites [18] and the narratives of identity are important elements of them. Moreover, geopolitical discourse is a constituent element of the geopolitical codes of states as defined by Taylor, ‘‘the set of strategic assumptions that a government makes about other states in forming its foreign policy [. . .] [which] involve evaluation of places beyond the state’s boundaries in terms of their strategic importance and as potential threats’’ [19]. Taylor recognizes that geopolitical codes are closely related to what Henrikson calls image-plans [20]. But it must be made clear that I am not going to try to establish the biases between reality and mental images, this would be a useless effort insofar as foreign policy is mainly conducted through discursive structures. Spatial strategies are derived from geopolitical discourse and therefore from identity narratives, which, for their time, are the result of spatial practices. Spatial strategies can lead to claiming an identity for a particular place, setting that place against others—what Massey and Jess term spatial othering [21]. But spatial strategies can be open and directed at integrating the different communities that inhabit a place. This is not necessarily a moral issue. Geopolitical analysis, in its different forms and perspectives, has quite often shown the illusory character of what is presented as an ethical choice.

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II. THE EVOLUTION OF THE SPANISH ENCLAVES IN NORTH AFRICA: POLITICAL-ECONOMICA AND ADMINISTRATIVE SPATIAL STRUCTURES It is necessary to point out that I am not trying to delineate the history of the enclaves. From a historical point of view this is merely a summary section containing elementary data on Ceuta and Melilla. But, in order to understand better the current arguments about the cities, it is very important to know their function within the capitalist world-system, particularly their relation with the colonial enterprise. Taylor defines four periods of colonial activities by imperial states: (1) a first non-competitive era in the emerging capitalist world-economy, from the late fifteenth up to the seventeenth century, when only Spain and Portugal were imperial states; (2) a first competitive era from the seventeenth to the mid-eighteenth century; (3) a second non-competitive era in the mid-nineteenth century, and (4) a second competitive era in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century [22]. Spanish expansion in North Africa is particularly active in the first and fourth periods, but, as I will try to show now, the objectives and consequences of the expansion were very different in each period.

A. Incorporation in the Iberian Kingdoms Melilla (1497), Ceuta (1415), the Pen˜o´n de Ve´lez de la Go´mera (1508) and the Pen˜o´n de Alhucemas (1673) were incorporated in the Iberian kingdoms approximately in the first of those eras. For some authors this is proof of the colonial nature of these enclaves; even though I consider it as a secondary matter, I would like to discuss their point of view. Certainly all these enclaves were conquered by the Iberian kingdoms at the time of their American (and world) expansion, but they were not part of the colonial enterprise. In contrast to the African ports which formed one of the apexes of the Atlantic triangular trade, the Iberian interest in the possessions in North Africa was not motivated at first by colonial concerns but by security issues of the newly formed states. After the conquest of the Muslim Kingdom of Granada, the Spanish monarchs tried to establish a ‘‘security glacis’’ in North Africa (from Ceuta [23] in the West to Oran in the East, and in some periods even Algiers or Tripoli) in order to control the attacks of Berber boats [24] on the Spanish coasts and in the Western Mediterranean. The enclaves were defensive fortresses and not bridgeheads for expansion [25]. Ceuta was the key to the control of the southern waters of the Strait of Gibraltar, the Pen˜o´n de Ve´lez de la Gomera allowed control of the inlet at the mouth of the River Bades, the Pen˜o´n de Alhucemas gave control of the Alhucemas Bay, and Melilla, directly opposite Malaga, was another important geostrategic point.

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Morales Lezcano sums up the main objectives of the Spanish monarchs on the northwestern coast of Africa from the fifteenth to the seventeenth centuries: to keep some forts in order to demarcate the frontier between Islam and Christianity, to guarantee the security both of shipping and of the Mediterranean Spanish cities, and to provide a base for some (scarce) missionaries [26]. The geopolitical discourse of security was still dominant when, in the eighteenth century, the abandonment of the presidios (the early meaning of the word was fortress, although also the main use of the enclaves during the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries was as penal colonies) was discussed. Thus Miguel de Monsalve wrote in 1763 that Spanish policy was not ‘‘to keep entire provinces of Berberia’’ but ‘‘to depress and contain the Moors with the barrier formed by the different enclaves and castles which were captured in the Mediterranean’’ [27]. In 1790 Oran was abandoned and the next step would be the so-called minor presidios: Melilla, Pen˜o´n de Ve´lez and Pen˜o´n de Alhucemas. Only Ceuta was perceived as a relevant geostrategic point for control of the strait. But the thesis in favor of keeping them eventually prevailed.

B. The Colonial Enterprise: The Spanish Protectorate in Morocco Following the colonization of Algeria by France in the 1830s some members of the Spanish intelligentsia began to advocate territorial expansion in North Africa; with Algeria in French hands, the target country was Morocco. It is in this context that we must explain the occupation of the Chafarinas Islands, which were incorporated into the Spanish state in the last of the colonialist eras previously mentioned. In 1848 (eighteen years after the occupation of Algeria by France) Spanish troops invaded the islands. There was renewed concern about the Spanish possessions in North Africa: the boundaries of Ceuta and Melilla were slightly expanded and took their current form in the treaties of 1844 (Ceuta) and 1859 (Melilla) between Spain and the Xerifian Empire, ratified in the armistice signed in 1860 after the victorious military expedition of General O’Donnell from Ceuta to Tetua´n. This occurred in the midst of fierce competition between European powers for Northwest Africa, which ended with the establishment of the Spanish colonies of the Rı´o de Oro (Western Sahara) in the 1880s (Spain took effective control in 1900), Spanish and French Protectorates over Morocco in 1912 and the Spanish colony of Ifni in 1934. The Spanish Protectorate was divided in two zones: El Rif in the north and Tarfaya in the south. The Spanish colonial action in Morocco could be divided into several periods and it was characterized by serious difficulties and war at first (1912–1927), uncertainty later (1927–1936) and fervor at the end (1940– 1956) [28]. The economic value of territory was scarce and limited to the north

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section of the protectorate, where mining and farming were the main colonial activities. The cities of Ceuta and Melilla were, not formally (the capital of the Spanish Protectorate was Tetua´n) but as a matter of fact, the heads of the expansion first and of the Protectorate later. Trading became increasingly important there from the 1860s, despite their character as prisons along the nineteenth century. Nevertheless, there were administrative differences between the cities and the protectorate. Ceuta and Melilla were included in the provinces of Ca´diz and Ma´laga respectively by the Provincial Act of 1882, and in 1931 they became municipalities with the same rights and duties as the other Spanish municipalities. C. From the End of the Protectorate to the Statute of Autonomy of Ceuta and Melilla From the end of World War II, the second wave of colonial independence spread worldwide. The French and Spanish Protectorate over Morocco would be no exception. The government of General Franco cherished vain hopes of keeping the Spanish Protectorate, but despite repeated attempts he had to withdraw not only from the protectorate but also from the colonies in Northwest Africa. The withdrawal from the northern section of the protectorate (El Rif) took place in 1956 and that of the southern section (Tarfaya), adjacent to the Spanish colonies, occurred in 1958. Ifni, where the last Spanish colonial war took place in 1957– 1958 [29], was given back to Morocco in 1969, and the Western Sahara fell into Moroccan and Mauritanian hands in 1975. After the end of the protectorate, Ceuta and Melilla and the minor possessions were administered by the Gobierno General de los Territorios de Soberania Espan˜oles en el Norte de A´frica, whose seat was in Ceuta. The governor general had the powers of a province’s civil governor plus some special powers delegated by the president’s office. The position of governor general was held by the chief of the North Africa army, and there were two general commands in each city, with civil and military powers. The trading infrastructures of both cities were well developed and allowed them to carry out the role of cheap markets for people from mainland Spain, in the case of Ceuta, and for neighboring Moroccans, in the case of Melilla. This trading activity underwent a serious crisis in the 1980s, particularly in Ceuta, due to the incorporation of Spain into the European Community in 1986 and, in the case of Ceuta, the opening of the Spanish terrestrial boundary with Gibraltar. The end of the dictatorship of General Franco opened up another controversial period and again there were discussions about the wisdom of leaving the socalled Plazas de Soberania (i.e., Centa and Melilla). The democratic constitution of 1978 included the possibility for Ceuta and Melilla to become autonomous communities but the decision was repeatedly delayed. Finally, the Spanish Parlia-

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ment passed the Statutes of Autonomy of Ceuta and Melilla in 1995. These statutes, while having some special features—the main one being the absence of legislative powers for the local assemblies—compared to other ones, have completed the map of the Spanish Estado de las Autonomia. Both of them establish in the first article that ‘‘Melilla [or Ceuta] as integral part of the Spanish nation, and in its indissoluble unity, accedes to its self-government regime and enjoys autonomy to administer its interests and full capacity to achieve its aims, according to the Constitutional Law, in the terms of this Statute and in a framework of solidarity with all the territories of Spain’’ [47]. III. THE STATES AND THE CITIES IN TWENTIETH CENTURY In geopolitics the research is usually focused on the state. Quarrels between neighboring countries because of territorial disputes are interpreted, as I mentioned earlier, as state problems, and most of time analysis concentrates on state policies and interests, particularly geostrategic and economic interests. I do not think we should have to abandon this perspective of research, but it is important to keep in mind that it is just one of the scales of the analysis, and it needs to be completed with a geocultural analysis. Regarding this premise I will analyze: (1) the narratives that make sense of the national communities of Spain and Morocco, as far as they are mutually related, since ‘‘communities are to be distinguished, not by their falsity/genuineness, but by the style in which they are imagined’’ [30]; (2) the geopolitical discourse of the Moroccan and Spanish state elites, that inform the geopolitical codes of the states, and (3) the spatial strategies of the states. A. The Imagined Communities There are two basic explanations of the origins of the Moroccan nation. The classic one situates it in the 1930s connected to the leading role of the national bourgeoisie after the unification of the national market by the colonial powers. Another explanation, more nationalistic in perspective, points to the battles against Iberians and Turks in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries as the initial moment of the nation. According to the second interpretation, Morocco was forged in this confrontation, as Laroui asserts with reference to the so-called Green March on the Spanish Sahara in 1975: ‘‘We were obviously living a situation comparable to many others experienced by Morocco in its centuries-old fight against the Iberian invaders’’ [31]. Since 1578 and the battle of Ued el Majazin against the Portuguese, through 1859 in Tetua´n against the Spaniards, until 1975 in the Spanish Sahara or today in Ceuta and Melilla, the Iberian countries have been the ‘‘other’’ against which the national identity was forged.

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We could describe a similar narration of the Spanish nation, but exactly opposite to the Moroccan one. Spanish national identity would be essentially Catholic and would be forged mainly in the fight against the Moors, from the beginning of the Reconquest in the mythical battle of Covadonga in 734, through the conquest of the kingdom of Granada in 1492 or the victory over the Turks in Lepanto in 1571, to the Guerras de A´frica in the nineteenth and twentieth century. This narrative held sway during the Franco dictatorship and it is still partially in force nowadays, but is only adopted by the most conservative. There are, in Spain, other narratives specifically connected with the discourse of national identity, the main alternative narratives being the liberal democratic [32] and the peripheral nationalist [33]. The growth of the peripheral nationalist movements (Basque, Catalan, Galician, and others) and the construction of the Estado de las Autonomı´as has radically changed the imagined community of Spain. Now the prevailing narrative refers to the coexistence of nations over the centuries and asserts that Spain is a multinational state, and it is in these terms that we must interpret the current situation of Ceuta and Melilla. B. The State Geopolitical Discourse The changes in Spanish geopolitical discourse in relation to Northwest Africa during this century have been drastic. What Agnew and Corbridge call ‘‘naturalized geopolitics’’ [34] held sway until the independence of Morocco, and what we can call ‘‘historical geopolitics’’ has been dominant since then. Naturalized geopolitics represents national destiny as dominated by nature. From the 1860s to the 1950s the geopolitical image of a Euro-African Spain was formulated in different ways [35]. The basic argument was that there is a spatial continuity from the Pyrenees in the north to the Atlas in the south. There would be two Spains: one peninsular in the European continent and one Transfetana or Tingitana in the African continent. So the Spanish national destiny would be to achieve the unity of both Spains. Thus the incorporation of colonies in Northwest Africa or the establishment of the protectorate was not in a way an act of colonization but one of unification. Nevertheless civilizational geopolitics also drove Spain’s spatial strategies in Northwest Africa. The mission of civilizing and achieving economic development in the area was also a leitmotiv in the colonial expansion. Historicist geopolitics represents national destiny as dominated by history. The unity of the Spanish nation is the unity of Spanish territory, such as history has modeled it. So, if Ceuta and Melilla were Spanish more than four centuries ago (Melilla even before the current province of Navarra was incorporated into the Spanish kingdom) then there is no question of their Spanishness. The same argument applied to Gibraltar leads to a different solution: Spain existed before Gibraltar was conquered by England, so it was unlawfully seized and should be given back to Spain.

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In the Moroccan case, geopolitical discourse in relation to Ceuta and Melilla can also be qualified as naturalized and historicist geopolitics. Such as the Moroccan national identity is defined, its essence is historical and geographical. So it has natural frontiers and a historical homeland: the Great Morocco. The origins of the idea of building a new state with the (mythical) limits of the old Xerifian Empire was already an implicit aim of the alliance between the national bourgeoisie and the monarch in 1944. Once Morocco was freed from the Spanish and French protectorate the map of the Great Morocco was published by a relative of the leader of the Istiqlal party (the main Moroccan nationalist party), Al-lal el Fassi. It included Mauritania, parts from Algeria, Mali, Senegal, and all the Spanish colonies (Ifni and Western Sahara), Ceuta, Melilla and the Pen˜ones. C. Spatial Strategies Since independence, Moroccan authorities have tried to achieve the territorial objective of unifying its historical homeland. Although, realistically, they have mainly oriented their claims to the only colonial power in the area, Spain. There have been several examples of Moroccan intentions, which have affected their neighboring countries: the war with Algeria in 1963 or the non-recognition of Mauritania until 1970—ten years after its independence. The incorporation of the Spanish colonies in Northwest Africa to the Moroccan kingdom was constantly sought after Moroccan independence. Ifni was annexed in 1969 and Western Sahara in 1975. But, the annexation of Western Sahara is still a contentious question, because of the resistance war of the liberation front, the Frente POLISARIO. The promised referendum of selfdetermination is still unresolved. The arguments used to legitimate Moroccan claims with regard to Ceuta and Melilla were various [36]. The cities were officially claimed by Morocco in 1960. In 1975 the case was brought to the Committee of Decolonization of the UN by Morocco [37], although it was unsuccessful. The Moroccan position has developed from its linking of the resolution of the contentious question of the status of Gibraltar to the proposal of creating a Spanish-Moroccan ‘‘cell of reflection’’ (i.e., a standing bilateral committee of debate) in 1987. The Spanish governments have always officially denied the existence of any dispute. Notwithstanding, they have tried to manage the situation by avoiding any action which could be interpreted by Morocco as a provocation: for example, there has not been any official visit of the king or the president of government to the cities since the re-establishment of democracy in Spain. This peaceful management of the situation has to do with the economic interests of both countries: Spain is the third most important client of Morocco (in 1993 it absorbed 7.8% of the total Moroccan exports) and is the second supplier (9.2% of the total

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Moroccan imports) and has been the first investor country from 1991 [38]. Spanish fishing interests are also very important in Moroccan waters; they are historically fishing grounds for the Andalusian and Canarian fleets. In fact, the Spanish governments have linked the territorial disputes and fishing rights: each handingover of territory to Morocco has been accompanied—explicitly or implicitly— by the granting of fishing rights from Morocco. Bearing in mind all these facts, we are able to interpret correctly the Treaty of Friendship, Good Neighborhood and Cooperation signed on 1991 by both countries. It institutionalizes the political contacts and relations at higher levels of the administration and establishes some bilateral principles of conduct. One of the most important principles in relation to Ceuta and Melilla is the mutual agreement to renounce to the use of force to settle bilateral disputes. It is a reassuring treaty that allows us to be confident in the peaceful development of the relations of both countries in the near future.

IV. THE PEOPLE OF THE CITIES AND THEIR POLITICAL SYSTEMS First, it is important to state that we cannot deal with the two cities of Ceuta and Melilla as a whole. This is particularly important in the issue under discussion here. The results of previous research and of ours show quite different characteristics in both cities, in terms not only of their different distances from the peninsula or of the different ethnic origin of their populations, but also of the sharp selfperception of such differences. Garcia Ferrando and his colleagues in their well known research on national and regional consciousness in Spain, point out that Ceuta and Melilla are particular cases—because they are not real regions and they are not identical at all [39]. The results of our research corroborate the point. A. Evolution and Composition of the Population Until the nineteenth century and the beginning of the Spanish colonial adventure in Africa, the population of Ceuta and Melilla was meager. Both were penal colonies and most of the residents were military personnel and prisoners. Growth during the colonial era was constant and it ended only with the independence of Morocco. The evolution of census data show a clear boom of the population of the cities from the 1900s, peaking in the 1950s (see Figure 1). If the population of Melilla was smaller than that of Ceuta in the nineteenth century, during the colonial era the situation was reversed. Ceuta (de jure population 67,615 in 1991) is now a little bigger than Melilla (de jure population 56,600 in 1991). This evolution is proof of Melilla’s deeper economic dependence on the protectorate.

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Figure 1 Evolution of the de facto population of Ceuta and Melilla according to the census.

In relation to the geographical origin of the population, there is an extended opinion in the cities about the provisional nature of most of the population. That view does not closely match the real situation: 68% of the population of Ceuta in the 1991 census was born in the city, and only 22% were born in other parts of Spain; in Melilla the population born in the city stood at 63% in 1991, with 19% from other places in Spain. This stresses the stability of the population of the cities; they are no longer military zones crowded with migrants and colonists. Most of the civil servants are not from the city, and spend just a few years there, but this is not a radically different situation from that of other cities in Spain. It is much more difficult to trace the evolution of the composition of the population. When the Plazas were incorporated into the Iberian kingdoms, a Christian population of peninsular origin replaced the Muslim population of the cities, ethnically Berber and Arabic who, in any case, had themselves taken over from previous inhabitants. Because they were military fortresses and later prisons, Muslims had restrictions on staying in the cities at night (the Muslim population was reduced to the soldiers in the Spanish army and their families). When the colonial adventure started in the nineteenth century, and particularly during the period of the protectorate, a slow growth began in the population of various communities. Thus, 1950 census data show that there were 2297 Muslims (3.8% of the de facto population), 153 Hebrews (0.3%) and 112 Indians (0.2%) in Ceuta

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[40]. The same census in Melilla recorded 6277 Muslims (7.7% of the de facto population), 3169 Hebrews (3.9%), and 29 Indians (0.04%). Thirty years later (the 1981 census) there were 12,588 Moroccans among foreign residents in Ceuta (19.3% of the population) and 11,105 in Melilla (21.5%). Later figures do not include Muslims with Spanish citizenship, but there is no significant underestimation of the members of the community. In 1986, when a census of the Muslim community in the cities was taken as a result of developments in 1985 (see next section), there were 12,177 Muslims in Ceuta and 17,027 in Melilla [41]. This means that roughly a fifth of the population of Ceuta and a third of the population of Melilla belongs to the Muslim community. There is also a small Hebrew community in both cities (far bigger in Melilla, though less than one thousand) and a few dozen Indian traders who hardly constitute a minority community. The ethnic and cultural origin of the Muslim communities of the cities is different. Most of the Muslims from Melilla are Berbers, while those of Ceuta are mainly cabilen˜os, related to the Arabized Berbers who form the majority of the population of neighboring Morocco. B. The Spanish Citizenship of the Muslim Communities One of the most sensitive moments in the more recent history of Ceuta and Melilla has certainly been in the struggle of the Muslim population of the cities (especially in Melilla) in 1985 to become Spanish citizens. Until that year most of the Muslim population of the cities were not Spanish citizens. According to the census of the Muslim communities of the cities taken in 1986, in Melilla Spanish citizens numbered 6084 of the total of 17,027 and in Ceuta the Spanish numbered 2379 of 12,177 [42]. Most of the adult Muslim population were not Spanish citizens (see Figures 2 and 3). Most of the non-Spanish citizens had only a municipal card, called contemptuously by them ‘‘dog’s identification tag,’’ which did not allow them to travel freely to the rest of the state. The July 1985 immigration laws established the requisites for a foreigner to reside in Spain and the procedures to get Spanish citizenship. Residence requisites were very restrictive and the chances that existed for Latin Americans, or those from the Philippines or from Equatorial Guinea to take nationality, were not extended to the people from the old Spanish protectorate in Morocco (there are residents who were born there or are descendants of people born there). In November 1985 there were demonstrations, particularly in Melilla, by the Muslim community under the slogan: ‘‘No to the Foreign Residents Act because we can not be foreign in our own land.’’ This began one of the periods of the most intensive intercommunity confrontation. In December there were mass demonstrations by the Christian community in favor of the act. There were violent clashes between Muslim demonstrators and police, one of the demonstrators died and the leaders of the riots fled to Morocco or were arrested.

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Figure 2 Age structure and citizenship of the Muslim population of Melilla according to the 1986 census of the Muslim community.

Figure 3 Age structure and citizenship of the Muslim population of Ceuta according to the 1986 census of the Muslim community.

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The situation was of the gravest importance and the central government decided in 1986 to begin a process of documentation of the population after taking a census of the Muslim population in Ceuta and Melilla. This process is interpreted by each one of the main communities in a different way. The Christian community has a certain reluctance (voiced explicitly or otherwise) about the process, in the belief that it is too inclusive. On the contrary, the Muslim community feels that the matter is not closed yet. Certainly not every Muslim in Ceuta and Melilla was born in the cities, but the proportion is quite high. In Ceuta 9238 members of this community were born there (76% of the total), and in Melilla 11,914 (70%). Almost all the others were born in Morocco, but many of them have been permanent residents in the cities for many years [43]. It is biased then to question the objectives of the process: most of those seeking citizenship were not Moroccans but stateless persons born in the cities. The fact is that this process has marked a dividing line in the social life of the cities and the spatial strategies of their communities. There are important changes in the party systems and they establish new conditions for the future of the territories. C. Party Systems and Political Integration The party systems of the cities are very intricate. The causes are multiple. First, there is the multicultural character of both cities. Second, they are relatively well defined places. Third, they are the object of a territorial claim by a foreign power. These are the main causes of peculiar and volatile party systems. Roughly we could distinguish three periods in the evolution of the party systems of the cities. After the dictatorship, many political parties gradually emerged, but the first democratic election in 1977 was marked by the issue of the Spanish character of the cities, and the main national parties were also the main option in the cities, although the local coalitions of independents had some relevance, particularly in Ceuta. In the 1982 legislative election the most important issue was the statute of autonomy, every region and nation in Spain had already got its statute and there was anxiety about theirs in the cities. It lead to the emergence of local parties, which usually resulted from splits within the main national parties. In the nineties, the process of documentation of the Muslim population of the cities has made this group visible, and the parties have had to cope with it. There has been an incorporation of Muslims in the electoral lists of the existing parties, and there have come into being parties integrated only or mainly by Muslims. Currently the elected representatives in the Spanish Congress (one deputy each for Ceuta and Melilla) and Senate (two senators each for Ceuta and Melilla) are members of the Partido Popular (PP) [Popular Party], the center-right govern-

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mental party [44]. Broadly speaking, all the representatives since the first democratic elections are members of the Spanish ruling parties. The first were those from the Unio´n del Centro Democra´tico (UCD) [Democratic Center Union] [45], later the Partido Socialista Obrero Espan˜ol (PSOE) [Spanish Socialist Workers Party], the moderate left party, and now the PP. This success of the central ruling parties is explained by the political elite of the cities in terms of a perception amongst the population of proximity to central government and a consequent better defense of their interests, which is obviously related to the character of an enclave under pressure from a foreign country. In the local assemblies, formerly the city councils, the situation is far more complicated. Most of the local parties do not have candidates for general elections but they do (relatively well) for local ones. Almost all of them were created from the mid-1980s on, and result generally from splits in national parties, as previously mentioned. It is in the local elections where we can best analyze the evolution of the party systems. In Melilla (see Figure 4), the main options have always been state parties, but we can see throughout the elections the increased relevance of the local parties. In 1979 the winning party was the UCD and around 75% of the total valid votes went to state parties. In 1983 and 1987 the preferences of the electors went to the PSOE, as in most parts of Spain, but there was a relevant result for the local parties: the Unio´n del Pueblo Melillense (UPM) [Melilla People’s Union], a moderate center party, and, to a lesser extent, the Partido Nacionalista de Melilla

Figure 4 Results of the local elections in Melilla.

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(PNM) [Melilla Nationalist Party], a far right party whose nationalism is Spanish nationalism. Although there were no representatives of the Muslim community in the local assembly before 1995, people of Berber origin were included in some party lists in 1991. There have been fully or mainly Muslim political options since the 1991 election; the most relevant have been the Partido Independiente Hispano Bereber (PIHB) [Spanish Berber Independent Party] and especially Coalicio´n por Melilla (CPM) [Coalition for Melilla], a left-wing party that originated in part from a split in the PSOE and with a majority of Muslims in the rank and file and the leadership. Since 1985 political integration of the Muslim community has been a reality, not an easy one but generally well seen. As a leader of the PP asserts, ‘‘We have six Berbers in the local assembly: two in the government party and four in the opposition and there is no problem [. . .] Since 1986 the situation has changed a lot, because the ferment of the rebellion has disappeared; the ferment was the issue of citizenship,’’ (interview conducted by the author, 1996). One of the consequences of this generally accepted integration has been the strong drop in votes for the far right from local elections in 1991 to 1995. The elected representatives from the last local elections (1995) are: PP 14, PSOE 5, CM 4 and UPM 2. There are six representatives of Muslim origin, two from the PP list and four from the CM list. Most of the parties include some members of the Muslim community in their lists of candidates. In Ceuta (see Figure 5) the relevance of the local parties has already been

Figure 5 Results of the local elections in Ceuta.

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shown in the first local election, which a local coalition, the Agrupacio´n Electoral Ceutı´ (AEC) [Ceuta’s Electoral Group], won. The winner of the 1983 election was the PSOE, despite the fact that three local parties took part in it; but their results were poor, and only the Partido Nacionalista Ceuti (PNC) [Ceuta’s Nationalist Party], a far right party, achieved representation. The success of the PSOE did not last, mainly because of two important splits in the 1980s, which have their origin in ideological differences and on the issue of the Statute of Autonomy for the city: the Partido Socialista del Pueblo de Ceuta (PSPC) [Ceuta People’s Socialist Party], with a strong presence of members from the trade union Comisiones Obreras; and Progreso y Futuro de Ceuta (PFC) [Progress and Future of Ceuta], which was the winner of the 1991 election. In the same years appeared Ceuta Unida (CEU) [United Ceuta], a moderate center party. Until the last local elections there were no representatives of the Muslim community; although some members were included in the lists of candidates of the PSOE and other left-wing parties in 1991. But the process of true integration of the Muslim in the political life of the city has been harder than in Melilla and there were important obstacles to overcome, as explained by a leader of the PSOE,‘‘We thought it was necessary to include some Muslim party colleagues in the lists because they represent the population [. . .] This decision was not understood by the rest of the political parties and it was only in the last elections when they dared to include Muslims in their lists,’’ (interview conducted by the author, 1997). The elected representatives from the last local elections (1995) are: PP 9, PFC 6, CEU 4, PSOE 3, PSPC 2 and PDSC 1. There is only one representative of Muslim origin, elected from the Partido Democra´tico y Social de Ceuta (PDSC) [Social and Democratic Party of Ceuta], a moderate party made up of Muslims, although most of the parties included members of that community in the lists of candidates. It is important to emphasize that only one political option has defended, in the last election campaign in the cities, integration into Morocco: Coalicio´n Electoral Musulmana [Muslim Electoral Coalition] in Ceuta, whose results were poor (1100 votes, 3.9%) and did not achieve representation. There are also two deputies (one each from the PP and IU) in the European Parliament who were born in Melilla. The Euro-deputy of Izquierda Unida (IU) [United Left], a radical left coalition of parties, is of Berber origin. His election was very significant, because of the former position of the Partido Comunista de Espan˜a (PCE) [Spain’s Communist Party] on Ceuta and Melilla. The cities were defined by the PCE as colonial remains and the official party policy was in favor of the transfer of sovereignty to Morocco. The change in policy has mainly to do with the transformations of the cities post-1985, but it is not unrelated to the perception of Morocco as an aggressive and imperialistic country, particularly since the Moroccan annexation of Western Sahara in 1975 and the

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later war against the Frente POLISARIO (Frente Popular para la Liberacio´n de Saguia el Hamra y Rio de Oro), which has always been supported by the Spanish left.

CONCLUSIONS First as parts of a Mediterranean security glacis of the Iberian kingdoms, later as beach-heads of colonial expansion, and nowadays as trade points in decline, Ceuta and Melilla have been integral parts of the modern history of Spain. Today they are fully incorporated in the political-administrative structure of the state and therefore are territories of the European Union. The Spanish geopolitical discourse in relation to North Africa has evolved in the last century from a naturalized geopolitics (a Euro-African Spain) to a historicist one (Spain is what history has brought together). On its side, the Moroccan claims are based on historicist and naturalized geopolitics (Great Morocco is a natural and historical unity). As happens in other cases of territorial disputes the resulting geopolitical images of both states are partially superimposed. Spatial strategies of the states are not only directed by geopolitical images. Bilateral economic relations and interests have smoothed the controversy about the cities and have lead to the signature of the Treaty of Friendship, Good Neighborhood and Cooperation by both countries. It allows us to disregard the possibility of an overt conflict in the foreseeable future. However, it is very difficult to guess what could be the Moroccan attitude toward the cities after the death of King Hassan II. The ever-changing nature of the discourse (only stabilized during certain periods) is clearly derived from the particular cases of the cities. It incorporates different narratives and social practices, and local adaptability to new situations is highlighted. But in Ceuta and Melilla the discursive structures of the states of Morocco and Spain do not have a direct reflection in the identity narratives of the cities’ inhabitants, and, therefore, in their party systems. In particular, the Moroccan discourse has not had a relevant repercussion in the population of the cities. Certainly that is not the case in all enclave situations, as shown by Simon for Walvis Bay and Namibia [46]. Changes in the ethnic composition of the population of the cities in this century have led to very troubled moments in the mid-1980s. The conflict resulted in a process of documentation of the Muslim population of the cities, which has resulted in political integration and ending of acute social unrest. But the coexistence of the different communities is not the natural result of living together. It is a conscious strategy conducted by the political elites of the communities. In Ceuta and Melilla there are both narratives and spatial practices of inter-community coexistence (we have not dealt with this issue here), which are different and

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not always in agreement. In some ways, they are condemned to exist side by side if they want to preserve the sovereignty status of the cities.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS The research on which this chapter is based was funded by the Universidad Complutense de Madrid. An earlier version of this chapter was presented at the twentyseventh World Congress of the International Political Science Association in Seoul, August 1997.

NOTES/REFERENCES 1. Even in Spain the literature is basically historic in nature and there is not enough well-documented research on the current situation of the enclaves. 2. See, for example, G. O’Reilly. 1994. Ceuta and Spanish Sovereign Territories: Spanish and Moroccan Claims. (Boundary and Territory Briefing, vol. 1, no. 2). Durham: I.B.R.U., University of Durham p. 1. The author states that ‘‘the territories are within the NATO defense area because of Spanish membership of the alliance.’’ This is not accurate. In fact, there were a lot of critical statements when Spain joined NATO because there were not ‘‘formal political guarantees’’ of the inclusion of the cities in the defense area due to the African nature of their territories. See D. Garcı´a Flo´rez. 1997. Ceuta y Melilla en el ordenamiento constitucional. In: Instituto Espan˜ol de Estudios Estrate´gicos. Ceuta y Melilla en las relaciones de Espan˜a y Marruecos. (Cuadernos de Estrategia 91). Madrid: Ministerio de Defensa, pp. 37–47. 3. M. I. Glassner. 1993. Political Geography. New York: Wiley, p. 69. 4. G. W. S. Robinson. 1959. Exclaves. Annals of the Association of American Geographers 49:283–295. 5. G. W. S. Robinson. 1953. West Berlin: The geography of an exclave. Geographical Review 43:540–557. 6. D. Simon. 1996. Strategic territory and territorial strategy: the geopolitics of Walvis Bay’s reintegration into Namibia. Political Geography 15:193–219. 7. L. D. Fairlie. 1996. Kaliningrad: NATO and EU enlargement issues focus new attention on Russia’s border with Central Europe. Boundary and Security Bulletin 4:61– 69. 8. I. Kelly. 1987. Hong Kong: A Political-Geographical Analysis. London: Macmillan. 9. M.I. Glassner. 1993. Political Geography. New York: Wiley, p. 71. 10. J. Gottmann. 1973. The Significance of Territory. Charlottesville: University Press of Virginia, p. 15. 11. E. W. Soja. 1971. The Political Organization of Space. Washington, D.C.: Association of American Geographers. 12. D. Massey. 1994. Space, Place and Gender. Cambridge: Polity Press.

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13. J. Le´vy. 1994. L’espace le´gitime: Sur la dimension ge´ographique de la fonction politique. Paris: Presses de la Fondation Nationale des Sciences Politiques. 14. A. D. Smith. 1991. National Identity. Harmondsworth, Middlesex: Penguin. 15. D.-C. Martin. 1995. The choices of identity. Social Identities 1:5–20. 16. D. Massey. 1994. Space, Place and Gender. Cambridge: Polity Press, p. 169. 17. T. J. Barnes, J. S. Duncan. 1992. Introduction. In: T. J. Barnes, J. S. Duncan (eds.), Writing Worlds: Discourse, Text, and Metaphor in the Representation of Landscape. London: Routledge, p. 19. 18. J. Agnew, S. Corbridge. 1995. Mastering Space: Hegemony, Territory and International Political Economy. London: Routledge. 19. P. J. Taylor. 1993. Political Geography: World-Economy, Nation-State and Locality. (3rd ed.) Harlow, Essex: Longman, p. 19. 20. A. K. Henrikson. 1980. The geographical mental maps of American foreign policy makers. International Political Science Review 1:495–530. 21. D. Massey, P. Jess. 1995. Places and cultures in an uneven world. In: D. Massey, P. Jess (eds.) A Place in the World? Places, Cultures and Globalization. Oxford: Oxford University Press/The Open University, pp. 215–239. 22. P. J. Taylor. 1993. Political Geography: World-Economy, Nation-State and Locality. (3rd ed.) Harlow, Essex: Longman, p. 120. 23. Ceuta was first conquered by the Portuguese in 1415. It remained as a Spanish possession after the dissolution of Iberian unity in 1640 by virtue of a decision of the nobles of the city. 24. The discourse of the ‘‘Moorish’’ menace was especially centered on the piratical activities carried out by the berberiscos. It is interesting to remember, by the way, that the Duke of Medina Sidonia (the conqueror of Melilla) also harassed the North African cities. 25. See J. M. Mun˜oz Corbala´n. 1993. Estrategia de la corona espan˜ola para la conservacio´n de los presidios menores africanos durante el siglo XVIII. Aldaba 21:253–294. Or A. Bravo Nieto. 1990. La ocupacio´n de Melilla en 1497 y las relaciones entre los Reyes Cato´licos y el Duque de Medina Sidonia. Aldaba 15:15–37. 26. V. Morales Lezcano. 1993. Espan˜a y mundo a´rabe: ima´genes cruzadas. Madrid: Agencia Espan˜ola de Cooperacio´n Internacional. 27. Cited in J. M. Mun˜oz Corbala´n. 1993. Estrategia de la corona espan˜ola para la conservacio´n de los presidios menores africanos durante el siglo XVIII. Aldaba 21:255. 28. See V. Morales Lezcano. 1984. Espan˜a y el Norte de A´frica: el Protectorado en Marruecos (1912–56). Madrid: Universidad Nacional de Educacio´n a Distancia. 29. See J. R. Diego Aguirre. 1993. La u´ltima guerra colonial de Espan˜a: Ifni-Sa´hara (1957–1958). Ma´laga: Algazara. 30. B. Anderson. 1991. Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism. (Rev. ed.) London: Verso, p. 6. 31. A. Laroui. 1994. Marruecos: islam y nacionalismo. Madrid: Editorial Mapfre, p. 183. 32. I. Fox. 1997. La invencio´n de Espan˜a: Nacionalismo liberal e identidad nacional. Madrid: Ca´tedra. 33. A. de Blas Guerrero. 1994. Nacionalismos y naciones en Europa. Madrid: Alianza Editorial.

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34. J. Agnew, S. Corbridge. 1995. Mastering Space: Hegemony, Territory and International Political Economy. London: Routledge. 35. Nowadays, there are still some authors that formulate a similar sort of naturalized geopolitics. For them Ceuta and Melilla are the remains of that Euro-African Spain. See J. F. Salafranca Ortega. 1993. El concepto geopolı´tico de las fronteras de Su Cato´lica Majestad en Berberı´a. Aldaba 22:305–321. 36. R. Lazrak. 1974. Le contentieux territorial entre le Maroc et l’Espagne. Casablanca: Dar El Kitab. 37. Document A/AC. 109/475 of January 31, 1975. 38. M. Hernando de Larramendi, J. A. Nu´n˜ez Villaverde. 1996. La polı´tica exterior y de cooperacio´n de Espan˜a en el Magreb (1982–1995). Madrid: Instituto Universitario de Desarrollo y Cooperacio´n / Los Libros de la Catarata. 39. M. Garcı´a Ferrando, E. Lo´pez-Aranguren, M. Beltra´n. 1994. La conciencia nacional y regional en la Espan˜a de las autonomı´as. Madrid: Centro de Investigaciones Sociolo´gicas. 40. INE (Instituto Nacional de Estadı´stica). 1960. Resen˜a estadı´stica de las Plazas de soberanı´a de Ceuta y Melilla. Madrid: Instituto Nacional de Estadı´stica. 41. INE (Instituto Nacional de Estadı´stica). 1987. Estudio estadı´stico de las comunidades musulmanas de Ceuta y Melilla. Madrid: Instituto Nacional de Estadı´stica. Underestimation due to the lack of answers to the census agents or other problems is calculated at 2825 persons in Ceuta and 797 in Melilla. 42. See INE (Instituto Nacional de Estadı´stica). 1987. Estudio estadı´stico de las comunidades musulmanas de Ceuta y Melilla. Madrid: Instituto Nacional de Estadı´stica. 43. See INE (Instituto Nacional de Estadı´stica). 1987. Estudio estadı´stico de las comunidades musulmanas de Ceuta y Melilla. Madrid: Instituto Nacional de Estadı´stica. 44. In the first democratic election, the antecedent of the PP was Alianza Popular (AP) [Popular Alliance], which later became Coalicio´n Popular (CP) [Popular Coalition]. 45. UCD became later Centro Democra´tico y Social (CDS) [Social and Democratic Center], which has virtually disappeared. 46. D. Simon. 1996. Strategic territory and territorial strategy: the geopolitics of Walvis Bays’s reintegration into Namibia. Political Geography 15:193–219. 47. Ley Orga´nica 1/1995 and 2/1995, B.O.E. 14 March 1995.

5 A Problem-Centered Approach for Understanding Foreign Policy Some Examples from U.S. Foreign Policy Toward Southern Africa Helen E. Purkitt United States Naval Academy, Annapolis, Maryland

I. INTRODUCTION A number of pathways are available to study the cognitive basis of judgment and choice. Within the cognitive framework, I highlight problem-solving behavior as a feature element for analyzing public policies or political issues. Problem solving seems an appropriate vignette mainly because individuals often state political queries as problems to be solved. When operating in a problem-solving mode, individuals utilize information selectively to try to answer their queries. Within this context, I suggest that public policymaking relies on judgment and choice triggers. In this chapter I am specifically interested in using information processing to explain the broad contour of United States’ foreign policy toward southern Africa. The approach may enhance our understanding of specific policy decisions taken by U.S. decision-makers during and after the Cold War.1 To accomplish my objective, I focus on the shared scripts used by U.S. government officials to frame U.S. policy towards southern Africa. This focus permits a description of changes and of important continuities in the scripts that underlie U.S. foreign policy.

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II. SCRIPTS, INFORMATION AND ISSUE FRAMES Past research on how people gain understanding of a problem or issue underscore that people use cognitive constructs to put their viewpoint into a manageable form. They frequently do this in the form of a story or script.2 The initial representation of a problem is often shaped by ideology (in other words, the ideological scripts of individuals).3 In problem-solving quests, cognitive beliefs aid in the effort to gain an understanding of the nature of the immediate task. Information about the problem or its components may modify one’s understanding of the problem but, typically, one uses information to reinforce and bolster beliefs and experiences. Bolstering often occurs when individuals rely on a set of preferred scripts. Issue framing is a critical part of marketing political ideas. Several decades of research on political decision-making has documented how the status quo serves as a reference point or anchor in a variety of political contexts. Defending the status quo has strong appeal, even when blind adherence to it causes decisionmakers to make large errors of judgment. Reference to the status quo provides a crucial advantage of familiarity to both decision-makers and the public (Cyert and March, 1963; Simon, 1976). A common framing that represents a task assumption of policymakers embodies the homily, ‘‘If it’s not broken, don’t fix it.’’ The thorny part in accepting the homily, however, involves determining how well a policy is working. When policymakers conduct a search in the neighborhood of the status quo, they tend to overestimate the strengths of existing policies and practices. By highlighting the status quo and using an advocacy strategy to evaluate policy, decision-makers produce ideologically driven policies. A status quo/advocacy approach to political problems weakens policy initiatives for two main reasons, (1) it leads decision-makers to oversimplify an inquiry or limit the search and (2) the approach leads to judgments that overvalue the strengths of existing policy. Attempting to shift away from ideological reasoning faces difficulty mainly because individuals tend to maintain a favored hypothesis in working memory. People tend to find information that supports existing beliefs and to ignore contrary information. Guiding a search in this way supports ideological thinking. The downside of ideological thinking is that it leads humans to ignore important and relevant details of information (Carbonell, 1978; Iyengar, 1987; Sniderman, Brody, and Tetlock, 1991). An important advantage of ideological thinking is that it helps policymakers understand and communicate foreign policy by using scripts or schemas that contain familiar belief components. Widely shared public scripts help politicians explain a variety of on-going and new political problems by relating new events and trends to more familiar events and trends. This explanatory structure uses highly simplified beliefs.

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We may see the limitations of scripted thinking in how the United States adjusted to the end of the Cold War (Schwarz, 1996). The manipulation of fear and distrust symbols, invoked as a way of combating communism and to gain support for large defense outlays, made transformation to a new reality difficult. The overall result of the continued manipulation of symbols was to create a politics of distortions and half-truths that advance idealized beliefs. More recently, we see the effects of symbolic manipulations in such ideas as the dangers posed by ‘‘rogue states’’ or characteristics of future U.S. national security threats produced by undifferentiated ‘‘Islamic fundamentalists’’ or ‘‘terrorists’’ (Karabell, 1995; Klare, 1995). These phrases seek to simplify but rarely help to solve political problems. There is a durability, but inherent weakness, in the tendency to rely upon highly simplified and ideological scripts to rationalize different foreign policy priorities. Section III documents how officials in each of nine administrations described the basic contours of U.S. policies toward southern Africa by using appeals to a Cold War script. Officials varied in their emphasis of specific components of this script across administrations. Towards the end of this era a few new themes or components were added to more familiar themes related to the need to contain communism and promote US economic interests. Despite important differences across these administrations, individuals who worked in each of these presidential administrations on foreign policy issues were careful to frame specific issue in terms of the common Cold War script. This repetitively utilized Cold War script embodied an effort to obtain support within the government and the larger public for a preferred solution to policy dilemmas aggravated by contradictory U.S. foreign policies. In Section IV, I describe in more detail how the Cold War script was used to justify a U.S. policy ‘‘tilt’’ towards South Africa in U.S. foreign policies towards the region during the Nixon administration. Section V analyzes some of the reasons for a change in this U.S. policy after covert involvement in the Angolan civil war was made public. The ensuing public debate among rival subsets of the foreign policy elite about the wisdom of U.S. involvement illustrates how different partisan groups relied upon the same Cold War script but differed in their emphasis and interpretation of specific belief components within the general script. This policy debate resulted in a cut-off of U.S. covert aid. This example of a sharp change in U.S. foreign policy is useful for illustrating how different sets of partisan coalitions often use elements of the same basic foreign policy script to justify their preferred policy alternative. This case also illustrates the importance of understanding which foreign policy script prevails in domestic policy debates. This dominant shared public policy script can serve as a useful heuristic guide for understanding and predicting when and why there are likely to be departures in U.S. foreign policies in specific policy areas.

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III. DURABILITY OF THE COLD WAR SCRIPT: US POLICY TOWARDS SOUTHERN AFRICA, 1947–94 Throughout the Cold War era, top officials in nine U.S. administrations, differing widely in terms of their priorities, style and specific policies towards southern Africa, used elements of a similar script to justify specific policies. The remarkably stable and enduring belief components of these policy scripts served as a coherent justification for seemingly contradictory U.S. foreign policy goals. The political status quo in the region anchored the underlying assumptions and beliefs of the scripts and were, thus, highly resistant to change. During Harry Truman’s administration, South Africa was considered a friendly but remote country in a region still characterized as under European tutelage. The region suffered a similar ‘‘benign neglect’’ under President Eisenhower (De St. Jorre, 1977). Throughout the early post-war period, South Africa’s system of apartheid was not a liability in dealings with the West. In the aftermath of World War II, racial segregation and a belief in white superior status were widely viewed as the natural order of things throughout the world (Geldenhuys, 1984: 111). By the end of the fifties, African states comprised the largest voting bloc of countries in the UN. This reality led Eisenhower to pay attention to the commitment of African states to independence in Portuguese Africa, British-ruled Rhodesia, and the elimination of apartheid in South Africa. In diplomatic positions, particularly in the context of the multilateral diplomacy of the UN, the United States became increasingly critical of South Africa’s internal and region policies. Yet criticism did not buttress policy. From the time of the Eisenhower administration, American policymakers viewed South Africa against the Cold War context as a useful partner in military, strategic, and economic relations. Thus, the United States continued to resist demands for mandatory economic sanctions against South Africa until forced to do so in the mid-1980s by domestic political pressures. Throughout the post-Cold War era, the United States continued to pursue a close but low-keyed working relationship with South Africa in a number of specialized areas. At the same time, U.S. diplomats worked to distance the United States from South Africa in diplomatic circles. Most South African government officials involved in national security affairs interpreted their participation in the ‘‘Atoms-for-Peace’’ programs (designed to develop nuclear energy technologies) and the Simonstown Agreement of 1955 (giving port visit rights to NATO members) as important indicators of their countries inclusion in the Western alliance. In contrast, American policymakers assigned less value to these commitments (see Geldenhuys, 1984; Mills, 1990, Sparks, 1990 for South African views; and Baker, 1989; Crocker, 1992; and De St. Jorre, 1977 for American views).

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John F. Kennedy, while possessing some direct knowledge of African affairs and concern with race relations in the United States, never made southern Africa a central foreign policy concern. Similarly, Johnson’s concern for the region related primarily to his concern with racial equality in the United States. For Johnson, Vietnam eclipsed all other foreign priorities, including Europe. Remote or marginal concerns such as southern Africa were down low on the list of concerns (De St. Jorre, 1977; Kitchen, 1987; Schlesinger, Jr., 1965; Sorensen, 1965). Officials in the Nixon administration initiated a comprehensive review of U.S. policy toward southern Africa (National Strategic Security Memorandum— or NSSM—39) early in Nixon’s first term. This review was only one of several reviews ordered by Nixon’s foreign policy advisor, Henry Kissinger, as part of his efforts to regain control of the foreign policy bureaucracy. Kissinger and Nixon viewed the importance of the region mainly in the context of U.S.-Soviet relations. Kissinger’s interest in this region, much like Zbigniew Brzezinski’s focus during the Carter administration, derived from perceptions of links among Soviet actions in southern Africa, in the Horn, throughout the Third World and overall superpower de´tente (see for example, Kissinger, 1976; Rosati, 1987). Thus, once the United States initiated covert involvement in the Angolan civil war, Kissinger became directly involved in region policy formulation. Kissinger’s preoccupation with ‘‘linkage’’ led him to renew U.S.-South African cooperation in 1976. But this action did not dispel a lingering sense of betrayal on the part of white South Africans. Their sense of betrayal took shape after the United States failed to support their military operation in Angola and after the U.S. Congress terminated covert aid to Jonah Savimbi (Geldenhuys, 1984; Steenkamp, 1989). Jimmy Carter’s efforts to re-orient U.S. foreign policy priorities underscore the durability of the Cold War script. Carter came into office committed to doing something about racial injustices in southern Africa. For Carter this was an important policy area. He attached a great deal of moral importance to the U.S. role in southern Africa and to the North/South dimension of international relations which he believed were accorded too low a priority by past U.S. administrations consumed by conflicts related to the East/West dimension of international relations. Carter’s personal interest resulted in his administration spending an unusual amount of time, for a U.S. President, on southern African issues (Rosati, 1984: 158-91; Rosati, 1987). He also shifted U.S. foreign policy priorities in the region and introduced meaningful changes in the thrust of U.S. foreign policies (Purkitt and Dyson, 1986:507–532).4 But speeches by Carter officials usually contained contradictory themes and the Carter administration’s policies were often inconsistent. Thus, Carter’s policies raised more dilemmas than they resolved. By the end of Carter’s term—in response to increased Soviet involvement in the Horn

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of Africa, and to international events in other parts of the world (for example, the fall of the Shah in Iran and the invasion of Afghanistan)—U.S. policy once again stressed the global balance of power dimension of international relations. The Reagan administration came into office committed to reasserting the primacy of containment and East/West concerns in U.S. foreign policy. This meant a return to the Nixon era ‘‘tilt’’ towards South Africa. The old tilt was conceptualized as a new policy called, ‘‘constructive engagement.’’ This new policy would once again dominate U.S. regional priorities (Crocker, 1980/81: 323–51; Crocker, 1992). The policy tilt toward South Africa embedded in the policy of constructive engagement became disrupted and complicated in the mid1980s due to increased pressure exerted by the anti-apartheid movement and increasingly supported by the Black Caucus in Congress. The overall result was passage of economic sanctions against South Africa. Thus, the last two years of Reagan’s second administration, a period when Democrats regained control of the Senate, saw the United States increase cooperation with South Africa while seeking to lead the protest against apartheid in international forums. Increased de´tente between the superpowers at the end of the 1980s coincided with the increased desire on the part of the former South African Afrikaner political leadership to negotiate a settlement to regional conflicts, including Angola and the status of Namibia. Afrikaner political leaders wanted to also move toward a negotiated settlement at home that would ensure a continuing, and hopefully a dominant, role of the Nationalist Party in a transitional government (Sparks, 1995). U.S. policies towards the end of the Cold War period indicated a wide gap between rhetoric and practice. The United States continued to pressure the apartheid regime to agree to a peaceful transition to majority rule. Behind the scenes, however, the United States worked with South Africa on a number of issues. U.S. diplomats, along with those from the USSR and Portugal, worked closely with South Africans to reach a negotiated settlement to South Africa’s ‘‘bush war’’ in Angola. The parties wanted an accord that would settle the civil war in Angola and the political status of Namibia. The Tripartite Agreement that was implemented in 1988 was designed to achieve a goal of accommodation (Crocker, 1992). The change in leadership in South Africa in 1989 after former President P.W. Botha suffered a stroke, resulted in a moderate candidate, F.W. de Klerk, becoming head of the party. F.W. de Klerk sought a mandate from the public, after receiving the support of party leaders, to negotiate a transition to a new political order. The goal in the early 1990s was to ensure a large, if not dominant, role for the National Party in the new South Africa (Sparks, 1990:370). After President de Klerk won popular support among white voters for this goal, he entered into preliminary talks with opposition leaders. During this period, President de Klerk ordered a behind-the-scenes policy review of a number of covert

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programs, including the nuclear weapons program. De Klerk acted on many of the recommendations from this study including closing down the nuclear bomb program, terminating the space launch vehicle program and ending several weapons contracts between South Africa and Israel (Burrows and Windrem, 1994; Purkitt, 1995; Reiss, 1995). While the United States actively promoted a negotiated settlement, the Bush administration was applying extensive pressure behind the scene to ensure that the de Klerk administration continued denuclearization and demilitarization. Although the former South African government released Nelson Mandela and entered into a negotiation process with opposition parties and other groups in the early 1990s, elections leading to a transition government did not occur until April of 1994. The long-awaited political change in South Africa did not come until after the defeat of George Bush by Bill Clinton. This summary of U.S.-South African foreign relations over time suggests the durability of a highly simplified Cold War script that persisted for half of a century despite remarkable changes in the local, regional, and international political environment. During this period, Zimbabwe achieved independence from the United Kingdom after a protracted guerrilla war. The Angolan civil war escalated into an international conflict involving covert aid on the part of the United States and former Soviet Union and the involvement of Cuban and South African troops. Despite internationally sponsored elections and efforts to establish a new boardbased government in Angola, UNITA (National Union for the Total Independence of Angola) members under the leadership of Savimbi quickly left the new arrangement and have been fighting MPLA-government (Popular Movement for the Liberation of Angola) forces ever since. Namibia achieved independence peacefully in 1990. After a decade of destabilization campaigns at home and abroad, there was a peaceful transition to a new South Africa in 1994. Instead of modifying the public justification for U.S. policy towards this region in response to these major changes in the region, the public script of each U.S. administration during the Cold War manifested an unwavering concern with the need to counter communist threats. Over time there were increased references to the need for political change in U.S. public statements. But each administration also stressed the importance of political stability and the need to maintain good relations with all regimes, black and white, within the region. This emphasis on the need for political stability and gradual movement toward social change resulted in a remarkably stable status quo bias in U.S. foreign policy over time even though criticisms of apartheid in South Africa grew more frequent in U.S. official rhetoric. The very gradual shift in emphasis placed on different themes in U.S. official rhetoric starting in the later half of the 1980s underscores how resistant to change established conceptual constructs can be among both politicians and analysts.

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IV. SCRIPTS CONDITION ISSUE FRAMING: US POLICY TILT TOWARDS SOUTH AFRICA IN THE 1970S While the veneer of containment and appeals to promote U.S. national interests may have served as adequate justifications for U.S. foreign policy in the region to a largely uninterested American public, the basic script contained contradictory goals. Policymakers seemed wedded to either preserving the status quo or making only minor incremental changes. The characteristic decision-making process toward the region was aptly summarized in the comprehensive policy review on U.S. foreign policy initiated by Kissinger during the early Nixon administration as being ad hoc and based on momentary costs and benefits. While this approach had the advantage of flexibility, it resulted in contradictory policies dependent upon whose views prevailed in terms of U.S. foreign policy objectives. Since many of these objectives were contradictory, the pursuit of one or more often made it difficult to pursue other goals. Resulting U.S. policies were often inconsistent or contradictory (ElKhawas and Cohen, 1976:20–31). The status quo bias inherent in this approach led U.S. experts to incorrectly predict in National Security Study Memorandum 39 that the white regimes of southern Africa would not have to ‘‘make constructive changes in their race policies in response to external pressure’’ (El-Khawas and Cohen, 1976; Bender, 1981:68–9).5 The logic behind this prediction was that the white regimes—the Portuguese still fighting their counter-insurgency war in Angola, Mozambique, and Guinea Bissau; the white regime of Ian Smith fighting the ZAPU (Zimbabwe African People’s Union) and ZANU (Zimbabwe African National Union) forces in Rhodesia; and the South African regime fighting SWAPO (South West Africa People’s Organization) insurgents in Namibia—could hold on to power for the foreseeable future. The premise of this policy analysis was the idea that ‘‘the whites are here to stay and the only way that constructive change can come about is through them’’ (Bender, 1981:68–9; El-Khawas and Cohen, 1976; 105–6; Lockwood, 1976: 10–15). The problem representation that whites are here to stay provided the analytical justification of the Nixon administration’s ‘‘policy tilt’’ toward the white status quo in the regime. The assessment had concluded that: [T]here is no hope for the blacks to gain the political rights they seek through violence, which will only lead to chaos and increased opportunities for the communist. We can by selective relaxation of our stance toward the white regime, encourage some moderation of their current racial and colonial policies and through more substantial economic assistance to the black states . . . help to draw the two groups together and exert some favorable influence on both for peaceful change. Our tangible interests form a bias for our contacts

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in the region, and these can be maintained at an acceptable political cost (ElKhawas and Cohen, 1976:105–06).

The conceptualization was framed as one policy option outlined in the National Security Study Memorandum 39. The option was one that the Nixon administration subsequently adopted (Bender, 1981:68–9). The failure of a comprehensive U.S. policy review in the early 1970s to anticipate changes in the southern African region at one level is not surprising. Henry Kissinger, as the architect of Nixon’s foreign policy had ordered this review to justify closer cooperation with South Africa while choosing to ignore the realities of politics in Angola and throughout the region. Bender (1981:65) captured the essential problem with Kissinger’s biased and simplified view which led him to mandate a policy shift in U.S. policies towards the region when he noted that [T]he neglect of Angolan realities . . . proved to be the fundamental flaw in U.S. policy, resulting in a commitment to losing sides (first Portugal, then the FNLA/UNITA coalition) and, ironically, in weakening rather than strengthening the ‘‘equilibrium’’ vis-a`-vis the Soviet Union.

At another level, however, the failure to anticipate the Portuguese coup and subsequent major political changes in the region is remarkable as it represented another instance when most members of the U.S. foreign policy establishment were surprised by dramatic changes in international relations. Surprise seems to be a constant feature of U.S. foreign policy: the fall of the Shah in Iran in 1979; the collapse of the former Soviet Union; Saddam Hussein’s invasion of Kuwait; and recent revelations about the extensive programs designed to build weapons of mass destruction in Iraq. Intelligence surprises in Iraq occurred despite U.S. success in the Persian Gulf War and the unprecedented access to Iraq by International Atomic Energy Inspectors. While popular impressions frame these policy surprises as ‘‘breakdowns’’ or intelligence or analytical ‘‘failures,’’ the failures flow rather predictably from the shared reliance on idealized and simplified scripts used to understand and rationalize specific public policies.

V.

DISJUNCTURE IN FOREIGN POLICY: WHY US COVERT AID TO ANGOLAN FACTIONS WAS TERMINATED

Although the U.S. foreign policy elite agreed on the general elements contained in the Cold War public script, the elite consisted, nonetheless, of individuals with differing ideological assumptions, beliefs, and interests. There are often important disagreements and maneuverings over specific foreign policies among the U.S.

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elite. The foreign policy elite is composed of Democrats and Republicans, business and intellectual leaders, mainstream liberals and conservatives. Across nine administrations, members of this elite framed and justified their preferred policy proposals towards southern Africa in terms that were consistent with the need to contain communism while promoting U.S. interests—economic interests, democracy, and world peace. Although the importance of maintaining access to key strategic minerals, such as uranium, was downplayed and frequently dropped from U.S. official rhetoric by the end of the 1970s, U.S. economic interests played a central role in influencing U.S. policy in the region for much of this period (Borstelman, 1993). In fact, the general usefulness of the same set of highly abstract ideological beliefs to promote parochial interests of different groups goes a long way towards explaining why public scripts are so durable. The same shared fundamental belief components of foreign policy scripts, however, may also serve as constraints when decision-makers seek to pursue policies (designed to maximize economic or political advantage) that are at odds with the ideas contained in the public script. Thus, covert programs and gaps between the principles espoused in rhetoric and specific policies are common means used to pursue policies that are in direct conflict with the belief components of the official script. This is especially true when policymakers attempt to maximize an economic component of the national interest since economic advantage is a powerful influence shaping foreign policies. The primacy of economics underlying U.S. foreign policy is why the United States is likely to continue to pursue expanded, normal relations with China while ignoring statutory requirements to impose sanctions for China’s exports of proscribed materials and arms to aid Pakistan’s nuclear weapons program. The current competition among corporations worldwide to build pipelines and develop untapped oil and natural gas in the Caspian Sea area is currently fueling a move in the U.S. Congress to repeal statutory requirements that mandatory sanctions be imposed on companies doing business with pariah states. Economic interests were an equally important determinant of U.S. policy in southern Africa during the Cold War and remain central to U.S. interests in the region today. There are important differences however, between U.S. national economic interests in China, the Caspian Sea and southern Africa. Bilateral relations with China tap important economic and strategic interests of powerful groups in American society while U.S. relations with South Africa in the post-Cold War era have at best, marginal value to most groups with political influence in America. At the time of the Portuguese coup and subsequent independence of Portuguese territories in Africa, the prevailing view among the American foreign policy elite was that South Africa could play a significant role in the event of a large-scale or protracted military confrontation with the Soviet Union. This belief was bolstered by references to South Africa as a principal exporter of key strategic materials, even though most of the resources went to European allies, and to

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the strategic value of the Cape of Good Hope, even though the idea of ‘‘choke points’’ was an anachronistic holdover from the nineteenth century. The rhetoric about the presumed strategic advantages of white-ruled South Africa led many South Africans to believe that the United States viewed her as an ally despite growing pressure in the West for more forceful actions against the apartheid regime (Baker, 1989; Bissell, 1982; Geldenhuys, 1984). As was noted in Section IV, this widely shared belief among the South African Afrikaner foreign policy elite was reinforced by Henry Kissinger’s engineered ‘‘tilt’’ towards South Africa. During the early 1970s, the United States justified support for the Portuguese and white regime of South Africa in terms of U.S. strategic and economic interests in the region. A second important component was an alleged need to maintain good relations with NATO allies over African nationalistic demands while reducing contacts and aid to nationalist groups fighting for independence in the Portuguese colonies (see Bender, 1981; ElKhawas and Cohen, 1976; Crocker, 1992; De St. Jorre, 1977; Steenkamp, 1989). Thus, the overthrow of the Caetano regime by the Portuguese military and the announced intention of the Armed Forces Movement in Portugal to grant immediate independence to African colonies temporarily disrupted the U.S. policy of working with proven friends and allies in the region. However, the final thrust of U.S. policy in the region did not change. While the Ford administration accepted Marxist-led governments in Guinea Bissau and in Mozambique, Kissinger tried to block the ascendancy of a Sovietled group, the MPLA, in Angola by approving a large increase in the amount of covert aid that the United States gave to one faction, the FNLA (National Front for the Liberation of Angola). The FNLA was led by the brother-in-law of the former president of the former Zaire (now called the Democratic Republic of the Congo). Former President Mobutu, was viewed as a key U.S. ally throughout the Cold War. The United States increased aid to Holden Roberto, head of the FNLA, from the levels established during the Kennedy administration, prior to the establishment of a transitional government. This transitional government was supposed to be composed of three factions, the MPLA, FNLA, and UNITA. This initial U.S. decision to resume funding for the FNLA was viewed at the time as a low cost operation and only a minor change from the status quo carrying little or no risks. On the eve of independence on January 31, 1975, this modest increase in U.S. aid was not viewed as a major new policy commitment. At the time, Kissinger described the aid as assistance in political organization, ‘‘to buy bicycles, paper clips, etc.’’ (Bender, 1981: 76). This assessment turned out to be wrong. The transitional government quickly degenerated as members of the three factions clashed in the capital of Luanda and the surrounding areas. Over the next six months each group consolidated its hold and support over different regions of the country. The fighting escalated in March of 1975 as the FNLA, reinforced with soldiers from the former

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Zaire’s army, moved approximately 4000 troops within 35 miles of Luanda, the capital of Angola. The Marxist-led MPLA sought to bolster their position with outside aid. By summer, the Soviet Union had delivered 100 tons of arms valued at between $20 and $35 million U.S. dollars. By June, the United States faced a rapidly changing military situation and had to decide whether to increase U.S. support in Angola to counter Soviet aid. In July, the transitional government collapsed and the MPLA expelled the FNLA and UNITA from the capital with the aid of their Cuban advisers. The MPLA went on to capture 12 of the 16 district capitals by mid-October. In the face of a rapidly changing military situation, Henry Kissinger in July overruled the State Department’s recommendation to pursue a diplomatic rather than military approach. Kissinger approved a 100 percent increase in funds for the FNLA, and approved covert funds for UNITA for the first time. The initial U.S. grant of $14 million for military aid was increased to about 32 million in November as the military situation escalated (Bender, 1981; El-Khawas and Cohen, 1976; Steenkamp, 1989). Additional outside military interventions played a decisive role in determining the outcome of the conflict. South Africa intervened on August 9th and again on October 23rd with a column of approximately 1500 white soldiers which included South African regular troops, former Portuguese soldiers and American and European mercenaries in support of the FNLA and UNITA factions. In less than three weeks this column recaptured much of the area that the MPLA and their Cuban allies had captured over the summer. The South African column made a lightning advance in a few weeks and planned to reach the capital before independence in November of 1975. The continuation of the South African military advance was stopped by politicians at home and by the increased numbers of Cuban troops sent to help MPLA forces. By the last half of 1975, several thousand additional Cuban troops had been flown in to aid the MPLA. The number of Cuban advisers in Angola at the start of the summer of 1975 was approximately 100. The number of Cuban troops steadily increased. These troops were sent to the front in late October and were reinforced by approximately 7000 additional Cuban troops flown in at the end of 1975. Members of the U.S. Congress had little interest in this conflict until the fall when press reports described alleged U.S. involvement. Although the Senate Foreign Relations Committee had been briefed about the covert U.S. program during a closed session, it was only after a series of press leaks that a public debate about U.S. involvement in the Angolan civil war ensued. The Ford administration portrayed the conflict as a Cold War proxy fight that involved Soviet and Cuban intervention. The administration asked Congress for additional covert funds to help turn the military tide, pressured friendly Caribbean states to deny refueling privileges to Cuba, and asked the Gulf Oil Company to suspend operations in the Cabinda province of Angola and delay giving the MPLA-led government the quarterly royalty and tax payments of $100 million in December, 1975 (Bender, 1981).

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Despite Ford’s use of Cold War rhetoric which emphasized the importance of the United States countering communism in Angola, the majority of members in Congress, the media and the public opposed continued U.S. involvement. Public polls and subsequent congressional debate demonstrated rather dramatically that Americans remained divided on the question of the lessons of Vietnam and how to pursue U.S. interests worldwide. With the majority of Americans opposed to U.S. involvement in a remote civil war, the Senate Foreign Relations Committee endorsed a proposed amendment introduced by Senator Clark to cut off all covert aid to Angola. Although the Clark amendment was nullified by a presidential veto, Senator Tunney introduced an amendment to the defense appropriations bill prohibiting future American covert aid to pro-Western factions in Angola. Despite efforts on the part of Kissinger to find a private compromise with the Senate over the administration’s $28 million request, the Senate passed the Tunney Amendment on December 19, 1975 by a vote of 54 to 22. The White House shifted its efforts to the House in an attempt to overturn the Senate ban on further military assistance. Although the White House’s position was strengthened by regional events, it failed to convince the House of the merits of its position. The South Africans announced in January of 1976 that they would pull out of Angola if other foreign troops would do the same. Kissinger argued that the regional events required further U.S. involvement in Angola to halt Soviet expansion and to support South Africa’s effort. He also argued that further U.S. aid was necessary to give the United States leverage with the USSR in future negotiations over the status of Angola. However, Kissinger failed to rally support in Congress. The House of Representatives passed its version of the amendment (by a vote of 323–99) on January 27, 1976 banning further U.S. covert military aid to Angola. In February, the OAU (Organization for African Unity) recognized the MPLA as the legitimate government of Angola, the FNLA faction quickly disappeared, and Jonah Savimbi and UNITA went back to the bush where they continued to receive aid from informal sources in South Africa and the United States. The United States refused to recognize the MPLA-led Angola government diplomatically until the withdrawal of Cuban troops was accomplished by a negotiated agreement arrived at under the auspices of the United States, Russia, and Portugal in the late 1980s (Bender, 1981; Crocker, 1992; El-Khawas and Cohen, 1976; Heitman, 1990; Stockwell, 1978; U.S. Congress, 1976; 1978). This agreement, known as the Tripartite Agreement, linked the withdrawal of Cuban troops in Angola to a pledge by South Africa to respect the sovereignty of Angola and to support a referendum leading to independence in Namibia. There were a number of unforeseen consequences resulting from aborting U.S. covert action in Angola. South African officials were surprised and deeply wounded by the U.S. governmental refusal to support a drive into Angola to prevent the Marxist-led, MPLA nationalist faction from taking over. The longlasting sense of betrayal by members of the Afrikaner defense and military estab-

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lishment was fueled by South Africa’s belief that the United States would support them in their campaign to block the MPLA. Hard-line South African Nationalist Party politicians used the U.S. policy shift as a ploy to gain support for the spacelaunch program, other covert programs, and increased defense budgets throughout the rest of the 1970s and 1980s (Oye, Lieber and Rothchild, 1987; Purkitt, 1995). In the United States, conservatives used the MPLA takeover in Angola to publicize policy discussions and debates about who ‘‘lost Angola’’ as a means to criticize President Ford during the 1976 election. The belief that this U.S. policy shift represented a failure of will on the part of a superpower became part of the conservative script in the United States. This idea was a major theme of Ronald Reagan’s campaign during the presidential election campaign of 1980 although he dropped this theme from his public script once he was elected president. At a more general theoretical level, this U.S. policy change illustrated the limitations of using a highly simplified and ideological foreign policy script to formulate and explain the rationale for U.S. policy towards a remote and complex international conflict. A Nixon-Ford-Kissinger policy tilt toward Portuguese Africa in the early 1970s may have seemed reasonable when viewed from the ideological lens of a U.S. global perspective but the framing ignored a plethora of data indicating the unpopularity of the colonial wars. The U.S. framing also required inattention to the broad base of support for nationalist demands for independence within the Portuguese territories and throughout the developing world. The continued reliance on this Cold War script by Kissinger and his advisers may explain why the Portuguese coup in 1974 did not trigger a major re-evaluation of U.S. policies even though it marked substantial change throughout the region. Instead, a number of country-specific details were downplayed. Africans and African analysts in the West at the time agreed that a viable political settlement in Angola would require the cooperation of the MPLA since this group’s political strength included most of the central highland region and much of the African elite living in the capital. The cooperation and participation of UNITA representatives was sought as the organization had broad-based support in the south. The FNLA did not have an extensive popular base and quickly disappeared as a viable faction after former President Mobutu withdrew political support and the United States terminated covert aid. Kissinger rejected the idea of a political compromise involving the MPLA and UNITA, which was the basic approach supported by the State Department and by the majority of African experts involved in the interagency National Security Council task force assigned to study U.S. options. This group varied in their assessment of the potential threat posed by an increased Cuban and USSR presence in the region but agreed that further U.S. military intervention would create greater problems. In reaching this conclusion the task force supporters tended to focus on four key factors: (1) The relative military capabilities of the FNLA and UNITA compared to the MPLA

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forces backed by extensive USSR aid meant that the United States would be backing the ‘‘losing side’’ militarily; (2) Negative impact of increased U.S. covert aid on key U.S. regional allies, particularly former President Mobutu of Zaire and former President Kaunda of Zambia; (3) Diplomatic costs and fallout throughout black Africa and the Third World of tacit cooperation with South Africa; and (4) Impact of increased U.S. covert aid on future Soviet action since increased U.S. military involvement would tend to encourage greater Soviet involvement (El-Khawas and Cohen, 1976). This task force recommendation was never submitted in its entirety. Instead, the NSC staff presented the recommendation as only one possible option for Secretary of State Kissinger’s consideration rather than as an explicit recommendation. Exclusion of a written rationale to support the diplomatic option was symptomatic of a more general tendency to downplay information about relevant causal factors and conflict dynamics. For example, at a July NSC meeting, intelligence information indicating the military incompetence of the FNLA was downplayed as was pertinent information indicating the ability of the MPLA to score impressive military gains prior to a massive involvement of Cuban troops. There was little interest in understanding why the Chinese had withdrawn military aid to the FNLA in June. Instead, U.S. policymakers decided to replace the Chinese as the key outside backers of the FNLA! Questions related to FNLA or UNITA’s ability to absorb increased amounts of sophisticated U.S. military aid without skilled supervisory personnel were also ignored, as were concerns about the potential negative fallout once it became public that the United States backed the same faction as the South Africans. The simplicity of the problem framing generated by this Cold War framework was made public by the CIA director to a congressional committee in January of 1976. In attempting to determine the differences between the key contending nationalist factions, then-CIA director Colby noted that ‘‘they are all independents. They are all for black Africa. They are all for some fuzzy sort of social system, you know, without really much articulation but some sort of let’s not be exploited by the capitalist nations’’ (Bender, 1981:105). As the committee pressed Colby further for the rationale for U.S. support for the FNLA and UNITA given the similarities among the three groups, Representative Aspen asked Colby why the Chinese were backing the moderate group. Mr. Colby responded, ‘‘Because the Soviets are backing the MPLA is the simplest answer.’’ Congressman Aspen then said that, ‘‘it sounds like that is why we are doing it.’’ Mr. Colby responded, ‘‘It is,’’ (Bender, 1981:105). This testimony illustrates how the global superpower dimension of the civil war dominated routine NSC decision-making during the Kissinger stewardship of U.S. foreign policy. But as the conflict escalated it triggered a major public debate in the United States. Kissinger and other spokespersons for the Ford administration sought to frame this escalating conflict as one with international

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ramifications. This framing of an obscure African civil war puzzled most congressmen. Congress was privy to a counter-theme provided by the CIA. Congress was told through a CIA briefing that there were not significant differences among the three groups and that regardless of the outcome of the military conflict, U.S. economic interests would not be jeopardized. Given conflicting views from official sources, many congressmen were more attentive to the testimony of key U.S. actors such as Gulf Oil whose representatives indicated a willingness to continue working with the MPLA government. In addition, public opinion polls reported that over 70 percent of Americans were opposed to increased U.S. involvement in another remote civil war. These issue dimensions seemed most salient to the majority of congressmen who chose to ignore the alleged global ramifications of U.S. withdrawal by voting to cut off funds for a U.S. covert program to aid UNITA (Bender, 1981).6

VI. THE ‘‘RESIDUE’’ OF OLD SCRIPTS IN THE POSTCOLD WAR ERA Remarkable changes in South Africa’s domestic political system and international relations followed swiftly on the heels of the collapse of the Soviet Union and the end of the Cold War. Changes in the national, regional, and global political environment were so dramatic that a new U.S. policy script was required to justify continued U.S. involvement in the region. While the contours of the post-Cold War script are still being developed, the idea that the new South Africa is a friendly state playing a key role in regional relations is a key belief component of the emerging script. This belief is tied to a related assumption that U.S. interests throughout the region are tied to South Africa’s prosperity and expanding economic investments. The importance of Africa to U.S. economic interests was a principle theme reiterated by U.S. President Clinton during his 1998 visit to several African countries. Clinton discussed the ‘‘African renaissance’’ at every stop during his trip and added two new ideas to the emerging public script, an emphasis on historic ties between the U.S. and African societies and the increased economic potential of Africa (see for example, Remarks by the President at Opening of the Ron Brown Center, 1998). With the end of the Cold War, and especially since the U.S. military experience in Somalia, the idea that America has important security interests in Africa has been dropped from official U.S. rhetoric. Instead, humanitarian interests, human rights and most importantly, the need to promote democracy have replaced security concerns in official statements as key U.S. interests throughout Africa. To the extent that the United States has a role to play in security affairs, the new theme is one of ‘‘helping Africans to help themselves.’’ The U.S. All African Crisis Response Initiative and increased—albeit low-keyed joint and multilat-

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eral—training missions between the U.S. military and key African countries, are important new developments in U.S. security policies. As funds for U.S. military programs to African countries such as IMET are scaled back, the United States increasingly relies on key ‘‘friendly countries’’ to play key roles in maintaining regional stability throughout southern Africa. The links are reinforced by increased communication and cooperation over current security concerns such as the Great Lakes crisis and an increase in the number of joint military exercises and related military activities. Thus, the United States increasingly is working with South Africa, along with more traditional African allies such as Botswana, to ensure future political stability (Henk, 1998; Henk and Metz, 1997). Some residual suspicions remain among certain U.S. foreign policy officials and analysts within the government about the loyalties of top South African political leaders who were Marxists during the liberation struggle. These suspicions were aggravated after the transition to majority rule by the insistence of Philadelphia prosecutor to continue to press a legal case which included the former South African armaments corporation, Armscor, as one of the key defendants. Millions of dollars in fines were levied against Armscor and a key concern of South African officials at the time was whether the implementation of this fine would bankrupt Armscor and destroy plans to privatize South Africa’s arms industry. A stalemate over this issue delayed greater cooperation between the two countries, especially in the realm of security, for several years after 1994.7 Even after a political settlement resolved the legal dispute, there are residual suspicions of certain South African political leaders among some U.S. officials. South Africa maintains friendly relations with countries that the United States considers ‘‘pariah’’ states. The post-apartheid South African government refuses to accept the U.S. characterization of states such as Libya and Cuba as ‘‘pariah states’’ who should be shunned. Libya and Cuba were unwavering supporters of the African National Congress (ANC) during the liberation struggle. The fact that South Africa refuses to distance itself from these states fuels residual suspicions about the loyalties of politicians who had embraced Marxist or socialist ideologies during the liberation struggle. Although South Africa was the first country to unilaterally renounce a fully operational nuclear weapons program, there remains a concern within the U.S. government because South Africa retains the technology and expertise to produce chemical, biological, and nuclear weapons. The South African commitment to supporting a sophisticated armaments industry also means that the country is a competitor of U.S.-based armament corporations for key ‘‘niche markets’’ worldwide. However, the concerns are usually only expressed privately and outside of public forums since security issues are no longer part of the public script U.S. officials use to explain and justify U.S. relations with South Africa during the Mandela era. Instead, the ANC-led government of South Africa has replaced the old white-rule government as a ‘‘proven friend.’’

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The changing rhetoric reflects an expansion of diplomatic relations and military cooperation between the two countries. The State Department operates three offices dealing directly with South African policy issues. The U.S. military continues to expand cooperative links with their counterparts in South Africa (Henk, 1998). The U.S.-South African Bi-National Commission (BNC) headed by Vice President Gore and Deputy President Mebeki endeavors to provide a high-level, regular vehicle for coordinating and initiating new cooperative programs between the two countries. Unlike the ad hoc approach to U.S.-South African relations that characterized much of the Cold War, the BNC, which meets biannually, offers an important forum where heads of agencies in both governments meet face-to-face on a regular basis to explore areas of mutual interests in seven major policy areas (Purkitt, 1997). Although U.S.-South African relations continue to expand, U.S. national interests in the region are secondary in comparison to U.S. interests worldwide. Among U.S. policy planners and decision-makers, the entire continent of Africa is generally viewed as marginal but a potentially important area of growth for future U.S. exports.8 It remains to be seen whether the new, reconstituted script guiding U.S. policy toward southern Africa will be complex enough to encompass region, global, and domestic political realities and thus, be a more effective and shared cognitive framework for shaping U.S. policies towards countries in the region. One hopes that the post-Cold War foreign policy script will be more sophisticated and attentive to the realities of local and regional trends than the previous Cold War script. The historical record is not encouraging. Instead, recent history suggests that American policy makers or members of the attentive public will neither know nor care about future US policies, including policy ‘‘failures’’ in this region of the world in the future.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS This work was supported by a grant from the U.S. Naval Academy Research Council and was presented in an earlier draft form as a conference paper on a panel entitled, ‘‘Understanding Foreign Policy Making,’’ at the 37th Annual Meeting of the International Studies Association, April 17, 1996, Anaheim, California.

NOTES 1. For an in-depth discussion of this perspective see Dyson and Purkitt (1997, 1990, 1986) and Purkitt (1998). For other descriptions of an information processing perspective on politics see Bennett, 1981 and Voss, 1998. Discussions of how people solve

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3. 4.

5.

6.

7.

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ill-structured problems, such as those found in politics, are found in Voss (1998); Voss and Dorsey (1992), and Voss, Greene, Post, and Penner (1983). Information processing is not the only problem-centered mode of thinking. For further discussion of this point see Dyson and Purkitt (1997). For an overview of research using the story construct see Hastie, Penrod, and Pennington (1983) and Pennington and Hastie (1981). Sylvan and Haddad (1998) is a recent application of this theoretical approach to study foreign policy decision-making. Other theoretical approaches using the script concept include Abelson (1981), Shanck and Abelson (1980), and Conover and Feldman (1984). Young and Schafer (1998) survey the results of research using cognitive constructs based on image theory, cognitive maps, the operational code approach, and cognitive complexity. Vertsberger (1998) synthesizes earlier work using the script or schema construct with newer information processing insights to explain foreign policy decisions to intervene militarily. See empirical studies in Sylvan and Voss (1998) for recent research on various aspects of foreign policy decision-making using the problem representation construct. Past research indicates that the unique components or themes of a U.S. administration’s policy script toward this region is highly correlated with policy shifts across administrations. For example Purkitt and Dyson (1986) found that the unique themes in the rhetoric of top officials in the Carter administration (in other words, an emphasis on promoting change and stability in the region and human rights) and Reagan officials emphasis on ‘‘constructive engagement,’’ or the promotion of better relations with the former apartheid regime of South Africa was strongly correlated with cooperative and conflictual U.S. foreign policy acts towards South Africa. The foreign policy of the Carter administration (1979–80) was much more conflict-ridden while foreign relations between the United States and South Africa during the first two years of the Reagan administration was mostly cooperative. This difference was statistically significant (x2 ⫽ 31.0, p ⬍ .005) and indicated a strong correlation (Q ⫽ .875) between unique themes of each administration’s rhetoric and major shift in the overall direction of foreign policy across the two administrations (Purkitt and Dyson, 1986: 527–528). The complete, unabridged text of this National Security Council Interdepartmental Group for Africa Memorandum (NSSM 39) can be found in El-Khawas and Cohen (1976). Portions of NSSM 39 were widely leaked and analyzed (Bender, 1981; Lulat, 1991). Although Kissinger and other officials in the Nixon administration denied using any of the policy recommendations listed in this memo to formulate policy, most analysts and the historical record of U.S. foreign policy supports the interpretation that this administration did, in fact, choose option 2 of NSSM 39 (El-Khawas and Cohen, 1976: 10–13, 28–31). Much of the funding for the MPLA during the civil war in Angola came from revenues from the sale of oil companies, including U.S.-based corporations. Oil revenues funded the failed transition process in the mid-1990s and remains the principle source of foreign currency for the Marxist-led MPLA government in Angola today (Crocker, 1992). Resolution of this and related South Africa security concerns were settled by South African and U.S. government officials by early 1997 when Vice President Gore and Vice President Mbeki agreed to add a Military Commission to the U.S.-South African

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Bi-national Commissions. Since that time increased cooperation in security and a number of other policy areas between the two countries have increased. See Purkitt (1997) for further details. 8. For a historic perspective on this recent trend towards marginalization, see Beinart (1994: 18–20). While South Africa, southern Africa, and Africa continue to rank low in the scheme of U.S. global interests, the importance of the United States to Africa and the South African economy continues to increase. The United States is now the single largest source of direct foreign investment in South Africa. Bilateral trade is steadily growing. In 1997, U.S. imports to South Africa increased by 8 percent to $3 billion and non-diamond exports were worth over $1 billion (South African Mail and Guardian, 1998).

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Stockwell, J. (1978). In Search of Enemies. New York, NY: Norton Press. Sylvan, D. A. and Haddah, D. M. (1998). Reasoning and problem representation in foreign policy: Groups, individuals, and stories. In D. A. Sylvan and J. F. Voss (eds.), Problem Representation in Foreign Policy Decision Making, 187–212. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Sylvan, D. and Voss, J. F. (eds.) (1998). Problem Representation in International Relations. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. U. S. Congress. (1976). House Committee on International Relations, United States Policy on Angola. Hearings before the Committee on International Relations, 94th Cong. 2nd sess., Rept. 66–572. U.S. Congress. (1978). House Committee on International Relations. United States–Angolan Relations. Hearings before the Subcommittee on Africa, 95th Cong. Last sess., Rept. 29–726. Vertsberger, Y. I. (1998). Risk Taking and Decisionmaking:Foreign Military Intervention Decisions. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Voss, J. F. (1998). On the representation of problems: An information-processing approach to foreign policy decision making. In D. A. Sylvan and J. F. Voss (eds.), Problem Representation in Foreign Policy Decision Making, 8–26. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Voss, J. F. and Dorsey, E. (1992). Perception and international relations: An overview. In E. Singer and V. Hudson (eds.), Political Psychology and Foreign Policy, 3– 30. Boulder, CO: Westview. Voss, J. F., Greene, T. R., Post, T. A., and Penner, B. C. (1983). Problem solving skill in the social sciences. In G. H. Bower (ed.), The Psychology of Learning and Motivation: Advances in Research Theory, vol. 17, 165–212. New York: Academic Press. Young, M. D. and Schafer, M. (1998). Is there method in our madness? Ways of assessing cognition in international relations. Mershon International Studies Review, 42, 63– 96.

6 Beginning and Ending the Cold War in East Asia Gavan McCormack Australian National University, Canberra, Australia

I. INTRODUCTION In the 1990s, the East-West global conflict ended, but a new global equilibrium has yet to emerge, and much of the basic Cold War infrastructure remains intact. In Europe, the process of reconciliation and the construction of a true post-Cold War order has involved the dismantling and recasting of the alliance system and the positive transcendence of the hostilities of World War II by symbolic apologies, reconciliations, and cooperations in the construction of a shared memory and a shared understanding of the past; but this has no real parallel in East Asia. The U.S. and Japanese rapprochement with China and the Indochina settlements in the 1970s certainly modified the Cold War confrontation. In addition the collapse of the Soviet Union, the opening of diplomatic ties by South Korea with China and Russia, and the admission of both North and South Korea to the United Nations in the early 1990s did so even more dramatically, but such changes have merely cast into sharp relief the residual Cold War foundations of inter-state relations in the East Asia region. Despite the economic might of both Japan and (South) Korea, substantial foreign troops remain based on their soil, Korea remains divided, and the defense arrangements of the region consist primarily of bilateral treaties with the United States. In this chapter I want to make some suggestions as to how this might have happened and upon what might be some of the preconditions for bringing Asia into line with Europe as a region where the Cold War is not an immediate reality but something studied in history books and museums. Why is it that East Asia in the twentieth century has failed to evolve a concert of states other than the Japanese103

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dominated ‘‘Greater East Asia’’ in the first half and the U.S.-dominated ‘‘free world’’ one in the latter half of the century; the former disastrous, the latter originally a Cold War product, certainly not disastrous, but at least, and increasingly, anomalous. Anomalous in the sense that the conditions that gave it birth disappear while the structure itself remains intact. Approaching the twenty-first century, externally-oriented dependence still characterizes both economic and security arrangements—dependence on U.S. markets and on U.S. security guarantees articulated in distinct, bilateral defense relationships, between the United States on the one hand and Japan, Taiwan, and Korea separately on the other. There is one obvious external cause for this—the desire of the global superpower that it be so. But there is also an internal factor which is equally important—the dependent or ‘‘comprador’’ factor cultivated during the Cold War but still strong, which in Korea induces acceptance of the ‘‘division system’’ ( pundan ch ’eje)1 and in Japan the assumption that the Security Treaty is written in gold on the tablets of Washington and must never be contested. This spirit or will for dependence—known as sadae in Korean (service of the great and powerful, flunkyism, or sycophancy)—stands in contrast to what is referred to commonly in Korean as chuch’e, or sometimes chaju, and is known in Chinese and Japanese as zhutixing or shutaisei, best rendered into English as subjectivity. My first hypothesis is that a recovery of the spirit of chuch’e or shutaisei is a precondition for the emergence of any new East Asian order. My second hypothesis is that the locus of the structural failure (the fault line if you will), of the East Asian state system is now, and has long been, one which runs through Japan as much as it runs through Korea. The two are as linked now as they have been throughout the past 100 years. The East Asian crisis of 1997 is (as was the East Asian crisis of 1897) a crisis over how to relate these two states which have the misfortune to be so alike, in culture, ethnic composition and origins, economic resources and structure. The context of the problem for them one hundred years ago was that of a declining and perhaps disintegrating China, while today it is of a resurgent and confident China. To these two hypotheses I should add a supplementary proposition: that North Korea is an authoritarian, repressive regime, which lacks credibility and increasingly lacks legitimacy because of its failure to provide its citizens with the basic conditions of existence, but that this should be seen as symptomatic of a problem whose real structural roots are elsewhere, rather than itself being a cause of the present crisis.2

II. THE SAN FRANCISCO TREATY AND THE GEOMETRY OF THE COLD WAR The territorial issues involving North and South Korea—along with issues involving Japan, Russia, China, and Taiwan—were certainly frozen during the

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Cold War decades, but their resistance to the thaw since then suggests they are rooted in older soil, predating the East—West confrontation. The present international system of East Asia cannot be considered without reference to the fabric of the San Francisco treaty system (1951). This system has served at least three roles: (1) a peace settlement for World War II, (2) a process of formation of one of the two ideological-military Cold War blocs, and (3) an expression of the aspiration for long-term regional hegemony, strategic-military in the first instance and then economic, by the United States. As a World War II peace settlement, the San Francisco Treaty was a very imperfect arrangement, since major participant and/or victim countries—including the Soviet Union, China, and Korea—were excluded from it, while Japan, the defeated, was given a privileged position which relieved it of the need to face up to questions of responsibility or compensation. Furthermore, the process of settling of civil struggles between rival forces claiming to represent legitimate national identity or interest in the former Greater East Asia was also transformed and actually subsumed within the new Cold War ideological confrontation before local settlement could be reached. So far as the Cold War is concerned, the bloc built around the San Francisco Treaty, and united around resistance to communism whether external or internal, was a key feature of the Cold War; as the basis of that cohesion vanishes, one would expect, logically, that the system would be either wound up or renegotiated, but that process is slow and all parties approach it with reluctance. As far as the third aspect of the San Francisco system, the U.S. presence in Asia, is concerned it seems clear that due to the huge economic importance of the region withdrawal from a U.S. perspective is out of the question even though the Cold War itself has ended. Yet no state, and virtually no political or intellectual leaders anywhere in the region, are calling for a recasting of the San Francisco Treaty system. Instead, the system is quietly strengthened. Paradoxically, even those who decry U.S. cultural or commercial influence agree that the U.S. presence should be maintained, although China, in particular, is nervous of any change that might reinforce the U.S. position.3 Although the ideological confrontation of the Cold War blocs ended in the 1980s, the U.S. bilateral treaty-based alliance system lives on, serving different ends. Depending on time and context of the discussion, the direction of perceived threat might now be Korea (North Korea), China, or even Japan itself. The idea that the alliance system (which originated in the protection of the region, including Japan, against communism) might serve to protect the region against Japan is bizarre, but it is not new. Such a reasoning was fundamental to the security guarantees given to Australia and New Zealand when the Australia–New Zealand–United States (ANZUS) treaty (complementary to the Washington Treaty and the U.S. Japan Security Treaty) was negotiated in 1951, and it was used explicitly as a justification for the U.S. presence in Japan in the famous 1990 statement about the role of the U.S. military in Japan as a ‘‘cap on the bottle.’’4 In short, the justification for U.S. hegemony over the Asian region has

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shifted from an ideological-military threat (as in the Cold War) to one of floating and uncertain character which might stem from either Japan, Korea, or China. Until the process of reconciliation and understanding in East Asia leads the major countries of the region to some sort of understanding matching what has occurred in Europe, this seems likely to continue. III. THE KOREAN PARADOX As the global order heads towards post-modernity, Korea still seeks passage through the apparently ever-narrowing gate that leads into modernity. Within Korea’s two states, political democracy and late and advanced modernity in the South is combined with patrimonial feudalism, poverty and starvation in the North. While this core ‘‘country’’ within the East Asian region has yet to accomplish its ‘‘national revolution,’’ the economic significance of the nation state elsewhere is already shrinking steadily and the age of nationalism is rapidly giving way globally to larger trading blocs. Korea is therefore immensely paradoxical. However, the Korea problem cannot be understood in the context of the Cold War alone. The Cold War is but the most recent of the unresolved layers of contradiction that weigh upon Korea. The Cold War weighs so heavily because it rests upon a series of prior unresolved burdens: from the first Sino-Japanese war of 1894–1895 (which was fought in large part on Korean soil and seas and resulted in deep encroachments on Korean sovereignty), through the domestic and international crises which saw Korea gradually transformed into a wholly subordinate colony of imperial Japan, to the political and military division of the country which occurred in the wake of the collapse of imperial Japan, but before the onset of the Cold War. A. Chuch’e In 1997, as in 1897, the character of the political/social/military order of the coming century depends on how the pressures of outside forces are engaged and the force with which a community of shared interest and identity is forged so that a new relationship with the great powers can be negotiated. Within East Asia, Korea is a core country in that process. The late Nineteenth century failure to construct a new order out of the collapsing Ch’ing empire and its tribute-based structures still casts a long shadow, and the need to imagine and construct a new order is no less urgent, this time an order beyond the Cold War. It is painful to speak of the ‘‘Korean problem,’’ when one considers the gloss and wealth of South Korea while a couple of hours away to the north people are starving. It is especially poignant when one dares to argue, as I do, that chuch’e, the watchword of the collapsing North Korea, might yet be the necessary principle to underpin a post-Cold War Korean and regional order. North Korea’s

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chuch’e, as enunciated and refined into state ideology by Hwang Jang-Yop (a spokesperson for the regime) in particular, certainly stressed the idea of autonomy in foreign policy and a separation from the great power blocs of the Cold War, but it was fundamentally a distorted notion of autonomy because it declared the principle of subjectivity only for the nation and only through the medium of the ‘‘Leader.’’ He alone was able to enjoy absolute subjectivity, but he also demanded the surrender of the subjectivity of all others to his will. For all but the leader, subjectivity was something that could only be fulfilled, paradoxically, to the extent that it was surrendered and negated. As officially interpreted, chuch’e also came to embody a moral essence and bloodline of the people, a mysterious fusion of genetic and moral superiority which could only be articulated by the ‘‘leader.’’5 Thus the partisan forces out of whose resistance to Japan the North Korean state was formed, came to build out of their understanding of chuch’e something which approximated more closely the Japanese version of kokutai (national polity), with their leader functioning as a kind of tenno, both pure blood embodiment of the race and its moral essence. Questions of identify and value were such as to brook no question or debate. Attempts from time to time to pursue the contradictions of the ideology with spokespersons for the regime, including Hwang Jang-Yop, proved fruitless.6 Hwang’s own defection in 1997, followed by ringing denunciations of the system he had helped to create and define, and his endorsements of the position of the South Korean security forces, testified to the ideological bankruptcy of the vision of chuch’e which he had created. In South Korea too, chuch’e was central to the state ideology during the Park Chung Hee period (1961–1979). Both South and North drew upon the same thread of national self-reliance discourse which was common to all East Asian countries in the 1880s, helped inspire the Donghak rebels of the 1890s, and was then refined in the 1920s by the historian Sin Ch’ae-ho into the notion of the people as subject of a people’s revolution for national survival.7 The same concepts circulated widely among dissident intellectuals on the eve of Park’s 1961 revolutionary coup and were then assimilated as part of the core ideology of Park’s anti-communist, national restoration state.8 I would interpret this ambiguous and highly ideological discourse in Korea, north and south, to mean that the aspiration for national independence on the one hand and moral and personal autonomy and subjectivity on the other has been intertwined and in both Koreas commonly appropriated by groups with highly manipulative agendas to which moral subjectivity and autonomy were subordinated. Both Koreas gave priority especially to the idea of self-strengthening to achieve a ‘‘completely autonomous nation’’ (tokchon chajujiguk)9 in ways which privileged the state and its leader as the carrier of the sacred mission of national revolution in the north, and the minjung or masses in the south. In the priority to the collective over the individual in both north and south, may be seen the

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shadow of the distorted Japanese notion of corporatism and fascism codified there as kokutai. B. Food There is little room now for doubt that North Korea has been spiralling deeper into crisis through this decade, with its very survival at risk following three years of floods and drought. The difficulty of understanding what is happening there is underlined when we recall that until the current crisis, the UN’s Food and Agriculture Organization (FAO) was publishing figures of grain production that had North Korea between the years of 1979 and 1990 heading the world in rice productivity, above producers such as Japan, Thailand, or Australia.10 Yet, after Pyongyang officially set a target of 15 million tons for 1993, its harvests sank below four million tons, with the prospect for 1994 of perhaps two and a half million tons. The fact that large numbers of people were to be reduced to starvation and possible death in coming months, so close to the affluence of South Korea and Japan, while both countries held considerable surplus food stocks, is an immense moral scandal. The ‘‘Korean problem’’ of 1997 was therefore first and foremost a problem of avoiding this catastrophe, helping the old, the young, the weak, indeed the society as a whole, to survive. Yet North Korea has few friends. Given Pyongyang’s international isolation and the suspicion and hostility that attaches to it, even though the case for massive, unconditional food aid is compelling, probably only a strong plea by Seoul to the international community for concerted and unconditional food aid could achieve such a result. What is called for is the translation of abstract slogans of national unity into the concrete conception of Korea as a single community, whose members share a common identity which can only be diminished by the sufferings of so many compatriots in the north. Generosity, combined with every possible encouragement to Pyongyang to widen and deepen its engagement with the international community of nations, including the various bodies of the UN, is likely to serve the interests of all parties much better than any narrowly focused attempt to exact political advantage out of what is already a humiliation and a defeat for Pyongyang. It seems to me, however, that what is at issue here is not merely a tactical or even a strategic shift, a new policy or a new focusing of policy, so to speak. The implementation of a future-oriented, chuch’e outlook may require a long period, perhaps a generation, of shift of focus of South Korean attention from the global economy and marketplace, and from conventional indices of economic growth, to a fundamental ‘‘human needs’’-orientation, a paradigm shift. The scale of such change is likely to be truly revolutionary. The imperative of a drastic reconsideration of the fundamental issues of production, distribution, value, justice, community, and environment, such as confronts Korea because of the depth

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of its national crisis, gives it the occasion to address in concerted fashion the generalized problems of the advanced capitalist world, in effect how to move from capitalism to sustainability.11 Crisis thus contains the seeds of opportunity and hope. C. Security No enduring post-Cold War, political, economic, and military stability in East Asia is possible that is not centered in Korea. In the first half of this century it was the failure of the attempt to construct a new world order out of the collapsing Ch’ing empire which opened the way to aggression, colonialism and war, and in the second half of the century the failure to solve the Korea problem was a major cause of instability and external intervention. After fifty years of sterile military confrontation, not to mention the horrors of war, the Demilitarized Line (DML) today is no longer a front line between competing global systems, merely a front line between the north and south of a single ‘‘country’’; it is only Koreans, with all the inertia of fifty years of confrontation, who desire and sustain the division it symbolizes. If it is absurd that the one surviving relic of the Cold War should be this line, it is not inexplicable. Nowhere was Cold War spirit distilled in more concentrated form than in this remote peninsula which in the 1950s also constituted the Cold War’s hot center.12 The fratricidal passions of that period have still to be assuaged (even though their ideological underpinnings have been transformed). The gap between the two states has widened, especially since the end of the Cold War, during which time the advantages of history, allies, and global context have gone exclusively to one side, while disaster in biblical measure has befallen the other. But the gap has widened also in considerable measure because of the failure to redeem the ‘‘cross-recognition’’ pledge that approaches to unification in the 1980s were predicated upon. South Korea has been recognized by both its old adversaries, Russia and China, and indeed established flourishing relations with them. However, North Korea has still to achieve normalcy with either the United States or Japan. The combination of normalcy in both those relationships with a settlement of the historic debt owed to North Korea by Japan for the long decades of colonialism offers the best prospect for a stabilization of the regime in Pyongyang and the recovery of a framework for negotiation towards eventual unification. In the late 1990s, however, the key parties (with the exception of the United States, which I have omitted from this discussion) display a passivity which is almost inversely proportional to the measure of the crisis. It is probably Tokyo which displays the greatest immobility and lack of imagination, not to mention callousness if one considers the three million tons of food surplus held by Tokyo

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as its neighbors starve.13 It was of course Tokyo which gained the most from the Cold War, and now it seems most unable to grasp that it is over. From Tokyo’s point of view, a North Korean collapse and chaos on the peninsula would certainly be a nightmare. However, the status quo, if it could be stabilized, might seem a more attractive proposition than that of a reunited, dynamic Korea, especially one that might unite around anti-Japanese policies; for Japan, in other words, the ‘‘divisional system’’ serves as a ‘‘cap on the bottle,’’ with the ‘‘bottle’’ this time being a Korean one. As for Seoul, just at the moment when a Nordpolitik, executed with the imagination and the finesse that went into formulating the new foreign policy of the late 1980s, was called for, the regime under Kim Young Sam turned inward and became preoccupied with domestic political and economic crises. Many, if not most, Koreans, North and South, would probably support the United States’ ‘‘cap on the bottle’’ project of containing Japan, so deep does distrust of its neighbor run. However, the option of continuing long-term dependence on the United States (if that really is the Korean consensus), rather than closer engagement with its neighbor, does not augur well for a stable and harmonious future. Furthermore, it may be that a new generation with less personal involvement has less interest in unification. The historian Kang Man Gil recently commented that unless unification is achieved soon it may never be achieved, and that the two divided Korean states could increasingly be drawn into a twenty-first century East Asian superpower contest between China and Japan, with the North drawn into the China orbit and the South into the Japanese.14 Perhaps such an apocalyptic threat is needed now to galvanize Koreans to take the drastic and imaginative steps that may be required to achieve peaceful national unification and actually take their place at the center of the twenty-first century world. As for the Pyongyang regime, it seems frozen and immobilized by its own contradictions, leaderless and drifting, but also capable of causing destruction or confusion either by a sudden military move or by further internal degeneration, or even collapse of the regime. This crisis of confrontation and high risk merely underlines, it seems to me, the urgency of generating a healing vision, and of seizing the initiative to begin the tasks of transformation. I would certainly not want to suggest that the military threat in Korea has disappeared. Such a threat is not to be ignored, but with no ally, few modern aircraft, dwindling reserves of fuel, a collapsing economy and a starving people, only a desperate, suicidal or lunatic Northern leadership would choose war. Furthermore, the handling of the nuclear issue with the United States and the negotiations with the specialized organs of the United Nations, first on the Tumen River development project and then on the food issue, do not look like acts of a regime that is demented or out of touch with reality, rather of a regime with its back to the wall struggling desperately and even rather cleverly to survive.

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IV. THE U.S. PROBLEM In February of 1995, the U.S. Department of Defense issued a report, the United States Security Strategy for the East Asia–Pacific Region—sometimes known as the Nye Report, after its principal author, Joseph Nye, Assistant Secretary of Defense for International Security Affairs,—to the effect that American forces (currently 100,000 of them) would have to stay in Japan and Korea until at least the year 2015. Given the transformation of a hostile Soviet Union into a friendly Russia, what threat were the Security Treaties and the base structure needed to guard against? Nye suggested North Korea, others China, others still Japan (the ‘‘cap on the bottle’’ argument). So, in place of the Cold War threat represented by the communism of the Soviet Union and China, Washington reconstructed a hybrid threat made up of North Korea, China, and Japan itself. As the rationale for the U.S. presence shifts, and regional policing takes over from leadership of the free world crusade, it looks increasingly as if it is the continuance of the American presence that is itself the policy objective, the justification secondary. Japan and Korea are being asked, in effect, to think of a post-Cold War future predicated on hostility to either North Korea or China, or both; what the East Asia region is being asked to contemplate is a Japan which can never be trusted. Unlike Europe, this region cannot be expected to become self-reliant. To compensate for its failures or inadequacies, it is being offered ongoing dependency on the United States, structured around bilateral treaty arrangements rather than any regional consensus, and marked by a base structure to last until well into the next century. Such a strategic vision, based on a unilateral consideration of the issues by the United States alone, might be thought offensive and insulting, but the dependent mind-set is so entrenched that no one will say so. Whether the post-Cold War ‘‘threat,’’ so defined, has logical consistency or makes strategic sense as the basis of a twenty-year plan seems doubtful. Nye’s fiercest critic, Chalmers Johnson, writes that, ‘‘The future is clear for both Korea and Japan: Ten to fifteen years from now Korea will be a unified country and Japan will be a fully independent, fully armed state. Neither of them will depend any longer on American troops for their security.’’15 Outside Washington, many would agree with Johnson (although whether a ‘‘fully armed Japan’’ would be in the interests of the people of either country is another question). Both Korea and Japan need to plan carefully and responsibly to achieve a smooth and peaceful transition out of the present Cold War order. This can only be achieved if they can open a positive diplomatic dialogue and launch the sort of multifaceted initiatives designed to construct a common understanding of the past and a shared vision of East Asia as a common future homeland, to the extent that they recover a spirit of chuch’e or shutaisei within their internal polity and in their mode of relating to their neighbors and the world.

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THE JAPAN PROBLEM

Japan’s economy, despite prolonged stagnation and occasional lapse into recession in the 1990s, still soars like Mt. Fuji over the surrounding region, dwarfing even China or India. Yet, despite the fact that it accounts for 17 percent of the global economy, is the world’s largest donor of aid funds, the largest foreign asset-possessing power, the sole Asian voice in G7, and claimant to a permanent seat on the United Nations Security Council, Japan has little to say on regional or global problems. Its combination of giant economy and pygmy state has been noted frequently in recent critical literature.16 Deliberate abnegation in political and military matters no doubt suited the economic bureaucrats who guided Japan to its superpower status, but the peculiarity of this is best seen, not as some ineffable Japanese deceit, but as a consequence of the U.S. design for the postWorld War II and Cold War regional order. Approaching the end of the century, however, this dependent Japanese status is increasingly anomalous, and the cause of friction and resentment between Japan and the United States on the one hand, and Japan and its Asian neighbors on the other. Clinging to the embrace of the security treaty with the United States, Japan is unable to cope either with its past, by settling convincingly the issues of World War II and achieving true reconciliation with its neighbors, or its present, by grasping the fact that the Cold War is over and the regional and global systems need to be restructured, or its future, in the sense of generating a vision of a twenty-first century order that might inspire the people of the region. Fundamentally, the fixture of Japan’s gaze westwards to the United States has blinded it to its Asian surrounds. It is essentially a U.S. position on Asian security that Japan represents to the region, rather than its own, much less a position either based on any social consensus or in conformity with the letter or spirit of its constitution. The adoption, by default since there has not been anything that could properly be called a national debate on the issues, of a policy for the twenty-first century based on the perception of either Korea or China (or both) as a long-term threat, just fifty years after the conclusion of the last convulsive regional struggle, is as likely to destabilize and feed an arms race in the region as to promote Japan’s security. Indeed the idea that security for the coming twenty years might be predicated on incorporation into a framework of hostility to China would seem plainly stupid. It is time for Japan to awaken from its long torpor and find and express its own subjectivity. As it happens, subjectivity, especially the historical context and conditioning, is indeed the focus of intellectual debate in Japan in 1997, although the full implications of a thoroughly shutaisei formulation of national goals, identity, and diplomacy, remain only dimly adumbrated thus far.17 Japan’s neighbors are inevitably uneasy about the prospect of a more autonomous/subjective Japan, but in truth it is the continuing vacuum of responsibility in Tokyo, and the prolon-

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gation of Japan as a dependent, confused, and increasingly resentful state—a moratorium state—from which there may be at least as much to fear.18 That Japan’s neighbors should, after fifty years, still share a profound fear that the end of the moratorium might signal a return of an arrogant, assertive, perhaps even militaristic Japan, is the saddest comment on the exhaustion of post-war and Cold War paradigms alike, and on Japan’s failure to address either. A. Okinawa Okinawa is the part of Japan which combines the best and most advanced with the most backward and repressed. The islands flourished in the pre-modern period as a vigorous, cosmopolitan, culturally advanced, trading kingdom that was only incorporated in the modern Japanese state in 1879. Thereafter it suffered severe discrimination, followed by devastation in 1945, with loss of one third of its civilian population, many of them killed either directly or indirectly by Japan’s own imperial forces. From 1945 to 1972 it came under direct U.S. military occupation, during which time it was known as the United States’ ‘‘Keystone of the Pacific.’’ Return of power to Japan altered little. Even the American promise that the territory would be returned ‘‘nuclear free’’ turned out later to have been false. Although it amounts to less than one percent of Japan’s land area, 75 percent of U.S. military facilities in Japan are located here, taking up 19 percent of the land area of its main island. Despite the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1990, the continuation of this enormous force feeds a strong continuing sense of being occupied. U.S. Air Force fighter planes regularly fly low over (and sometimes crash into) the countryside; U.S. Marines carry out artillery practice that often demands the closure of national highways. The contradiction between the aspirations of the Okinawan people, whose experience turned them into the most profoundly pacifist people in Japan, and the huge American military machine to which they were made reluctant hosts, has developed into a focal node of contradiction within the entire East Asian security and defense system. In September of 1995 the dam of Okinawan bitterness and resentment over a long history of neglect and outrage suddenly burst following a horrendous incident in which a twelve-year-old girl was abducted and raped by U.S. servicemen. There had been many similar incidents in the past. Indeed, Americans were responsible for a startling 4700 criminal acts (many of them rape or murder) in the slightly more than two decades since the territory reverted to formal Japanese sovereignty in 1972. Since the 1995 incident, surveys in Okinawa have found almost unanimous support for a drastic reduction of the U.S. military presence. Both Washington and Tokyo insist that this reduction is impossible. The government in Japan has shown no inclination to seek, or the United States to grant, reduction in the burden borne by Okinawa. The prime minister has declared

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that, after the Cold War, as during it, the Security Treaty with the United States remains ‘‘the basis of national survival.’’ 19 In April of 1997, after perfunctory debate (and against overwhelming Okinawan opposition),20 the National Diet passed a special law to ensure that the United States would be spared the embarrassment of having to occupy its base lands illegally (after the expiry of their leases). The 1978 ‘‘Guidelines’’ agreement with the United States on joint defense was being revised so that constitutional restrictions on the Japanese ‘‘SelfDefence Forces’’ would be further eased and they would be fully integrated within an overall U.S. strategic design extending vaguely to ‘‘areas surrounding Japan.’’ The Tokyo government was also pushing ahead (likewise against considerable local opposition and in the teeth of demands for a local plebiscite on the issue) with plans to construct a huge new heliport facility for the United States on reclaimed land off the northern shore of Okinawa, at Nago.21 The horizons of the defense debate in official Tokyo remain bound within the constraints of how to cope with possible emergencies ( yuji) rather than formulating a strategic vision of how to forestall such emergencies by addressing the root causes. Needless to say, the ‘‘emergency’’ that most concerned the planners was the prospect of a renewal of hostilities in Korea. Currently, the first voices of an Okinawan independence movement may be heard.22 The bottom line is that for the bases to be imposed in the face of a hostile surrounding population is to mock the ideals of freedom and human rights they are supposed to be maintaining. The same Cold War fault line runs through Okinawa as through Korea. B. Bottle-Cap Despite the pretensions of the United States serving as ‘‘cap on the bottle’’ and the undoubted continuing regional distrust of Japan, it seems to me that there is little prospect of a revived Japanese militarism in the next century. The social transformations of the recent decades have been profound and the ‘‘Japanese problem’’ in the 1990s is of totally different character from the ‘‘Japanese problem’’ of the 1930s and 1940s. But while Japan’s neighbors focus exclusively on the threat of militarism represented by the latter, they are almost oblivious of the problem of the former, seeing it only as a model to be admired and emulated. Yet in my view the Japanese model of the 1960s to 1990s, the admired model, is also fundamentally flawed, offering a prosperity and affluence which is shallow and rooted in profound contradictions, whose wider adoption (already proceeding rapidly) could prove disastrous.23 The problem today is very different from the problem of fifty years ago. The irony is that, although history rarely repeats itself, popular consciousness only slowly digests its memories, especially bitter ones, and inclines to continue observing and interpreting present events through an

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outdated, but familiar, prism. It is not that the past ought to ever be forgotten, but that the challenges and the contradictions of the present are distinctive and different.

VI. CONCLUSION After the Cold War, the alliance system needs to be fundamentally rethought. For Korea, the first national priority has to be given to creating a nation, imagining what sort of identity to project both to its own 70 million people and to its neighbors and the world. Until now, all modern identities have been more or less imposed on Korea: hermit kingdom, colony, Cold War front line. For the first time in more than 100 years, nobody else much cares now what Koreans do so long as it does not disrupt the regional order, so that it is up to them to define themselves. Dependent alliances (born of the circumstances half a century ago when Japan was emerging from the humiliation of defeat and Korea was a Cold War front line, locked in desperate poverty and almost total economic and political dependence), are no longer appropriate to a world in which Japan is an economic superpower while South Korea constitutes a new model of economic growth and increasingly dwarfs its northern rival in population, GDP, or any other measure but geographic size. It is time to begin the multilateral, regional reconsideration of security issues, with an emphasis shifting gradually from military security to security founded in justice, human rights, and satisfaction of basic human needs.24 History is still relevant, but fresh thinking is required to determine the direction in which people want it to go. The geographical nexus in which Japan and South Korea are bound, and the political, military and economic circumstances that made them co-beneficiaries of the Cold War, also made them separately dependent on the United States and did not permit reconciliation between them. The same system also weighed heavily, in quite different ways, on Okinawa and on North Korea, one on the side of the Cold War ‘‘angels,’’ and the other across the Cold War divide. In order to construct a new order which will heal the divisions and create new linkages of autonomy and cooperation between these states and regions, it will be necessary first to learn to take in the political, military, and economic view from a perspective of Tokyo, Seoul, Pyongyang, and Okinawa, rather than from Washington, and to see from fresh eyes, after removal of the Cold War distorting lens, and then to move to the intellectual challenge of reconceptualizing the new order. Autonomy, or chuch’e/shutaisei, it seems to me, could well be adapted as the principle of autonomy and cooperation between states on the one hand, and the principle of moral autonomy of the citizen on the other.

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NOTES 1. Paek Nak-chung’s term. See his article, South Korea: Unification and the Democratic challenge, New Left Review, 197 (January-February), 1993 (or his many writings on this subject in Korean). 2. For a fuller statement of my views over the past twenty years on the nature of this regime, see the following: Gavan McCormack and Mark Selden, (eds.), Korea North and South, New York, Monthly Review Press, 1978 (Korean translation as Nambukhan ui Pikyo Yongu, translated by Chang UI-byong et al, Seoul, Ilwon, 1988); also Gavan McCormack, North Korea: Kimilsungism—Path to Socialism?, in Bulletin of Concerned Asian Scholars, 13 (4, October–December), 1981, pp. 50–61 (Japanese translation in Gendai no Me, Tokyo, July 1981, pp. 132–49); and Gavan McCormack, Kim Country: Hard Times in North Korea, New Left Review, (198, March– April), 1993, pp. 21–48 (partial Japanese translation in Sekai, October 1993, pp. 278–286; and partial, unauthorized, Korean translation in Chayu Kongnon, July 1995, pp. 220–236.). 3. Michael Richardson, U.S.-Japan pact stirs up Chinese dragon, The Australian, June 11, 1997. 4. The phrase used by Major General Henry Stackpole III of the U.S. Marine Corps who spoke of the U.S. military presence in Japan as ‘‘a cap on the bottle’’ to prevent ‘‘a rearmed, resurgent Japan.’’ (The Washington Post, March 27, 1990.) 5. For a recent discussion, Sheila Miyoshi Jager, A Vision for the future; or making family history in contemporary South Korea, Positions, 4(1, Spring), 1996, pp. 31– 58, especially p. 53. 6. In my own interview with him in Pyongyang in May 1980, essentially a lecture on Chuche, my questions were not allowed. For a similar 1996 meeting with Hwang in Pyongyang by the Japan-resident Korean, Chung Kyung-mo, see, Hwang Jangyop—Chosen Rodoto shoki no bomei—sono doki to mokuteki, Ryu, 24, March 29, 1997, pp. 2–9. 7. Kim Hyung A., Park Chung-Hee and Korean Self-Reliance. 1961–1979, unpublished doctoral dissertation, Australian National University, 1996, especially chapter 2, ‘Self-Reliance and Survival: A Korean Version’. 8. Perhaps because of the prominence on the term chuch’e in Pyongyang, Seoul was more inclined to stress the related concept of chaju (national autonomy). The two terms conveyed essentially the same meaning. 9. The 1880s term used by Kim Okkyun, see Kim Hyung A. (note 7). 10. FAO, Yearbook-Production, Vol. 44, Rome, 1991, and previous volumes. 11. For my reflections on the bankruptcy of the ‘‘way of affluence’’ in its Japanese form, see my book, The Emptiness of Japanese Affluence, New York, M.E. Sharpe, 1996 (Japanese and Korean translation in 1998 from Misuzu Shobo in Tokyo and Changbi in Seoul), and the essay, Modernism, water and affluence: The Japanese way in East Asia, in Walter L. Goldfrank, David Goodman, and Andrew Szasz (eds.) Ecology and the World System, Westport, CT, Greenwood Press, 1999, pp. 147– 164.

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12. See my book, Cold War Hot War: An Australian Perspective on the Korean War, Sydney, Hale and Iremonger, 1983 (revised translation in Japanese as Shinryaku no butai-ura—Chosen senso no shinjitsu, Tokyo, Shiarehimusha and Kage shobo, 1990). See also my chapter on the war in Gavan McCormack and Stewart Lone (eds.), Korea Since 1850, New York, St Martin’s Press, 1993. 13. Hara Tatsuya, Kita Chosen shokuryo kiki, Sekai, September 1997, pp. 111–114. 14. Kang Man Gil in conversation with Yasue Ryosuke, in Sekai, January 1996, pp. 56– 71. 15. Chalmers Johnson, ‘Korea and Our Asia Policy’, The National Interest, No. 41, Fall 1995, pp. 66–77, at p. 76. 16. Perhaps the most influential works in this vein are by Chalmers Johnson, especially his book, Japan. Who Governs? (New York and London, Norton, 1995), and Karel van Wolferen, The Enigma of Japanese Power, (New York, Knopf, 1989). 17. For a brief introduction to this debate: Nishijima Tateo, ‘‘Rekishi shutai’’ ronso, Asahi shimbun, May 17, 1997. 18. For my analysis of some of the forms of repressed nationalism in contemporary Japan, see my article, The Japanese Movement to ‘‘Correct’’ History, Bulletin of Concerned Asian Scholars, 30(2), 1998, pp. 16–23. 19. Quoted in an editorial, Ampo yokusan taisei no seiritsu’, Sekai, June 1997, p. 58. 20. Jens Wilkinson, Legal problems? Change the Law!, Ampo. Japan-Asia Quarterly Review, 27(4), 1997, pp. 15–18. 21. Maeda Tetsuo, Ampo sai sai teigi, Sekai, June 1997, pp. 84–91; Takeoka Katsumi, Shin Gaidorain ni igi aru, Sekai, August 1997, pp. 35–40. 22. See the views of Oyama Chojo, the 95-year-old former mayor of Koza city, in his book, Okinawa dokuritsu sengen, Tokyo, Gendai shorin, 1997. 23. See my texts cited in note 11. 24. For some Japanese thoughts in this vein, see Koseki Shoichi et al, Peace and Regional Security in the Asia-Pacific. A Japanese Proposal, translated, edited, and introduced by Gavan McCormack, Peace Research Centre (Australian National University), Working Paper no. 158, September 1995.

7 Increasing the Strategic Compatibility of the ROK and DPRK Laure Paquette Lakehead University, Thunder Bay, Ontario, Canada

I. INTRODUCTION Civilian analysts of military affairs are often accused of not using logic, of using impressionistic or anecdotal information, and of being unsystematic in their methods. By and large, that is a justifiable criticism. Although the discipline of political science is becoming more and more theoretical, in general our conceptual frameworks are weak, our definitions are fuzzy, and very few of us employ a properly scientific approach; in other words, deriving a hypothesis, establishing a defensible methodology, seeking out evidence to confirm or contradict it with care, and reporting on the entire investigation. Could it be that such research is sought after neither by editors nor peers? Could it be that political scientists are sceptical of too much rationality and too much rigor? This article approaches its task, which is a study of strategic interactions between North and South Korea in the broader context of the 2 ⫹ 4 relations, in that suspiciously scientific way. The task at least is of vital interest to every Korean and every student of East Asian regional security, because it provides a number of significant insights into the stabilization of the Korean peninsula. Stabilization in the short term is the best possible outcome, since the prospects of reunification, once thought near in the euphoria of the end of the Cold War, have receded. True, the scholarly literature considers a broader range of proposals: suggestions for engaging North Korea, suggestions for replacing the current armistice, scenarios of negotiation, and scenarios of unification. What all of these 119

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considerations lack is an overview of strategy and the strategic environment at the macroscopic level. That is what this chapter seeks to provide, via the analysis of strategic interaction. This analysis increases the systematic study of the Korean peninsula, provides valuable insights not only into inter-Korean relations [specifically into how the Republic of Korea (ROK) can deal most effectively with the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea (DPRK)], but also puts some order into the crowded policy agenda. Because this is the first time that strategic interaction is analyzed, this chapter closes on a discussion of some of its weaknesses. This chapter adopts the usual order of presentation for the scientific approach: presenting the conceptual framework and method, deriving the hypothesis, recounting the evidence, and listing the conclusions. II. METHOD AND CONCEPTUAL FRAMEWORK The analysis presented above builds on my own previous theoretical work on the underpinnings of grand or national strategies. In general, the research looks at components of strategy and at the relations between those components. A. The General Theory of National Strategy The analytical framework used for this project is one that uses a general theory of strategy. A general theory of strategy allows scholars to explain or predict national strategies based on certain stable social characteristics. At this time, there is only one general theory of strategy, Jean-Paul Charnay’s. Unfortunately, this theory is so abstract that it is difficult to use for the purposes of strategic analysis; in any event, it has been published only in French. I developed a methodology for strategic theory-building in my previous work, and used it to develop one pillar of a new general theory of strategy: the interactions between national values and national strategy. The new general theory of strategy is tested by studying the strategic decisions of states. The theory focuses on the formal and informal aspects of state policy- and decision-making, which are not well understood. It takes political and cultural factors (or national values), as the independent variable which is linked to the posture of states in the international system (or national strategy). These two variables are linked by three processes: cognition, appreciation, and evaluation. They are, therefore, the very foundation of strategy. B. National Values The degree of confidence we may feel for any analysis based on the theory outlined above, therefore, rests on the confidence we feel in the identification of

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national values. This section presents evidence in support of the identification of the national values of Japan, community-orientation and materialism. It is necessary to discuss in general what method is most appropriate for identifying national values in a way that inspires confidence in students of international relations. Students of international relations are usually reluctant to work with the idea of values, because they find them too subjective.1 The explosion of scholarship in the 1960s led to decision-making becoming a major area of study in international relations2 containing a number of studies focusing on intangible aspects of decisions: cognitive elements,3 operational codes,4 national character,5 modal personality,6 and, of course, values. J. David Singer, in reviewing the theoretical literature of international relations, identified four basic routes to establishing national values: elite wisdom, opinion surveys, analyst identification, and subject identification.7 Predictably, there are problems with each of these. The method of identifying values used here is inspired in part by each of those four paths, but tries to combine them to avoid their respective pitfalls. The method below has the added advantage of addressing a number of conceptual difficulties specific to the study of Japanese political culture, arising from theoretical weaknesses which have been addressed (the subjective perception of objective political reality, and the missing conception of symbols).8 Political culture is a good way to measure national values because it bridges the gap between social values and political behavior by linking political beliefs to actions, and then to political structures and processes. It can also distinguish empirical (or cognitive) beliefs from symbols that express them and from more fundamental social values: symbols and beliefs ebb and flow with the prevailing political discourse, but values are much more stable. Most important of all, it allows for the link between individual, social, and national values. However, definitions of political culture are many and varied. By far the most influential and commonly used definition is Almond and Verba’s: the ‘‘system of empirical beliefs, expressive symbols and values which defines the situation in which political action takes place.’’ 9 Political cultures of older states have usually been studied already, and it is simply a matter of reviewing the research for method and results. Scholars investigate political culture in a number of ways: inferring from history, analyzing attitudes, behavior, or ideology, using psychological insights, studying institutional and ideological norms, and analyzing economic and social conditions.10 National values specifically can also be identified through content analysis of rituals, literature and films, linguistic analysis or analysis of cultural thought-systems.11 Historical analysis is the method of choice because it deflects traditional objections about political culture’s subjectivity. Historical analysis identifies ‘‘patterns of action’’ 12 in state behavior by inferring from historical events, in this case from series of decisions made by states in a particular area

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over time. The sounder the strategy and the more established the values, the more effective historical analysis is likely to be. Cleavages like subcultures or fragmentation happen in societies from time to time, but they do not significantly affect the most basic social values. Subcultures can affect decision-making because whole nations cannot participate: the responsibility falls on a subset of the population. Because the theory focuses on the most fundamental values, though, they exert a strong influence on everyone except for the most marginal individuals:13 no single person can escape the hegemony of culture, unless there are radical social changes going on. If values are broadly shared throughout the population, it is safe to assume that leaders also share the same values. In the case of an extremely authoritarian regime, it is possible that certain values have been imposed, although such instances would require regimes to be in place for more than a generation. It is reasonable to assume that is the case for Korea. If we accept the foregoing argument about the hegemony of culture, then this hegemony is as intense for the individual or group at the bottom of the pile as it is for those at the top: elite-popular cleavages are therefore not significant.14 As far as merging or fragmentation of cultures is concerned, cultures evolve slowly, so merging and fragmentation also happen slowly. Fragmentation is actually uncommon in older states.15 The theory is best served by a classification adapted from Talcott Parsons’ typology of social values,16 given that none of the very few classifications of values in international relations respect the characteristics of strategy.17 Parson’s Value Classification 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6.

Affectivity versus neutrality.18 Universalism versus particularism. Quality versus performance. Diffuseness versus specificity. Self-orientation versus collectivity-orientation. Materialism versus non-materialism.

The method can be broken into six steps. The first of these steps involves the identification of a sea-change in national policies, usually a reliable indication of the last time a new strategy was introduced. Such a major shift in direction is often accompanied by major social upheavals. Russia’s, for instance, was easy to identify following the introduction of glasnost and perestroika. The second step involves the identification of the new tactics introduced with the new grand strategy. These tactics are the most obvious manifestations of a new strategy. By tactics, I refer to the means at a state’s (or any actor in the political sphere’s) disposal. This stage of the analysis looks for changes in

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the economic, military, diplomatic, and political spheres, and they also usually provide the material for identifying the values. Values are a key factor in determining the long-term compatibility of strategies, since my own previous research shows that they underpin the entire grand strategy. The identification of values also helps narrow the range of possibilities that must be considered. The third step in the analysis examines the declaratory policy or political rhetoric, whose sources include official documents, speeches, and debates in the legislatures, in order to identify the goals of the grand strategy. It is sometimes, but not always, also possible to identify the core idea of this grand strategy. C. Identifying Strategy and Components of Strategy Strategy is not purely military, but encompasses military, economic, and political means. National strategy is identified by gathering evidence to answer three questions: 1.

2.

3.

Is a particular state using strategy? Plans, policies, and programs organize means to an end as much as a strategy does. But strategy is both an idea and an action, while plans, policies, and programs are not. Also, a state using strategy is much likelier to use slogans or strong images, plans, policies and programs do not. Is the state using a national strategy? A strategy is national when it uses a broad spectrum of the means available to the state, and tries to achieve objectives important to the whole rather than to parts.19 In other words, the strategy must cut across several areas of state behavior: economic, political, cultural, military, and so on. What strategy is the state using? Here, one identifies first the type, then the components of strategy being used. This would include both documentary sources and interviews with opinion leaders and policymakers. It will be conducted using official, political, and academic sources. Strategies that are of the same type are compatible.

The best way to proceed in identifying the type of strategy used is to start by reducing the number of possibilities one has to consider. 1.

Type of strategy. This chapter uses Andre´ Beaufre’s41 classification of strategy, because it classifies strategies according to their nature. There are four types of strategies: direct strategy of action, direct strategy of persuasion, indirect strategy of action, and indirect strategy of persuasion. The difference between strategy of action and strategy of persuasion is quite simple: the first involves physical engagement of the state’s material resources, while the second involves threats, discourse, posturing, all means and actions that require non-material resources.

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2.

The difference between a direct strategy and an indirect one is not quite so obvious. A direct strategy is one that changes the opponent’s direction or momentum itself; an indirect strategy changes the opponent’s direction using an intermediary. Once the type of strategy is identified, then only those possibilities need be considered. The next step is to identify the components of strategy. Components of strategy. The components of strategy are: objectives,20 means or tactics, and approach (sometimes called strategic culture).21 Each component has its own best source of information: official statements for objectives, direct observation for means, and secondary analysis for approach.

The fourth step identifies the strategy itself, the identification of values having provided us with the type of strategy possible. It is possible that the strategy is made explicit in the declaratory policy of a state, but if not, the strategy can be identified by its characteristics. Typically, a grand strategy encompasses a number of spheres. It is also true that the best strategies are not made explicit, just as it happens all too often that a state (such as Canada and currently South Korea) is adrift, with no particular strategy, but instead just incremental policyor decision-making, or crisis management. The fifth stage of this analysis studies the interaction of both strategy and components. The sixth step identifies the term or likely lifespan of the degree of interaction identified.

III. SUMMARY OF RESULTS A. National Strategies The analysis of national strategies are summarized in this section. What follows is a detailed discussion of the evidence used to determine the national strategies in the case of the ROK, for the purposes of illustration. The issues facing the ROK in its international relations are clear: the desired but not-yet-possible reunification with the DPRK; that country’s status as a nuclear power; the continued military alliance with a more shaky United States; the struggle to open up the economy for further growth and the associated problems with competitiveness, given the ROK’s new affluence; and the sensitivity of foreign policy to domestic opinion. What is less clear is how the ROK proposes to address those issues overall. So far strategic analysis in the English-language literature can only be described as cursory. The question therefore needs to be asked: is there a unified approach, standpoint, or posture of the Seoul government with respect to the above questions, and if so, what is it? The first step is to identify the national values.

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1. National Values The choice we have to make is between materialism and non-materialism on the one hand, and individualism versus collectivism on the other. The argument here is that the two values are materialism and individualism. The evidence about these relative values is drawn from the historical record, in comparison to its most immediate and culturally similar neighbor, the DPRK. (a). Materialism. The strongest evidence available for the national value of materialism is the emphasis put by South Korea society on the development of their economy, and the expectation that the state’s most important task is to develop it. For 30 years, the ROK has pursued remarkably effective economic policies, with the result that it has undergone one of the most rapid economic transformations in the world. Economic development is ‘‘the first priority of the nation, encouraging the market forces, but with the state serving as planner and protector, applying neo-mercantilist policies.’’ 22 Although significant political changes have come to South Korea since the end of the authoritarian regime of Chun Dae Woo, this emphasis, and by implication this value, has not changed. (b). Individualism On the other hand, the other value dichotomy, individualism-collectivism, has changed since the fall of Chun. Individualism has gone on the rise. Although Korean society remains one of consensus, it has since 1984 progressively adopted the tenet of liberal democracy. Liberal democracy, as any political theorist will tell you, manifests individualism and encourages pluralism. The first sign of this change was the formation of a legal and effective opposition. In March 1985, then President Chun Doo Hwan lifted the ban on opposition leaders Kim Dae Jung, Kim Young Sam, and Dim Chong Pil, as well as 11 others. The New Korea Democratic Party (NKDP), formed in January 1985 by various opposition politicians to whom political rights had been restored in November 1984, quickly emerged as the largest opposition party, gaining almost 30 percent of the vote in national assembly elections in February 1985. The NKDP is a liberal party, whose platform includes freedom of the press, an independent judiciary, and direct presidential elections by popular vote. Other indications of the new emphasis on liberalism and its attendant individualism can be found in various reforms. In June 1987, President Roh unveiled an eight-point reform package which included the acceptance of all central demands of opposition: a bipartisan review of the constitution for a presidential electoral system; a revision of electoral law to guarantee fair competition; the amnesty and restoration of civil rights to Kim Dae Jung; the release of all political prisoners other than those charged with violent crimes; the constitutional protection for human rights; the promotion of greater freedom of press; greater institutional autonomy particulary in the fields of education and local government; the

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fostering of a ‘‘political climate conducive to dialogue and compromise’’; and a nation-wide campaign against crime and corruption. In March 1988, the four main candidates for president showed considerable unanimity in outlining their basic policies, which in turn focused to a remarkable extent on the rights and freedoms of the individual: a more equitable distribution of national income and resources; the guarantee of freedom of the press; and the ending of the military’s involvement in domestic politics. In 1989, with President Roh now leading Korea, the political climate was characterized by widespread debate about the sincerity, pace, and scope of the attempt by the Democratic Justice Party (DJP) to dismantle the legacy of the reviled dictatorship of former president Chun Doo Hwan and to realize the spirit of democracy embodied in the Constitution of the Sixth Republic. Substantive progress in that direction was obfuscated then and now by a widely perceived failure to distance itself sufficiently from the previous authoritarian regime and reluctance by those on the right of the party to support and endorse the democratization process. In December 1989, President Roh met with the three main opposition leaders (Kim Dae Jung, Kim Young Sam, and Kim Jong Pil) and reached an 11point agreement to redress key aspects of political life. By this reconciliation, Roh effectively transformed the political scene. Roh committed himself to forcing the resignation of close associates of Chun, to support legislation to compensate those left bereaved by massacre and to erecting a memorial to the dead, to granting an end of year amnesty for selected prisoners, and to the revision of the legislative legacy of Chun. The year 1990 began with a remarkable realignment which transformed Korean politics and once again demonstrated Roh Tae Woo’s political acumen and ability to show the opposition in a bad light. In late January 1990, it was announced that the then ruling party, the Democratic Justice Party, was to merge with Kim Young Sam’s Reunification Democratic Party and Kim Jong Pil’s New Democratic Republican Party, two of the country’s three main opposition groups. The move not only split the opposition, but it also eradicated Roh’s problem of having failed to achieve an overall legislative majority in the 1988 elections. The year 1992 was marked by another watershed, with the peaceful and fair election of a first civilian president after 31 years of domination by the military and soldiers-turned-politicians.23 Kim Young Sam, having declared in his inaugural speech that he wanted to create a new Korea by rooting out widespread corruption, revitalizing the economy, and restoring national discipline, showed that he meant it. His promises seemed at first impossible to fulfill: the military were deeply entrenched, Kim was after all part of the ruling establishment since 1990, and the economy was in the doldrums. Nevertheless, he swiftly assaulted the old regime’s power base and transformed more of the norms and procedures of the government and society than in the past three decades.24 Kim disclosed

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personal financial assets in March, and as a result cabinet members, national assembly members of his party, and high ranking bureaucrats had to follow suit. Within three months of inauguration 1000 public officials were arrested, fired, or reprimanded. By 1994, however, the reform campaign slowed down, since it was weakening Kim Young Sam’s base of support.25 2. Goals Until the 1980s, South Korea was pursuing the following policy objectives: recognition by various countries and international organizations,26 competition with North Korea; maximizing national security; achieving economic solvency; enhancing international status; and fostering international conditions to promote unification. Today, a number of those objectives remain, though the ROK now seeks to cooperate, not to compete, with North Korea. It is also trying to prepare the economy for a new era of open international competition,27 including a new schedule to open various sectors of economy to foreign investment, more liberalized rules concerning foreign currency, and reduced bureaucracy when it comes to civilian initiatives. Given the series of major accidents and man-made disasters to occur in the last few years, it is hard to imagine that public safety standards will not rise on the domestic agenda. Finally, the ROK’s stated security policy continues to be to enhance the sustainability of military security, and to deter North Korea from launching a military adventure. Other objectives include safeguarding the ideal of free democracy and peaceful national unification; achieving social welfare by guaranteeing freedom and constitutional rights; fostering balanced improvement in living standards; and promoting the country’s international status.28 3. Strategy The national values in place have led the ROK’s grand strategy to be one of direct strategy of action. A materialist state is more likely to use a strategy of action because it develops and applies material standards to the processes of cognition, evaluation, and appreciation. The state is more likely to perceive a concrete threat, to assess outcomes according to tangible realities, and to prefer action to persuasion. In the same way, a non-materialist state prefers persuasion to action. The reasons why a self-oriented state chooses a direct strategy are a little less obvious. A state which sees itself as a single unit rather than part of a group is more likely to count on its own resources to solve any problems. It will also see other states as single units, discounting the significance of alliances. In a word, it will generally apply self-oriented standards. South Korea’s recent course is marked by three trends:29 remarkably effective economic policies and one of the most rapid economic transformations in the world; a politically significant transition from an authoritarian-pluralist system to a parliamentary democracy, now well advanced; and the expansion of its interna-

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tional reach, given that ‘‘South Korea is a nation with which to reckon on the regional and global scene.’’ 30 Clear goals and three trends, however, do not a strategy make. Korea has no identifiable strategy and is therefore in a position of strategic drift. A clear strategy is necessary to Korea as a middle power, since its foreign policy is of necessity more heavily circumscribed than that of a great power. The domestic political transition may make this lack understandable (there are many irons in the government’s fire) but it does not make it more excusable. During the Cold War, it was perhaps less important, since Korea could rely more on the stable international structure to define its role. Selecting a national strategy is an important decision for a government to make, but it does not necessarily mean a great change of direction. A national strategy provides a focus for the numerous and varied decision-making which is the hallmark of contemporary liberal democratic governments, about such varied issues as: public safety, national security, a strong yet responsible stance with respect to North Korea, the increase in international reach of South Korea, and the more recent environmental concerns, in a way which would suit a newly affluent society interested in increasing the quality of life and accord with the principle of ‘‘devotion to welfare of mankind’’ on which Korea was founded.31 4. Tactics A number of the tactics used by the Korean government (economic policy and political reform) have already been examined. There are only two major types of tactics still to be discussed: on the military side, a two-pronged approach to the potential threat of North Korea, to which the response is, on the one hand deterrence via the U.S.-ROK military alliance; and on the other a political offensive, so to speak, namely the Nordpolitik and the engagement of North Korea. North Korea may not be likely to attack South Korea, but it is still the ROK’s most likely adversary. South Korea’s current tactic is one of the ‘‘skillful use of non-force,’’ 32 or of deterrence. To this end, South Korea maintains a highlevel of readiness for their troops and places a high priority on its alliance with the United States. This alliance survives the environment in which it was contracted, the Cold War, but the reasons for the U.S. commitment have changed. In the days of the Cold War, the United States could not afford the USSR’s domination of the Korean peninsula. Today, it can no more afford to have the economic engine of the world to be disrupted, for the same, sound reasons of self-interest. The likelier threat is one of covert North Korean operations in South Korea, and it is a threat much more difficult to counter effectively. The best Nordpolitik is undoubtedly intended to decrease the motivation for such actions, among other things. The Nordpolitik took center stage in ROK’s foreign policy in 1988.33 It included expanding economic ties with those countries which had traditionally

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befriended North Korea and open the trade window between North and South, exploiting the newly created economic interdependence between South Korea and certain communist nations to elicit diplomatic relations with Seoul, and creating a condition of complete international cross-recognition of North and South Korea, including UN membership. In essence, South Korea was suggesting that reconciliation and the recovery of trust between the two sides should precede any political and procedural agreement,34 that the North and South should be integrated into a single economic zone, and that economic improvement of North Korea could be possible only by bringing about a reform in its economic policies. The Nordpolitik was succeeded by a policy of engagement,35 in essence this policy of accommodation and engagement conducive to easing tension and enhancing stability, depends to a great extent on North Korea. Its effectiveness evidently depends on the attitude of the North, and that has proven to be its single greatest weakness. While engagement maintains denuclearization of the peninsula as a primary objective, accommodation promotes change and reform in the north. Initiatives include premier-level summits, talks on sports cooperation, talks about Red Cross activity, and so on. Nevertheless, serious differences in philosophy remained, as the two positions on reunification illustrate. To the south, reunification should be a process of peace, cooperation, conciliation, and integration.36 To the north, it is, in the final analysis, the building of a federal state. A summary of the 2 ⫹ 4’s national strategies is shown in Table 1. The future of the Korean peninsula depends largely on how North Korea copes with the immense challenges facing that regime, about which it is always difficult to obtain accurate information.37 Much has been written about the North Korean regime’s impending demise, but ‘‘. . . nothing is irreversible in North Korea’s politics and nothing is preprogrammed for its future; the unparalleled resilience of this ‘crazy state’ in turbulent world politics should not be ignored.’’ 38 The problems arising from less-than-compatible strategic interactions are well illustrated by the Nordpolitik. B. Strategic Interactions The study of strategic interaction focuses on the analysis, at both the global and the component level, of the national strategies of various countries. Two national strategies can interact in a number of ways: they can be neutral, identical, synergistic, cooperative, complementary, competitive, or antithetical. Table 2 discusses each of these possibilities in detail, as far as which can occur in varying degrees of intensity. Compatibility exists when the two strategies are either identical, neutral or cooperative, complementary or synergistic at the global and the component level. Some components’ interaction are more important than others, just as compatibility of certain components is essential to the compatible interactions of strategies.

Style

Tactics

Continued economic growth, more domestic reform, eventual integration with DPRK Economic opening to international competition; deterrence, Nordpolitik and engagement of DPRK; alliance with U.S. New liberal democratic

Core Idea

Goals

—

Strategy

ROK Materialism, individualism — (drift)

Values

Component

Unpredictability; piecemeal decision-making

Juche; extremely gradual economic reform; no political reform; nuclearization as bargaining chip

Regime survival

—

Non-materialism, collectivism High-stakes gambling

DPRK

Table 1 National Strategies of the 2 ⫹ 4

‘‘It doesn’t matter if it is a black cat or a white cat, so long as the cat gets the mouse’’ Regime survival

Materialism, collectivism Pragmatism

PRC

Weak, indecisive

Personalized politics

Japan

Improved economy

Rhetoric

Restrained rhetoric, conservative

Priority to economy; weak political leadership; emasculated military

Become an economic power

Materialism, individ- Materialism, colualism lectivism Step into the Regain self-respect USSR’s shoes and via economic perexploit the poformance sition — Beating the U.S. at its own game

Russia

Shifting responsibil- Gradual economic re- Domestic reforms; ity for internaform; maintain doforeign relations tional security; usmestic political based on actual or ing political clout status quo potential ecoto improve economic contribunomic position tions

Reducing costs of being world leader

From containment to enlargement

Materialism, individualism Enlargement of democracy and market system

U.S.

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Table 2 Possibilities for Strategic Interaction Possibility Neutrality

Identity

Synergy

Cooperation

Complementariness

Competition

Antithesis

Description

Example

Comments

Strategies do not af- Two countries comfect each other pletely isolated from each other Two strategies are Bloc or alliance stra- Incompatibility imidentical tegy possible; likelihood outside alliance almost nonexistent When one national Franco-German prostrategy reinposal for joint briforces the other gade as nucleus for new European Community armed forces Deliberate, conCanada-U.S. joint scious common surveillance of strategy adFar North dressing mutual concern Two strategies adJapan and U.S. posidress different tion on North Koconcerns but in rea’s nuclear harmony with issue each other Two national strateMust be a zero-sum gies in a contest game when combined success is impossible Two strategies in PRC and Taiwan conflict

For instance, if the style is not compatible, it is harder for strategies to be synergistic because it is harder to communicate with each other. Misunderstandings can spring up more easily, but still it is possible to work since addressing different populations. If the values are incompatible, however, then relations are quite likely to be conflictual. It will also be more difficult to mobilize the population, in the case of liberal democracies at least, to accomplish the strategy. For any proposals for reunification to be successful, therefore, the national strategies must at least be neutral and preferably mutually reinforcing. So far, the proposals for reunification have been neither.

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Table 3 Compatibility in the Short and Long Term Component

Duration of incompatibility

Strategy Values Core idea Goals Tactics

Long Long Medium Short Short

Any of the components of strategy (goals, tactics, styles, or core ideas) can interact, and any of these interactions can range among the possibilities previously outlined. It is easy to envisage complementary interactions if one country’s goals are direct, and the other indirect, if tactics are material on one side and non-material on the other, and so on. For other components, like the core idea, the components are so central or so basic to the nature of the strategy that any significant positive interaction necessitates the strategies being mutually known and mutually understood. Problems arise when this is not the case. The type of interaction may change if the strategy of one state changes. The type of interaction may also change if any of the components of the strategy change. Certain components change less frequently than others: values do not change frequently, but tactics can and do. The duration of various types of interactions, therefore, depends on the durability of the strategic components, given in Table 3. Strategic interactions of the ROK with the DPRK and the four major powers are summarized in Tables 4 and 5.

Table 4 Strategic Interactions of the ROK Level of Interaction With DPRK

With U.S.

With PRC

With Russia

Values

Antithetical

Identical

Identical

Identical

Strategy Core Idea Goals

— — Partly antithetical Antithetical Neutral

— — Competitive

— — Complementary

— — Complementary

Complementary Complementary

Complementary Complementary

Neutral Neutral

Tactics Style

With Japan Partly antithetical — — Complementary Complementary Weakly antithetical

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Table 5 Strategic Interactions of the DPRK Level of Interaction

Values Strategy Core Idea Goals Tactics Style

With ROK

With U.S.

With PRC

With Russia

With Japan

Antithetical — — Partly antithetical Antithetical Neutral

Antithetical Antithetical — Complementary

Partly identical Complementary — Identical

Antithetical Complementary — Complementary

Antithetical Neutral — Neutral

Antithetical Neutral

Complementary Complementary

Complementary —

Neutral Neutral

IV. POLICY-RELEVANT SUGGESTIONS The policy-relevant suggestions derived from this analysis fall into three categories: those relevant specifically to the ROK; those relevant to the increase in compatibility between North and South Korea, the clearly stated (although not in those terms) primary foreign policy objective of the ROK government; and suggestions relating to the foreign policies of either the ROK or the DPRK, excluding inter-Korean relations. There is support for this method in the fact that not all of these policy-relevant suggestions are surprising or original. On the contrary, it is reassuring that similar conclusions have been reached by other researchers using a wide variety of reasoning and approaches. A. About the ROK It is apparent from the analysis of the ROK’s posture in the international system that South Korea is in a position of strategic drift, in other words, it has no grand design or no grand strategy. What South Korea does have are very clear proposals to increase the international competitiveness of its economy (although there is some debate about the effectiveness of these measures), and a clear plan for future inter-Korean relations. This, however, does not a grand strategy make. On the contrary, given that North Korea does have a very clear and very coherent strategy (whatever we may think of its legitimacy, desirability, or long-term prospects), this puts South Korea at a clear disadvantage. It also puts South Korea at a certain disadvantage in dealing with the four major powers in the region. The first recommendation, therefore, is for South Korea to formulate a grand strategy in the near future. Another point the analysis of strategic interaction reveals is that prospects for reunification will not be good until values between the two countries are compatible. At present, as the following analysis shows, the values between North

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and South Korea are antithetical. Given that values change very slowly (unless there is an authoritarian government strong enough to impose them from the top, or there are great social upheavals), the prospects of reunification are dim in the near future. In addition, the end of the Cold War has produced changes to the national strategies of the United States, China, Russia, and North Korea which are less favorable to the ROK than during the Cold War. In part, South Korea’s geostrategic importance has decreased, but this is also due to the fact that most countries have become more inward-looking: the United States because of its domestic crisis, Japan because of its deep recession, Russia because of the disintegration of the USSR. Overall, this leaves South Korea with more, rather than less, responsibilities for its own security. Another hypothesis, amply born out by post-Cold War relations, is that South Korea and the United States should have good relations for the foreseeable future. These relations should remain good irrespective of what relations between the United States and China or the United States and Japan may become. The analysis predicted that U.S.-China relations would deteriorate for the foreseeable future. U.S.-Japan relations will also deteriorate until such time as Japan changes its grand strategy to adapt to the post-Cold War world. By Japan’s own assessment, that could take two or three general elections.39 South Korean diplomacy, therefore, must take these facts into account. Finally, good U.S.-North Korea relations are only temporary. The relationship will deteriorate in the mid-term. Until that time, the DPRK will have an additional advantage in negotiating with South Korea. Eventually, and unless the DPRK changes suddenly and dramatically, relations are bound to sour. Therefore, whatever advantage exists for the ROK in these good U.S.-DPRK relations should be exploited now, without taking any measures that will hurt the U.S.ROK relations in the long term.

B. Increasing Compatibility Between ROK and DPRK Assuming that good inter-Korean relations is one of the goals of the ROK, there are three observations to be made. First, the ROK should look carefully to which major powers can most further its agenda with the DPRK. Working with the power whose strategy is most compatible with the DPRK will be the most productive. In those terms, the ROK is presented with a choice: it can look to the United States, which has recently embraced the DPRK, so to speak, but whose long-term strategy is not compatible, and allow the United States to effect whatever change it can in opening North Korea to the world; or it can look to China, whose strategy is quite compatible with the North Koreans. China’s relations with the United States are chilly at

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present, though its relations with the Seoul government have improved in recent years. The analysis which follows supports the China option. Next, the ROK should allow the market system to change the values of North Korean society, however slowly that may occur. According to this China model of reform, as economic reforms do occur, however gradually, they encourage good China-DPRK relations, since the People’s Republic of China (PRC) is a good example for the DPRK. The DPRK has already moved toward the same kind of reforms we might expect the DPRK to adopt. A number of Korean scholars have advocated the Chinese model for the DPRK’s reform and development, as noted below. Finally, perhaps the ROK should give the DPRK a rest from its policy of engagement. South Korea has its own crowded political agenda, having recently democratized, and having to deal with domestic concerns over public safety after an unprecedented series of public disasters in the last few years. South Korea, despite its obviously benevolent intentions, is actually perceived as something of a threat to the present North Korean regime. For the time being at least, there is nothing to be lost and something to be gained from letting the United States do most of the talking. C. Foreign Relations of the ROK and the DPRK Although the alliance between the United States and the ROK is very solidly based, it is prudent to expect the pressure for burden-sharing to increase, as well as some future trade frictions once the United States has dealt with Japan. Nevertheless, the compatibility of foreign policy agendas, if not the identity of interests, should be emphasized in dealing with the United States. Given that the DPRK, China, and possibly Japan40 are not likely to be as compatible with the United States as the ROK itself, the ROK will be a more privileged ally for the DPRK. By emphasizing its opening markets and democratization (as did Taiwan), there is much to be gained. The biggest problem the ROK will face in its relations in the near future will, of course, be the United States’ weak or lax decisiveness. It is a serious problem for the security of the ROK which relied on the U.S. deterrent for its national safety. Second, Japan is not likely to enjoy a good relationship with the United States for the foreseeable future, though it is possible for Japan to adopt a more compatible grand strategy. Japan is one of the major powers in the region, so its choice of grand strategy, when it comes, will affect the overall environment of foreign policy for both the ROK and the DPRK. At present, the respective goals, strategies, tactics, and style of Japan and the DPRK are so completely different they might be called disjunct, and their respective values are actually opposites. Unless either Japan or the DPRK changes dramatically, they will not affect each other directly. This prediction is admittedly difficult to reconcile with the impor-

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tance of Japan in the area: it could well be an added force in the impetus for change in both Japan and the DPRK, another sign that their strategies are out of date and out of touch. Third, DPRK-Russian relations will not be close, and might even be competitive in the foreseeable future. Fourth, the DPRK-PRC relations will continue to be close for the foreseeable future. Table 6 provides a summary of those hypotheses for which there is already support.

Table 6 Verified Hypotheses Prediction U.S. military presence necessary until reunification DPRK topics are of very gradual economic reform, no political reform Japan dominated by bureaucratic politics PRC must closely control dissident PRC-DPRK compatible Distance to be bridged greater since democratic reforms in ROK

DPRK will best U.S. in negotiating

DPRK-ROK will have trouble negotiating DPRK can mobilize population easily Engagement threatening Strategic environment less favorable to ROK Prospects for reunification are not good in either the near or the medium term Reuification if clearly not in the cards Nordpolitik will make DPRK react

Evidence Diminishes mutual perception of threat Analysts advoate the Chinese model of reform as being appropriate Direct observations of their power, confirmed by numerous other observers Recent human rights issue record; U.S retreat on human rights issue Close allies; PRC serving as model for DPRK Commented on by a number of ROK scholars; recent deterioration of ROKDPRK relations after liberal democratic reforms took greater hold in ROK Geneva framework agreement and Light Water Reactor (LWR) agreement; ROK’s criticism of U.S. weakness Negotiations over rice, LWR, and Red Cross have been rocky Reaction to Kim II Sung’s death; social quiescence despite food shortages DPRK reaction likely, so caution indicated Increased security burden, nuclear development in DPRK Consensus among majority of analysts Opinion of moderate and left-leaning scholars Caused strong, i.e., nuclearist, reaction in DPRK

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CONCLUSION: ISSUES OF POLICY AND ISSUES OF ANALYSIS

Currently discussions about the significance of aid from South Korea to North Korea, the thorny issue of nuclearization of the peninsula, and the future of the policy of engagement dominate the academic literature. The DPRK has, of course, increased its importance with the nuclear issue, thereby vaulting over this problem albeit at the expense of its people, who are hungry and will remain so as long as the regime is threatened. Otherwise it is not easy to see a clear path for future action and interaction. This analysis suggests that anything the ROK does in the near term to increase its contacts with the DPRK are going to be perceived as potentially dangerous by the DPRK regime, if not its people. It would therefore seem advisable to continue its aid and encourage negotiations overseen by the United States without playing too prominent a role. This need not be seen as the ROK abdicating its interests, different as they are from the United States, but merely an appropriate method of dealing with an already complicated issue. That option, however, seems unlikely to be selected by ROK political leadership, who are understandably unwilling to risk any of their remaining political capital (especially on behalf of a restive electorate already having to accept the receding prospects of reunification and a maturing economy), for such an obviously unpopular move. It is indeed ironic that the ROK, having recently become more democratic, should now be facing more limited options in its foreign policy. On the other hand, most of these issues are unlikely to dissipate suddenly, and it is possible that bolder politicians or more hospitable public opinion can yet develop. There has been much discussion about whether a genuine peace agreement or arms control (both conventional and non-conventional) is more necessary. Should the ROK accept my suggestion of a grand strategy, then the advocacy of conventional and non-conventional arms control is obviously the action of choice. With respect to the theoretical development previously presented, it is possible that these conclusions could be reached by means other than this elaborate analysis. But it is unlikely that all of these occlusions could be reached in as little time, however non-novel they may at first appear to be. The perennial advantage of systematic analysis, of course, is that it is economical. It is also clear that the study of interaction is much more fruitful than simple strategic analysis of various grand strategies, although the latter is necessary to the former. One could argue that any theory which produces so much policy-relevant material is helpful and worth the time. All the conclusions presented in Table 6 were at one time predictions, and could have been made very early on, when the post-Cold War order was only just solidifying.

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Finally, it is always possible that other scholars could dispute this or that fact, leading to this or that conclusion. This mehtod of analysis can accommodate, and indeed is improved by, such interventions by specialists in various topics. If they also care, they may simply turn to the disputed element of analysis, and work through the conclusions to be reached on their own, following the mehtod proposed above.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS Because this paper is based in part on research conducted during academic appointments at institutions other than Lakehead University, for their financial support, I thank: the School of Graduate Studies and Research, the Department of Political Studies and the Centre for International Relations, all of Queen’s University; the Department of Political Science and the School of Graduate Studies and Research at Wilfrid Laurier University; the Senate Research Committee and the School of Graduate Studies and Research of Lakehead University; the Canadian Institute for International Peace and Security; the Military and Strategic Studies Program (now the Security and Defense Forum) of the Department of National Defence of Canada; and the Department of External Affairs and International Trade’s Cultural Personalities Exchange Program. I also thank S. Partha Puttagunta, Nicole Cody, Margaret Yussack, Christine Straehle, Piero Pucci, and the dedicated staff of the Chancellor Paterson Library of Lakehead University, the Douglas (now the Stauffer) Library of Queen’s University, and the Library of Wilfrid Laurier University for their assistance in research. In the People’s Republic of China, I thank the the China International Institute for Strategic Studies for offering me a Visiting Research Fellowship. I also thank the following individuals: Senior Colonel Professor Deng Feng, Senior Colonel Professor Liu Chunzhi, Senior Colonel Professor Liu Siqi, Mrs. Gao Wenmei, Senior Colonel Yu Hua Dong, Admiral Professor Luo Renshi, Senior Colonel Sa Benwang, Mr. Zhang Wu Tang, General Mu Huimin, Wang Tongle, and Professor Chen Peiyao. In Japan, I wish to thank Professor Ito for his invitation to serve as Visiting Research Fellow at the Japan Forum for International Relations. I also thank the dedicated staff of the forum, as well as the National Diet Library of Japan, and the American Centre for Research in Tokyo. For its financial support, I thank the Ministry of Education of the Republic of China on Taiwan. I also thank the following individuals from the ROC: Chang Jaw-ling, H. C. Wang, Chen I-hsin, Cheng Tuan-Y, Yang Chih-heng, Ding A. S., Lin Cheng-yi, J.F. Yan, Yuan I, Ho Szu-yin, Lin Yu-fang, Shih Chih-yu, Chen Sy-Shyan, and Su Chi. On the Russian segment of this paper, I thank John Jaworsky of the University of Waterloo. Finally, in the Republic of Korea, I also wish to thank the Institute of Far Eastern Studies, Kyungnam University, for its generous offer of a visiting fellow-

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ship in 1995. In the Republic of Korea, I also thank Dr. Kwak Tae-hwon, Dr. Lee Su-Hoon, Mrs. You Jung-Minn, Dr. Chang Dal-Joong, Dr. Kim Changsuk, Dr. Ohm Tae-Am, Dr. Ko Sung-Youn, Dr. Lee Young Ghil, Dr. Kim Koo-Sup, Hyun In-Taek, Dr. Huh Nam-Sung, Dr. Ahn Byung-Joon, Dr. Kwon Moon Sool, Dr. Jeon Kyongmann, Dr. Kim Woosang, and Dr. Lee Choon-Kun. For those who made time to discuss with me their opinions, or who commented anonymously on this paper, but who declined to be acknowledged by name, my private thanks must suffice.

NOTES 1. Dougherty, J. and Pfaltzgraff, R. L., Jr. 1981. Contending Theories of International Relations. (2nd ed.) New York: Harper and Row, p. 106. 2. Brecher, M., Steinberg, B., and Stein, J. 1969. A framework for research on foreign policy behaviour. Journal of Conflict Resolution 13(1): 73–102. 3. Brecher et al., op. cit., p. 75. 4. George, A. L. 1969. The Operational Code: A Neglected Approach to the Study of Political Leaders and Decision-Making. International Studies Quarterly 13 (2):138– 157. 5. S. V. George De Vos, S. V. 1968. National character. In Encyclopedia of the Social Sciences, Sills, D. L. (ed.) New York: Macmillan. 6. Almond G. A., and Verba, S. 1963. An Analytic Study: The Civic Culture/Political Attitudes and Democracy in Five Nations. Boston: Little, Brown. 7. Singer J. D., 1979. Individual values, national interests, and political development in the international system. In The Correlates of War, Vol I: Research Origins and Rationale. New York: Free Press. Singer uses the Parsonian definition of a valuesystem: ‘‘The value system of the society is, then, the set of normative judgments held by the members of the society who define, with specific reference to their own society, what to them is a good society.’’ See Parsons, T. 1967. In Sociological Theory and Modern Society. New York: Free Press, p. 8. 8. Lowell Dittmer, L. 1977. Thought reform and cultural revolution; An analysis of symbolism of Japanese politics. American Political Science Review 71 (1):67–85. 9. As quoted by Kavanagh, D. 1972. Political Culture. London: Macmillan, p. 10. 10. For example Lipset, S.M. 1960. Political Man. New York: Macmillan, Gabriel Almond, G., and Coleman. J. 1960. The Politics of the Developing Areas. Princeton: Princeton University Press; and Almond, G.A., and Verba, S. op. cit. 11. Benedict, R.F. 1946. The study of cultural patterns in European nations. Transactions of the New York Academy of Science 2(8):274–279. 12. Crow, G. 1989. The use of the concept of ‘‘strategy’’ in recent sociological literature. Sociology 23(1):1–24, passim. 13. Edelman, M. 1971. Symbolic Uses of Politics. Urbana: University of Illinois Press; and Edelman, M. 1969. Politics as Symbolic Action. Urbana: University of Illinois Press, passim.

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14. Edelman, op. cit. 15. Rosenbaum, W. A. 1975. Political Culture. New York:Praeger, p. 48. 16. Talcott Parsons’ classification in Bales, R.F., Shils, E., and Parsons, T. 1953. Working Papers in the Theory of Action. Glencoe:Free Press. 17. See Sullivan, M. s.d. Measuring Global Values. New York:Greenwood. 18. By using the term ‘‘affectivity,’’ the theory is open to the criticism that it is reifying the state. In this particular case, however, the benefits outweigh the risks: it is important that the terms used to describe various values be as neutral as possible. 19. Cline, R. S. 1980. World Power Trends and U.S. Foreign Policy for the 1980s. Boulder: Westview Press, p. 2. 20. Although he calls it aims; Ali F.B. 1963. The Principles of War. Journal of the Royal United Services Institution for Defence Studies 108(May):159–165. 21. ‘‘The entirety of traditional practices and habits of thinking which, in a society, governs the organization and the use of the military forces in the pursuit of political objectives.’’ Author’s translation, as quoted in Colson. B. 1988. La culture strate´gique ame´ricaine. Strate´gique 8:33. The original reads: ‘‘l’ensemble des pratiques traditionnelles et des habitudes de pense´e qui, dans une socie´te´, gouvernent l’organisation et l’emploi de la force militaire au service d’objectifs politiques.’’ 22. Scalapino, R.A. 1992. Korea and the changing international scene. Asian Perspective 16(2):12. 23. Lee, H.Y. 1993. South Korea in 1992. A turning point in democratization. Asian Survey 33(1):32–42. 24. Lee, C-S., and Sohn, H-S. 1994. ‘‘South Korea in 1993; The Year of the Great Reform,’’ Asian Survey XXXIV:1 (January 1994), 1–9. 25. Lee, C-S., and Sohn, H-S. 1995. South Korea in 1994: A year of trial. Asian Survey 35(1):28–36. 26. Han, S. 1992. South Korea’s policy options in a changing world. The Korean Journal of National Unification 1:9–26. 27. Lee, C-S., and Sohn, H-S. 1995. South Korea in 1994: A year of trial. Asian Survey 35(1):28–36. 28. Ohn, C-I. 1994. South Korea’s new defense policy and military strategy. Korean Journal of Defense Analysis 6(1):219–244. 29. Scalapino, R.A. 1992. Korea and the changing international scene. Asian Perspective 16(2):5–24. 30. Scalapino, R.A. 1992. Korea and the changing international scene. Asian Perspective 16(2):13 31. Chang-Il Ohn, C-I, 1994. South Korea’s new defense policy and military strategy. Korean Journal of Defense Analysis 6(1):225. 32. Harkaby, Y. 1977. Arab Strategies and Israel’s Response. New York: Free Press, p. 1. 33. Dan C. Sanford, D.C. 1993. ROK’s Nordpolitik revisited. Journal of East Asian Affairs 7(1):1–31. 34. Bongshik, P. 1991. An appraisal of 20 years of inter-korean dialogues, and an analysis of dialogue strategies for the next 3 years. East Asian Review 3(4):3–20. 35. Paik, J-H. 1994. The Geneva framework agreement and South Korea’s strategy of engagement. Korea and World Affairs 18(4):629–641.

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36. Ahn, B.-J. 1994. Korea’s future after Kim Il-Sung. Korea and World Affairs 18(3): 442–472. 37. Suh, D.-S. 1993. North Korea: The present and future. Korean Journal of Defense Analysis 5(1):61–80. 38. Kim, S. S. 1995. North Korea in 1994: Brinkmanship, breakdown, and breakthrough. Asian Survey 35(1):27. 39. Takai, S. 1994. Interview with author in Tokyo in May of 1994. 40. Depending on its choices in the next few years, since it has not renewed its national strategy since the end of the Cold War. 41. Beaufre, A. 1963. Introduction a la Strate´gie. Paris: Armand Colin.

8 Defense by Other Means Australia’s Arms Control and Disarmament Diplomacy Ramesh Thakur United Nations University, Tokyo, Japan

When faced with a military threat from an enemy, we can choose either to match that threat or to reduce and constrain it. Arms control measures seek to constrain reciprocal threats without eliminating them. By contrast, disarmament actually reduces existing military capabilities. An arms race is neither a necessary nor a sufficient cause of war. Nations do not distrust each other just because they are armed. Often they are armed because they distrust each other. The empirical relationship between arms races and conflicts is threefold: an arms race can result in a war; an arms race can be terminated peacefully without resulting in war; wars may result even in the absence of any discernible arms race. Australia’s national security is more centrally dependent on the actions of, and relations between, other powers than on its own military preparedness. During the Cold War, the determining axis ran from Washington to Moscow. After the Cold War, it is the China-Japan-U.S. triangle that fundamentally impacts on Australia’s security. Australia spends around $10 billion each year on its military. What can Australia, a self-conscious middle power, do to enhance its security through arms control and disarmament diplomacy—defense by other means? In this chapter, I shall: 1.

Outline the historical, political, and bureaucratic contexts of Australia’s arms control diplomacy; 143

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2.

3. 4. 5.

Examine the disarmament agenda with respect to weapons of mass destruction (WMD), namely nuclear, biological, and chemical weapons; Discuss the arms control agenda for conventional weapons; Describe the Track Two Seminar held in Jakarta in 1996; and Look at Australia’s disarmament credentials.1

I. HISTORICAL BACKGROUND Trevor Findlay has noted that interest in arms control and disarmament by Australian governments is of relatively recent origin.2 Australia’s main priority after World War II was securing, and then preserving, a military alliance with the United States as the centerpiece of national security. Until the 1970s, Australia was content to be a passive spectator in efforts to control the number, spread, and use of arms either globally or in other regions. At the end of the 20th century, however, Australia’s interests are far-flung and diverse. The historical origins and cultural roots of most of its people lie in Europe, its primary strategic alliance is with the United States, its primary security focus is on Southeast Asia, and its major trading partners are in Northeast Asia. Consequently, Australia today has a general, and sometimes more specific, interest in preserving international and regional order in many parts of the world. The gathering winds of globalization mean as well that Australia has been influenced by peace movements and anti-war debates elsewhere. Since the 1970s, therefore, Australian foreign policy has had to reconcile competing demands and interests from an active, vocal, and determined peace constituency with a deep-seated belief in ‘‘peace through arms control and disarmament,’’ on the one hand, and the ‘‘peace through arms’’ bureaucratic and political constituency on the other. Liberal–National Coalition governments have generally been more sympathetic to the latter. During the Hawke and Keating governments (1983–1996), the left and center-left factions of the Labor Party favored the opposite argument, as do the Democrats and the Greens; but the right factions of Labor were relatively more mindful of realpolitik and alliance calculations. In most cases, but not always, the competing policy determinants are sufficiently reconciled to produce a coherent policy. Foreign policy under the Labor Party was influenced by two people with a personal commitment to the disarmament agenda, Bill Hayden and Gareth Evans. The establishment of the Peace Research Center at the Australian National University by Hayden in 1984 was one indicator of the new government’s commitment to a broader security agenda; the emphasis on cooperative security by Evans was a significant departure after the end of the Cold War from the realist pursuit of security against potential adversaries in favor of seeking security with

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others.3 Both ministers achieved a surprisingly high profile in regional and global security diplomacy and contributed to the perception that, to use a peculiarly illfitting metaphor, Australia punches above its weight. The South Pacific Nuclear Free Zone (SPNFZ) in 1985 was yet another initiative of the Hawke government, as was the National Consultative Committee on Peace and Disarmament.4 The 23-member committee provides a vehicle for the exchange of views and information on peace and disarmament issues between the government and the community. Australia’s bureaucratic capacity for addressing arms control and disarmament issues were greatly strengthened in the 1990s. The Hawke government was instrumental in the appointment of a full-time Ambassador for Disarmament. Arms control and disarmament is handled by several branches in the International Security Division of the Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade (DFAT). The Peace, Arms Control, and Disarmament Branch, comprising 12 officials, includes a chemical and biological disarmament section, and a conventional and nuclear disarmament section. The Nuclear Policy Branch has two sections dealing with nuclear safeguards and non-proliferation. Their work is generally complemented with support from the appropriate regional branches and divisions, as well as the United Nations section. Australia’s delegation to the Conference on Disarmament (CD) comprises four officials and its work is backed up by chemical weapons and seismic monitoring advisers. Australia’s ambassador to Vienna is cross-accredited to the International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA). Finally, the Australian mission to the UN plays a full and active part in arms control and disarmament deliberations in the UN system. Australia is a member of a number of key international bodies for controlling proliferation and negotiating arms control and disarmament: the IAEA, the Nuclear Suppliers Group (NSG), the CD and the Coordinating Committee for Multilateral Export Controls (COCOM). It is a participant in the negotiations for a convention on the safety of radioactive waste management which began in July 1995 under the auspices of the IAEA. The bureaucratic and political commitment, and the quality of political leadership, especially that of the prime minister and foreign minister, have been important explanations for Australia’s disarmament profile being higher than would be warranted by its size and resources. Nevertheless, the latter weaknesses, compounded by geographical and strategic isolation, are permanent constraints on Australian influence. Membership in the Western alliance is both an asset and a constraint. It is an asset to the extent that Australia gains access to the most influential U.S. policymakers and is able to communicate to them its own views and be an interlocutor between the U.S. and other governments. It is a liability to the extent that Australia’s public pronouncements must always be tempered by alliance-induced caution. Asian diplomats, for example, argue that Australia’s disarmament diplomacy is characterized by preemptive appeasement of U.S. con-

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cerns. Critics within the country and in the region made the same charge against SPNFZ, that it was carefully crafted by Australia in order to avoid antagonizing Washington on a single sensitive item.

II. NUCLEAR WEAPONS The nuclear arms control agenda has two interlinked components: disarmament and non-proliferation. Five different categories of proliferation-sensitive actors can be identified. First are the irresponsible nuclear-weapons states (NWS) themselves. The existence of weapons-proliferating NWS within the Non-Proliferation Treaty (NPT) undermined the non-proliferation norm and seemingly institutionalized international nuclear ‘‘apartheid.’’ 5 The second category of concern is NPT splinters, or fragmenting NWS. When the old Soviet Union broke up, suddenly we faced the prospect of an additional three NWS (Ukraine, Belarus, and Kazakhstan). Fortunately, all three were amenable to persuasion and renounced their nuclear-weapons status by destroying or transferring their nuclear weapons to Russia. Third are the NPT cheats, those who, like Iraq and North Korea, have signed the treaty but are engaged in clandestine programs in violation of its obligations. The fourth category of proliferation-sensitive countries is the threshold NWS (Israel, India, and Pakistan) who do not claim possession of nuclear weapons; have not forsworn the nuclear-weapons option; produce significant amounts of their own nuclear material and equipment; and refuse to accept international control over their material and equipment.37 The final worry is the acquisition of nuclear weapons, skills, and delivery systems by terrorist groups. The NPT, the centerpiece of the global non-proliferation regime, has the widest membership of any arms control agreement in history. The past decade has seen astonishing progress in nuclear disarmament. The INF (intermediaterange nuclear forces) treaty in 1987 and the START (strategic arms reduction) treaties in 1991 and 1993, eliminated intermediate and short range nuclear missiles from Europe and have greatly reduced the number of long range strategic weapons. Nuclear weapons were eliminated from battlefield stockpiles and surface ships in 1991. Nuclear testing was ended in 1996 (with the 1998 tests by India and Pakistan likely to prove temporary setbacks). The world has also made progress in putting in place other planks of the disarmament structure, especially with the addition of the Chemical Weapons Convention (CWC), developments in the control of conventional arms and other measures, and regional nuclearweapons-free zones (NWFZs). Even so, the United States continues to deploy over 8000 nuclear weapons, Russia over 11,000. The two erstwhile Cold War enemies have reduced nuclear delivery vehicles, but have not yet agreed to dismantle nuclear warheads. France,

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China, Britain, Israel, India, and Pakistan too have active nuclear-weapons programs. Australia was initially interested in keeping open all nuclear options, including the acquisition of weapons, civilian nuclear energy, and peaceful nuclear explosions. Worried about the acquisition of nuclear-weapons capability by Indonesia or other regional countries, the defense establishment canvassed the option of maintaining a latent Australian capability to produce nuclear weapons within six months.6 The NPT was signed by Australia two years after its negotiation, and ratified after another three years by the Whitlam government in 1973. The treaty has been the core element in Australia’s non-proliferation policy since. Australia has been active in the five yearly NPT review conferences. Canberra has invested much diplomatic effort in bilateral and multilateral lobbying to widen adherence to the NPT by an increasing number of states. DFAT also supported second-track activities, for example, a series of workshops organized by the Peace Research Center in conjunction with a counterpart institute in Canada just before the preparatory committee meetings leading up to the 1995 NPT conference. The NPT was indefinitely extended after being reviewed at a major conference in New York in April–May 1995. The Western countries were in favor of indefinite and unconditional extension. Some governments and many nongovernment organizations (NGOs) wanted to extend it for a limited period and make further renewal conditional on NWS disarmament. Many Australians supported this stance because of their view that the NPT is discriminatory and unfair.7 The alternative view is that the 1995 conference gave a window of opportunity to make the admittedly imperfect NPT permanent.8 The indefinite extension locked in the security benefits of the non-proliferation regime in perpetuity, removed the uncertainty and risk in long-term planning for national security, and created a stable strategic environment for further reductions of weapons. Australia, among the most active proponents of indefinite extension, hailed the outcome as a major security and foreign policy triumph. Gareth Evans argued that a failure to extend the NPT, or its conditional extension, would have had three deleterious consequences. It would have undermined the normative effect of the treaty, lessened the likelihood of the NPT rejectionists looking some day for security in the renunciation of nuclear weapons, and delayed the eventual elimination of nuclear weapons by the NWS, since only strong assurances against proliferation can provide the security environment most conducive to this goal.9 A. Safeguards and Export Controls From the dawn of the nuclear age the world faced the difficulty of distinguishing the application of nuclear energy to peaceful purposes (for example, propulsion, electricity production, and civil engineering and mining) from its potential for military use. Safeguards, comprising technical measures such as inspections and

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nuclear accounting, are of fundamental importance in non-proliferation regimes. The NPT requires non-NWS to declare the quantities, composition and location of all nuclear materials to the IAEA, which is the fulcrum of the international safeguards system. Australia played a part in the establishment of the IAEA. In turn, partly because of its uranium export potential and partly as the most industrialized state in Asia–Pacific, Australia gained a permanent seat on the IAEA Board of Governors at its inception in 1957. As part of its support for the NPT regime, Australia has campaigned vigorously for the IAEA safeguards system including the application of full-scope safeguards to any transfer of nuclear material. The IAEA has an annual budget of $90 million. This meager amount is not sufficient for the global mandate for research and development in safeguards technology, and has to be supplemented by national efforts. The Australian Safeguards Office, set up in Canberra in 1974 after Australia’s ratification of the NPT, is a vital component in the global chain. It contributes to the development of safeguards approaches and methods. (The CWC Office has been co-located with the Safeguards Office.) Export restraints are the technical means of preventing dissemination of proliferation-sensitive materials. They add to the technical difficulty, raise the costs of the nuclear-weapons option, compel proliferators to take a more circuitous path, introduce a longer lead-time and so buy time for offending governments to change their mind and the international community to organize a suitable riposte. The Nuclear Exporters Committee, formed in 1971, agreed in 1974 on a ‘‘trigger list’’ of equipment or material which would activate IAEA safeguards if exported to non-nuclear countries not party to the NPT. The Nuclear Suppliers Group, set up in London in 1975 to bring France into the export controls regime (but also including Argentina and New Zealand), promulgated guidelines in 1977 which sought to deny access to potential proliferators of material, facilities, and dual-use technology; and to ban the export of reprocessing and enrichment technology. B. Nuclear Testing Altogether there have been over 2000 nuclear tests conducted in the world since 1945. Australia’s original ambivalence about nuclear testing arose from the inconsistencies between a global disarmament posture and the requirement to support the strategies of its allies. The Australian government welcomed British nuclear tests on Australian territory in the 1950s. Of the five NWS, China and France were the NPT holdouts until the 1990s. They were also the two testing recalcitrants. France tested nuclear systems in French Polynesia into the 1990s: a dramatic example of the seizure of the global commons. President Jacques Chirac lifted his predecessor’s testing moratorium and conducted a series of six tests between September 1995 and January 1996.10 China conducted its last test

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on July 29, 1996. Talks on the Comprehensive Test Ban Treaty (CTBT) resumed later the same day in Geneva. The depth, breadth, and resilience of the opposition to French nuclear testing in 1995 caught the Australian government off guard. The global remobilization of antinuclear feelings brought home the realization that many people had simply assumed that the nuclear arms race had become a casualty of the end of the Cold War. Australia was perceived as a reluctant follower of public protests and as having been upstaged by the more robust reaction of the New Zealand government. Evans’ initial reaction—‘‘it could have been worse’’—although intellectually defensible, fuelled public anger. His measured assessment gave priority to broader arms control objectives. Evans was conscious that strident opposition to the testing decision would be interpreted as attacks on the credibility of France’s presence in the Pacific; on the credibility and authority of a newlyelected president who would be in office for at least another seven years; and on the credibility of France’s national security policy based on the independent deterrent. On a wide range of international trade, economic, environment, and security issues in which Australian interests are engaged, Paris exercises considerable influence. Moreover, France had made three important concessions. Testing would cease after the new series, France would sign a CTBT, and no new weapons systems would be developed. In addition to such bilateral maneuvers as recall of ambassadors, Canberra tried to build regional and global coalitions. The campaign culminated on December 12, 1995 with the adoption of a resolution by the UN General Assembly (UNGA) deploring nuclear testing and calling for its immediate halt. Australia also supported the unsuccessful New Zealand challenge in the World Court seeking to revive the 1974 case against French testing. Ironically, the political fallout from the French testing accelerated the international drive towards the CTBT. Australia played a critical role in the CTBT negotiations at the CD in Geneva. Consensus was formed around the March 1995 Australian definition of the scope of the treaty, prohibiting ‘‘any nuclear weapons test explosion or any other nuclear explosion.’’ On February 29, 1996, Australia presented a detailed model text of the treaty, which formed an important part of the final draft produced by the chair of the negotiating team, Jaap Ramaker of the Netherlands. Australia also presented a large number of working papers and drafting proposals. On balance, the draft treaty met Australia’s basic requirements. But Australia did have a different preference on the entry-into-force formula. Australia wanted the treaty to come into force simply after a specified number of countries had ratified it. Instead the draft required ratification by 44 states, including all five NWS and all three threshold NWS. On August 20 India vetoed the adoption of the CTBT by the CD in Geneva because it was allegedly discriminatory in permitting the modernization of nuclear stockpiles through computer simulations and laboratory experiments; it

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failed to link the end to testing to a nuclear disarmament timeframe; and it would degrade India’s national security. All three arguments are specious, but underpinned by an overwhelming national consensus in India.11 Because the treaty required the signature of all 44 countries that have nuclear research reactors, including India, to become operational, India also vetoed its transmission to the UN. Many countries were not prepared to let nearly three years of intensive negotiations be frustrated by one country. Australia took the lead in sidestepping India’s veto by forwarding it directly to the UN General Assembly. Canberra argued that the world could not afford to miss, because of one recalcitrant, the unique opportunity to end nuclear testing definitively. Disarmament ideals have to be tempered by what is achievable and practical. The treaty’s commitments and compromises reflect the best attainable balance of different countries’ interests. It will stop testing, end the arms race, prevent proliferation, and mark a milestone on the road to disarmament. Failure to close on this treaty in 1996 would have meant the loss of a CTBT for the foreseeable future. The Australian procedural tactic could be criticized on grounds of principle, logic, and politics.12 Nevertheless, the CTBT was approved by the UN General Assembly on September 10, 1996 by a vote of 158–3. Australia has also been prepared to provide technical expertise. The CTBT includes an effective verification regime based on four detection technologies: seismic, hydroacoustic, infrasound, and radio nuclides. Australia made a significant contribution through provision of technical experts to the development of a global network of monitoring stations. It has played a major role in the Group of Scientific Experts established by the CD to examine the feasibility of seismic verification of a CTBT. The Australian Seismological Center was set up in Canberra to engage in test detection and eventually to form one of the four International Data Centers to be set up as part of the CTBT verification regime. C. Nuclear-Weapons-Free Zones Nuclear-weapons-free zones (NWFZs) are regional confidence-building measures undertaken by non-NWS who fear being ensnared in outsiders’ nuclear webs. An Australian official chaired the working group which drafted the treaty adopted at the South Pacific Forum meeting in Rarotonga on August 6, 1985. Its core obligations are not to manufacture or otherwise acquire, possess, or have control over any nuclear device; not to assist or encourage others to make or acquire nuclear weapons; to prevent the stationing or testing of nuclear weapons on its territory; and not to dump radioactive wastes at sea anywhere in the zone, and to prevent such dumping by others in its territorial sea.13 Peace activists were not impressed with SPNFZ, for it failed to address any of the items of concern to them: uranium mining, port visits by nuclear-

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propelled and nuclear-armed ships, transit through the zone by such ships, missile tests, and the firing of nuclear weapons from within the zone. The Australian government’s response was that SPNFZ represented the largest circle of consensus that was achievable in the region. SPNFZ was a worthwhile achievement from a number of angles. It put an extra element of pressure on French nuclear testing in the Pacific, consolidated the non-proliferation norm in the region and offered an example to other regions of the world for disengaging from the nuclear madness. It was also a testament to successful regional non-proliferation diplomacy by Australia. D. The Elimination of Nuclear Weapons The Canberra Commission on the Elimination of Nuclear Weapons, set up by the Keating government in November 1995, submitted its report to the Howard government on August 14, 1996.14 Its analysis of the nuclear crossroads is lucid, the logic of its recommendations compelling. Its report is especially effective in rebutting the case for nuclear weapons. Nuclear weapons cannot be kept indefinitely yet never be used. They have no military utility against other NWS. The political cost of using them against non-NWS is so great that humiliating military setbacks have been accepted instead. Their possession by some is a constant stimulus to proliferation by others. They could be used by terrorists. The recommended steps to a nuclear-free world are: taking nuclear forces off alert; removing warheads from delivery vehicles; ending the deployment of non-strategic nuclear weapons; ending nuclear testing; negotiating further reductions in U.S. and Russian nuclear arsenals; and negotiating reciprocal no-first-use agreements. These must be reinforced by a ban on weapons-grade fissile material and verification arrangements. The authority of the Canberra Commission was three-pronged. The commissioners were internationally eminent people, a solid mix of generals, cabinet ministers, ambassadors, scientists, and a Nobel Peace prize winner. The report was the product of a government initiative, not just a think-tank enterprise. In addition, the commission recruited an impressive body of analysts from around the world to write background papers for the project. Yet the authority of the commission was diminished by flawed composition. Only one of 17 commissioners was a woman. Considering the prominence of women in the peace movements around the world, this was unfortunate. It also had an industrial country bias, with only five commissioners being from developing countries. Most crucially, eight—almost half the total—came from the five NWS; not one from the three threshold NWS. As a result, the report did not get the balance right between proliferation and disarmament, between the sensitivities of the NWS and the concerns of the threshold NWS. Determined to be realistic, the commission eschewed exhortative and aspirational sentiments.

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Yet for its report to have any chance of implementation, the anti-nuclear rage will have to be maintained through arguments, political representations, and public mobilization. For this reason, the advisory opinion delivered by the World Court on July 8, 1996 may prove more important. The court found, by a split opinion, that nuclear weapons are generally contrary to international humanitarian law. The Canberra Commission’s call for the NWS’ commitment to complete elimination is less forceful than the World Court’s unanimous opinion that they have ‘‘an obligation to pursue in good faith and bring to a conclusion negotiations leading to nuclear disarmament in all its aspects under strict and effective international control.’’ 15 The long-term effect of the opinion will be to strengthen the normative structure of restraints on the possession, threat, or use of nuclear weapons. In time, legal principle will prevail over state practice. Australia was among the 22 countries to make oral submissions to the World Court in 1995. The Australian delegation was led by Foreign Minister Evans, himself a lawyer. Procedurally, Evans argued that the court should decline to give an opinion, because the issue under consideration was fundamentally a political and security concern, not a legal matter. Australia was also concerned that the consequences would be deleterious regardless of which side the court came down on. If the court ruled that nuclear weapons were illegal, and the NWS simply ignored the opinion, then the authority of the court and the majesty of international law would be undermined. Alternatively, if the court opined that nuclear weapons were legal under some circumstances, then the cause of nuclear disarmament and non-proliferation would be set back. If, however, the court did decide to take up the substance of the case, then Evans urged it to find that nuclear weapons are illegal under international law. However, even then Australia urged the court to recognize the need for transitional arrangements to give time to the NWS to fulfill their legal obligation to negotiate disarmament and to ensure the maintenance of stable deterrence.

III. CHEMICAL AND BIOLOGICAL WEAPONS Australia has been less reticent on other WMD. Compared to conventional weapons, biological weapons are quite cheap; yet their lethal effect is comparable to nuclear weapons. The Biological Weapons Convention (BWC), concluded in 1972 and in force since 1975, was the first to ban an entire class of weapons. Because of verification weaknesses, reflecting the scientific state of the world in 1972, the BWC has not prevented the proliferation of biological weapons. Australia has been an active participant in the multilateral efforts to strengthen the convention, including export controls.

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Chemical agents have been used as weapons of war on a number of occasions during this century. The CWC (1993) is notable for the comprehensiveness of its provisions and its groundbreaking verification and inspection regime. It covers the development, production and stockpiling of chemical weapons, and their destruction within ten years. In force since April 29, 1997, the CWC will make an important contribution to accepted international practice in arms control because of its scope and also in the area of verification. This is important because the compliance and verification measures need to be more rigorous for chemical than for nuclear weapons. Australia was involved in the UN investigation of the use of chemical weapons in the Iran-Iraq war (1980–1988). Australian diplomats and scientists were involved in the verification and destruction of Iraq’s chemical weapons capability after the Gulf War. Australia was an active participant in the negotiations in the CD that produced the CWC. The Australian government hosted a series of seminars and workshops to raise the awareness of regional countries about the complex issues involved in finalizing the CWC and in implementing it thereafter. The goal was to develop a consensus in Asia–Pacific about the value of the CWC and facilitate the speedy and wide regional adherence to it. Since 1985, the Australia Group, an informal arrangement between the European Commission and 29 countries, has sought to define lists of problem substances and technologies, exchange intelligence on problem countries and coordinate export controls. The Australia Group meets biannually at the Australian Embassy in Paris with no set rules of procedure. It is inherently difficult to establish the effectiveness of the group in preventing the proliferation of chemical weapons. At the very least it helped to delay the acquisition of chemical weapons capability by forcing problem countries into alternative, less efficient, and more costly supply and delivery routes. The Australia Group has also helped to raise industry awareness about the risks associated with chemical agents.

IV. CONVENTIONAL WEAPONS Because of the gravity of the threat posed by WMD, the attention of most people and governments tends to focus on them. In reality, however, the overwhelming bulk of the world’s military expenditure and manpower is devoted to conventional arms and forces. The nuclear threat is grave, but also distant and abstract. The threat from light arms is concrete and seemingly ubiquitous. In conventional disarmament diplomacy, Australia faces the same contradiction that bedevils the major powers, albeit on a lesser scale. On the one hand, the latter preach to all developing countries to eschew the use of force as a means of settling international disputes. On the other hand, they wish to retain their military advantage. Their arms manufacturers meanwhile sell as many weapons

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platforms and weapons to as many countries as they can. Hence the absurdity of the five permanent members of the UN Security Council being the six biggest arms traffickers. (The sixth is Germany, which wants to become a permanent member.) Australia is prepared to advocate bold and far-reaching measures which do not impose any alliance and economic costs. It is represented on the UN Expert Group on Conventional Arms Transfers which has been examining the transparency of conventional arms transfers. Australia is a strong supporter of the principle of transparency in armaments and openness in dealing with arms transfers. It already declares its military expenditure to the UN and is ready to provide information to the UN Conventional Arms Register set up by the General Assembly in 1991. Where there are economic costs to domestic sector groups, Australia’s arms control policy becomes ambivalent, for example with respect to the mining and export of uranium. A similar inconsistency is evident with respect to the export of conventional weaponry. Australia favors a policy of defense self-reliance. To be credible, this requires the development and maintenance of an indigenous defense industrial base. Given Australia’s market size, a national defense industrial base can be viable only through economies of scale achieved by exporting Australian defense wares. The Labor government substituted the visionary idealism of nuclear disarmament diplomacy with a pragmatic and minimalist view of conventional arms control. The threat of WMD has been constrained by a network of legislative, normative, and supplier-groups restraints. By contrast, the risks of conventional arms build-ups have been downplayed to avoid impediments to the sale of Australian-sourced material. Nevertheless, by world standards, Australia is a ‘‘good international citizen’’ even with respect to the international trafficking in conventional arms. COCOM was set up by NATO in 1949 to control the export of military equipment and dual-use technologies to Eastern bloc countries. The regime was terminated in March 1994 and has been succeeded by the Wassenaar Arrangement which was agreed to by 33 countries in July 1996. Unlike the mandatory COCOM controls, the Wassenaar Arrangement is a voluntary regime based on information exchanges on transfers, denial of listed goods, and the application of national export controls. Its goal is to prevent the acquisition of conventional arms and dual-use technologies by states or groups whose behavior is a cause for serious international concern. Australia is a co-founder of the Wassenaar Arrangement. The reporting obligations of the regime will be based on the UN Arms register which focuses on weapons platforms. Australia wanted the regime to cover weapons systems as well. The real weapons of mass and indiscriminate destruction today are antipersonnel landmines (APL). They kill many more civilians than soldiers, often

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long after conflicts have ended. There are estimated to be between 80 and 110 million landmines currently deployed in some 65 countries, and another 150 million held in national stockpiles.16 Afghanistan, Angola, and Cambodia are among the worst affected. The annual global death toll from AP mines is estimated to be over 10,000, with another 15,000 injured; 90 percent of the casualties are civilians. They are cheap ($3 each) and easy to make and use, but far more difficult, dangerous, and costly ($100–$1000 each) to detect and remove. Between 0.5 and two million new mines are deployed each year,17 twenty to fifty times their rate of removal. In many countries the maimed survivors of mine blasts have no further useful roles. Rejected by society, they end up as outcasts, sometimes forming marauding gangs of ‘‘mutilados.’’ Other ‘‘cost multipliers’’ include the loss of arable land for food production. Landmines are also one of the most significant dangers to the deployment of peacekeeping missions: 42 peacekeepers were killed and 315 injured by landmines during the operation of the UN Protection Force in former Yugoslavia (UNPROFOR).18 The military utility of landmines is in fact highly questionable. The International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC) published a report that cast doubts on the military case for continued APL use in light of their employment in 26 actual conflicts since 1940. The study team included many retired and active military commanders from several countries. Acknowledging the military value of anti-tank mines, the study concluded that APL, even when used on a large scale, had little or no effect on the outcome of hostilities. At best, they have a marginal tactical value under some conditions. In only a few instances did APL use conform to international law (requiring proportionality of response and discrimination between combatants and civilians) or military doctrine. The claim that APL are indispensable weapons of high military value could not be substantiated. By contrast, their potential for indiscriminate harassment when used by irregular forces was found to be high.19 Australia’s defense and foreign policy establishments have been at odds over the utility of landmines and the international campaign to ban them. The preference of the defense forces prevailed during the Labor government. Three considerations were said to lie behind this.20 The Australian military wished to retain the option of using AP landmines for the defense of Australia and the safety of Australian soldiers. In their view, landmines are legitimate weapons of self-defense when used properly. Second, the government did not wish to offend its friends and allies, including the U.K. and the U.S. who are major manufacturers of landmines. Third, Australia had a commercial interest itself in producing and selling AP landmines. At the first review conference of the Inhumane Weapons Convention (1980) held in Vienna from September 25, to October 13, 1995, Australia argued for a ban on AP mines which did not self-destruct, did not deactivate, and were undetectable; a ban on the supply of AP landmines to non-government entities; and

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extensions of the coverage of the convention to internal conflicts. One of the earliest decisions of the Coalition government, announced by Alexander Downer on April 15, 1996, was to support the negotiation of a total ban on the production, stockpiling, use and transfer of AP landmines and to impose an immediate unilateral suspension on their operational use by the Australian military. The most serious diplomatic effort from late 1996 was the ‘‘Ottawa Process.’’ The conference on ‘‘Towards a Global Ban on Anti-personnel Mines,’’ held in Ottawa in October 1996, brought together 50 participating and 24 observer states as well as international organizations, UN agencies, and NGOs for three days of intensive discussions. The resolution on AP mines developed from the conference was adopted by the UN General Assembly in December by a vote of 156–0, with ten abstentions. The Canadian government then launched a ‘‘fasttrack’’ diplomatic effort to achieve an AP mine ban treaty by the end of 1997. Work on a draft treaty began in Vienna in February 1997. The next significant meeting in the process was held in Brussels on June 24–27. A month later, around 100 countries had signed the Brussels Declaration, including New Zealand and the U.K. but not Australia and the United States. Australia supported the Ottawa process, but only as a complementary measure to the CD in Geneva as Canberra’s negotiating forum of first choice. An Ottawa Treaty, Canberra argued, would not be an internationally negotiated text. Some key players, including China and Russia, were not part of the process. Symbolism for its own sake is not part of the Australian tradition. Canberra prefers to emphasize efficacy over symbolism. There was also the danger that the pursuit of symbolism through the Ottawa process could undercut the efficacy of the CD as the world’s only standing negotiating body for multilateral disarmament. Australia stood isolated from many of its traditional friends and allies in looking to Geneva rather than Ottawa. The Mine Ban Convention, signed in Ottawa in December 1997 by over 120 countries, bans the use, production, acquisition, stockpiling, and transfer of all anti-personnel landmines except for a minimum number for training. Anti-tank mines are still permitted, so long as they are vehicle- or command- but not victim-activated. The United States, Russia, and China were left feeling lonely, exposed and uncomfortable. Existing stockpiles must be destroyed within three years of the Ottawa Treaty’s entry into force and minefields cleared within ten years, although extensions of up to ten years is possible. The treaty is not subject to reservations or time limit. A party may withdraw with six month’s notice, but, if it is engaged in armed conflict at the end of the six months, its withdrawal will be suspended until the end of hostilities. Washington had demanded a package of four modifications; all were rejected. While U.S. endorsement would have added significantly to the conven-

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tion’s political weight, accommodating U.S. wishes would have greatly diluted the treaty. Its integrity proved more important than U.S. inclusion. The Americans squabbled over the deferral period, wanting the treaty to come into force after nine years; they wanted a change in the definition of land mines in order to permit the continued deployment of their mixed anti-tank, APL systems; they pressed for the Korean Peninsula to be exempted from the treaty because of its unique security environment; and they wanted an opt-out clause in the event of war. Many were willing to accept a short transition period to provide time for the U.S. military to develop a mine-free force structure. The treaty as it stands gives ten years to remove the mines in Korea. If this proved too difficult, Washington and Seoul would have the option of asking for another ten years. Most conference participants wanted Washington to manage its Korean dilemma in this manner. Delegates were not prepared to change the definition of landmines. The cluster system that the United States uses in Korea automatically deploys selfdestructing anti-personnel mines to surround and protect anti-tank mines. Such a change would have created a loophole big enough ‘‘to drive a tank through.’’ Civilians entering minefields could unwittingly trip the devices—precisely the object of the campaign to ban landmines. Any country could deploy anti-personnel mines so long as that was done in conjunction with anti-tank mines. In other words, for practical purposes landmines could continue to be used without restriction. The U.S. case for Korean exceptionalism does not bear scrutiny. A Human Rights Watch study found that most of the mines used by enemy forces in Korea and Vietnam had been introduced into the combat theater by U.S. troops, lifted and replanted. Thus many of the casualties on the allied side were caused by U.S. mines.21 Ironically, according to the internal report of the Army’s Operational Test and Evaluation Command (OPTEC), air-dropped landmines were the biggest single cause of friendly fire deaths during mock battles fought by the U.S. Army’s digitized brigade against a less sophisticated enemy. Of the 82 soldiers ‘‘killed’’ by friendly fire, 45 were victimes of their own mines—for example when a unit drove into mixed AP-AT mines dropped by its own aircraft.22 International law obliges the military to fence, mark, and guard all mines very carefully, and eventually to lift them. Under real world combat conditions, it is extremely difficult to use landmines responsibly, as the ICRC study (referred to above) had found. In a sudden war situation, the presence of scatterable mines would impede the fluidity and rapid response of U.S. and allied forces. This is the opinion of Lt. Gen. James Hollingsworth, who designed the Seoul defenses while he was the top U.S. commander in South Korea from 1973–1976. The mines at issue ‘‘are easily removed by fuel-air bombs, breaching techniques, and

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artillery fire.’’ AP landmines are ‘‘a nuisance’’ that did not play much of a role in actual war.23 Mines would also create havoc among the flood of civilian refugees. The Pentagon’s claims for APL being essential in Korea are based on flawed computer-simulated war-games.24 For example, the model assumes that anti-tank mines have been removed, even though no one is advocating such a course of action. It assumes an enemy rate of advance of 20 kph, comparable to the U.S. rate of advance in the Gulf War—when the terrain is mountainous and covered with dense jungles, unlike the flat desert of the Gulf; and the North Koreans would be fighting allies equipped with the best weapons and backed by total air superiority. Similarly, the computer was programmed so that severe monsoonal weather would ground allied air units yet not slow down the North Korean advance. APL would be useless against an armored North Korean assault, especially in combination with common mine-clearing devices like rollers, ploughs, and explosives.25 Their usefulness against ‘‘human wave’’ assaults, used by China in the same theater in the 1950s, is also limited. A North Korean regime crazy and determined enough to invade the South could simply come through the minefields and accept a level of casualties. The few hours worth of delay is too high a price for the savagery and destruction being caused by landmines among civilians on a daily basis. The U.S. call for lifting the ban on the use of landmines by victims of aggression was also rejected. It would be contradictory for the convention, as an instrument of the international law of armed conflict, to be exempted from application during times of war. No mine is smart enough to tell the difference between a soldier and a child—and that is the bottom-line humanitarian standard against which to judge these weapons. The Ottawa Process is the clearest expression of the will of the international community on the subject. The gulf between the maximalist NGO demand and grudging U.S. minimalism arose largely from a confusion between humanitarian and arms control means and goals. The latter are negotiated outcomes involving governments, with many compromises and give-and-take. Humanitarian action is vision-driven with little room for compromise of first principles. The Mine Ban Convention is a triumph for an unusual coalition of governments, led by Canada; international organizations—the role of the UN Secretary-General is quite prominent; and NGOs, led by the ICBL which has been awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for its efforts in turning a vision into reality within six years. The next task will be the continued stigmatization of this weapon of mass destruction. The convention establishes a new norm. Henceforth, no government, insurgent, or terrorist will be able to use APL without moral compunctions. The effective eradication of landmines throughout the world must also be tackled on an urgent basis. Greatly expanded programs of mine awareness, detec-

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tion, and clearance; and victim assistance, including rehabilitation and reintegration into civil society are called for. Australia has a major role to play here.

V.

AUSTRALIA’S DISARMAMENT CREDENTIALS

I have already mentioned the liabilities of Australia’s size, resources, and geographic location. Notwithstanding these constraints, Australia, a non-nuclear, industrialized Western country, has three great advantages in pressing for nuclear disarmament after the collapse of the Soviet threat and the resulting dominance of Western ideals and institutions. After decades of faithful alliance credentials, its political loyalty is not suspect. Its capacity to produce nuclear weapons quickly is also beyond question: if Australia does not need nuclear weapons, it can argue more persuasively that neither do the existing NWS. Australia’s human and material capabilities give it the scientific expertise to engage in a critical evaluation of the NWS’ technical arguments for maintaining the status quo, and for providing detailed, practical, and scientifically credible maps to a nuclear-weapons-free world. The Canberra Commission is an excellent example of this. Greg Sheridan, foreign editor of the Australian, warned that the Canberra Commission could endanger the U.S. alliance and take Australia down the New Zealand road.26 Ironically, David Lange, Prime Minister of New Zealand during the turbulent years of the ANZUS (Australia, New Zealand, United States alliance) rupture, made a number of derisory observations about Australia’s antinuclear credentials while casting ‘‘considerable doubts . . . on the value of the Canberra Commission as a catalyst for nuclear disarmament.’’ Gareth Evans was attacked for being ‘‘wedded, still, to nuclear deterrence, while claiming engagement to disarmament.’’ 27 Lange’s criticisms have since been levelled at the Coalition government. Laurie Brereton, the opposition spokesman on foreign affairs, claims that after the 1996 election, defeated Prime Minister Paul Keating urged his successor John Howard to deliver the report of the Canberra Commission to the United Nations himself rather than leaving it to the powers of persuasion of the Foreign Minister.28 The advice was not heeded. In opposition, Alexander Downer described the commission as a preelection stunt. As Foreign Minister, he was at first sceptical about the exercise. He was then persuaded of the merits of the commission’s report. Nevertheless, one of the commissioners, Ronald McCoy, believes that the Howard government’s lukewarm support for the report is responsible for the failure to promote it more vigorously.29 His judgment is supported by the Australian’s New York correspondent.30 Downer rejects such criticism, arguing that the government has promoted the report to the maximum realistic extent.31 In November 1996, the government’s commitment to nuclear disarmament was questioned afresh when Australia abstained on the Malaysian resolution at the UN General

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Assembly, which was approved by a vote of 94—22 (with 26 abstentions) and called for multilateral negotiations to begin in 1997.32 Australia has also been accused of inconsistency between its nuclear disarmament efforts and the sale of uranium to France. Although formal agreements precluded France using Australian-sourced uranium in its nuclear weapons program, it freed uranium obtained from other sources for the weapons program. The export of uranium is thus an unusually clear example of economic imperatives of foreign policy colliding with and overriding disarmament goals. The three-mines policy of the Labor government was a compromise that satisfied neither side. Anti-nuclear activists were not appeased and pro-mining interests were not pleased by the restrictions placed on additional uranium export. The Howard government announced in March 1996 that the three-mine restrictions on the mining and export of uranium would be lifted. Another question mark over Australia’s nuclear disarmament credentials is posed by the manner in which it is integrated into the global U.S. nuclear infrastructure. The United States maintains several installations in Australia concerned with military communications, navigation, and satellite tracking and control. During the Cold War the joint U.S.-Australian facilities collected vital military intelligence, spied on Soviet missile sites, detected nuclear explosions, helped verify arms limitation agreements, and were meant to provide the Americans with early warning of any Soviet attack. The Pine Gap and Nurrungar stations excited controversy in part because of the secrecy when they were established.33 In the 1980s, as many people in Western countries became alarmed at the bellicose rhetoric emanating from the Reagan administration, peace activists condemned the joint facilities both for Australia’s complicity in the U.S. nuclear strategy and for making Australia a nuclear target of U.S. enemies. Successive Australian governments argued that no country, allied or neutral, could escape the consequences of a nuclear war between Moscow and Washington. Verification, early warning, and the ability to control and communicate with nuclear forces were said to be critical both to stable deterrence and arms control. The joint facilities were more important for the stability they provided than either the instability caused by their potential for nuclear war fighting, or the danger they posed to Australia becoming a nuclear target. From this it was but a short step to arguing that Australia has ‘‘a moral obligation . . . to discharge its responsibilities to prevent nuclear war’’ by hosting the joint facilities.34 As part of its intention to upgrade the security alliance with the United States, the new Coalition government held ministerial talks in Sydney on July 26, 1996. It decided to renew the Pine Gap station for another ten years, but to close the Nurrungar station by 2000. New satellite dishes to be sited at Pine Gap, and more satellites, will expand its facility and give the United States greater intelligence gathering capability in East Asia and the Middle East.

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The main purpose of the joint facilities thus has been to contribute to the strengthening of the nuclear infrastructure of the Western alliance and so enhance the stability of nuclear deterrence. As a secondary purpose, they have also formed part of the verification regime of arms control agreements. In a matching set of calculations, Australia has rarely proposed major arms control initiatives, but has generally welcomed such agreements negotiated by Moscow and Washington directly. Its reticence stemmed firstly from the wish not to undermine the Western alliance, and secondly the belief that prospects for genuine progress would be impeded rather than enhanced by outsiders putting pressure on the superpowers.

CONCLUSION Anomalies and inconsistencies notwithstanding, over the past decade Australia has contributed to the global delegitimization of WMD. Like every other country, Australia has the right, indeed the duty, to make its voice heard on arms control and disarmament issues. Given its size, location, and freedom from specific threats, Australia places great importance on international legal instruments for its national security. It has worked to ensure that the historic and favorable changes in the world strategic situation are reflected in decisions that consolidate, deepen, and reinforce the NPT in its normative, technical-denial, and compliancecum-enforcement attributes. The post-NPT agenda is expected to be less focused, concentrating on institution building rather than new regime creation. Gaps in the NPT system that need to be filled exist in regard to the safeguards system, safety measures (for example in international transport), nuclear supplies, nuclear-capable missiles and testing.35 Gaps outside the NPT include the need to prohibit the stationing of nuclear weapons on the territory of nonNWS, for example through regional NWFZs. Australia attaches high priority to the speedy entry into force of the CTBT and strengthening the verification mechanisms of the BWC. All these regimes must be invested with the requisite political will, fiscal means, and intelligence support. We should endeavor to widen the adherence to these treaties. In addition, if the normative consensus is to be sustained, developing countries must be drawn into the management bodies of the NPT-IAEA structure. Australia’s arms control and disarmament policy can still be said to be driven by the ‘‘soft’’ options.36 It is most active on issues, such as non-proliferation of WMD, for which there is bipartisan and public support and no pain is inflicted on identifiable economic sectors. It is more prudent and tentative as the bipartisan consensus breaks down or alliance and economic costs come into play, such as the exports of uranium and Australian military hardware. Australia’s disarmament diplomacy is most substantial where it has particular assets, such as seismic monitoring expertise. Conversely, Australia’s arms control diplomacy

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is at its most ornamental and rhetorical where public demand for action comes into conflict with economic or military interests. Costs are minimized and support maximized if Australian efforts are channelled through multilateral bodies like the United Nations. In international forums such as the CD, Australia expends energy, commitment, and intellect. As a result of its persistence, Australia enjoys a credibility with all sides. Countries like Sweden and New Zealand might have greater credibility with the disarmament crusaders. Australian ministers and officials have tended to argue that Canberra’s efforts are the most efficacious in achieving practical progress. The most appropriate global forum for the pursuit of arms control and disarmament is the United Nations. The only body which can legitimately employ sanctions to address specific proliferation threats to international peace and security, the UN has generally been dismissed by the ‘‘realists.’’ The election of the Coalition government in March 1996 produced a relative upgrading of ‘‘realism’’ in Australian foreign policy. The world has been transformed fundamentally since the Coalition was last in power. The changes in the world in the intervening years have been nothing short of revolutionary. One of the challenges facing the Coalition government is to readjust its worldview from 1983 to the realities of the world at the cusp of the century. Nowhere is this more urgent than in arms control and disarmament. Success in this task of philosophical reorientation will ensure that Australia enters the 21st century well prepared to tackle the real threats to national, regional, and international security. Failure to refocus the worldview will add avoidable dangers to national security, and betray the principles of ‘‘realism’’ which underpin the Coalition’s philosophy of international relations.

NOTES 1. This is a revised and updated version of Ramesh Thakur, Arms Control, in F. A. Mediansky, ed., Australian Foreign Policy: Into the Next Millennium (Sydney: Macmillan, 1997), pp. 130–61. 2. Trevor Findlay, Disarmament and Arms Control in F. A. Mediansky, ed., Australia in a changing World: New Foreign Policy Directions (Sydney: Maxwell Macmillan, 1992), pp. 162–78. 3. Gareth Evans, Cooperating for Peace: The Global Agenda for the 1990s and Beyond (Sydney: Allen & Unwin, 1993). 4. I was a member of the NCCPD from 1995 to 1998 inclusive. 5. The use of the word ‘‘apartheid’’ by critics of the NPT is unfortunate. The emotive word entails entirely negative connotations. But, in fact, apartheid refers to a system where a minority imposes its order on a majority by coercion. The NPT has been signed by the majority of the world’s countries exercising their free choice.

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6. Mike Steketee, Hawke advisers drew N-arms plan, Weekend Australian, April 6– 7, 1996. 7. See Senator Dee Margetts, Limit Nuclear Treaty Extensions, Pacific Research 8:2 (May 1995), pp. 14–15. 8. See Ramesh Thakur, It might not be perfect, but so far it’s the best we’ve got, Australian Financial Review, April 12, 1995. 9. Statement by Senator Evans on April 18, 1995 to the 1995 Review and Extension Conference of States Parties to the Treaty on Non-Proliferation of Nuclear Weapons, Peace and Disarmament News (September 1995), pp. 10–14. 10. See Ramesh Thakur, The last bang before a total ban: French nuclear testing in the Pacific, International Journal 51:3 (Summer 1996), pp. 466–486. 11. See Ramesh Thakur, India’s Intransigence on a Test Ban Is Dangerous, Asian Wall Street Journal, June 27, 1996, and India in the World: Neither Rich, Powerful, nor Principled, Foreign Affairs 76:4 (July/August 1997), pp. 15–22. 12. Ramesh Thakur, Get Test Ban Treaty Operational and Let India Join Later, International Herald Tribune, September 9, 1996. 13. See Ramesh Thakur, The Treaty of Rarotonga: The South Pacific Nuclear-Free Zone, in D. Pitt and G. Thompson, eds, Nuclear-Free Zones (London: Croom Helm, 1987), pp. 23–45. 14. Report of the Canberra Commission on the Elimination of Nuclear Weapons (Canberra: Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade, 1996). I was a consultant to the Canberra Commission. 15. International Court of Justice, Legality of the Threat or Use of Nuclear Weapons: Advisory Opinion, Communique´ 96/23 (8 July 1996), p. 2; emphasis added. 16. Zdzislaw Lachowski, Conventional Arms Control, SIPRI Yearbook 1997: Armaments, Disarmament and International Security (Oxford: Oxford University Press for the Stockholm International Peace Research Institute, 1997), p. 495. 17. Ibid.; Judy Aita, U.N. session spotlights need to ban landmines worldwide USIS Washington File EPF406, August 15, 1996, p. 10. The figure of 2–5 million, sourced to the United Nations, may be out of date. It seems hard to think of where mines might be being laid in such numbers today. Some, for example the Halo Trust, claim that the figures used by the anti-mine lobby groups are wild exaggerations, and that a figure of two or three million is closer to the total number of landmines sown around the world than the additional numbers sown each year. The total figure for Afghanistan reduces from 10 million to 600,000; Paul Jefferson, The landmine ban is worse than useless. The Guardian, September 19, 1997. 18. Aita, U.N. session spotlights need to ban landmines worldwide, p. 10 (see note 17). 19. Anti-personnel Landmines: Friend or Foe? A study of the military use and effectiveness of anti-personnel mines (Geneva: ICRC, 1996). 20. Ian Buckley, Landmines—The Hidden Killers, Pacific Research 8:3 (August 1995), pp. 10–11. 21. Cited in U.S. Gen. (ret’d) Robert Gard, Jr., Why anti-personnel mines are indefensible, The Australian, October 14, 1997. 22. George C. Wilson, Fratricide in U.S. Army Exercise May Bolster Land Mine Debate, Defense News 12(41), 13–19, October 1997, p. 32. The exercise was held on March 23, 1997.

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23. Quoted in George C. Wilson, U.S. Supporters Will Keep Fighting for Land Mine Ban, Defense News 12(41), 13–19, October 1997, p. 32. 24. See Gard, Why anti-personnel mines are indefensible, and Canada, Department of Foreign Affairs and International Trade, Questions and Answers—The AP Mine Ban Treaty, Ottawa Process II etc, September 1997. 25. See the letter from General Sir Hugh Beach, Landmine loophole, The Times (London), September 9, 1997. 26. Greg Sheridan, Disarmament talk endangers US alliance, Australian, January 24, 1996. 27. David Lange, Evans’s nuclear initiative reeks of hypocrisy, Age (Melbourne), January 29, 1996. 28. In an address to the Medical Association for Prevention of War (Australia) conference on ‘‘Visions and Actions for Peace,’’ Canberra, April 24, 1997. 29. Quoted in George Lombard, Nuclear push lacks conviction, Canberra Times, April 26, 1997. 30. Cameron Stewart, Ambitious plan dies in silence, Australian, May 23, 1997. 31. Alexander Downer, Dialogue best route to disarmament, letter to the editor, Weekend Australian, April 19–20, 1997. 32. Canberra Times, November 17, 1996. 33. Gareth Evans and Bruce Grant, Australia’s Foreign Relations in the World of the 1990s (Melbourne: Melbourne University Press, 1991), p. 77. 34. Ibid., p. 78. 35. Jozef Goldblat, The Non-Proliferation Treaty: How to Remove the Residual Threats. UNIDIR Research Paper No. 13 (New York: United Nations, 1992). 36. Findlay, Disarmament and Arms Control, p 176. 37. By conducting nuclear tests in 1998, India and Pakistan came out of the thresholdstatus closet. See Ramesh Thakur, South Asia and the politics of non-proliferation, International Journal, 54(3), 404–417, Summer 1999.

9 A Palestinian State Evaluating the Risks* Efraim Inbar Bar-Ilan University, Ramat Gan, Israel

I. INTRODUCTION A Palestinian state is almost a fait accompli. The process of institution-building in the West Bank, since 1967; the crystallization of national identity during the Palestinian uprising (the Intifada, which began in 1987); and, particularly, the success of the Palestine Liberation Organization (PLO)1 in establishing the Palestinian Authority (PA) in the cities of the Gaza Strip and the West Bank, seem to indicate that a Palestinian state will soon come into being.2 As a matter of fact, the Palestinians already have a quasi-state and enjoy the trappings of statehood, such as a flag, a passport, stamps, full jurisdiction over all Palestinian cities, and a large police force, which is, for all practical purposes, an army. After the January 1997 Hebron agreement, most Palestinians are not longer under Israeli occupation and the PA is largely responsible for their well-being. Indeed, much of the international community supports the establishment of a Palestinian state, as well as a growing segment of the Israeli body politic.3 Given the advanced stage of the Palestinian state-building process and the international dynamics involved, even Prime Minister Benyamin Netanyahu, the Likud leader, echoed by his advisor, David Bar-Ilan, have expressed their willingness to consider a Palestinian state, albeit one endowed with limited sovereignty. Against this background, a sober assessment of the risks of a sovereign Palestinian polity is warranted. The purpose here is not to discuss on a normative * This chapter is a revised version of an article co-authored with Shmuel Sandler, which appeared in Survival, 39(2): 23–41.

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level whether the principle of self-determination gives the Palestinians a right to a sovereign state.4 The discussion adheres to a realpolitik perspective and its underlying concern is the security of the pro-Western countries in the Middle East, particularly Israel. This analysis aims to sensitize the foreign policy attentive audience to the potential implications of a Palestinian state. Even if a Palestinian state is inevitable because the status quo is not tenable in the long-run, it is necessary to evaluate its potential dangers. The conclusions lower the expectations that its establishment will bring about regional stability. The chapter starts with a description of the still-unstable and violent Middle East, in which the Arab-Israeli conflict has thrived for the past 50 years and into which the Palestinian state will be born. Then, it moves to an analysis of the domestic politics of the Palestinian entity and the ramifications of some of its features on its foreign policy. Subsequently, the chapter assesses the foreign policy alignment choices of a Palestinian state and the probability of its adopting a radical foreign policy. The next section delves into the strategic risks a Palestinian state may pose to its neighbors, and to the West. It ends with recommendations of how to limit the potential risks implicit in a Palestinian state and an assessment of their feasibility.

II. THE REAL MIDDLE EAST AND THE ARAB-ISRAELI CONFLICT In recent years we have witnessed the winding down of the Arab-Israeli conflict.5 Many Arab states have gradually realized that Israel is a strong state, economically and militarily, that cannot be eradicated by force. The process of Israeli acceptance into the Middle East began with the Sadat initiative, and has continued ever since. The collapse of the Soviet Union in 1989, which deprived the Arabs of a superpower umbrella for achieving their goals vis-a`-vis Israel, reinforced this point, while the victory of the American-led coalition in the 1991 Gulf War led to the Madrid Peace conference. The peace process led to a series of bilateral and multilateral interactions involving Israel, to the establishment of formal relations between Israel and several Arab states, a removal of the Arab boycott against Israel, regional economic summits, and a greater volume of movement of goods and people across borders. The PLO has also participated in this process, albeit somewhat later than other Arab actors. Growing political realism led the PLO to accept formally a ‘‘two-state’’ solution (only in 1988) and to attend the 1991 Madrid conference without any prior promise of a Palestinian state, which had been a key PLO demand. In September 1993, concerned that it might miss yet another opportunity, the PLO made a separate deal directly with Israel. The Declaration of Principles and their implementation were an important step on the path to Israeli-Palestinian reconciliation.

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Yet, many points of tension remain. The PLO has not yet replaced the Palestinian Covenant,6 which calls for the destruction of the Jewish state, and still espouses a commitment to ‘‘the right of return’’ of the refugees (Israel fears that implementation of this right would inundate Israel with Palestinians). PA officials pay tribute to slain Hamas and Islamic Jihad leaders, and use incendiary rhetoric, including calls for jihad against Israel. Despite the PLO’s commitment to stop violence, the PA sanctioned the use of force against Israel. Furthermore, the agenda for final status negotiations includes difficult issues, such as ‘‘the right of return,’’ Jerusalem, the Jewish settlements and borders, which indicates a bumpy road ahead in Palestinian-Israeli relations, despite the improvement in recent years. Israeli-Palestinian developments are partially linked to the improvement in Arab-Israeli relations. Many Arab leaders have recognized that there is a new power configuration in the region and have learned that good relations with Israel, which can vary in the degree of publicity and formality, serve the interests of their own countries. This is partly due to the waning appeal of pan-Arabism, which strengthened the Arab national state and legitimized the pursuit of its particularistic interests, and which also means less preoccupation with the Palestinian issue. The PLO alignment with Iraq in 1990–1991 encouraged some Arab states to disengage from Palestinian aspirations. Generally, we may detect a growing weariness with the Arab-Israeli conflict among all protagonists, Israelis and Arabs alike. The social and economic price for continuing the protracted conflict has become too costly. Furthermore, developments in the Persian Gulf since the early 1980s, such as Islamic fundamentalism and Iraqi expansionism, have placed Israel and many of the Arab countries on the same side of the fence. The existing secular elites, as well as the Sunni regime of Saudi Arabia, share with Israel a clear interest in curbing the Islamic tide and in containing the revisionist energies emanating from Teheran and Baghdad. The peace process was only one of a few positive developments in the Middle East and it is not a panacea for the many destabilizing conflicts that continue to plague the region. A look at the broader Mideastern picture suggests that the strategic environment in which a Palestinian state might emerge is riddled with grave security threats, and serious obstacles remain in the path to a regional comprehensive peace.7 Serious obstacles include the presence of revolutionary social forces and the acceptance of military force as a means of conflict resolution. The Middle East is undergoing a process of modernization, a trend that has released revolutionary social forces, including radical forms of Islam.8 The presence of strong fundamentalist counter-elites in Egypt, Jordan, and Palestine, which vehemently oppose any reconciliation with the Jewish state, indicates that agreements are neither irreversible nor necessarily durable. Islamic radicalism energizes Mideastern societies (Arab, Iranian, and Turkish) against Israel and the West. Economic inequalities may empower radical actors.9 Many of the Arab

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countries, such as Saudi Arabia, Egypt, and Syria seem incapable of implementing the structural reforms required to develop sound economies. Population growth in countries such as Egypt, Iraq, and Iran, where the regimes have problems supplying sufficient food to the public, makes it especially difficult to implement fundamental economic reforms. Gaza under the PA is not much different. This predicament generally undermines domestic stability and provides an opportunity for Islamic radicals to make progress. Many Middle Eastern actors hold the use of force in high regard even to attain extreme objectives. At different times, Kuwait, Lebanon, Jordan, and Saudi Arabia have all been targets for takeover by a sister Arab state. South Yemen was ‘‘united’’ by force with its northern neighbor. Military force is a policy option even during peace negotiations, as indicated by the Syrian use of the Hizballah in southern Lebanon to bleed Israel. Force is used even after it has been formally renounced, as demonstrated by the PA’s September 1996 attacks on Israeli soldiers. There are several other issues of conflict between Mideastern states; for example, water rights (Israel-Syria, Turkey-Syria, Egypt-Sudan), or border demarcation (Iran-Iraq, Saudi Arabia–United Arab Emirates, TurkeySyria), and military conflict is perceived as a legitimate and realistic option. Neither Egypt nor Jordan have capitalized on their peace treaties with Israel to reduce defense spending. In fact, their accords enhanced access to American weapons and both have pursued a military modernization program. According to some of its generals, Egypt continues to see Israel as a potential military rival, though the main threat usually cited by official Egyptians is ‘‘Israeli economic hegemony.’’10 Regional capabilities for conventional and non-conventional destruction have not been significantly altered by the peace process and continue to contribute to interstate tension. Israel’s population centers are within the range of Syrian and Iraqi missiles. Iran’s acquisition of Soviet missile technology provides it with similar capability. The 1991 Iraqi missile attacks, which did not elicit an Israeli response, indicate that there are circumstances under which Israel is unable to deter certain levels of aggression.11 The addition of chemical warheads to many Arab arsenals, and the continuing attempts by Iraq and Iran to acquire nuclear weapons are additional causes of concern in Jerusalem, as well as in several Mideastern and Western capitals. The peace process has done little to mitigate the hostility emanating from Teheran and Baghdad, which constitute potential dangers to Israel and to other regional players. So long as there is a potential for domestic upheaval, and regional actors continue to acquire capabilities for harming each other, and so long as the use of force is part and parcel of the rules of the game in the Middle East, Israel cannot expect that its Arab neighbors (including a Palestinian state) will treat it any differently than they treat each other. Arab-Israeli agreements are important and contribute to a reduction in the risk of war faced by Israel from its immediate

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neighbors. But even with such peace treaties, challenges to the regional order and to Israel’s security will remain, if not intensify, in coming years. Furthermore, under certain circumstances the peace process could collapse. The Middle East is in a period of transition, and not all changes are for the better. This is the strategic context in which the establishment of a Palestinian state must be considered.

III. PALESTINIAN DOMESTIC POLITICS AND FOREIGN POLICY Domestic politics affect foreign policy and regional stability. Given the tragic history of the Palestinians and their historical aspirations, the evolving Palestinian polity will most probably develop into a dissatisfied entity. Since all of the historic Palestinian aspirations will almost certainly not be realized, the presence of irredentist sentiment seems guaranteed. Even the present demands of the PA (Jerusalem as its capital, full sovereignty, return to the 1967 borders, and ‘‘the right of return’’—a minimum for Palestinian nationalism of today—might not be fully realized even if Labor returns to power in Israel. This means that unless the ruling Palestinian elite internalizes a historic compromise with the Zionists, which allots them less than 20 percent of Western Palestine, which is not very likely in the near future, the Palestinians will continue to entertain hopes to get more. Therefore, we can expect irredentist aspirations leading to revisionist policies, a behavior not out of character in the Middle East. The binding ethos of Palestinian society includes elements such as ‘‘the calamity of 1948,’’ ‘‘the injustices of Israeli military occupation,’’ and ‘‘the Intifada struggle’’ which are thoroughly anti-Israeli. Any evolving Palestinian regime would use anti-Israeli rhetoric as a legitimizing device. The peace process has not removed Palestinian antagonism toward Israel. While two-thirds of the Palestinians in the West Bank and the Gaza Strip supported the Oslo 2 agreement (September 1995), about the same number believed that Israel has no right to exist.12 During the same period, about 70 percent of the Palestinians supported armed attacks against Israeli military targets and settlers, while a majority of the Palestinians (59.5 percent) did not expect a lasting peace with Israel.13 It is noteworthy that the only informal agreement on the contours of the final settlement (Yossi Beilin-Abu Mazen accord reached in the fall of 1995) is rejected by an overwhelming majority of the Palestinians (over 80 percent).14 Turning to the domestic structure, the most desirable Palestinian regime for ensuring lasting, peaceful coexistence, would be a democratic polity. However, it is most unlikely that the PA will develop into a fully-fledged democracy. No Arab state has so far evolved into a stable democracy.15 There is little in the Palestinian political tradition in the territories, and especially in the Diaspora, to support a genuine democratic political culture. The socialization process of the

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current Palestinian political leadership was molded either by their Middle Eastern authoritarian host regimes or by their experience in guerrilla and terror organizations. So far, Palestinian society has experienced only one general election (January 1996), which was boycotted by secular and religious elements opposed to the peace process. In these elections, which were held under the Oslo requirements, Arafat received 88 percent of the vote and his party won about threequarters of the seats in the legislative council (66 out of 88 seats). The results did not reflect the heterogenousness of Palestinian society. So far, the PA may be considered thoroughly authoritarian, and its human rights record is worse than that of the Israeli military administration.16 Paradoxically, the main exposure Palestinian society has had to a democratic political process was under Israeli occupation. Military occupation is, of course, not conducive to democratic development, nor does occupation by a democratic society inevitably lead to a democratic polity. Contacts with Israeli society have undoubtedly left some imprint on the West Bank and Gaza and encouraged the emergence of the foundations of a civil society. Palestinian criticism of Arafat’s authoritarian rule are evidence of the existence of such democratic elements. However, such circles have little political influence, and fear violent suppression. Furthermore, there are signs that Arafat has co-opted them. Dr. Hanan Ashrawi, for example, left her established human rights organization in favor of a ministerial position. Even if the democratic elements succeed in generating a democratizaiton process, the path to a democratic Palestine is tortuous. Moreover, it may wll also be dangerous for its neighbors. While a democratization process is laudable by Western standards, empirical evidence shows that states in a transition to democracy are more war-prone than others.17 Violence as a means of resolving disputes could be reinforced by patterns within Palestinian society. Some radical Islamic elements, such as the Hamas and the Islamic Jihad, are very violent and militantly oppose the existence of a Jewish state and the peace process. The secular rejectionists, the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine (PFLP) and the Democratic Front for the Liberation of Palestine (DFLP) are similarly violent. Palestinian organizations, often with the encouragement of Arab states, have fought each other in the past. During the Intifada, the number of Palestinians murdered by their brethren was almost double the number killed by Israelis. The PA has not confiscated the large quantities of firearms accumulated in the hands of civilians despite its obligation to do so. Militias such as Hamas and Islamic Jihad, which have good local grassroots support, are permitted by the PA to carry arms (albeit not in public) and to train their cadres. Cells of the Demascus-based PFLP and the DFLP have continued the armed struggle and challenge the PA authority. The PA has not passed yet the main test of a state—monopoly of coercive power—and we may well see the Lebanonization of a future Palestinian state.

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Such a fractured state provides a convenient setting for infiltration by outsiders and an arena for inter-Arab competition. This could also mean greater freedom of action for militias and terrorist organizations. Another internal destabilizing factor is the grim economic prospects of a Palestinian state. The Palestinians lack an industrial base and they have not developed a service economy. The Palestinian economy mainly exports manpower and agricultural goods—products susceptible to market fluctuations. The gross national product (GNP) of the West Bank and Gaza declined by 22.7 percent in the 1992–1995 period. The economic situation in Gaza is particularly distressing, and this is partially due to uncontrolled population growth.18 Israeli counter-terror measures have limited the scope of economic exchanges and hindered Palestinian economic development. Furthermore, the large public sector transferred by the PLO from Tunis, which is needed to maintain the regime, also consumes a large portion of the aid received by the PA. The chances for massive capital flow from donor countries (Western or Arab) are slim. There is also evidence of corruption at senior levels and of a bureaucracy unable to sustain economic growth.19 While Arafat showed political acumen as the leader of a nationalist movement in the Diaspora, he has not shown yet the aptitude necessary to transform himself into a David Ben-Gurion or a Kemal Atatu¨rk—a founder of a modern state. For the time being, Arafat entrenched his authority due to his internal security services and to the continuous concessions extracted from Israel. There are, however, limits to what Israel can give. If the present regime loses control, due to weakness or Arafat’s death, a takeover by an Islamic revolutionary counterelite is not impossible. Revolutionary regimes generally tend to display warlike behavior in the immediate years after taking power.20 A potential future Islamic regime will likely renege on the agreements with Israel and will seek support from similar regimes in the Middle East. In short, Palestinian politics clearly contain many of the ingredients for domestic instability, foreign intervention in internal affairs, and revisionist policies.

IV. THE FOREIGN POLICY ORIENTATION OF A PALESTINIAN ENTITY The Middle East, in contrast to other regional sub-systems, has not been tightly bipolar or unipolar, allowing states great leeway in choosing both regional and global allies.21 At the same time, the stability of a balance-of-power system is absent in the Middle East. The problem of regime legitimacy has haunted the Arab states that emerged after the breakdown of the Ottoman empire. Despite lip service to the idea of pan-Arabism and the desire for fraternity and unity, inter-

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Arab relations have been characterized by competition and attempts by several countries to achieve regional hegemony. Though pan-Arabism has helped the Palestinians to mobilize support for their cause against Israel, the support rendered to them usually served the interests of the individual Arab states. Over the years, the Palestinian leadership realized their cause has become a pawn in the inter-Arab struggles. They learned to play the Middle Eastern game and Arafat has a distinguished record of minimizing dependency of the PLO upon Arab patrons, by exploiting the inter-Arab competition. Though the existence of a Palestinian state could lower the general level of Arab enmity toward Israel, there is no reason to believe that past regional dynamics will be discontinued after its establishment. What alliances would be available to Palestinian state? In the past, the PLO has more often than not displayed a radical preference in its foreign policy, clearly allying itself with the Soviet Union and the radical Arab states, cooperating with other terrorist organizations against American interests and targets. In 1991, the PLO sided with Saddam Hussein against the United States. In the future, a Palestinian state could side with states such as Iraq, Libya, and the Sudan. The radical Arab states would encourage a Palestinian revisionist orientation. They welcome a Palestinian state, but do not want one that will be predicated upon a reconciliation with Israel. All of these states would like to see the Jewish state destroyed and the Hashemite dynasty usurped. A Palestinian state that controls at best 20 percent of Western Palestine, could continue to serve the interest of even moderate Arab states in scoring points in inter-Arab competition. At the same time, it is a mistake to assume that the Palestinian issue is the main factor determining Arab states’ behavior toward Israel or the West. The geo-political situation of the future Palestinian state could only strengthen potential radical predilections. A Palestinian state, sandwiched between Israel and Jordan, would probably seek allies to counterbalance its two stronger neighbors, which have been the historical enemies of the Palestinian national movement.22 Furthermore, there is little chance of gaining the support of one of them against the other. Israel has in the past almost invariably preferred the Hashemites to the Palestinians. Jordan has always relied on Israel to deter aggression from neighboring Arab states,23 while Israel has perceived Jordan to be a buffer state on its eastern border. It would be hard for Arafat to develop a relationship with either Israel or with Jordan, that would surpass the intimacy and the common political outlook shared by the Jordanian and Israeli leaderships. A Palestinian state, however, will not be an easily controlled enclave between Israel and Jordan due to its access to the Mediterranean Sea in Gaza and a border with Egypt. Therefore, the geo-politics of the situation as well as the history of the triangular relationship would indicate that a weaker PLO state would attempt to secure a patron for achieving its goals. As is the case with other

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Arab actors, the anti-Western heritage does not make the United States the most desirable formal ally. Furthermore, the special relationship of the United States with Israel makes her a most unlikely candidate for becoming the Palestinian patron. In contrast, the Europeans, more energy-dependent upon Arab oil than the Americans and with less of a Jewish political presence in their midst, have been more inclined to support Palestinian aspirations. A European connection to a PLO state might have only a slightly moderating influence on Arafat’s regime. A European orientation, in contrast to an American one, could also facilitate Palestinian ties with radical states such as Libya, Iraq, and Iran. European states have better relations than the United States with the radicals in the Middle East. A radical Palestinian state could also turn into a European address for a ‘‘critical dialogue,’’ as some European countries have displayed a measure of tolerance for state-sponsored terrorism and other international criminal activities. Palestinian domestic politics could strengthen a radical foreign policy orientation. There is much empirical evidence, primarily from Third World countries, that alliance formation is motivated not only by the desire to augment capabilities against an external threat, but also to limit domestic challenges.24 According to such a rationale, Arafat would consider the interests of the radical countries in order to limit the support they lend the opposition groups in Palestine. Iran backs the Hamas financially and diplomatically, while Libya, Iraq, and Sudan have hosted anti-Arafat initiatives. A more benign version of revisionism is available to Arafat by imitating Asad’s cautious but ambitious foreign policy.25 The Syrian model includes the following components: (1) serving as a base for terrorist activities against all her neighbors; (2) attempts to conquer one of her neighbors (the Syrians covet Lebanon, while the Palestinians would probably opt first for Jordan); (3) solemn declarations about a strategic decision to pursue peace; and (4) a carefully subdued tone vis-a`-vis the United States so long as it is the only superpower. Taking into consideration the strategic predicament of a Palestinian state, the Syrian example offers attractive elements which are consonant with the Palestinian modus operandi. A pro-Egyptian orientation is also available for Arafat. As noted, Egypt sees Israel as a rival and has every reason to back Palestinian demands that might weaken Israel. Egypt did not play a positive role in peace process since 1991, as greater acceptance of Israel is seen as belittling her own status in the region. Possibly, Egypt would not be adverse to the dissolution of the Hashemite Kingdom by a Palestinian state under its umbrella. Territorial contiguity with Palestine could facilitate Egyptian patronage and influence over Palestinian affairs. The potential for large Egyptian support for radical goals, in contrast to incremental changes in the status quo, is limited as long as Egypt maintains its pro-American orientation. This orientation moderates its policies, though Egypt has not hesitated to anger the United States on several occasions. For example, Mubarak

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refused to accept President Clinton’s invitation to come to the Washington Summit in September 1996 and advised Arafat to stall in the Hebron talks against American wishes. An additional foreign policy option, which might be attractive to Arafat, is shifting alliances. A Palestinian state can move to and fro along the continuum described above, according to changing regional circumstances and Palestinian domestic constraints. Zigzagging has been used in the past by Arafat to enhance his freedom of action, though his past performance indicates a preference to side with radicals. Domestic linkages may also make him gravitate into the radical camp. Yet, the power differential with Israel and Jordan could serve as a constraining factor for Palestinian foreign policy preferences. Looking into the more distant future, there are two additional unpleasant scenarios that should be considered. Arafat has not yet named a successor, and a legitimate political mechanism has not yet been devised to choose a successor. The power struggle that will develop once Arafat leaves the scene could ultimately result in an Islamic regime tilting toward Iran. The second contingency is a return of Russia to the Middle East. The Palestinian state would probably welcome such a development and would aid Russian encroachment. The emergence of a pro-Western Palestinian state that refrains from supporting radical aspirations in the region is desirable, but prudent policy-makers must take into account that the Palestinian state may adopt different policies, such as those sketched above. At this point in time, the radical options seem more compelling, and therefore, it is advisable to find ways to induce the Palestinians to choose a moderate foreign policy.

V.

THE STRATEGIC THREATS

What are the strategic risks of a revisionist Palestinian state for the pro-Western states in the Middle East?

A. Geostrategic Threats to Israel Initially a Palestinian state is likely to have only limited military capabilities. Yet the geographic location of a Palestinian state, whose stability and foreign orientation are uncertain, may make it a potential existential threat to Israel, due to its proximity to Israel’s heartland.26 The Jerusalem–Tel Aviv–Haifa triangle contains 75 percent of Israel’s population and 80 percent of its economic infrastructure, and is within artillery range and in many places within rifle range of the probable borders of Palestine. Most of Israel’s airfields would be within the range of ‘‘defensive.’’ SAM (surface-to-air missile) batteries, while Israel’s only

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international airport is within range of shoulder-to-air missiles. Israeli main transportation arteries can be easily disconnected by infiltrators from a Palestinian state. If the Jordan rift valley is also ceded to Palestine, as the Palestinians insist, the West Bank could become the springboard for a potential Eastern front effort to bisect Israel. This would be certainly tempting for any invader, since the distance from the Jordan River to the Mediterranean is 80 kilometers (50 miles), and only 14 kilometers (9 miles) separate the Palestinian town of Tulkarem from the coast. Under changed circumstances, the Hashemites may be compelled to join military coalitions against Israel, as they have done the past (1948, 1967, and in a more limited fashion in 1973). Furthermore, there is no assurance of their continued rule in Jordan. Therefore, Israeli control of the Jordan rift is essential for providing intelligence on impending attacks along the few roads extending from the Jordan River westward, as well as for halting the progress of an advancing army from the East until the reserves are mobilized. This also dictates that several roads running eastwards from the coast to the Jordan rift must also remain under Israeli control in order to move forces, particularly in times of crisis. A Palestinian state, even with limited capabilities (there are already over 40,000 Palestinian soldiers), will be able to obstruct Israeli preparations for war, free movement of forces to the front (west-east and north-south), and might require a diversion of Israeli troops from the front-line to protect its heartland. A Palestinian state may well decide to invite expeditionary forces or armed ‘‘volunteers’’ from other Arab countries, radical or moderate, against Israel or Jordan, or to help the regime put down domestic challenges. Preventing their arrival by sea or air is militarily feasible, but the political onus of responsibility for escalation would be on Israel. B. Irredentism Israel contains close to one million Palestinian Arabs holding Israeli citizenship and living peacefully in their communities. Most of them live in geographical concentrations, in which they constitute a numerical majority. There is territorial contiguity between several of these concentrations and the future Palestinian state, which could serve as the basis for irredentist claims. The inevitable tensions between Israel and Palestine may well catalyze additional Palestinian territorial demands. Furthermore, Israeli Arabs increasingly voice demands for a special status of a national minority and for changing the definition of Israel as a Jewish state. The existence of a Palestinian state along Israel’s borders, which traditionally has demanded the replacement of Israel with a secular Arab state, could only aggravate such demands. Questions bearing on national identity and historical aspirations cannot be fully resolved by formal agreements between governments.

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Jerusalem is also an issue with great symbolical value in the Arab-Israeli conflict. The Palestinians seem intent on demanding that East Jerusalem become the capital of their state. While the Temple Mount is claimed as the third holiest site in Islam, it is considered the holiest for the Jews. Religious conflict seems inevitable and may contribute to a strengthening of Islamic and Jewish fundamentalism in the region. The lack of territorial contiguity between Gaza and West Bank will similarly be a constant source of friction between Israel and Palestine, as well as a cause for making territorial demands. The Palestinians currently demand safe passage, but in the future they could well demand an extra-territorial corridor. If Israel permits free movement of people and goods through its territory, it risks opening its borders to terrorists. Stringent border security measures will infringe upon the Palestinian desire for free passage, and this situation would be politically explosive. This situation is reminiscent of the Danzig and East Pakistan (Bangaladesh) predicaments, both destabilizing arrangements ultimately leading to war.

C. Threats to Scarce Resources and Environment An important dimension of the conflict has been over the use of scarce resources, such as water. The Palestinians control already mutually shared underground water acquifiers. The fact that the Palestinians are situated upstream, in terms of water flow of the acquifiers and of rain water movement on the ground, gives the Palestinians an advantage over Israel in unilaterally exploiting the water reserves. It is not certain that Palestinian short range interests will not prevail over the need to conserve resources. In addition, we see already environmental damage by untreated sewage from Palestinian population centers flowing downhill into Israel. Water and its uses will be a continuous source of friction between the two neighboring states.

D. Threats to Hashemite Jordan The geostrategic location of Jordan is pivotal to regional stability, serving as a buffer between Israel and Iraq, and between Saudi Arabia and Syria. The elimination of a pro-Western Jordan would leave Israel, as well as Saudi Arabia, without a buffer vis-a`-vis the radicals. An anti-Western Jordan is inimical to Western interests. A Palestinian state, particularly one with the Jordan River as its border, could threaten Jordan’s sovereignty. Precise data on the composition of the Jordanian population is not available, but most estimates agree that over 60 percent of the kingdom is of Palestinian origin. In the past, Palestinian nationalism appealed to many in the East Bank, even endangering the Hashemite regime. A Palestinian state would definitely galvanize nationalistic feelings among Palestin-

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ians in Jordan, which could be radicalized by the establishment of a Palestinian state so close to their homes. Scenarios involving changes in Jordan cannot be dismissed and carry serious consequences. These include a Syrian-Palestinian pincer movement against Jordan. The two have cooperated in the past to undermine the Hashemites. Arafat may join Saddam Hussein in attempting to divide Jordan, thereby outflanking Syria. Both have been involved in military conflict with Asad. In such worst case scenarios, it is not self-evident that Israeli deterence would be sufficient to prevent their fruition. The fall of the Hashemite regime would probably end in an expansion of the Palestinian state eastwards towards Iraq. This could open the option of an Eastern Front against Israel with territorial contiguity from the Mediterranean Sea to the Persian Gulf (including Palestine, Iraq, and Iran). The demise of Jordan could create a large radical bloc from the Levant to the Persian Gulf which would threaten directly not only Israel and Saudi Arabia, but also Egypt, which struggles against an Islamic opposition. E.

Terrorism

Terrorism is the weapon of the weak. A weak Palestinian state could sponsor terror to further its interests, or turn a blind eye to terrorist activities within its territory. Palestinian-based terrorism has hit the West in the past and will probably continue to do so in the future. It is now clear that terrorist organizations (PFLP, DFLP, Hamas, and Islamic Jihad) have acquired greater freedom of action under the PA than under Israeli military occupation. Their latitude could grow further in a Palestinian state, which might have permeable borders and an easilypenetrated polity. Considering the close relations in the past between the PLO and terrorist organizations all over the world, a Palestinian state in the West Bank and Gaza could also repeat the performance of a PLO mini-state in Lebanon (during the late 1970s and early 1980s) as a base for international terror.27 Terrorist activities from territories under Palestinian control are likely to trigger an Israeli military response against the Palestinian state. This could in turn lead to further regional escalation and threaten regional stability. The risks inherent in a Palestinian state are considerable. Many in the West have supported the establishment of a Palestinian state, believing that it would enhance peace and stability. Should this estimate prove wrong, if precautions are not taken, the brunt of the price will be paid by Israel and Jordan. This eventually will also affect the interests of the West. VI. POLICY IMPLICATIONS The discussion so far focused upon the actual state of affairs in the Middle East and the potential risks emanating from a future Palestinian state. Since the estab-

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lishment of a Palestinian state seems to be only a question of time, what is left to determine is the timetable leading to its creation, its borders, and the extent of its sovereignty. In addressing these issues and in suggesting a number of measures to minimize the potential damage, we take into account the political constraints of the Israeli and Palestinian sides and are aware that our recommendations are not a recipe for comprehensive regional stability.

A. The Timetable According to the Oslo accords, the political nature of the Palestinian entity is to be determined by negotiations between Israel and the PA to be concluded in May 1999 as part of the final status issues. Given the political constraints on both sides, the gaps between the two sides could not be bridged in the allotted time. Peace negotiations in the Middle East never met the agreed-upon deadlines. In this context, Yitzhak Rabin has noted: ‘‘There are no holy dates.’’ The Barak government, elected in May 1999, convinced Arafat at the September 1999 summit to further postpone deciding on the issue of Palestinian statehood. While the status quo may only be tenable for an interim period, it may be possible to produce Palestinian acquiescence to a delay in establishing a Palestinian state, particularly if some compensation is provided. Prolonging the talks has its own merits. Insofar as regional stability is concerned, a delay is desirable, as it will facilitate a learning process for the PA. The PA’s record of keeping its commitments is mixed and must be improved to allay Israeli fears. Palestinians must realize that violations of agreements are counterproductive. Time is also needed for testing the PA behavior. The most important test is its commitment to live peacefully with its neighbors. It is critical that the PA leadership state those commitments to the Palestinians. Palestinian intentions can be tested by the messages conveyed through the newly established Palestinian education system. Another important test is centralization of instruments of force. This is the critical proof of the PA’s ability to govern, and whether it genuinely intends to live in peace. Prolonging final status negotiations will also hinder a radical Palestinian orientation, because of the PA awareness that progress in the peace process requires Western support. Under present circumstances, the PA has potential for instability and for conducting a radical foreign policy, but is constrained by the limits on its freedom of action, as well as by the desire to project a responsible image, which would facilitate the achievement of statehood. The longer the PA operates in the Western orbit, the more downgraded its relations with radical states in the region will be. Prolonging the process of acquiring a state will also permit the West to test the foreign policy orientation of the PA and, possibly, to influence its development. With the passage of time, a new regional configuration

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might possibly emerge, allowing Jordan a greater stabilizing role in the future development of the Palestinian state. Time is needed also to ameliorate the PA’s economic plight. This endeavor calls for involvement of the international community in providing financial and technical aid. The PA has resisted much of the international pressure for accountability and transparency of the usage of assistance funds. Yet, a solid economic infrastructure is a pre-condition for a stable Palestinian polity. If the progress to a Palestinian state is slow, will Arafat be inexorably opposed, given that such opposition risks losing assets he has acquired so far? The PA cannot deny the legitimacy of even a slow-paced peace process, because it itself is one of the products of this process and its legitimacy stems from it.28 Though political realism has in the past not been the strong suit of the Palestinian national movement, the progress achieved in the peace process was due to a realization on the part of the PLO that the imperatives of reality dictate compromises. Prolonging the final status negotiations with the PA is, therefore, advisable. At the same time, it is imperative to reach an additional interim agreement signaling progress in the peace process to all parties involved. One of the goals of the interim agreement should be a clearer separation between Israelis and Palestinians. The lessons of ethnic conflict show that territories inhabited by mixed ethnic communities breed violence. Clear ethnic boundaries, with or without independent sovereignty, reduce violence, while territorial demarcation without ethnic separation does not stop violence.29 Removal of several Jewish settlements situated in the midst of Palestinian population centers (such as Netzarim in Gaza), and/or allowing for additional symbolic signs of sovereignty, would constitute a great accomplishment for the PA and could serve as a quid pro quo for a delay in the conclusion of the final status negotiations. Statehood, indeed has much symbolic value. Yet, its postponement and nurturing good relations with the West may well be more conducive to the quality of human rights and economic prosperity in the PA. A tradeoff between symbolic values and quality of life could be acceptable to Palestinians struggling to improve their lot. B. The Geostrategic Dimension The Jordan rift, along the Jordan River and the Israeli-Jordanian border, is of extreme strategic value. This sparsely populated desert region (10–20 kms wide and 90 kms long) is the eastern gateway to Israel and therefore of vital strategic importance. Furthermore, denying Palestinian control over this area leaves Jordan less vulnerable to Palestinian attempts to interfere with its domestic affairs, because it prevents territorial contiguity between the two states. It is advisable to limit the contact between the two entities to the Jericho area only.

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Another strategic zone is the narrow strip along the border between Gaza and Egypt, which is partly populated by the Israeli Qatif settlements. This is an Israeli wedge between Palestine and Egypt. Without such a wedge, Egypt can more easily interfere in Palestinian affairs. Furthermore, in a worst case scenario, Egypt could violate the demilitarization of the Sinai, and use Gaza as a springboard for an attack on Tel Aviv, only 70 kilometers away. These two strategic zones have been considered essential for Israel’s security by the Labor party (the Alon Plan), particularly by Rabin. The leading contender for Labor’s leadership, Ehud Barak shares this view. Even the doves, such as Beilin, insist on an Israeli military zone along the Jordan River. The bulk of Likud has gradually moved to accept the inevitability of partioning Western Palestine, but will be unlikely to negotiate a territorial compromise, which is less favorable to Israel than that supported by Labor’s hawks.30 The Palestinians, on their part, will be unlikely to accept such a deal, though some of them have expressed interest in exchange of territories, as mentioned in the Beilin–Abu Mazen agreement. There is not much room for agreement, but progress would require territorial tradeoffs. C. Sovereignty Even the supporters of a Palestinian state accept the necessity of placing stipulations on a Palestinian state’s sovereignty, such as linking it to Jordan, demilitarization, and/or foreign policy limitations. Some kind of political connection with Jordan could have a moderating influence on Palestinian politics. As of now, many voices in Palestinian quarters speak approvingly about a Jordanian-Palestinian federation. Jordan has many socio-economic and familial links with the West Bank. In the past two decades the Hashemites have preferred to let the Israelis deal with the thorny Palestinian issue, but given the emergence of a Palestinian state, Jordan may agree to share responsibility for the establishment of a political structure, which would be responsive to Palestinian national aspirations. Furthermore, a large majority of the Palestinians would like to see a greater linkage with the seemingly more mature and moderate political entity to their east.31 Both major parties in Israel would look favorably upon a greater Jordanian role in Palestinian affairs. The main problem with a Jordanian-Palestinian framework is that it is not clear to what extent there will be cooperation between the elites on the two banks of the Jordan and which will be the dominant. Demilitarization of the Palestinian entity is a sine qua non in all proposals for a Palestinian state as a remedy for Israeli security concerns. Yet, in the aftermath of the Oslo agreements 40,000 Palestinian soldiers are already in the West Bank and Gaza and their number is only growing. This is a considerable force. Moreover, demilitarization clauses can be easily violated. A Palestinian port in

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Gaza or an airfield in Gaza or the West Bank could be an avenue for smuggling heavy weapons and for bringing in additional Palestinian troops from the Diaspora. The distances involved differ significantly from the 200 kilometer depth of demilitarized Sinai, which is relatively stable. The political penalties for violating a demilitarization regime in the Middle East are not necessarily high and are primarily dependent upon the international constellation, as suggested by the following examples: the Egyptian SAM units’ advance to the Suez Canal in 1970; and the Syrians’ introduction of SAM batteries into Lebanon in 1981. Each of these events was in violation of international understandings, yet remained unchallenged. The lesson is that under many circumstances, appeasement is adopted in order to defuse a crisis and/or to delay escalation. A violation of demilitarization creates a dilemma for Israel. Lack of response encourages salami tactics, while a strong military riposte triggers an escalation that may win Israel international opprobrium. Israel is not always assured of freedom of action, which might be subject to political alliances and/or circumstances. The degree of international support for Israeli use of force to ensure the implementation of demilitarization is questionable. So far, the record of Palestinian violations of the agreements with Israel and the world reaction to them is not reassuring. The PA has smuggled light weapons into the territory under its control; established a force larger and better equipped than what is allowed under the Oslo agreements; continued to incite and to call for a holy war against the Jewish state; and refused to suppress terrorist groups by disarming them and/or dismantling their infrastructure. The most flagrant violation was the September 1996 attacks on Israeli security forces. None of these Palestinian breaches of the agreements have elicited much international criticism. Most attention has been directed to the items Israel has not yet implemented. Therefore, given the Middle Eastern environment and the peculiarities of the Israeli-Palestinian geographic and political situation, the idea of demilitarization should be regarded with extreme prejudice. An additional way of limiting potential threats is to forbid the Palestinian state from entering into any formal military alliances. Similarly, in the early stage of the existence of a Palestinian state, it should refrain from having representatives from countries not having diplomatic relations with Israel. This will curtail the contacts with the radical states. Israel and the Palestinians are faced during the negotiations with a dilemma of giving a priority to tangible or symbolic assets, namely territory or sovereignty. The compromises will also involve tradeoffs between the geographical and the expressive dimensions. Ultimately, attempts to limit sovereignty are not very effective if there is not political will to use force to prevent violations. Without Western willingness to condone military reaction by Middle Eastern–interested

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parties to assure the Palestinian commitments, all limitations would gradually evaporate. Therefore, from a realpolitik perspective, Israel should focus on the geostrategic elements.

CONCLUSION The Middle East is still a rough neighborhood, ridden with violent conflict, despite the fact that in recent years the Arab-Israeli conflict has lost some of its severity. One suggestion that might further ameliorate the situation is to establish a Palestinian state. The analysis here shows that in terms of security and stability, this is a problematic proposition. Based upon current Palestinian politics, there is a serious likelihood that a Palestinian state will be authoritarian and will include radical elements in its foreign policy. It could become a potent threat to its neighbors, Jordan and Israel, and vicariously to Saudi Arabia and other Western allies. A Palestinian state could also turn into a haven for international terrorism. The Palestinian national movement is still young and ambitious, with much energy, which under certain circumstances could become a destabilizing force on the international scene. Since the Palestinian state is on its way, this analysis offered several precautions: prolonging the time span for its establishment; denying it control over critical strategic areas; and limiting its sovereignty. Hopefully, these measures will minimize the risks of a Palestinian state. If not, its neighbors, primarily Jordan and Israel will be left with the burden of dealing with an uneasy situation.

NOTES 1. On the PLO, see Cobban, H. 1984. The Palestinian Liberation Organization. People, Power and Politics. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press; Rubin, B. 1994. Revolution Until Victory? The Politics and History of the PLO. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. 2. For institution-building, see Sandler, S., and Frisch, H. 1984. Israel, the Palestinians and the West Bank: A Study in Intercommunal Conflict. Lexington: Lexington Books; for the importance of the cities in nation-building, see Tilly, C. 1990. Coercion, Capital and European States, AD 990-1990. Cambridge, MA: Basil Blackwell. 3. For an early argument, see Heller, M. 1983. A Palestinian State. The Implications for Israel. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. 4. Actually, history indicates that this principle, its merits notwithstanding, plays a major role in causing international disorder and conflict. See Kedourie, E. 1980. A new international disorder. Commentary 70(6):50–54; and David Vital, D. 1977. Minor power/major power relations and the contemporary nation state. In Inbar, E.,

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6.

7.

8. 9. 10.

11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16.

17. 18.

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and Sheffer, G. (eds.), The National Security of Small States in a Changing World. London: Frank Cass, pp. 197–214. Inbar, E., and Sandler, S. 1995. The international politics of a Middle Eastern arms control regime. In Inbar, E., and Sandler, S. (eds.), Middle Eastern Security, Prospects for an Arms Control Regime. London: Frank Cass, pp. 175–77; Rubin, B. 1996. The Arab-Israeli conflict is over. Middle East Quarterly, 3(3):3–13. Academic experts on Palestinian affairs in Israel are divided over what the Palestinian National Council (PNC) decided on April 24, 1996. Distinguished scholars such as Yehoshua Porat, Moshe Sharon, and Hillel Frisch claimed that the PNC did not revoke the offensive articles in the Palestinian Covenant, but decided only to postpone the decision to an undefined future date. The mere existence of the debate is indicative of both the evasive language used by the Palestinians and of Israeli sensitivity to this issue. For the persistent nature of the old rules of the game in the Middle East, see L. Carl Brown, L.C. 1994. The Middle East after the Cold War and the Gulf War: Systemic changes or more of the same. In Downs, G. (ed.), Collective Security Beyond the Cold War. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press; and Singer M., and Wildavsky, A. 1993. The Real World Order. Chatham: Chatham House. For a review of this phenomenon, see Maddy-Weizman, B., and Inbar, E. (eds.) 1997. Religious Radicalism in the Greater Middle East. London: Frank Cass. See Kanovsky, E. 1995. Middle East economies and Arab-Israel peace agreements. Israel Affairs 1(4):22–39. For example, Egyptian forces staged their largest-ever training exercise, which included simulated offensive operations crossing the Suez Canal into the Sinai to attack an unnamed adversary to the east in September 1996. For the tensions between the two countries, see Gerges, F.A. 1995. Egyptian-Israeli relations turn sour. Foreign Affairs, 74(3):69–78. Inbar, E., and Sandler, S. 1993. Israel’s deterrence strategy revisited. Security Studies, 3(2):330–358. The poll was conducted by the Jerusalem Institute for Communication and the London-base Al-Khayat (Haaretz, October 15, 1995, p. A3). Results of Public Opinion Poll # 19. 1995. Nablus: Center for Palestine Research and Studies, p. 1. The poll was conducted by the Palestinian Jerusalem Center for Communications (Haaretz, December 31, 1996). Kedourie, E. 1994. Democracy and Arab Political Culture. London: Frank Cass. Shikaki, K. 1996. The peace process, national reconstruction, and the transition to democracy in palestine. Journal of Palestine Studies, 25(2):9–11. For human rights violations, see inter alia, Haaretz, August 8, 1996, p. B2; Neither Law Nor Justice. Extra-Judicial Punishment, Abduction, Unlawful Arrest and Torture of Palestinian Residents of the West Bank by the Palestine Preventive Security Service. Jerusalem: B’tselem, August 1995; Freedom of Press Under the Palestinian Authority Jerusalem: Peace Watch, January 1996. Mansfield, E.D., and Snyder, J. 1995. Democratization and the danger of war. International Security, 20(1):5–38. Haaretz, November 1, 1996, p. A4.

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19. See inter alia, Yaari, E. 1996. What a state?! Maariv (Shabbat Supplement), 20(September):12. 20. Walt, S. M. 1992. Revolution and war. World Politics, 44(3):321–368. 21. For a neo-realistic study of Middle Eastern alliances, see Walt, S.M. 1987. The Origins of Alliances. Ithaca: Cornell University Press; for an analysis couched in a different analytical framework, see Barnett, M. 1996. Identity and alliances in the middle east. In Katzenstein, P.J. (ed.) The Culture of National Security. Norms and Identity in World Politics. New York: Columbia University Press, pp. 400–447. 22. For the dilemmas of triangular relations, see Klieman, A.S. 1981. Israel. Jordan, Palestine: The Search of a Durable Peace, The Washington Papers no. 83. Beverly Hills: Sage Publications. 23. See Zak, M. 1996. Hussein Makes Peace. Ramat Gan: Bar-Ilan University Press. 24. David, S. 1991 Explaining third world alignment. World Politics, 43(2):23–56; Barnett M., and Levy, J. 1991. Domestic sources of alliances and alignments: The case of Egypt. International Organization, 45(2):233–256. 25. For Asad’s foreign policy preferences, see Pipes, D. 1990. Greater Syria: The History of an Ambition. New York: Oxford University Press. 26. For the geographic dimension, see Rosen, S.J. 1977. Military Geography and the Military Balance in the Arab-Israel Conflict, Jerusalem Papers on Peace Problems, no. 21. Jerusalem: Hebrew University. 27. For the PLO links with international terror, see Merari A., and Elad, S. 1986. The International Dimension of Palestinian Terrorism. Boulder, CO: Westview. 28. We thank Barry Rubin for making this point. 29. Kaufmann, C. 1996. Possible and impossible solutions to ethnic civil wars. International Security, 20(4):137. 30. For Labor’s positions see Inbar, E. 1991. War and Peace in Israeli Politics: Labor Party Positions on National Security (Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner; for Likud’s growing moderation, see Inbar E. Forthcoming. Netanyahu is taking over. Israel Affairs. 31. According to an October 1995 poll, 74 percent of the Palestinians in the West Bank and Gaza supported the establishment of a form of unity with Jordan. Furthermore, 79 percent of them believe that Palestinians and Jordanians have a special relationship not found between Palestinians and any other Arabs. The support for these two items in Jordan was even higher, 86 percent and 91 percent. See Results of Public Opinion Poll # 20. Nablus: Center for Palestine Research and Studies, October 1995, p. 1.

10 Nationalism Against Lost Legitimacy Slovenes Versus the Yugoslav Military Ljubica Jelusˇicˇ University of Ljubljana, Ljubljana, Slovenia

I. INTRODUCTION Yugoslavia, or the country officially called the Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia, has fallen into oblivion. The state was composed of six republics and two autonomous provinces, with six different nations, five national languages, and many national minority languages. It was a country with two official alphabets and at least three world religions. The international community considered it a state of multicultural tolerance, while within its borders it was the homeland of people who were fictitiously related, a homeland of brotherhood and unity. However, in june 1991, intervention by the Yugoslav Army within national borders put an end to the previous joint life. June 1991 brought about the collision of two irrational decisions. The first was the decision made by the Yugoslav Army to use classic military intervention to bring the insubordinate inhabitants of Slovenia under control, which also meant intervention against the very people the army was to protect. The other was the decision made by Slovenia’s political leaders and Slovenia’s citizens to use any means to defy a militarily superior force which was still officially the armed force of the Slovenian people. Both decisions put an end to a method of resolving the Yugoslav crisis that appeared to be peaceful, but was actually very aggressive and uncompromising. Moreover, these decisions were a prelude to the war, which lasted for nearly five years on the territory of former Yugoslavia. That war was a bloody ethnic war in which the Serbs, with the help of Yugoslav armed forces, fought for a central185

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ized state against the other peoples of Yugoslavia, who had striven for a decentralized confederation before the outbreak of the war. After the armed conflict started, these people fought for independence and political autonomy. The Yugoslav people, who cherished their fictitious kinship for 45 years, had no desire to live together any longer. Today, five new states have emerged on the territory of former Yugoslavia: Slovenia, Croatia, Bosnia-Herzegovina, Federal Republic of Yugoslavia, and the former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia. The former Yugoslav republics have become independent states through greater or lesser effort and sacrifice. However, in 1991 the republics were not as convinced of the need for their autonomy as they are today. In 1991 they had different approaches to the concept of a joint state and joint armed forces. Some of the republics supported the idea of a loose federation and a division of the centralized military into separate militaries for each republic. The others favored a centralized state with a joint military. The Yugoslav Army sided with this unitary concept of Yugoslavia, displaying its allegiance openly by its involvement in the armed conflict. At that time the military adopted the Serbian-Montenegrin centralists’ vision of the state’s future. Even within the republics themselves, different political elites and the public at large did not share the same opinion in regard to the future of the joint state. Both the political elites and the public in general can be divided into three major groups based on their position concerning a common state: pro-Yugoslav, antiYugoslav, and indecisive. In general, the advocates of the pro-Yugoslav approach were people who were emotionally connected with the joint state, although this varied from republic to republic. They included those who defended Yugoslavia in World War II and then actively participated in building its infrastructure; those who did their military service outside their home republic; and finally, members of ethnically mixed families resulting from the process of migration within the common state. People in the last group could not decide with which nation to side. Later, the war caused many personal and family tragedies, especially divorce, and produced many refugees among this group. Some people refused to choose between what they saw as two negative options, loyalty to their republic or to the larger unity that was Yugoslavia, and migrated to foreign countries. The advocates of the anti-Yugoslav approach had a nationalist orientation. Their nationalism was, on one hand, a response to the assimilation processes of the unitarian state and an expression of an authentic desire to survive and, on the other hand, a consequence of their ethnic exclusiveness. Extreme forms of such nationalism are still present in the republics of the former Yugoslavia. They verge on chauvinism and are expressed as ethnic intolerance toward citizens of different nationalities that live in their country. At certain points the anti- and pro-Yugoslav approaches become virtually identical. For instance, Serbian nationalism, which emerged from the national intellectual strata, promoted the concept of a federal Yugoslavia even though this

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contributed greatly to the dissolution of the state. Serbian nationalists adopted the motto ‘‘All Serbs in one country.’’ Such a country would have been situated on a great part of Croatia and Bosnia-Herzegovina, as well as all of Serbia and Montenegro. This supposedly pro-Yugoslav approach should not be confused with the previously mentioned emotionally tainted pro-Yugoslav faction, whose advocates were detested by the local nationalists. The same process occurred when position was taken on the status of the federal military. Nationalists advocated separate armed forces for each republic, which were to be created from the federal armed forces. The pro-Yugoslav stream favored a form of joint armed forces that would act in the event of an attack on the country from the outside. The pro-Yugoslav nationalist stream advocated a unitary, mostly Serbian, military, which would inherit all of the assets of the old federal armed forces. The military itself was split as well. After the war spread from Slovenia to Croatia, almost only Serbs were drafted into the armed forces. The officer cadre began to gradually dissolve. The first groups to leave were the Slovenes, who were then followed by the Croats, Bosnians, and Macedonians. The rest of the officer cadre, which consisted of officers from Serbia and Montenegro and some pro-Yugoslav-oriented officers, was purged radically. The federal armed forces were transformed from Yugoslav to Serbian forces or, as they are called today, the armed forces of the Federal Republic of Yugoslavia. In general, the conduct of the Yugoslav armed forces was one of the main reasons for the establishment of nationalist movements in the former republics of Yugoslavia. Therefore, the bulk of the disintegration processes in the former Yugoslavia occurred because of conflicts between anti-Yugoslav nationalism and the Yugoslav military. The resistance in Slovenia, the republic with no Serbian population, was characterized by armed conflict with the Yugoslav military and lacked the characteristics of an ethnic conflict. However, the conflicts that occurred later in Croatia and Bosnia-Herzegovina could be characterized as ethnic conflicts. The aggression carried out by the Yugoslav armed forces was, in fact, the result of a crisis of military legitimacy. The chapter will provide an analysis of the factors which caused this legitimacy crisis which affected the Yugoslav armed forces, and made the General Staff opt for war as a solution. Had the crisis in the armed forces not coincided with the political crisis within the country, and had the General Staff not chosen intervention to resolve this crisis, there might have been some hope left for the federal state, and it is very likely that all-out war would not have occurred.

II. THE YUGOSLAV MILITARY LOSS OF LEGITIMACY We have based our discussion on the hypothesis that, in 1991, Yugoslavia became the victim of her own military’s ambition to prevent the dissolution of the state,

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not for the sake of the state itself, but for the sake of its own existence. The other cause of the state’s disintegration was the unresolved relationship between nationalist and unitarian approaches to Yugoslavia. The Cold War was a golden age for the development of the Yugoslav defense industry. It also stimulated modernization and technological development in many armed forces. The decrease in tensions resulting from the end of the Cold War caused some armed forces, mainly European, to face certain problems including: a manpower surplus, defense budget cutbacks, the transformation of defense industries into civilian, anti-military sentiment among the young population, and new methods of providing for international security which excluded the use of the military force. In addition, the Eastern European armed forces had to face problems of political pluralism, the elimination of party influence from the armed forces, and the challenges of the professionalization process. Most armed forces responded to these challenges in accordance with standards imposed by the political culture, which concerned the domination of the civilian political establishment over the military. They became reconciled to the need to downsize their manpower and dealt with this issue in a number of ways. In some countries the solution to this problem was conversion of manpower to civilian labor in order to compete in the labor market. Other countries found a solution in redefining the enemy and possible forms of threat in order to provide jobs for the manpower surplus. After the fall of socialism, the armed forces in Eastern European socialist countries had to face a problem that their counterparts in the Western world did not encounter. The former members of the Warsaw Pact had to give up their collective defense strategy and replace it with their own, independent doctrine of national security. Most of these countries resolved this problem by knocking on NATO’s door and seeking for another collective defense identity. Yugoslav armed forces, however, tried to avoid the consequences of the Cold War by taking on the functions of a police force. This proved to be a radical change for the armed forces, which had emerged from the people themselves and whose existence in the past had been the result of the people’s will. This transformation of the Yugoslav People’s Army into a repressive police force resembles similar transformations that occurred in Latin American countries and some Mediterranean countries with military predominated political systems. Such a transformation is always related to the legitimacy problems encountered by the military. Once they start to consider part of their society, people, or a particular nation in a multinational country as hostile, the military loses the characteristics of a national or people’s armed forces. They ‘‘are transformed into internal security forces, having sometimes to fulfill a repressive role’’ (Brown, 1976:75). In situations like this it is inevitable that the officers will start to experience a crisis of conscience, as they become aware of their new role. In addition, the citizens stop supporting such armed forces.

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As armed forces take on police force tasks they usually become linked with more extreme right-wing organizations or parties. According to Brown, armed forces with interior missions will better execute their missions and will feel more confident ideologically if they possess a dogmatic, exclusive, aggressive, and authoritarian ideology (Brown, 1976:68). In Yugoslavia, the military forged links with the most extreme socialist populists in Serbia. An inverse relation applies in the case of a close relationship between an armed force and the most conservative ideological forces in a society—in other words, the better the relationship between the military and ideologically right-wing parties, the easier it is to convert the armed forces into an internal security force. Events that occurred on the territory of the former Yugoslavia are likely to become the source for a number of analyses on the involvement of the armed forces in political life and a source of new evidence of the significance of civilian control over the armed forces when they face a legitimacy crisis. The brutal conduct of the Yugoslav armed forces during the war resulted from the closed nature of these forces and their lack of willingness to change, which was mostly inevitable due to changes in political and strategic arenas. The Yugoslav armed forces faced a situation characterized by two factors: a need to restructure due to its change in function imposed from the outside, and its role as the last integrative factor in the dissolving state. Had Yugoslavia had a strong and legitimate civilian political government, the armed forces might have, at the very least, reduced its manpower within a few years. Instead they faced a political crisis in which they took on a political role. The methods they used in taking this role were similar to what they had been trained to do when repelling the enemy from abroad. Thus, the Yugoslav federal armed forces turned into the most destructive force in Yugoslavia.

III. LEGITIMACY AND THE YUGOSLAV MILITARY At the end of World War II, the Yugoslav military had an important role in internal politics. The outbreak of armed conflicts in 1991 should not have come as a surprise if the Yugoslav armed forces’ internal role had been subjected to empirical research. Such research would have involved the analysis of the elite strata* of this conscription system–based military, since the foundation of the Yugoslav armed forces, composed of conscripts, was never a politically important factor. Only professional soldiers played an important role in political issues.

* Preferably in such a detailed manner as the Canadian political scientist, Leonard Cohen, analyzed the other elites in Yugoslavia in his book, The Socialist Pyramid, Elites and Power in Yugoslavia.

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The involvement of the military elite in political life was the result of a specific interpretation of the role of the army in Yugoslav society. The influence of the military elite on the political system first increased after 1971, when the military participated in the elimination of nationalist elites in the Yugoslav republics and again after its legendary supreme commander and long-term president of the state, Josip Broz Tito, died in 1980. After Tito’s death, career service members entered the Yugoslav political circles in an unusual way. It was not their increasingly regular appearance during various political events that was the issue, but rather their statements for the media, or what was said in public by active and retired generals. The international community is familiar with cases where former defense ministers and retired high-ranking officers work directly for the defense industry or on managerial teams in large defense companies. Somewhat less common but also quite possible is the involvement of these individuals in peace movements (Johnson, 1987). In Yugoslavia, however, such people were given important civilian political positions. In the mid 1970s Yugoslav generals appeared to be obedient supporters of the Communist government. During their term of service they never criticized the political leaders in public. There were a few, though, who spoke publicly after their retirement. The primary reason for this behavior was their supreme commander, Josip Broz Tito, a very charismatic leader. Though his political power was limited during the last few years before his death, it was still sufficient to meet legitimacy reasons. Therefore, Yugoslav military leaders were among the most loyal advocates of Tito’s political ideas. It is now obvious that after World War II it was Tito himself who was one of the basic sources of legitimacy of the Yugoslav armed forces. He was a leader whose political power was based on his successful political and military concept of resistance against the occupation of Yugoslavia and his ability to include the loyal forces of all the nations and national minorities in the resistance movement. These two factors provided legitimacy for both the political system and the national security policy. Such a regime is referred to in Weber (1968:12) as a charismatic type of legitimate regime. Moreover, as the successor of the people’s liberation army in World War II, the Yugoslav Armed Forces were the ‘‘personification of the legitimate political system’’ (Van Doorn, 1976:26), because they integrated civilian and military relationships through the national military that emerged from the socialist revolution. In such a revolution, carrying a weapon is a special right of each citizen. Therefore, the military were the personification of the Marxist notion of the people in arms. They also represented the armed forces of a new country where they had two important roles: integrative role at the national level and a nation-building role. The Yugoslav armed forces as a multinational force were bound by their constitution to ensure the equality of all nations and nationalities in their structure.

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However, their internal political involvement was mostly under the influence of the largest ethnic group, the Serbs. Almost all multinational armed forces in the world, even those with integrated mechanisms to prevent the possibility of one group dominating another, have faced such a situation. The importance of these integrated mechanisms becomes obvious if we take into consideration the fact that the armed forces could act on behalf of only one or two ethnic groups and not the people as a whole. Even if in such a situation, the armed forces would officially identify themselves with the nation-state, which can have a destructive effect, not only on the military itself but also on the nation-state (Enloe, 1980). This happened in Yugoslavia in particular because the military, and the military alone, were trying to maintain a nation-state when the centrally organized Yugoslav political regime failed. The Yugoslav political system had a strong influence on the legitimacy and role of the military in political life. It can be claimed that the Yugoslav situation is a comprehensive example of Welch and Smith’s statement that the ‘‘legitimacy of the government influences the role of the armed forces more than any other factor of external or internal environment’’ (Welch and Smith, 1974:29). The presence of the military in Yugoslav politics was inversely proportional to the legitimacy of the political system. The high level of legitimacy of the political system prevented any attempt by the military at physical interference in state affairs. Inversely, the weakened political legitimacy of the civil government gave rise to the possibility of military influence and a greater role for the Yugoslav Army in the political arena. The existence of legitimacy and its weakening or strengthening is rather difficult to measure empirically. Sometimes the problem of legitimacy appears important at the moment of a so-called crisis of legitimacy. According to Habermas, the crisis can be considered a turning point which determines the real ability of the organism to survive, or even as a point within a society where fewer problem-solving alternatives (necessary for the continued existence of the system) are available (Habermas, 1982:11). The Yugoslav Army entered politics during an authentic crisis of legitimacy for the Yugoslav regime, which became apparent in 1971 with the ascent of the Croatian nationalist movement. The Croatian situation represented the first internal threat to the integrity and legitimacy of the Yugoslav political regime. The roots of the split were incorporated into the political system itself. They were characterized by both a decentralization of political power and the social structure of self-management, and by the doctrine of a unified Yugoslavia. During the nationalist crisis in 1971, the central federal authorities no longer had any real power to solve the legitimacy crisis. The power vacuum at the federal level was filled by the military elite, thus providing support for the regime’s legitimacy. For a short period, pressure brought to bear by the army on civilian politics consolidated the shaken legitimacy of the federal regime in 1971. However, in the long run, it was the army which, in entering the political system,

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began to lose the legitimacy based on the people’s army characteristics that it had previously. In addition, the strengthening of new nationalisms (such as Albanian, Slovenian, Moslem, and Serbian nationalism which could no longer be prevented by the threat of the deployment of the military) occurred during that period. This nationalism was actually not based in political leadership or groupings of people that the army could target with physical force. It was rather the product of the media, political organizations, and culture and, in a certain way, of new social movements as well. It was nationalism based on values that cannot be resisted by any army force. The legitimacy of a social or political institution can be evaluated through its relationship with the wider political system. In other words, the legitimacy of the army as an institution is defined by its relationship with the political system. This legitimacy of a political or social institution is a derived or reflected legitimacy (Van Doorn, 1976:21). Military legitimacy, on the other hand, is a concept that should be distinguished from the concept of political legitimacy of a political regime. Military legitimacy is not solely a function of the legitimacy of a regime. As an institution of special importance and purpose, especially if it is called upon to engage in limited violence, the army has another kind of legitimacy resulting from its special purpose, functional legitimacy (Gow, 1992:27). If it assumes a political role, the army also has political legitimacy. The majority of countries from the European and North American cultural sphere have no formal mechanisms which legitimize the influence of the army in politics. The standard formal relationship between the army and the political sphere is characterized by the separation of the army and the state and its subordination to political authority regardless of the expectations and demands of professional service members of the army who become involved in politics.

IV. SOURCES OF POLITICAL LEGITIMACY OF THE YUGOSLAV MILITARY The problem of the Communist system present in Yugoslavia at that time was that the army was ‘‘politicized’’ by the party within the army itself. The party was originally a mechanism for guaranteeing the political dependability of professional soldiers. However, it also served as a formal channel for legitimization of both the party in uniform (in other words, the Army Party) and the entire political role of the federal army. Officers’ politicization in the Army Party represented a channel for the legitimization of political activities carried out by soldiers. In this way, the party gradually became the formal way to legitimize the intervention of the army into

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politics. Another basic element of federal army political legitimacy was its historical heritage. The federal army proclaimed itself continuing the partisan tradition, in which and in the name of brotherhood and unity, victory over occupying forces and in the civil war (the Yugoslav socialist revolution), was established. The Yugoslav Federal Army, therefore, based its political legitimacy on the revolutionary heritage of World War II as well. World War II and the national liberation tradition was the foundation of the ultra-Yugoslav character of the Yugoslav armed forces, defined by some authors as the ‘‘monism of military organization’’ (Ibrahimpasˇic´, 1989:381). Following World War II, the Yugoslav military developed its monolithic, centralized, and socially isolated qualities, which created the impression that it had remained pristine, almost forgotten, in the processes of self-management and decentralization. The legitimacy based on a revolutionary essence was replaced by legitimacy with an ultranational, ultra-Yugoslav character. The introduction of the Doctrine of General People’s Defense in 1968 was meant to assist the army in opening up and establishing contacts with the public. However, in reality, this opening up to the public and apparent socialization of the army was just an additional way for the army to legitimize its political activities. As late as 1971, when a crisis of legitimacy enveloped the highest echelons of the Yugoslav federation, the federal army appeared to be a cohesive, ultranational institution. However, due to political confrontations with the Croatian leadership, even Croatian generals and supreme military commanders resigned or were deposed. The army itself was divided, yet it had been ordered to participate in political life by taking on its share of responsibility in preserving the Yugoslav political system against domestic dangers and threats. Senior military staff members continuously made reference to their constitutional functions. The internal policing role of the Yugoslav army was eventually mandated by the 1974 constitution, according to which the army would not take over the Yugoslav veins of power until an existing federal authority proclaimed its activities concordant with the constitution. Moreover, according to the 1974 constitution, the generals were no longer isolated from society, but rather, in accordance with their increasingly political oversight role in the political system, reacted publicly to any attempts at public criticism. The military staff made great efforts to direct political events in Yugoslavia. However, after Tito’s death in 1980, no significant success was achieved. This lack of efficacy could be ascribed to the growing weakness of the federal army’s political legitimacy, which was reflected in several areas. First, the army did not succeed in persuading the public of its ultra-Yugoslav character. Second, the strength of the national liberation war as the army’s functional doctrine was decreasing. Third, the army was not socially representative of Yugoslavia from either a national or a social point of view, and this could not be hidden. Finally,

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the younger generation had, at least in some parts of Yugoslavia, developed strong anti-army sentiments. Representatives of the military elite actually referred to Tito in their attempts to argue that they still retained their ultra-Yugoslav organizational principle, yet they overlooked the fact that immediately after Tito’s death, his work was subject to severe criticism. In addition, after 1980, Yugoslavia itself was no longer the same as it was in 1971. With the help of his generals, Tito was able to possess a higher position in Yugoslavia in 1971 than any other center of Yugoslav political power. However, after 1980 the military elite and its generals were merely one of the centers of political power, but it commanded thousands of soldiers and possessed weapons. At that time no one believed the weapons would be used, especially not in internal conflicts. The Doctrine of the General People’s Defense prevented the federal army from taking action against its own people. The army could, therefore, influence the political system in the country as an autonomous unit, but it could not dominate the country as a whole. When it wanted to dominate events, it was often reproved for being unitarist, in other words, defending the system of pro-Serbian hegemony.

V.

SOURCES OF SOCIAL LEGITIMACY OF THE YUGOSLAV MILITARY

As the ultra-Yugoslav option was no longer attractive, even the national liberation war and the socialist revolution lost their power as principles of legitimacy. During this period of history, the army still induced some respect among youth, but this respect was no longer enough to legitimize it. The relationship inherited from World War II between the nation and army was thus decreasing. The mandate in the 1974 constitution that all Yugoslav ethnic groups be proportionally represented in the officer corps actually violated the ultra-Yugoslav character of the army. However, this was the only way to avoid the domination of the officer corps by one ethnic group. Otherwise, one group’s members would have become officers with special jurisdiction over the maintenance of national security. The post-war Yugoslav army was also marked by a unitarian principle of nationality. Members of individual nations joined the officer corps, yet they were promoted on the condition that they assimilate into ultra-Yugoslavism. Officers often claimed to be Yugoslavs first and then members of their nation. After finishing the military academy, they were sent on duty outside their original republic and married there. The result were mixed marriages and children who proclaimed

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themselves as Yugoslavs. Frequent transfers of duty station also contributed to the unique assimilation of officers into apparent Yugoslavism.

VI. REACTIONS OF CONSCRIPTS TO THE ASSIMILATION EFFECTS OF THE ARMY’S POLITICAL CULTURE Conscripts reacted to the alien nature of the army by increasingly obtaining certificates stating that they were unable to fulfill obligatory military service for medical reasons. The beginning of the 1980s saw the emergence of psychological justification for avoiding military service. Conscripts avoided military service by declaring themselves to be conscientious objectors. Essentially, through conscientious objection young people defended the principle that it was possible to resist the senselessness of military command and logic, if you believed in your own inability to engage in armed combat or determined that a particular order was against your fundamental moral or humanitarian principles. The introduction of the right to conscientious objection was based on comparisons with other European countries. There were also several socialist countries that had already accepted conscientious objection and did not punish conscientious objectors with successive yearlong prison terms, as had been the practice of Yugoslav authorities. The dispute between the army and Slovenian youth concerning the civilian military service for conscientious objectors ended with an army victory, though appearances were deceiving. In 1989, the army allowed for the possibility of conscientious objection for religious reasons and introduced a compromise solution of civilian military service, serving in the army without weapons. This dispute exposed the vulnerability of the army to public critique and shook its legitimacy, because the public openly questioned the social need for the army. In addition, the military elite had made another mistake in the dispute—instead of leaving discussions concerning civilian military service at the level of social necessity, the army itself raised the issue of the influence of conscientious objection and civilian military service on the functional operations of the army. It began proclaiming that the army would no longer be in the position to ensure national security if it was left without the potential of conscripted loyal patriots. In addition, it showed that such disputes with the public weakened the policial legitimacy of the entire army and proved that the military elite was hardly able to tackle any relevant political activity. Namely, the army had to use all forms of political persuasion in discussion about a few hundred conscientious objectors.

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VII. OFFICER’S REACTION TO THE ASSIMILATION PRESSURE OF THE YUGOSLAV PEOPLE’S ARMY Officers, in comparison to conscripts, had to find other ways to avoid the cultural pressure of the army. Some of them would demobilize, while others tried to obtain a diploma at a civilian university in addition to carrying out regular duties. Such a diploma enabled them to leave the army. As a result, the number of students enrolled in military schools decreased. Candidates for the army belonging to certain nationalities (or coming from parts of Yugoslavia whose political culture deviated from the prevailing political culture of the army and was identified with other federal institutions) evidently encountered the greatest obstacles. The political culture of the army was destined to be Serbian, since the number of professional Serbian soldiers was the largest.

VIII. SOURCES OF FUNCTIONAL LEGITIMACY OF THE YUGOSLAV MILITARY The functional legitimacy of the federal army decreased as a consequence of the weakening of the army’s political role and the worsening social and economic situation in Yugoslavia in general. The army’s functional legitimacy was defined by the countries of the Yugoslav defense system and its responsibility for the state’s defense capacity. The army’s role was determined with regard to all other state defense factors within an armed struggle strategy and, later, within a total national defense and social self-protection strategy which defined an armed struggle as decisive defense actions against potential aggressors. It was clear that military action could only be carried out by the permanent structure of the Yugoslav armed forces, that is, the Yugoslav People’s Army (YPA) and after its establishment, the Territorial Defense Forces. In this way, non-armed forms of resistance were reduced to a minimum, despite their central importance in some wars on a local level. The functional role of the YPA should be defined in terms of the Territorial Defense Forces as well. The introduction of political decentralization and the maintenance of the federal state was a contradiction which affected the Yugoslav military because it was in fact a unitarian force. In 1968 a territorial defense force was established in each republic as complementary armed forces. The reason for the introduction of Territorial Defense Forces as a territorial component of the armed forces in Yugoslavia was because of the military threats imposed from abroad. The other reasons lay in lessons learned in local wars of the time. The final reason was pressure from the professional soldiers who believed that the regular armed forces departed significantly from the World War II partisan warfare experience.

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The Yugoslav People’s Army was charged with three missions, which made its role very different from that of Territorial Defense. First, the Yugoslav People’s Army mobilization process was organized in a very short time, making it the first to execute national defense actions organized in the first echelons against a possible outside attack. The Territorial Defense would be mobilized for the second echelon. Secondly, the Yugoslav People’s Army was required to provide its members with specific military skills and knowledge, which can only be achieved by extensive training. Thirdly, the Yugoslav People’s Army was to have the capability to conduct, control, and command war operations, and execute control and command of Territorial Defense. The economic crisis affected the first two missions, because the reductions in defense budgets impeded the modernization process of the Yugoslav People’s Army, while the introduction of the Territorial Defense Forces diminished its leading role in the defense system. National divisions, anti-army youth sentiment, and the inability to attain proportional national participation within the officer corps were facts that not only weakened the political legitimacy of the armed forces, but also called into question their functional legitimacy. The worst problem, however, was that the functionality of a standing army was affected by nationalism. The supreme command of the Yugoslav People’s Army saw nationalism in any imaginable event. Yearlong preparations against the enemy had even intensified, resulting in alarmism where the military general staff searched for the enemy everywhere. An additional blow to the functional legitimacy of the Yugoslav People’s Army were the Territorial Defense Forces. The Yugoslav military upper echelon had never recognized the Territorial Defense Forces as an equivalent element in armed combat. There are several pieces of evidence for this. First of all, the Territorial Defense Forces were armed with outdated weapons donated by combat units of the Yugoslav People’s Army. Individual republics and their economic resources also played a decisive role in the additional equipping of their Territorial Defense Forces. However, they were not permitted to import weapons from abroad or even to purchase them on the open market. The monopoly on the import and export of weapons was in the hands of the Federal Ministry of Defense. In addition, the Territorial Defense Forces were manned by those conscripts who did not meet the physical fitness requirements of the Yugoslav People’s Army, which meant that they were older and less fit. Similarly, as political decentralization and transfer of political power to republic governments legalized by the constitution of 1974 affected the legitimacy of the federal political system in Yugoslavia, so did the foundation of the Territorial Defense as the republic level component of the Yugoslav armed forces affect the legitimacy of the Yugoslav People’s Army. The principle of social representation that the Yugoslav People’s Army was to follow was interpreted in a specific way by the army. Ethnic group repre-

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sentation was ensured at the recruits’ level through the general military service and at the officers’ level through the constitutional provision concerning the proportional national participation at individual ranks of active military personnel. The Yugoslav People’s Army did not accept any other form of social representation, neither social or class status, nor representation based on religious, regional, or political status. As was already mentioned before, the ethnic representation of officer personnel was actually solved by assimilation into the predominant unitarian political culture. The situation in terms of military conscript nationalism was much more difficult. For example, it was completely logical that since the Albanians were the third largest ethnic group in Yugoslavia, increased Albanian nationalism carried over into the Yugoslav People’s Army as well, because they formed the third largest group of conscripts. It is also reasonable to assume that soldiers doing their military service were not able to entirely overcome the nationalism. Budget cuts brought on by the national economic crisis affected all levels of the Yugoslav People’s Army. The army downsized from 252,000 men in 1981 to 210,000 men at the end of 1986. The corresponding fall in personal and institutional living standards within the Yugoslav People’s Army affected military morale as well. Poorly supplied and equipped soldiers began to lose people’s trust, which also led to a decrease in functional legitimacy. The economic crisis forced the Yugoslav People’s Army to reduce its personnel, abolish modernization programs, and decrease conscript and professional service member standards. It also reduced the number of military exercises, which greatly affected reserve force capability within the Yugoslav People’s Army. The problems mentioned above which weakened the social, political, and functional legitimacy of the Yugoslav armed forces had an unusual impact on the conduct of the staff members at the top. The weaker their legitimacy was, the more they interfered with internal political affairs by gradually going beyond bounds of military legitimacy and entering into non-military affairs. At the end of June 1991, through violent intervention in Slovenia and the inducement of a bloody international and ethnic war in Croatia, Bosnia, and Herzegovina they achieved exactly what they had been fighting against verbally since Tito’s death. They brought about the disintegration of Yugoslavia in a way that will prevent the possibility of peaceful coexistence in the Balkans for decades to come. The Yugoslav army had been the most conservative factor of political development in this part of the world. This was the result of the avoidance of the political reforms that were carried out peacefully in other Eastern European countries with significantly smaller and weaker national armies. Thus all of the qualities which enabled the military elite to maintain its belief in the special mission

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of the army, contained at the same time the seeds of its own destruction and the destruction of what the army was obliged to protect.

IX. SLOVENIA AND THE DISPUTE WITH FEDERAL AUTHORITIES The trend towards the establishment of an independent Slovene political identity became evident in the 1980s. At first this trend seemed like a delayed reaction to the violent stifling of the first Slovene autonomous political steps at the end of the 1960s and beginning of the 1970s, then as a reaction to militant Serbian nationalism with its territorial aspirations which were revealed in the Memorandum of the Serbian Academy of Science and Art published in 1986. The changes in the socialist bloc, for example, Gorbachev’s perestroika and the collapse of Communist governments, represented significant encouragement to this trend. It also cleared the way for multiparty elections and the awareness that Slovenia’s production levels could meet Western European criteria only if Slovenia was free of Yugoslav underdevelopment. The most important reason for the trend, however, originated from doubts concerning the efficiency of the current system as a guarantor for Slovenia’s national security as a Yugoslav federal unit. The reasons for this concern were the result of the political, social, and functional delegitimation of the Yugoslav military. The Yugoslav People’s Army found itself in a situation of being unable to regain public support and the Slovenian public was one of the greatest critics of the military. The military used to be able to count on the pro-Yugoslav-oriented public in Slovenia but now support for the military was too weak. The nationalistic oriented public was much stronger in the number of sympathizers and stronger in accumulated political power. This statement has evidence in the results of public opinion polls. Much better proof are the results of the first multiparty elections, held in Slovenia in 1990. The successors of the elections were nationalistic parties. From the Slovenian point of view, the military was supposed to have a special role in a modern society. The principal characteristic of the Slovenian public opinion regarding military functions was the rise of expectations concerning the functional imperative. The functional imperative was understood to consist of the resistance toward outside threats, military training, and some civilian tasks (traditionally performed by the military), such as assistance in catastrophes and natural disasters. The Slovenian public opinion was also striving to reduce the social role of the military in internal matters and deny the military’s right to educate young people in a patriotic spirit. Slovenes were also against all possible forms of military engagement in defending the political system. The clash among

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the Slovenian expectations toward the military to stand aside in internal affairs and the Yugoslav People’s Army’s intention to transform into an internal police force was inevitable. The truth is that the pro-Yugoslav-oriented public in Slovenia was in favor of the functional and social imperative of the YPA. The nationalistic public looked at the YPA functions more selectively. It ascribed to the YPA mostly one relevant role—defense against external threats. It also had an inclination toward organizing Slovenia’s own armed forces, which was the case later on by transforming the Territorial Defense Forces into the Slovenian Army and by implementing the structure of Slovenian police for armed resistance against the YPA’s intervention in Slovenia in June 1991. From the international perspective it is hard to understand the behavior of small nations and republics in former Yugoslavia, like Slovenia, when choosing the military way of settling relations toward greater Yugoslavia and especially toward military apparatus such as the Yugoslav People’s Army represented. Why was it possible for the Slovenian people, traditionally known as a peaceful oriented nation, to choose armed resistance against an enormous and well-equipped Yugoslav People’s Army? Nationalism was the ideology which was strong enough to force Slovenian people into historically forgotten braveness and courage. On the other hand, for the YPA it was the lost legitimacy that caused great disorders and very poor fighting morals during the intervention in Slovenia. The clash of nationalism and lost legitimacy resulted in Slovenian political and military victory, bearing in mind that the YPA decided to leave Slovenia’s territory in October of 1991. The same clash was incorporated in all further disputes within the territory of former Yugoslavia and it led into the continuation of the bloody Yugoslav collapse. YPA was a ‘‘paper tiger’’ in 1991 when its internal police role was not fully organized yet. But after the Slovenian experience it transformed very quickly into an effective police force, having committed war crimes in Croatia and Bosnia-Herzegovina.

CONCLUSION In conclusion, I should say that Yugoslavia had the opportunity to follow two different ways of stabilizing the internal economic and political situation in 1990. One option was to solve the internal disputes peacefully and possible disintegration or unification on a confederate basis; the other option was armed intervention against insubordinate nations and republics, and also disintegration, or unification on a centralist basis. The political regime was not strong enough to carry on the autonomous stand without pressure from the military side. The military took a decisive role when there was no political legitimacy left for the political regime

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and total lack of military legitimacy. The result was bloody disintegration of the Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia.

REFERENCES Brown, J. (1976). The legitimacy problem in Latin Europe. In Harries-Jenkins, G., and van Doorn, J. The Military and the Problem of Legitimacy. London: Sage. Cohen, L.J. (1989). The Socialist Pyramid, Elites and Power in Yugoslavia. New York: Mosaic Press. Enloe, C. (1980). Police, Military and Ethnicity: Foundations of State Power. New Brunswick. Gow, J. (1992). Legitimacy and the Military, The Yugoslav Crisis. London: Pinter Publishers. Habermas, J. (1982). The Problems of Legitimization in the Late Capitalism. Zagreb: Naprijed. Ibrahimpasˇic´, M. (1989). Monism of the war organization. Vojno delo 41(1). Johnson, L.V. (1987). A General for Peace. Toronto: James Lorimer and Company Publishers. van Doorn, J. (1976). The military and the crisis of legitimacy. In Harries-Jenkins. G., and van Doorn, J. The Military and the Problem of Legitimacy. London: Sage. Weber, M. (1968). On Charisma and Institution Building. Chicago and London: The University of Chicago Press. Welch, C.E., and Smith, A.K. (1974). Military Role and Rule: Perspectives on CivilMilitary Relations. Duxbury: North Scituate.

11 Russian Peacekeeping Joseph L. Nogee University of Houston, Houston, Texas

Although some of the practices associated with peacekeeping are as old as international politics, it is only in the twentieth century that peacekeeping has developed into a formal, regular mechanism for promoting international peace and security. The institution of peacekeeping is directly connected with international organizations, specifically the United Nations. The Covenant of the League of Nations contained the potential for peacekeeping, but the only international force created by the League (in 1934) was a force of 3300 soldiers from Great Britain, Italy, the Netherlands, and Sweden whose purpose was to ensure that the Saar plebescite would take place without disorder.1 This was the first international contingent created by an international organization, but the League failed to build upon that precedent. Peacekeeping as we know it today was first employed by the United Nations to deal with the crisis in the Sinai in 1956.2 Prior to the creation of the United Nations Emergency Force (UNEF), the United Nations had experimented with several observation and patrol actions in Greece, Kashmire, and Palestine, but the dramatic success of a United Nations military force in defusing a major threat to the peace established a precedent which became the foundation for many subsequent operations. Ironically, peacekeeping by the United Nations is not explicitly described in the charter as one of the functions of the organization. Indeed, the word ‘‘peacekeeping’’ is nowhere in the United Nations Charter. Originally, the architects of the United Nations envisaged a mechanism commonly referred to as ‘‘collective security,’’ or ‘‘peacemaking,’’ or ‘‘peace enforcement’’ as the primary means of preserving world peace. The essential difference between peacekeeping and collective security is that international forces of the latter are designed to combat an aggressor, while in the former, international forces are not intended to engage in combat (except in self-defense) 203

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but rather to separate combatants. Chapter seven of the United Nations Charter, which establishes a full-blown mechanism for collective security, was intended to be the principle means by which the United Nations would keep the peace. There is general agreement today that collective security as envisioned in the United Nations Charter does not work, but peacekeeping does.3 From its inception, the techniques of peacekeeping have changed with circumstances, but its essential features have remained constant, and the record of peacekeeping is one of more successes than failures. Peacekeeping can be defined as the use of multinational forces to monitor a truce or cease-fire and to undertake non-combat, supporting actions to promote peace between hostile parties. Traditionally, peacekeeping operations have incorporated the following features 1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

Legitimacy has been achieved through authorization by an international organization, usually the United Nations. They have been composed of forces voluntarily contributed by several nations. They have been neutral to the parties in conflict. They do not engage in combat. They operate with the consent of the country in which they are deployed.

On occasion a peacekeeping mission has operated at variance with one or two of the above rules, but those five principles capture the essential characterisitcs of peacekeeping.

I. PEACEKEEPING AND THE SOVIET UNION The Soviet Union had very limited experience with peacekeeping. During the Cold War the Soviet Union played a role that was at times passive and often negative toward UN peacekeeping activities. Moscow’s position—not unlike other countries—usually depended on the politics of the situation. If, as in the case of UNTAG (United Nations Transition Assistance Group in Namibia), the mission was consistent with Soviet foreign policy goals, it contributed personnel. If, on the other hand, United Nations actions conflicted with Soviet foreign policy objectives, Moscow not only did not participate, but opposed UN involvement. Such was the case with the United Nations operation in the Congo (ONUC). Soviet policy, in general, opposed the idea of expanding the powers of the United Nations, particularly in the general assembly where it lacked the veto. Moscow recognized the advantages of UNEF I when peacekeeping originated and did not vote against the general assembly resolution which established the peacekeeping force’s mandate (it abstained). But over time Moscow moved to the position that only the security council had the competence to adopt decisions

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on the use of organized military units. As a permanent member of the security council the Soviet Union could prevent operations deemed contrary to its interests. During the Cold War years Moscow did participate in some UN peacekeeping operations, but in a very limited way. In a few instances it contributed military observers (UNTSO, UNIKOM, and MINURSO) or airlift support (ONUC at the beginning, UNEF II, and UNIMOG) or elections supervisors (UNTAG).4 But since peacekeeping generally served the interests of the West in regional stability, it was the West which supported peacekeeping politically and financially, and the Soviet Union which did not. Soviet hostility to the United Nations changed with the Gorbachev administration. Foreign Minister Eduard Shevardnadze sponsored a series of UN peacekeeping missions in the Third World, and the Soviet Union participated in peacekeeping missions in the Sinai (1988), in the Persian Gulf (1991), and the Western Sahara (1991).

II. RUSSIAN PEACEKEEPING The end of the Cold War, followed by the disintegration of the Soviet Union, created an entirely new geopolitical global environment. Russia became the successor state to the Soviet Union, and though not a superpower, it emerged as the hegemonist of the region. One of the foreign policy problems confronting the government of Russia was the outbreak of several ethnic and national conflicts in some of the newly independent states bordering on Russia. All of these conflicts had their origins in the former Soviet Union and prior to 1992 would have been considered internal problems; but in post-Soviet Russia they were issues of foreign policy. After the Soviet collapse many Russians found it difficult to make the distinction between domestic and foreign policy concerning the newly independent former Soviet republics or the ‘‘near abroad.’’ Many Russians did not accept the reality of the complete break-up of the USSR. Some who acknowledged that reality wanted it otherwise. As a temporary expedient, 11 (later 12) of the newly independent states formed a loose association known as the Commonwealth of Independent States (CIS). Peacekeeping became one of the techniques used by Russia to bring the troubling conflicts in the bordering countries under control. But from the beginning, Russian peacekeeping has been controversial, both among the parties to the conflicts and within the international community. The charge has been made that Russian peacekeeping was not peacekeeping in the traditional sense, but a use of military force to achieve Russian national interests; in other words, that Russian peacekeeping was in essence Russian ‘‘imperialism.’’ 5 Obviously this is not an either-or issue. A peacekeeping mission may serve the interests of the

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participants and at the same time contribute toward reducing or containing conflict. This chapter will examine Russian-organized peacekeeping missions in four newly independent states: Georgia, Moldova, Tajikistan, and the Nagorno-Karabakh region of Azerbaijan, to assess the general features of Russian peacekeeping. To compare the Russian brand with traditional peacekeeping this paper will consider five questions: 1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

Was the mission legitimate, in other words, did it have international authorization? Were the peacekeeping forces impartial to the parties in conflict, in other words, was the peacekeeping operation neutral? How important were Russian national interests in the organization of the force? What methods were used, in other words, were forces engaged in combat? Did the missions bring or contribute to stability to the regions?

Legitimacy is a central element of peacekeeping. Legitimacy requires the authorization or endorsement of an international organization before deployment can proceed. Globally, the United Nations is the most authoritative organization to create or endorse a peacekeeping force. But for Europe, the Organization for Security and Cooperation in Europe (OSCE) can serve the same function. Russia has sought (not with great success) UN and OSCE endorsement for peacekeeping operations, though it has argued that Russia is legally entitled to send troops beyond its borders without approval of either organization. A statement of the Ministries of Foreign Affairs and Defense on March 29, 1994 asserted that Russia did not need ‘‘further legitimization’’ or ‘‘permission’’ from the UN or OSCE (then the CSCE). Foreign Minister Andrei Kozyrev noted in June 1994 that Russian peacekeeping ‘‘is already legitimate to 150 percent.’’ 6 That claim is questionable. An alternative source of legitimacy is the Commonwealth of Independent States (CIS). Ironically, the initiative for creating a commonwealth peacekeeping force was made by Kazakhstan’s president Nursultan Nazarbaev. His proposal to establish a corps of military observers and collective forces to maintain peace among CIS members was approved at the CIS summit in Kiev on March 20, 1992.7 Ten CIS states approved the plan: Armenia, Belarus, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Moldova, Russia, Tajikistan, and Uzbekistan. Azerbaijan and Ukraine signed conditionally with the reservation that their participation was contingent upon parliamentary approval. The agreement specified that CIS peacekeeping forces would be used only under the following conditions: (1) only states not involved in the particular conflict would send troops; (2) forces would be volunteers recruited on a contractual basis; (3) command would be joint; (4) use of peacekeeping forces would require approval of the CIS Council of Heads of State;

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and (5) the belligerent parties had to agree to CIS troop deployment. Basically, the principles of CIS peacekeeping were modeled on United Nations principles. Consideration was given in the CIS to achieve something which has eluded UN peacekeeping efforts, namely to organize a peacekeeping force in advance of a specific crisis to be made available whenever an emergency arose. On July 6, 1992 the CIS heads of state agreed in principle to create a joint peacekeeping force. A protocol on procedures for creating and deploying CIS peacekeepers provided that the members form and train special military units and groups of observers. Each state’s contribution was to be determined by the overall size of its armed forces. Given the small and poorly trained military forces of nearly all the signatories, it had to be assumed that the bulk of forces would come from Russia. Under the protocol, peacekeeping forces could use force only for selfdefense or to separate belligerents. The peacekeeping units were to be organized on a permanent basis.8 However, the CIS was no more successful than the United Nations in that to date no permanent CIS peacekeeping forces have been created. Such missions as have been organized in the name of the CIS (Abkhazia and Tajikstan) have been created on an ad hoc basis. In September 1993, the CIS leaders met to consider the crisis in Tajikistan. On September 24, Russia and the Central Asian states of Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan, and Uzbekistan signed the ‘‘Agreement of Collective Peacekeeping Forces.’’ That agreement and its appendices differ in an important way from the 1992 plan in that it authorized the commander of peacekeeping forces in extraordinary situations to use ‘‘coercive force . . . without prior authorization of the heads of states.’’ 9 This modification of the earlier CIS peacekeeping agreement is a significant deviation from UN peacekeeping principles, but in fact comes closer to reflecting the reality of Russian practice. Raevsky and Vorob’ev, writing for a United Nations publication, claim that ‘‘many, if not most, Russian military specialists view the problem of peacekeeping as mainly a military problem and not as a primarily political problem.’’ 10 They offer as one of the reasons Russian peacekeeping forces have engaged in combat operations the fact that ‘‘local commanders had to take decisions autonomously without much guidance or support form their superiors’’ in Moscow.11 Russia was the first commonwealth member to begin the formation of peacekeeping forces. Early in 1992 Russian forces were mobilized in connection with the decision to participate in the UN operation in the former Yugoslavia. In July Russian peacekeeping forces were sent to Georgia. Which was not yet a member of the Commonwealth of Independent States. That same month the CIS was confronted with a request for a peacekeeping force to be deployed in Moldova. Meeting in Moscow and then Tashkent, the CIS leadership tentatively agreed to the first use of a peacekeeping force in a member of the commonwealth. As the number of conflicts within the territory of the CIS increased, the idea of using peacekeeping forces became increasingly viewed in Russia as a useful

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technique for promoting peace, stability, and Russian national interests. Indeed, Russian spokesmen regularly referred to the contingent deployed in South Ossetia (Georgia) as a ‘‘CIS peacekeeping mission’’ when in fact it was not.12 But the CIS label was useful to enhance the legitimacy of the operation. A review of peacekeeping in the commonwealth shows that in practice none of the operations to date conforms to either United Nations principles or those initially adopted by the CIS. However, the issue is more complex because a case can be made that some of the objectives of traditional peacekeeping have in fact been met. A. South Ossetia South Ossetia is a province of Georgia which borders on North Ossetia, an autonomous republic of Russia. Georgians are Orthodox Christians while the Ossets are predominantly Muslim. According to the 1989 census only 14 percent of South Ossetians were fluent in the Georgian language. During the late 1980s the Ossets in Georgia began agitating for independence. The government in Tbilisi responded with repressive measures including a campaign to require the use of the Georgian language throughout the country. South Ossetia unsuccessfully pressed Moscow to permit the unification of North and South Ossetia. In August 1990 the Supreme Soviet of South Ossetia declared its sovereignty. Zviad Gamsakhurdia, Georgia’s first elected president, proved to be a fanatic nationalist and erratic dictator. His repressive policies provoked violent opposition in Tbilisi (the capital of Georgia) and a civil war in South Ossetia. In order to bring some stability to the country, the parliament invited Eduard Shevardnadze (former Soviet Minister of Foreign Affairs) to return to Georgia to become its head of state. Noted as a champion of reform while serving in the Gorbachev administration, Shevardnadze was willing to accept South Ossetian autonomy, but he was unwilling to accept South Ossetian secession. Russia became involved because large numbers of refugees fled north and out of concern that the fighting might spread to North Ossetia. Under some pressure from Moscow, Shevardnadze agreed to meet with Russian President Boris Yeltsin as well as representatives from North and South Ossetia. In June 1992 at Dagomys near the city of Sochi the negotiators agreed to a cease-fire and the deployment of a joint peacekeeping force. In the summer of 1992, a force of 700 Russians, 500 South Ossets, and 53 Georgians was deployed to South Ossetia.13 This mission in no way involved the Commonwealth of Independent States. It was a first of its kind, organized on a trilateral basis between Georgia, Russia, and South Ossetia. The initial objective was to enforce a cease-fire by separating the warring sides. A 14-kilometer-wide buffer zone was successfully maintained. Nominally, under a joint command, the force is effectively subject to Russian authority. There is general agreement that this operation has been successful in

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keeping the peace, though it has done little to resolve the underlying conflict. On a number of occasions the peacekeepers have resorted to force to separate the warring parties. Outwardly, the peacekeepers in South Ossetia have maintained the appearance of neutrality, although the practical effect of the cease-fire has been to freeze in place territorial conquests won in battle. A mixed (Russian, Georgian Ossetian) oversight commission was successful for a time in dealing with problems such as prisoner exchange, weapons confiscation, and providing food for the local population. In sum, while peacekeeping in South Ossetia has not conformed to the UN model of peacekeeping, it has met international standards regarding what peacekeeping is intended to accomplish, namely to keep the peace. The question of Moscow’s objectives in South Ossetia is complex. Reducing conflict in a volatile region adjacent to the Russian Federation is an important goal. The Yeltsin government was concerned that instability in Georgia could spread to North Ossetia and possibility affect its tenuous hold on Chechnya. Certainly secession anywhere in the Caucasus would be a bad precedent from the perspective of the Russian Federation. This perspective, of course, ignores the issue of Ossetian grievances against the government in Tbilisi. Zviad Gamsakhurdia, whose represssive measures inflamed the Osset insurgency, believed that the Russians themselves had provoked the South Ossets into rebellion. His successor, Eduard Shevardnadze, was prepared to concede autonomy to South Ossetia, but he insisted upon the territorial integrity of the Georgian state. An even greater threat to the dismemberment of Georgia was the rebellion in Abkhazia. To understand Russian policy toward Georgia one has to look at its role in both ‘‘hot spots,’’ and from that perspective the indictment of Moscow is more severe.

B. Abkhazia Abkhazia is a province in northwest Georgia located between the Black Sea and the Caucasus mountains. Its people, who are predominantly Muslim, sought independence from Georgia years before the Soviet collapse. By the time hostilities broke out, Abkhazians (numbering about 93,000 people) accounted for only 17 percent of the population, though they dominated the government of the province. In August 1990 the Abkhazian Supreme Soviet declared its independence (at the same time as South Ossetia). The brief but repressive administration of Zviad Gamsakhurdia had the same impact on Abkhazia as it did in South Ossetia; it heightened tensions which ultimately led to bitter fighting. Eduard Shevardnadze, who replaced Gamsakhurdia, was confronted in 1992 and 1993 with a military inusrrection by forces loyal to Gamsakhurdia as well as a war of secession in Abkhazia. The pressure of both forces on his government led to disaster in the fall of 1993. Fierce Abkhaz assaults on Sukhumi, the provincial capital, led to

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the city’s fall and raised the prospects that the state of Georgia might disintegrate. In desperation, Shevardnadze appealed to Russia for assistance. Although accounts vary regarding how much the Russians were responsible for Shevardnadze’s predicament, it is widely believed that Russian forces gave significant aid to the Abkhaz leader, Vladislav Ardzinba. What is less clear is how much of that assistance was authorized by the Russian president. Ardzinba had important supporters in Moscow including Vice-President Alexander Rutskoi and Ruslan Khasbulatov, speaker of the Russian parliament. Furthermore, it is known that the Russian military despised Eduard Shevardnadze because they held him responsible (along with Mikhail Gorbachev) for the collapse of the Warsaw Pact and the Soviet Union. Shevardnadze’s biographers contend that Ardzinba’s forces were aided by volunteers from the North Caucasus.14 Although the evidence is inconclusive, Georgians are certain that Russians were involved in bombing missions in support of the Abkhaz rebels.15 Whatever Yeltsin’s views, and they were at times apparently ambivalent, he failed to prevent members of the Russian armed forces from helping the separatists. Fearing that the fighting might spread, Yeltsin in late 1992 intervened to mediate a cease-fire. When Abkhazian forces, reinforced with Russian equipment, violated the cease-fire, Russia did nothing to stop the secessionists. The Georgian military fiasco in 1993 occurred at about the same time that Moscow was in a political crisis. Yeltsin’s defeat of his political enemies in the parliament worked to Shevardnadze’s advantage in that it strengthened his resolve to stop the fighting in Georgia. But Shevardnadze had to pay a price. In return for Russian assistance, against both Abkhazia and the forces of Gamshakhurdia, Shevardnadze had to agree to join the CIS and to accept Russian military bases on Georgian soil. ‘‘I sent a telegram to Moscow,’’ Shevardnadze said, ‘‘saying Georgia will join the Commonwealth of Independent States, which I was against until the last moment.’’ 16 On February 3, 1994 Boris Yeltsin arrived in Tbilisi to conclude a Treaty of Friendship and Cooperation and a status-offorces agreement with Shevardnadze. Russia received the right to maintain three military bases in Georgia with a troop strength of 23,000. Russia also acquired access to ports on the Black Sea including Poti, the key to rail lines and roads to Tbilisi. Russia’s agreement to train and supply the Georgian army led to protests in the capitals of both countries. From the beginning, Russia had proclaimed its neutrality in the conflict but sentiment among policymakers in Moscow was so divided that for a time Moscow’s actions appeared to be inconsistent and even contradictory. The net impact of Russian intervention was to prevent either side from achieving outright victory. Abkhazia could not become independent, but Tbilisi had to concede autonomy for the province. When Moscow rescued Georgia in the fall of 1993, Andrei Kozyrev assured Shevardnadze that Russia opposed the dismemberment of Georgia.17

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The Abkhaz rebellion was the first conflict in the newly independent states to involve the United Nations. In August 1993, the United Nations sent a team of observers to monitor the fighting. While recognizing Georgia’s territorial integrity, the United Nations was not prepared to send forces to guarantee it. The UN Secretary-General, Boutros Boutros-Ghali, proposed that a CIS peacekeeping force be deployed in Georgia with UN monitors overseeing the force. An agreement to that effect was signed on May 14, 1994 resulting in the UN Observer Mission in Georgia (UNOMIG). Under this arrangement, the CIS force was deployed with the consent of both sides. Though formally authorized by the UN, the CIS force was not subordinate to any UN command. The peacekeeping force for Abhazia that finally took shape was more a Russian than a CIS contingent. Some 3000 Russian troops were mobilized with a minor contribution of troops from Tajikstan.18 Assessments of Russian involvement in Georgia are mixed. Russian peacekeeping has produced a tenuous peace between Tbilisi and the Abkhazians. In principle Abkhazia remains a part of Georgia, but Tbilisi exercises no control in the region and there remains the problem of 250,000 Georgian refugees who are unable to return to their homes in Abkhazia. Kevin P. O’prey concludes that since Shevardnadze requested Russian military support, ‘‘the Russian role has become very constructive.’’ 19 Others are more critical. Russian scholars, Bruce D. Porter and Carol R. Saivetz, describe Russia’s military operations in late 1993 ‘‘as a form of overt military blackmail.’’ 20 Thomas Goltz says that Russian policy in Georgia ‘‘appears to be based on the tacit threat of dismemberment of those states that wish to leave Moscow’s orbit.’’21 Catherine Dale also finds that ‘‘Russia’s involvement in the Abkhaz conflict itself included destabilization by force and a form of blackmail to coerce concessions from the participants.’’ 22 It is an indication of the contradictions of this case that Eduard Shevardandze, though a victim of Russian ‘‘blackmail,’’ has on several occasions called for the size of and mandate for the ‘‘CIS’’ peacekeeping mission to be expanded. C. Moldova Moldova, like Georgia, confronts a movement for secession. The population of the east bank of the Dniester River has been waging war to become the independent Trans-Dniester Republic. The land involved is a small strip of territory on the eastern bank of the Dniester River between Ukraine and the rest of presentday Moldova. At the time of the 1989 census, the region contained 546,000 people or 12.6 percent of Moldova’s population. Of that number, 40 percent are Moldovan, 28.3 percent Ukrainian, and 25.4 percent Russian. The Russians, like the Abkhazians in their territory, are a minority but they too dominate the politics of the region. The Trans-Dniester territory has a different history from the west bank which, as Bessarabia, had been a part of the Russian empire, and after the

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Russian revolution a part of Romania. But the east bank was always a part of the USSR. In the period leading up to the Soviet collapse, the nationalist-minded government in Chisinau adopted laws making Romanian/Moldovan the state language and replacing the Cyrillic with the Latin script. The east bank Russians strongly opposed these measures, believing they would lead to a subordinate status for Russians, including the possibility that Moldova would merge with Romania. They decided to seek autonomy. In September 1990, the east bank leaders proclaimed the region to be a constituent part of the USSR with Tiraspol as its capital. In addition to the ethnic issues between Chisinau and Tiraspol there were sharp political differences. The Trans-Dniester Russians were strong supporters of the Soviet system and welcomed the August 1991 coup in Moscow. Moldova’s leader, by contrast, opposed the coup and backed Gorbachev. In August 1991 Moldova declared its independence from the Soviet Union, and a week later Trans-Dniester seceded from Moldova. Moldova’s efforts to stop the secession and enforce its authority in the Trans-Dniester region led to wide-scale fighting in 1992. The rebellious Russians were aided by the 14th Army which, as a component of the Soviet armed forces, had been based in the Dniester capital of Tiraspol. With the active support of elements of the 14th Army, the Dniester troops were able to hold off Moldovan forces and establish effective control over the entire east bank of the Dniester River. In the spring of 1992, Boris Yeltsin put the 14th Army under Russian control, and in June he appointed General Alexander Lebed to be its commander. Defeated on the battlefield, Moldova had no choice but to involve Russia in negotiations for a cease-fire.23 On July 21, 1992 Yeltsin and Moldovan President Mircea Snegur signed an agreement creating a security zone on both sides of the Dniester and a joint force of Russian, Moldovan, and Trans-Dniester troops to monitor the truce. As a step toward a political settlement, the two presidents agreed on the territorial integrity of Moldova and the gradual withdrawal of the 14th Army. For the Trans-Dniester inhabitants the region was to be given autonomy, and in the event that Moldova and Romania were to unify, the Trans-Dniester region would have the right to secede.24 The peacekeeping force sent to Moldova lacked international authorization. It was established through bilateral agreement between Moldova and Russia. It was referred to as a CIS peacekeeping force although the CIS members who expressed a willingness to participate ultimately chose not to do so. Moldova wanted some international authorization and requested the OSCE to send a peacekeeping force. When the OSCE declined, Chisinau had no choice but to accept a Russian proposal for a joint Russian, Moldova, and Dniester force.25 Originally, some 2000 troops were deployed under Russian command. Russian peacekeeping has successfully kept the peace but, as so often happens with peacekeeping, little has been achieved toward a lasting settlement.

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Trans-Dniester remains a semi-sovereign state in all but name. It has a government, passports, and a postal system. While Lebed commanded the 14th Army, he supported Trans-Dniester independence though he severally criticized the leadership in Tiraspol. He even ran successfully for the Trans-Dniester parliament in 1993. While Lebed was in command of the 14th Army, the Russian government had only partial control over its activities. Yeltsin’s government was constrained by the fact that the Trans-Dniester cause attracted strong support among Russian nationalists. Yeltsin himself had good reason to oppose the Dniester cause. The Russians there were politically closer to his enemies than to him. In the October 1993 crisis, Moldova supported Yeltsin while most of the Trans-Dniester leaders sided with Rutskoi and Khasbulatov.26 And as elsewhere, Yeltsin was sensitive to the implications of Trans-Dniester independence for independent-minded regions within Russia. In part the reversals in Russian policy have reflected the tug and pull of diverse domestic political forces. A particularly contentious issue was the timetable and conditions for Russia’s withdrawal of the 14th Army. On October 2, 1994 Russia and Moldova signed an agreement for the 14th Army to withdraw over a three-year period. The withdrawal, however, was made conditional to a political settlement providing for ‘‘special status’’ for the Trans-Dniester regime.27 Alexander Lebed opposed withdrawal (as did many in the Russian Duma). Yeltsin was pulled in one direction by strong international pressure and in another by his own military. In April 1995 Yeltsin challenged Lebed, who threatened to resign. Many did not expect Yeltsin to accept the resignation of so popular a leader, but he did. Overall assessment of Russian peacekeeping in Moldova is negative. Kevin O’prey concludes ‘‘Moldova is the worst example of Russian meddling under the guise of peacekeeping.’’ 28 Another analyst concludes that the operation ‘‘can hardly be deemed neutral.’’ 29 The peace has been kept but at Moldova’s expense. Russian peacekeepers often ignored Dniester violations of the cease-fire and continuously interfered with the efforts of the OSCE Observer Mission to monitor Dniester behavior. A potentially serious problem will arise when the 14th Army does depart and disposes of its military equipment. Chisinau claims one-third of it, but Tiraspol claims all of it. As of now, the timing of the 14th Army withdrawal remains uncertain. Meanwhile, no government has recognized the Dniester claim to sovereignty. The international community has been unanimous in its support of Moldova’s territorial integrity. D. Tajikistan The crisis in Tajikistan differs from those previously considered in that it was not a war of secession but a civil war. It is a significantly complex war whose

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antagonists clashed along political, ideological, religious, ethnic, and regional lines. After Tajikistan became independent in late 1991, the government soon fell into the hands of the communist Rakhmon Nabiev. His regime came under attack from a coalition of forces which included groups wanting more democracy, Islamic forces, and ethnic Pamirs and Garmis. From 1991 through 1994 bitter fighting took a large toll in lives, produced widespread atrocities and generated a refugee exodus of some half million people. Initially, the Russian government took a neutral stance in Tajikistan’s civil war. Increasingly, however, the war created serious concern in Russia and the neighboring states of Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, and Kyrgystan that instability in Tajikistan would spread throughout the region. Another concern was the fear of spreading Islamic militancy. That fear was intensified when the Islamic-Democratic coalition in September 1992 succeeded in replacing Nabiev with Akbarsho Iskandrov and putting into place a government which included Islamic elements. Kyrgystan was particularly vulnerable to fighting in Tajikstan because of the intermingling of Tajiks and Kyrgyz in both countries and the flow of refugees caused by the fighting. Kyrgyz President Askar Akiev tried to mobilize a Central Asian peacemaking force in the summer of 1992, but the plan collapsed when the Kyrgyz parliament denied the president permission to dispatch troops.30 Iskandrov’s government was short lived. He was succeeded in December 1992 by Imomali Rakhmonov, a communist ally of Nabiev. Rakhmonov sought assistance from Russia and other CIS countries. Russian involvement was almost inevitable because of the presence of Russian military units, most notably the 201st motorized rifle division. Additionally, there were some 40,000 ethnic Russians in Tajikistan. Russian forces found themselves caught between warring factions. A pivotal event, provoking direct Russian military involvement in the civil war, was an attack on Russian troops in mid-July 1993 which resulted in the deaths of 28 Russian soldiers. As part of a peace enforcement effort, Russian border guards were dispatched to secure the border between Afghanistan and Tajikistan. Over the next two years Russian military forces carried out major combat operations including air strikes on rebel bases in Afghanistan. Inevitably these military actions supported the Rakhmonov regime and worked against the opposition.31 Complementing the action of Russian border guards were two peacekeeping missions organized by the Commonwealth of Independent States. The first was a small-scale operation approved by the CIS defense ministers of Kazakhistan, Kyrgystan, Uzbekistan, and Russia in November 1992.32 Although all four countries committed themselves to sending forces, only Russia and Uzbekistan actually did so. After the July 1993 rebel assault across the Afghan border, a second larger CIS force was organized. Dwarfing the first CIS force the second reached a size of approximately 25,000 troops. Most of the soldiers were Russian with smaller contributions from Kazakhistan, Kyrgystan, and Uzbekistan. The mandate of the second CIS peacekeeping force was ‘‘to stabilize the situation in

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Tajikistan and maintain peace.’’ 33 As domestic order was restored, the focus of peacekeeping activity was border protection. Overall assessment of peacekeeping in Tajikistan, including the action of Russian military forces, is mixed. For all practical purposes, the country became a Russian protectorate. Tajikistan is what has been termed a ‘‘failed state,’’ unable to organize a legitimate, stable regime. Intervention when it came was at the request of the Tajik government, and that government has been sustained by Russia. The CIS governments claim to be neutral, and indeed on several occasions Russian authorities prodded Dushanbe either to incorporate opposition forces in the government or to negotiate with them. Furthermore, the impetus for intervention genuinely came from other countries in the region who feared instability in Tajikistan and the possible spread of Islamic fundamentalism. Until the flare-up in fighting in 1993, Russia had been reluctant to intervene. The memory of the failed intervention in Afghanistan was a powerful inhibitor, and the debacle in Chechnya has only reinforced the fears of many Russians that Tajikistan might become a quagmire. E.

Nagorno-Karabakh

Nagorno-Karabakh is a region in Azerbaijan whose inhabitants are primarily Armenian. Predominantly Christian, the non-Slavic Armenians have a long history of animosity with the Muslim Azeris.34 Like many inter-ethnic antagonisms in the former Soviet Union, this one was exacerbated by Soviet nationality policy. Typical of its divide-and-rule practices, the Bolshevik government in 1921 placed Nagorno-Karabakh, whose population was 94 percent ethnic Armenian, under the administrative control of Azerbaijan. Even during the height of Soviet rule, political demonstrations between Armenians and Azeris led to violent clashes. When Azerbaijan broke out of the Soviet Union in 1991, the government of Nagorno-Karabakh declared itself an independent republic. Fighting quickly broke out between Nagorno-Karabakh Armenians and Azeris, and when Armenian military forces joined their brethren, an undeclared war between Armenia and Azerbaijan ensued. Militarily the Armenians won on all fronts: within Naborno-Karabakh itself, taking control of the land between Armenia proper and the oblast, and also occupying territory deep into Azerbaijan east of NagornoKarabakh. In the scale of military action and the number of victims, the war over Nagorno-Karabakh was larger than any of the other conflicts in the former Soviet Union. And it was second to none in viciousness. Atrocities were committed by both sides. The Armenian-Azerbaijan conflict is both an interstate war and a war of secession. Before the Soviet collapse, many in Armenia and Nagorno-Karabakh shared the belief that Nagorno-Karabakh would unify with Armenia. After Armenia and Azerbaijan acquired independence, the idea of unification declined and was superseded by the notion of an independent Nagorno-Karabakh republic. As

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the aggressor in the war against Azerbaijan, Armenia found itself under international pressure to withdraw from occupied territory. In April 1993, the United Nations Security Council demanded the withdrawal of Armenian troops from Azerbaijan. A more extended international effort to stop hostilities was made by the OSCE. In March 1992 the OSCE established the ‘‘Minsk Group’’ of states (Belarus, France, Germany, Hungary, Italy, Russia, Sweden, and Turkey) to mediate the conflict and plan for an OSCE peacekeeping operation. An OSCE observer group arrived in the region in April 1993. Russian involvement made the OSCE effort to mediate the conflict or to deploy peacekeepers difficult. Moscow continues to claim the right to play the leading role. Russian mediation produced a cease-fire in May 1994 and an agreement for a peacekeeping force. Azerbaijan, however, balked at the idea of a Russian/CIS-dominated force. Armenian president Lev Ter-Petrosayan sought Russian peacekeepers; Nagorno-Karabakh Armenians wanted no Turkish troops in the force; and Azerbaijan president Gaidar Aliev insisted that only an OSCEmandated force operate in his country. An apparent breakthrough on the principle of an OSCE peacekeeping force was reached at the Budapest summit of the OSCE in December 1994. A force of 3000 troops was proposed. But the specifics covering the question of which countries would contribute how much force were left undecided. Reportedly, the participants agreed that no more than 30 percent of the force would be contributed by any one country. Presumably Russians would constitute a plurality. But to date the force exists in principle and not reality. Meanwhile Armenia continues to occupy Azeri territory and Nagorno-Karabakh maintains a de facto but unrecognized independence. Still, the agreement in principle of an OSCE peacekeeping force is more than Russia has ever conceded toward permitting outside forces to engage in peacekeeping and mediation in any of the ‘‘near abroad’’ countries. The Yeltsin administration has made clear that Russia must play the dominant role in managing conflicts in the trans-Caucasus region. In this sense, democratic Russia continues the historic policy of the Soviet Union and imperial Russia of viewing the trans-Caucasus region as a ‘‘dagger pointed towards the heart of Russia.’’ Unlike the other CIS conflicts, the issue here does not involve protecting ethnic Russians because few live in this region. But there are economic and geopolitical factors motivating Moscow. Of considerable importance is the question of Azerbaijan’s cooperation over the exploitation of Caspian Sea oil and the pipelines to bring the oil to Western markets. Russia is particularly concerned about the influence of Turkey (a traditional rival) and Iran (a center of militant Islam) in the region. Russia has sought to maintain military forces in the region. To date Azerbaijan has resisted these efforts while Armenia has cooperated. On the other hand, Azerbaijan has found it in its interest to rejoin the Commonwealth of Independent States.

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Armenia and Russia have historically closer ties than do Russia and Azerbaijan. Another factor undermining Russian sympathy for Azerbaijan was the intensely nationalist and pro-Turkish administration of Abulfaz Ali Elchibey who came to power in 1992. Moscow helped to destabilize Elchibey’s regime, but his successor Gaidar Aliev, has staunchly resisted both a Russian-controlled peacekeeping force or Russian military bases on Azerbaijan territory. Nevertheless, Moscow has avoided a commitment to Nagorno-Karabakh secession. Here, as elsewhere, the principle of territorial integrity is important to the Russian Federation. Events in Chechnya after 1994 only reinforced that concern. The most probable outcome of the dispute will be some form of Armenian autonomy for Nagorno-Karabakh within the symbolic authority of Azerbaijan. But to date none of the parties have been able to come to terms with that outcome.

III. ASSESSMENTS AND PROSPECTS These case studies clearly demonstrate that Russian peacekeeping is different from UN peacekeeping. None of the five Russian interventions in the Commonwealth of Independent States meet all of the basic standards that have come to define international peacekeeping, namely authorization by the United Nations, impartiality, consent of the parties, and the nonuse of force. On the other hand, it is also true that collectively some of these international standards have in fact been met and that the net impact of Russian intervention has in some cases been the reduction of conflict, which in the last analysis, is the fundamental objective of peacekeeping. The purpose of this analysis is to examine the prospects for Russian peacekeeping moving toward international standards as opposed to serving the narrow interests of Russia. To put Russian peacekeeping in perspective, it is useful to examine the changing character of UN peacekeeping. The label of peacekeeping was given to a UN function that focused primarily on separating combatants and maintaining a cease-fire or truce. Beginning in the 1980s, that function began to change as UN missions expanded to include activities designed to reduce the cause of the conflict. And in so doing they went beyond monitoring cease-fires and became less impartial. In the words of Steven Ratner, ‘‘Since the late 1980s the United Nations has inserted itself with regularity into the domestic arena of war-torn states.’’ 35 Over time peacekeeping was expanded to involve many non-military functions such as organizing elections, supervising civil administration, police activities, economic reconstruction, humanitarian relief, and repatriation of refugees, to name a few. Where initially the primary concern was to stop an interstate war, increasingly UN missions have responded to internal conditions. In short, UN peacekeeping has itself at one time or another violated those principles that have become enshrined under the rubric of peacekeeping. Even

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the principle of consent—considered by some to be the cardinal rule of peacekeeping—has been on occasion coerced or engineered. Nasser had to be pressured to accept UNEF on Egyptian territory as did the Serbs and Croats with UNPROFOR in the aftermath of Yugoslavia’s collapse. With UNIKOM in Iraq, peacekeeping was simply imposed. Peacekeepers are not supposed to fight (except in self-defense) but they did in the Congo in the 1960s and in Somalia in the 1990s. The principle of neutrality was violated in the Congo and in BosniaHercegevina. And in various ways the national interests of participating states benefitted from peacekeeping operations. What explains the change in UN peacekeeping? For that matter, how do we account for the emergence of peacekeeping in the first place? In general, the answer to both questions relates to changes in the structure of the international system and to changes in international norms. Peacekeeping evolved within the United Nations because the system of collective security built into the UN Charter was supposed to keep the peace but did not work.36 The bipolar structure of international politics after World War II intensifed tensions between the United States and the Soviet Union, but at the same time the provisions of Chapter Seven of the UN Charter became unworkable. Peacekeeping became an acceptable alternative to collective security because it helped to reduce conflict in a manner not likely to lead to a Soviet-American confrontation. Simply put, peacekeeping was the most that could be done in a bipolar environment. It was not as much as collective security, but it was better than nothing. It met at least some of the international concern that the United Nations do something to help keep the peace. The end of the Cold War and the collapse of bipolarity enlarged the possibilities for international action. Moscow retained its veto in the security council but was not inclined to feel the need to use it. Threats to the peace abounded but no longer evoked the specter of a nuclear confrontation. The collapse of communism was followed by the outbreak of nationalistic conflicts in the former Soviet Union and Yugoslavia. In the post–Cold War period, intervention in nationalistic conflicts became possible without posing the danger of a great power confrontation. But changes in the structure of the international system alone were not enough to account for the growth of new intrusive types of international peacekeeping. Accompanying structural changes were normative changes that encouraged acceptance of the idea that non-compliance with human rights and democratization justified intrusive peacekeeping by the United Nations. Thus, new types of UN missions were organized in such place as Namibia, Haiti, Nicaragua, Angola, El Salvador, Cambodia, Somalia, and Mozambique which went well beyond the concept of peacekeeping in its early years.37 In the light of UN principles and practices, how can we assess Russian peacekeeping? Is it essentially imperialism as claimed by critics such as Porter,

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Saivetz, Goltz, Hill, Jewett, and Cohen? 38 The assessment here is more qualified. The bases for criticism, however, are substantial. Clearly the major flaw of Russian peacekeeping is its lack of legitimacy. None of its operations have been authorized by the United Nations, though Moscow has sought such authorization. Only in the case of Abhazia has the UN given its endorsement, but in that case it was given reluctantly in recognition of the fact that only Russian forces could effectively stop the fighting. On July 2, 1994 the Security Council welcomed ‘‘the contribution made by the Russian Federation . . . of a peace-keeping force.’’ 39 At the same time the Security Council authorized 136 United Nations military observers to monitor the Russian peacekeepers. Russia was certainly given no blank check. International authorization is critical precisely because it is a protection against the abuse of power by an aggressor state. The UN Security Council represents diverse state interests to render unlikely an authorization of an aggressive mission. That combined with the specified terms of a mandate help to ensure the good intentions of the peacekeepers. The United Nations is not the only international organization whose authorization can legitimize a peacekeeping mission, although it is clearly the best. Conceivably regional organizations can achieve the same end. For Europe, the region encompassed by Russian peacekeeping, the logical organization would be the OSCE (before 1995, the CSCE). Of the cases examined here, only the conflict over Nagorno-Karabakh has involved the OSCE. Because this struggle was an interstate war (and a particularly vicious one at that) the OSCE has made a determined effort to play a peacekeeping role. The so-called ‘‘Minsk Group’’ attempted to get the parties to agree to mediation and the deployment of OSCE peacekeepers. They did not attempt a permanent political settlement. The UN did not propose a UN operation for Nagorno-Karabakh, but the Security Council in 1993 adopted a resolution condemning Armenian incursion into Azerbaijan territory, and Secretary-General Boutros Boutros-Ghali in 1994 endorsed the OSCE’s peacekeeping plan. Russia, however, has notably failed to support OSCE involvement in Nagorno-Karabakh. Through 1996, Moscow appears to have clearly preferred Russian domination of the peace efforts there. Reluctantly and under pressure from Europe and the United States, Moscow did accept in principle an OSCE-sponsored peacekeeping force in December 1994 at the Budapest summit. As of 1999 the parameters of such a force have not been agreed upon, particularly by the main parties to the conflict. The one regional organization most acceptable to Russia is the CIS. However, the fact that Russia dominates the CIS undermines its utility as a legitimizing body for Russian peacekeeping. Moscow has tried unsuccessfully to obtain approval from both the United Nations and the OSCE for the idea of CIS authorization of peacekeeping operations within the territory of the CIS (excluding Russia itself). Two of the operations considered here are technically CIS forces:

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Abkhazia and Tajikistan. Georgia and Abkhazia agreed in June 1994 to accept a CIS peacekeeping force, but in fact the only country supplying troops besides Russia is Tajikistan. With regard to the civil war in Tajikistan, the forces deployed are actually multinational, consisting of forces from all of the Central Asian states except Turkmenistan. But the bulk of forces are Russian. In the cases of South Ossetia and Moldova there has been neither authorization nor endorsement of Russian peacekeeping by an international organization. The arrangements that have been worked out have been state to state. Thus, on the whole, these operations represent the result of decisions made in Moscow to suit Moscow’s interests. Outside authorization is important to assure neutrality. So is the requirement that peacekeeping forces be multinational. If a peacekeeping operation is dominated by one state’s forces, then that state is not constrained to act impartially. When Dag Hammarskjold initiated UN peacekeeping, he mandated that UN forces not include troops from the permanent members of the security council because they would (or might) taint the activities of the mission. Looking at Russian peacekeeping, we can see clearly that all the operations were carried out by Russian-dominated contingents. In both Georgian missions, Tajikistan and Moldova, the forces were all coalition contingents (either organized bilaterally or via the CIS), but in all cases Russian commanders had ultimate authority. In Abkhazia the force is virtually entirely Russian. Regarding the modus operandi of Russian peacekeeping, there is also the contrast with UN principles regarding the use of force. We have noted that UN principles eschew the use of force, though in a very few instances UN peacekeepers did fight (for example, in the Congo and Somalia), while Russian peacekeeping doctrine explicitly authorizes the use of force if necessary. In 1992 a special program for training CIS peacekeeping forces was initiated. Lieutenant General A. Shapovalov, one of the officers in charge of CIS peacekeeping training, described the missions’ task as (1) to separate the armed formations of the opposing parties; (2) to pursue, arrest and destroy by fire any groups or individuals failing to comply with emergency regulations; and (3) carry out police duties and control the passage of persons, materials, and goods. ‘‘Where necessary, they [peacekeeping forces] will conduct military operations involving the use of all available types of weapons and battle technology.’’ 40 Aleksandr Lebed, former commander of the 14th Army, described the Russian approach to peacekeeping as follows: The main experience in preparing peacekeeping forces consists in the following: If a decision is made to use troops, they must be employed decisively, firmly and without delay. And it must be clear to everyone that a force has arrived capable of putting every insolent, encroaching bandit in his place. Anyone attempting to throw a wrench into the works will be arrested or destroyed.41

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And, in fact, practice conformed to doctrine. Russian military operations were carried out in Abkhazia, Tajikstan, and Moldova. In some instances this led to punitive strikes against local forces for attacks on Russian soldiers. In Moldova, Russian military operations in local conflicts decisively affected the outcome to the disadvantage of Moldovan authorities. Occasionally Russian peacekeepers resorted to force in order to separate the warring factions. This was true on several occasions in South Ossetia.42 The mission which came closest to being a peace enforcement mission rather than peacekeeping was the intervention in the Tajik civil war. Initially the main Russian unit in Tajikistan—the 201st Motorized Rifle Division—sought to remain neutral. Coming under attack from several sides, Russian troops found that to defend themselves they had to fight against forces of all sides. However, the massive attack against the Russian border guards on July 13, 1993 by Tajik opposition forces and their Afghan supporters was taken by Minister of Defense Pavel Grachov as a declaration of war against Russia and was followed by active fighting. Major combat operations—including air strikes within Afghanistan— were carried out in the Spring and Summer of 1995. Finally, Moscow can be criticized for using peacekeeping operations to promote Russian foreign policy interests beyond those connected with stability in the region. One of the strongest indictments is that made by Thomas Goltz who contends that Russians have been actively involved in every civil war or separatist conflict in the former Soviet Union in order to keep the newly independent states in ‘‘Moscow’s orbit’’ by tacitly threatening to dismember them.43 In the case of Nagorno-Karabakh, he argues that Russian mercenaries did the work of soldiers in supporting Armenia over Azerbaijan. There is widespread agreement that Moscow used its military leverage (including peacekeeping) to coerce Georgia, Azerbaijan, and Moldova to join the CIS. The Abkhazian insurgents almost certainly were aided covertly by Russian forces in order to pressure the Georgian government to join the CIS and to permit Russian bases on its territory. Although Eduard Shevardnadze invited Russian peacekeepers in, he had no choice. The alternative probably would have been a collapse of his government in Tbilisi. Russian intervention in Moldova was driven by the fact that the Dniester cause was led by ethnic Russians and had strong support within Russian society and the military in particular. Yeltsin’s government was not always in full control over the activities of the 14th army in Moldova, but in the final analysis, the weight of Moscow’s involvement favored the insurgents. Russian intervention has guaranteed a high degree of autonomy for the Trans-Dniester region and the presence of Russian military forces in Moldova. In Tajikistan, Russia’s objectives were many and complex, some legitimate and some questionable. Fional Hill and Pamela Jewett contend that Russian intervention was undertaken in order to restore the pro-Communist, pro-Moscow

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Rakhmonov regime to power.44 It seems clear that Imamoli Rakhmanov’s regime was heavily dependent upon Russia’s military and economic support. Foreign Minister Andrei Kozyrev frankly described Russia’s objectives in Tajikistan as protecting the 200,000 Russians living there and erecting ‘‘a barrier to regionalclan and Islamic extremism in Central Asia . . .’’ 45 He argued that Russia has a historic duty to guard the Tajik border.

IV. RUSSIA’S RESPONSIBILITY The end of the Cold War did not repeal the laws of international politics. In 1991 Russia was divested of its imperial holdings, a transformation notable for the fact that it was accomplished without war or bloodshed. Never before had an imperial system disintegrated so quickly and peacefully. Russia’s political elite, not to mention the public at large, was as caught off guard by the new geopolitical reality as much as the peoples of the newly independent states of the ‘‘near abroad.’’ After a brief debate among the nation’s political elites over Russia’s relationship with the newly independent states, a consensus emerged defining the ‘‘near abroad’’ as a region of Russia’s vital interest. The grounds for this consensus were several: the presence of some 25 million ethnic Russians in the ‘‘near abroad;’’ the economic interdependence between Russia and the other states; and the importance of the border states to Russian security. Of particular importance to Russia is the danger of instability and ethnic nationalism in the Caucasus and Central Asia, for that could encourage separatism and nationalist ferment within Russia itself. Vladimir Lukin, former ambassador to the United States and foreign affairs specialist in Russia’s parliament, argued that ‘‘Given the geopolitical realities, one can hardly doubt that without Russia’s active involvement it will be impossible to achieve stability in Eurasia and prevent its disintegration in scattered wars and confrontations.’’ 46 Stability in the ‘‘near abroad’’ is not only a vital interest of Russia; it is central to its status as a great power. Even those Russians who have accepted the reality of their loss of status as a superpower, still think of Russia as a great power. And establishing a ‘‘sphere of influence’’ over the weaker states on their periphery is one of the hallmarks of a great power.47 Given the inevitability of Russia’s sphere of influence over the ‘‘near abroad,’’ the question arises: how has Russia used peacekeeping as an instrument of its power? The greatest achievement of Russian peacekeeping and intervention has been a significant reduction in fighting between the parties of the several conflicts. Keven O’prey concludes that ‘‘Only the Abkhazia and South Ossetia missions resemble ‘‘true peacekeeping efforts’’ 48 However, to the extent that a cessation of fighting is the first objective of peacekeeping, the missions in Moldova, the diplomacy in Nagorno-Karabakh, and the military operations in Tajikistan have

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all met that goal (at least partially). Fighting has virtually ceased in every case. Indeed, in Tajikistan where the scale of fighting was large, Boris Yeltsin was able to negotiate a peace agreement. In June 1997 the presidents of Russia and Tajikistan and the leader of the Tajik insurgency signed a pact in Moscow formally ending the war.49 While Russia was not impartial or neutral in any of these conflicts, neither did it become a committed party to one side. One might describe Russia’s peacekeeping as reflecting a skewed neutrality. That is, Moscow has often put pressure on both sides to come to an agreement even if that pressure was not always even-handed. All of the conflicts discussed previously originated independently of Russian involvement. Moscow did not create a conflict in order to intervene. In Georgia, for example, Moscow encouraged both sides to show flexibility in the struggle over South Ossetia. At one point the Speaker of Russia’s parliament, Ruslan Khasbulatov, warned that Russia might annex South Ossetia into the Russian Federation, but the Yelstin administration never took any steps to do so. The net impact of Russian involvement has been to stop the fighting and preserve the territorial status quo. In Abkhazia too there were requests from Abkhazians to join the Russian Federation, but they were not supported by the Yeltsin government. Moscow’s Georgian policy changed over time with changing circumstances, but in the end Moscow agreed with Eduard Shevardnadze on the territorial integrity of Georgia, albeit with increased autonomy for Abkhazia. Once Georgia agreed to join the CIS, Russian peacekeeping displayed an evenhandedness between both sides. Responding to Georgian demands, Russian peacekeepers were instructed to protect as best they could the return of Georgian refugees to Abkhazia. Shevardnadze reportedly praised the Russian government for its help in the repatriation of refugees. Although Moscow has vigorously resisted outside efforts to moderate the Nagorno-Karabakch struggle, its own diplomatic initiatives have been directed toward curbing the fighting and resolving the conflict. Ultimately, under international pressure, Russia agreed to accept in principle the deployment of an OSCEorganized peacekeeping force. Several cease-fires were produced over the years but few lasted very long. When the United Nations Security Council in April 1993 condemned Armenian incursions into Azeri territory, Russia did not use its veto power to kill the resolution. Here, as elsewhere, Moscow has supported the teritorial status quo. In the summer of 1997 Russia joined with the United States and France in a peace initiative, proposing that Armenia recognize NagornoKarabakh as a part of Azerbaijan.50 The peace that exists in Tajikstan is the result of Russian-dominated military operations plus intensive negotiations. Again, while Russia was a partisan of the Rakhmonov regime, it put pressure on that government to negotiate with the Islamic and democratic opposition. With the assistance of United Nations, Iranian, and Russian mediation efforts a cease-fire was reached in September

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1994. Fighting continued along the border throughout much of 1995, but that did not stop Russia from pressing for a dialogue between Rachmonov and the opposition. Ultimately that dialog bore fruit. Moscow’s role in Moldova likewise was mixed. The egregious intervention in Moldova’s affairs by the Russian 14th Army was often the result of decisions made not in Moscow, but locally. With the departure of the 14th Army commander, General Alexander Lebed, Yeltsin was better able to assert the authority of the Russian government in the Dniester region. The introduction of peacekeepers was an important factor in producing a cease-fire and keeping the peace. When Moscow unilaterally withdrew half of its peacekeepers in November 1994 (for reasons of cost) the governments of both Moldova and Trans-Dniester complained. This conflict, like most of the others, remains unresolved, but Russia has accepted the principle of Moldova’s territorial integrity while the precise rights of the Trans-Dniester inhabitants have yet to be agreed upon. Russian peacekeeping has thus been contradictory. On the positive side has been the promotion of peace and stability. The negative has been the interference in the sovereignties of the newly independent states. Since the emergence of independent Russia, Russians have been divided over the relationship between Russia and the former Soviet republics. Some have accepted the permanence of the separation; others have not.51 The disintegration of what was the Soviet empire occurred more rapidly than any other imperial collapse in modern history. Students of imperial disintegration contend that the process takes many years to complete.52 Maxim Shashenkov makes the case that ‘‘Russian peacekeeping . . . is also an instrument of Russian imperial disengagement and an important element of Russian national-security policy.’’53 This accounts for much of the difference between Russian and UN peacekeeping. Russia sees its security as indelibly linked to the ‘‘near abroad.’’ Instability in those countries is viewed as a threat to Russia’s internal order. It is unrealistic to expect Russian peacekeeping in the newly independent states to be modeled after UN peacekeeping. Both models developed under different structural and political circumstances. Nevertheless, Russian peacekeeping can and should be constrained by international standards. The most viable instrument to do this is an international organization, either the United Nations or the OSCE. Russia has sought—not successfully—UN or OSCE authorization or endorsement of its missions. It has also sought financial support because the cost of peacekeeping has proven to be a burden. International organizations have resisted these efforts in part because they have no control over the missions and because of a fear that Russia’s military might use the operations for imperial purposes. However, there does exist the option of the UN and OSCE encouraging Russian observance of international norms by endorsing Russian efforts and providing financial aid. This financial support could be conditioned upon Russian acceptance of a mandate that establishes broad international norms. As a guaran-

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tee, international organizations should limit their endorsement to a specific time period (subject to renewal as is the usual case with UN peacekeeping). They could also require monitors to observe the behavior of Russian military forces. There is a risk in giving endorsement without control, but one that is worth taking. Moscow has claimed that Russia is doing a service to the international community by providing peacekeeping forces for conflicts which the United Nations is unwilling to undertake. The argument has merit. In some measure the risk to the UN or OSCE is linked to Russian domestic politics. Boris Yeltsin’s foreign policy record is far more committed to the goals of international organization than many of the politicians who contest his leadership.54 Almost certainly there will be continued pressure for Russia to respond to wars in the ‘‘near abroad.’’ Russian peacekeeping is constantly evolving. The more it adapts to international norms the better it will be for all concerned.

NOTES 1. See Walters, F.P. 1969. A History of the League of Nations. London: Oxford University Press, pp. 591–596. 2. Goodrich, L.M. 1974. The United Nations in a Changing World. New York: Columbia University Press, pp. 138–158. 3. The literature on peacekeeping is large. Useful analyses are Higgins, R. 1969 and 1970. United Nations Peacekeeping 1946–1967. Documents and Commentary. Vol. 1,The Middle East, and Vol. 2, Asia. London: Oxford University Press; Durch, W.J. (ed.) 1993. The Evolution of UN Peacekeeping, Case Studies and Comparative Analysis. New York: St. Martin’s Press; United Nations. 1990. The Blue Helmets. A Review of United Nations Peace-keeping. New York: United Nations; and Ratner, S.R. 1996. The New UN Peacekeeping, Building Peace in Lands of Conflict after the Cold War. New York: St. Martin’s Press. 4. See, ibid., The Blue Helmets, pp. 419–449. 5. See, e.g., Crow, S. 1992. ‘‘Russian Peacekeeping: Defense, Diplomacy, or Imperialism?’’ RFE/RL Research Report, 1(17):37–40; Porter B.D., and Saivetz, C.R. 1999. ‘‘The Once and Future Empire: Russia and the ‘Near Abroad.’ ’’ The Washington Quarterly, Summer 1994, pp. 75–90; and Clark, S.L. 1994. ‘‘Russia in a Peacekeeping Role,’’ in Aron, L. and Jensen, K.M. (eds.). The Emergence of Russian Foreign Policy. Washington: The United States Institute of Peace Press, p. 120. 6. Quoted in Jonson, L., and Archer, C. 1996. ‘‘Russia and Peacekeeping in Eurasia.’’ In Jonson, L., and Archer, C. (eds.). Peacekeeping and the Role of Russia in Eurasia. Boulder: Westview Press p. 5. 7. Current Digest of the Post-Soviet Press (CDPSP). 1992. 44(12):11. 8. Not signing the Peacekeeping Protocol were Azerbaijan, Belarus, Turkmenistan, and Ukraine. Ukraine’s absence was particularly significant because of its potential contribution of military forces and perhaps politically as a counterbalance to Russia. See Aron and Jensen, pp. 122–123.

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9. Kreikemeyer, A., and Zagorski, A.V. 1996. ‘‘The Commonwealth of Independent States (CIS).’’ In Jonson and Archer (eds.), pp. 158–159. 10. Raevsky, A., and Vorob’ev, I.N. 1994. Russian Approaches to Peacekeeping Operations. United Nations: UNIDIR, p. 6. 11. Ibid. 12. See Crow, S. 1992. ‘‘The Theory and Practice of Peacekeeping in the Former USSR,’’ RFE/RL Research Report, 1(37):36. 13. The figures are from Ekedahl, C.M., and Goodman, M.A. 1997. The Wars of Eduard Shevardnadze. University Park: The Pennslyvania State University Press, p. 264. Figures differ on the size of the original force, but they are close to the numbers given here. See Shashenkov, M. 1994. Russian Peacekeeping in the ‘Near Abroad.’ ‘‘Survival, 36(3):67. See also O’prey, K.P. 1996.’’ ‘‘Keeping the Peace in the Borderlands of Russia.’’ In Durch, W.J. (ed.). UN Peacekeeping, American Policy, and the Uncivil Wars of the 1990’s. New York: St. Martin’s Press, pp. 420–423, 454. 14. Ekedahl and Goodman, p. 265. 15. Goltz, T. 1993. ‘‘Letter from Eurasia: The Hidden Russian Hand.’’ Foreign Policy, 92 (Fall), pp. 105–107. 16. The New York Times, September 28, 1993. See also ‘‘Eduard Shevardnadze.’’ The New York Times Magazine, December 26, 1993, p. 19. 17. Jonson and Archer, p. 127. 18. Ibid., pp. 130–131; O’prey, p. 419. 19. O’prey, p. 423. 20. Porter and Saivetz, p. 85. 21. Goltz, p. 92. 22. Jonson and Archer, p. 133. 23. Chin, J. 1996. ‘‘The Case of Transdniestr (Moldova.)’’ In Jonson and Archer, p. 109. 24. Kolsto, P. and Edemsky, A. with Kalashnikova, N. 1993. ‘‘The Dniester Conflict: Between Irredentism and Separatism.’’ Europe-Asia Studies, 45(6):994. 25. O’Prey, p. 439. 26. Porter and Saivetz, p. 84. 27. CDPSP, 46(32):16 (see note 7). See also Transition, October 1996, pp. 7–8. 28. O’prey, p. 441. 29. Chin, p. 110. 30. Olcott, M.B. 1996. Central Asia’s New States, Independence, Foreign Policy, and Regional Security. Washington: United States Institute of Peace Press, pp. 104–105. 31. O’prey, p. 432. See also Porter and Saivetz, pp. 86–87; Clark, S.L. 1994. Russia in a peacekeeping role. In Aron and Jensen, (ed.). pp. 131–137; Olcott, pp. 128– 130, 161–162, 165–166, and 177–178. 32. Brown, B. 1992. CIS peacekeeping force for Tashkent. RFE/RL Daily Report, December 1, 1992. 33. O’prey, p. 435. 34. For a description of Armenian-Azeri animosity see Furman, D., and Asenius, C.J. The case of Nagorno-Karbakh (Azerbaijan). In Jonson and Archer, pp. 139–146. 35. Ratner, S.R. 1996. The New UN Peacekeeping, Building Peace in Lands of Conflict after the Cold War. New York: St. Martin’s Press, p. 1. 36. See Goodspeed, S.S. 1967. The Nature and Function of International Organization

Russian Peacekeeping

37. 38. 39. 40. 41. 42. 43. 44.

45. 46. 47. 48. 49. 50. 51.

52.

53. 54.

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(2nd. ed.). New York: Oxford University Press, pp. 220–284. See also Goodrich, L.M. 1974. The United Nations in a Changing World. New York: Columbia University Press, pp. 109–158. Ratner, p. 32. See O’prey, p. 452. Security Council Resolution 937, July 21, 1994. Raevsky and Vorob’ev, p. 29. Quoted in O’prey, p. 414. Shashenkov, p. 52. Goltz, p. 92. Hill, F., and Jewett, P. 1944. ‘‘Back in the USSR’’: Russia’s Intervention in the Internal Affairs of the Former Soviet republics and the Implications for United States Policy toward Russia. Cambridge: John F. Kennedy School of Government, pp. 40– 42. Kozyrev, A. 1993. What Russia wants in Tajikistan. CDPSP, 45(31):7. Lukin, V.P. 1992 Our security predicament. Foreign Policy, 88 (Fall):67, 1992. See Shashenkov, pp. 46–50. O’prey, p. 418. The New York Times, June 28, 1997, p. 2. Ibid., June 21, 1997, p. 5. On the debate over Russia and the Near Abroad see Nogee, J.L., and Mitchell, R.J. 1997. Russian Politics, The Struggle for a New Order. Boston: Allyn and Bacon, pp. 169–175; Webber, M. 1966. The International Politics of Russia and the Successor States. Manchester: Manchester University Press, pp. 87–139; Petro, N.N. and Rubinstein, A.Z. 1977. Russian Foreign Policy, from Empire to Nation-State. New York: Longman, pp. 113–136; Olcott, M.B. 1966. Central Asia’s New States, Independence, Foreign Policy, and Regional Security. Washington: United States Institute of Peace Press, p. 139–160; and Valdez, J. 1997. The Near Abroad, the West, and national identity in Russian foreign policy. In Dawisha, A., and Dawish, K. (eds.). The Making of Foreign Policy in Russia and the New States of Eurasia. New York: M.E. Sharpe, pp. 84–119. See Darwin, J. 1988. Britain and Decolonization: The Retreat from Empire in the Post-War World. London: Macmillan Press Darby, P. 1988. British Defence Policy East of Suez, 1947–1968. London: Royal Institute of International Affairs; Chipman, J. 1989 French Power in Africa. Oxford: Basil Blackwell; and Grimal, H. 1978. Decolonisation: The British, French; Dutch and Belgian Empires, 1919–1963. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul. Shashenkov, p. 62. Boris Yeltsin’s foreign policy orientation is summarized in Donaldson, R.H., and Nogee, J.L. 1998 The Foreign Policy of Russia. Changing Systems Enduring Interests. Armonk: M.E. Sharpe, p. 190.

12 From the Brezhnev Doctrine to Partnership The New International Relations of Eastern Europe Gregory O. Hall St. Mary’s College of Maryland, St. Mary’s City, Maryland

I. INTRODUCTION The collapse of the communist regimes in Eastern Europe and the former Soviet Union, and the end of the Cold War, have profoundly impacted the lives of the people of those areas, nearly one-half billion, as well as most of the international community itself. As a result of these changes, two great transformations are under way in the region. The first, a domestic revolution involving the political, economic, and social spheres, took hold in the late-1980s and is moving the countries forward, although not without twists and turns. The second transformation, a reorientation of the region’s foreign relations in light of the collapse of the Soviet bloc, also took hold in the late-1980s and is responsible for the unprecedented level of interaction and integration which characterizes contemporary East-West relations. In fact, it is increasingly impolitic to distinguish ‘‘eastern’’ from ‘‘central’’ Europe, or the latter from ‘‘western’’ Europe. Mikhail Gorbache¨v’s earlier designation of the continent as a ‘‘common home with many apartments’’ is appropriate for intra-European relations since the late-1980s. The present research examines the new international relations of the countries of Eastern Europe (Albania, Bulgaria, the Czech Republic, Hungary, Poland, Romania, and Slovakia) from the Gorbache¨v era into the 1990s.1 This work is a comparative survey of the economic, political/diplomatic, and security relations 229

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of these countries regionally (Eastern Europe/former Soviet Union) and globally (industrialized countries, non-European communist countries, non-European developing countries). The research attempts to identify any patterns along these three dimensions, as well as any breakpoints (important factors, events, or trends) which have appeared to causally impact these relations. Although it is difficult to engage in such a study, given the disparate nature of the post-communist regimes and the countries’ unique experiences. Still, studies such as this are useful because they help us identify factors and processes which are/have been important to governments in the formulation and execution of foreign policy for the region and beyond. This research makes two notable contributions to the literature on the international relations of Eastern Europe. First, it attempts to bridge the communist and post-communist periods, which should help to explain the new directions in countries’ foreign policies. Along these lines, it is interesting to note that in the case of Poland, the post-communist (Solidarno) government showed much restraint in its dealings with the western former Soviet republics, especially, Belarus, Lithuania, and Ukraine, until it was clear that the USSR would disband. Second, this research attempts a systematic, comparative examination of East European foreign policy, which will help lay the groundwork for future studies at the cross-national (sub-regional) levels.

II. MAJOR THEMES IN SOVIET FOREIGN POLICY The area of communist international relations was most interesting for study. Important in this realm was the significance of Marxist-Leninist theory as a guide for interstate relations, as well as the primacy of the USSR. As Robert McNeal observed, three features characterized relations among communists: (1) ideology—the strict espousal of Marxism-Leninism; (2) institutional—the communist party as the main body guiding domestic and foreign affairs; and (3) historical context—the dominant position of the USSR as the ‘‘birthplace’’ of the socialist revolution.2 Eastern Europe, in the aftermath of World War II, served several important political/ideological, military, and economic goals for Soviet leaders. First and foremost, the region provided a buffer between the USSR and its historical adversary, Germany, against any future German aggression on Russian/Soviet soil. In this way, Eastern Europe strengthened the military power of the USSR. Second, the region would provide a base for Soviet economic recovery, a primary objective in light of the country’s losses from the war. Finally, the communist regimes of Eastern Europe would serve as reliable allies of the USSR and for Soviet strategies throughout the world and in different international forums.3 The cornerstone of Soviet foreign policy towards its Warsaw Pact allies was the Brezhnev

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Doctrine, articulated by the former Soviet leader in the months following the brutal response to the 1968 Prague Spring during a speech to the Polish communist leadership. While affirming the principle of sovereignty in interstate relations, Brezhnev cast the situation in Czechoslovakia as a conspiracy contrived in capitalist circles which was, in his view, a violation of the country’s sovereignty. Such outside interference in the affairs of states following the socialist path, the Soviet leader continued, could not go unchallenged by other socialist countries.4 In leading the Warsaw Pact invasion against the reformist DubFek regime, Soviet leaders underscored the principle of ‘‘socialist internationalism,’’ or the doctrine of limited sovereignty in communist interstate relations. While Brezhnev’s predecessor Nikita Khrushche¨v had allowed a good measure of experimentation throughout the bloc in socialist development, socialist reform in Eastern Europe effectively died with the Prague Spring. It would later be resurrected in the USSR under the stewardship of the last communist leader, Mikhail Gorbache¨v. Much has been written about the motivations behind the reform program outlined and (partially) implemented by Gorbache¨v in the late 1980s. Clearly, the former leader was greatly concerned about the rapidly declining Soviet economy and the increasingly dwindling base of support for the communist regime both in his own country and throughout the bloc. Gorbache¨v’s reforms under perestroika, glasnost, and democratization were attempts to remedy these problems. However, the former Soviet leader well understood the fact that his country’s leadership of the bloc had exacted a huge toll over time on Soviet resources and the country’s international prestige. For the USSR, Eastern Europe had become a great burden in economic and political/diplomatic terms.5 Extremely important for the USSR’s foreign affairs was Gorbache¨v’s ‘‘New Thinking,’’ his formula for a revised Soviet foreign policy and military strategy. Changes in this area provided important opportunities for East-West cooperation from 1985 on, as well as a stimulus for changes in the various East European countries themselves. In summary, this new Soviet outlook in foreign affairs sought to bring Russia back into the European fold, to put relations with the United States and its allies on a more peaceful footing (especially in contested areas like Afghanistan and southern Africa), and, to de-emphasize ideology in bloc affairs and allow a greater measure of independence to the East European communist regimes. As early as 1986, pronouncements on the part of various Soviet leaders, as well as changes in policy, sent increasingly clear signals to the bloc countries that the winds were shifting in the USSR. In regards to socialist internationalism, there was no mention of this hitherto guiding principle of communist international relations at the Twenty-Seventh Soviet Party Congress (1986); moreover, it was acknowledged that countries have a right to follow their own path on the road to socialist development. In February 1987, Gorbache¨v announced that he would

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negotiate the withdrawal of all intermediate-range nuclear forces (INF) from Europe, a major development in stabilizing East-West security relations. Finally, the former Soviet leader announced to the world during his address to the United Nations (UN) in 1988 that his country would unilaterally withdraw over 200,000 troops and several thousand pieces of military equipment from Eastern Europe and western parts of the USSR by 1990. As Charles Gati observes, this announcement was crucial for setting into motion the events of 1989, as it was now clear to the world that the Soviet leadership would no longer use military power to prop up the communist regimes.6 The doctrine of limited sovereignty, which had ‘‘saved’’ socialism in Hungary (1956) and Czechoslovakia (1968), was finally laid to rest in 1988–1989. The Soviet leadership under Gorbache¨v, the catalyst for these changes, perceived the need to institute a different type of bloc relations, one that would ease the burden of the East European societies on his own country.

III. EAST EUROPEAN RESPONSES TO SOVIET REFORM: 1987–1990 Soviet policy changes under Gorbache¨v, both domestic and foreign, had a wide impact in the bloc. These policies gave encouragement to the forces for reform and opposition in Eastern Europe. Also, the renunciation of the Brezhnev Doctrine and changes in Soviet military strategy left the bloc countries with more freedom to pursue closer ties with the West. Countries like Poland and Hungary, which had implemented market reforms early on and which already had cultivated ties with Western countries, were active supporters of Gorbache¨v’s reforms and used the opportunity to further their own. Responding to these sweeping changes, Western economic organizations entered into trade and aid agreements with various East European countries, beginning with an accord between the European Union (E.U.) and the Council for Mutual Economic Assistance (COMECON) in 1988.7 On the other hand, countries like Bulgaria, Czechoslovakia, East Germany, and Romania, which had less (or no) experience with reform, and whose leaders were more closely associated with the Stalin generation, did not buy into the new Soviet approach.8 And as time progressed, leaders such as Nicolae Ceausescu of Romania became increasingly vocal in their opposition to Gorbache¨v’s policies.9 The winds of change blowing from Moscow were forcing leaders in the Soviet bloc to reconsider both their respective domestic and foreign policies. There was much to reconsider, in light of these and other developments. In the area of general East-West relations, the various U.S.-Soviet arms reduction talks and agreements, Gorbache¨v’s 1988 speech to the UN, as well as the collapse of the Berlin Wall and Germany’s reunification (1989–1990), paved the way for changes within East European countries and in their respective foreign policies.

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Also of note were decisions to cease jamming of Western radio broadcasts beginning in 1987, and to support the U.S.-led multilateral coalition against Iraq in the aftermath of its invasion of Kuwait during 1990–1991.10 Closer to home, two events significantly impacted intra–East European and Soviet–East European relations as well. First, during a visit to the USSR in July 1988 by former Hungarian leader Karoly Grosz, Gorbache¨v expressed agreement in principle to both a multiparty system and for the withdrawal of Soviet troops from Hungary.11 Second, the Grosz regime, beginning in the summer of 1989, reneged on a longstanding treaty with East Germany and began allowing East German citizens to travel through its country on to the West, infuriating the Erich Honecker regime (this second event was all the more important given Soviet acquiescence). These episodes not only signaled the end of the Brezhnev Doctrine, a harbinger of the collapse of the communist security system in Eastern Europe which would soon come about, but a Soviet nod to political reform in the bloc away from the communist model as well. The year 1989, arguably one of the most important years of the century, saw the collapse (or the beginning of the end) of most of the communist regimes, which completed the circle in the domestic sphere. The collapse of the Berlin Wall (which was spurred on by Hungary’s abrogation of its treaty with East Germany and the fall of Honecker’s regime) and the reunification of Germany signaled the end of the Warsaw Pact system and the end of the Cold War. We will take a brief look at the foreign affairs of the East European regimes during this period. Gorbache¨v’s new domestic and foreign policies, as well as his relatively positive relations with the Grosz regime in Hungary and the Wojciech Jaruzelski government in Poland (the latter since 1989 sharing power with Solidarno), made it easier for these countries to branch out to the West during the 1987–1990 period.12 While cautiously eyeing developments to the east and emphasizing the need for continued good relations with the USSR (especially with Russia), Hungary and Poland appeared to be on a fast-track during this time in furthering their ties with the West.13 Hungary had restored diplomatic contacts with Israel as early as 1987, and Hungary, Poland, and Czechoslovakia had become quite active in establishing a regular dialog with Western countries, especially NATO members like Germany, Great Britain, Italy, and the United States. For the Balkan states, a westward shift in relations was seen as well, albeit more gradual than the East–Central European countries. Bulgaria, traditionally the closest Soviet ally in Eastern Europe, began to allow foreign private investment in the late 1980s, and re-established ties with both the Vatican and Israel in 1990.14 Although Ramiz Alia, Albania’s last communist leader, had boycotted a memorial service in 1989 for the slain Hungarian leader Imre Nagy (Nicolae Ceausescu had failed to attend the event as well), Mr. Alia made great strides to end his country’s post-war isolation. Between 1987 and 1990, Albania had

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(re)established ties with several Western countries, including the United States, as the country’s leader began to stress the need for pragmatism in foreign policy.15 The record for Romania during this period was less promising. The Ceausescu regime’s international prestige suffered greatly during the 1980s due to its repressive domestic policies and isolation by the United States. Moreover, despite exchanging visits in 1987 and 1988, Gorbache¨v and Ceausescu appeared to be moving in opposite directions with regard to their domestic policies, as the latter worked very hard in his resistance to the Soviet leader’s reforms.16 Also, impacting Romania’s post-communist international relations in a negative way were incidents of social unrest in 1990 which brought a harsh response from the Ion Iliescu regime.17 There were interesting developments in the area of economic assistance to Eastern Europe during the 1987–1990 period (see Table 1). Western countries and organizations like the E.U., International Monetary Fund (IMF), the World Bank, and the Group of Twenty-Four (G-24) [an informal economic grouping of the world’s most wealthy countries], provided millions of dollars to assist these states with development programs and other economic and social needs. The largest beneficiaries of this support, however, were the East–Central European countries (Czechoslovakia, Hungary, and Poland), states which, by and large, already had experience with market reform and economic ties with the West.

Table 1 Important Events/Trends in East European Foreign Affairs East-West arms control and reduction agreements: INF (1987), CFE (1990/92), START I (1991/92), START II (1993) K. Grosz (Hungary) visit to USSR (1988) M. Gorbachev speech to United Nations (1988) Hungary border opening (1989) and collapse of Berlin Wall (1989) Collapse of communist regimes in Eastern Europe (1989–1992) International coalition against Iraq (1990/91) Reunification of Germany (1990) Collapse of communist security and economic systems (COMECON, WTO) (1990/91) USSR demands hard currency for all trade (1991) Coup attempt/collapse in USSR (1991) PFP/NATO cooperation (beginning in 1991) E.U. Association Agreements (beginning in 1991) Post-Soviet Russian political developments (Oct. 1993, 1993, 1995 elections) NATO formally invites Poland, Hungary, and the Czech Republic to apply for admission (1997)

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East European trade during this period revealed some interesting patterns as well. As the Appendix shows, East European exports and imports between 1986 and 1990 for industrialized countries and the E.U., for the most part, increased steadily.18 The record for Romania was different, as the impact of Ceausescu’s policies (especially for the economy) and the abrupt political changes in late-1989 was seen in the volume of imports, which decreased steadily until 1990. The record for individual countries’ trade with developing states was remarkably similar. In nearly every case, both imports and exports decreased after 1988. Finally, there was noticeable similarity in East European trade patterns with other (former) Soviet bloc states during this period. Again, in most cases, both imports and exports decreased steadily after 1988 (Romanian levels increased steadily until approximately 1989–1990, reflecting a later westward shift than its East European counterparts). Clearly, Eastern Europe was shifting its sights westward, with individual leaders forging an agenda for new foreign relations in the late1980s that would characterize the region in the 1990s.

IV. TOWARD A NEW EUROPEAN SECURITY ORDER? 1991–2000 The domestic and international milieus for the East European countries in the early-1990s stood in marked contrast to those of just a few years earlier. By 1992, all the communist regimes were out of power, with parliamentary systems being adopted in each country. Moreover, the social environment in the post-communist period is now open to forces and groupings which had been muted under the old order (the church, media, nationalist groups, and so on), and all of these countries are engaged in market economic reform. The external environment is very different as well. At the top of the list, the East European security situation is drastically changed, as the region no longer looks to Russia as the guarantor of stability and a guide in its foreign affairs, although there continues to be a great measure of concern about Russian interests in the contemporary period. Second, as Ronald Linden observes, there is much uncertainty for the East European countries, about neighbors, about the role and commitment of alliances or international organizations like the IMF and the various major powers.19 Third, nationalism and ethnic conflict, which have received so much attention in light of the collapse of Yugoslavia and the ensuing wars, are resurgent in the region, impacting the economic and political spheres, as well as regional politics. East Europeans are greatly concerned about the prospects for successful economic and political reform under these conditions, and it is increasingly clear that the major challenges to regional security are social, economic, and political, but not military.20 In attempting to bring stability and security to the region, which

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will only come about through success with the reform effort, Eastern Europe is looking westward. Full membership in NATO and the E.U. at the earliest opportunity are the main foreign policy goals of the countries under study. In that way, other major Western institutions such as the Organization for Security and Cooperation in Europe (OSCE), the IMF, the European Bank for Reconstruction and Development (EBRD), and the Council of Europe (CE) are looked to for membership and sources of economic support.21 It is the West and Western organizations and initiatives which are seen as the only eventual guarantors of peace and stability in Eastern Europe. While the period of the late 1980s was significant for the demise of the communist regimes in Eastern Europe, the early-1990s saw the attendant collapse of the communist security system in the region. A watershed in East European foreign affairs was the disbandment of the Warsaw Pact in 1991, as well as the COMECON during the same year. Another important event for Eastern Europe was the failed coup attempt in August 1991 against the Gorbache¨v government. In different ways, these developments, which signaled both the promise of freedom in domestic and foreign affairs, and also the increasing uncertainty of the East European security situation as well, gave encouragement to the proponents of close cooperation with the West. Along these lines, NATO’s expanding cooperation with the former Soviet bloc countries, first with the establishment of the North Atlantic Cooperative Council (NACC) in 1991 and then with the Partnership for Peace (PFP) [as well as the E.U. Association Agreements (beginning in 1991) with many East European countries], have provided an ‘‘antechamber’’ to full membership in the respective organizations. At the same time, Russia’s political twists and turns in the post-communist period, as well as its aggressive relations with the former Soviet republics (FSRs), have regularly been met with clamors for NATO and E.U. membership from East European leaders. People in Eastern Europe consistently express strong fear about the possibility, no matter how remote, of a resurgent Russian nationalism unchecked in the country’s political process, as well as any attempt to reformulate any part of the Soviet empire. The violent resolution to the fall 1993 executivelegislative crisis, Vladimir Zhirinovsky’s success in the December 1993 parliamentary elections, and Russia’s heavy-handed involvement in Georgia’s recent civil war provide useful examples. While Europe still lackes a comprehensive security order for the post–Cold War period, it is clear that the contours of one, under the guise of NATO, the E.U., CE and OSCE, is beginning to take shape. As mentioned above, the catalyst for this new state of affairs was the reunification of Germany, and more inportantly, Russian agreement thereto.22 Moreover, Germany in the 1990s has risen to unchallenged prominence in the E.U., and the country leads its West European counterparts in its ties to Eastern Europe.23

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While it is beyond the scope of this chapter to provide a detailed examination of the various agreements which further East-West cooperation in Europe, a few words along these lines are in order. PFP, which was endorsed by the United States’ NATO allies in 1994, establishes a framework for military cooperation in areas such as defense budgeting and peacekeeping. The Partnership does not extend NATO’s security guarantee to signers; rather, it offers consultation when members are threatened by other parties. As Charles Kupchan points out, PFP was intended to be a mechanism for the gradual integration of the former Soviet bloc countries into the Western security structure.24 While East European leaders had hoped for rapid inclusion in the North Atlantic alliance,25 NATO leaders have yet to reach a consensus on the organization’s post-Cold War mission. For its part, Russia under Boris Yeltsin’s leadership has expressed strong opposition to the expansion of NATO, viewing such a move as a threat to the country’s security. Nevertheless, the alliance offered membership to the Czech Republic, Hungary, and Poland last year, and the Russian government has resigned itself to negotiate the military position in NATO of eventual members. While NATO has been the primary vehicle in the security realm for integrating the East European countries with the West, the E.U. has taken the lead in the economic sphere. The organization supplies approximately two-thirds of all outside assistance to the region, and channels its aid—grants and loans— through four programs: PHARE (Poland and Hungary: Aid for Economic Restructuring), G-24 Aid Program, the EBRD, and the Association Agreements. The agreements—established in 1991 with Hungary, Poland, and the former Czechoslovakia and extended in subsequent years to other East European states—provide for the phased reduction of tariffs on industrial goods for both the E.U. countries and the East European signers over a ten-year period. While the Association Agreements have been heralded as a significant first step in the process of Eastern Europe’s economic integration with the West, limitations on certain types of East European exports, as well as the E.U.’s persistent trade surplus with the region, reflect important disadvantages of East-West trade relations.26 Again, there is not yet a coherent post–Cold War security order for all of Europe, but the E.U. and NATO initiatives are widely seen as a useful starting point.

V.

EASTERN EUROPE IN THE POST–COLD WAR PERIOD

Integration with the West, its major institutions and processes, clearly dominates the East European foreign policy agenda. As outlined above, full membership in NATO and the E.U. are the primary goals of all the East European regimes. Additionally, countries have tailored their military policies in accordance with

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this objective. Countries’ military doctrines, which previously were focused on coalition warfare against NATO, now emphasize internal and regional security. These doctrines stress friendly relations with neighbors and the West, and a defensive posture in general terms.27 While awaiting admission to NATO and the E.U., and to enhance prospects along these lines, the post-communist regimes have devised several regional initiatives for economic, military, political, and technical cooperation. The first such arrangement, the Central European Initiative (CEI) (1989–1990), calls for cooperation in areas such as transport, telecommunications, environment, and migration.28 Other agreements which have similar goals include the 1990 Black Sea Cooperation Region Project (BECR) and the 1992 Baltic Council.29 The most comprehensive initiative for cooperation in post–Cold War Eastern Europe is the Central European Free Trade Association (CEFTA) (1992). This organization, which grew out of the 1991 Visegrad Summit between Czechoslovakia, Hungary, and Poland, not only outlines economic, social, and technical cooperation, but emphasizes building parliamentary democracy and market-based relations, as well as integration into the European mainstream.30 These various regional cooperative efforts have met with limited success. While East European leaders have realized the significance of economic, social, and technical cooperation (and a degree of political and military cooperation) for regional stability and progress, the larger goal remains integration into the major European institutions, and the newer initiatives are not meant to hinder that process.31 The East European regimes utilize the regional agreements to further shortterm foreign policy objectives and to give the appearance that they can be good partners, not to supplant the long-term goal of E.U. and NATO membership. Looking at the foreign policies of individual post-communist regimes, Poland (perhaps to an even greater extent than its East European neighbors) desires to anchor itself in Western civilization. This is the force which drives the country’s post–Cold War foreign policy, which impatiently demands full admission to NATO and the E.U., and argues that any European security order must include both the United States and Russia to be lasting.32 Poland has aggressively pursued this new foreign policy agenda since 1991. The country completed a friendship and cooperation pact with Germany during that year, obtained associate membership—along with several other East European countries—in the Western European Union (WEU), and hosted the first PFP military exercises in Fall 1994. And despite the relatively high level of political instability which has characterized the country in the 1990s, Polish foreign policy has remained on course.33 However, Poland’s relations with its eastern neighbors (Belarus, Lithuania, and Ukraine) have been rocky at times, due to historical, ethnic, and territorial factors, as well as Polish concern for Russian interests.34 Like Poland, Hungary has aggressively pursued a Western-oriented foreign policy. Beginning with the last communist government under Prime Minister

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Miklos Nemeth, Hungary has placed emphasis on political independence and acceptance into the Western community.35 This independence and initiative have been evident in the country’s regional relations as well. The Jozsef Antall government actively supported independence for the Baltic states in Fall 1991, ahead of its East European counterparts.36 And Hungary was a leader in bringing about the disbandment of the Warsaw Pact. With regards to the various post–Cold War regional initiatives (CEFTA, and so on), the country actively supports them but, like Poland, sees membership in the major Western institutions as the most important factor for stability on the continent. In terms of Hungary’s bilateral regional relations, its affairs with countries like Romania and Slovakia have been quite strained at times, due to what Joseph Kun calls the Antall government’s ‘‘constant preoccupation’’ with the treatment of ethnic Hungarian minority populations in these countries, and the perception in some quarters that Hungary wishes to revise its border with Romania.37 Finally, Hungarian leaders were preoccupied with the war in the former Yugoslavia for various reasons, namely, the widespread persecution of groups, which was evident in the practice of ethnic cleansing (the forcible moving of people based on ethnicity). Moreover, Hungarian leaders feared the prospect of heightened regional instability over the violent disintegration of the former Yugoslavia, which could draw others, including their own country, into the war.38 Like its East–Central European counterparts, the former Czechoslovakia has also aggressively pursued a pro-Western foreign policy in the post–Cold War period. President Vaclav Havel, who has been very active on the international stage, visited NATO headquarters in Brussels in 1991. The country concluded a friendship and cooperation pact with Germany in 1991, and the two successor states (the Czech Republic and Slovakia) have obtained associate membership status in the WEU. The enmity between Czech and Slovak leaders, which led to the country’s breakup in 1992–1993, has receded somewhat over time. However, ethnic tension, especially over Slovakia’s Hungarian minority population,39 continues to dominate the successor states’ regional relations. Albania aspires to be anchored in the Western political/security and economic community but (as Europe’s most isolated country during the Cold War period and one of the last to make a political break from the communist past) has gotten off to a slower start than its East European counterparts. The country only re-established ties with Israel and the Vatican in 1991, among the last Eastern European countries to do so. Also, as Louis Zanga points out, the Sali Berisha regime strived to maintain a balance between Europe and the Islamic world in its foreign relations as an Islamic country. Albania also joined the Organization of the Islamic Conference (OIC) in 1992.40 To a greater extent than its neighbors, ethnic conflict over Albanian minorities impacts the country’s regional relations, especially with Greece, Serbia, and the Former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia (FYROM).

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Finally, Albania’s deep social and economic problems present a formidable challenge to economic and political reform efforts. In early 1997, riots broke out as thousands of Albanians protested over losing millions of dollars in pyramid schemes. Protesters blamed the Berisha regime for not exerting prior control over the schemes and demanded that the government repay their losses. With unrest spreading throughout the country, the government declared a national state of emergency in early March, and the United Nations approved a relief force nearly one month later. However, public opposition to the Berisha regime had become so widespread by summer that a political collapse threatened. Berisha resigned in July after his Democratic Party lost convincingly in parliamentary elections to the Socialists, and the country struggles to revive the economy under President Rexhep Mejdani. Like its counterparts in Eastern Europe, Bulgaria aspires to be integrated into the Western community. Since 1991, the country has completed friendship treaties with several NATO states (including France, Germany, and Italy) and is an associate member of the WEU. At the same time, Bulgaria as a Balkan state places great emphasis on peaceful relations with other countries in the Balkans and has worked to improve bilateral ties with countries like Albania and Greece. In addition, Bulgaria emphasizes inter-Balkan economic cooperation and has supported initiatives like the BECR.41 With regards to the former USSR/Russia, Bulgaria was one of the Soviet Union’s closest allies and continues to enjoy close relations—closer than its East European counterparts—with the Yeltsin government.42 In fact, Bulgaria was the first country to recognize post-communist Russia. Finally, as is the case with Albania and Romania, Bulgaria has made less progress with the post-communist transition than its East–Central European counterparts (which is one reason for the West’s relatively small commitment to the area), and continues to struggle along with many deep social and economic problems. Romania’s attempts in the post-communist period to further its ties with the West has met with mixed success. In the year following the toppling of the Ceausescu regime, the Ion Iliescu regime received strong criticism in the international community and some Western aid was held up due to the government’s treatment of opposition forces in the country. Also, many eyebrows were raised when the regime completed a friendship treaty in 1991 with the former USSR which included a mutual security guarantee.43 However, Romania’s standing with Western countries has begun to improve in recent years, which is evident in the friendship and cooperation agreement that was completed with Germany (1992), the completion of an Association Agreement with the E.U. (1992), and the reinstatement of most-favored-nation trading status (MFN) by the U.S. Congress (1993). While Romania desires to become a full member of the major Western institutions and has been very cooperative in these forums to date, many have questioned the (Iliescu) government’s commitment to political and economic re-

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form, as well as its treatment of national minority groups in the country (Hungarians and gypsies). Western economic assistance continues to pour into the Balkan region in the 1990s, with E.U. as the largest donor, and the World Bank taking on a larger role as the provider of development aid. However, it is the Association Agreements, mentioned above, that have received much attention during this period. In the area of East European trade relations in the 1990s (1991–1996), there was some continuity from the earlier period under examination (1986– 1990), but some points of departure as well. As the Appendix reveals, Eastern Europe’s trade with industrialized countries and the E.U. increased steadily during this time, including the newly independent Czech Republic and Slovakia, although several states saw fluctuations in 1993. There was considerable fluctuation for Poland, specifically a decline in 1992 followed by a recovery in 1993, which would suggest a rebounding Polish economy after the reforms implemented at the beginning of the decade. With regards to trade with developing countries, there was a steady increase in the level of exports and imports for most East European states. Among the countries, Czechoslovakia, Poland, and Hungary showed fluctuation, especially in 1993, but most are finding useful export opportunities during the post–Cold War period in the developing world. With regards to trade among the former Soviet bloc states, there was considerable fluctuation in both imports and exports for most countries. This would have been expected, given the collapse of the USSR and COMECON (the communist economic system) in 1991–1992. However, beginning in 1994, the level of trade among the former Soviet bloc states rebounded, with most East European countries showing steady increases, while Romania and Slovakia reported more fluctuation. From 1986 to 1996, a westward shift in East European trade was clearly discernible, with former Soviet bloc states engaging in less trade with each other than in the past. By the early 1990s, the communist regimes were gone, and the communist economic alliance had dissolved following the collapse of the USSR.44 The loss of the USSR and East Germany as major trading partners sent the East European states scrambling for new ties. Moreover, the short-term consequences of the market transition set in, as countries like Poland and Hungary attempted to find ways to deal with worsening problems such as unemployment and inflation. Finally, arguably the most significant development in Eastern Europe’s post–Cold War international relations occurred in 1997. At the Madrid Summit in July 1997, NATO extended formal invitation to Poland, Hungary, and the Czech Republic to apply for admission to the organization. The foreign ministers of these three countries signed documents to amend the 1949 Treaty of Washington a few months later at the NATO foreign ministers’ meeting in Brussels, thus

2653/3468 1586/2159

1986

Hungary

Industrialized Countries EEC/EU

2712/2981 1904/2129 3244/3144 285/15 1468/1727 275/270

1986

Industrialized Countries EEC/EU Developing Countries Oil Exporting Countries (Former) Soviet Bloc Other Communist Countries

Czechoslovakia

611/2338 504/1609 1412/1401 198/136 645/721 72/28

1986

3427/4255 2079/2632

1987

1988

3694/3867 2239/2356

1988

1989

1989

3904/4124 2390/2534

1989

5050/4923 3400/3173

1990

1990

1047/1761 849/1316 1050/923 155/122 216/210 86/26

1991

6723/6936 4654/4481

1991

5243/6626 3733/4691 6297/7006 279/131 4684/5875 242/475

914/2083 713/1608 1160/1259 169/311 472/458 92/39

1990

5082/5448 3625/4043 8892/8533 379/151 6958/7506 396/426

730/2655 543/1803 1400/1509 168/26 1366/1696 91/64

4909/5655 3538/4241 9607/8742 382/84 7602/7863 479/407

1988

669/2627 520/1825 1611/2046 215/176 1608/2051 77/47

3077/3610 2171/2662 3449/3342 248/12 1651/1844 288/290

1987

620/2519 538/1854 1488/1525 179/155 701/784 78/73

1987

East European Exports/Imports (Millions US $), 1986–93

Industrialized countries EEC/EU Developing Countries Oil Exporting Countries (Former) Soviet Bloc Other Communist Countries

Bulgaria

Appendix

7382/7307 5297/4693

1992

5643/4862 4436/3616 5176/5342 288/297 3636/4344 104/109

1991

1290/1919 1059/1413 1224/2384 176/252 150/537 53/45

1992

5675/8030 3942/4964

1993

7799/7873 6093/5855 4497/4788 346/26 2598/4200 110/59

1992

1316/2180 1039/1744 1104/3603 191/301 154/279 125/40

1993

242 Hall

3190/1528 2185/962 3088/3400 706/733 3669/3322 504/276

1986

3706/3341 2665/2349 2869/2592 389/86 5509/5998 521/472

1986

2050/1853 325/135 4455/4275 204/184

3472/1218 2470/758 3135/3672 632/831 4035/3655 405/393

1987

4404/3944 3135/2701 2741/2585 349/95 6060/6598 442/424

1987

2229/2008 338/175 4876/4564 125/303

4430/1094 3060/582 7455/6638 1053/1574 5058/4943 562/411

1988

6057/5518 4099/3421 6828/6405 373/116 5675/5574 388/342

1988

5681/4845 343/104 4514/4149 204/170

4089/1030 2838/562 6322/7141 711/2087 4527/5069 381/351

1989

6473/5426 4339/3495 6035/4318 406/192 4189/2895 322/349

1989

4901/3976 286/44 4016/3503 135/106

2593/2849 1894/2022 3291/6381 247/2029 2160/3439 161/249

1990

3815/5202 6371/3469 4629/2893 333/258 3022/2069 198/152

1990

4086/3487 265/330 2750/2411 100/60

Source: Direction of Trade Statistics Yearbook (Washington, DC: International Monetary Fund, 1994).

Industrialized Countries EEC/EU Developing Countries Oil Exporting Countries (Former) Soviet Bloc Other Communist Countries

Romania

Industrialized Countries EEC/EU Developing Countries Oil Exporting Countries (Former) Soviet Bloc Other Communist Countries

Poland

Developing Countries Oil Exporting Countries (Former) Soviet Bloc Other Communist Countries

1848/2000 1433/1553 2114/2772 120/773 1192/1217 151/125

1991

10918/10671 8290/7750 3828/4627 191/625 2509/2962 40/56

1991

3065/3334 327/301 1789/2255 18/45

1883/2800 1454/2303 2493/2698 197/686 854/1202 216/70

1992

9016/9633 7633/7006 4103/4120 272/438 2008/2199 56/151

1992

3329/3710 191/28 2088/2600 23/49

2141/3441 1828/2990 3174/3186 208/797 952/1354 355/122

1993

9877/14296 8181/11218 5477/5521 293/529 2965/2715 212/264

1993

2920/4305 130/29 540/3352 63/80

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paving the way for eventual membership. While several countries did not make NATO’s ‘‘first cut,’’ members of the alliance are already discussing when more countries will be invited to apply and who they will be (Perhaps Romania, Slovenia, or the Baltic states). It is obvious, through the Partnership mechanism and through this first round of invitations, that a process for NATO expansion now exists.

CONCLUSION The foreign policies of the countries of Eastern Europe underwent profound changes since the late 1980s, as a result of the sea change in Soviet policy toward the bloc during the Gorbache¨v period and changes in East-West relations which led to the end of the Cold War. Once the appropriate signals had been sent from the Soviet leadership and processed in the various East European capitals, the bloc countries embarked upon new international relations which emphasized, in general terms, independence from the USSR and (re)integration into the Western political/security and economic community. Ties with developing countries, once the hallmark of communist international political relations, were greatly reduced in all cases from the late 1980s into the 1990s.45 The post-communist regimes have not failed to enter into various regional arrangements to satisfy short-term objectives, but it is clear that unconditional acceptance into the Western fold remains the primary foreign policy goal of these countries. Some countries are closer to achieving that goal, as their relatively better ‘‘starting position,’’ better record with the post-communist political and economic transition, and relatively stable social environments have catapulted them into a more favorable position in the eyes of Western countries. As of this writing, NATO and the E.U. had not publicly indicated timetables and specific criteria for full membership in the respective institutions, although it would appear that the former would admit several states around the end of the century. Will those not admitted right away make the necessary progress for eventual membership? Eastern Europe’s new international relations have evolved out of breakpoints (listed in Table 1) which brought about change in these countries’ foreign policies since the late 1980s, either contributing to the collapse of the communist regimes and/or the communist alliance system in the region, or giving impetus to East European efforts to (re)enter the Western community, as well as efforts to reformulate ties with the former Soviet republics along different lines. More generally, five factors have impacted these countries’ foreign policies since that time: (1) the historical pattern of relations with Russia and the West; (2) geographic position; (3) ethnic composition (internally and that of neighbors); (4) level of socio-economic development; and (5) the extent of the ‘‘break’’ from the communist past. For example, the importance of the first two factors is seen

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in Poland’s relations with the former Soviet republics, while the fifth factor is reflected in Bulgaria’s generally pro-Russian stance in the contemporary period. Several factors—one, two, four, and five—explain the Czech Republic’s and Hungary’s general Western orientation, as well as Western interest in close cooperation with these two countries. But the third and fourth factors have proven to be very significant over time in Czech-Slovak relations, while the third and fifth factors continue to relegate Slovakia to a junior position in its relations with the West. Finally, factors two through five are reflected in the respective regional relations of Albania and Romania, as well as their attempts to forge closer ties with the Western world. It would appear that the post-communist governments in Eastern Europe will continue to pursue their twin foreign policy goals of full membership in NATO and the E.U. It would also appear that these countries will continue to explore beneficial relationships with the former Soviet republics, striving to maintain the independence in foreign affairs which they have obtained to date. Much will depend on the process of NATO/E.U. expansion, as well as Russia’s outlook and direction in both domestic and foreign policy. Much will depend also on social and political factors within the East European states, as well as their success with the post-communist transition. Finally, intra–East European relations, very important for states like Romania and Hungary, will also determine the course of countries’ foreign policies, as well as the level of integration into Western institutions. The East European regimes have set out on an ambitious course in their new international relations, but even after almost a decade on this path, it is still difficult to discern how far they have to go.

NOTES 1. The former East Germany and Yugoslav republics, although in many ways catalysts for change in the region, have been excluded from detailed analysis in the present research because of circumstances which have greatly impacted their political status (as nation-states) since 1990/1991. 2. McNeal, R. (ed.) 1967. International Relations among Socialist States. Englewood Cliffs: Prentice-Hall, Inc. 3. The significance of the region for Soviet foreign pollicy objectives following WWII has been aptly treated in many sources. Two very useful works in this area are Brzezinski, Z.K. 1967. The Soviet Bloc: Unity and Conflict (Revised and Enlarged Edition). Cambridge: Harvard University Press; and, Campbell, J.C. 1984. Soviet Policy in Eastern Europe: An Overview. In Terry, S.M. (ed.). Soviet Policy in Eastern Europe. New Haven: Yale University Press, pp. 23–24. 4. According to Leonid Brezhnev: ‘‘And when external and internal forces hostile to socialism try to turn the development of a given socialist country in the direction of restoration of the capitalist system . . . this is no longer merely a problem for

246

5.

6.

7. 8. 9.

10. 11.

12.

13.

14. 15.

16. 17.

Hall that country’s people, but a common problem, the concern of all socialist countries.’’ See, Speech to the Fifth Congress of the Polish United Workers’ Party (November 12, 1968). 1968 Current Digest of the Soviet Press, 20(46):4. See Gati, C. 1987. Gorbachev and Eastern Europe. Foreign Affairs, 65(5):972; and, Dawisha, K. 1990. Eastern Europe, Gorbachev, and Reform: The Great Challenge (2nd ed.). New York: Cambridge University Press, p. 65. See Gati, C. 1990. The Bloc that Failed: Soviet-East European Relations in Transition. Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, pp. 166–67. Also, see Dawisha, pp. 206–207, 211–212. See Baylis, T.A. 1994. The West and Eastern Europe: Economic Statecraft and Political Change. Westport: Praeger Publishers, pp. 97–98. Gati (1990), pp. 101–102. For an insightful examination of the tensions between the soviet and Romanian leaderships during the late 1980s, see Kirk, R. and Raceanu, R.M. 1994. Romania versus the United States: Diplomacy of the Absurd, 1985–1989. New York: St. Martin’s Press. See Table 1 for a listing of significant events and trends during this period. See Shearman, P. (ed.) 1990. Russian Foreign Policy since 1990. Boulder: Westview Press, Inc., pp. 72–73. Also, see Reisch, A.A. 1990. New foreign policy emphasis on opening up and national interests. Report on Eastern Europe, 1(2):15, who reports that during a subsequent meeting in Moscow with Gorbachev (March 1989), both Grosz and former Hungarian Prime Minister Miklos Nemeth were assured that the USSR would no longer use force to keep the bloc intact. Indeed, Joseph Kun opines that Gorbachev’s new initiatives toward the West made it easier for Hungary to pursue closer ties with Western Europe without fear of Soviet retaliation. See Kun, J.C. 1993. Hungarian Foreign Policy: The Experience of a New Democracy Westport: Praeger Publishers, pp. 30–31. Charles Gati, on the other hand, while acknowledging that the Brezhnev Doctrine was in its demise during this time, believed that the bloc states were still uncertain about how far they could proceed with changes in their domestic and foreign policies. See Gati (1990), pp. 73– 79. See Rachwald, A.R. 1990. In Search of Poland: The Superpowers’ Response to Solidarity, 1980–1989. Stanford: Hoover Institution Press, which examines the complexities of Polish policy toward the U.S. and USSR during the 1980s. Also, see de Weydenthal, J.B. 1994. Poland’s Eastern policy. RFE/RL Research Report, 3(7): 10, which discusses Poland’s ‘‘two-track approach’’ in its relations with the former Soviet bloc states: to remove the former bonds but develop ties with succeeding states and institutions. Engelbrekt, K. 1990. Bulgaria’s foreign relations. Report on Eastern Europe, 1(29): 9–10. See Zanga, L. 1990. Albania Makes Overture to Superpowers. Report on Eastern Europe, 1(19): May 11, and Ramiz Alia renews Albania’s international contacts. Report on Eastern Europe, 1(43):1–3. Kirk and Raceanu, pp. 140–141, 158, and 208. There were also brief diplomatic repercussions for Bulgaria, another Balkan state, earlier (in 1989) due to the government’s treatment of the ethnic Turk minority in that country.

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18. The data for Albania were not available. 19. For a discussion of these and other factors, see Linden, R.H. 1993. Domestic Change and International Relations in the New Eastern Europe. In Lampe, J. and Nelson, D.N. (eds.) 1993 East European Security Reconsidered. Washington, DC: The Woodrow Wilson Center Press, pp. 15–27. 20. Authors such as J.F. Brown drive home this point well with their emphasis on factors such as crime, refugees and the environment. See Brown, J.F. 1994. Hopes and Shadows: Eastern Europe after Communism. Durham: Duke University Press, pp. 276–277. 21. For a useful discussion of the attractiveness of (Western) Europe for EE, see the article by De Santis, H. 1994. Romancing NATO: Partnership for peace and East European stability. The Journal of Strategic Studies, 17(4):61–81. For an examination of the role of the Council of Europe in the region, see Weitz, R. 1990. The expanding role of the Council of Europe. Report on Eastern Europe, 1(34):49– 51. 22. In many ways, the 1990 Soviet-German friendship treaty laid the foundation for the latter’s reunification and more cooperative East-West relations in general. See Smyser, W.R. 1991. U.S.S.R.-Germany: A link restored. Foreign Policy, 84:125– 126. 23. See Pond, E. 1992. Germany in the new Europe. Foreign Affairs, 71(2):125–26. 24. Kupchan, C.A. 1994. Strategic visions. World Policy Journal, 11(3):113. 25. See the views on the part of various observers in De Santis, p. 63, and Prizel, I., and Michta, A.A. (eds.). 1995. Polish Foreign Policy Reconsidered: Challenges of Independence. New York: St. Martin’s Press, pp. 82–84, 89. 26. For examinations of East-West trade relations, see Graziani, G. 1993. Specialization for Eastern Europe and access to EC markets. In van Brabant, J.M. (ed.), The New Eastern Europe and the World Economy. Boulder: Westview Press, Inc.; and, Galinos, A. 1994. Central Europe and the EU: Prospects for closer integration. RFE/ RL Research Report, 3,(29):21–22. 27. For insightful discussions of East European military doctrines in the post-Cold War period, see Remington, R.A. 1991. Eastern Europe after the revolutions. Current History, 90(559):381; and, Bugajski, J. 1995 Nations in Turmoil: Conflict and Cooperation in Eastern Europe (2nd ed.). Boulder: Westview Press, pp. 203– 205. 28. See Bakos, G. 1993. After COMECON: A Free Trade Area in Central Europe? Europe-Asia Studies, 45(6):1033–1034. 29. For a discussion of these and other initiatives, see Matejka, H. 1993. Post-CMEA trade and payment arrangements in the East. In van Brabant (ed.), pp. 68–69, and Brown, pp. 298–300. 30. See Bakos, pp. 1030–1031. For the text of the Visegrad Summit, see de Weydenthal, J.B. 1991. The Visegrad Summit. Report on Eastern Europe, 2(9):31–32. 31. See Bugajski, pp. 193–194, 207–208. 32. See Rachwald, A. 1995. Looking West. In Prizel and Michta (eds.). 33. See Vinton, L. 1995. Domestic politics and foreign policy, 1989–93. In Prizel and Michta (eds.). 34. See Prizel, I. 1995. Warsaw’s Ostpolitik: A new encounter with positivism. In Prizel and Michta (eds.), pp. 110–111, 114–115. Also, see the article by Burant, S.R. 1993.

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35. 36. 37. 38.

39. 40.

41. 42.

43. 44.

45.

Hall International relations in a regional context: Poland and its Eastern neighbours— Lithuania, Belarus, Ukraine. Europe-Asia Studies, 45(3):395–418. Kun, pp. 46–47. Ibid., pp. 104–105. Ibid., pp. 136–138. Also, see Reisch, A.A. 1993. Hungary’s foreign policy toward the East. RFE/RL Research Report, 2(15):42–46. Hungarians have been concerned about the fate of their brethren living in Vojvodina, a province of Serbia, and economic difficulties resulting from sanctions levied against Serbs. Also, Hungary requested and received NATO support against violations of the country’s airspace early in the war. For a discussion of Slovakia’s relations with its neighbors, see Fisher, S. 1993. Slovakia’s foreign policy since independence. RFE/FL Research Report, 2(49):28–34. See Zanga, L. 1993. Albania moves closer to the Islamic world. RFE/RL Research Report, 2(7):28–30. For his part, Anastas Angjeli views this ‘‘balancing act’’ in Albanian foreign policy as uncertainty and inconsistency on the part of the Berisha regime and argues that the leadership needs to pay greater attention to regional issues. See Angjeli, A. 1995. Problems of Albanian democracy. Mediterranean Quarterly, 6(4):42–46. See Lefebvre, S. 1995. Bulgaria’s foreign relations in the Post-Communist era: A general overview and assessment. East European Quarterly, 28(4):454–457. For a brief examination of post-communist Bulgarian-Russian relations, see Haramiev-Drezov, K. 1993. Bulgarian-Russian relations on a new footing. RFE/RL Research Report, 2(15):33–35. For a brief examination of this agreement, see Brown, pp. 205–206. For examinations of the impact of the loss of the Soviet market on the East European economies, see Dabrowski, P. 1991. East European trade (Part I): The loss of the Soviet market. Report on Eastern Europe, 2(40):28–37, and East European trade (Part II): Creative solutions by the former Eastern bloc. 2(41):28–36. See Zhong, Y. 1994. The fallen wall and its aftermath: Impact of regime change upon foreign policy behavior in six east European countries. East European Quarterly, 28(2):241, 246–248.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Angjeli, A. 1995 Problems of Albanian democracy. Mediterranean Quarterly, 6(4):35– 47. Bakos, G. 1993. After COMECON: A free trade area in Central Europe? Europe-Asia Studies, 45(6):1025–1044. Baylis, T. A. 1994. The West and Eastern Europe: Economic Statecraft and Political Change. Westport: Praeger Publishers. Binder, D. 1989. The end of the bloc. Mediterranean Quarterly, Fall:67–77. Brown, J.F. 1994. Hopes and Shadows: Eastern Europe after Communism. Durham: Duke University Press.

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Brzezinski, Z.K. 1967. The Soviet Bloc: Unity and Conflict (Revised and Enlarged Edition). Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Bugajski, J. 1995. Nations in Turmoil: Conflict and Cooperation in Eastern Europe (2nd ed.). Boulder: Westview Press, Inc. Burant, S.R. 1993. International relations in a regional context: Poland and its neighbours—Lithuania, Belarus, Ukraine. Europe-Asia Studies, 45(3):395–418. Dabrowski, P. 1991. East European trade (Part II): Creative solutions by the former Eastern block. Report on Eastern Europe, 2(41):28–36. Dabrowski, P. 1991. East European trade (Part I): The loss of the Soviet market. Report on Eastern Europe, 2(40):28–37. Dawisha, K. 1990. Eastern Europe, Gorbachev, and Reform: The Great Challenge (2nd ed.). New York: Cambridge University Press. De Santis, H. 1994. Romancing NATO: Partnership for peace and East European stability. The Journal of Strategic Studies, 17(4):61–81. De Weydenthal, J.B. 1994. Poland’s Eastern policy. RFE/RL Research Report, 3(7):10– 13. De Weydenthal, J.B. 1991. The Visegrad Summit. Report on Eastern Europe, 2(9):28– 32. Engelbrekt, K. 1990. Bulgaria’s foreign relations. Report on Eastern Europe, 1(29):8–10. Fisher, S. 1993. Slovakia’s foreign policy since independence. REF/RL Research Report, 2(49):28–34. Galinos, A. 1994. Central Europe and the EU: Prospects for closer integration. RFE/RL Research Report, 3(29):19–25. Gati, C. 1990. The Bloc that Failed: Soviet-East European Relations in Transition. Indianapolis: Indiana University Press. Gati, C. 1987. Gorbachev and Eastern Europe. Foreign Affairs, 65(5):958–975. Gati, C. (ed.) 1976. The International Politics of Eastern Europe. New York: Praeger Publishers. Haramiev-Drezov, K. 1993. Bulgarian-Russian relations on a new footing. RFE/RL Research Report, 2(15):33–38. Kirk, R., and Raceanu, M. 1994. Romania versus the United States: Diplomacy of the Absurd, 1985–1989. New York: St. Martin’s Press. Kun, J.C. 1993. Hungarian Foreign Policy: The Experience of a New Democracy. Westport: Praeger Publishers. Kupchan, C.A. 1994. Strategic visions. World Policy Journal, 11(3):112–122. Lampe, J.R. and Nelson D.N. (eds.) 1993. East European Security Reconsidered. Washington, DC: The Woodrow Wilson Center Press. Lefebvre, S. 1995. Bulgaria’s foreign relations in the Post-Communist era: A general overview and assessment. East European Quarterly, 28(4):453–470. Linden, R. 1990. The new Eastern Europe and East-West relations. Report on Eastern Europe, 1(46):26–31. McNeal, R. (ed.) 1967. International Relations among Socialist States. Englewood Cliffs: Prentice-Hall, Inc. Pond, E. 1992. Germany in the New Europe. Foreign Affairs, 71(2):114–130. Prizel, I., and Michta, A.A. (eds.) 1995. Polish Foreign Policy Reconsidered: Challenges of Independence. New York: St. Martin’s Press.

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Rachwald, A.R. 1990. In Search of Poland: The Superpowers’ Response to Solidarity, 1980–1989. Stanford: Hoover Institution Press. Reisch, A.A. 1990. Hungary to leave military arm of Warsaw pact. Report on Eastern Europe, 1(26):20–25. Reisch, A.A. 1993. Hungary’s foreign policy toward the East. RFE/RL Research Report, 2(15):39–48. Reisch, A.A. 1990. New foreign policy emphasis on opening up and national interests. Report on Eastern Europe, 1(2):14–17. Remington, R.A. 1991. Eastern Europe after the revolutions. Current History, 90(559): 379–383. Shearman, P. (ed.) 1995. Russian Foreign Policy since 1990. Boulder: Westview Press. Speech to the Fifth Congress of the Polish United Workers’ Party (November 12, 1968). 1968. Current Digest of the Soviet Press, 20(46):1–3. Smyser, W.R. 1991. U.S.S.R.-Germany: A link restored. Foreign Policy, (84):125–141. Terry, S.M. (ed.) 1984. Soviet Policy in Eastern Europe. New Haven: Yale University Press. Van Brabant, J.M. (ed.) 1993. The New Eastern Europe and the World Economy. Boulder: Westview Press, Inc. Weitz, R. 1990. The expanding role of the Council of Europe. Report on Eastern Europe, 1(34):49–57. Zanga, L. 1990. Albania makes overture to superpowers. Report on Eastern Europe, 1(19): 1–3. Zanga, L. 1993. Albania moves closer to the Islamic world. RFE/RL Research Report, 2(7):28–31. Zanga, L. 1990. Ramiz Alia renews Albania’s international contacts. Report on Eastern Europe, 1(43):1–3. Zhong, Y. 1994. The fallen wall and its aftermath: Impact of regime change upon foreign policy behavior in six East European countries. East European Quarterly, 28(2): 235–257.

13 Civil-Military Relations from Westphalia to the European Union Glen Segell Institute of Security Policy, London, United Kingdom

I. INTRODUCTION The purpose of this chapter is to provide an analytical framework and a case study for those considering civil-military relations as it has progressed over 350 years from the treaty of Westphalia in 1648 to its 350th anniversary in 1998 on the European continent and for those nations/nation-states which adhere to European ideas. The first part of this chapter presents flowcharts showing the progression of civil-military relations from 1648 to 1998—from Westphalia to the European Union. The various diagrams and flowcharts in this chapter provide an outline and framework for such research. The flowcharts are presented as if they are selfexplanatory, they can be interpreted in any way a researcher wishes to do so. Hence a researcher may only wish to use part of one flowchart or only a selection of flowcharts or the entire collection of flowcharts. They are therefore not theories or paradigms. A student or scholar can use these flowcharts as a guideline of issues to be dealt with in empirical research either as a case study or to further or refute a theory. This chapter was initially presented at a session of the International Studies Association in Minneapolis, on March 23, 1998. The second part of this chapter provides a case study using this framework for analysis to show how it has been utilized in empirical research. This case study is an abridged version of a report that was presented before the Select Committee on Defence of the British House of Commons in 1998 during their debate on ratification of the NATO enlargement to include Poland, Hungary, and the Czech State. The case study was also presented as a conference paper at 251

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the Department of Politics/Centre for Global Governance/Graduate School of European Studies and International Studies, The University of Reading, on January 17, 1998. The overriding intention of the framework of analysis of civil-military relations portrayed in the flowcharts is to show the relationship between the individual to the state in the capacity of a soldier within the European state-system as it moves from the Westphalian state model towards the European Union model. This is to show the changing nature of civil-military relations in Europe over a 350-year period. This is both in organizational structures as well as the citizensoldier concept which has been debated since the days of Aristotle and Plato. This is of significance not only for those considering civil-military relations, but also for those considering public administration and international relations. Civil-military relations in the Westphalian state system, where the state is supreme, centers on a realist perspective where international relations is a main focus. The European Union, however, is a post-modern state where public administration between its members is of more significance than international relations. Civil-military relations in the European Union in 1648 was within a sovereign nation-state. In 1998 civil-military relations in the European Union is transnational where each state is no longer a self-contained entity which does not involve itself in the internal affairs of other member states. If the European Union becomes either a confederation or even a federation, this may change once again. Civil-military relations in such a European Union may then be like a Westphalian state. If this is the case, then civil-military relations will have come full circle. In the meantime, civil-military relations in the European Union are transnational events. To begin, we must therefore identify what is the commonality between civil-military relations in 1648 and 1998. An eagle-eye view would be that it is everything to do with the military and the non-military. This is well portrayed in Figure 1.

II. THE WESTPHALIAN STATE MODEL In 1648 civil-military relations pertained to an international system described in retrospect as being Westphalian. By Westphalian, I mean a state system where states recognize each other as sovereign states and adhere to the Treaty of Westphalia of 1648 by not interfering in the internal affairs of each other (i.e., the supremacy of the sovereign state, the main actor in the international arena). Each state stands by itself in the international arena and aims for self-sufficiency while competing aggressively with all other states, in economics, politics, and diplomacy, even war. The system is anarchic and in chaos as states vie for authority and wage wars. The military of each state may wage war in conjunction with

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Figure 1 The nation-state from Westphalia to the EU. This flowchart provides a point from which to start an analysis of civil-military relations of the Westphalian state system. It provides an eagle eye view of the commonality of civil-military relations between 1648 and 1998 within the nation-state.

allies but there are separate chains of command where the military only obey their own civil government and the alliance agreements are for specific political objectives. In such a state, civil-military relations are solely within the states’ boundaries. The relations are isolationist as the state’s borders are considered a clear demarcation of authority and legitimacy. Only the politicians of each country communicate, maybe with the presence and assistance of the generals. Those below the rank of general obey only their own national military and political leaders. Hence civil-military relations is within the sovereign state and does not occur across boundaries. In such a system

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it is natural for there to be a circular trend of war and peace where war could occur as a result of coincidental events, such as mistakes or misplaced correspondence between monarchs or as a result of a carefully played game of diplomacy. This Westphalian system with civil-military relations of constant war existed until the onset of weapons of mass destruction, such as the nuclear bomb. Hence one could say that from 1648 to 1948, or for 300 years, there was a coherent notion of civil-military relations. That is to say, there was a clear role of the military in relation to the state even if the relationship between the individual to the military and the individual to the state varied. This variance was due to each state’s philosophy and ideology, as should be considered when utilizing Figure 1. Some states had conscription while others relied on volunteer, mercenary, or professional military. Regardless of this varied relationship between the individual and state and military, there was an acceptance that war was a current and frequent phenomena where the individual was always involved and affected. It was always accepted that it was the state which waged war. Such a system has significance for civil-military relations because it provides a threatened environment and what can be considered national security interests of the state. These two factors generate either a response or an initiative from either or both civil and military leaders towards dipolmacy and/or war. A great power will tend to initiate, a medium or regional power will form alliances so it may act as if it were a great power while a non-power or neutral state must follow the trend or sit on the sidelines. The induction of elites into civil government takes place from the mass society. This induction and the manner in which the civil elites rule is dependent upon the philosophy of society, which in this case is that construed by the Westphalian state model. The instruments of that philosophy in implementation becomes varied dependent upon various forms of ideologies. However, in all ideologies there is a military which has the role of defending and promoting that state’s values beyond its borders. This may be a show of force in defense or a projection of force in attack. Attack or defense is dependent upon perceptions and conceptions and varies from specific historical occurrences. Regardless of the methodology of investigation and reporting, civil-military relations remains the same. The domain of utility and activity of the civil and of the military does not differ. Each has its specific role in the formation and implementation of defense, foreign, and economic policy. Defense policy shows the nature and reality of foreign policy. Economic policy includes that of weapons procurement and therefore shows the capability of defense policy to fulfill foreign policy. Defense, economic, and foreign policies are therefore the same when considering historical progression of civil-military relations. This is the case because civil and military alike are constantly evaluating the real or perceived threat against their state by other states. This is the uniqueness of the Westphalian Treaty—it agrees for states not to

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Figure 2 Civil-military relations in a Westphalian state. Civil-military relations within the Westphalian State are solely within its boundaries even if there are alliances. The military are solely answerable to the national political elities (e.g., United Kingdom 1939). The international affairs of each state are sacred to that state.

interfere in the internal affairs of other states but in doing so creates an international system whereby states wish to completely conquer other states. It is such a threatened environment as portrayed in Figure 2 which provides us with a point from which to start an analysis of the inner workings of the civilmilitary relations of the Westphalian state system. The state structure developed from the point where civil and military entities were the same (beginning in

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1648), to the point where civil and military entities became two separate entities and institutions. In 1648 it must be said that the average man and, even less so, the average women had no say in civil politics or the running of the state. The civil or mass society was totally subservient to the rulers of the state, who were also the military leaders. The officer corp was the landed gentry, who were the officials of state. It was only in the late 1700s in the European context that there came a differentiation between civil and military. This also coincided with the advent of mass conscription which further reduced the mass societal say in governmental affairs. This relates to the section of Figure 2 which deals with ‘‘capability to match threat.’’ Apart from weapons procurement and technology (which is of paramount importance) there is also defense manpower management and the structural organization of defense. This is a two-fold structure for civil-military relations. One part deals with the weapons procurement structure, which includes parliament, which has to approve the defense budget and the defense industries which may be privately owned and managed. The other part deals with the relations between the military organization and the civil organization (i.e., Ministry of Defense, Cabinet, and Parliament) which has to agree to wage war. Within these structures there is a decision-making process which has cognitive, organizational, and bureaucratic functions and elements. No one individual in a Westphalian state, which is also democratic, can be an overriding executive. There has to be a consensus for the use of force to wage war. These processes involve military, industry, civil service, and politicians in economics, defense, foreign, and procurement policies according to national security interests and the threatened environment, inherent in the Westphalian state system because it is a conflictual system. These civil-military relations are well organized bureaucratically. As such there is a constant competition for resources. Historically, the Central Banks of Europe were created to retain a war chest of taxes for the purpose of waging war. The structure of civil-military relations is therefore of extreme significance in the Westphalian state model. The military are hierachially organized. Above the head of the military is a civil leader who is elected by the populace. This whole process is internal to the state. No other state is capable of influencing the military of another state. As such, defense management of manpower is unique in its isolation within the state. The armed forces are self-contained management units. This is not always the case with weapons procurement, for no one state is self-sufficient in all resources and technologies. However, this is an issue of civil and not military relations. It is up to the civil service ministries to procure weapons on behalf of the military based upon budget allocation by the elected parliament. There is naturally a process whereby the military can be involved, because they determine their equipment requirements dependent upon the foreign policy objectives set by the ruling government. The ability and capability to meet these foreign policy objectives is determined by force structures and weapons.

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In certain cases there is natural apprehension that the ‘‘tail might wag the dog’’—that force structures and capabilities will determine the scope and reality of foreign policy objectives. In such eventuality, for civil-military relations, the military therefore dictate the civil and not the opposite. This has never actually happened in a Westphalian state because when the military has not been capable, either alliances have been formed or else the state is conquered. In both cases, the military has not been able to dominate the civil government. From this input of a threatened environment comes a number of results and consequences. These include the military, industry, and government. For government, the results are: dependence, independence, interdependence, integration, or isolation. In the context of civil-military relations within the Westphalian state, this relates to how domestic policy is linked to foreign policy because the role of the military is to defend state borders and values and to attack beyond them if required. A strong military will ensure isolation and independence. A weaker military will need interdependence or integration. This, in terms of civilmilitary relations, translates to various results for the military. These are: conflict, stability, commitments, force roles, and equipment procurement. To attain these results, a process of civil-military relations negotiations ensue. These negotiations deal with the relations between defense and foreign policy. Caught in the middle of these negotiations are the defense industries. The results and consequences for these industries are: rationalization, nationalization, privatisation, collaboration, and the type and nature of contractual relations.

III. THE EUROPEAN UNION MODEL The next flowchart, Figure 3, depicts the more succinct nature of civil-military relations within the context of international relations towards a military alliance. This is relevant because the European Union seems to be moving toward being either a federation or a confederation. Hence each state is giving up its absolute sovereignty and permitting other states to have a certain say in its internal affairs. There are also a number of joint units even at the Corps level in the European Union. Hence the military is no longer totally subservient to its own civil government but must be subservient to a broader multinational civil entity. Figure 3, therefore, is a flowchart of international relations that includes alliance considerations but is not yet at the stage of the European Union (i.e., it is still Westphalian and not yet post-modern). Figure 3 provides four types of international actors. These are the state, alliances, transnational entities, and international organizations. This reflects a more liberal than realist approach to the international system. The state is not isolationist as it is in Figure 2, which is a pure Westphalian state model. As such, there are also stimulants, ‘‘prisms,’’ trends, and coincidental events to interstate

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Figure 3 Civil-military relations toward an international alliance. A military alliance such as NATO is a step toward taking civil-military relations outside of the sole realm of being within the boundaries of the nation-state. Each country’s military is represented in a transnational organization where decisions do not always involve the direct participation of each country’s political elites. Each state maintains its sovereinty with the alliance being one of consensus.

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activities, not mere threats or threat perceptions. The stimulants reflect the nature of society, its philosophy and ideology. Hence civil-military relations in such a state is not a pure organizational interaction. Civil and military merge, for the soldier is also a citizen and the citizen may be a conscript for only a short period of his life. There are also considerations in the ‘‘prism’’ of such factors as the role of media and public opinion. Figure 3 then moves to being very similar to that of Figure 2 because the national interest for the use of force to wage war is dependent upon an initiative or reaction where the threat environment and/or perception is of paramount importance. However the actual use of this force is different because it involves alliance negotiations. This entails a greater involvement of civil government in the actual final implementation of military action. The military thus becomes a tool of foreign policy or alliance politics rather than an active player in a dual policy of national defense and foreign policy. The decision-making process of civil-military relations, therefore, becomes one of policy orientation versus policy in reality. This results in a process of negotiation, bargaining, convincing, and coercion within the alliance prior to that with the enemy. In a true Westphalian state system this process would go on only between adversaries. The tools of policy implementation are therefore not just the use of force but the use of diplomacy, terror, deterrence, war, propaganda, and economic and international public law. This means that civil-military relations reverts to the realm of the civil government while the military acts in an advisory capacity rather than as an implementor of policy. Whereas Figure 2 provided only external results for military, industry, and government, Figure 3 also has to consider the two-way street between domestic and foreign policy. The external result for the state may be integration, dependence, interdependence, isolation, and/or conflict. Alliance structures allow one state to influence another state’ internal affairs without the use of force. The domestic result of alliances can be stability, instability, or even disintegration from a weapon state into warlordism. Figure 3 is therefore an intermediate stage which could be equated with the various alliances of the 19th century or even NATO. Civil-military relations remain within the state boundary but, through the need for alliance consensus, there is an influence of individual states on the internal affairs of other states. Force structures and weapon procurement is determined by collective necessity, though provision is made by each country to defend its vital national interests alone. Almost all members are medium powers which combined would grant the alliance great power status and capability. The addition of a great power in its own right results in a formidable military force but also intervention in interstate conflicts and in some cases subservience by weaker states. Figure 4 depicts civil-military relations in the European Union as a postmodern state. The actors and elites of civil-military relations are no longer contained within a single state. In addition to the European Union there is also NATO and other lesser organizations. There are combined forces such as Eurocorp (a

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Figure 4 Civil-military relations and procurement in the European Union. In the European Union, the actors and elites of civil-military relations are tending toward interacting across state boundaries as if they do not exist, even though the European Union is not a federation or confederation. The civil administration and military of each country therefore influence other country’s civil and military. There is no consideration for the sovereignty of each country’s internal affairs. The Westphalian Treaty is, per se, ignored.

combined military corp of soldiers, based in Munster, from Belgium, France, and Germany). Weapons procurement is undertaken on a transnational, collaborative basis. No individual country has a self-sufficient defense industrial base. Each country’s military is interdependent with the others in the European Union. Each civil government has difficulty in considering waging war without the help of another country both in terms of manpower and equipment capability and for fear of destroying the economic benefits created by the European Union. In Figure 4 the actors and elites are the military, industry, government, and various organizations. These organizations are international and transnational

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organizations of civil-military relations. They exist for both defense manpower management as well as for transnational collaborative weapons procurement. The Westphalian state no longer exists where no one state is permitted to intervene in the internal affairs of another state. Each state in the European Union has granted the right for other states to do so and for the European Union organization to make collective decisions based upon consensus. The military of each state is therefore tending toward becoming subservient to a European identity rather than a national identity. This has not happened fully yet but there has been no objection from any military to being under orders from the civil governments of other countries. This is the case also in regards to a symbolic European identity. No military has objected to wearing a European Union uniform or the European Union flag. One thing has yet to appear and that is a European Union civil ministry of defense. As such, there now exist civil-military relations of a transnational nature tending toward but not yet fully integrated. The nation-state therefore plays a partial role as does the post-modern state in the form of the European Union. Weapons procurement is more accentuated in the transnational aspects of the European Union than is defense manpower management. This is because the European Union is an entity which serves to unify industrial and economic objectives, rather than formulating a unified foreign and defense policy. Weapons procurement specifically in the aviation sector is closely linked to that of civil aviation (e.g., Airbus Industrie). Figure 4 therefore depicts civil-military relations as being a four-sided relationship. Government is local, national, regional, and transnational (i.e., the European Union where there also exists an alliance situation—NATO—depicted in Figure 3). Military and industry in Figure 4 are also national, transnational, and international in their roles and obligations. They are interlinked to civil-military relations through organizations which only exist in this flowchart of the European Union. These organizations make civil-military relations different from that of the Westphalian state system. In doing so, the results and consequences of and for civil-military relations are different than that of the Westphalian system. For defense industries there is the possibility of rationalization on a Europeanwide basis with transnational mergers and acquisitions. There is also the possibility of nationalization where the civil government strives to retain control of what it perceives to be a strategic sector of the economy. The contractual relations and type are therefore a combination of local, collaborative, off-the-shelf, and under license contracts. For government and military this means a situation of mutual dependence (or interdependence). These flowcharts depict the move from Westphalia (1648) to the European Union (1998). Naturally, there are elements of all four flowcharts in existence today because the European Union has yet to attain full sovereign statehood. What remains then, for students and scholars of civil-military relations, is to consider the angles at which to approach such a study. Figure 5 provides all

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Figure 5 Aspects of civil military relations from Westphalia in 1648 to the European Union in 1998.

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possible subject headings with which to commence research. The four previous figures if fitted into Figure 5 would provide an extensive and comprehensive framework for analysis of civil-military relations.

IV. CASE STUDY: NATO ENLARGEMENT IN 1998 Civil-military relations is a long established discipline, within the social sciences and within the Armed Forces, that considers the relationship between society at large and the military establishment within a nation-state [1]. This article will consider such a relationship of civil-military relations in the enlargement of the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) which is intended to initially comprise Poland, Hungary, and the Czech State [2]. The value of undertaking such a study is to consider the role of civil-military relations in different cultures where there is a political goal to establish a joint military alliance. For the alliance to be successful there has to be a coalescence of values and ‘‘politico-military goals.’’ First and foremost it must be understod that NATO membership currently is comprised of democratic countries where the study of civil-military relations is more complex than in dictatiorial, warlord, or tribal states. This is because the soldiers are also citizens, though not all citizens are soldiers. A soldier’s professionalism is sometimes compromesied by his civil rights and vice-versa [3]. Freedom of speech and an elected government dictate that a prime minister of president is not able to conduct unrestricted war, declare war on a whim, or enlarge a military alliance without legislative approval. There are many competing interests for allocations of national resources. For NATO enlargement to take place, a legislative process has to succeed in all existing and prospective member countries. Democratic countries also have complex organizational relationships between civil and military services. A military alliance between democratic countries is therefore an extremely complex arrangement of civil-military relations comprising a myriad of committees to determine economic, military, and political consensus. It becomes even more complex when such a military alliance embraces new members who have just proclaimed democratic intentions. This chapter looks at these two aspects of civil-military relations in NATO enlargement: the organizational complexity and the legislative process. In order to understand these issues of civil-military relations in NATO enlargement you must first understand that NATO enlargement is not a new or unique phenomena; NATO has included in its founding treaties the possibility for additional countries to join NATO by acceding to its treaties. This has happened on two previous occasions with two countries on each occasion. The first occasion was when West Germany and Italy joined in 1955 after the abortive European Defense Community [4]. The purpose then was to keep Russia out,

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Germany down, and America in. The second occasion was when Portugal and Spain joined in 1986. This was a package deal involving their joining the EEC as a bid to stabilize the Western Mediterranean region both economically and politically. The large Portuguese Navy was also viewed as a desirable addition. The 1998 proposal for a further expansion of NATO—to initially include Poland, Hungary, and the Czech State with possibilities of other former Warsaw Pact countries at a later date—is clearly not based on the necessity for their military contribution against a clearly defined enemy [5]. It is only when considering civil-military relations that the reasons for this latest enlargement of NATO can be found. There are economic and political considerations in both existing and prospective member states which call for a military alliance to further a commonality of economic and political goals. The military alliance provides regional stability with a superpower umbrella in order to foster democratic practices and free trade. This need for a military alliance can be equated to the origins of NATO and Marshall Aid for Western Europe, after World War II. It could be said that entry into the European Union (rather than NATO) would be more appropriate for these Eastern European countries in 1998, but there are strong considerations for keeping the United States involved in European affairs. These strong considerations center around both the potential revival of the USSR, as Russia possesses large nuclear forces, and the psychological feelings of security when the world’s only superpower agrees to defend the region. The military alliance enlargement of NATO is therefore a means to achieve an economic and political end. Linking NATO expansion to the expansion of the EU would accomplish several things: (1) It would underscore the connection between Europe’s security and its economy, and offer certification that entrants to NATO could afford to meet its defense obligations. (2) It would permit the Partnership for Peace to demonstrate that it should be the proper association for countries outside NATO. (3) It would allow the United States and Russia to focus on the gravest security problem still before us, the formidable hangover of nuclear weapons and other weapons of mass destruction. The U.S. Senate would be wise to link NATO and EU expansion. If that link is made, it is essential to stipulate that admission to the European Union is not sufficient qualification for entry into NATO, which should weigh any future applicant against the contributions and burdens its membership would entail. As John Maynard Keynes noted at the time, the central failure of Versailles lay in the fatal miscalculation of how to deal with a demoralized former adversary [6]. The criteria for new membership into NATO deals with the applicant country’s adherence to democracy, the rule of law, human rights, and treatment of minorities, as well as the existence of a market economy and their ability to take on the obligations of membership, including the aims of political and monetary union. To meet these criteria of membership, the military in the prospective countries have to be subservient to the civil authority while the legislatures in existing

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member countries have to approve the applications. The military in both existing and applicant states are thus placed on the back benches and behind the scenes in NATO expansion, albeit with a strong voice. As a result, two clear problematic issues of civil-military relations in NATO enlargement become apparent [7]. One problematic issue is posed within and between existing NATO members who pursue a process of decision-making between the military, legislature, and government executives. This decision turns on whether and how expansion should occur and who will fund it. This is concurrent with a similar process in the prospective member countries. This type of civil-military relations is the more mainstream and formal type of civil-military relations described in current literature. The other type of civil-military relations more akin to studies of Western democratic countries [8] will occur once agreement has been reached on how and when NATO will be enlarged and how to fund NATO enlargement. The second problematic issue relates to the organization of civil-military relations in the new structure of NATO which must adapt to include new members. NATO defense ministers have already approved a new command structure for NATO, which will reduce the number of headquarters from 65 to 20 [9]. A new joint German-Danish army corps has also been established in Rendsburg, northern Germany, into which Polish units will be incorporated once Poland joins NATO. The army corps will then be based in the Polish city of Szczecin which shows that NATO is ‘‘advancing towards the Russian border with weapons in its hands’’ [10]. This second issue also brings to the surface questions of how much can the new members be trusted with secrets and how they contribute to NATO’s goals of rationalization, standardization, and interopertability in policies and in collaborative weapons procurement projects [11]. These two problematic issues of civil-military relations posed in NATO enlargement are very similar. NATO is not just a consensus on the use of military force in a specific geographical region. Since its inception, NATO has been a bureaucratic organization comprising many committees and sub-organizations. Consensus is necessary from all its members in scientific, industrial, political, and military matters. Nato has never been a supra-national alliance. In these committees it is often civil servants from foreign ministries and scientific organizations which make decisions based upon consensus which the military of each country will eventually have to implement. This entails military subservience to a civil government which has not been inherent in the prospective new NATO member countries. In addition to this organization where consensus must exist for anything to take place, thee is also the process of budget allocation which is dependent upon the allocation of defense spending of each members’ national legislature. In this process there is a domestic decision-making process which includes industry, military, and government making claims on each country’s resources. Each country makes these decisions independent of each other. Many proposals have been

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thwarted by lack of budget approvals. Understanding this side of civil-military relations in national budget votes is crucial for understanding whether or not NATO enlargement will succeed. NATO enlargement will necessitate additional funding both to provide the new member states with the capability to interoperate with existing NATO forces and to extend existing NATO command and control infrastructures eastward. There have been suggestions that NATO enlargement may eventually result in savings, with additional partners for collaborative weapons procurement or additional sales for the larger equipment manufacturers in the United States of America, for example. Therefore, there exists potential for non-governmental interest groups in each NATO country to promote NATO enlargement. The role of such interest groups in civil-military relations will become apparent once the legislative process commences for the approval of NATO enlargement. When considering such issues, it becomes clear that there is an enormous amount of civil interactions and decision-making that has to happen prior to any form of military interaction in the NATO enlargement process. When considering NATO enlargement in this light, it becomes of extreme relevance to consider the enlargement process not as an issue of the future role of the military in European affairs but as a means to other political and economic ends. This is even more accentuated when noting that there is no identifiable enemy for NATO’s conventional military forces. This view is supported by historian Walter McDougall (of the University of Pennsylvania): ‘‘A defensive military alliance in the absence of a commonly perceived enemy would be unique in history. One would expect it to disappear.’’ It is the U.S. State Department which provides the basis for which this chapter contends that NATO enlargement is an issue of civil-military relations by noting the, ‘‘We don’t need an enemy to have an alliance, in the past, particularly in the 19th century, alliances not only served to wage and deter war. They’ve also been a device for managing constructive, non-competitive relations among member states’’ [12]. This chapter contends that NATO expansion is primarily an issue of civilmilitary relations closely linked to the economic and political conceptualizations of European unity and the future role of the United States in these affairs [13]. In saying this, it is possible to see why NATO expansion is an expansion of civil-military relations into international studies and the study of diplomacy. The reason for this is that diplomacy in the NATO expansion process is not used to prevent a war, nor to prepare for war, nor to bring about the cessation of any war. The acts of diplomacy in the alliance expansion deal more with political than military solidarity within and amongst member states. This process is an extension of civil-military relations from within to outside the sovereign states. This is why NATO expansion is acceptable to politicians and public opinion more than to the military. The military have difficulty in seeing the utility of NATO expansion from a tactical purpose, though they do understand from a strategic view that political and economic solidarity are a deterrent to war. Ideally,

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NATO expansion will depend on a consensus on how not to deploy troops, how to abolish conscription, and how to reduce defense equipment procurement. This goal is fully within the scope of military professionalism for small, highly trained units. Such units also suit NATO member country’s ‘‘out of area considerations’’ such as global humanitarian or other UN related missions. If NATO enlargement is comprehended and marketed in such a fashion of civil-military relations then it becomes understandable within the scope of disarmament processes such as START-2 NATO is vital to ensuring arms control and maintaining the kind of industrial base that provides a solid defense. NATO provides the institutional home (or cornerstone) for coalitions to meet crises beyond Europe. But a cornerstone is not a sponge. The function of a cornerstone is to protect its own integrity to support a wider security structure, not to dissipate its cohesion by absorbing members and responsibilities beyond prudent limits. A powerful NATO undergirds other institutions, including the Organization for Security and Cooperation in Europe and the Western European Union. It makes possible the Partnership for Peace to promote cooperation among countries that are not NATO members. NATO enlargement as an issue of civil-military relations also means that Russia will have less objection to enlargement because it is part and parcel of European political and economic unification and military disarmament. This is despite Russian insistence that U.S. actions in the Persian Gulf could threaten ratification of START-2 by the Russian Duma [14]. It will also be easier to reconcile the differences of opinion between the public, media, military, governmental legislature, and executive branch of government both within and amongst existing and applicant states over NATO expansion who have voiced doubt on why NATO should even continue to exist. To this end, Czech television and the Czech Ministry of Defense have been working together on a new 20-part television series called ‘‘NATO-What’s it to Us?’’ [15]. Such marketing of NATO enlargement as an issue of civil-military relations is important, for it takes many years before politicians change their views [16]. It is even more important for NATO enlargement was not a pre-meditated act as psychological initiative nor as a result of a threat perception, as was the case of most international events during the Cold War. It is when looking at the origins of the idea for NATO enlargement that we can see that it is an issue of civilmilitary relations. The idea of NATO expansion was first successfully planted with President Clinton in April 1993 during a Washington ceremony to open the Holocaust Museum. With time on their hands before the speechmaking, Vaclav Havel and Lech Walesa, the presidents of the Czech Republic and Poland, cornered Clinton to urge NATO to admit East European countries. It was not surprising that Clinton was so proposed. The United States is the most politically, economically, and militarily formidable member of the alliance. In addition, Article 10 of the North

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Atlantic Treaty, signed in Washington DC, on April 4, 1949, states that any state wishing to join NATO should deposit its instrument of accession with the government of the United States of America who would then inform each of the parties of the deposit of each such instrument of accession. The first point of call for any enlargement involves therefore, by treaty agreement, the civil-military relations of the United States. Havel and Walesa got nowhere with George Bush on the idea, but Clinton, in office only three months, was intrigued. It seemed to be a foreign policy goal, with no perceivable dangers to American lives, that would enter him into the annals of history. At that point National Security Adviser Anthony Lake and Secretary of State Warren Christopher also favored expansion. There was therefore a consensus between political elites. The military of both existing and prospective member countries had not yet been consulted and there was no clear plan on how to implement the organizational expansion of an alliance based on consensus of all its members. Not uncommon in the 1990s, the press entered the debate before it had even started. The press noted that, as had been the case in the aftermath of World War II, the United States could never save Europe from itself. As valuable in the long run as NATO expansion was the refashioning of Europe’s defense umbrella [17]. This introduced similarities between the earlier two NATO enlargements and the proposed future enlargement [18]. In addition to the consensus between Clinton, his appointed advisers and colleagues, and the East European leaders, there arose three disparate groups favoring enlargement. President Clinton will have to rely on these groups to make a case to Congress to ratify expansion as well as approve the budget for it. The task has actually been made easier with the onset of the Gulf crises. On January 29, 1998, President Clinton addressed Congress noting three main focuses of military action as part of foreign policy where Congress stood firmly behind all three. These were the Persian Gulf, U.S. troops in Bosnia and NATO enlargement. Within days, the president said, he will ask the Senate to ratify the alliance’s decision to enroll three new members: the Czech Republic, Hungary, and Poland. Mr. Clinton indicated that he expected to take an active part in the Congressional debate that could begin in a few weeks. In focusing on major pending U.S. decisions in foreign affairs, Mr. Clinton conjured up prospects of greater presidential teamwork with Congress and by implication underlined his own stature as a president capable of quick results [19]. Of the three disparate groups favoring enlargement, the first group includes a conservative wing led by former Secretary of State Henry Kissinger and former president Jimmy Carter’s national security adviser, Zbigniew Brzezinski. This group sees NATO enlargement as a strategy for keeping Russia weak. This group is still living in the specter of the Cold War without comprehending the issue of civil-military relations nor the true nature of the military threat facing Western society. This group does not comprehend that Polish, Czech, and Hungarian troops will not make a significant military contribution to keeping Russia mili-

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tarily weak nor will extending the NATO frontline across Germany and Poland to the Russian border. Air power, missiles, and nuclear weapons have long made geo-political strategic depth irrelevant to the reality of winning a war or defending a country. This group does not comprehend that economic might is more important than military might and, the best way to make Russia militarily weak is to make it economically strong (both Germany and Japan are good post-war examples). Russia is also no longer an enemy with a political ideology that is not favored by the United States. The value of this group in promoting NATO enlargement is solely for United States public opinion and will have no value in civil-military relations and diplomacy within and between existing and prospective NATO members. The second group favoring enlargement includes voters of Central European countries who Clinton believes ‘‘want their motherland firmly under American protection.’’ This is the group that Clinton identifies with Vaclav Havel and Lech Walesa. This group is the proxy extension of three hundred years of East European civil-military relations to North America. They understand that Europe is a tribal affair in constant conflict. This group is of extreme value in linking civil-military relations between the United States and the prospective member states whose military will have to follow the U.S. military after having opposed it during the Cold War. This group has value in the diplomatic process of democratizing prospective member stats to meet the civil criteria of NATO membership, mentioned previously. This group also understands that the more technologically proficient a state becomes, the less likely that it will need men for war (i.e., abolishment of conscription). It is not surprising then that ethnic lobbying groups such as the Polish American Congress are constantly flooding the White House and Capitol Hill with telegrams demanding that NATO enlarge [20]. This issue is significant for civil-military relations but it is not an issue of American domestic politics. Clinton has paid more attention to foreign policy successes than domestic successes. ‘‘The idea that Reagan brought down the Berlin Wall, Bush unified Germany, and Clinton will unite Europe sounded good at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue,’’ said a senior presidential aide [21]. Further studies will not doubt spend considerable time analyzing this link between domestic and international politics where the most interesting issue will be the link between the military of the various NATO member countries operating in unison and their collective influences on the political/civil echelons of each country. The third group favoring enlargement is the liberal wing of the pro-expansion coalition led by key Clinton aides who see expansion as a strategy for spreading ‘‘free-market’’ democracy across all of Europe, including Russia. This group will have to come to grips with two issues. Firstly in how the expansion of NATO can achieve a task which is more suited toward private entrepreneurs; it is historically plain that government intervention in East European economies has been a failure. The second issue is, of course, how and why NATO expansion can

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achieve this and not EU expansion. For civil-military relations these issues can be left on the side burner for a moment, for the most blatant consequence of NATO enlargement appears to be the proposal that the new NATO members increase their defense budgets, to the advantage of U.S. arms manufacturers who are expected to capture the bulk of new weapons procurement as part of any modernization effort [22]. On the surface it seems that NATO enlargement for this group could then be considered a U.S. governmental subsidization of its local defense industries, while achieving a foreign policy success for domestic election purposes. If understood in this light, one could suspect a reemergence of the U.S. military-industrial complex where military and industry would be pushing for NATO expansion. However, this is not the case, for the Pentagon has noted its reluctance to NATO expansion. This can be understood by acknowledging the aforementioned military threats facing the United States and understanding that NATO expansion is more of a civil than military issue. This is not to say that Eastern Europe is not a focal point for the U.S. or NATO military forces. The Pentagon initially pushed a plan called Partnership for Peace, which allowed East European nations to join in NATO military exercises but not be full members. The Pentagon wanted no part of a larger, more costly alliance, and Strobe Talbott, Christopher’s top Russia expert and now Deputy Secretary of State, feared that a rush to admit new members would anger Moscow. One suspects that the attitude of the American Joint Chiefs must be similar to those of their British equivalents at the negotiations of the Locarno Treaty in 1925: The treaty is ‘‘interesting’’ but, in the light of all of America’s prior obligations from Korea to the Persian Gulf, the military can only ‘‘take note’’ of this increase in their foreign-policy obligations. They can hardly feel comfortable in asserting that the U.S. armed forces could give adequate protection to Poland’s eastern border, following a period when those very forces are being significantly reduced. So essentially, what we were looking at is a large gap between American foreign policy and military strategy [23]. This gap is even wider when looking at the U.S. defense industrial capability and corporate direction. The U.S. military has been moving toward mobile rapid deployment untis and high technological warfare. U.S. defense industries have been pursuing a path of mergers and rationalization of factory lines to ready themselves for a reduction in heavy conventional weaponry. Research and development has been geared towards high tecnological developments. A return to large production of conventional weapons of medium technology, which is factory-line labor intensive is not considered lucrative. Despite the U.S. military and defense industrial reluctance, the U.S. government has had its way. That is to say, the military was subservient to the desires of the elected governmental executive in the policy formulation process. This disagreement came to a head in September 1994, when senior defense officials

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gathered in Assistant Secretary of State Richard Holbrooke’s office for what turned into a shouting match. ‘‘The President has made the decision, and you’re being insubordinate!’’ Holbrooke accused them. The U.S. military thus became subservient to a U.S. Presidential policy move conceived at a museum opening [24]. The most important part of the U.S. military’ reluctance to NATO expansion is the hope that enlargement is aimed more at political solidarity than for a war purpose. This hope is echoed in the reluctance of other NATO countries’ militaries who have equal member status but smaller armed forces in comparison to the United States’ 1,483,800, France’s 398,900, Germany’s 358,400, Britain’s 226,000 and Canada’s 70,500 [25]. In further comparison, the total number of men under arms in NATO is less than 0.01% of the total population. These numbers highlight the insignificance of NATO expansion for the Western world at large, in light of no clear and present conventional military danger against NATO. The significance for civil-military relations is that it took many months of wrangling between the Pentagon, the White House, organizational politics and lobbying, before the advisers agreed to proceed cautiously. NATO expansion in the United States was an issue of domestic politics in the form of civil-military relations. Clinton therefore announced in a Prague speech in January 1994 that the question was not longer if NATO would expand, but when [26]. This was a quick and painless expression of intent which still left the practicalities unanswered. Clinton’s national security adviser, Sandy Berger, claims that Clinton took this initiative at the NATO summit early in 1994, to hedge against political uncertainty in Russia and strengthen fledgling democracies [27]. In doing so, Clinton’s announcement split much of the U.S. foreign policy establishment. The argument that ensued within the foreign policy establishment was about the impact of expansion on Russia and the post-Cold War disarmament process [28]. As already mentioned, this is not an issue for scholars of civil-military relations who see NATO expansion as a step toward the disarmament process. Perhaps scholars of international relations of the neorealist school would have differing positions! Regardless of which school of thought is used, the two issues (outlined in the two paragraphs above) did further a debate of civil-military relations in the form of a letter dated June 26, 1997 sent to President Clinton. It came from and influential groups of more than thirty former lawmakers, diplomats, and foreign affairs mandarin. The formidable list included three former senators—Democrat Sam Nunn, who was long regarded as the Senate’s leading defense expert, and Republicans Gordon Humphrey and Mark Hatfield. Also on the list were Jack Matlock, U.S. ambassador to the Soviet Union from 1987 to 1991, and Paul Nitze, President Reagan’s chief arms control negotiator. The group was organized by Susan Eisenhower, granddaughter of the former president who was NATO’s

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first commander, and other national security analysts. The letter argued that Clinton should concentrate on arms control efforts, which have been hampered by Russia’s pique over NATO enlargement [29]. The Russian parliament is aware of the concern about arms control efforts and on the eve of ratifying the START-2 treaty stressed the need to keep the existing balance between the activity of the Organization for Security and Cooperation in Europe (OSCE) and NATO expansion [30]. The delays in NATO enlargement have also held up discussions on a START III treaty which would further trim nuclear arsenals. Roman Popkovich, a member of the Russian lower house State Duma’s defense committee, linked ratification to strict observance of the 1972 ABM treaty, and to guarantees that Washington ‘‘will not deploy any nuclear weapons on the territories of new NATO members’’ [31]. This poses a dual dilemma, because the U.S. Senate is uneasy about he role being assigned to Russia in the new Permanent Joint Council set up to give Moscow ‘‘a voice but no a veto’’ in European security [32]. For Moscow, its main task in the Western direction is to check the possible enrollment of the three Baltic states in the NATO bloc. In this respect, the first significant step by the Russian side was already taken at the beginning of the year. Before the Fundamental Act between Russia and NATO was signed in Paris, the Russian Foreign Ministry made it known to the leaders of the Western countries that the inclusion of former Soviet republics (Latvia, Lithuania, Estonia) in NATO would result in a cardinal change in Russia’s foreign political course, and could result in Russia stepping out of the Fundamental Act [33]. These arguments will no doubt ensue for many years, though a more immediate concern is that of NATO enlargement funding arrangements. The actors and players for this are the same as those that have to decide whether or not to proceed with NATO enlargement. Therefore, economics is as much a catalyst towards NATO enlargement, in the form of East European development of free markets, as it is a hinderance to the U.S. Congress and taxpayer in the funding of the process of enlargement. The United States which will bear the brunt of the funding as well, ultimately, troop and equipment deployments. If the United States agrees to this, then it is with almost certainty that the other NATO member countries will have little or no objection to extremely small relative contributions. But it is not that simple, because no one knows exactly how much NATO enlargement will cost. It was originally expected that the collective bill for expanding NATO into Eastern Europe would cost the existing members 800 million pounds over 10 years. NATO officials then revised this to 17–22 billion pounds [34]. It is estimated that the enlargement of NATO, to include the first wave of Central and East European countries, will cost Britain an estimated 110 million pounds over the next 10 years, government defense spokesman Lord Hoyle told the House of Lords on January 29, 1998. Lord Hoyle promised a full parliamentary debate on the matter before April 1999, the deadline for the United Kingdom

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to ratify the NATO enlargement [35]. Despite this, the NATO organization’s democratic watchdog, the North Atlantic Assembly, is expressing increasing concern at the lack of transparency in the debate over the costs of enlargement. ‘‘At this rate, national parliaments will have to ratify the new treaty with almost no discussion of the issues,’’ said one NAA spokesman. This was the case with Canada and Denmark who ratified the enlargement without having all the budgetary information [36]. This economic debate enters the realm of civil-military relations because it depends on the approval process of national assemblies, such as the U.S. Congress. It is well recognized that votes are cast after a formal and informal process of lobbying by interest groups. As already noted, the Pentagon and defense industries will not be at the front of the lobbying effort as had been the case throughout the Cold War. The responsibility will therefore rest on the White House to lobby Congress for funding and the Senate for enlargement ratification where in a unique occurrence (never to have been seen during the Cold War), Foreign Ministers Bronislaw Geremek of Poland, Laszlo Kovacs of Hungary, and Jaroslav Sedivy of the Czech Republic, visited Washington in early February 1998 to convince the U.S. Senate to support their NATO membership applications [37]. During their three-day visit their moves were carefully coordinated in impressive formations of three, even the interviews with CNN and PBS. They also made troika appearances at major American newspapers and think tanks, with U.S. Senators and Secretary of State Madeleine K. Albright, for lunch at the Capitol Hill Club and for dinner at the Metropolitan Club, the mother of all Washington clubs. Their message was substantive and well orchestrated [38]. Never before in the history of U.S. Senate voting has there been such a vagueness in the issue to be voted, where the issue is the main foreign policy goal of the president. Two basic questions will shape the outcome of the Senate’s vote: First, will the White House succeed in keeping together the diverse coalition currently in favor of enlargement? (In other words, what ramifications will it have on U.S. domestic politics given the lack of military and defense industrial enthusiasm?) In short, will there be an even greater rift in opinion between the civil and the military? Second, will the three (or more) candidate countries succeed in reinforcing the impression that they can become reliable members ready to make a contribution to the alliance? (In other words, will their military be willing to follow the U.S. Commander in Chief?) Both of these questions bring up extremely hard issues considering that the main strategic goal of enlargement has yet to be specified. Looking at the Senate finds two sets of values equally supported. Critics have found it easy to magnify the actual or presumed sideeffects of enlargement. Yet the administration’s vagueness has been a political necessity as well: it has served to make enlargement attractive to a very diverse coalition of supporters [39]. Even if the Senate approves the current enlargement proposal, it may impose conditions on future enlargement. Romania, Slovenia,

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and the Baltic states are aspiring to be part of a second wave of enlargement that is expected to be launched at a NATO summit in Washington in 1999 [40]. The Senate is not the only U.S. civil-military relations forum that has to be convinced with regards to NATO enlargement. An important element of civilmilitary relations is public opinion expressed through the media. The Washington Post, for example, has already raised the Phoenix of Vietnam. It has asked whether American troops should promise to die for Ljubljana, Tallinn, and Bucharest if need be. It has strongly pointed out that while American political leaders and their diplomatic advisers are now deciding this, the American people should make a stand to express their opinion [41]. In order to counter such media disapproval, the White House is planning a major public relations effort to persuade Congress and the People of the United States to approve NATO expansion [42]. This U.S. media aversion creates a potential rift within NATO, because the press outside the United States generally approves of enlarging NATO. Few commentators in the press question the basic wisdom of bringing new members into the alliance. In World Press Review’s latest opinion index, 23 of the 50 opinions, and six did not comment. The 50 newspapers surveyed were chosen for their national and regional importance as opinion leaders. The sampling was heavily weighted toward Europe, with 33 European newspapers. There were ten Asian sources, six from the Americas, and one from Africa [43]. The significance of this press, and subsequently public opinion poll will be relevant in the forthcoming years, when and if NATO is required to flex its muscle as in Bosnia. So, at the end of the day, unless the United States hesitates or Western public opinion turns far more negative than it is now, the parliaments of NATO countries will certainly ratify NATO’s decision without excessive debate [44]. Canada was the first to do so on February 3, 1998. Foreign Minister Lloyd Axworthy of Canada signed the instrument of ratification that would admit formerly communist Poland, Hungary, and the Czech Republic to full NATO membership in April 1999 [45]. On the same day, the Danish parliament overwhelmingly approved the alliance’s invitation to the three formerly communist countries for full membership in April 1999 [46]. The Italian Defense Minister Beniamino Andreatta told Polish members of Parliament on February 17th, that nearly 90% of Italian parliamentarians were in favor of ratification of Poland’s NATO entry. He recalled that his government had already approved of the ratification documents and sent them to the Senate. The Italian parliament is likely to vote on the matter in late April or early May [47]. This is interesting to note for civil-military relations because such governmental agreement does not always reflect public opinion. While the German public, for example, is definitely moving along a learning curve in that respect, it will take some time before Germans, in fulfillment of treaty obligations, agree to participation of their soldiers in crisis management operations. Key German politicians state that a ‘‘culture of military restraint’’ will continue to characterize

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German foreign policy. NATO expansion for the German public has therefore been one of apprehension, but for the government an issue of acceptance to political cues from Washington [48]. The same debates and issues of civil-military relations that are being conducted in existing member states of NATO are also being conducted in the prospective members. This is unique in its own right but also poses dangers. It is unique that a debate can wage in countries which were once one-party communist dictatorships. This is of particular significance in the Czech state where Petr Necas, chairman of the Chamber of Deputies defense and security committee and a deputy for the former government Civic Democratic Party (ODS), attacked the Christian Democrats (KDU-CSL) for jeopardizing the chance of ratifying NATO enlargement before early elections. The Chamber voted to send the government’s ratification bill to the committee stage but a proposal, shortening the discussion period from 60 to 40 days which would possibly have allowed the ratification process to be completed before early elections are held in June, was defeated. The ODS, Civic Democratic Alliance (ODA), and Freedom Union (US) voted in favor of the proposal, while the KDU-CSL, main opposition Social Democrats (CSSD), communists, and extreme-right Republicans voted against it [49]. The dangers therefore present themselves very clearly in the lack of power for either the military or the civil administration to win the debate absolutely and in the subsequent organizational difficulties in sending representatives with authority to NATO organisations. This will test NATO’s unwritten rationale of ‘‘one for all and all for one,’’ if enlargement occurs. The starting point of this part of the civil-military relations debate of NATO expansion is the belief of the political executives of these prospective NATO states that they are not entering NATO—but rather that NATO is coming to them! They believe this despite the initial ‘‘museum approach,’’ for they cannot believe that they swayed the U.S. president so easily. In part, this is true, but in part they did sway Clinton’s opinion. Swaying Clinton’s opinion was by far easier than swaying their own public opinion, which is now important in the domestic political process. This public opinion is perhaps more significant for civil-military relations than that in existing NATO member states. This is because of the diversity between the applicant countries and their ethnic populations who are in the process of rejuvenating their nationalistic identities. Public opinion helps fulfill the prerequisites of entry into NATO which require: democracy in theory and practice—no lingering territorial or ethnic disputes, civilian control of the military, respect for the rights of ethnic minorities, public defense budgets and policies, market economies—and a willingness to contribute to the alliance [50]. These prerequisites create a dilemma for civil-military relations because NATO has never been an effective instrument for promoting either free markets or democracy. Public opinion and political astuteness must reveal that in the second half of the 1940s, when the fate of democracy and free markets in Western

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Europe was the preeminent international issue, the principal response and an extremely successful one was the Marshall Plan and not the formation of NATO. The plan provided capital, market access, and incentives for economic cooperation, all of which Central Europe currently needs [51]. It is, therefore, not surprising that proponents in East Europe for extending NATO membership to the Visegrad countreis aare divided into two camps. Those in the first camp assert that the prupose is solely to promote democracy and free markets in Central Europe and has nothing to do with the military power and political aspirations of any other country. This was echoed in Portugal where Prime Minister Antonio Guterres, in meeting with President Clinton to encourage his stance in U.S.-Russia talks on the alliance, noted that ‘‘The expansion of NATO is, as is the expansion of the EU, a basic condition for democracy, for peace and stability in Central and Eastern European countries’’ [52]. For the second camp, NATO expansion has everything to do with the threat from Russia [53]. For this second camp the answer is that the country most important to the West that is immediately vulnerable to a renewal of aggressive Russian behavior is Ukraine. Yet no one is suggesting that Ukraine join NATO. Indeed, discussions of NATO expansion tend to treat Ukraine as marginal. Ukraine, however, is the opposite of marginal: it is central. So long as it remains independent, it is a buffer between Russia and the rest of Europe. More important, an independent Ukraine is the best guarantee that Russia will remain a peaceful nation-state. Conflict between the two would have adverse repercussions to the West. And if Moscow absorbed Ukraine or attempted to do so, Russia would again become a multinational empire harboring a large, resentful subject nation, with poor prospects for the construction of a stable democratic system. It is not an exaggeration to say that NATO expansion will be positive or negative depending on its effect on the peaceful coexistence of Ukraine and Russia [54]. As noted previously, there is a similarity between both these camps and those who favor NATO expansion in the United States. Time will tell if there will be a coordination between the groups across national boundaries to sway government policy. Public opinion may vary from time to time but at present, local pollsters in Poland found that 9 of 10 people in a population of 38 million support NATO membership, a level of support that tops any other country in Eastern Europe. Despite this support, it is doubtful if Poland could meet the cost of making its equipment interoperatable with NATO standards, especially as there are a large number of other spending priorities besides the military [55]. The government may also change before the 1999 expected NATO entry date [56]. By contrast, a recent Gallup poll in Hungary found that slightly less than half of the people favored joining NATO and nearly one-quarter were undecided [57]. This figure was incongruent with the referendum that was held on joining the NATO Alliance. The Hungarian government claimed that the results showed

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that support for NATO membership was expressed by the high percentage of those who voted and demonstrated broad support among the Hungarian people for membership in the alliance [58]. All seven political parties represented in parliament favor membership though the parliamentary composition may change before NATO entry in 1999 [59]. A more serious issue of civil-military relations in Hungary is the political desire and military willingness to serve under Western military commands. This is especially significant after Hungary refused to cooperate with NATO’s effort to police a no-fly zone over Bosnia because of concern over the Hungarian minorities within the province of Vojvodina in Serbia [60]. A further test of Hungarian Cooperation occurred on February 12, 1998 when the Hungarian Foreign Ministry received an official request from the United States for support in a possible military action against Iraq. The response was that the deployment of Hungarian military forces abroad is only possible with parliamentary approval, for which at least a two-thirds majority is required [61]. An unbiased and substantial survey has not yet been conducted in the Czech Republic, though diplomats admitted that the task ahead would be hard [62]. These differences in public opinion and military and economic ability and capability highlight where the focus for East Europe should have been. The focus should have been on the expansion of the European Union, which is intended to be meshed with the West European (Defense) Union and not that of NATO. Any East European country joining the EU would automatically become part of this European military structure. It has oft been noted that if the former Warsaw Pact Eastern European members want security and economic well-being, this is the place to find it, all in one. The Russian Foreign Minister, for example, has stated that ‘‘Russia continues to be opposed to NATO enlargement’’ although ‘‘Hungary’s integration into European organizations is a fait accompli’’ [63]. NATO enlargement is of extreme relevance to the civil-military relations in Russia. There is no ambiguity of the impact on Russian domestic politics. The NATO enlargement project is no Versailles, it was not conceived as punishment. But in Russia, NATO expansion is the functional equivalent of Versailles—evidence of many of the West’s hostile aims [64]. It is easy to predict what will happen if Mr. Yeltsin signs a Russia-NATO document void of contractual obligations. The State Duma, facing the prospect of a foreign military alliance approaching Russian borders, would not ratify the START-2 treaty, thus seriously hurting prospects for START-3. The Russian military would have to plan not on the basis of NATO intentions but in terms of the enhanced military, intelligence, and logistical capabilities of the other side [65]. Russian Prime Minister Viktor Chernomyrdin has also warned Clinton that rapid expansion of NATO into Central Europe could undermine the government of President Boris Yeltsin [66]. The NATO issue has pushed all political elements in a nationalistic direction. It could very well foster a ‘‘Weimar psychology’’ and produce the same atmosphere that set the stage after World War I for the vicious revival of German nationalism

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under the Nazis [67]. It is unlikely that Russia will turn to fascism, but the risk is large enough that Western governments ought to refrain from giving extremist political forces an emotional rallying cry like NATO expansion [68]. The debate over NATO expansion has therefore been a dangerous distraction from the main task (i.e., to ensure European security) for it has complicated matters for the EU in its efforts to bring the countries of East and Central Europe into the union [69]. NATO expansion on the face of it, therefore, seems to Russia to be American expansionism [70], while to the United States it has been the theme of building bridges across the Atlantic [71]. The logical choice for all three of the prospective new members is not, therefore, NATO; it is the European Union, membership in which is a matter of the highest priority for each of the Visegrad countries [72]. The economic side of the process of democratization will eventually reach toward strife with the military and the political entities over NATO expansion. This process shows how dependent Western Europe is on the United States. The Europeans still find it easier to take their main political cues from Washington than to cede centralized control of foreign policy and military coordination to a European directorate [73]. Can the new member states actually commit to being full members when looking at their organizational civil-military relations? Poland, the Czech State, and Hungary have all had ministries of defense as the ‘‘Cinderellas’’ of their political establishments. These ministries will acquire new political leverage by convincing their treasuries and the public that extra expenditure is needed to meet membership requirements, citing international obligations. Political control over the military supposedly will not pose a problem. But the reality is that proper civilian control over the armed forces has yet to be established. Civilian defense ministries coexist uneasily with general staffs and security policy is still dominated by men in uniform. Most of the threat assessments are being carried out by military personnel rather than civilians. Parliaments exercise only a perfunctory control over military affairs. Even if this parliamentary control were to be expanded, it would be of little practical value for the long-term as there is an increasing militarization of the political echelons when military officers stand for election. The lack of defense experts in civilian life and of defense correspondents capable of reporting such matters, compounds the isolation of the military from the democratization process. The absence of women and ethnic minorities, combined with the reluctance of young men to make a career out of the military, inhibits the restructuring of the former communist military into resembling anything close to the West NATO counterparts. On joining the alliance, new members must accept the full obligations of the Washington Treaty. This includes participation in the consultation process within the alliance and the principle of decision-making by consensus, which requires a commitment to build consensus within the alliance on all issues of

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concern to it. New members must also be prepared to contribute to collective defense, to the alliance’s new evolving missions, and to alliance budgets. This may include appropriate contributions to the alliance’s military force, command structures, and infrastructure. New members must accept and conform with the principles, policies, and procedures adopted by all members of the alliance at the time that new members join. In this respect, new members deciding to participate in the integrated military structure must accept the applicable policies and procedures. This is a crucial element of civil-military relations, for there has to be close coordination and communication between the foreign offices, defense ministries, and cabinets within and between all NATO countries. Furthermore, NATO is based upon consensus upheld in committee meetings. More NATO members will inevitably dilute the U.S. role. And bringing more divergent interests into NATO could make managing conflicts among its own members, the alliance’s full-time business. The civil-military relations of expansion will also face tension once the new members send representatives to NATO headquarters. The representative on the North Atlantic Council must come from the foreign office. This person is expected to work closely with the military staff and to coordinate policies with the defense and finance ministries. The new members would then have to iron out constitutional disputes, such as those that exist in Poland between the prime minister and the head of state and between diplomats and the military. Even if this was to occur, it is doubtful at this stage if the new members have enough qualified staff to send to NATO headquarters, both in the ability to converse fluently in the English language and to make independent decisions without constant consultation to superiors in their home countries. The entire military establishment in Central Europe may also discover that it may not be capable, at least initially, of absorbing the sheer quantity of information disseminated, and decisions which will need to be made in the run-up to NATO membership. That said, some attention should be paid to continuity in military and intelligence personnel. Bluntly put, can those who once served the Warsaw Pact, and thus Moscow, protect NATO’s secrets? The issue is not so much the present orientation of an elected president or prime minister; such people’s pro-Western credentials have been tested in the post-1989 political arena. Many of their aides have also had the opportunity to show—for ten long years—that in their view, NATO membership is the best guarantee of their countries’ independence from Russia. Moreover, since few people in the old anti-communist opposition have the background to serve as generals or intelligence officers, NATO must be patient toward gaining some continuity for a few years. Yet, as the Senate may well raise this issue, it behooves the candidate members to provide for transparency in personnel when it comes to their ambassadors as well as military and intelligence liaisons assigned to Brussels and NATO capitals.

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These political positions should not be held by leading members of the old communist nomenclature, whose loyalty to NATO invites scepticism. Only in this way can the new members show that, despite the necessary continuity in personnel, their ties with the past have been conclusively cut. Meanwhile, NATO should consider additional options to assure confidentiality in its dealings with the Central Europeans. One possibility is for clearances to be approved initially not only by national boards, which is the current practice, but by a joint NATOappointed committee. After all, NATO will still have secrets to protect [74]. It is for these reasons that many in European governments and in the Pentagon doubted the wisdom of pushing for a tight admission date despite the insistence of the White House [75].

CONCLUSION Having presented the previous civil-military relations issues for NATO expansion, it appears that the military validity of the alliance is in serious doubt despite the political willingness to proceed with enlargement. This is an unfortunate oversight, for the North Atlantic Treaty Organization has lived up to its military promise almost half a century after it was formed even though it has failed politically for civil-military relations. NATO has succeeded in countering the threat to Europe from Stalin’s Soviet Union. Russian troops are farther than ever from the heart of the continent, Germany poses no military threat to its neighbors, and the United States is still firmly committed to defending Europe [76]. NATO, however, has so far proven unsuited to the task of coping with disputes between members, whether actively dangerous (for example, between Greece and Turkey), or merely historic (between Spain and Britain) [77]. It is these types of disputes in civil-military relations (made more frequent with NATO enlargement) which may bring about the end of NATO. Civil-military relations show that ethnic conflicts are the most daunting threat to stability in Central and Eastern Europe. There is some uncertainty over whether NATO states would actually honor their treaty obligations and come to the aid of a threatened fellow member when the issue is transnational ethniticity. Further, it is in doubt whether the United States and Canada would be affected or even concerned over a crisis in Central or Eastern Europe [78]. Bosnia is a case study where NATO took too long to act and when doing so, did too little. To conclude then, NATO enlargement for civil-military relations is the symbolic expansion to enact a victory of the Cold War in the same sense that the Cold War never reached Hot War in Europe. Expansion is the symbolic occupation, by the victor, of the losers’ sphere of control. It is the extension of the victor’s lines of power toward the final battle, that of occupation of the enemy’s capital. It is the victor taking the spoils of war, symbolically. This view is sup-

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ported by diplomatic historian Paul Schroeder of the University of Illinois who notes that ‘‘To survive, alliances have historically had to include (their) defeated foe’’ [79]. Even more significant, for the main potential threat perception to any Western security, is chemical and/or biological weapons from sub- or non-state actors while the conflicts waging worldwide are low-intensity conflicts. NATO has no military role for either of these two. In this sense NATO expansion cannot cease until it expands to include Russia. When that happens, NATO will be able to disband as being the absolute symbolic winner of the Cold War. To disband NATO prior to NATO expansion would be symbolic of defeat; the victor without the spoils of war. It is in this context that it is possible to accept and welcome NATO expansion. Once NATO expansion is complete, at the doors of Moscow, then it will serve no further purpose. At such a stage, both the United States and Russia and other countries can move toward a zero-nuclear option. This may be the ‘‘bomb in the basement’’ with a civil monitoring agency and nuclear free zones in many parts of the world including Central Europe. It is also in this context that we can approve of the continued existence of NATO. For military minds and scholars of civil-military relations, this is a nightmare. The proponents of NATO expansion have not only missed the first basic common denominator which made NATO so successful: a common enemy. They also have missed the second basic common denominator: common political systems and organizations; and the third common denominator: a common will to achieve a common goal. It is therefore possible to see that there are now two NATO’s working for different goals. One is the NATO of the Cold War, which is the West NATO which still persists in its symbols and symbolism. The Cold War still exists if one has to consider that the ideological struggle persists and that Russia remains an unconquered and unoccupied country. The other is the NATO of expansion, the East NATO, which does not see itself engaged in further wars.

NOTES 1. The seminal book on such a relationship was Huntington, S. 1957. The Soldier and the State. Oxford: Oxford University Press. There have been numerous works since which have been equal in value though there has been little focus on the political and military aspects in the 1990s but rather a focus on the sociological ramifications. 2. France, for example, wishes to enlarge NATO to include all former Warsaw Pact countries at once. Britain and the United States, on the other hand, desire a stageby-stage process. Russia opposes NATO enlargement that does not include itself. 3. The concept of military professionalism is well documented in Abrahamson, B. 1972. Military Professionalisation and Political Power. Beverly Hills: Sage Publica-

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5.

6. 7.

8.

9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14.

15. 16.

17. 18. 19.

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tions; Janowitz, M. 1960. The Professional Soldier. Glencoe, IL.: Free Press; and Sarkesian, S. 1981. Beyond the Battlefield: The New Military Professionalism. New York: Pergamon Press. The legislative process of this is detailed in House of Commons Command Paper [9391], Statement on Defence Estimates 1955, British Parliamentary Papers Session 1954–1955, Vol X. The prospective countries’ force contribution will be Poland 248,500; Czech Republic 70,000; and Hungary 64,300. The next in line are Rumania 228,400; and Slovenia 9,500. In total this will increase NATO forces by around 3%. The cost of bringing these forces’ equipment to the level of rationalization, standardization, and interopertability with existing NATO forces will be around 17–22 billion pounds over the next 10 years. Although most of this will be paid for by the United States, it should be compared with Britian’s annual defense budget which is currently at around 2 billion pounds. Enlarge the European Union Before NATO. International Herald Tribune, Feb. 6, 1998. The basis of these are mentioned in McClellan WD. 1988. Developing Exemplary Civilian Military Relations. Management Information Report No. 20, December, pp. 1–16. This emphasis on Western democratic countries is because of the separate organizations and state organs for civil and military affairs. The military is answerable both to a legislature during budget allocation and to a government and parliament for its actions which may require a vote on a declaration of war. Federal Document Clearing House (FDCH), Washington Transcript Service, 16/12/ 97. Russia Defence Chief Unimpressed by New Corps. Reuter News Service-Western Europe, Jan. 29, 1998. A good article on the procurement side is Gansler, G. 1988. Integrating civilian and military industry. Issues in Science and Technology, 8(5):68–72. Estonia, Slovenia on EU Short List. Australian Financial Review, July 14, 1997. Estonia, Slovenia on EU Short List. Australian Financial Review, July 14, 1997. Russia: Attack on Iraq Will Stop Ratification of START-2, BBC Summary of World Broadcasts (Q1:43). Source: ITAR-TASS news agency (World Service), Moscow, in Russian 1124 gmt, Feb. 19, 1998. Czech Television to Air Series on NATO Enlargement. CSTK Ecoservice, Reuter Textline (Q2:28), Jan. 5, 1998. A perfect historical parallel is when in May 1947 Bevin was still considering Germany to be the main threat to British security despite his military advisors informing him of the Soviet threat, see Gowing, M.M. 1974. Independence and Deterrence: Britain and Atomic Energy 1945–1952. London: Macmillan, p. 40. Maddox, B. 1997. UK: America’s ‘‘Eurobashing’’ Possesses the Power to Cause a Bad Headache. The Times, Nov. 12, 1997, p. 31. These similarities are expanded in Segell, G. 1988. The Civil-Military Relations of NATO Expansion, Compass 3. Leeds: University of Leeds. ‘‘You Can’t Defy the Will of the World’’: To an Ovation in Congress, Clinton Warns Saddam on Weapons. International Herald Tribune, Jan. 29, 1998, p. 7.

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20. On Tape, Chretien Slights Clinton. International Herald Tribune, July 11, 1997, p. 12. 21. Waller, D. 1997. How Clinton Decided on NATO Expansion. Time, 150(2):58. 22. Stevens Concerned about Costs of NATO Expansion. Defense Daily, Oct 23, 1997, Vol. 197, No. 16. 23. Kennedy, P. 1997. The false pretence of NATO expansion. New Perspectives Quarterly, 14(3):62(2). 24. See note 21. 25. Source: International Institute for Strategic Studies. Database consulted at IISS. 26. See note 21. 27. Clinton Scores Foreign Policy Victory with NATO Expansion Accord. The Associated Press, July 9, 1997. Newswire Service. 28. U.S.-Russia: U.S. Policy Establishment Split on NATO Expansion. Inter Press Service, June 27, 1997. 29. Stanglin, D. 1997. Editorial. U.S. News & World Report, 122(24):16(1). 30. Russia: Russia and U.S. Discuss European, World Security. Itar-Tass World Service, Dec. 12, 1997. 31. Cohen, Sergeyev to Discuss Iraq During U.S. Defense Secretary’s Visit. Agence France Presse International, Feb. 11, 1998. 32. Irish Times, Dec. 30, 1997, p. 58. 33. Russian Press Digest Nezavisimaya Gazeta. Editorial. Dec. 17, 1997. 34. NATO Expansion Bill Shrinks. The Guardian, Nov. 20, 1997. 35. Lords: Britain Faces Pounds 110m NATO Enlargement Bill. Press Association, Jan. 29, 1998. 36. Turner, M. 1997. NATO: Concern Growing over Possible Cost of NATO Expansion. European Voice, The Economist Newspaper Ltd., Dec. 11. 37. East European Ministers to Press NATO Case in USA. Reuter Textline, Nov. 20, 1997. 38. Diplomatic Dispatches: Rub-A-Dub-Dub, 3 Men On The Stump. The Washington Post, Feb. 11, 1998. 39. Gati, C. 1997. Editorial. National Review, 49(11):27(3). 40. Clinton takes NATO Enlargement to the Senate for Approval. Agence France Presse International, Feb. 11, 1998. 41. Alice-In-Wonderland NATO. The Washington Post, Apr. 20, 1997. 42. New alliances (President Clinton to Push Expansion of NATO and Most Favoured Nation Status for China). U.S. News & World Report, 122(22):24(1). 43. A qualified ‘yes’ to the deal with Russia (NATO expansion). World Press Review, 44(7):18(2). 44. Gati, C. 1997. National Review, 49(11):27(3). 45. Canada First to Ratify NATO Enlargement. Reuter News Service—Canada, Reuter Textline, Feb. 3, 1998. 46. World In Brief: Europe: Canada, Denmark Ratify NATO Enlargement. The Washington Post, Feb 4, 1998. 47. Italian Defence Minister Says Italy Supports Polish NATO Entry. PAP news agency, Warsaw, Text of report by the Polish news agency PAP Warsaw, February 17, 1998. 48. Kamp, K.H. 1995. The Folly of Rapid NATO Expansion. Foreign Policy, 23(98): 116(14).

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49. Necas Accuses KDU-CSL of Jeopardising Chances of NATO Treaty CSTK Ecoservice, Feb. 12, 1998. 50. Bresler, R.J. 1996. National Purpose and NATO Expansion (Global Military Role of the US). USA Today (Magazine), 124(2608):15(1). 51. Mandelbaum, M. 1995. Preserving the New Peace: The Case Against NATO Expansion. Foreign Affairs, 74(3):9(5). 52. Portugal, US: Prime Minister Backs NATO Expansion. The Associated Press, Apr. 3, 1997. 53. See note 51. 54. See note 51. 55. In from the Cold at Last: NATO’s Madrid Summit: Poles are Palpably Relieved to be Invited to Join ‘‘the West.’’ The Guardian, July 10, 1997. 56. See note 39. 57. Case of Nerves in Poland Illustrates Edginess Felt By Candidates for NATO. International Herald Tribune, Feb. 24, 1997. 58. Statement by the NATO Secretary General on the Results of the Hungarian Referendum on NATO membership, International Herald Tribune, Nov. 17, 1997, p. 9. 59. See note 39. 60. See note 48. 61. Iraqi Crisis: Hungary Receives U.S. Request for Help in Attack on Iraq. BBC Summary of World Broadcasts, Feb. 12, 1998. 62. Czechs Join NATO Expansion Exercise. Reuter News Service—Western Europe, Sept. 23, 1997. 63. Russian FM Sees Real Hope in Annan Trip. Agence France Presse International, Feb. 18, 1998. 64. Dean, J. 1996. No NATO Expansion Now. Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists, 52(3):18(2). 65. Russia and NATO: A Case for Binding Security Guarantees. International Herald Tribune, Apr. 2, 1997. 66. Russia-PM Warns Us About Rapid NATO Expansion. Periscope Daily Defense News Capsules, Feb. 4, 1997. 67. Daniels, R.V. 1997. Editorial. The New Leader, 80(12):11(3). 68. See note 64. 69. Delors Attacks NATO Plan to Expand East. Financial Times, Dec. 8, 1994. 70. Middle East Times: Britain’s role in Europe. Asia Intelligence Wire, May 16, 1997. 71. Strobe Talbott Remarks on US-EU Relations, EMU. European Commission Press Releases, May 14, 1997. 72. See note 51. 73. Middle East Times: The NATO Distraction. Asia Intelligence Wire, Aug. 1, 1997. 74. See note 39. 75. The Very Tricky Consequences of a NATO Deal With Russia. International Herald Tribune, Mar. 8, 1997. 76. Phillips, A. 1997. Editorial. Maclean’s, 110(28):26(2). 77. Europe: NATO Expansion and the European Border States. Inter Press Service, June 27, 1997. 78. See note 48. 79. Newman, R.J. Editorial. U.S. News & World Report, 123(2):34(4).

14 The European Public and Post–Cold War Security Policy* Andrew H. Ziegler, Jr. Methodist College, Fayetteville, North Carolina

The European strategic landscape has changed dramatically since the Cold War. An extraordinary series of events unfolded in the 1990s—German unification, the division of Czechoslovakia, the Persian Gulf War, the end of the Soviet Union and the Warsaw Pact, war and NATO intervention in the Balkans, elections and attempted coups in Russia, war in Chechnya, and NATO expansion into Eastern Europe. Having come so far, Europeans now face an uncertain future. Russian leaders are adamant in their opposition to NATO’s expansion, which they view as a direct threat to Russia’s vital interests. This is the only issue that unites the contentious factions in Russian politics. However, potential troubles are not limited to Russia. ‘‘The Balkans disaster is a grim reminder of the historical forces that can be brought back to life if not kept under control’’ (Kugler 1996, 12). Other ethnic and national conflicts could erupt in several places, such as Albania, where violence against the government erupted in early 1997. The extent to which the new geopolitical environment has reshaped European attitudes toward national security policy is unclear. This chapter examines

* This research was made possible by a fellowship awarded by the North Atlantic Treaty Organization, Brussels. An earlier version of this paper was presented at the North Carolina Political Science Association annual meeting, March 21–22, 1997. I wish to acknowledge the valuable assistance of David P. Conradt, East Carolina University; Ted Barr, East Carolina University; David G. McCalman, Sr., Fayetteville State University; and Trevor G. N. Morris, Methodist College. Responsibility for the content and views herein are mine alone, and this paper does not reflect the official position of NATO or any governmental agency.

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the impact of these events on public opinion in Western Europe. The general question this chapter researches is: How does the West European public define its post–Cold War security interests? Specifically, how does this public view the Atlantic Alliance, the United States, and NATO enlargement? Related questions seek to measure the influence of generational politics and partisanship on security opinion.

I. THEORY, PUBLIC OPINION, AND FOREIGN POLICY Normative democratic theory contends that the public should play a significant part in deciding public policy. Yet, scholars assessing the extent of public influence over foreign policy have not always supported this theoretical perspective. Over the past 50 years, various schools of thought have evolved from one in which the public has no impact on foreign policy, to a second in which the public has some impact, and finally to the current view that the public has a direct impact on foreign policy decision-making. This section briefly reviews these three schools of thought. Early studies on public opinion discount the public’s ability to exert any influence over foreign policy decisions. Almond (1950) and Rosenau (1961) reach essentially the same conclusions that the public is uninformed, indifferent, and permissive on foreign policy issues. In their view, foreign policy attitudes are volatile and lack coherence and structure. Klingberg (1952) argues that public opinion shifts back and forth between various moods or cycles. Thomas W. Graham describes this first school of thought as the ‘‘now discredited, elitist paradigm’’ in which public opinion is ‘‘volatile or moody, unstructured and poorly informed, and changed through a top-down process, and not particularly significant to decision making’’ (1994, 190). A second view believes public opinion constrains or limits foreign policy. Key (1961) describes public opinion as a ‘‘system of dikes’’ that channel policy choices into a few allowable directions. According to this school of thought, the public does not influence specific policies, but instead sets the boundaries of acceptable action. The public may not dictate specific policies but instead, ‘‘it establishes the outer limits of acceptable government action, bulwarks marking the margins of public tolerance’’ (LeoGrande 1993, 171). In many cases, ‘‘this constraint is usually the most that policy makers themselves will concede in addressing the influence of public opinion on foreign policy’’ (Shapiro and Page 1994, 229). A third and prevailing school of thought insists that public opinion impacts significantly on the making of foreign policy (Hinckley 1992; Page and Shapiro 1992). Public opinion does more than constrain policymaking, it also exerts influence over specific policy alternatives. ‘‘Public opinion has also been able to

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move government policies in different directions—in ways exceeding simple constraints’’ (Shapiro and Page 1994, 229). Graham refers to this view as a ‘‘new paradigm’’ which views public opinion as having a major impact on national security decision-making (1994). Everett Ladd voices perhaps the most sanguine conclusion: public opinion on foreign policy contains ‘‘deep underlying values and assessments, which almost invariably in the last analysis have been respected in the implemented policy’’ (1993, ix). Observers of European politics have long asserted the importance of public opinion on foreign policymaking (Bertram 1983; Flynn and Rattinger 1985; and Inglehart 1984). The early 1980s was a period of intense research into European public opinion because of the heated debate over NATO’s planned European deployment of a new generation of nuclear weapons (Haseler 1983; Russett and DeLuca 1983; and Schneider 1983). Eichenberg notes that European ‘‘security specialists routinely base their arguments on the presumed state of public opinion’’ (emphasis in the original; 1989, 1). Though critical, public opinion is but one influence directing where Europe is headed. Policymakers both follow and shape public opinion. For many reasons, ‘‘public opinion trends should not necessarily be viewed prescriptively, but rather as a barometer of public sentiments that define the challenges that elected political leaders in Western democracies must confront’’ (Asmus 1994, 3). Thus, the intent of this chapter is to examine public opinion, not prescribe or predict the future course of European security affairs.

II. RESEARCH DESIGN This study was designed to answer four questions about West European public opinion since the Cold War. First, to what extent has support for NATO increased or decreased? Second, to what extent has opinion toward the United States and its role in Europe’s security changed? Third, does the European public support NATO expanding to the east? And fourth, to what extent are foreign policy attitudes affected by age and political party identification? This research relied on a secondary analysis of survey data. Most findings are from a variety of published sources. The Euro-Barometer 35 survey provided the opportunity for data manipulation and statistical analyses for the questions on age and party. The Euro-barometers are a semiannual series of sample surveys administered in Europe. Usually they contain few, if any, items on foreign policy. Euro-Barometer 35, administered in 1991, contained some survey questions useful for this study. The Statistical Package for the Social Sciences (SPSS) was used for the analysis of Euro-Barometer 35. The countries selected were Great Britain, Germany, and France. Data on these three were available in most sources for most periods. This allowed for

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consistent time series analysis. Isolated findings on countries such as Italy, the Netherlands, and others were omitted. The original surveys cited by the sources were all administered by prominent organizations, such as Louis Harris and George Gallup. Findings are based on national probability samples of approximately 1000 respondents for each country. Findings are presented in three formats. Enumertive tables summarize the responses from the three countries on several questions. Line diagrams display time series data when available. Contingency tables test for the presence of significant differences among age groups or political parties.

III. FINDINGS A. Support for NATO Since the Cold War, predictions of the end of NATO have been common. Some observers expected political and public support for NATO to decrease after the breakup of the Soviet Union. The Economist wrote in 1991, ‘‘with the Cold War over, a lot of Europeans wonder whether they still need a NATO’’ (USIA 1995, 4). Owen Harries (1993) even predicted the collapse of the West as a political and military entity. Others, however, advocate a broader role for NATO now that the Soviet threat has disappeared. William Pfaff claims ‘‘NATO is the true Great Power in Europe today,’’ and he advocated NATO guaranteeing by force the political frontiers of all of Eastern, East-Central, and Balkan Europe (1993). Asmus, et al. (1993) see NATO as the tool with which ‘‘the West’’ can reorganize itself to deal with the conflicts and instability of the post–Cold War system. Perhaps, as Bailes believes, ‘‘reports of NATO’s demise are as premature as ever’’ (1997, 15). As the data in Table 1 show, support for NATO remains high. No evidence suggests the European public wants to abandon NATO. In 1996, majorities in Britain (71%), Germany (69%), and France (54%) think NATO is still essential to their security. Figure 1 portrays the same data in a line diagram format. These trends suggest long-term, deeply-held support for NATO. In Britain, large percentages of opinion consistently viewed NATO as essential. British support remained within a very narrow band of variation between a low of 65% and a high of 78%. In Britain, little evidence exists of volatility or mood swings on this issue. The British public and its government’s foreign policy have been consistently pro-NATO. French support for NATO has increased steadily since 1982. Low levels of French support for NATO were common in the 1970s and early 1980s, due to the Gaullist tradition of French unilateralism. The higher levels of support in

Post–Cold War Security Policy in Europe Table 1 Support for NATO: 1976–1996; Percent Responding NATO is Still Essential

1976 1977 1978 1980 1981 1982 1983 1984 1985 1987 1988 1990 1991 1992 1993 1994 1995 1996

Britain

W. Germany

France

69 73 70 78 70 65 — 76 76 72 — — 72 — — — 69 71

85 79 84 87 62 66 86 87 — 70 76 53 64 71 72 — 58* 69*

42 44 39 43 — 34 — — — 48 — — 56 — — 58 60 54

* Percentages for 1995 and 1996 include respondents from the former East Germany. Measured separately, East Germans have lower support for NATO than West Germans, although support among those in the East is increasing. Question: ‘‘Some people say that NATO is still essential to our country’s security. Others say NATO is no longer essential to our country’s security. Which view is closer to your own?’’ Notes: The identical question was asked for each time period. Data not available where indicated with dashes. N ⫽ 1000 (approximately) for each national sample for each year. Sources: Eichenberg (1989, 124) for 1976–1978 and 1981–1987; Euro-Barometer 14 for 1980; Euro-Barometer 35 for 1991; Asmus (1994, 32) for 1988, 1990, 1992, and 1993; USIA (1994, 1) for 1994; USIA (1995, 4) for 1995, and USIA (1996, 5) for 1995.

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Figure 1 Support for NATO: 1976–1996; percent responding NATO still essential. Question: ‘‘Some people say that NATO is still essential to our country’s security. Others say NATO is no longer essential to our country’s security. Which view is closer to your own?’’ Notes: This figure presents the data from Table 1. Time periods are connected and smoothed where data are missing, such as 1982 to 1987 for France. For Germany, 1995 and 1996 include respondents from both West Germany and the former East Germany. N ⫽ 1000 (approximately) for each national sample. Sources: Eichenberg (1989, 124) for 1976–1978 and 1981–1987; Euro-Barometer 14 for 1980; Euro-Barometer 35 for 1991; Asmus (1994, 32) for 1988, 1990, 1992, and 1993; USIA (1994, 1) for 1994; USIA (1995, 4) for 1995, and USIA (1996, 5) for 1995.

the 1990s suggest the Alliance has become much more well-known and accepted among the French public. Following over 30 years of separation, France is considering returning to NATO’s integrated military command structure. Thus, since the end of the Cold War, France has moved closer to NATO both in terms of official policy and public support. German opinion has fluctuated most of the three countries. A large drop is evident during the early Reagan years, during which large protests demonstrated against NATO’s plans to field the controversial Pershing II and cruise missile nuclear weapons systems. Another decline in German support occurred in 1990 (only 53% responded NATO was still essential). The Berlin Wall had just come down and Germany was moving rapidly toward unification. During this remarkable period, NATO may have been seen as an obstacle to unification and Germa-

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Table 2 German Support for NATO: 1990–1993; Percent Responding NATO is Still Essential

1990 1991 1992 1994

West Germany

East Germany

53 64 71 72

43 35 46 52

Question: ‘‘Some people say that NATO is still essential to our country’s security. Others say NATO is no longer essential to our country’s security. Which view is closer to your own?’’ Notes: N ⫽ 1000 in both samples (approximately) for each year. Source: Asmus 1994, 32.

ny’s foreign policy interests. Since unification, support for NATO has returned to its earlier levels. Support for NATO is lower among East Germans than West Germans, although support is rising in both. The data for Germany in Table 1 and Figure 1 for 1995 and 1996 include respondents from both East and West Germany, which lowers the overall level of support. However, since German unification in 1990, support for NATO has risen among Germans in both regions as shown in Table 2 and Figure 2. The dip in support among East Germans in 1991 may parallel the 1990 dip among the West Germans. It may reflect the perception that with the Soviet Union’s demise, NATO’s role would be diminished. Overall, the German public, in both the West and East, solidly supports NATO, and this support is increasing. As these data indicate, West European public support for NATO has increased since the Cold War. Perhaps Europeans see a greater ‘‘real world’’ need for NATO now than before. The realities of ethnic conflict and regional instability to the east have replaced the traditional Cold War concerns about a Soviet threat, which for some time had become remote. Foreign policies are in transition, and Europeans may see NATO as a familiar, reliable foundation upon which to ensure security in the future. B. Support for the United States As NATO expands eastward and becomes more deeply involved in the Balkans, West European perceptions of the United States will be significant. The Alliance leader needs the support of the West European public.

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Figure 2 German support for NATO: 1990–1993; percent responding NATO still essential. Question: ‘‘Some people say that NATO is still essential to our country’s security. Others say NATO is no longer essential to our country’s security. Which view is closer to your own?’’ Notes: This figure presents the data in Table 2. N ⫽ 1000 in both samples (approximately) for each year. Source: Asmus 1994, 32.

Table 3 and Figure 3 show wide swings in views toward the United States. In the early 1980s, a general erosion of esteem toward the United States occurred throughout West Europe. A tide of anti-Americanism and neutralism was spreading, as evidenced by large peace marches and the growing nuclear freeze movement. ‘‘Favorable images of the United States had outnumbered unfavorable images by as much as 80 percentage points in 1978, but by 1981 this figure had been cut in half or more in all countries except France, where the American rating has historically been low in any case’’ (Eichenberg 1989, 95). By the 1990s, positive attitudes toward the United States had returned. Large majorities displayed confidence in the United States to deal responsibly with world problems: 77% in Great Britain, 76% in West Germany, and 67% in France. European confidence in the United States seemed to dampen a bit in 1995. This may have been the result of criticism in the European media ‘‘over the low priority that U.S.-European relations received during the Clinton Administra-

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Table 3 Confidence in the United States: 1961– 1996; Percent Responding a Great Deal and a Fair Amount

1961 1981 1991 1995 1996

Britain

W. Germany

France

53 30 77 46 69

79 42 76 50* 61*

— — 67 39 58

* Percentages for 1995 and 1996 include respondents from the former East Germany. Question: ‘‘How much confidence do you have in the United States to deal responsibly with world problems? Do you have a great deal of confidence, a fair amount of confidence, very little confidence, or no confidence at all?’’ Notes: The identical question was asked for each time period. Data not available where indicated with dashes. N ⫽ 1000 (approximately) for each national sample for each time period. Sources: Merritt and Puchala (1968, 259) for 1961; Noelle-Neumann (1981, 419–420) for Germany in 1981; Crewe (1984, 49) for Britain in 1981; Euro-Barometer 35 for 1991; USIA (1996, 34) for 1995 and 1996.

tion’s first year’’ (Asmus 1994, 28). Uncertainty over European and American policy in Bosnia may have also contributed to the downturn. Initially, Bosnia was perceived as a European issue, and the hands-off policy of the U.S. may have been viewed as vacillation or weakness by the European public. The lack of agreement among the European powers on how to proceed in Bosnia left a vacuum the U.S. and NATO eventually had to fill. So, by 1996, European trust in U.S. foreign policy leadership bounced back, following American leadership in negotiating a settlement to the Bosnian conflict and NATO’s role in the Implementation Force (IFOR). Together, these events may have bolstered European confidence in the United States. ‘‘West Europeans have as much or nearly as much confidence in the U.S. to deal responsibly with international issues as they have in their own countries’’ (USIA 1996, 34). A more specific issue is support for the U.S. military presence in Europe, which is presented in Table 4. When asked whether the United States military presence in Europe is necessary for the security of their country, wide differences exist on the ‘‘strongly agree’’ response. In Britain, 30% strongly agree that the U.S. military presence is necessary, but only 18% in West Germany and 13% in France strongly agree. Combining the responses of strongly agree and slightly agree produces majorities in Great Britain (63%) and West Germany (58%), but

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Figure 3 Confidence in the U.S.: 1961–1996; percent responding a great/fair amount. Question: ‘‘How much confidence do you have in the United States to deal responsibly with world problems? Do you have a great deal of confidence, a fair amount of confidence, very little confidence, or no confidence at all?’’ Notes: X-axis is not to scale. This figure presents the data from Table 2. Time periods are connected where data are missing, such as between 1981 and 1991. For Germany, 1995 and 1996 include respondents from both West and East Germany. The identical item was administered for each time period. N ⫽ 1000 (approximately) for each national sample for each time period. Sources: Merritt and Puchala (1968, 259) for 1961; Noelle-Neumann (1981, 419–420) for Germany in 1981; Crewe (1984, 49) for Britain in 1981; Euro-Barometer 35 for 1991; USIA (1996, 34) for 1995 and 1996.

only 43% support in France. The fact that U.S. troops have not been stationed on French soil since 1966 probably influences French opinion on this issue. The data in Table 4 suggest support is not very deep or widespread on this issue, but with only the one time period, a firm conclusion is not possible. Thus, little evidence exists to support a possible rise in anti-Americanism. Opinion toward the United States among West Europeans seems unsteady, yet currently favorable. In fact, opinion toward the United States appears to be on the upswing. The large swings in confidence toward the United States in 1995 and 1996, as NATO’s Bosnian policy was developed and debated, suggest the

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Table 4 Support for the U.S. Military Presence in Europe, 1991 Britain Strongly Agree Slightly Agree Slightly Disagree Strongly Disagree Don’t Know Total N

W. Germany

France

30% 33 20 14 3

18% 40 25 11 5

13% 30 21 28 8

100% 1054

99% 1070

100% 1000

Question: ‘‘Please tell me whether you agree strongly, agree slightly, disagree slightly, or disagree strongly with this statement: the United States military presence in Europe is necessary for the security of (your country).’’ Source: Euro-Barometer 35.

European public wants to see the United States engaged in Europe, but in a way that is balanced and respectful of European interests. C. Support for NATO Expansion Policymakers, scholars, and pundits have debated the pros and cons of NATO expansion exhaustively since the fall of the Soviet Union. The issues do not divide along familiar lines. ‘‘Like many post–Cold War foreign policy initiatives, NATO enlargement has scrambled traditional partisan and ideological blocs’’ (Rosner 1996, 9). Realists and idealists find themselves on both sides of this question. Those who support the expansion of NATO do so for a variety of reasons. The realist argument emphasizes the power vacuum left in Eastern Europe by the collapse of the Soviet Union. ‘‘The Soviet collapse has left behind significant and unbalanced military forces and weapons inventories among nations experiencing a wave of instability and conflict generated by virulent nationalism’’ (Asmus et al. 1993). This view sees NATO expansion into Eastern Europe as necessary for ‘‘preventing this region from sliding into a geopolitical instability that could endanger all of Europe’’ (Kugler 1996, xvii). They fear a return of Russian nationalism and an eastward-looking Germany. To the realists, bringing Poland, Hungary, and the Czech Republic into NATO provides stability by correcting Europe’s current balance-of-power difficulties with a new security architecture. Also supporting expansion are idealist arguments, which see expansion as a way to further democratic and economic reforms in Eastern Europe (Holbroke 1995; Kaiser 1996). By entangling East European countries more with the West, demo-

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cratic reforms will continue to move forward, thus providing stability and security. This view sees ‘‘democratization’’ as one of the new priorities for NATO as it expands to the east. Arguments opposing the expansion of NATO vary also. A realist view opposes increasing the security commitments of NATO because no immediate Russian threat exists, the implementation costs appear excessive, and the risks of antagonizing and provoking Russia seem too great. ‘‘If the Russian army is no longer a threat, why should NATO expand to the east to include the Visegrad four?’’ (Summers 1996). This realist view also eschews the tasks of economic and democratic reform. ‘‘NATO is not an effective instrument for promoting either free markets or democracy’’ (Mandelbaum 1995, 9). The idealist argument opposes expansion because it may hinder other internationalist objectives. This view favors a larger goal, that of constructing a European-wide security framework that includes Russia. This view opposes expanding NATO because it might antagonize Russia, which could obstruct the wider objective of a pan-European defense arrangement. ‘‘The main security task of the United States and the nations of Western Europe is to define a place for Russia and the East European states in a comprehensive European security structure’’ (Dean 1996, 18). Beyond this debate among elites, the West European public favors extending NATO membership to Eastern Europe. This support is stronger the more general the question is worded. When asked whether they support admitting Poland, Hungary, and the Czech Republic, the average support in 1996 in Britain was 67%, in Germany 57%, and in France 64%. The volatility of the opinion displayed in Table 5 is interesting, especially considering the short time interval of one year. Support declined in Britain and Germany, but remained about the

Table 5 Support for NATO Expansion to Poland, Hungary, and the Czech Republic; Percent Supporting Expansion Britain

Czech Rep. Hungary Poland Average

Germany

France

1995

1996

1995

1996

1995

1996

64 70 79 71

65 63 74 67

60 72 61 64

54 61 55 57

58 63 68 63

62 60 70 64

Question: ‘‘Keeping in mind that our country must defend any NATO country that comes under attack, please tell me whether you would support or oppose admitting each of the following countries as members of NATO.’’ Notes: N ⫽ 1000 (approximately) for each national sample for each period. Source: USIA 1996, 21.

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299

Table 6 Views on a Possible NATO Referendum to Include Poland, Hungary, and the Czech Republic, 1996 Britain For Against Don’t Know Total N

Germany

France

63% 23 14

48% 40 12

52% 37 11

100% 1010

100% 1200

100% 1002

Question: ‘‘Keeping in mind that our country must defend any NATO country that comes under attack, please tell me how you would vote if there were a referendum tomorrow on including Poland, Hungary, and the Czech Republic in NATO. Would you vote for or against including these countries in NATO if there were a referendum tomorrow?’’ Source: USIA 1996, 21.

same in France. NATO expansion is still a new issue for the European public to consider, so the opinion is not as mature as on other issues. When asked how they would vote in a referendum to include these same countries, the level of support was lower: in Britain 63%, in Germany 48%, and in France 52% (see Table 6). The question on the referendum is more specific and requires respondents to identify with taking some action, even though a referendum is not required for NATO to expand. This type of question drives the level of support down. Another interesting finding is that support on both measures in 1996 is lowest in Germany, which is geographically closer to East Europe and Russia, and support is highest in Britain, which is the farthest away. This proximity factor could become more significant as NATO proceeds with further expansion. NATO invited Poland, Hungary, and the Czech Republic to join first. The invitation was formally offered at the NATO summit in Madrid in July 1997, and the three formally joined the Alliance at the Washington Summit meeting in April 1999. When asked whether other countries, specifically Bulgaria and Romania, should be admitted to NATO, West European opinion is less supportive, as Table 7 indicates. According to Table 8, when asked about a referendum to admit these two countries, less than a majority favor it: Britain (49%), Germany (32%), and France (45%). Again, support is inversely proportional to proximity. Thus, West Europeans support the expansion of NATO, but with some conditions. They have preferences on which countries should be admitted at this time. Regarding Poland, Hungary, and the Czech Republic, public support is substantial, but when asked about Bulgaria and Romania, Europeans balk. Sup-

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Table 7 Support for NATO Expansion to Bulgaria and Romania; Percent Supporting Expansion Britain

Bulgaria Romania Average

Germany

France

1995

1996

1995

1996

1995

1996

56 58 57

54 61 58

52 43 48

46 36 41

57 57 57

59 50 55

Question: ‘‘Keeping in mind that our country must defend any NATO country that comes under attack, please tell me whether you would support or oppose admitting each of the following countries as members of NATO.’’ Notes: N ⫽ 1000 (approximately) for each national sample for each period. Source: USIA 1996, 22.

port declines when asked about a referendum, and Germany’s level of support is the lowest. These observations indicate that opinion on this issue may be fragile, and policymakers should pay attention for shifts in this opinion in the future. D. Generational Influences Fundamental social and political changes have occurred throughout Europe since World War II. Traditional power relationships and decision-making patterns have been altered by the spread of mass education, increased social mobility, generational conflict, a new agenda of political issues, and new forms of political partici-

Table 8 Views on a Possible NATO Referendum to Include Bulgaria and Romania, 1996 Britain For Against Don’t Know Total N

Germany

France

49% 34 17

32% 53 15

45% 44 11

100% 1010

100% 1200

100% 1002

Question: ‘‘And what about Bulgaria and Romania, would you vote for or against including them in NATO if there were a referendum tomorrow?’’ Source: USIA 1996, 22.

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pation (Barnes and Kasse 1979; Dalton et al. 1984; Inglehart 1977; and Szabo 1983). This section examines the influences of generation and political party identification on West European foreign policy opinion. The political consequences of intergenerational attitude change are potentially dramatic. As childhood socialization experiences vary, so will the adult political attitudes and behavior. According to Mannheim, political generations occupy ‘‘a common location in the social and historical process, predisposing them to a certain characteristic type of historically relevant action’’ (1952, 291). An intense interest developed in the 1980s about the West European ‘‘Successor Generation’’ (Levi 1982; Laqueur 1985; and Szabo 1983). The concern was that this younger generation, born since World War II, had internalized a different set of attitudes from those of the older generations. Life experiences of economic prosperity, political stability, and military security had replaced the Great Depression, instability, and war. The worry was that this generation was less supportive of NATO and a strong national security policy because of these generational differences. Some empirical evidence substantiated these concerns. Today, indications of such a generational divide on security issues are not present. Tables 9, 10, and 11 display responses to three questions cross-tabulated

Table 9 Support for NATO by Age, 1991 Under 31

31–55 years old

Over 55

Great Britain

Yes No/DK Total N

59 41 100% 296

77 23 100% 452

78 22 100% 308

West Germany

Yes No/DK Total N

66 34 100% 325

71 29 100% 417

68 32 100% 330

France

Yes No/DK Total N

53 47 100% 330

57 43 100% 426

61 39 100% 244

Question: ‘‘Some people say that NATO is still essential to our country’s security. Others say NATO is no longer essential to our country’s security. Which view is closer to your own?’’ Note: Gamma correlation coefficient for Britain ⫽ .28, West Germany ⫽ .03, and France ⫽ .10; p ⬍ .01 for each. Source: Euro-Barometer 35.

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Table 10 Confidence in the United States by Age, 1991 Under 31

31–55 years old

Over 55

Great Britain

Great/Fair Little/None/DK Total N

80 20 100% 296

76 24 100% 451

77 23 100% 308

West Germany

Great/Fair Little/None/DK Total N

74 26 100% 326

80 20 100% 417

73 27 100% 330

France

Great/Fair Little/None/DK Total N

66 34 100% 330

65 35 100% 426

71 29 100% 244

Question: ‘‘How much confidence do you have in the United States to deal responsibly with world problems? Do you have a great deal of confidence, a fair amount of confidence, very little confidence, or no confidence at all?’’ Note: Gamma correlation coefficient for Britain ⫽ ⫺.05, West Germany ⫽ ⫺.02, and France ⫽ .06; p ⬍ .01 for each. Source: Euro-Barometer 35.

by age. These are the same three issues examined earlier: support for NATO, confidence in the United States, and support for U.S. military presence in Europe, respectively. Age has a moderate effect on the issue of support for NATO in Great Britain and France, as Table 9 shows. However, in both of those countries, even in the youngest age group, support for NATO exceeds 50%. In Britain, where the relationship is strongest, the difference in support between the youngest and oldest age groups is less than 20%. On the question of confidence in the United States, age is not related to opinion at all. Table 10 shows high and equivalent levels of confidence for all age groups in all three countries. The effects of age are weak on the third question, about support for the U.S. military presence in Europe. On this question, France displays the strongest relationship, but again the difference between support among the youngest and oldest groups is less than 20%. Thus, any major concerns about generational effects and security issues may be laid aside for now. These findings show some relationship between age and opinion on security issues, but not to an extent which could portend large shifts in future sentiment as the younger cohorts mature and enter the political process.

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Table 11 Support for U.S. Military Presence by Age, 1991 Under 31

31–55 years old

Over 55

Great Britain

Agree Disagree Total N

59 41 100% 283

64 36 100% 443

73 27 100% 295

West Germany

Agree Disagree Total N

58 42 100% 306

62 38 100% 405

64 36 100% 303

France

Agree Disagree Total N

40 60 100% 299

46 54 100% 387

56 44 100% 229

Question: ‘‘Please tell me whether you agree strongly, agree slightly, disagree slightly, or disagree strongly with this statement: the United States military presence in Europe is necessary for the security of (your country).’’ Note: Gamma correlation coefficient for Britain ⫽ .20, West Germany ⫽ .08, and France ⫽ .20; p ⬍ .01 for each. Categories collapsed: strongly and slightly agree ⫽ agree; and strongly and slightly disagree ⫽ disagree. Source: Euro-Barometer 35.

E.

Partisan Influences

Potentially, partisan loyalties could influence significantly the politics of security affairs. If European political parties polarize over these issues, the policy implications would be great. Given the ideological nature of European parties, such an occurrence is possible. American political parties stand in sharp contrast to those in Europe. Moderate Republicans and conservative Democrats routinely blur any ideological meaning to American party labels, and the nominating procedures in the United States are such that candidates and office-holders need not ever answer to the party organizations. Although it is common to say that the United States has two centrist parties, in reality it has two parties both to the right of center. There has never been any socialist tradition (much less communist) in America. Additionally, the tradition of bipartisan foreign policymaking in the United States has promoted the notion that ‘‘politics stops at the water’s edge.’’ Political parties in West Europe cover the entire ideological landscape. The British Labor Party, the Social Democrats in Germany (SPD), and the Socialist Party in France (PS) are all parties of the left within the socialist tradition. Addi-

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Table 12 British Attitudes by Party, 1991 Labor

Liberals

Conservatives

1. Is NATO still essential?

Yes No/DK Total N

61 39 100% 152

85 15 100% 62

85 15 100% 245

2. Confidence in the U.S.?

Great/Fair Little/None Total N

70 30 100% 152

73 27 100% 62

89 11 100% 245

3. Are U.S. troops necessary?

Yes No Total N

52 48 100% 146

70 30 100% 61

81 19 100% 237

Questions: The foreign policy questions are the same as Tables 1, 3, and 4, respectively. The question on political party asked which party the respondent feels closest to. Notes: Gamma correlation coefficient for Question 1 ⫽ .46, Question 2 ⫽ .46, and Question 3 ⫽ .50; p ⬍ .01. The number of missing cases is sizable because those responding with a minor party or ‘‘Don’t Know’’ are not included in the analysis. Missing cases for question 1 ⫽ 597; question 2 ⫽ 597; question 3 ⫽ 612. Source: Euro-Barometer 35.

tionally, France still has its Communist Party (PCF), which polls about 10% of the vote. The German Green Party in some ways defies ideological identity, but its issue positions place it on the left, although without the socialist doctrine. The British Liberal Party and the German Free Democrats (FDP) hold down the political center in those countries. The British Conservative Party and the German coalition partners of the Christian Democrats (CDU) and Christian Social Union (CSU) are right-leaning parties in those countries. In France, the Union for French Democracy (UDF) and the Rally for the Republic (RPR) form the right-of-center coalition. France also has a party on the far right, the National Front (FN), which polls between 5% and 14% of the vote with its anti-immigration and anti-communism message. In the early 1980s, concerned observers questioned the commitment to NATO by the political left. In some ways it appeared the parties of the left had rejected Atlanticism (or pro-NATO ideals) altogether (Haseler 1983; Rossi 1985). Public opinion data showed polarization occurring with the parties on the right much more supportive of NATO and a strong national security than the parties of the left (Flynn and Rattinger 1985; Ziegler 1987). As the data in Tables 12, 13, and 14 depict, large partisan differences re-

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Table 13 West German Attitudes by Party, 1991 Greens

SPD

FDP

CDU/CSU

1. Is NATO still essential?

Yes No/DK Total N

40 60 100% 42

65 35 100% 223

77 23 100% 40

80 20 100% 217

2. Confidence in the U.S.?

Great/Fair Little/None Total N

59 41 100% 42

77 23 100% 223

80 20 100% 40

87 13 100% 217

3. Are U.S. troops necessary?

Yes No Total N

33 67 100% 42

55 45 100% 216

56 44 100% 39

76 24 100% 211

Questions: The foreign policy questions are the same as Tables 1, 3, and 4, respectively. The question on political party asked which party the respondent feels closest to. Notes: Gamma correlation coefficient for Question 1 ⫽ .40, Question 2 ⫽ .35, and Question 3 ⫽ .43; p ⬍ .01. The number of missing cases is sizable because those responding with a minor party or ‘‘Don’t Know’’ are not included in the analysis. Missing cases for question 1 ⫽ 551; question 2 ⫽ 551; question 3 ⫽ 565. Source: Euro-Barometer 35.

main. The French Communist Party and the German Greens display the lowest support for NATO, the United States, and U.S. troops. However, the three principal parties on the left, the socialist parties, all support these issues in percentages greater than 50%, except for the French Socialist Party on the question of U.S. military presence. If support among the parties on the left was well below 50% while support on the right was far above 50% (for example, 35% support on the left and 75% support on the right), then one could conclude that attitudes were polarizing over these issues, but the levels of support observed here do not suggest that this is the case. In Britain, an average of 24 percentage points separates the Labor Party from the Conservatives. The Conservatives are clearly more pro-NATO. Within Labor, pacifism has traditionally been a strongly-held view. As recently as 1987, the Labor Party leader, Neil Kinnock, advocated a defense policy based on passive resistance. However, as Table 12 shows, on all three policy questions, a majority of the Labor respondents support NATO and the United States, so the differences between the parties today are in degree, not position. In Germany, an average of only 15 percentage points separates the SPD from the CDU/CSU on the three questions. Since renouncing its most extreme

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Table 14 French Attitudes by Party, 1991 PCF

PS

UDF/RPR

NF

1. Is NATO still essential?

Yes No/DK Total N

31 69 100% 35

61 39 100% 194

73 27 100% 128

72 28 100% 18

2. Confidence in the U.S.?

Great/Fair Little/None Total N

31 67 100% 35

70 30 100% 194

88 12 100% 128

72 28 100% 18

3. Are U.S. troops necessary?

Yes No Total N

26 74 100% 31

41 59 100% 184

59 41 100% 125

71 29 100% 17

Questions: The foreign policy questions are the same as Tables 1, 3, and 4, respectively. The question on political party asked which party the respondent feels closest to. Notes: Gamma correlation coefficient for Question 1 ⫽ .36, Question 2 ⫽ .51, and Question 3 ⫽ .40; p ⬍ .01. The number of missing cases is sizable because those responding with a minor party or ‘‘Don’t Know’’ are not included in the analysis. Missing cases for question 1 ⫽ 625; question 2 ⫽ 625; question 3 ⫽ 643. Source: Euro-Barometer 35.

socialist positions in 1959, the SPD has firmly supported military preparations and German membership in NATO. It was a socialist chancellor, Helmut Schmidt, who proposed the dual-track decision in 1979, which advocated deploying the Pershing II and cruise missiles in Europe. As Table 13 shows, the SPD does support NATO and the United States with healthy majorities. The Greens are much less supportive of NATO and the United States than the other parties; however, the Greens constitute only about 8% of the respondents and their main concerns are with other issues. The French Communist Party displays the lowest support for these issues than any party from any country. But, the PCF garners only 9% of the respondents. Historically, French policymakers on the left and right have advocated international independence for France and a suspicion of NATO and the United States. De Gaulle consistently spoke out against any possible infringement of French sovereignty, and the French Socialist Party under Mitterand never opposed the French independent nuclear force, the force de frappe. As Table 14 shows, between the two main parties in France, the difference is 16 percentage points, about the same as the main parties in Germany. The partisan influences are greatest in Great Britain. This finding is sup-

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ported by the percentage variation between the main parties in each country as just discussed, and by the strength of the gamma correlation coefficient computed for these relationships (average gamma for Britain is .47; for Germany is .39; and for France is .42). Two factors may explain the strength of partisan effects in Britain. First, the British party system has no party to the left of Labor, like the Greens in Germany or the PCF in France. So, all the anti-NATO and anti-American sentiment resides in the one major opposition party in Britain. The second possible factor is that both the German SPD and the French Socialists have been in power more recently than the British Labor Party. There may be a moderating effect on the views of a leftist party who, while in power, tend to deal responsibly with allies and national security issues. Thus, partisan differences appear to be significant but not dramatic. The major parties do approach these issues with different levels of support among their rank-and-file. Should these differences increase in the future, they could become important in regard to policy choices offered by the different parties. For the moment, however, the parties are not polarized over the issues of NATO and the United States.

IV. CONCLUSION The West European public defines its post–Cold War security interests within the structure of the Atlantic Alliance. The findings indicate a strengthening of support for NATO since the end of the Cold War. This has occurred despite the faltering of other European institutions: momentum toward European unity has slowed, Maastricht has become a divisive symbol, the European economy may be in a prolonged structural recession, and ‘‘a nasty, racist form of populism has spread through much of the continent’’ (Harries 1993, 282). The memory of NATO’s successes in the Cold War and its promise of providing stability to Eastern Europe and the Balkans may have given NATO a level of favorable public support that is deep and long-lasting. Policymakers will find this support valuable if Europe faces conflict and instability on its borders in the future. In regard to the United States, European opinion is more variable. It shifts back and forth, depending on the latest security concerns. A strong tendency has always existed in Europe to view the United States as unsophisticated and incompetent in foreign affairs; therefore, confidence in the United States dropped in the early 1980s during the ‘‘evil empire’’ rhetoric and again in 1995 with the uncertain policy on Bosnia. However, in 1996, after a unified NATO response in Bosnia, sizable majorities in Britain, Germany, and France expressed confidence in U.S. ability to deal responsibly with world problems. Currently, levels of confidence in the United States are substantial.

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Although the debate over NATO expansion continues among policymakers and scholars, the West European public appears comfortable with the idea for the moment. Support for admitting Poland, Hungary, and the Czech Republic is stronger than support for including other countries, such as Bulgaria and Romania. An interesting observation is that support for expansion weakens as one nears Eastern Europe, with the Germans displaying the lowest support and the British the highest. How deeply these views toward expansion are held is not clear. Possibly, support for the expansion of NATO could weaken if the policy debate becomes louder and more visible to the public. The findings uncovered only weak relationships between age and foreign policy opinions. The trend was for older generations to have greater support for NATO and the presence of U.S. troops; however, confidence in the ability of the United States to handle world affairs was not influenced by age. Thus, little evidence was found of an anti-Atlanticist or anti-American ‘‘Successor Generation.’’ Partisan effects, however, were stronger. Political parties on the left of the ideological spectrum displayed significantly lower levels of support for NATO and the United States than parties on the right. Cross-nationally, these effects were statistically the strongest in Great Britain. But in regard to individual political parties, the lowest support was among the German Greens and the French Communists. If favorable opinion toward NATO weakens because of a foreign policy setback or some other reason, partisan differences could become more pronounced and politically meaningful. European nations face important challenges as they approach the end of this century. As NATO continues its commitment in the Balkans, proceeds with further eastward expansion, and confronts new security threats in the future, policymakers should be able to draw upon a considerable reservoir of support among the West European public. ‘‘Whether Europe unravels for a third time this century depends on if the West summons the political will and strategic vision to address the causes of potential instability and conflict before it is too late’’ (Asmus et al. 1993). An alliance that is cohesive, capable, and resolved is crucial to Europe’s future. The West European public, one of the principal domestic sources of foreign policy, will contribute significantly to NATO’s post–Cold War security policy.

REFERENCES Almond, G. A. 1950. The American People and Foreign Policy. New York: Praeger. Asmus, R. D. 1994. German Strategy and Opinion After the Wall. Santa Monica, CA: Rand.

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Asmus, R. D., Kugler, R. L., and Larrabee, F. S. 1993. Building a new NATO: Foreign Affairs 72 (September/October): 28–40. Bailes, A. 1997. Europe’s defense challenge: Reinventing the Atlantic Alliance. Foreign Affairs 76 ( January/February): 15–20. Barnes, S. H., and Kasse, M. eds. 1979. Political Action: Mass Participation in Five Western Democracies. Beverly Hills: Sage. Bertram, C. ed. 1983. Defense and Consensus: The Domestic Aspects of Western Security. New York: St. Martin’s. Dalton, R. J., Flanagan, S. C., and Beck, P. A. eds. 1984. Electoral Change in Advanced Industrial Democracies: Realignment or Dealignment. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Dean, J. 1996. No NATO expansion now. The Bulletin of Atomic Scientists 52 (May/ June): 18–19. Eichenberg, R. C. 1989. Public Opinion and National Security in Western Europe. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Euro-Barometer 14. Trust in the European Community, October 1980. 1983. Ann Arbor: Inter-University Consortium for Political and Social Research. [Machine-readable data file; study 7958.] Euro-Barometer 35. Foreign Relations, the Common Agricultural Policy, and Environmental Concerns, Spring 1991. 1993. Ann Arbor: Inter-University Consortium for Political and Social Research. [Machine-readable data file: study 9697.] Flynn, G., and Rattinger, H. eds. 1985. The Public and Atlantic Defense. London: Rowman and Allanheld. Graham, T. W. 1994. Public opinion and U.S. foreign policy making. In The New Politics of American Foreign Policy Making, David A. Deese, ed. New York: St. Martin’s. Harries, O. 1993. The collapse of ‘‘The West.’’ Foreign Affairs 72 (September/October): 41–53. Haseler, S. 1983. The demise of Atlanticism: European elites and NATO. Public Opinion 6 (February/March): 2–4. Hinckley, R. H. 1992. People, Polls, and Policymakers: American Public Opinion and National Security. New York: Lexington Books. Holbroke, R. 1995. America, a European power. Foreign Affairs 74 (March/April): 38–51. Inglehart, R. 1977. The Silent Revolution: Changing Values and Political Styles Among Western Publics. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Inglehart, R. 1984. Generational change and the future of the Atlantic Alliance. PS 17 (Summer): 525–535. Kaiser, K. 1996. Reforming NATO. Foreign Policy 103 (Summer): 128–143. Key, V. O. 1961. Public Opinion and American Democracy. New York: Knopf. Klingberg, F. L. 1952. The historical alternations of moods in American foreign policy. World Politics 4 (January): 239–273. Kugler, R. L. 1996. Enlarging NATO: The Russia Factor. Santa Monica, CA: Rand. Ladd, E. C. 1993. Foreword. In Public Opinion in U.S. Foreign Policy, Richard Sobel, ed. Lanham MD: Rowman and Littlefield. Laqueur, W. 1985. Youth and politics. Washington Quarterly 8: 5–11.

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LeoGrande, W. M. 1993. Did the public matter? In Public Opinion in U.S. Foreign Policy, Richard Sobel, ed. Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littlefield. Levi, A. 1982. Western values and the successor generation. NATO Review 30: 2–7. Mandelbaum, M. 1995. Preserving the new peace: The case against NATO expansion. Foreign Affairs 74 (May/June): 9–13. Mannheim, K. 1952. Essays on the Sociology of Knowledge. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul. Merritt, R. L, and Puchala, D. 1968. West European Perspectives Toward International Affairs. New York: Praeger. Noelle-Neumann, E. ed. 1981. The Germans: Public Opinion Polls, 1967–1980. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press. Pfaff, W. 1993. Invitation to war: Ethnic conflict in the Balkans. Foreign Affairs 72 (Summer): 97–109. Page, B. I., and Robert Y. Shapiro, R. Y. 1992. The Rational Public: Fifty Years of Trends in Americans’ Policy Preferences. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Rosenau, J. N. 1961. Public Opinion and Foreign Policy. New York: Random House. Rosner, J. D. 1996. NATO enlargement’s American hurdle. Foreign Affairs 75 ( July/ August): 9–16. Rossi, S. A. 1985. Public opinion and Atlantic defense in Italy. In The Public and Atlantic Defense, Gregory Flynn and Hans Rattinger, eds. London: Rowman and Allanheld. Russett, B. and DeLuca, D. R. 1983. Theater nuclear forces: Public opinion in Western Europe. Political Science Quarterly 98 (Summer): 179–196. Schneider, W. 1983. Elite and public opinion: The Alliance’s new fissure? Public Opinion 6 (February/March): 5–8. Shapiro, R. Y., and Page, B. I. 1994. Foreign policy and public opinion. In The New Politics of American Foreign Policy. New York: St. Martin’s Press. Summers, H. 1996. NATO expansion aims questioned. Fayetteville Observer Times, August 8. Szabo, S. F. 1983. The Successor Generation: International Perspectives of Postwar Europeans. London: Butterworth. USIA, Office of Research and Media Reaction. 1995. The New European Security Architecture. Washington, D.C.: USIA. USIA, Office of Research and Media Reaction. 1996. The New European Security Architecture Volume II. Washington, D.C.: USIA. USIA, Office of Research 1994. French opinion of NATO related to variety of international issues. Opinion Research Memorandum, July 8. Ziegler, A. H. 1987. The West European Public and the Atlantic Alliance. Ann Arbor: University Microfilms International.

15 National Culture or International Trade? The Labour Government’s Media Policies Des Freedman University of North London, London, England

I. INTRODUCTION There is a central contradiction at the heart of media policymaking in contemporary Western economies. The huge increase in the scale and value of the mass media as part of a booming service sector, along with the decline of manufacturing industries, has forced governments to take this sector very seriously and to develop policy to maximize the media’s economic potential. However, media producers have traditionally been very hostile to direct government intervention. The newspaper, television, music, and film industries tend to respond badly to official diktat, asserting the need for political independence and creative autonomy and fiercely resisting any identification as ‘‘government media.’’ In the UK, the idea that there is a free press, public service broadcasting, and a cultural underground is used to account for the diversity and innovation of its media industries. State-run media, on the other hand, are generally associated with bureaucracy, cultural conservatism, and political caution. How can any government, therefore, champion its country’s media industries in the hope of economic rewards without compromising the independence and flair of its cultural producers? The Labour government’s solution lies in its vision of ‘‘Creative Britain,’’ an officially sanctioned policy which seeks to establish Britain as a cultural powerhouse whose television programs, records, digital decoders, films, and general creativity triumphantly saturate world markets. According to Chris Smith, the minister for culture, the ‘‘creative industries are not a fringe benefit for Britain’s economy, they are right at the heart of it. We are one of the most creative nations 311

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on Earth’’ (quoted in Watson-Smyth, 1998: 13). The intention is to boost Britain’s balance of trade while simultaneously engendering the sort of conviction within the country that disappeared with the withering away of its manufacturing industries. The prime minister, Tony Blair, and the leaders of New Labour have embraced the British media for economic, political, and symbolic reasons. They have highlighted creative industries which account for approximately £50 billion of economic activity (Smith, 1998: 31) and established policy for considering changes to tax, training, and intellectual property laws to stimulate these industries. They have sought accommodation with leading figures from the world of popular culture and the media in order to increase the government’s popularity. Finally, Labour leaders have turned to contemporary culture as a key part of the process of ‘‘re-branding,’’ designed to re-equip Britain with a more dynamic and cutting-edge image. The government is attempting to use the cultural industries to redefine what it means to be British, to build a British culture in keeping with a world increasingly characterized by global flows of finance, information, and images. This chapter examines the tensions in the Creative Britain project between the drive to maximize exports and the desire to secure a media system fit for domestic consumers. This requires an evaluation of the claims made by globalization theorists that the effectiveness of state intervention into the worlds of business and leisure has been undermined by the global organization of capital together with technological developments that challenge the coherence of national boundaries. The chapter also discusses the interrelationship, at a policy level, between global communicative flows and the role of media in a national context. To what extent is Labour’s proposed British media sector shaped by international commercial imperatives or more domestic requirements in constructing and sustaining notions of ‘‘Britishness’’ for British consumers? Is globalization in the field of communications an unwelcome trend foisted on a reluctant government or does it offer a convenient commercial and ideological excuse for policy maneuvers in re-regulating public service media? Although my examples are drawn from Britain, I hope that the conclusions will be relevant to other media markets and governments.

II. GLOBALIZATION: SUPPORTERS AND CRITICS The term ‘‘globalization’’ has been mobilized by an increasing number of academics, politicians, and institutions in an effort to organize a variety of political and economic trends, assumptions, and speculations into a coherent theory. A common-sense view of globalization based on supranational forces and in the

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interdependence of social relations has emerged thanks to the contributions of actors with seemingly conflicting interests. Large-scale financial organizations like the Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development (OECD) and the World Bank theorize about globalization in order to urge macro-economic restructuring along free market lines. Many Western political leaders, like Tony Blair, have reacted to global developments by lowering expectations in the ability of individual governments to ‘‘buck the system’’ and to grant social or economic reforms. Politicians from less developed countries tend to view globalization as a further agent of Western domination and are supported by academics who talk of a concomitant rise in economic and cultural imperialism. Even though globalization is a contested term, it is nevertheless necessary to pin down the ways in which primary definers use it. According to the OECD, ‘‘globalization is manifested in a shift from a world of distinct national economies to a global economy in which production is internationalised and financial capital flows freely and instantly between countries’’ (OECD, 1995). The arguments of the ‘‘globalizers,’’ whether favorable or hostile to the development, rest on a number of notions: that new centers of production are emerging outside the heart of the advanced West; that imports and exports play an ever-increasing role in the lives of national markets; and that capital is so mobile that both workers and governments are limited in their ability to resist. Tony Blair argues that globalization ‘‘is changing the nature of the nation-state as power becomes more diffuse and borders become more porous. Technological change is reducing the power and capacity of government to control its domestic economy free from external influence’’ (Blair, 1996: 204). Developments in communications are central to this shift. Globalization is seen partly as a product of technological innovation. Globalisation is both a cause and a consequence of the information revolution. It is driven by dramatic improvements in telecommunications, exponential increases in computing power coupled with lower costs, and the developments of electronic communications and information networks such as the Internet (OECD, 1995).

Satellite communication, telecommunications networks, information technology, and global media flows, it is argued, have crushed barriers of time and space and allowed for either the possibility of physical relocation of operations to lowercost areas or, more frequently, the growing penetration of goods and services into new markets. Ian Angell of the London School of Economics claims that the pending electronic superhighways will allow the global companies of the future to ‘‘relocate (physically or electronically) to where profit is the greatest and regulation least’’ (Angell, 1995: 10). But there is another way in which communicative processes are said to

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have an impact on globalization in the sense that symbolic exchanges are instinctively global. Distinguishing between the national basis of economic activity and the wider arena of creative practices, John Maynard Keynes argued that: I sympathise with those who would minimise, rather than those who would maximise economic entanglement between nations. Ideas, knowledge, art, hospitality, travel—these are the things which should of their nature be international. But let goods be homespun whenever it is reasonable and conveniently possible, and above all, let finance be primarily national (quoted in Elliott, 1997a: 19).

Keynes’ comments have been updated in the notion, popularized by academics influenced by postmodernism, that communications and culture, far from being secondary actors, are instead primary agents in constituting globalization. ‘‘Culture,’’ according to Stuart Hall, ‘‘increasingly regulates globalisation’’ because it teaches capital how to behave in unfamiliar parts of the world.1 ‘‘Capital has to indigenise itself throughout the world . . . That means coming to terms with different cultures, social forms, philosophical attitudes, with different forms of the family, simply to sell its goods’’ (quoted in Hall and Jacques, 1997: 35– 36). Television and advertising are not simply global industries but ambassadors in naturalizing multinational capital across the globe. The importance of culture is repeatedly echoed by postmodern theorists like Waters (1995) for whom globalization is evidence of the constitutive power of the symbolic. However, this argument is also made in more surprising quarters. The OECD, not normally associated with an interest in culture, emphasizes how global television and the Internet are creating new methods of political organization which supersede national interests and are therefore assuming new levels of both political and symbolic significance in the globalized environment. ‘‘The global news media is another important international influence. It increasingly defines international issues and events, which consequently demand immediate responses from government’’ (OECD, 1995). Tony Blair, as ever, is not far behind. ‘‘I also believe that the internationalisation of culture has played a significant part [in globalization]. In Tokyo and London, increasingly, we are sharing the same rock music, the same designer clothes, the same films and surely, over time, the same attitude and tastes’’ (Blair, 1996: 118–119). Blair’s comments perfectly capture one of the key consequences of globalization in the media arena: the notion of a global culture. This refers to the idea that the proliferation of international media has flattened out previously distinctive national cultural habits. We are left with a ‘‘homogeneous global culture which means that a good night out in Singapore or Salford could mean the same thing: a Hollywood movie, a Big Mac and a bop to 2 Become 1 [by the Spice Girls] in a club’’ (Elliott and Ryle, 1997: 2). The conception of a uniform, stateless culture provided by giant media

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corporations and devoured by faceless consumers has been subject to extensive criticism by writers with very different agendas. Those broadly associated with the critique of cultural imperialism, such as Schiller (1996) and Herman and McChesney (1997), largely accept the reality of globalization but see it as the means by which mainly U.S. multinationals extend their domination of world trade in communications and continue to impose a ‘‘map of meaning’’ on the rest of the world which squares with the values of corporate America. Furthermore, they argue, much of the world’s population is simply excluded from these developments by virtue of their poverty and lack of access to mass media. John Tomlinson, however, refutes this notion of a monolithic global culture and challenges the exponents of cultural imperialism for embracing linearity at a time when communicative flows are increasingly ‘‘decentered’’ following new centers of cultural production in places like Brazil and Mexico and active forms of audience reception (Tomlinson, 1997: 180–188). Hamid Mowlana (1997) stresses the multidirectional and multidimensional flows of globalization while Chris Barker asserts that the ‘‘globalization of television has contributed to the construction of a postmodern collage of images from different times and places’’ (Barker, 1997: 208). Together with the perceived heterogeneity of media flows, critics talk of a new global/local dialectic where local cultures are valorized by global media (Tehranian and Tehranian, 1997: 148) and where ‘‘global communications industries also study ways of customizing or innovating product that is suitable for mass marketing within geo-cultural regions while at the local level media producers increasingly draw on the codes and conventions . . . of the global popular’’ (Boyd-Barrett, 1997: 15–16). While these notions of customization, indigenization, and multi-polarity undermine the image of a homogeneous global culture, the alleged weakening of the nation-state under globalization is also said to be de-territorializing communications. This is particularly the case in telecommunications where Jill Hills argues that ‘‘[d]eregulation shifts power away from sovereign governments to private capital in whatever market it takes place’’ (Hills, 1986: 203). As Frederick Wasser explains in his analysis of Hollywood’s export strategy, the media too are becoming disembedded from their homes in individual nation-states. Mass media hegemony, once a matter of one national culture dominating another, can no longer explain the national character of the institutions of mass media. Instead, deracinated transnational media now dominate all national audiences (Wasser, 1995: 423).

There may be disagreements as to the outcomes of and flows within globalization, but there remains a high degree of consensus among these writers that rootless concentrations of capital are scouring the globe for investment opportunities, shackled less by government regulation, national boundaries, or technological capacity than ever before. This, therefore, represents a fundamentally new type

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of social, political, and economic order in which old theories and forms of organization—particularly centerd around class—are of marginal importance in defending democracy than more reflexive, either broad-based or extremely localized, social movements. Globalization, in this scenario, with its emphasis on capital mobility, is the gravedigger of both class-based movements and statebased reformist projects. However, there now exists an increasing body of work which tackles the extent to which globalization theory is either a new or an adequate way of explaining the world today. In particular, there are a number of critiques of globalization focusing on its economic claims, including Fox Piven (1995), Weiss (1997), Harman (1996), Gordon (1988), and Hirst and Thompson (1996). While these writers range from social democratic reformism to the revolutionary left, they agree that globalization theory reflects the increasingly crucial international dimension of capitalist trade but that it is not a break from previous economic patterns. Far from being inevitable, ‘‘so-called ‘globalization’ must be seen as a politically rather than a technologically induced phenomenon’’ (Weiss, 1997: 23). Fox Piven argues that globalization is the conscious application of laissezfaire politics, presented by politicians and economists as inevitable given the invincibility of multinational capital, but designed to advance the interests of corporate elites. The ideology of globalization, according to Harman, ‘‘has encouraged the idea that multinationals are too powerful to be hit by ‘old-fashioned’ forms of workers’ struggle and the abandonment of these forms of struggle has handed victory to the multinationals’’ (Harman, 1996: 28). These writers present evidence that contradicts both the extent to which globalization has taken hold and the ensuing helplessness of national governments. They point to the resilience of national bases of production, the fact that investment is overwhelmingly confined to the most advanced countries, the growing importance of regional (not global) trade as contained within the European Union, NAFTA and ASEAN (Association of South East Asian Nations) countries and the continuing links between states and private capital. As Hirst and Thompson conclude, there is a significant difference between a ‘‘fully globalized economy and an open international economy that is still fundamentally characterised by exchange between relatively distinct national economies’’ (1996: 7). Colin Sparks (1998) applies this critical framework to the media in particular when he reflects on whether there is indeed a global public sphere. In terms of satellite channels, often seen as the harbinger of global media through stations like Sky, Star TV, and MTV, Sparks argues that there is little reason to believe that these are genuinely global forms. Pay-TV tends to stay close to national audiences in terms of content, regulation, and its subscriber-management system—despite popular belief, it is simply not true that satellite channels can avoid state-based regulation. Those channels which are seen to be truly global like MTV and CNN command insignificant audiences compared to national terrestrial

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media in the UK like Top of the Pops and network news programs of the BBC and ITN (Independent Television News). The same is true for ‘‘global’’ newspapers like the Wall Street Journal and the Financial Times which reach a very small and elite group of English-language readers. He argues that the Internet, which has more global possibilities than other forms, is reproducing existing patterns of domination by business and U.S. interests and that ‘‘the structure of the global media follows very closely the patterns of economic and political power long established in other aspects of human activity’’ (Sparks, 1998: 120). To the extent that there is a global media, it is very small, exclusive, and shows none of the signs of a rational, inclusive, and critical public sphere. There are, therefore, conflicting accounts of the economic and communicative status of contemporary society. One the one hand, there is the analysis from the OECD and Tony Blair that global social relations have been transformed by communication technology and constraints placed upon the interventionist capacity of the nation-state. Theorists have further analyzed the impact of global processes upon the media and have pointed either to the increasing uniformity of global culture or to the heterogeneity and multi-dimensionality of global media flows. On the other hand, there is a group of critics who reject the idea that globalization represents a qualitative break from previous patterns of economic organization and that, instead, it embodies the will of neo-liberal political and economic actors. Economic and communicative activities are subject to the same degree of geographical and class inequalities, therefore ruling out the possibility of democratic global media.

III. NEW LABOUR AND GLOBALIZATION Globalization is accepted by the Labour leadership as a fact which presents challenges but, in general, creates opportunities. With a commitment to market forces, a liberalized telecommunications network and a zealous export strategy based around high-tech knowledge and creative industries, the government is optimistic about the new international order. Tony Blair is especially happy. ‘‘Most of us, as consumers, welcome the developments globalisation have brought. We like the idea of choosing between a Japanese, British or German car, of buying Italian as well as British clothes, or choosing as soon we will in Britain, from 30, 40 or 100 TV channels not four’’ (Blair, 1996: 120). Despite the fact that most British people will confront global forces in terms of pressure on wages and job cuts and not whether to shop in Emporio Armani or Marks and Spencer, globalization for Blair represents the simple expansion of trade and consumer choice. Although not all of the government shares the prime minister’s enthusiasm,2 Lord Irvine, the Lord Chancellor, best expresses the Labour government’s position in his statement that ‘‘the global economy makes redistribution impossi-

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ble’’ (quoted in Hattersley, 1997: 21). Globalization provides a key justification for New Labour’s priorities of reforming the welfare state (by cutting welfare payments), maintaining the restrictions on trade union organization (to make wages more competitive and flexible) and reorientating trade towards the creative and high-tech areas outlined above (without dealing with the structural causes of unemployment). Far from being trapped by anonymous global economic forces, the state itself uses globalization as a weapon in its strategy to increase the competitiveness of capital. The media industries comprise one of the areas where the Labour government is trying to stimulate economic activity both nationally and internationally while recognizing the cultural role of the media for British audiences. Far from accepting the reduction of its power, the government is consciously using the discourse of globalization to launch these industries onto the international stage. Just as Edward Comor (1996) described the American state’s mediating capacity in placing American capital at the center of information infrastructure developments, the British state is certainly an activist state in promoting globalization. As Linda Weiss puts it: Rather than counterposing nation-state and global market as antinomies, in certain respects we find that ‘‘globalization’’ is often the by-products of states promoting the internationalization strategies of their corporations, and sometimes in the process ‘‘internationalizing state capacity’’ (Weiss, 1997: 4).

However, the British state is not solely interested in export markets. As Colin Sparks argues, the state is also interested in policing the symbolic activities of its population. Writing under a Conservative government, he found that ‘‘there is no sign that state intervention [into broadcasting] is being reduced,’’ either in terms of appointments to broadcasting bodies, political attacks on broadcasters, or plans for legislation (Sparks, 1995: 152–154). There is presently no reason to think that this degree of intervention has changed under the Labour government. Final decisions about broadcasting appointments continue to rest with the secretary of state for media, culture and sport; the BBC has come in for sustained attack from the prime minister’s press office for criticizing the government; and new legislation on broadcasting, to regulate content and structures in the age of convergence, is currently being drawn up. We will, therefore, now consider the Labour government’s strategies in relation to the British media’s economic role and how this impinges on their cultural importance at the level of the nationstate. A. Picking Winners: Labour’s Global Media Strategy In 1994, Mo Mowlam, then Labour’s media spokesperson, succinctly summarized the problems facing policymakers in the changing media world.

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We are, therefore, faced with two conflicting requirements: the need on the one hand for our media industries to be internationally competitive—audiovisual industries are an important sector for growth in the British economy, which means jobs—and, on the other, the need for diversity and pluralism that is crucial in a democracy (Mowlam, 1994: 24).

Mowlam spoke of the need to balance international and domestic objectives without compromising either. The question is whether the peculiar factors which produced a rich media environment in Britain are relevant to international markets and whether the pursuit of a more global strategy will jeopardize domestic media. Today’s ministers and policy advisers are much more circumspect than Mowlam about these problems. Chris Smith, the secretary of state for culture and media, talks of securing ‘‘good quality and diversity’’ while simultaneously ‘‘doing what we can to promote its competitiveness in the global marketplace’’ (Smith, 1997a: 11). According to Harry Reeves, head of general broadcasting policy at the Department for Culture, Media, and Sport (DCMS), global television presents opportunities far more than dilemmas. It [global television] is very high on the list of policy objectives. We’re in one of those situations where it’s move on or die . . . There is a widespread perception that there is a conflict between the cultural objectives and the economic objectives and to a degree there is. But I don’t think that it has ever been demonstrated that the kind of quality and variety that is placed on broadcasters necessarily impairs their competitiveness in international markets (Reeves, 1997).

Labour is enthusiastic about applying this strategy of ‘‘going global’’ to the BBC who were pushed by the previous Conservative government to develop a more commercial, outward-looking perspective, encapsulated in its 1994 White Paper entitled ‘‘The Future of the BBC: Serving the Nation, Competing WorldWide’’ (Department of National Heritage, 1994). Labour has no plans to change this emphasis. Paul Heron, head of the public service broadcasting branch at the DCMS, argues that ‘‘there are great opportunities, great markets . . . extra revenue for the BBC which goes into quality public service broadcasting. The government would certainly not want to curtail the BBC’s commercial activities. . . . I don’t see any contradiction [between public service and commercial activities].’’ (Heron, 1997). The BBC has therefore launched four commercial channels for cable and satellite in a partnership with Flextech, part of the giant U.S.-based TCI cable group and provides a number of channels across the world through its commercial arm, BBC Worldwide. Perhaps more controversially, the BBC has struck a deal with the Discovery Channel to provide programming for the U.S. market. The BBC, it is argued, risks losing some of its independence by being twinned with a company whose main responsibility is to its shareholders and not viewers. ‘‘It’s

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like being a lobster in a pot,’’ claimed one BBC insider. ‘‘The water was cool when we got in, but the temperature has been turned up and we haven’t yet realised that we are being boiled alive’’ (quoted in the Economist, 1998). To what extent has the BBC’s global strategy, backed by Labour, paid off? Turnover of commercial activities outside has Britain has risen from £44 million in 1990 to £140 million in 1997 but still provides an almost insignificant proportion of the BBC’s total turnover, up from 3% of all external income in 1990 to just 6% in 1997 (see BBC, 1990 and 1997). The remaining 94% of income continues to come from either license fees or commercial revenue from inside Britain.3 State-based audiences are not only the financial cornerstone of the BBC but ‘‘the attempt to direct resources into programming that has an appeal to an audience wider than that of the state diverts from attempts to satisfy the plurality of the population of the state itself’’ (Sparks, 1995: 156). New Labour has been even more supportive of efforts by commercial media companies in Britain to rise onto the global stage. Historically, the key barrier to these efforts has been legal restrictions on cross-media ownership which were supported by both main parties up until fairly recently. Intense lobbying by both newspaper and Independent Television companies paid off with the easing of cross-media ownership laws in the 1996 Broadcasting Act. One of the most eager advocates of reform is the Labour Member of Parliament Gerald Kaufman, chair of the House of Commons select committee on culture, media, and sport. During the passage of the bill, Kaufman made an impassioned plea on behalf of Britain’s aspiring media moguls to further loosen the proposals: I do not know whether to laugh at the sheer fatuity of the legislation or to cry at the expenditure of time by highly-paid civil servants. . . . Such demented provisions are aimed at limiting what needs to be expanded. We need more cross-media ownership, not less. In the United States, cross-media alliances are powerful enough to dominate the world, but in Britain the future of communications will be crabbed and stunted (Kaufman, 1996: 566).

While Kaufman expressed himself perhaps more energetically than other Labour members, he was not at all out of sync with the leadership’s desire to curry favor with British media owners in the year before a general election. Labour consistently argued for more generous cross-media rules to the extent that it was left to the Conservative minister Iain Sproat to defend ownership restrictions in the media, an industry where ‘‘we’re not talking about baked beans’’ (quoted in Lewis, 1996). Labour’s maneuvers have been welcomed by the managing directors of aspiring international players such as Carlton, Granada, and Pearson. Greg Dyke, the chief executive of Pearson TV, is a long-standing Labour supporter and one of the leading candidates for the crucial post of director general of the BBC. He argues that ‘‘in every industry the globalisation concept is happening. . . . The

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trick is can you globalise programming and make it local? You own a load of formats, you make them in different countries, you take them from one to another . . . ’’ (quoted in Baker, 1997: 16). The consequence of globalization is that Pearson now has three versions of Family Feud on the air in Indonesia and owns the rights to Neighbours across the world. Is this what Chris Smith means when he states that ‘‘I want to see the whole industry exploring ways of working together to ensure British programming is in the best possible position to find overseas markets’’ (Smith, 1997a: 12)? Concepts of quality and plurality, used so frequently by politicians with regard to British audiences, are absent when applied to international markets. Instead, as a report by advertising agency Ogilvy and Mather put it, ‘‘ ‘picking winners’ appears to be Labour’s approach to promoting international competitiveness’’ (quoted in Carter, 1996: 15). Labour’s desire to maximize the international potential of television was underlined by its commissioning, soon after entering office, of the report, ‘‘Building a Global Audience: British Television in Overseas Markets’’ (Graham et al., 1999). Backed by the UK’s leading commercial broadcasters like Granada, Carlton, BBC Worldwide, and, of course, Pearson, the report analyzed the barriers to the international competitiveness of British programs. The survey found that, to everyone’s surprise, British television is not perceived as the best in the world, that it has a relatively small share of the global export market and that the UK has a substantial trade deficit in television of some £272 million in 1997 (Graham, 1999: 8). Partly this is because while ‘‘our programmes are often admired for the quality of their production values, many overseas markets find our dramas too socio-political or depressing’’ (DCMS, 1999a: 4). The report concluded that if more programs were made that appealed to both domestic and foreign audiences, exports would increase and that this would ‘‘provide for greater investment in programme production, increasing the return to the British viewer’’ (Graham, 1999: 3; my emphasis). The logic here is that an emphasis on gritty dramas relevant to the local UK population should be supplanted by a commitment to produce more programs like Ready Steady Cook, Survival (wildlife), and Teletubbies (for children) which are internationally packageable. The recommendations of the ‘‘Building a Global Audience’’ report concentrated on one central issue: the need to ‘‘consider whether domestic regulation hinders export performance’’ (Graham, 1999: 11). The report heartily suggested that any rights agreements with creative personnel that may hinder the sale of programs abroad should be renegotiated and that domestic scheduling patterns should be changed to suit international markets. What is perhaps surprising is that the government so firmly welcomed the findings of a report that calls for the partial deregulation and dilution of British television. In April 1999, the culture secretary formed an inquiry panel to ‘‘take forward the recommendations’’ made in the original report (DCMS, 1999b: 1), consisting of representatives from the commercial broadcasting and independent production sectors. No one with a

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background in or obvious commitment to public service broadcasting was invited to the inquiry team. Other ‘‘winning’’ media that New Labour is determined to exploit are the British film and music industries. The government has launched a policy review group for each of these areas in order to maximize the economic opportunities of cultural exports. The film policy review group, set up immediately after the election, is co-chaired by the minister for film, Tom Clarke, and Stewart Till of Polygram Filmed Entertainment. In case there are any doubts as to the commercial basis of the group, Tom Clarke himself stresses that the ‘‘group’s objective is to encourage the British film industry as a whole to achieve lasting success and to be competitive in the world marketplace’’ (Clarke, 1997: 612). The government wants to capitalize on the success of films like Four Weddings and a Funeral, Bean, The Full Monty, and Trainspotting by creating a supportive environment for domestic filmmaking with international potential. Accordingly, Gordon Brown, in his first budget as chancellor, granted new tax relief measures for film production in the UK. The incentive allows investors to write off all production and acquisition costs of British films with a total budget of under £15 million. The move was welcomed by film producers, the film technicians’ union as well as investors who have started to pour money into British production. The number of films fully financed by British companies increased by 30% in 1997, from 56 to 72 (Tutt, 1997: 1). Further government support was demonstrated by the £96 million provided by the National Lottery to three consortia to produce films over a period of six years as well as the setting up of a UK film office in Los Angeles and a film finance forum in London following the review group’s proposals in 1998. British filmmaking, at least on the surface, appears to be in a healthy state. The government set up the music policy review group in January 1998 with the same aims of taking advantage of the undoubted export possibilities of the British music industry which, as Chris Smith pointed out in his Labour conference speech, ‘‘earns more in exports than steel’’ (Smith, 1997b). Tony Blair has consistently associated himself with music stars, both during the election campaign and even more so in office. On the night that his government was cutting benefits for single parents, Blair was entertaining a number of stars from the entertainment world on Downing Street. He is fully aware of the electoral opportunities of being photographed with members of Oasis as well as the under-realized economic potential of the music industry. The music policy review group contains figures such as Mick Hucknall from Simply Red and Rob Dickens, the chairman of Warner Music, and will be examining issues such as piracy and the question of copyright in the new distribution systems of the Internet and digital broadcasting. The group will also be discussing how to build on the international success of bands like the Spice Girls,

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Prodigy, and Oasis and how to nurture the new talent needed to contribute to the UK’s balance of trade. Just as globalization theory emphasizes the increased role of both exports and imports in world trade, the government’s strategy of building a thriving cultural repertoire for export markets complements its desire to attract inward investment into British media industries. The new tax break for film investors was aimed not only at British but also North American and European capital, hoping to lure films with budgets nearer the £15 million ceiling than the typical £2 million budget of a wholly British financed picture. One of the film policy review group’s specific briefs is to maximize inward investment possibilities, a difficult task given that the most decisive factor in choosing to shoot in Britain is not availability of technical skills, infrastructure or the weather, but the exchange rate. The American films produced in Britain in 1997, including works by Steven Spielberg and George Lucas, took advantage of a favorable sterling/dollar exchange rate. A rising pound meant that, according to Screen International, ‘‘[a]part from Lucas’ second Star Wars prequel, no major U.S. films are confirmed to shoot in the UK next year’’ (Tutt, 1997: 1), despite the government’s incentives. Labour’s firm backing for digital broadcasting is also related to both export and inward investment flows. Chris Smith and the DCMS are committed to the expansion of digital television to increase viewer choice and the production of digital decoders in which Britain leads the world. However, a liberalized television market also offers the possibility of greater returns on investment and therefore an incentive for non-British companies to compete in British television. Indeed, Lewis Moonie, Labour’s broadcasting spokesperson during the passage of the 1996 Broadcasting Act, specifically defended the right of foreign companies to own the new digital channels. There is no room in the Labour party for xenophobia when it comes to market forces: ‘‘Jobs are already being created here by foreign companies which is something we should encourage. Are we going to tell the Japanese to take away their car plants? The same rules should apply to broadcasting’’ (quoted in Lewis, 1996). This should be enough to placate the North American companies who were invited in by the Conservatives in the early 1990s to transform Britain’s cable infrastructure and who, until very recently, hardly figured in Labour’s plans for the information superhighway. All in all, Labour’s list of corporate ‘‘winners’’ in the media field is set to be substantial. B. Re-branding Britain: Connecting the Local to the Global The Labour government’s public pronouncements on the media, however, focus less on export plans and inward investment than on the central symbolic role that

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media play in sustaining local or national identity. This reflects the fact that, even for Labour modernizers, the media industry is not the same as the baked beans industry, a point reinforced by media secretary Chris Smith. The communications media are far more than a market; certainly far more than a utility. There will remain a need for plurality of voice in a healthy democracy. More widely, the media play a key role in reflecting the totality of a society’s culture and reinforcing its diverse identities (Smith, 1997a: 11).

Despite Labour’s fiscal priorities, it makes little sense to conceptualize broadcasting in purely economic terms. At the same time as stressing the international dimension of the media, Smith has championed the public service structures of British broadcasting, defending the licence fee and opposing the privatization of Channel Four. ‘‘I certainly regard television as a key element—if not the key element—in our national culture’’ (quoted in Brown, 1997: m4). There is a kind of negative dialectic between the national and the international in Labour’s argument. Given the fact of globalization, the media in Britain have no choice but to commercialize and seek international markets if they are to continue to exist and therefore play a central cultural role in the lives of British people. The result is that market-driven, international priorities start to drive media systems that we have already argued are primarily national in content and audience. The state’s desired target of uniting audiences around a notion of British television and a national culture then becomes increasingly problematic. A key way in which Labour has attempted to resolve the contradiction between global and local imperatives is through the re-branding of Britain, the re-signification of the country to embrace both nation and globe. This is what lies at the heart of the ‘‘Cool Britannia’’ and ‘‘Creative Britain’’ approaches: a creative, dynamic, forward-looking country that is built on a strong heritage but is ready to face the world. Tony Blair described this transformation in a speech to Labour’s conference, typically using media-related metaphors. Change is in the blood and bones of the British—we are by our nature and tradition innovators, adventurers, pioneers. . . . Britain today is an exciting, inspiring place to be. And it can be much more. If we face the challenge of a world with its finger on the fast forward button; where every part of the picture of our life changing (Blair, 1997).

The re-branding of Britain to meet the challenges of a world increasingly opened up to global forces has been achieved mainly on the reputation of the creative industries. The hype around Britain’s thriving music scene, vigorous club culture, blossoming culinary skills and cutting-edge creative talents has been consolidated by the government in the launch of the Creative Industries Task Force. In a clear example of the activism of the government in responding to the perception of globalization, Tony Blair brought together ministers and officials

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from most government departments together with representatives of the British Council (the ambassador of British culture), the No. 10 Policy Unit and leading entrepreneurs such as Richard Branson, Lord Puttnam, Alan McGee (the man behind Oasis), the fashion designer Paul Smith, and Lord Alli, managing director of Carlton Productions. At one level, re-branding is simply a marketing ploy to draw more tourists to Britain while the main aim of the taskforce is to improve the economic performance of the creative industries. The first activity of the task force was to ‘‘map out’’ the creative sector in the UK, providing a list of the revenue, employment, and exports for each industry. This proved that about 5% of the total UK work force were engaged in creative production and that, according to Chris Smith, ‘‘this dynamic sector can go on to do even better and that it is a good investment’’ (quoted in Glaister, 1998: 26). Simon Frith argues that what is interesting is not the accuracy of these statistics but the rhetorical purpose they serve in naturalizing the convergence of the different roles of culture in terms of industry, community, and a whole way of life (Frith, 1999: 3–5). The task force exists to promote international sales but also acts as a reminder to those inside Britain of the quality, the depth, the originality, and the resourcefulness of the British. It is partly an attempt to redefine what it means to be British to meet the demands of the requirements of globalization. For New Labour, the initiative of a small clothes designer, the hustling skills of an independent film producer, or the entrepreneurial talents of a club promoter all reflect contemporary Britishness more than welfare supporters and trade unionists whose fingers are on the rewind button. The creative industries are central to constructing the new image of a bustling Britain, occupying a world stage but concerned about its own cultural heritage. Contained within this project of re-branding Britain in a more outwardlooking perspective, however, are some familiar difficulties for the media. In order to compete on an international scale, the framework for production in a national context needs to be guaranteed at a particular level. To the extent that particular media like films, music and, to a lesser extent, television are vulnerable to increasingly international flows, national media may need to be protected. This is especially true given the volume of products from the United States which has the largest domestic market and can therefore offload audio-visual material at temptingly low prices across the world. As a result, we have seen the phenomenon of cultural protectionism as a response to globalization: the introduction of quotas of French music on France’s domestic radio stations or the European Union’s Television Without Frontiers (TWF) directive which restricts non-EU produced material to 49% of airtime. Labour has also turned to quotas in its desire to stimulate an expansive British media sector despite the apparent contradiction with its global outlook. Chris Smith has publicly supported the TWF directive since taking office, although Labour is more likely to back investment quotas rather than fixed trans-

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mission quotas, reflecting the views of the influential Institute for Public Policy Research (IPPR) think-tank.4 Labour’s film policy review group aims to raise the domestic share of British films from 10% to 20% while Smith insisted on Channel Four increasing its proportion of original, domestic programming from 53% to 70% in peak-time as part of the revisions to its licence. One of the issues that arises from the use of quotas to protect national culture concerns the definition of what, in this case, can be classified as British. At the end of 1997, film minister Tom Clarke proudly announced that one of the central aims of his policy group—to double the domestic box office of British films—had been met. Given that his figures included films shot in Britain but produced by foreign companies such as Bean and The Full Monty, one British filmmaker responded by saying that ‘‘[w]e are kidding ourselves if we think of these films as British. . . . It is dangerous to jump on the self-congratulatory bandwagon, while profits for these films go overseas’’ (quoted in Minns, 1997: 2). Part of the problem lies with the fact that, as Simon Frith puts it, ‘‘it doesn’t really make economic sense to talk of the British music industry, the British film industry, the British television industry; what we have to understand is a global structure of sales and returns’’ (Frith, 1999: 5–6). In recognition of this difficulty, the film policy review group suggested a new way of defining ‘‘British’’ films through a points system based on the nationality of cast and crew (for example, three points for a British screenwriter), the source of finance, and the destination of production costs. If a film garners twenty points, never mind where it is shot, it is deemed to be British. The irony is that broadening the definition of a UK film is seen by the DCMS ‘‘as a way of persuading foreign producers to shoot more productions in the UK’’ (Rawsthorn, 1998: 9; my emphasis). This definition demonstrates the arbitrary nature of ‘‘British culture’’ which has developed from warm beer, village cricket, and Yorkshire puddings and must now include Toyota cars, MacDonald’s hamburgers and U.S. films shot in Britain, indeed any product of inward investment. Furthermore, we have already noted that overseas investment in the British film industry is dependent on favorable exchange rates, revealing the potential fragility of the revival. Equally worrying is the problem of distribution, as yet not addressed by Clarke’s review group. A substantial number of British films continue to fail to get a distribution deal and even those which do are not guaranteed adequate exhibition space, a problem that hampered the popularity of Ken Loach’s awardwinning Land and freedom. The film critic Derek Malcolm recalls that: I had lunch during Cannes with Chris Smith, the Heritage Secretary, and bent his ear about the difficulty of creating more funds for production while doing damn all about distribution and exhibition. Fortunately, he was very sympathetic, if only because he much admires Loach and found it rather more difficult to see his films than he expected. Something must be done,

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and pretty quickly, if the problem is to be solved. If the multiplexes were forced to show only five percent of non-American product, the situation would change radically overnight (Malcolm, 1997: 6).

In the end, the review group suggested the much more moderate proposal to set up a voluntary fund financed by companies involved in British filmmaking and topped off by lottery money. Similar problems have been identified in the activities of the music policy review group. Mike Jones (1999) criticizes the group’s approach for concentrating solely on the corporate infrastructure of the industry, addressing questions such as piracy and the protection of copyright on the Internet but ignoring the problems faced by aspiring musicians. Indeed, the government may have made things worse with its welfare reforms that have forced young people into training courses or workfare schemes instead of allowing them periods of unemployment in which to practice their music. Existing policies, like the anti-music clauses of the Criminal Justice Act or charging for university education, are penalizing both music makers and listeners. Jones argues that ‘‘creativity cannot be taught but it can be encouraged and protected. But the potential for government policies which nurture talent . . . depends on the much wider recognition of the connection between music consumers and music producers’’ (Jones, 1999: 30), something the government has ignored in its obsession with the corporate side of the industry. However, in one area in particular, Labour has indicated that it is willing to intervene in the media market, even if this upsets a figure like Rupert Murdoch. This concerns the issue of sports coverage. One of the difficulties raised by Labour’s adherence to global market forces in the current media environment is that the market does not appear to provide for an inclusive structure of consumption. As Chris Smith’s stated aim is to ‘‘enhance the cultural life of the nation, for the many, not the few’’ (Smith, 1997b), the monopoly of sports rights by the pay-TV broadcaster BSkyB, partly owned by Mr. Murdoch, presents something of a problem. Some 70% of households do not currently have access to pay-TV and are therefore excluded from sporting events which, according to Smith, are an essential part of our ‘‘national culture’’ and should be available free to all who wanted to watch them (see Boshoff, 1997). Smith has set up a review body to examine the list of sporting events, fixed by legislation in the 1996 Broadcasting Act, that should be reserved for free terrestrial consumption. In order for an event to be ‘‘listed,’’ Smith has indicated that it would have to have ‘‘a special national resonance’’ and not simply significance for those particular fans (quoted in Smith, 1997b). Given the tremendous importance of sports rights for pay-TV’s viability, Rupert Murdoch would not take kindly to losing high-profile sporting events, just as Tony Blair and Chris Smith would not welcome incurring Murdoch’s wrath. Curiously enough, the

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conclusion of the advisory group is simply to review the list which means that, in the words of the senior civil servant involved, ‘‘we could have events taken off [the list], we could have events added and we could have events redefined. All those things are open’’ (Reeves, 1997, my emphasis). The need to regulate market forces may not yet necessarily conflict with those commercial interests. Throughout Labour’s plans to stimulate a British media sector in a global market, we find references to the increasing importance of film, television, and music in championing a national culture. The policy review groups, the international awards regularly won by British television, and even the popularity of the UK as a tourist destination, all demonstrate the vigor and confidence of British cultural production and the central role that the media play in structuring a sense of Britishness for consumers. While Labour’s proposed cultural sector has one eye on the world market, the party remains firmly committed to modernizing what it means to be British. Labour policies in the areas of culture, defense, and immigration play on a rhetoric of nationalism that sits uneasily with its global economic outlook. This is not meant to be the outmoded nationalism of the previous Conservative government but part of the search for a modern identity. As Tony Blair put it in his speech to the Labour Conference: There is huge interest in Britain now. Because people know that this is a country changing for the better. A go-ahead place. The gates of xenophobia falling down. This Government can be the Government of enlightened patriotism (Blair, 1997).

News that the government intends to pursue a more enlightened form of patriotism will come as a surprise to Bangladeshi, Kurdish, and Romany refugees locked up in British detention centers having found the ‘‘gates of xenophobia’’ more than ajar. Blair is prepared to use nationalism to ‘‘fix’’ the identity of Britain in an era of globalization and multiculturalism. Indeed, his first speech as Prime Minister to the 1997 Labour Conference contained the word Britain 32 times, British 19 times, and nation 11 times, compared to the use of global only once (and that in the phrase ‘‘global warming’’). Far from breaking from the past, ‘‘Blair stands in a long tradition of political leaders—Mrs. Thatcher was the most recent exponent—to identify modernity with national purpose and character’’ (Leadbetter, 1997: 22). New Labour’s attempt to modernize Britain involves the media both consolidating the strength of the British character and providing a source of economic growth in the world market. CONCLUSION Labour leaders have used the ‘‘re-branding’’ of Britain and emphasized the importance of the British creative industries, notably the media, for both economic

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and symbolic reasons. Media provide a link between the construction and preservation of national cultural habits and the ideological purposes of nationalism— to erase class differences and champion social partnership. Labour then stresses the aspects of Britishness which are most relevant to competing on a global scale: dynamism, entrepreneurial skills, initiative, and plain hard work. Those people that focus on the redistribution of wealth or the preservation of social welfare systems are denounced as parochial, out-of-date, and oppositional. Blair and other Labour figures have adopted the elements of globalization theory which preach the need for accommodating market forces and the impossibility of the independent state coordination of the economy. Nowhere is this clearer than in the media which, it is argued, are particularly susceptible to global flows and multinational domination. The state’s responsibility, in this scenario, is to create the most favorable environment for investment and trade in the media while preserving (or, if necessary, modernizing) those national characteristics which are seen as crucial elements of the infrastructure of the British media. Talk of planning, subsidy, and diversity is replaced by an exhortation to be creative, innovative, ambitious, and yet compassionate—as if these latter features are incompatible with non-market structures. Despite the apparent difficulties of legislating along national lines, the Labour government continues to press for regulation aimed at opening media industries up to the global market. The point I wish to make is not that Labour should restrict itself to a national perspective, perpetuating an idealized notion of the broadcasting duopoly that existed in Britain up to the 1980s. Nor do we believe that international media flows are intrinsically backward like the anti-American views of many cultural imperialism theorists. We fully support the ideal of an international media order in which media flows are democratically produced and exchanged across fixed national boundaries. The problem is that the globalization of the media in current conditions creates both privatized international flows based exclusively on the market and domestic media that continue to construct notions of a spontaneous national culture. The danger is that, in terms of the media, we are seeing the worst of all possible worlds. Mark Leonard, credited with inventing the ‘‘Cool Britannia’’ image, argues that the ‘‘rebranding of Britain is about trying to come up with a coherent narrative that makes sense of the complexity of modern Britain’’ (Leonard, 1998:16). Are endless versions of Four Weddings and a Funeral and repackaged forms of Ready Steady Cook really able to represent the multicultural identities and new class antagonisms that make up this complexity? A democratic media policy would avoid pandering to those global media forces which as Colin Sparks argues are ‘‘less concerned with the public than the state based media . . . are more exclusive than the state based media [and] . . . constitute an elite that has definite patterns of inclusion and exclusion’’ (Sparks, 1998: 122). It would not identify itself too closely with media moguls like Greg Dyke, a high-profile Labour supporter, who conceive of global televi-

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sion as ‘‘a financial buy. You do it for money. This is a business not a cultural pursuit’’ (quoted in Baker, 1997:16). A media policy which recognizes cultural complexities would also seek to guarantee diversity at a national level, restricting cross-media ownership and concerning itself more with expanding access to production and distribution than imposing new technologies in the guise of increased choice and defending the sanctity of the market. For example, the government could easily demonstrate its commitment to press diversity and challenge Rupert Murdoch’s control of national newspaper circulation by outlawing price-cutting as anti-competitive.5 The threat of the globalization of the media has allowed the government to pursue a deformed dialectical approach in which market forces link the global and the local to the detriment of both. Labour has acted precisely like an ‘activist’ state in promoting the ideology of globalization in order to further its desired economic and cultural aims. However, its initiatives demonstrate more that national states are actively complicit in re-regulating the media along market lines than that they are capable of substantial democratic reform. The Labour government’s activity shows that the opportunity for even small-scale reforms like the ones suggested above is hampered by the growing influence of multinational capital. This remains true in the field of media, where consumption remains structured along national lines, as much as other more internationalized areas because governments are more reluctant than ever to antagonise capital whether out of conviction or necessity. The source of optimism, therefore, lies not with the hope of individual governments pursuing progressive economic, political or cultural strategies but in the acts of resistance to market forces. Labour’s vision of ‘‘Cool Britannia’’ has more recently come under increasing attack from critics seeking to highlight the continuing economic disparities and poverty in Britain which an ambitious creative strategy has done nothing to alleviate. Incensed by what it saw as the government’s repressive attitude towards music and youth, the New Musical Express (or NME) produced an issue headlined ‘‘Betrayed: The Labour Government’s War on You’’ which denounced Labour’s cultural initiatives and called for protests against workfare and university tuition fees. It matters, wrote the NME, because ‘‘our music, our culture, the collective sweat of our groovy brows has been bundled up and neatly repackaged . . . to give this hideously reactionary New Labour Government a cachet of radical credibility’’ (New Musical Express, 1998: 28). Two months later, the government announced a U-turn in its welfare program allowing would-be musicians to take part in music courses or work placements in the music industry and not to be forced into workfare programs. There are sure to be more struggles against the consequences of media concentration and against government attempts to constrain the possibilities for the free exchange of a diversity of voices. While the notion of a truly global media or homogeneous national cultures remains either an idealist or elitist fan-

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tasy under capitalist relations, the increasingly interdependent organization of market forces is connecting both capital to capital and worker to worker. Every protest against market forces—whether over cultural rights, education, a publicly-funded health service or gargantuan military spending—has the potential to challenge the arguments of the ‘‘globalizers’’ and, in so doing, lay the basis for a more democratic media both in Britain and elsewhere.

NOTES 1. This also applies to public officials. The OECD actually recommends that governments embark on a program of cultural education to equip staff with the necessary skills to negotiate in a globalized world. ‘‘A knowledge of international affairs and international law, cross-cultural sensitivities, and foreign language skills, will become increasingly important assets in international negotiations and in any fora requiring shared understandings of respective policy systems and frameworks’’ (OECD, 1995). 2. Claire Short, the secretary of state for international development, is more circumspect about globalization. ‘‘Globalisation can produce more wealth, but if it is not regulated it can create massive inequality. Unless we have some sort of minimum standards, it can drive down standards across the world’’ (quoted in Elliott, 1997b: 23). 3. It appears that Britain is not alone in demonstrating the resilience of state-based programming. Media critic Raymond Snoddy argues that there is ‘‘little sign so far that the international satellite offerings, which anyway need additional equipment to be received, are sufficiently dominant to displace the traditional terrestrial broadcasters who have the enormous advantage of access to a large proportion of their target audiences’’ (Snoddy, 1995). 4. ‘‘Investment quotas, rather than transmission quotas, would serve the purposes of increasing EU production more efficiently. Rather than limiting the ability of the dominant producers to sell into the European markets, this ability should be made conditional on positive contribution to local productions’’ (Collins and Murroni, 1996: 125). 5. In response to Murdoch’s strategy of lowering the price of the Times to increase its circulation and drive out its competitors, peers in the House of Lords amended the Competition Bill in February 1998 to include the prevention of predatory pricing by national newspapers. The Labour government was not amused: ‘‘the Government, anxious to avoid conflict with Mr. Murdoch, fought the ban and will have to overturn it in the Commons’’ (MacAskill and White, 1998: 1).

REFERENCES Angell, I. (1995). Winners and losers in the information age. LSE Magazine, Summer. London: London School of Economics. Baker, M. (1997). Dyke: a long-running TV drama. Broadcast, November 21, p. 16–17. Barker, C. (1997). Global Television: An Introduction. Oxford: Blackwell.

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BBC (1990). Annual Reports and Accounts 89/90. London: British Broadcasting Corporation. BBC (1997). Annual Reports and Accounts 96/97. London: British Broadcasting Corporation. Blair, T. (1996). New Britain: My Vision of a Young Country. London: Fourth Estate. Blair, T. (1997). Speech to Labour Party conference, Brighton, September 30, 1997. Boshoff, A. (1997). Panel to choose sporting events saved for free TV. Daily Telegraph, November 26. Boyd-Barrett, O. (1997). International communication and globalization: contradictions and directions. In Mohammadi, A. (ed.), International Communication and Globalization. London: Sage, 11–26. Brown, R. (1997). If Chris Smith is serious about making . . . Independent, September 29, p. m4. Carter, M. (1996). The devil in the details. Guardian, October 28, p. 15. Clarke, T. (1997). Oral answers to questions on the film industry. Parliamentary Debates (Hansard), Vol. 296, No. 6, June 23. London: HMSO. Collins, R. and Murroni, C. (1996). New Media, New Policies. Cambridge: Polity Press. Comor, E. (1996). The United States and the Global Information Infrastructure: Orchestrator, Functionary, or Mediator? Paper prepared for International Association for Mass Communication (IAMCR) Conference, August 1996. Department for Culture, Media and Sport (DCMS) (1999a). Press release: Action to boost sales of TV programmes overseas, 90/99, April 8. Department for Culture, Media and Sport (DCMS) (1999b). Press release: Chris Smith announces inquiry team . . . , 105/99, April 26. Department of National Heritage (1994). White Paper: The Future of the BBC: Serving the Nation, Competing World-Wide. London: HMSO. Economist (1998). Come in, the water’s lovely. January 3. Elliott, L. (1997a). Grand national idea produces winners. Guardian, October 20, p. 19. Elliott, L. (1997b). Business backs government’s blueprint to tackle world poverty. Guardian, November 5, p. 23. Elliott, L., and Ryle, S. (1997). Second front: Spice odyssey. Guardian, March 11, p. 2. Fox Piven, F. (1995). Is it global economics or neo-laissez-faire? New Left Review 213 (September/October): 107–114. Frith, S. (1999). Introduction: Mr. Smith draws a map. Critical Quarterly, 41(1): 3–8. Glaister, D. (1998). Britain’s creative genius adds up to £60bn talent a year. Guardian, November 7, p. 26. Gordon, D. (1988). The global economy: new edifice or crumbling foundations? New Left Review 168 (March/April): 24–64. Graham, D. et al (1999). Building a Global Audience: British Television in Overseas Markets. London: Department for Cultural, Media, and Sport. Hall, S., and Jacques, M. (1997). Les enfants de Marx and de Coca-Cola. New Statesman, November 28, 34–36. Harman, C. (1996). Globalisation: a critique of a new orthodoxy. International Socialism 73 (Winter): 3–34. Hattersley, R. (1997). Prime Minister Blair turns to this man first. Observer, May 11, p. 21.

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Herman, E., and McChesney, R. (1997). The Global Media: The New Missionaries of Global Capitalism. London: Cassell. Heron, P. (1997). Private interview with the author. December 17. Hills, J. (1986). Deregulation Telecoms: Competition and Control in the United States, Japan and Britain. London: Frances Pinter. Hirst, P., and Thompson, G. (1996). Globalization in Question. Cambridge: Polity. Jones, M. (1999). Changing sides—Labour’s music industry policy under the microscope. Critical Quarterly, 41(1): 22–31. Kaufman, G. (1996). Contribution to debate on the Broadcasting Bill, Official Report, House of Commons, Vol. 275, April 16. London: HMSO. Leadbetter, C. (1997). Thoroughly modern Britain. New Statesman, October 10, 22–25. Leonard, M. (1998). It’s not just ice-cream. New Statesman, July 3, 15–16. Lewis, J. (1996). Labour deals with the devil on digital. Broadcast, May 24. MacAskill, E., and White, M. (1998). Anti-Murdoch vote by Lords puts Labour in trouble. Guardian, February 10, p. 1. Malcolm, D. (1997). Multiplex madness. Guardian, July 12, p. 6. Minns, A. (1997). Industry questions definition of UK films. Screen International, December 19–25, p. 2. Mowlam, M. (1994). Paper tigers. New Statesman, September 9, p. 24. Mowlana, H. (1997). Global Communication in Transition: The End of Diversity? London: Sage. New Musical Express (1998). Betrayed: the Labour government’s war on you. March 14, 27–35. OECD (1995). Globalisation: What Challenges and Opportunities for Governments? Paris: OECD. Rawsthorn, A. (1998). US film makers may be eligible for lottery cash. Financial Times, March 20, p. 9. Reeves, H. (1997). Private interview with the author. December 17. Schiller, H. (1996). Information Inequality. London: Routledge. Smith, C. (1998). Creative Britain. London: Faber and Faber. Smith, C. (1997a). Beyond 2000: out of control? Speech to the Royal Television Society, Cambridge. Edited extracts in Television, October 1997, 10–12. Smith, C. (1997b). Speech to Labour Party conference, Brighton, October. Snoddy, R. (1995). Media growing signs of maturity. Financial Times, October 6. Sparks, C. (1995). The survival of the state in British broadcasting. Journal of Communication 45(4): 140–159. Sparks, C. (1998). Is there a global public sphere? In D. Thussu (ed.), Electronic Empires: Global Media and Local Resistance, London: Edward Arnold, 108–124. Tehranian, M., and Tehranian, K. (1997). Taming modernity: towards a new paradigm. In Mohammadi, A. (ed.), International Communication and Globalization. London: Sage, 119–167. Tomlinson, J. (1997). Cultural globalization and cultural imperialism. In Mohammadi, A. (ed.), International Communication and Globalization. London: Sage, 170–190. Tutt, L. (1997). UK cashes in as Brit pics click. Screen International, December 19–25, p. 1.

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Wasser, F. (1995). Is Hollywood America? The trans-nationalization of the American film industry. Critical Studies in Mass Communication 12: 423–437. Waters, D. (1995). Globalization. London: Routledge. Watson-Smyth, K. (1998). Creative Britain bolsters economy. Independent, November 7, p. 13. Weiss, L. (1997). Globalization and the myth of the powerless state. New Left Review 225 (September/October): 3–27.

16 International Integration/ Subnational Conflict The Zapatistas and International Relations J. Donovan Malley University of Wisconsin–Madison, Madison, Wisconsin

I. INTRODUCTION On January 1, 1994, from the highlands in Chiapas, Mexico, a band of moderately armed and organized indigenous peasants emerged to seize control of several towns and cities. The group, calling themselves the Zapatista Army of National Liberation (Zapatistas or EZLN),1 made a series of demands on Mexico’s ruling party—the Institutional Revolutionary Party (PRI). The Zapatistas drew national and international attention to the economic and political plight of many indigenous peasants living in southern Mexico. Issues of land, food, health care, and democratization were highest on their agenda. It is important to realize that the Zapatistas did not emerge on the Mexican landscape in an ahistorical manner. Rather, they had been working diligently for over ten years, galvanizing sectors of the disaffected Chiapan population. The power of the Zapatistas derived, in part, from their ability to articulate the concerns of many Mexicans who had suffered the consequences of economic modernization and the increased international integration of the Mexican economy. This chapter argues that the Zapatista rebellion provides scholars and policymakers with an important case study in how increased international integration has serious causal impact on relations between subnational groups and the state. Utilizing an historical approach, the chapter investigates the socioeconomic roots of the rebellion, from the oil boom/bust cycle in the early 1980s and the resultant 335

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debt crisis, to the implementation of the North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA). Attention is given to the desperate circumstances of many indigenous peasants in Chiapas, the cessation of the government land-use policy that supported peasant farming systems, and the termination of governmental assistance programs. Next, the chapter examines the political situation in Mexico. An analysis of Mexico’s one-party system illustrates the institutional impediments to popular political participation. Lastly, the chapter turns to the theoretical significance of the Zapatista rebellion for international relations. The central dilemma this chapter pinpoints is that if states must increase their autonomy vis-a`-vis domestic interest groups to promote and ensure international economic integration and modernization, then subnational groups may turn to violent struggle as a means to protect themselves. In other words, in an effort to modernize the Mexican economy and increase international economic integration, the legitimacy of the Mexican state declined from the perspective of the Zapatistas. This is due to the tensions that are being produced between international, state-level, and localized understandings of space in an era of increased economic integration. In order to ensure a more stable process of regional integration, policymakers and scholars must become increasingly attentive to the ontological differences that surround space and how these differences inform the implementation process.

II. SOCIOECONOMIC SOURCES OF THE ZAPATISTA REBELLION There were a series of economic factors, which eroded the legitimacy of the Mexican government from the perspective of the indigenous peasants, involved in the Zapatista rebellion: a decrease of governmental aid to the poor, reductions in wages over the past several decades, and most importantly the alteration of Article 27 of the Mexican Constitution.2 These circumstances were mainly precipitated by the economic policies of the PRI during the late 1970s and early 1980s. Key to this scenario was that Mexico was one of the world’s leading borrowers of petrodollars during the late 1970s and early 1980s (Pazos, 1986: 213). Mexico’s economic problems stemmed in part from the ruling party’s faulty assumptions that oil prices would remain steady and that the government could thus pay back the loans. However, when world oil prices fell in 1982 and 1983, Mexico was left with an inordinate amount of debt, and its main resource for paying off that debt, oil, had decreased in value. This economic situation, along with several others to be explained later, paved the way for greater efforts at international integration and the dismantling of Mexico’s corporatist structure (Purcell, 1997). This is not to say, however, that the economic situation had been stable

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prior to the debt crisis. For decades, and for a myriad of reasons (Schwartz, 1994: 262–268, 294–295), the Mexican economy had been in serious trouble. Indeed, by the late 1960s the country’s economic problems began to take a turn for the worse in the eyes of many.3 During this period, due in large part to global economic forces, Mexico was continually facing increasing budget deficits, a constantly overvalued peso, double-digit inflation, increasing dependence on foreign loans, rising capital flight, and an escalating import bill (Vilas, 1995: 109– 132). By mid-1970 Mexico was facing an economic crisis. The country was in debt to the point that it was on the verge of bankruptcy. As a result, Mexico received an $800 million emergency credit loan from the U.S. Federal Reserve Board to keep the economy solvent. Furthermore, the PRI implemented a series of austerity programs in connection with an emergency loan it received from the International Monetary Fund (IMF) in 1978. One of the direct results of the austerity programs for the majority of the populace was declining real wages and reductions in social services.4 This cycle of debt and emergency loans was the economic situation that preceded the boom/bust oil period of the late 1970s and early 1980s. The problems in the Mexican economy were known well in advance of the 1983 debt crisis that drew so much world attention. If anything, the 1970s were a precursor to the policies that would be undertaken during the oil boom; these economic factors precipitated drastic measures on the part of the Mexican government. Due to the contraction of the economy in the 1970s, the increasing dependence upon foreign capital, and the austerity programs that the PRI had implemented, the government had grown desperate. When new oil reserves were discovered in the Bay of Campeche and Chiapas in 1978, the PRI grasped the circumstance as a last hope to turn the economy around. In an all-out shift of policy, the government focused solely on the potential of the new oil reserves. In world markets it was, after all, a time of unprecedented prices. However, the PRI did not give enough consideration to the possibility that the oil cycle may turn sour or that other structural problems within the international economy may persist.5 As a result, the Mexican government set itself up for the economic debt crisis of 1982–1983 (Spero, 1990: 180–181). Oil was viewed as a saving grace by many Mexican politicians and international advisors but in reality it only worsened their economic condition in the end when prices fell. The myopic focus on the potential of oil exports and petrodollar loans, and the failure to address other deep structural concerns in the economy, brought the earlier problems of the economy to a more heightened level with the decline in oil prices. The result of the debt crisis in the early 1980s was another round of austerity measures that were suggested by the United States’ government and the international financial community. This time, however, unlike the previous rounds of foreign loans, major structural adjustments would be implemented in the Mexican

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economy. Here it is important to remember that, historically, the Mexican government had to some degree functioned as a mediator between citizens and economic forces, attempting to ameliorate any negative social consequences that economic fluctuations may bring. However, the debt crisis of the 1980s placed the government in a situation where it could no longer play this role. The move now was to follow the so-called neoclassical path of modernization. This entailed decreasing the government’s role within the economy, reducing spending on social programs, shifting toward an export-oriented economy, attracting increased foreign capital through ‘‘competitive’’ wages, and increasing international economic integration. The dismantling of a corporatist structure, which had partially incorporated the political and economic aspirations of Mexico’s peasants, was underway (Mallon, 1995). These were the economic policies which the PRI began to implement by 1984, increasing their potency to ‘‘shock’’ level with the inauguration of Carlos Salinas in 1988. What results have the austerity programs had on the Mexican economy and, more importantly, on the indigenous peasants of Chiapas? We should begin by backtracking to the late 1970s and early 1980s, when the Mexican government, chiefly through petrodollar loans, began a series of energy-development projects in southern Mexico. In particular, the PRI planned and financed several hydroelectric dam projects along various rivers in Chiapas and the surrounding states of Tabasco, Oaxaca, and Veracruz. The PRI also became increasingly involved in developing natural gas and oil reserves located in Chiapas. During this period of energy development projects, many indigenous peasants in the state, searching for higher wages, were encouraged by the PRI and international lending institutions to leave their traditional lifestyle of subsistence farming for work in the construction of these facilities. This socioeconomic shift had a considerable impact on the communal farms in Chiapas. Many peasants, who had suffered greatly under the pre-oil boom austerity programs, were desperate. Their farms, given to them by the government under Article 27 of the Mexican constitution, have historically been the least fertile in the country.6 This problem was only exacerbated when the government was forced to reduce price subsidies for fertilizers and equipment prior to the policies implemented during the so-called oil boom. The peasants were being forced, because of macroeconomic tendencies within Mexico and at the international level, to leave their traditional lifestyle in order to survive. As one analyst puts it, ‘‘For the past twenty-five years, Chiapas has been convulsed by unprecedented economic transformations that have torn up the traditional agricultural economy and devastated the indigenous culture’’ (Burbach, 1994: 115). Given the economic situation in Chiapas, many peasants chose to leave their farms and began to pursue alternative means of income generated by the government’s new energy development projects.

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In and of itself, this is not necessarily a horrible shift. Most countries and regions have experienced a transformation from an agricultural-based subsistence economy to one more industrially oriented (Polanyi, 1944: 33–42). However, the economic presuppositions of the oil boom were not sustainable; the oil boom was not the panacea for which the PRI had hoped. Rather, when oil prices fell, the results were catastrophic for the Mexican economy and the indigenous peasants of Chiapas. Many of the energy development projects that provided an alternative source of employment had been completed or were close to completion when falling oil prices left the Mexican economy reeling. As a result of the austerity programs implemented in the early 1980s, future spending on any such energy development projects was reduced. Hence, the new economic possibilities that had been provided to the indigenous peoples and peasants of Chiapas evaporated before their eyes. As Collier states, ‘‘As the 1982 debt crisis unfolded, the government cut employment in the public sector, curtailed development projects, and laid off thousands of construction workers . . . telling them that ‘the President wants you to go back to farming’ ’’ (1994: 101). The peasants found themselves caught in an economic game in which they were utilized when needed and forgotten when necessary. This shift back to the agricultural-based economy was not a simple matter for several reasons. To begin with, the communal lands had not been properly farmed during the time of energy development. The government’s projects had taken labor necessary for agricultural development and shifted it toward the energy ventures. Furthermore, the support system and governmental programs that had been in place to aid the peasants had been drastically reduced under the new round of structural adjustments. The international financial community led by the United States, in an effort to modernize the Mexican economy and facilitate greater international economic integration, encouraged the PRI to make large cuts in federal expenditures, sharply devalue the peso, slash wages, and remove subsidies for the poor. The Mexican state was now formulating its economic policies to appease interests emanating from an international—or ‘‘external’’— context rather than domestic constituencies. The peasants of Chiapas found themselves caught between Scylla and Charybdis. The development employment that had provided them with some form of economic stability during the oil boom was gone, and because of the lack of available government support, the peasants could not simply return to their traditional way of life. Moreover, the only other option for employment in the region, working for large landholders in an agricultural capacity, had largely evaporated. When peasant labor shifted towards energy development projects, many large landholders modified their means of production to more machine-based/capital intensive methods, leaving few jobs for the newly unemployed. The peasants’ traditional lifestyle was displaced from its once key position within Chiapas, and

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many of the poor found themselves utterly marginalized; their labor in the fields was no longer required, the supports for farming were gone, and they lacked means of earning a living. The Chiapan peasants, under the guise of the modernization of the Mexican economy, have been placed in a situation of utter desperation. However, what makes the situation even more disturbing is the fact that Chiapas is not without its many riches. There is a small minority in Chiapas who lead quite wealthy lives, a circumstance that only increases the tension in the region. Chiapas plays a pivotal role in the overall economy of Mexico, providing the country with approximately half of its hydroelectric power and much of its oil and natural gas, as well as many of its basic foods such as corn and beans (Burbach, 1994: 114– 115; Pick, Butler, and Lanzer, 1989: 217, 230–231). However, the bulk of the revenue generated from these enterprises goes only to a slim elite within Chiapas who generally have connections to the PRI. Poverty is still the condition of the majority. Substandard housing, malnutrition, illness, unemployment, and underemployment are the norm in the region, especially amongst the rural poor (see Table 1). Examining the figures from Table 1, one finds a bleak picture: real wages had declined by over seventy-five percent during the previous fifteen years; less than fifty percent of the households had running water; forty percent of the homes did not have electricity (Russell, 1995: 17, 128). Chiapas is aptly described as a rich land of poor people (Benjamin, 1989). In many ways, Chiapas played the role of an internal colony of Mexico, providing innumerable resources to the country, but receiving little in return. Traditionally, Mexico has had an incredible disparity in its income distribution (World Bank, 1980: 40). This context has only worsened in Chiapas under the economic policies that were implemented in the last decade. In the situation of an extremely wealthy elite with connections to the government, one can begin to place the roots of the Zapatista rebellion in a clearer context. Furthermore, any hope for an improved way of life seemed, in the eyes of the Zapatistas, to have disappeared when former President Carlos Salinas de Gortari altered Article 27 of the Mexican Constitution. Article 27, ratified on February 5, 1917, after the Mexican Revolution, legally recognized and encouraged the ejidal (communal) lands of the peasants in Mexico. Though often more of an ideal than a concrete policy statement, Article 27 has historically provided lands for the poorest people in Chiapas and elsewhere in Mexico.7 This policy served to bolster the legitimacy of the Mexican government from the perspective of the peasants and indigenous people. However, in an attempt to increase international integration and agricultural productivity, the Salinas administration rewrote Article 27. The reformulation brought an end to the land reform policies that had shaped the peasants’ relationship with the government for the past fifty years. In the eyes of the Zapatistas, the only

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Table 1 Relative Social and Economic Marginality: Comparative Statistics on Indigenous Populations of Mexico, Total Population of Chiapas, and Indigenous Population of Chiapas by percent Indigenous population of Mexico

Total population of Chiapas

Indigenous population of Chiapas

21.0 38.7 22.9 6.8 3.2 2.3

19.0 40.0 21.1 8.0 4.1 3.6

32.5 49.1 7.9 2.9 1.2 1.3

59.6 15.6 21.9

58.3 11.1 27.4

83.0 5.5 8.6

59.9 2.8 11.6 4.6 2.4

58.1 3.7 8.8 5.2 2.2

83.7 2.5 3.9 1.8 2.6

72.2 46.5 37.0 25.5 28.1 24.8 20.7

55.7 40.5 33.1 20.5 24.4 20.9 33.4

80.7 49.6 61.3 36.5 32.1 19.8 10.4

Population by minimum wage level Unwaged labor 1 Minimum wage or less Between 1 and 2 min. wage Between 2 and 3 min. wage Between 3 and 5 min. wage More than 5 min. wage Population by economic sector Primary sector Secondary sector Tertiary sector Working population by 5 main groups Agricultural workers Educational workers Artisans Commercial clerks No specific Homes by infrastructure Without drainage Without piped water Without electricity With no services With 1 service With 2 services With 3 services

Source: Howard and Homer-Dixon, 1995: 28–29.

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way to sustain the communal farms was if the government granted them new plots of fertile land. When Salinas and the PRI ceased the land distribution policy in 1992, any possibility of new farm lands and, hence, a sustained subsistence agricultural life, ended. Despite the severe hardships peasants were experiencing during modernization, matters were only worsened due to this shift in government policy. Possibilities and options for the peasants of Chiapas were quickly disappearing. From the perspective of many peasants, the legitimacy of the Mexican state declined as the government turned its focus to international integration. The final economic factor that has had a significant bearing on the uprising of the Zapatistas has been Mexico’s involvement in the North American Free Trade Agreement. Sub-Commander Marcos, one of the main spokespersons for the Zapatistas, went so far as to say that ‘‘the North American Free Trade Agreement . . . is nothing more than a death sentence to the Indigenous ethnicities of Mexico’’ (1994: 63). From the Zapatistas’ perspective, NAFTA has, or will have, two major impacts on their way of life. First, former President Salinas, in order to make way for the implementation of NAFTA, nullified the agrarian reform portion of the Mexican Constitution, Article 27, to increase agricultural productivity. The changes in Article 27, as has been demonstrated, meant that there would be no more land distribution to the poor of Mexico along the traditional communal lines. Necessarily, this poses the problem of social stagnation for the peasants because the land that they are currently inhabiting is some of the worst for farming in the country. The other problem that NAFTA poses is that the traditional agricultural lifestyle will come into direct competition with large agribusiness firms from the United States and Canada. As one economist has noted, ‘‘The Zapatistas have also understood how NAFTA opens Mexico up to U.S. exports, and how the most threatening of these is corn, the basic food crop of the indigenous population and an important source of cash income’’ (Cleaver, 1994: 16). The free trade agreement threatens to flood Chiapas, and other states in Mexico, with cheaper agricultural products. Given the fact that agriculture is one of the only possible ways for the peasants to survive—in the face of falling wages and increasing unemployment—international competition on this level could simply wipeout any chances to sustain the indigenous peasant communities. If the subsistence agricultural life is thrown directly into the market forces of international trade, then the peasants of Chiapas may not be able to keep up with the increased production and lower prices that NAFTA will necessitate (Kay, 1995). This situation will only weaken the peasants’ already tenuous position. NAFTA may have been the proverbial ‘‘straw that broke the camel’s back,’’ for it was on January 1, 1994, the first day the trade agreement took effect, that the rebellion started. All of these socioeconomic factors subtended the Zapatista uprising. By the time of the rebellion, the indigenous peasants of Chiapas found themselves

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in a situation of poverty, ‘‘under-development,’’ and social stagnation (Table 1). Coupled with the fact that many of the peasants were leading a poverty-stricken lifestyle before the oil boom and debt crisis, we can begin to see how the roots of the rebellion reach into the economic complexities of Mexican and international economics. The corporatist structure of Mexico, which had to some degree been able to include the economic concerns of peasants, was dismantled. This process of modernizing the economy and increasing international economic integration eroded the legitimacy of the Mexican government from the perspective of those peasants involved in the Chiapas rebellion. The interests of international financial institutions were given more weight by the Mexican government than the local concerns of peasants in Chiapas.

III. POLITICAL SOURCES OF THE ZAPATISTA REBELLION It has been demonstrated that the Zapatista rebellion was, in many ways, a response to the modernization of the Mexican economy and the shift toward increased international economic integration. However, feelings of material insecurity in the face of economic globalization are nothing particular to Chiapas. The economic situation, in and of itself, is not enough to explain the rebellion. We must also realize that the political structure of Mexico had been a decisive factor in the peasants’ armed movement; it was equally, if not more, alienating than the economic. This section examines the politics of Mexico, paying particular attention to the exclusion of indigenous and peasant concerns from the political process preceding the rebellion. Furthermore, exploration into the nature of ‘‘presidentialism’’ (overpowering presidency) in the Mexican government, as well as the domination of the political landscape by the PRI, is required. The indigenous peasants in Chiapas who supported the EZLN resorted to rebellion because all meaningful political channels had been closed to them. Lorenzo Meyer, one of the foremost historians of Mexico, once stated, ‘‘Mexicans do not live but only imagine democracy’’ (1991: 3). As regards the peasants and poor in Chiapas, this statement is absolutely true. The political system of Mexico can best be described as a semi-authoritarian structure which has been managed by the same political clique, the PRI, for over sixty years (Camp, 1993; Schultz, 1995). In controlling the political apparatus in such a manner, the ruling party has effectively marginalized a large segment of the Mexican populace. Indeed, as polls prior to the rebellion had shown, seventy-two percent of Mexicans surveyed did not support the PRI (Camp, 1993: 57). Another poll illustrated the fact that only twelve percent of Mexicans had a ‘‘positive evaluation’’ of politics in their country (Camp, 1993: 67). Lastly, and perhaps of most relevance to the issue of the EZLN rebellion, a poll taken in 1989 demonstrated that the PRI was supported by only twenty-six percent of ‘‘low-income’’ Mexicans

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(Camp, 1993: 79). The ruling party had been losing support amongst the bulk of the Mexican citizenry—the lower classes—for some time. When a political system is dominated by one party, loss of faith in that party often translates into loss of faith in the system as a whole. However, the PRI was not always viewed as an enemy of the peasants. Historically, Chiapas had provided the ruling party with unwavering support (Collier, 1994: 15; Pick et al., 1989: 338–344). For decades, the PRI was directly responsible for many social programs and land-reform policies that benefited the peasants and indigenous people in southern Mexico. This was especially true under the administration of President La`zaro Ca`rdenas (1934–1940), who redistributed thousands of hectares of land in Chiapas, improving the living standards of many peasants in the state. Nevertheless, over the past several decades, there had been a shift in the ideological identity of the PRI. This shift has been one of the major reasons for political alienation amongst the peasants in Chiapas. One observer of Mexico states that, ‘‘because of land reform after the Revolution they [the peasants] came to see the government as an ally—until the Salinas government brought agrarian reform to a halt’’ (Collier, 1994: 15). We must carefully examine the ideological metamorphoses within the political structure of Mexico; here we locate the source of the disenchantment with the political system amongst the supporters and members of the EZLN. Comprehending the impact of the ideological changes in the PRI entails focusing on the framework of the Mexican government. The crucial institutional point to be noticed is the high degree of centralization. Over the past fifty years, the PRI has pulled most aspects of Mexican life into its gravitational field. From business organizations to labor movements, and along other such polarities within a political and social structure, the PRI had created a centralized system of corporatism that rarely left any political space outside its influence (Rueschemeyer, Stephens, and Stephens, 1992: 199–204, 217–219). In general, every aspect of life in Mexico was connected with the governmental structure in some manner. This facet of Mexican politics plays a foundational role in the sustained rule of the PRI. Through its domination of the political field, the party had been able to establish footholds in every corner of Mexican life. In particular, the PRI has strengthened its position by representing many interest groups which would most likely present opposing points of view to its policies. Chief among these have been labor, indigenous peoples, and peasant organizations that were controlled by the party (Vilas, 1995: 139). The economic disparity in Mexico necessarily creates feelings of hostility and alienation amongst those less privileged. The PRI, through organizations such as ARIC (Rural Collective Interest Association), INI (National Indian Institute), and CNC (National Indian Institute) had managed to channel opposition in ways that would not undercut the party’s position.8

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This centralization of control within Mexican politics was achieved largely through the crucial position of the presidential office. Unquestionably, the president is the main power position within the political structure as a whole. One political scientist has gone so far as to state, ‘‘In practice, the Mexican system is dominated by the executive branch, which has not shared power with another branch since the 1920s, and allocates few powers to state and local governments’’ (Camp, 1993: 95). The power of the president allows those who hold the office to essentially run the country in the manner in which they see fit. There is virtually no space for dissent within the structure, and little hope for popular opinions to have any influence on the decision-making process (Levy and Szekely, 1987: 157). Presidentialism ensures that the PRI will be largely controlled by one political actor. This system of centralized decision-making certainly facilitated the process of economic modernization and increased international economic integration. Yet, it also created a situation which led to the delegitimization of the state in the eyes of many Chiapan peasants and indigenous peoples. Given the highly centralized and presidentialist structure of the government, if there is dissonance between the policies of the PRI and the population’s vision of the government, then the legitimacy of the state becomes problematic. This is exactly what happened in Mexico over the fifteen years prior to the rebellion. Beginning in the early 1980s, with the election of former President de la Madrid in 1982, a new breed of PRI leaders—the ‘‘technocrats’’—began to make their way through the official channels of power. This group, trained in neoclassical economics, began to reappraise the economic and political problems that were plaguing the country. Their solutions, which differed widely from the PRI policies of the preceding decades, centered on the notion that Mexico should become more involved in international trade, should slash government spending programs, and privatize many of the state-owned enterprises. In essence, this new ideology of the PRI began to mirror the neoclassical notion of modernization also known as the ‘‘Washington Consensus’’ (Graubart, 1996; Weeks, 1995: 116–119). This ideological shift had led to some interesting, though not at all unpredictable, divisions amongst the populace. Given the strong neoclassical tendency of the technocrats, many members of the upper class in Mexico supported the new policy direction. Indeed, support of the PRI increased amongst many of the wealthy since the rise of the technocrats in Mexican politics (Camp, 1993: 79). However, with the government’s new position of a limited role in society and decreased support systems for the poor, PRI support from low-income Mexicans began to drop rapidly at the same time. What we begin to see is a strong division along class lines of support for the PRI in Mexico. And this split in support was only exacerbated by several other political strategies by the technocrats. In many ways, the technocrats are extremely elitist in their vision for a new Mexico. They believe that they have the only legitimate vision for Mexico’s future. This quasi-aristocratic viewpoint has served to lessen the importance of

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democracy within the Mexican political system. Perhaps La Botz summed up the situation best: They believed that the science of economics was the basis of decision making, and that they as the scientists should make the decisions. They knew what was best for people. The technocrats were committed above all to bureaucratic and economic efficiency as the highest goals. Finally, the technocratic elites were also a political vanguard which aimed to take control of the Party and the state in order to transform their own society and their relations with the world [economic] order (1995: 103).

However, the new ideological positions of the PRI technocrats did not find a strong resonance among the indigenous peasants of Chiapas. There is an element of populism, a kind of Ca`rdenismo, that remains strong in the general population of Mexico. In fact, data showed that prior to the rebellion, more populist/redistributive policies were widely supported amongst the rural populations and poor sectors (Camp, 1993: 69). The public support for such policies only led the technocrats to feel that they had to change Mexico on their own, because the bulk of the citizenry supposedly did not ‘‘understand’’ the problems facing the country. As former President Salinas stated, ‘‘If you are . . . introducing additional drastic political reform (on top of economic), you end up with no reform at all’’ (Salinas, 1991: 128). To ensure implementation of the their policies, the government turned a deaf ear to local concerns and problems. Given the elitist stance of the technocrats, the party has often had to resort to violence and electoral fraud in order to keep control of the government. Chief among these incidents was the election of Salinas in 1988. Though this is not the only case of electoral deception reported in the Mexico, it is perhaps the most prominent. Other examples have been mainly restricted to gubernatorial positions and legislative seats. In many cases, voter registration lists were destroyed or altered, polling places were moved the day of the election, and caciques (PRI bosses) would patrol the polling areas and bring in busloads of PRI supporters to vote (La Botz, 1995: 193–207; Collier, 1994: 79–81; Barry, 1992: 326–328). The 1994 elections in the state of Tabasco provide a clear example of the extent of the fraud. In this case the PRI spent $38.8 million—more than 30 times the legal limit—to win (New York Times News Service, 1996). Furthermore, the PRI utilized the tactic of tying what public support programs remained after modernization to party affiliation in an attempt to increase the rolls of the PRI and the votes that the party would receive. As Collier reported on this issue, ‘‘Throughout Mexico’s poorest states, access to public services is based not on need, but on political affiliation’’ (1994: 119). This was especially the case under the National Solidarity Program (PRONASOL) that Salinas implemented in 1988.9 In large part, this program, which ultimately never achieved its goals of supplying social support systems for the poorest in Mexico, was an

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attempt to shore-up its legitimacy after the fraud involved in the 1988 elections (La Botz, 1995: 105–110; Camp, 1993: 169; Collier, 1994: 140–144). The program was intended to supply funds in a decentralized/neoclassical manner to peasants at the local and state level. However, PRONASOL ended up being formulated and run by technocratic elites and supporters. Local concerns and ideas were not implemented into the policy as they were originally intended to be (Burki and Edwards, 1995: 13). These politicos only gave PRONASOL funds to those peasants who were willing to support the party (Russell, 1995: 18). Though a government’s use of social spending to increase public support is nothing new, the specificity of ties to party affiliation have a particularly nefarious undertone. Also reported had been a tendency of the PRI to use violence as a political weapon in the years preceding the rebellion. Between 1988 and 1994, 254 political assassinations had been documented, while another 32 were under investigation (La Botz, 1995: 131). Many of these cases of violence were against fledgling opposition parties attempting to create a legitimate political dialogue in the country. These incidents included arbitrary arrests, torture, and outright murder (Amnesty International, 1995). The PRI, risking a legitimacy crisis, clung to power through its hegemonic position within Mexico. It would appear that the party was willing to use every means at its disposal to insure the implementation of its policies, even though the bulk of the population does not support them. According to this analysis of events, questions surrounding PRI legitimacy, coupled with the vast economic disparity that had plagued the Mexican economy, were the main reasons for the Zapatistas’ armed struggle. The peasants of Chiapas, who had continually seen their economic conditions worsen over the last several decades, were confronted with a leviathan-like government which was unwilling to take their concerns seriously. Though the peasants and indigenous peoples dominate the landscape in Chiapas, they had little or no control of their governmental apparatus. The Zapatistas, in essence, were ‘‘holding Mexico’s ruling party responsible for undemocratic politics and for betraying historic commitments to social welfare’’ (Collier, 1994: 8). The EZLN rebellion was a response to the undemocratic tendencies that have plagued the Mexican political scene for over fifty years. Furthermore, the Zapatistas were attempting to give voice to the underside of the policies of economic modernization and increased international integration. They were showing Mexico and the world that these policies, when pursued in such a manner, leave a slew of dispossessed people in their wake. As one commentator has so aptly put it: The Zapatistas have pulled the curtain that covered up the other Mexico. It is not the Mexico of eager entrepreneurs lined up to open Pizza Hut franchises or consumers eager to shop at Wal-Mart, but rather the Mexico of malnourished children, illiteracy, landlessness, poor roads, lack of health clinics, and life as a permanent struggle (Stephen, 1994: 6).

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The EZLN is concerned with the conditions of the indigenous peasants who have been forced to the periphery of Mexican political and economic life. They rebelled in order to speak for the people who had, for all intents and purposes, been silenced. Though the PRI once shared many positions with the peasants of Mexico— for example under Cardenas—prior to the rebellion, it did not take the concerns of the peasants into consideration in the formulation of national policies. Rather, in an effort to increase Mexico’s international standing and, the integration of its economy, the PRI risked the legitimacy of itself and ipso facto, the state. The problem central to this estrangement is the very political structure which subtends a hegemonic PRI. While the ideological stance of that party may alter over time, say from Ca`rdenas to Salinas, the very fact that it had a position of complete control within the process made all potential political and economic gains contingent upon the ideological fancies of the party leadership. The Zapatistas were responding to an undemocratic and economically desperate situation that had been created, in large part, through the leadership of the PRI and its desire to attract international favor.

IV. ZAPATISMO AND INTERNATIONAL RELATIONS THEORY At the heart of international relations theory stands the concept of space. The goal of most scholars in the field—and perhaps the unquestioned assumption—is to examine the ways in which power, wealth, and authority are related to specific articulations of space: territoriality and state sovereignty. However, despite the seeming stability of space qua state, in assessing the theoretical significance of the Zapatista rebellion for international relations we should begin by noting the multidimensional and intersubjective quality of the concept. The term multidimensional is utilized here to indicate the varying ways that individuals and collectivities relate to space. These variations are important in so far as they entail different meanings of, and relations to, space for human existence. In other words, space, as a fundamental category of international relations, does not have a fixed or stable essence (Bartelson, 1995; Krause and Williams, 1997; Walker, 1993). Rather, the significance of space differs given varying intersubjective contexts and discourses through which we speak and know about that space. This multifaceted nature of the central concept of international relations is crucial to understanding the possible conflicts that may arise in an era of increasing international integration, where the meaning of space is shifting away from a purely statecentric understanding. Moreover, economic and political policies, which are formulated without reference to these differing understandings of space, fail to take into consideration a key point of discord in the contemporary world.

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Some examples and clarifications are in order. While the following conceptualizations of space do not exhaust the range of possibilities, they highlight the potential points of conflict at work in Chiapas. On the one hand, space can be viewed in purely state-centric and political terms. On this front, such concepts as territorial boundaries and the principle of non-interference are central. While not excluding the possibility of change in spatial relations, political understandings of space tend to be more static than fluid given the concept of state sovereignty. Sovereignty orders our knowledge of space in that it sets parameters for other related concepts such as authority and accountability. Space can also be viewed, however, through the lens of economics. Given the ability of economic transactions to alter spatial relations between local, national, and international levels, change is given precedence. Indeed, alterations in spatial relations are at the heart of the dynamic growth of capitalism and are at the center of the international economic integration of states (Murphy, 1994; Schwartz, 1994). These alterations in economic understandings of space are perhaps best represented by the term ‘‘globalization’’ and the increasing economic units this term entails. Lastly, there are localized and particularistic relations to space. These tend to differ from the above in that they are generally given little attention in international relations theory, which by and large takes either a more systemic or statecentered level of analysis. These particularistic relations to space, however, play a crucial role in the identity of collectivities at a subnational level and can provide a sight of conflict with both state-centric and international conceptualizations of space. These conflicts are coming to the forefront in an era of increased international integration and globalization. There are, furthermore, tensions between these different understandings of space. The most obvious tension exists between the sovereign, state-centric, ideas of space and the economic. As Walker has commented, ‘‘both state and capital participate in spatiotemporal processes that are radically at odds with the resolutions expressed by the principle of state sovereignty’’ (Walker, 1993: 155). Given the increasing ability of capital flows, goods, information, and production mechanisms to traverse territorial boundaries, linking states together in increasing complex ways, a considerable body of scholarly research has grown around the tensions between states and global economics, sovereignty, and increased international integration (Hirst and Thompson, 1996; Rosenau, 1997; Strange, 1996). While this work linking state and economic notions of space is important in advancing our understanding of international relations, the more localized conceptualization of space needs to be added to the equation. The localized understanding of space works, often times, in contradiction to the internationalizing forces which are pushing toward spatial relations beyond the state. The Zapatista rebellion provides a wedge into how different conceptions of space are interacting, producing tensions between local, national, and international levels. More fundamentally, the Chiapas rebellion points to the possibility that in an age of

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increased international integration the state, once the level at which local concerns could be expressed and accounted for, is losing its ability to perform this function. Returning to the Zapatista rebellion, it is key to understand that at the center of indigenous and peasant identity in Chiapas stands a relationship to land. As Rudolfo Stavenhagen has noted, ‘‘To belong to an indigenous group means to have the consciousness of possessing a territory and of maintaining special ties to the land’’ (1996: 142). This relationship to space, inherent in the identity of the indigenous peasants of Chiapas, is often times at odds with the views of economic modernization which stresses increasing the efficient use of land along the lines of private ownership. In other words, this localized relation to space entails a different ontological conception of its meaning and importance. This is because indigenous identity is often tied to a communal sense of space, which provides a sense of fellowship and belonging. As this chapter has attempted to demonstrate, the Zapatistas have been most vociferous in their claims that alterations in land tenure policies within Mexico will have negative consequences for their identity as indigenous peoples: ‘‘to take our land is to take our life’’ (IATP, 1994). Indigenous and peasant relations to space, differing in their very ontological understanding of what that space means, creates friction between economic modernization and international integration—a ‘‘rational’’ utilization of space not necessarily bound up with identity—and local space. There is a tension between economic space, and the manner by which it is transformed through international integration, and a particularistic dimension of space tied to indigenous and peasant identity. Hence, the dynamic aspect of spatial relations inherent in a purely economic and increasingly internationalized conceptualization of space is at odds in many ways with a more identity centered and localized understanding of space for the Zapatistas. Turning to the more political understanding of space, we must begin by wondering how the state interacts with the tensions between international space and local space. Traditionally the state has been the locus of rights and the legitimate exercise of authority. As such, local groups, such as the indigenous peasants in Chiapas, have often times turned to the state in an attempt to maintain their lifestyle. This is because the state can provide material support to ameliorate the detrimental effects of economic alterations and dislocations. Though the Zapatistas have consistently rejected the efforts of the Mexican state, the PRI nonetheless offered to help indigenous peoples in Chiapas through increased state spending. Yet, despite the efforts on the part of the Mexican government, the key area of concern for the Zapatistas was their relation to land (to space), and the effects that economic modernization and international integration would entail. Government spending for increased educational and economic opportunities could not alter the basic fact that a localized/identity notion of space was conflicting with spatial alterations brought about through the dismantling of Article 27 and increased international integration of Mexico. Thus, the Mexican state has not been able to

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address the key tension at the heart of the Zapatista rebellion inherent in differing conceptualizations of space and its role in maintaining cultural and ethnic difference. Given the tensions between these varying notions of space, at this point it is important to once again turn to the idea of legitimacy discussed above. The majority of international relations scholars tend to reduce spatial aspects of theory to the concept of sovereignty: fixed territorial borders in which authority is exercised. While the concept of sovereignty is indeed a crucial element in our overall vocabulary, neorealist and neoliberal theories often times fail to consider the dualistic nature of the concept and its ramifications for the conceptualization of space. This dual aspect of sovereignty refers to both sovereignty as a guiding principle of relations between states and sovereignty as a relation between a state and its population. As Barkin and Cronin have emphasized on this point: Since the evolution of modern nationalism, there has been a tension between two opposing principles: state sovereignty, which stresses the link between sovereign authority and a defined set of exclusive political institutions, and national sovereignty, which emphasizes a link between sovereign authority and a defined population (1994: 112).

At the level of theory, state sovereignty is a relatively static view of space, in so far as borders seldom change. Yet, when we turn to the connections between populations and states, a far more dynamic relationship comes to the fore front as a result of the fluid and contested nature of legitimacy. While the Mexican state is by no means eroding in terms of borders, the legitimacy of the state from the perspective of the indigenous peasants of Chiapas surely is. Along the lines advanced by Lipset, legitimacy is the capacity of states to generate and sustain the belief that the existing political institutions are the most appropriate ones for the society (1960: 77). In the case of the Zapatistas, given the limited amount of democratic participation prior to the rebellion, the legitimacy of the Mexican state was called into question. The previous two sections of this chapter have demonstrated that one of the central reasons for this process of delegitimization was the desire to increase Mexico’s international economic integration on the part of the PRI. As Gary H. Gossen stated on this issue, ‘‘[t]he government’s priorities have shifted to ‘northerly’ interests in corporate development for the export economy’’ (1994: 19). Hence, increased economic integration, and the tensions that it produces between international space, state space, and local space, was crucial to the Zapatista rebellion. In order to facilitate greater international integration, the Mexican government was willing to bargain its internal legitimacy in the eyes of indigenous peasants in Chiapas. Thus, the legitimacy of state space, rather than being turned towards its domestic polity, was reversed towards an international context in the attempts to foster greater international integration.

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This demonstrates the fact that political space, though often portrayed in a static manner through the exclusive focus on state sovereignty, is actually a sight of continual contestation. Though borders themselves may seldom shift, the meanings of the borders and the attachments that groups invest in those borders alter. Hence, a static view of political space often advanced by international relations scholars cannot capture the complexity of international, national, and local forces which often times pull in different directions. Where different conceptualizations of space come into conflict, as they have in the Zapatista rebellion, all three levels (international, state, and local) must be taken into consideration in order to capture the complexity of politics in an age of heightened integration. The process of policy formation and implementation must consider the ideational/cultural differences that are at play in any society. While the tension between states and markets has been given increasing attention, the relations between localized understandings of space must be included given the possibility of violent conflict when these differing spatial conceptualizations clash. If increased economic integration is accompanied by a decreasing level of legitimacy for the state in the eyes of certain members of its polity, then international relations theory must be encouraged to examine the shifting sights of political contestation and conflict. The Zapatista rebellion allows us to realize how differing understandings of space can clash and cause instability and potential violent results. In an age of increased international economic integration, the meaning of political space is shifting away from a purely state-centric view of space. As Walker has noted, ‘‘the scale and vitality of globally organized structures have begun to raise questions about the character and significance of the state as a primary focus of political identity, community, authority and power’’ (1993: 162). On the one hand, new norms and ideas are converging on the international level about the nature of economic, political, and security relations between states. There is a tendency which is pulling in the direction of an ever increasing cosmopolitan understanding of global politics. One example of this can be seen in the increased economic integration that is taking place in the Americas today. However, at the same time, there is a more localized point of discourse which is calling into question the international consensus around economic integration. This localized discourse is perhaps best represented by the Zapatista rebellion. The tensions between these more global and local points of discourse have yet to work themselves out. However, the point is to remember that these tensions exist and need to be taken into consideration by international relations scholars. Space, on a local, national, and international level is changing. This chapter argues that international relations theory must remember the differing understandings of space, and how these understandings relate to each other and can conflict. Furthermore, though the category of space is indeed multidimensional and intersubjective, these various understandings are by no means on equal grounds.

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The desire on the part of political elites to increase international integration is far and away the most potent discourse on the reformulation of political space in the late-modern/post-modern era. This reformulation, while not denying the importance of local understandings of space, certainly gives precedence to ever increasing spatial arrangements, as represented by regimes and institutions such as NAFTA. The question which looms over the Zapatista rebellion draws our attention to both the unequal precedence given to new international spatial relations and the accountability that such spatial arrangements have to more localized concerns. While the Zapatistas have remained consistent in their call for a more democratic Mexico, they have also begun a discussion on the lack of democratic accountability at the level of the international. One example of this would be their January 30, 1996 call for a ‘‘World Gathering against Neoliberalism and for Humanity’’ which attracted the involvement of scholars, activists, and concerned citizens from a number of countries. As spatial relations change in an age of increased international integration, localized voices and concerns, which may not be represented by the state, are often marginalized. While not passing judgment on the merits of international integration per se, this fact does raise the specter of a legitimacy crisis inherent in the drive for increased integration from the point of view of more localized and identity-centered, spatial relations. These localized and identity-bound relations to space, which differ fundamentally from more globalized configurations, must be taken into account by policymakers and scholars if stability, the ultimate bedrock of economic transactions, is to be maintained and strengthened. If these local concerns cannot, or will not, be addressed by the state, and if there are no international forums which can serve as a locus for accountability and mediation, then violent conflict may present itself as the only viable option for local populations and movements which perceive themselves as threatened with extinction by global economic forces. The central dilemma this chapter has pinpointed is that if states, as in the case of Mexico, must increase their autonomy vis-a´-vis their citizenry to promote and ensure international economic integration, where can more local concerns be voiced and accounted for? One possibility is to, once again, ground the legitimacy of the state in local and citizen-based concerns. Yet, as the World Bank and others have pointed out, to do so risks the benefits of international integration through a return to the ‘‘populist’’ formulation of the state in Latin America (Burki and Edwards, 1996). The other prospect, which this chapter advances, is to create new international networks and institutions which can provide a forum for the concerns and problems that are confronting local groups in an age of increased international integration. International relations theorists, given the predicament spelled out in this article, must begin the process of formulating new international institutions and forums which can increase the accountability of international forces to local concerns which operate at a subnational level. While

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the form of such institutions is as of yet unclear, the need is apparent. The benefits of international economic integration, and the increased state autonomy it entails, requires new sights of accountability to local concerns if it is to continue in a manner free from violent conflict.

V.

CONCLUSION

The Zapatistas are not merely reacting to politico-economic forces present within Mexico. Rather, they are responding to international economic and political forces operative around the world. While many praise the potential benefits of increased international cooperation, problems remain.10 This chapter argues that the Mexican state, in some ways, is being turned ‘‘inside-out’’ in so far as policy is formulated to appease external/international powers rather than its citizens. As others have noted, there is a tension/paradox in the neoclassical theory of the state’s role in the process of economic modernization. While neoclassical economic theory calls for the removal of the state from the economy, in order to achieve this goal the state has to strengthen its position vis-a´-vis society through increased autonomy. As Haggard and Kaufman have noted: ‘‘[g]iven the problems of collective action . . . reform initiatives are more likely where and when political institutions insulate politicians and their technocratic allies from particular interest group[s]’’ (1992: 19). The state must decrease its responsiveness to localized concerns. Beyond the need for increased autonomy, one is additionally struck by the potential erosion of state legitimacy and the shifting of accountability. If economic modernization and increased international integration are not pursued in a democratic manner, and there are no institutional mechanisms through which local concerns can be voiced, one direct result may be violent opposition such as the EZLN. We cannot expect people to sit idly by as they careen into an abyss of poverty, starvation, and despair. We should not assume, for reasons of ‘‘stability,’’ that a certain level of economic development must be reached prior to the establishment of democracy. The case of the Chiapas rebellion provides us with an example of the destabilizing effects of economic modernization and increased international integration pursued in a non-democratic manner. As globalization and increased economic integration continue, local, national, and international space are taking on new meanings and being connected in unprecedented ways. Moreover, the rebellion is driven by different conceptualizations of space: the material of identity. By conceptualizing space in a communal fashion, indigenous peoples find themselves at odds with notions of space tied to the dominant or hegemonic theories of development. According to these hegemonic theories, land is to be understood in terms of ‘‘privatization’’ and ‘‘increased productivity.’’ At a level deeper than

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materialist factors and variables, different conceptions are driving the tensions between many indigenous peoples, land, the state, and international forces. This difference over the status, purpose, and use of land demonstrates that policies cannot be formulated in a cultural vacuum. While material concerns are certainly crucial to the formation and implementation of economic and political policies, ideational considerations must be included in our analyses. Our understandings of power, wealth, authority, and accountability should no longer be restricted to the concept of state sovereignty alone; they must begin to include cultural variables as well.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS I would like to thank Michael Barnett, Bruce Cronin, Mahmud Faksh, John Fieno, Leigh Payne, Jessica L. Pierce, Wanda Whitten, Michael C. Williams, and M. Crawford Young for their helpful comments, criticism, and encouragement at various stages during the crafting of this chapter.

NOTES 1. The Zapatistas draw their name from Emiliano Zapata, the leader of a radical peasant faction involved in the Mexican Revolution of 1910–1917. Zapata’s group focused primarily on the issue of land reform for the poor. The plan that Zapata endorsed, the Plan de Ayala, called for an ‘‘agrarian law attempting to improve the condition of the laborer in the field’’ (Womack, 1968: 395). 2. Article 27 guaranteed peasants the right to participate in communal farming systems known as ejidos. The land was set aside by the government and given to the peasants through a series of bureaucratic channels. Though the article’s spirit did not always coincide with its practical implementation, it nevertheless held out the possibility of communal lands for the many peasants of Mexico. Article 27 was essentially nullified by former President Salinas in 1992 in an attempt to bring the Mexican economy more in line with neoclassical economics. The alteration of the article was an attempt to pave the way for the implementation of NAFTA through increased agricultural productivity. 3. Up until this point, Mexico was considered a ‘‘miracle economy’’ by many economists. However, the miraculous economic development was mainly due to a policy of import-substitution. This policy was eventually damaging to the Mexican economy when the country moved more toward global integration. The shift toward global integration forced Mexico to restructure its internal economy in the face of increased international influence and competition. The economic restructuring policies involved, essentially, the selling of most state-owned, or state-supported, industries: electric, telecommunications, air travel, etc.

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4. The fall in the purchasing power of the minimum-wage worker in Mexico is indicative of the economic hardships that were felt by the majority of the population during this period. From 1978 to 1991, purchasing power of the average Mexican worker fell by over fifty-five percent. Furthermore, by 1985, over forty-eight percent of the Mexican population fell under the official poverty line (Barry, 1992: 97). 5. It is important to remember that the United States and the IMF (International Monetary Fund) strongly encouraged the Mexican government to take on the petrodollar loans during the oil boom, thinking that it would help to balance the Mexican debt. As is often the case in international political economy, there is no single locus of blame. Rather, complex economic issues are generally overdetermined. Policymakers need to take this into consideration when they evaluate the current situation in Mexico, as elsewhere. 6. George A. Collier’s statement is perhaps one of the most succinct on this point: ‘‘The land they [the indigenous peasants] hold is often barley arable’’ (1994: 39). 7. This land provision process is often accomplished through government grants of large tracks of unused or under-utilized lands or through a petition process initiated by the peasants themselves. 8. The ARIC, INI, and the CNC are government-sponsored organizations that are largely under the influence of the PRI. The ARIC, the Rural Association of Collective Interests, is a peasant confederation that, though supposedly representing the peasants’ concerns, generally represents PRI policies and is run by its members. The National Indianist Institute (INI) is the organization established by the government to deal with indigenous peoples’ concerns and issues. The National Peasant Confederation (CNC) is the main government-sponsored peasant organization. 9. PRONASOL is the main welfare program that was implemented by the Salinas administration on Dec. 2, 1998. Theoretically, the program was to provide government seed money for local welfare initiatives. ‘‘Decentralization’’ was the term that was most often utilized by Salinas to describe the new program. Funds were shifted to state and municipal governments largely through block grants. However, PRONASOL, in large part, became controlled by a new system of bureaucrats under the direct control of Salinas. In large part the program was characterized by: (1) corruption, (2) the rivalry between the traditional political establishment and the new PRONASOL bureaucrats, and (3) the overt political use of the program. 10. For a sampling of those who detail the potential benefits of increased international cooperation from a Neo-liberal institutional perspective see Keohane (1984), and Keohane, (1989).

REFERENCES Amnesty International. (1995). Human Rights Violations in Mexico: A Challenge for the Nineties. New York: AI press. AI Index: AMR 41/21/95. Distr: SC/CO/GR. Barkin, J. S., and Cronin, B. (1994). The state and the nation: Changing norms and the rules of sovereignty in international relations. International Organization, 48: 1 (Winter):107–130.

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Barry, T. (ed.) (1992). Mexico: A Country Guide. Albuquerque: The Inter-Hemispheric Education Resource Center. Bartelson, J. (1995). A Genealogy of Sovereignty. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Benjamin, T. (1989). A Rich Land, A Poor People: Politics and Society in Modern Chiapas. Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press. Burbach, R. (1994). Roots of the postmodern rebellion in Chiapas. New Left Review, 205 (May/June): 113–124. Burki, S. J., and Edwards, S. (1996). Dismantling the Populist State: The Unfinished Revolution in Latin America and the Caribbean. Washington D.C.: The World Bank. Camp, R. (1993). Politics in Mexico. New York: Oxford University Press. Cleaver, H. (1994). Preface. In Zapatistas: Documents of the New Mexican Revolution. Editorial Collective (Ed.). New York: Autonomedia, p. 11–23. Collier, G. A. (1994). Basta: Land and the Zapatista Rebellion in Chiapas. Oakland: Food First Books. Gossen, G. H. (1994). Comments on the Zapatista movement. Cultural Survival Quarterly, 18(19)(Spring): 19–21. Graubart, J. (1996). Breaking up the ‘‘Washington Consensus.’’ Paper presented at the annual meeting of the Midwestern Political Scientist’s Association, Chicago, IL, April 1997. Haggard, S., and Kaufman, R. (eds.). (1992). The Politics of Economic Adjustment. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Hirst, P., and Thompson, G. (1996). Globalization in Question: The International Economy and the Possibilities of Governance. Cambridge: Polity Press. IATP (Institute for Agriculture Trade Policy). (1994). Chiapas Digest. Vol. 1. Minneapolis: Institute for Agricultural Trade Policy. Kay, C. (1995). Rural Latin America: Exclusionary and uneven agricultural development. In Capital, Power, and Inequality in Latin America. Halebsky, Sandor and Richard L. Harris (eds.). Boulder: Westview Press. Keohane, R. O. (1984). After Hegemony: Cooperation and Discord in the World Political Economy. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Keohane, R. O., and Nye, J. F. (1989). Power and Interdependence. Glenview, IL: Scott, Foresman and Company. Krause, K., and Williams, M. C. (1997). Critical Security Studies: Concepts and Cases. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. La Botz, D. (1995). Democracy in Mexico: Peasant Rebellion and Political Reform. Boston: South End Press. Levy, D., and Szekely, G. (1987). Mexico: Paradoxes of Stability and Change. Boulder: Westview Press. Lipset, S. M. (1960). Political Man. Garden City, NY: Doubleday Press. Mallon, F. E. (1995). Peasant and Nation: The Making of Postcolonial Mexico and Peru. Berkeley: University of California Press. Marcos. (1994). Testimonies of the first day. In Zapatistas: Documents of the New Mexican Revolution. Editorial Collective (eds.). New York: Autonomedia, p. 62–69. Meyer, L. (1994). La Democracia, solo un horizonte. Excelsior, 14(August): 3. Murphy, C. N. (1994). International Organization and Industrial Change: Global Governance since 1850. New York: Oxford University Press.

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New York Times News Services. (June 7, 1996). Election fraud charges filed Against Mexico’s ruling party. Source: http:/ /www.nando.net/newsroom/ntn/world/ 060796/world9/13495.html. Pazos, F. (1961). Private versus public foreign investment in under-developed areas. In Economic Development for Latin America. Howard S. Ellis (ed.). New York: Stockton Press, p. 201–225. Pick, J. Butler, E. W., and Lanzer, E. L. (1989). Atlas of Mexico. Boulder: Westview Press. Polanyi, K. (1944). The Great Transformation: The Political and Economic Origins of Our Time. Boston: Beacon Press. Purcell, S. K. (1997). The changing nature of US–Mexican relations. Journal of Interamerican Studies and World Affairs, 39(1): 137–152. Rosenau, J. N. (1997). Along the Domestic-Foreign Frontier: Exploring Governance in a Turbulent World. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Rueschemeyer, D. Stephens, E. H., and Stephens, J. D. (1992). Capitalist Development and Democracy. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Russell, P. L. (1995). The Chiapas Rebellion. Austin: Mexico Resource Center. Salinas, C. (1991). A new hope for the hemisphere. New Perspectives Quarterly, 8(Winter): 128. Schultz, D. E., and Williams, E. J. (ed.). (1995). Mexico Faces the 21st Century. Westport: Praeger Publishers. Schwartz, H. M. (1994). States versus Markets: History, Geography, and the Development of the International Political Economy. New York: St. Martin’s Press. Spero, J. E. (1990). The Politics of International Economic Relations. New York: St. Martin’s Press. Stavenhagen, R. (1996). Indigenous rights: Some conceptual problems. In Constructing Democracy: Human Rights, Citizenship, and Society in Latin America. Jelin, Elizabeth and Eric Hershberg (eds.). Boulder: Westview Press, p. 141–159. Stephen, L. (1994). La Situation Actual en Chiapas. El Financiero International. August 14, p. 6. Strange, S. (1996). The Retreat of the State: The Diffusion of Power in the World Economy: Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Walker, R. B. J. (1993). Inside/outside: International Relations as Political Theory. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Vilas, C. M. (1995). Economic Restructuring, Neoliberal Reforms, and the Working Class in Latin America. In Capital, Power, and Inequality in Latin America. Halebsky, S., and Harris, R. L. (eds.). Boulder: Westview Press. Weeks, J. (1995). The Contemporary Latin American Economies: Neoliberal Reconstruction. In Capital, Power, and Inequality in Latin America. Halebsky, S., and Harris, R. L. (eds.). Boulder: Westview Press. Womack, J. Jr. (1968). Zapata and the Mexican Revolution. New York: Vintage Books. World Bank. (1980). World Development Report. New York: Oxford University Press.

17 Wars and the Military Civil Instruments for Politics in Colombia* Adolfo Leo´n Atehortu´a Cruz Universidad del Valle, Cali, Colombia

Time and time again Colombian historical and political analysts have asked themselves why this country, recognized as one of the most violent on earth, has at the same time been among the most stable politically. Since the 19th century, for better or worse, Colombia’s leaders have gone through the election process even though they know that they will face death on many occasions. The political parties— Liberal and Conservative—form the longest-lasting shared political system, and with no real opposition, on the continent. In its very own way, and very different from the rest of Latin America, Colombia has not seen a military dictatorship in the true sense of the word and, for more than a hundred years, has sustained a constitution which has easily accommodated amendments made necessary by discontent. This chapter puts forward two hypotheses which nevertheless do not exclude other phenomena whose influence has been historically signposted. I. THE WAR IN THE 19TH CENTURY: CIVIL INSTRUMENT FOR POLITICS The last century was known as the century of civil wars. Even the most experienced students have not been able to disagree. How many civil wars, how many local rebellions, how many sporadic uprisings? * The present article is part of an investigation underway, which the author participated in the XVI World Congress of Political Science in Berlin, thanks to the patronage of COLCIENCIAS and the Pontificia Universidad Javeriana, Sectional of Cali (Colombia).

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But here is a paradox: the 19th century was also a century of constitutions, six national ones and various local ones. In Colombia, war and constitution have lived together in a strange co-existence and unbelievable contrast. The logical explanation is very simple. If we take as our base the Lasalle concept, according to which a constitution is the reflection of the correlations of force, as the civilized agreement of a struggle, it is understandable that respective constitutions would follow wars in the 19th century. Wars, in particular, were an expression of an inherited society. The methods of conquest and colonization, the structural colonial process, production systems, labor relations, geographic isolation, and the diversity of production (together with certain ways of dealing with social, demographic, and ethnic aspects) contributed throughout history to the creation of strong regional differences which molded a diaphanous kind of heterogeneity which was social, political, and cultural in the social groups and subjects of the country of origin. If the routes leading to development and the accumulation of wealth were different and contradictory, the interests of the people would necessarily be in conflict. It is not simply a question of defending or not defending slavery, to continue or not to continue with the arrangement of having Indians as a productive system, to support or not to support the Church and the parties, to restrict or not to restrict the privileges of priests and political leaders. It is also a question of defining the type of political organization, the balance of passes and the regional elite, the value of political authority and the role of the Church. All of these issues are of singular importance, but we must not forget other related issues such as: the control over money, and through this, over external and internal markets, the distribution mechanisms of products, and the government monopoly on salt, tabacco, and aguardiente; the promotion of agricultural and manufactured products; and free exchange or protectionism. Nevertheless, when we think in terms of ‘‘nation,’’ the regional economic differences do not offer us so much as the lack of a suitable sector to rescue social, political, economic, and cultural differences and impose their domination or hegemony. This is perhaps the main reason for the fact that none of the civil wars in the 19th century—except the one involving Tomas Cipriano de Mosquera in 1861—was won by the rebels; although, maybe none of the rebels was actually going for victory. It is paradoxical, if not strange, that in the end the governors pardoned the insurgents. The governors also gave them, in the worst case, an honorable amnesty or, at best, a new constitution that included in one form or another recognition of the reasons for the uprising. After the Thousand Day War, for example, the commander of the rebel army, Benjamin Herrera, received the command of the official army, while the political leader of the opposing fleet, Rafael Uribe Uribe, went to congress and was appointed plenipotentiary Minister. Apart from independence, Colombia’s rebellions have never ended with a

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military victory in power. The truth is that on many occasions the rebels haven’t wanted this either. This is what happened with the Comuneros in 1781 who waited in Zipaquira for some false capitulations before marching to Santafe. It happened this way to the patriots of July 20, who preferred demoting the Viceroy to president of the board, instead of dethroning him. In 1899 the liberal army, after succeeding in Peralonso, decided to go back to Cucuta to encamp for more than three months instead of going to Bogota while the government was preparing Palonegro’s disaster. On April 9, a disorganized crowd abandoned the march towards the Presidential Palace and spent the time drinking and robbing while their leaders were deciding on a new ‘‘national union’’ government at the Presidential Palace. In the 19th century, war was simply a political act. The political parties were not viewed as vigorous if they didn’t have powerful reserve armies. Regional political leaders only displayed their power if they could gather a multitude around them, which was either forced to fight, recruited from the haciendas or was obliged as companion and was ready to die. The heads of the parties were required to also uphold the office of ‘‘general.’’ Uribe Uribe, a flat soldier of the elite who was injured in Los Chancos in 1875, would be the general of generals 25 years later. Rafael Reyes, from a rich family but unknown vanquisher of radicals in 1885, would be the president in 1905. In Colombia, a political career was a career of weapons. It was more effective to do politics with arms than with elections and speeches. In the end, the governments also forgave, they sat down to negotiate the agreements. No rebel was condemned, officially, to the death penalty, none to exile, none to prison. All of them were absolved, pardoned, or captivated by the government. Following amnesty came a new constitution or, at least, an electoral reform that consecrated the right of belligerents to participate in the system. Rebels who arrived at the parliament became incorporated into government in one way or another, accepted its rules, and were designated ministers or ambassadors. The goal of every war in Colombia was not victory but political agreement, or if desired, the use of the most effective tool of seizure in politics. In this sense, then, the assertion of Gonzalo Sa´nchez that, ‘‘War in Colombia in the XIX Century is not negotiation or replacement, but extension of political relationship, and meanwhile doors that could be considered as normally open remain blocked, it constitutes a singular channel of access to citizen in many aspects.’’1 With acute perspicaciousness, a look at the 20th century might point out that the characteristics and the purposes of war have not been different from that of the 19th century. Moreover, a considerable fluency between war and politics has existed. In this fluency we could locate: the failed socialist and liberal insurrection of 1928 and 1929 as it contributed to the end of conservative hegemony and was expressed in the constitutional reform of 1936; vicissitudes of liberal conservative violence of the 30s and 1946 which originated in a ‘‘national union

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government’’; the violence of 1948–1957 that ended with the horizontal agreement called ‘‘Frente National,’’ its amnesties and pardons; the last peace processes during the governments of Betancourt, Barco, and Gaviria, which expressed the constituent’s desires.

II. THE MILITIA IN THE 20TH CENTURY: A TOOL FOR THE POLITICS OF CIVILIANS Even though the relationship between war and politics, violence and constitution, explain some features of the 19th century and certain continuity in the 20th century, other questions demand new reflection and hypotheses. What singularity do armed forces have in Colombia, which, unlike the rest of Latin America, has remained substantially unchanged during more than 150 years of bipartisanship in a little-changing political system? Undoubtedly, the explanation must be found in its own historical development. To begin with, we must not forget that unlike other continental latitudes, marines and civil elite did not face each other as opponents and antagonistic actors. Except for the ephemeral insurrection of the scarce troops of General Jose Maria Melo to help President Obando in 1854, wars in Colombia are wars among civilians. As opposed to Chile, where the conservative triumph of Portales in 1829 imposed civil power over the military (later, in 1872 and 1895, Pardo and Pierola several times prevented the military from regaining lost power), soldiers in Colombia are called to help definitively, which commit them to serve the civilian sector. It can not be ignored that at the beginning of the 20th century, the police were debating their own dissolution while the army was only a shapeless body, politicized, and dispersed in numerous divisions nationwide. Even though military professionalization was considered a fundamental guarantee of internal stability from 1907 on, the construction of an army (capable of recovering the monopoly over armed force) was attempted. Ideals and purposes of foreign missions, codes, and speeches were transcended by social and political party practices. Little by little, the will to bring modern and professional armed forces in accord with the National State (proposed at the end of the 19th century and at the beginning of the 20th century after the abandonment of military reform) yielded an army that was completely against the population. The first two decades of this century were a crude circumnavigation of repression and blood in the continuing liberal, socialist, and working class struggles. Despite the fact that the civilians kept the general orientation of the armed forces technically and formatively weak, public problems began (at least in their specific and operative circumstances), to be the responsibility of the military. The same civilians in

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power who committed the army to internal control asked to double their war funding as a deterrence for a public order that seemed to be out of control and to apply new statutes of armed participation to silence all protest. During the sad massacre at the banana plantations in 1928, not only did the workers die, but the classic civilian-military relationship also died, and the army was introduced as a main actor in the political problems of the system. Very probably, the social origin of the high officials of the army influenced this approaching dependency. From the 19th century, the civil elite showed deep interest in controlling the state system in its highest positions: civilian, ecclesiastical, and military. Cadets admitted in military academies suffered through a rigorous selection process which took into account their political preference. Literacy and school grades were a simple way to establish social differences which also determined political differences. In Colombia, the possibility of a school teacher or a municipal clerk becoming a political leader never existed, as in the cases of Calle and Cardenas in Mexico. Officials did not become generals by virtue of foreign occupations as did Somoza in Nicaragua and Trujillo in the Dominican Republic. Nor were there conditions for an ascending military career that could allow natives born to low social classes (as did Tata Belzu and Melgarejo in Bolivia), to reach generalship and power. On the contrary, the recruiting of officers because of family attachment or political relationship added to non-merit based promotions and increased the power of civilian military officers. On the other hand, Colombia did not have any conflict with its neighbors which could demand early qualification and professionalization of its troops. Not even during the short war against Peru in 1932, could the Colombian army become a symbol of national identity. Its few battles took place far from populated regions and the diplomatic end was claimed by civilians as their work. The situation with Brazil was very different. In this conflict, the armed forces became ‘‘defendants of the country’’ thanks to the long war against Paraguay (1879– 1883), although they automatically won the fight of provincial oligarchy which was designed to weaken the armed forces since the constitutional federation of 1891. Likewise, the Uruguayan conditions were more lucky with the famous ‘‘military heroes’’ of Lorenzo Latorre in 1876. In Latin American armies, mandatory military service has been seen as the epitome of military changes. Chile introduced it in 1900 and Argentina in 1901 with important reforms for the armed forces. Peru introduced it in that same year, Ecuador in 1902, Bolivia in 1907, and Brazil in 1916. In Colombia, some class obstacles—created by the most important landowners and people in town (gamonales)—impeded the legal disposition of an armed service more or less legislated and that, even in 1914 allowed rescuing by replacement and until 1930 it was applied only to the poorest population of the most politicized zone. Academies and foreign missions for the qualification of the army arrived late in Colombia. Officers’ schools were created in 1840 in Brazil, 1869 in Argen-

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tina, 1885 in Uruguay, 1891 in Bolivia, and 1896 in Peru. Colombia waited until 1907 and brought Chilean soldiers as teachers, who had received their instruction in Germany, competing with other armies of the continent that received experience in France. Although the opportunity between 1930 and 1946 differs from that which originated in the first decades of the 20th century, the military has regressed in their role and position in Colombia since 1948. The officers assumed their political role bravely to defend the administrative frame of the state. They were members of the same elite, co-selected or inserted in an important role for the management of the internal public order and/or followers of the most important party. It wasn’t until the outcome of April 9, that the military felt a constitutive part of the state and found themselves authorized to speak in the name of the nation. The underlying and masked political conscience of some soldiers (who didn’t carry out coups d’etat but who asked appointments, advice, and permission from civilians) was shaken by the eloquent discourse and practical acknowledgment on the part of the Head of the Civil Direction of the State. If they, as the president ordered on April 9, had to rescue Colombia from the biggest danger faced in its history, the army should have been far from an undesired entity. The Colombian army has had, since then, diverse misfortunes during its process of professionalization. It has been serving political and social forces rather than its own interests. Since April 9, the armed forces chose to assume (stimulated by the civilians) the permitted and political function always placed in their hands. Among these functions are: electoral control; military presence and action to defend property and the interests of the elite; political instrumentation or maintaining two political parties; permanent access to the government axel and to the War Ministry; participation in the mayor’s management as well as in the governor’s action; and, above all, the granting of faculties to Military Penal Justice to judge political behavior of citizens under exceptional rules and statutes. In summary, the same civilian leaders who conceded to the military a new role since 1948 began to abandon the direction of the public order as well as the orientation of essential security problems and national defense. The military cupule, which had a meeting with Ospina Perez in the Palace while Bogota was burning, did not achieve the government they wanted but definitely conquered the management of the ministry of its field and martial law in all the country with the preponderance that it gave to the uniformed on the internal policies. After these measures, the attributes given to the governors to act under delegation of the president in matters related to public order followed, but with direct counseling from the lieutenant colonel of the battalion or brigade. Militarization of vast country zones in Sumapaz, South Tolima, and Huila also followed. Since it was impossible to delete the tracks of populism for Gaitan by a means other than violence,2 the armed forces were thrown into the foreground as institutional support. In that perspective and encouraged by a civil elite, they neglected funda-

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mental principles of the constitution and they changed their view of the liberal model about the relationships between civilians and soldiers where they became the central actors of the internal political game. The procedure, rather than being part of the frame in an incomparable professionalism or in vigorous political controversy, went through the trench to its new density of the attractive role that was waiting for it in contrast to its institutional weakness and the scarcity of resources and national presence, both of which had characterized it. From that moment on, the armed forces began to possess a field mainly autonomous for its action and a vibrant appreciation of its importance. Unlike Argentina, Chile, Brazil, Uruguay, Paraguay, Ecuador, and Peru, the military entered the nation without an organic conceptualization, without identity, without its own program, and without a philosophy of being counterpart to civilians; they were brought by the already existent parties. That is the reason why the possibility of a Velasco Alvarado or an Omar Torrijos never existed in the Colombian Army. The closest person Colombia had to a Peron, General Gustavo Rojas Pinilla, was immediately neutralized by the civilians. Forced to retire from weapons were Ruiz Novoas, Pinzon Caicedo, Valencia Tovar, Puyana, Matallana, and Landazabal for having dared to argue against the management or decisions of civilians. There were neither Luis Carlos Prestes, nor a Pinochet or a Stroessner. In the friend-foe dialectic soldiers were absorbed by the two parties without the intervention of a ‘‘National Security Doctrine,’’ impulsed or allowed by the Pentagon. Only lately, specifically after the incidents of the Justice Palace, did the military begin to assume a decidedly professional direction in their career linked more to the state interest than to the civilians.

ENDNOTES/REFERENCES 1. Gonzalo Sanchez. Guerra y politica en la sociedad colombiana. In Analisis Politico: Instituto de Estudios Politicos y Relaciones Internacionales. National University of Colombia, Number 11, September/December, 1990. 2. Daniel Pecaut. Orden y violencia. Bogota: Siglo 21, 1989. Vol. II, p. 368.

18 Elite Images and Post–Cold War Foreign Policy Decision-Making The United States in Haiti Dorcas Eva McCoy University of Central Florida, Orlando, Florida

The end of the Cold War and the emerging ‘‘New World Order,’’ challenges the United States to redefine its interests, roles, and subsequent foreign policy. The complexity and urgency of post–Cold War issues, ranging from ethnic and nationalist conflicts to nuclear proliferation, immigration, and ecological problems, however, make it difficult to predict how the United States will respond to change. Studies of American Cold War foreign policy argued that America’s global, foreign policy of containment was a product of well-defined enemy, ally, and dependent images (Cottam, 1992; Farnham, 1990; Jervis, 1976; Shimko, 1991). One of the major challenges to reshaping U.S. foreign policy is the question of the revision of America’s worldview. While the demise of the Soviet Union points to motives for changes in perceptions of enemies and allies, there are few obvious implications for changes in perceptions of Third World countries. America’s Cold War view typically depicted developing states as having inferior militaries, backward, underdeveloped cultures, constant economic deficits, and political structures which were characterized by internal instability and inefficient policies. Consequently, dependent states were perceived as highly vulnerable to foreign intrusion and easily permeable (Cottam, 1986). Although there have been many changes regarding European countries and subsequent cries for a new international ordering, one only has to look at current post–Cold War situations such as those in Somalia and Haiti to question whether U.S. policymakers are motivated to reevaluate their perceptions of Third World states. Current research suggests possible reasons 367

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why post–Cold War change may be slow or non-existent (Cottam and McCoy, 1998). The extent of the restructuring of America’s worldview will likely have a tremendous impact on post–Cold War U.S. policies toward Third World countries. Hence, the primary focus of this research is to determine American policymakers’ post–Cold War images of a Third World country, Haiti, in order to speculate concerning the status of the Cold War dependent image. The second major aim is to analyze the impact of perceptions associated with this particular cognitive category on America’s policy preferences. This Chapter uses the image model which has been widely used in analyses seeking to determine the relationship between cognition and national policy (see for example, Cottam, 1992, 1994; Shimko, 1991). The basic assumption of the image model is that policymakers use images or categories of others in order to simplify, organize, and understand the political environment and that these worldviews subsequently affect decision-making (Cottam, 1986).

I. CODING SCHEME FOR THE TYPE OF STATE CATEGORIES Thematic coding through the use of content analysis is used to identify indicators of a causal relationship between American policymakers’ post–Cold War elite images and policy preferences.1 Each ‘‘type of state’’ image category is believed to be comprised of a set of characteristics that prompt certain tactical and policy preferences. The characteristics of the state and extrapolated themes are based on statements made by American policymakers which reflect their perceptions of a state’s capability, motives, decision-making style, locus of decision-making and culture. For the sake of this research, these indicators and surrounding themes are defined and denoted as follows: 1.

2.

Capability refers to perceptions of the state’s capacity to act on a situation relative to its military, economic, or any other type of resource base. Depictions of a state’s capability, ability, capacity, or propensity to take certain actions, regardless of whether they be proactive or reactive, are building blocks for themes relative to perceptions of a state’s capability. Motives refers to perceptions of a state’s intentions relative to international affairs. In other words, perceptions of the desired goal of a state (i.e., to expand, conquer, peacefully co-exist, etc.) represent inferred motives. Themes for this characteristic center around descriptions of the state’s will, desire, intentions, hopes, appetite, aspirations, and the like.

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4.

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Decision-making style refers to perceptions concerning patterns of decision-making in the country. Themes for this characteristic would consist of descriptions of how the state has decided on issues in the past, as well as references to the likely direction the state will take concerning present and future situations. Locus of decision-making refers to the perceived center of decisionmaking for the state with regard to who makes the decisions. This is usually described in terms of the number of people believed to be involved in the decision-making process. Building blocks for themes referencing this characteristic include depictions of the state’s perceived decision-making body. Culture refers to perceptions of the state’s values, norms, standard of living, technological development status, level of literacy, inherent peculiarities, and domestic cohesiveness, relative to the state’s perceived ability to contain factors such as ethnic, religious, and political differences; the existence of nationalism as evident by collective efforts of the citizens and leaders rather than self interests; and the level of technological advancement or modernity, relative to U.S. culture and definition of civilization (i.e., level of literacy, standard of living, political and social ethics, ideals, values, and the like).

A core argument of the image model is that certain tactical and strategical preferences are directly associated with each type of state image category (see Table 1).2 A. Self-Image Policymakers’ descriptions of America’s national image, credibility, and roles as a world leader and proponent of democracy, all point to positive self-perceptions.

Table 1 Types of State Image Categories Prototype Enemy Ally Self

Dependent

Strategy/tactic Contain through use of threat. Emphasize differences. Appease through diplomatic exchange and other forms of cooperation. Emphasize similarities. Maintain a positive image. Spread values abroad. Punish those who do not conform to ideals and values associated with this image by force, threat, or whatever means necessary. Emphasize positive motives and benevolence. Control and mold by whatever means necessary. Emphasize inferiority.

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For example, in response to congressional debates and the widespread controversy concerning American interests in Haiti, President Clinton explained that the primary reasons for intervening were, ‘‘. . . to stop human rights abuses by Haiti’s military, to restore Aristide to power, to prevent a new wave of refugees, and to uphold the international credibility of the United States’’ (CQ Almanac, 1994: 450). Reflective of a positive self-image, Clinton undoubtedly perceived the United States as having sufficient capability to oversee the correction of these wrongs. Moreover, there are reasons to believe that he considered the intent of American actions to be benevolent in that protecting human rights is deemed to be moral. With regard to capability, there was no question that American policymakers perceived the country as having the necessary might to overpower any type of Haitian opposition, which for the most part was unanticipated. For instance, the United States representative to the United Nations, Madeline K. Albright, openly stated that the Haitian military and police had chosen ‘‘a perilous self-defeating and dishonorable course, riding a tiger that may ultimately devour them.’’ Emphasizing the certainty of their defeat, she said ‘‘We urge them to reconsider their actions’’ (Lewis, October 13, 1993). In addition, explaining there was expected to be little resistance from the Haitian security forces, a former U.S. diplomat in Haiti said, ‘‘There will be more Haitians hurt by the butts of rifles the [Haitian] soldiers throw down than by Americans firing on them’’ (Barry and Walker, September 19, 1994: 42). In light of such perceptions, U.S. policymakers repeatedly made reference to a definite American victory if involved militarily. Administration officials asserted that the chief thrust of American involvement was to completely restrain opposition and provide the necessary environment for continued progress. According to one official, ‘‘The key is not to just invade the country, it is to sit on the country’’ (French, September 11, 1993). In announcing that he would strongly recommend military intervention if necessary, special envoy William H. Gray III confidently proclaimed that ‘‘Democracy in Haiti will prevail’’ (CQ Almanac, 1994b: 450). Clinton also expressed this type of confidence in an absolute American victory. In fact, he expressed in no uncertain terms the willingness of American troops to use the necessary force to accomplish their intervention objectives. Clinton said, ‘‘It must be clear that U.S. forces are prepared to respond to hostile action against them and will do so’’ (Holmes, September 26, 1993). B. Image of Haiti American policymakers’ images of Haitian culture, perceptions of inferiority, and a largely antipathetic sentiment are glaringly evident. With the exception of groups such as the Black Caucus and a small portion of Democrats, similar to the Somali case, many policymakers did not regard the Haitian crisis to be worthy

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of American attention or military sacrifice. According to Senator Bob Dole, ‘‘Risking American lives for the return of Aristide to power is not a credible option’’ he stated, arguing against U.S. intervention (French, September 14, 1993). Also, with regard to perceptions of Haiti’s polity, it is interesting to note that a large number of Congressional members maintained a contemptuous view of Aristide, who ironically was the opponent the administration supported. For many, Aristide was still considered an anti-American Marxist demagogue. Also souring his reputation with American decision-makers was the lack of substantial evidence regarding his commitment to redistribute wealth and his human rights abuse record. Aristide, for example, has been noted advocating class warfare and endorsing the idea of using ‘‘Pere Lebrum,’’ (burning tire ‘‘necklaces’’) as a method of murdering political opponents (see for example, Holmes, October 22, 1993; or Sciolino, August 3, 1993). Additionally, a 1993 Newsweek article reported that in an angry speech prior to his overthrow, Aristide said that ‘‘masses have their own little tool’’ (referring to Pere Lebrum). According to the report, he therefore encouraged them to give the opposition ‘‘what they deserved’’ (see Watson et al., September 19, 1994: 37; or Holmes, October 22, 1993). In response to such observances, in 1993, the ranking Republican on the Foreign Relations Committee questioned Aristide’s mental stability by calling him a ‘‘psychopath.’’ A subsequent CIA investigation also concluded that Aristide was psychotic (see CQ Almanac, 1994b: 450; Holmes, October 22, 1993). Other indications of inferior perceptions of the Haitian culture and capability are evident in the ways in which members of the Haitian military are described. As explained by Colonel David H. Hackworth, ‘‘Our warriors were disgusted by having to work alongside Raoul Cedras’ thugs.’’ Others echoed this sentiment claiming that ‘‘the slime could rub off ’’ (U.S. Colonel David Hackworth and Corporal Roger Brogdon, as quoted in Hackworth, October 3, 1994: 32). In general, members of the Haitian police force were described as uncivilized barbarians who were totally unaware of appropriate behavior. Major Damian Carr, for example, suggested that the Haitian military was completely ignorant of its appropriate function and role. He argued that foreign troops, therefore, would have to give them the necessary training to avoid similar misfortunes in the future. As stated by Carr, ‘‘What we have to make them understand is that in a democracy, the military is submissive to the civilian government. . . . Our intent is to do it so we don’t have to get back here in 20 years and do it all over again’’ (Sciolino, September 23, 1993). Consequently, the Clinton administration envisioned a six-month plan in which the United States would help ‘‘professionalize’’ Haiti’s police and army, while simultaneously fulfilling their commitment to nation building (CQ Almanac, 1994). According to one American official familiar with the Haiti negotiations, the United States hoped to go in and ‘‘rub off on the police and army, who magically by osmosis are supposed to behave

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themselves; to conduct themselves more professionally’’ (Holmes, September 30, 1993). Indications of American perceptions of Haiti’s capability are also evident in their statements about their military. Consistent with this view, throughout the mass media, there were constant references to the inferiority of Haiti’s ‘‘ragtime’’ military (see for example, Hackworth, August 22, 1994). In fact, it seems that the superiority of American troops was so evident that there was little, if any, serious thought of a Haitian confrontation. American perceptions of Haiti’s socioeconomic condition and political structure were also consistent with the dependent image. Again, relative to perceptions of Haiti’s polity, the Clinton administration adamantly contended that due to the ousting of the democratically-elected president, Haiti did not have a ‘‘legitimate’’ government. Given such perceptions, in many cases there were indications of an overall lack of hope in the future recovery or stability of Haiti, unless of course they learned to follow American instructions regarding democracy. For example, referring to the unlikely possibility of a sufficient ceasefire in time enough for Aristide to return to power by the October deadline, Clinton responded, ‘‘It’s always hazardous to be hopeful about Haiti, but I do believe that some signs over the weekend were hopeful that there was some outreach, some understanding that there has to be an accommodation here. And that is hopeful to me’’ (Apple, October 13, 1993). The chairman of a subcommittee on Western Hemisphere Affairs, Representative Robert G. Torricelli, also clearly expressed a lack of hope in significant improvement in Haiti’s impoverished socioeconomic condition even upon the restoration of Aristide to power. Torricelli said, ‘‘We may succeed in making Haiti more democratic, but we are also risking the spread of contagious diseases, deforestation and total economic collapse’’ (Holmes, October 27, 1993). Other indications of American policymakers’ views of the Haitian political style and structure are especially evident in the ways they describe Aristide’s role in the negotiations toward a political settlement. For example, American and United Nations envoys strongly recommended that Aristide select a new prime minister and consider including in his cabinet some of the business executives and political parties who had been in direct opposition against him. In addition, the foreign negotiators suggested that Aristide grant amnesty to Cedras (Friedman, October 20, 1993). In response to this suggestion, Warren Christopher stated that it would be ‘‘highly desirable that President Aristide agree’’ to the proposal (French, 1993). The possibility that such actions would potentially invite fire to Aristide’s bosom or as the ousted president pointed out, violate the Haitian constitution, was undermined by the hope of American policymakers of creating a more viable political structure. Implying that Aristide should be flexible enough to accommodate such arrangements, a senior administration official stated, ‘‘Politicians who rise to the occasion are marvelous.’’ He also added that Aristide should model

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his political decision-making after American political figures. To this end he stated that the exiled Haitian President would need to exercise ‘‘Lincolnesque statesmanship’’ in order to achieve a successful settlement (French, April 6, 1993). In addition, an American economist and former World Bank official ridiculed the Haitian government for severe economic stagnation which he dated back to 1987. He also argued that the government had consistently failed to operate efficiently. ‘‘Government has done nothing to take care of the country, not so much as maintain roads or irrigation canals’’ he said. To this end, he argued that economic aid packages to the country would have to concentrate on creating a more ‘‘stable and just political climate’’ (French, July 9, 1993). Moreover, an American diplomat who was closely involved in the aid planning for Haiti was quoted echoing this same sentiment. Referring to the necessary focus of foreign aid to Haiti, the diplomat stated, ‘‘What we are talking about is making a viable country where there was none before. That means not only short-term aid, but longer term things like helping rebuild government ministries and developing Haitian expertise’’ the diplomat said (French, July 9, 1993). In fact, American perceptions of the Haitian government and decision-making style were so simplified that even Haitian officials pointed to this overall underestimation of Haiti decision-making as the reason for its failed policies. In a provocative article entitled, ‘‘Clinton Faulted on Haiti Sanctions: Critics Complain That Curbs on Assets and Travel Are Weak and Not New,’’ an unidentified senior Haitian official is quoted saying, ‘‘The Clinton Administration team has treated this thing like suburban social workers, when in fact what they’ve needed is someone used to dealing with Chicago gangs. Nothing can happen until there is a meaningful threat from Washington. So far the culprits here are completely unimpressed’’ (French, June 5, 1993). Likewise, another Haitian was captured expressing the same view concerning American passivity toward the Haitian crisis. ‘‘They have been saying do this or else for 18 months. The military will wait and see what the or else is,’’ the former Haitian official said (French, April 14, 1993). The idea, however, was that through constant threat, along with rhetoric of democracy and nation-building, the Haitian forces would back down. Confirming this view, a senior administration official was captured saying, ‘‘There is some possibility that they will see it’s in their interest to go voluntarily’’ the official said (Reiss et al., July 25, 1994: 16). In sum, an analysis of American decision-makers’ statements relative to the Haitian crisis reveal numerous indications of an overall dependent image of Haiti. As highlighted above, each of the five indices revealed perceptions of an overall dependent image of Haiti. With regard to capability, American troops outnumbered Haitian police and military 2 to 1. Consequently, policymakers often pointed to their inferior capabilities when describing the Haitian military. For

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example, in an article entitled, ‘‘We’ll Hunt You Down Like A Dog,’’ a United States Embassy spokesman, Stanley Schrager, is quoted describing the intimidation of the American force in Haiti as ‘‘a new sheriff in town.’’ In the same article, U.S. Lt. Col. James Terry states, ‘‘You win their hearts and minds real quick when they see a Sheridan pointed at the front door.’’ Finally, also referring to the intimidation of the Haitian troops, Brig. Gen. Richard Potter, the Green Beret’s commander, is quoted in the article stating, ‘‘I warned the Haitian military that if they touched one of my men, I’d get the bastards’’ (Norland, et al., October 17, 1994: 14). Inferior perceptions of Haitian culture are evident in the inferior, subhuman ways in which members of the military junta are described, as well as by the numerous descriptions of its poor economic status and the developmental needs of the Haitian infrastructure. As outlined in the next section, American policymakers’ subsequent tactical and policy preferences coincide with the observed positive-self and dependent images.

II. THE IMPACT OF AMERICAN IMAGES ON OPERATION RESTORE DEMOCRACY Strategies and tactics associated with the positive self-image include: (1) the desire to maintain a positive image; (2) the tendency to punish those who do not conform to the ideals and values associated with this image by force, threat, or whatever means necessary; and (3) a habitual emphasis of one’s positive motives and subsequent benevolence. These types of tactical preferences are expected to have been preceded by perceptions of an inferior culture, a troubled political structure in which calculated decision-making is not the norm, inefficient capabilities marked by dilapidated socioeconomic conditions, and motives that are generally compatible with the motives or intent of the perceiver’s state. Hence, if an overall positive American self-image was present during the 1994 Haiti intervention as argued above, indications of these strategies/tactics should also be evident in the Clinton administration’s policy preferences toward the Caribbean nation. If, on the other hand, an image other than this one which has traditionally been intact has evolved, the policy should be characterized by an entirely different set of tactics. A. Self-Image with Operation Restore Democracy Based on the foregoing analysis and the theoretical implications of the type of state image model, the 1994 American intervention in Haiti was largely the result of the same types of positive self-images which pushed the nation into Somalia a year earlier and have traditionally directed its policies toward Haiti. With regard

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to its recent intervention, once again, the United States employed itself as the international police force in order to make right Haiti’s ‘‘chronic wrongdoing.’’ Moreover, parallel to the aforementioned statement of Robert Olds, clearly America intervened in order to restore and later create a political system in which the self-acclaimed, post–Cold War, world leader approved. As a result, these perceptions, corresponding tactical and policy preferences should also be evident. As indicated in Tables 2 and 3, American policymakers did pursue the types of tactics and policies that are posited to be associated with the positive self-image and dependent image ideal type of state prototypes. For example, the Clinton administration clearly hoped to force peaceful relations in Haiti. After failed diplomatic relations, one of the first tactics employed to achieve American objectives was economic sanctions, which was to be expected given both America’s positive self-image as an advocate of democracy and human rights and the reality of Haiti’s strong economic ties with the United States. As explained above, however, the sanctions proved to be unsuccessful in that the number of refugees fleeing to the Florida coasts consequently increased. Again, as is expected to follow the dependent image, the Clinton administration threatened to continue punishing the country until Aristide was returned to power. Because the perceived, dependent target is expected to eventually fold under pressure, the Clinton administration pursued a strategy of gradual strangulation.

Table 2 Impact of Images on Operation Restore Democracy Image Positive self

Strategy/tactics Maintain positive image: emphasized positive motives and benevolence through ‘‘world leadership and spreading of democracy’’ rhetoric. Modified immigration policies. Spread values abroad. Supported restoration of democratic president. Emphasized policy as an example of post–Cold War foreign policies. ‘‘Democracy’’ rhetoric. ‘‘Human rights’’ rhetoric. Rewards and punishments for conformity/nonconformity. Economic sanctions. Threat of economic strangulation. Developmental aid and planning. Military training. Pressured Aristide to be flexible. Pressured Cedras to withdraw.

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Table 3 Impact of Dependent Images on Operation Restore Democracy Image Dependent

Strategy/tactics Control and mold to the likening and subjection of the perceiver’s state: Threatened increasingly severe economic sanctions as a means of forcing a settlement. Threatened to use military force, emphasized aggressive multilateral policy as an example of post–Cold War foreign policies. ‘‘Proponents of democracy’’ rhetoric. ‘‘Peacekeeping’’ rhetoric. Political rewards and punishments. Emphasize inferiority: Negative comparisons relative to perceiver’s state. ‘‘Ragtime military’’ rhetoric. ‘‘Political restructuring’’ rhetoric. Undermine/disregard cultural distinctions.

The use of this tactic is explained in a statement by a senior administration official who told reporters, ‘‘It’s not always the best tactic to use all of your tools all at once at the beginning. You use them in some kind of measured way to try to keep driving the process forward’’ (French, June 5, 1993). In conjunction with this employed tactic, the administration at one point threatened a complete oil embargo (CQ Almanac, 1994b). Also, reflective of a dependent image, the Clinton administration initially maintained a rather rigid anti-Haitian immigration policy even though Clinton himself had called the policy cruel. This irony could perhaps best be explained by the administration’s determination to see to it that Haiti offered a safer haven based on democracy for its citizens. Indeed Clinton confirmed this determination in one of his televised addresses when he stated that the administration was committed to working toward a government in Haiti that ‘‘enables its citizens to live there in security’’ and not have to risk their lives to flee to other nations (Clinton, 1993). In addition, as previously mentioned, rewards and punishments are posited to be tactics that are commonly associated with a positive self-image. Certainly, the Clinton administration favored providing military training and developmental assistance to the underdeveloped Haitian regime, provided that both Aristide and Cedras meet the required mandates. Tighter sanctions and potential military repercussions, on the other hand, would definitely be the punishment for not complying. To this end, an estimated 15,000 American troops were scheduled to be a part of the operation into Haiti. In essence, the primary intentions of American involvement centered around the perceived need to protect democracy and human

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rights. Again, as is expected of those holding this image category, there were numerous indications of an American strategy to punish those obstructing the protection of these basic core values. President Clinton expressed such tactical preferences in announcing his decision to employ more aggressive actions against the Haitian faction. Denouncing the actions of those obstructing democracy, he stated: Unfortunately, the parties in Haiti have not been willing to make the decisions or take the steps necessary to begin democracy’s restoration. In light of their own failure to act constructively, I have determined that the time has come to increase the pressure on the Haitian military, the defacto regime in Haiti and their supporters (Holmes, 1993).

Such statements would offer justification to the tactics that are expected to be associated with this positive self-image category. For instance, any use of force would be sanctioned by the benevolent act of averting human rights abuses, while restoring the type of political government that America embraces. Moreover, such actions would serve both to correct the ‘‘wrongdoing’’ of Haiti while simultaneously serving to maintain America’s positive national self-image as a proponent of peace and democracy. For instance, responding to the failure of initial economic sanctions and pledging the use of more aggressive actions if need be, Clinton suggested that a democratic government was the necessary key to a more stable Haitian future. To this end he stated, ‘‘The people down there that are thwarting democracy’s return have got to decide whether they want to hold on tight to a shrinking future or take a legitimate and proportionate share of an expanding future’’ (Friedman, October 28, 1993). Throughout the congressional debate over American involvement, it was clear that particularly given the unanticipated long involvement in Somalia and the uncertainty over the Bosnian situation, American policymakers did not favor a lengthy entanglement with Haiti. Other policymakers therefore expressed that the true question regarding American involvement in Haiti dealt more with the long-term consequences of being involved than with the issue of American capability. ‘‘We could prevail militarily, but then what do you do?’’ said Senator John Glenn (CQ Almanac, 1994b: 450). As a result of such views, there was often a combination of surprise and disappointment that initial efforts to calm Haiti’s conflicts did not work. For example, referring to the Haitian military’s rejection of an American-backed United Nations plan to deploy an international peace force in Haiti, the President responded, ‘‘We thought we had an agreement on Haiti, and of course it didn’t work out, and I’m very disappointed’’ (Berke, June 2, 1993). Yet, parallel to a positive self-image in which withdrawal before achieving one’s objective is not considered to be a feasible position, the President insisted that the administration would continue to persistently pursue Aristide’s return to power. He said that

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the Haitian junta leaders are ‘‘just wrong’’ if they think that all they have to do is ‘‘wait out Aristide and everything will somehow be all right, and that the international community will put up with the re-establishment of a Duvalier-like regime’’ (Friedman, October 28, 1993). With regard to the impact of American self-perceived capability, it is interesting to note that even though Congress widely objected to U.S. intervention, they never took any drastic measures to avert it. The budget for the operation, for example, was never cut (CQ Almanac, 1994). This is perhaps best explained by the fact that generally speaking, American policymakers never perceived the potential Haitian military opposition as a credible threat to American forces. Hence, policymakers’ interest in the conflict remained low. Although the majority of Congress did not support a military invasion, the threat of force proved to be a useful tactic. In the eleventh hour, Haitian coup leaders agreed to relinquish power in return for guarantees of safe departures. Again, as expected to follow this image category, after the American troops peacefully arrived in Port-au-Prince on September 19, the United States, followed by the international community, moved to drop the harsh economic sanctions (CQ Almanac, 1994b: 451). The children (i.e., the Haitians) who faced very limited options, could finally come off of their punishment. It was now time, however, for the American parents to deliver on the nation-building aspects of the reward. Hence, the question of how long the United States would be in Haiti became a focal point of congressional debate. In early October, the House and Senate passed identical resolutions (CQ Almanac, 1994b: 451) requiring the President to provide detailed reports on the mission including its cost, scope, and projected timetable. The President signed it into law several weeks later and in mid-October, Aristide was to return to power. B. Dependent Image with Operation Restore Democracy There are two primary strategical preferences that are posited to be associated with the dependent image: a desire to mold the state into the image of the perceiver’s state and an overall emphasis of the dependent state’s inferior characteristics relative to the perceiver state. Particularly with regard to this latter strategy, tactical preferences will be characterized by the tendency to undermine the state’s uniqueness relative to its historical and political culture. The impact of American perceptions of a simplified Haitian government and culture is particularly evident in the fact that despite its history of abusive relations and utter neglect of Haiti, the Clinton administration showed no indications that its presence may not be welcomed by the Haitian populace. For example, as previously mentioned, the United States invaded Haiti in 1915 and occupied the country until 1934. Then in 1958, the United States sent troops in to reorganize the Haitian military and police force. American troops left in 1963 and despite the country’s continuous

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turmoil, there has not been a United States military presence there since the 1960s (Mintz, 1995). Yet, parallel to the Somali case in which the administration focused on the removal of Aidid, the administration facilitated negotiations and a political settlement in Haiti as if Cedras and his supporters were the only unwanted factors. The Clinton administration, on the other hand, perceived itself as chief promoters of the Haitian cause. To this end, in a televised news conference, President Clinton justified American intervention in Haiti by pointing to factors such as America’s interests in, . . . promoting democracy in this hemisphere, especially in a place where such a large number of Haitians have clearly expressed their preference for president . . . and . . . in working toward a government in Haiti that enables its citizens to live there in security so they do not have to flee in large numbers and be a great risk to themselves, to our shores, and to other nations (Clinton, October 15, 1993).

Additional evidence of the impact of American perceptions of a dependent state relative to Haiti’s political structure and decision-making are evident in the fact that the Clinton administration would only support Aristide, and sought to reshape the structure of his administration. For example, several policymakers maintained that deployment of U.S. troops would be necessary until Aristide proved himself to be capable of governing coherently (see for example, CQ Almanac, 1994a; Watson, et al., September 19, 1994). Also, distinct recommendations concerning ways in which Aristide could enhance his governmental structure and subsequent decision-making style were offered. However, regardless of the contempt for Aristide, the Clinton administration supported his return because he represented legitimacy (CQ Almanac, 1994a). Indeed, this type of complete ‘‘sell out’’ for the protection of the perceiver’s values is expected to follow both a positive self-image and dependent image. For example, as stated by a European diplomat, ‘‘We all know that the guy is a bit of a weirdo. But, if you are fighting for the principle of democracy, you have to take the results’’ (Watson et al., September 19, 1994: 37). The White House spokeswoman, Dee Dee Myers also supported this view (Holmes, October 22, 1993). Finally, relative to the intent of the chaotic Haitian polity, the Clinton administration and policymakers at large focused on the overwhelming majority of votes for the first democratically-elected president as evidence of an overall desire for a democratic government. Given the American esteem for democracy, this would lead to positive perceptions regarding Haiti’s motives. Again, this would explain why the administration was so persistent in their pursuit to ensure Aristide’s return to power. For example, as is expected to follow the dependent image category, the conflict reached a point in which President Clinton refused any further attempts at negotiating a settlement. The Haitians would simply have to accept the American mandates. ‘‘There’s nothing to meet about unless they are

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leaving’’ Clinton said. ‘‘If they are leaving and want to discuss things, well that’s a different story’’ he said (Holmes, September 15, 1994). Strategies of control and domination are evident throughout the direction of the American policy. In the process, Haiti’s unique domestic, historical, and cultural characteristics were undermined. This was evident in America’s tactical preference of ‘‘professionalizing’’ the Haiti military and teaching Aristide the art of American diplomacy. Implicit in these tactics of restructuring democracy in Haiti and making its leaders more Lincolnesque was a desire to mold the country after its own image. Support among American policymakers for a military invasion remained quite limited. Given the apparent failure of the alternative tactics, support for more drastic measures to assure conformity is expected. There are a number of possible reasons for this overall lack of support, three of which will be considered. First, there’s the notion that many policymakers maintained contemptuous and uncharitable views of Aristide and Haiti. Therefore they didn’t support American involvement in the crisis at all. Such views were indeed expressed throughout the conflict (CQ Almanac, 1994a). Secondly, there’s the possibility that policymakers felt that the Haitian factions would eventually cave in without having to resort to military force. Expressing this type of view, an American diplomat was captured saying, ‘‘They really want to play ball with the Administration, but in the absence of something stronger, they won’t want to pretend that they can produce any miracles in Haiti’’ (French, June 5, 1993). Clearly in the wake of the Somali crisis and other international trouble spots, many policymakers did not want the country to become too entangled in the problems of the world. ‘‘We can’t be mixing ourselves in Haitian issues. It’s their country’’ said a White House official (Elliott and Glick, October 3, 1994). Thirdly, there’s the possibility that American policymakers did not perceive Haiti in the dependent image. For example, perhaps the Haitian military and police force were not perceived to be inferior and therefore policymakers feared an American defeat. But, there is no evidence to support this possibility. As pointed out earlier, Congress never took any drastic measures to avert such possibilities and basically allowed the President under the War Powers Act to take the necessary gamble. ‘‘If things go well, fine, he’ll get the credit’’ said Senator William S. Cohen. There wasn’t even a threat of cutting funds, as was the case in Somalia. It seems that if there was any validity to the third possibility mentioned above, Congress would have put up more of a fight in trying to restrict the ambiguous powers of the President in this regard. Again, as illustrated in Tables 2 and 3, the types of tactical preferences that are expected to follow a prototypical dependent image were evident. In sum, the thematic coding scheme revealed strongly positive assessments of American capabilities as well as its intent. As the world’s superpower, the Clinton administration flaunted its superior status and parental role in this regard

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by downplaying the legitimacy of the Haitian military force and its political structure. In a condescending gesture, America determined its need to professionalize the military and restore democracy to the Haitian polity. Additionally, America took a strong stance in directing the negotiation process toward its desired democratic restoration outcome. When there were indications that Haitian forces would not comply with the American mandates, tough economic sanctions and threats of aggressive military actions were the employed tactics, as expected, in order to ensure that the plan was implemented. The coded statements in this case also revealed clear differences in the ways in which the targeted state and the perceiver’s state were described in the justifications of the employed policy and tactical preferences. Consistent with this projection, childlike descriptions of the indigenous Haitians were frequently employed. Several analogies were drawn of an underdeveloped culture who, like an infant, needed to be molded into ‘‘constructive’’ members of the family of nations. However, the extent to which this worldview enhanced the American self-image which remained strongly positive, has not been fully determined.3

NOTES 1. Several precautions are taken to curtail the numerous problems involved in combining content analysis and thematic coding. For example, because themes represent a collection of words with a unifying element, the coder is forced to impose a degree of judgment on determining the existence of the theme (Shimko, 1991). In other words, unlike a single word with a corresponding definition, themes are not as easily identifiable. Again, a specific time frame for the thematic analyses is focused upon in an effort to control for possible research biases in this regard. The themes are taken from verbal statements of policymakers. Personal interviews would enhance the strength of this work. 2. The political behavior or decision-making is extrapolated from both stated policy preferences and actual implementations. To the extent possible, actual Congressional records of legislation pertinent to the cases are highlighted as evidence of policy preferences. Hence, while the data for the analysis is the same (The New York Times and Congressional Records), the methods for determining the images versus the behavior are different. Evidence of political behavior or decision-making is determined by expressed policy preferences and actual behavior. Evidence of the image, on the other hand, is determined by verbal descriptions of the targeted countries based on the thematic coding scheme. 3. The underlying assumption is that when aggressive military actions are explained relative to American interests and good intentions, support for the policy will increase, as well as one’s national self image in terms of factors such as its humanitarian or benevolent nature.

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REFERENCES Apple, R. W. Jr. 1993. Policing a Global Village. The New York Times, October 13. Associated Press. 1993. U.S. Dispatching 600 on Haiti Assignment. The New York Times, September 28. Associated Press. 1993. Policing a Global Village. The New York Times, October 13. Associated Press. 1993. President on Haiti: U.S. Interests at Stake. (A Transcript of President Clinton’s statement announcing action to help stabilize the situation in Haiti and protect U.S. interests there.) The New York Times, October 15. Associated Press. 1993. U.S. Concluded Aristide Can’t Return by Saturday’s Deadline. The New York Times, October 26. Axelrod, R. 1976. The Structure of Decision. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Berke, R. 1993. Mulroney Offering Troops to Help Blockade Haiti. The New York Times, June 2. Bonham, M. 1978. A Cognitive Model of Decision Making: Application of Norwegian Oil Policy. Cooperation and Conflict, 2:94–106. Burgess, P. 1968. Elite Images and Foreign Policy Outcomes. Columbus: Ohio State University Press. Cottam, M. 1986. Foreign Policy Decision Making: The Influence of Cognition. Boulder: Westview Press. Cottam, M. 1992. The Carter Administration’s Policy Toward Nicaragua: Images, Goals and Tactics. Political Science Quarterly, 107:33–57. Cottam, M. 1994. Images and Intervention. Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press. Cottam, M., and McCoy, D. 1998. Image Change and Problem Representation After the Cold War. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, pp. 116–144. Cottam, R. 1977. Foreign Policy Motivations: A General Theory and a Case Study. Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press. Eldridge, A. 1979. Images of Conflict. New York: St. Martin’s Press. Elliot, M., and Glick, D. 1994. Can Haiti Be Saved. Newsweek, October 3. Elliott, M., and Peter, K. 1995. Completing the Haiti Handoff. Newsweek, April 10. Farnham, B. 1990. Political Cognition and Decision-Making. Political Psychology, 11: 25–40. French, H. 1993. Visiting U.S. General Warns Haiti’s Military Chiefs. The New York Times, January 8. French, H. 1993. Envoy Says Haiti’s Military Agrees to Allow a U.N. Observer Force. The New York Times, January 17. French, H. 1993. Jackson, In Haiti Cautions Military. The New York Times, January 23. French, H. 1993. Haitian Townspeople Tell of New Fear of Violence. The New York Times, February 28. French, H. 1993. Despite Plans, U.S. Refugee Processing in Haiti Is Said to Lag. The New York Times, March 1. French, H. 1993. A Balancing Act for Haiti. The New York Times, April 1. French, H. 1993. Haiti Talks Stall Over Amnesty for Coup Leaders. The New York Times, April 6.

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French, H. 1993. In an Edgy Haitian Town, Civil Rights Monitors Ease the Fear a Bit. The New York Times, April 7. French, H. 1993. Offer of Amnesty Removes Obstacle to Accord in Haiti. The New York Times, April 13. French, H. 1993. Hopes and Tensions Rise in Haiti As Aristide’s Return Seems Closer. The New York Times, April 14. French, H. 1993. Clinton Faulted on Haiti Sanctions. The New York Times, June 5. French, H. 1993. Haitian Military is Said to Accept Plan to End Crisis. The New York Times, July 2. French, H. 1993. Prostrate Haiti Looking to Foreign Aid for a Lift. The New York Times, July 9. French, H. 1993. Astride is Returning, and the Spirits Get Credit. The New York Times, September 11. French, H. 1993. Haitian Police Chief Emerges From the Shadows. The New York Times, September 14. French, H. 1993. Gunmen and Police Brutally Enforced. The New York Times, October 7. French, H. 1993. U.S. Tells Haitians of Embargo Terms. The New York Times, October 20. French, H. 1993. U.N. Aides Warn Haiti It Could Face Total Blockade. The New York Times, October 22. French, H. 1993. Two Sides In Haiti Meet on Impasse. The New York Times, October 23. Friedman, T. 1992. Crossing a Line, and Redrawing It. The New York Times, December 4. Friedman, T. 1993. Clinton Vows to Fight Congress on his Power to Use the Military. The New York Times, October 19. Friedman, T. 1993. Envoys Press Aristide. The New York Times, October 20. Friedman, T. 1993. Leaders in Haiti Wrong to Think They Can Stall U.S., Clinton Says. The New York Times, October 28. Gordon, M. 1993. Failure of Haiti Operation Backs Initial Pentagon Skepticism. The New York Times, October 14. Gordon, M. 1993. After Supporting Hunt for Aidid, U.S. Is Blaming U.N. for Losses. The New York Times, October 17. Gordon, M., and Cushman, J., Jr. 1993. After Supporting Hunt for Aidid, U.S. is Blaming U.N. for Losses. The New York Times, October 18. Greenhouse, L. 1993. Court asked to Back Haitians’ Return. The New York Times, March 2. Greenhouse, L. 1993. High Court Backs Policy of Halting Haitian Refugees. The New York Times, June 21. Hackworth, D. 1994. A Soldier’s-Eye View. Newsweek, August 22, p. 10. Hackworth, D. 1994. Dealing With Rotten Cops. Newsweek, October 3, p. 32. Hilts, P. 1993. Clinton to Lift Ban on H.I.V. Infected Visitors. The New York Times, February 8. Holmes, S. 1993. Bush and Clinton Aides Link Policies on Haiti. The New York Times, January 6.

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Holmes, S. 1993. U.S. Sends Flotilla to Prevent Exodus from Haiti by Sea. The New York Times, January 15. Holmes, S. 1993. U.S. Seeks to Bar Retaliations if Haitian is Restored. The New York Times, January 27. Holmes, S. 1993. All Sides Get Message: Haiti Is a Top U.S. Priority. The New York Times, February 5. Holmes, S. 1993. Haitian Leader Calls on Clinton to Set a Deadline for his Return. The New York Times, March 4. Holmes, S. 1993. Haitian Rulers Are Target of New Sanctions by U.S. The New York Times, June 4. Holmes, S. 1993. U.S. May Send Commandos to Hunt for Somali Warlord. The New York Times, August 10. Holmes, S. 1993. Aristide Seeks the Removal of Army and Police Chiefs. The New York Times, September 26. Holmes, S. 1993. U.N. Force to Rely on Haitians to Keep Order. The New York Times, September 30. Holmes, S. 1993. Administration is Fighting Itself on Haiti Policy. The New York Times, October 22. Holmes, S. 1993. U.S. May Tighten Embargo on Haiti. The New York Times, October 27. Holmes, S. 1993. Pressure Builds Over Return of Boat People to Haiti. The New York Times, December 16. Holmes, S. 1994. Exiled Haitian Rebuffs Diplomats. The New York Times, September 15. Jervis, R. 1976. Perception and Misperception in International Politics. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Krauss, C. 1993. Dole Concedes to Clinton in Fight Over Right to Send Troops Haiti. The New York Times, October 20. Mersheimer, J. 1992. Disorder restored. In G. Allison and G. Treverton (eds.), Rethinking America’s Security Beyond Cold War to New World Order. New York: Norton. Mintz, S. 1995. Can Haiti Change. Foreign Affairs, 66:22–49. Norland, R., Katel, P., Reiss, S., and Breslau, K. 1994. We’ll Hunt You Down Like a Dog. Newsweek, October 17. Pierre-Pierre, G. 1993. One More Shortage in Haiti: News. The New York Times, September 18. Rosati, J. 1984. The Impacts of Beliefs on Behavior: The Foreign Policy of the Carter Administration. In D. Sylvan and S. Chan (eds.), Foreign Policy Decision Making. New York: Praeger, pp. 157–191. Rother, L. 1993. 352 Haitians Reach Miami, Where U.S. Detains Them. The New York Times, January 5. Rother, L. 1993. Reinforcements for U.S. Troops Delayed 9 Hours. The New York Times, October 5. Sciolino, E. 1993. Clinton Aides Urge Freer Haiti Policy. The New York Times, January 5. Sciolino, E. 1993. Clinton Says U.S. Will Continue Ban on Haitian Exodus. The New York Times, January 14.

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Sciolino, E. 1993. U.S. Offers 350 Troops to U.N. Force for Haiti. The New York Times, July 21. Sciolino, E. 1993. Haiti’s Man of Destiny Awaiting His Hour. The New York Times, August 1. Sciolino, E. 1993. Pentagon and State Dept. at Odds Over Sending of Soldiers to Haiti. The New York Times, September 23. Sciolino, E. 1993. Pentagon and State Dept. at Odds Over Sending of Soldiers to Haiti. The New York Times, October 7. Sciolino, E. 1993. Christopher Spells Out New Priorities. The New York Times, November 4. Sciolino, E. 1993. U.N. Backs Use of Ships to Enforce Haiti Embargo. The New York Times, October 16. Scott, W. 1965. Psychological and Social Correlates of International Images. In H. Kelman (ed.), International Behavior. New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, pp. 70–103. Shimko, K. 1991. Images and Arms Control. Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan Press. Songtag, D. 1993. White House Again Defends Bush’s Policy on Haitians. The New York Times, September 12. Spencer, R., Katel, P., Breselau, K., and Barry, J. 1994. Getting Ready. Newsweek, July 25. The 50th Annual Congressional Quarterly Almanac 1994. 1995a. 103rd Congress 1st Session. Washington, DC: Congressional Quarterly Inc. Volume XLIX. The 50th Annual Congressional Quarterly Almanac 1994. 1995b. 103rd Congress 2nd Session. Washington, DC: Congressional Quarterly Inc. Volume L. Vertzberger, Y. 1990. The World in Their Minds: Information Processing, Cognition, and Perception in Foreign Policy Decision Making. Stanford, CA: University of Stanford Press. Watson, R., Breslau, K., Walker, D., Katel, P., and Beals, G. 1994. How U.S. Troops Would Go In. Newsweek, September 19. Walker, S. 1977. The Evolution of Operational Code Analysis. Political Psychology, 11: 403–418.

19 Emerging Trends in International Security American Foreign Policy Options Robert H. Puckett Indiana State University, Terre Haute, Indiana

I. INTRODUCTION The international system is in a period of transition. With the end of the Cold War confrontation between the United States and the former Soviet Union, we are witnessing multiple shifts in the ‘‘power cycle.’’ The collapse of the Soviet empire has impacted the relative position of each nation on the hierarchy of global power. Such alterations have exacerbated regional competition and conflicts, with resulting repercussions upon international security trends.

II. THE TRANSFORMATION OF THE CONCEPT OF SECURITY The very concept of security is undergoing transformation. Traditionally identified with national sovereignty and geo-political and military attributes, security is variously defined as subnational, regional, transnational, international, and global security.1 Theories such as collective security, collective defense, and mutual assurance concentrated on the military aspects of security.2 But a more inclusive method of conceptualizing security refers to ‘‘common security’’ or ‘‘cooperative security.’’3 These latter concepts highlight factors other than military power which threaten the political integrity of nation-states. 387

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Scholars in the MacArthur program have argued that spheres of society (rather than the nation-state) are the contexts of security.4 These spheres include: ‘‘(1) the patterning and configuration of military power in global perspective, (2) the structuring of life in the polity, (3) the dynamics of collective existence, (4) the organization of material life, and (5) the conditions of the bios.’’5 Thus, scholars interested in international security should focus more on political regimes and patterns of social change, including norms, culture, religion, ideology, and identity.6 With the end of the Cold War, the agenda of threats to international security has expanded. One author has described newly important threats: ‘‘demographic factors; large or distinct population movements; illicit flow of drugs, technology, or information; air, land, and marine pollution and degradation; global ecological changes; and human rights abuses.’’7 In addition, a renewed thrust of ‘‘micronationalism’’ (i.e., ethnic nationalism) has threatened subnational and national boundaries, provoking regional ethnic conflict. Other challenges include political terrorism, state collapse, and the rapidly increasing proliferation of nuclear, chemical, and biological weapons. A variety of forecasts of post–Cold War trends have been advanced, for example, relative harmony dominated by democracies and market economies, in which the use of military force shrinks as a factor in international relations; rising economic, political, and military competition along the boundaries of major civilizations or cultures; increasing breakdown of order as empires and states implode, protectionism increases, rogue states arm themselves with unconventional weaponry, and/or governments lose control to criminal gangs or various groups defined by ethnicity, religion, or tribe; or multiple great power competition akin to much of pre–Cold War international relations.8

Michael Vlahos predicted that by 2010 there would be: a drifting apart of the major economic blocs, further collapse of the states of the former Soviet empire, an increase of regional conflicts, the emergence of a new European bloc, and, perhaps, a renewed American isolationism coupled ironically with a greater willingness to intervene—but only if U.S. interests are threatened.9

Whichever forecast one accepts, a principal overarching variable will be the increasing globalization of international economic relations. This process is accelerating when security politics is, to a great extent, being fragmented and regionalized.10 We are already seeing the clash of global economic forces with subnational, national, and regional political interests. A crucial aspect of conceptualizing international security issues is how one conceives of power: global power balance, regional balances of power, and power

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cycles. One goal of the United States—as the sole remaining superpower, at least for the next couple of decades—is to reassure nations in Europe and the AsiaPacific region that there will be no abrupt change in the military balance of power. This objective is especially crucial to both Japan and Germany.11 In a real sense, this objective can be identified with a global balance of power strategy. Strategic uncertainties reside in the regional balances of power, due to shifts in the ‘‘power cycle.’’ As Charles F. Doran explains: The power cycle encompasses the state and the system in a single dynamic of relative power change in that system (of changing systemic share). The single dynamic, generalizable across states and across periods of history, expresses structural change at the two analytical levels simultaneously. The principles of the power cycle explain how the given absolute-power levels and growth rates for the individual states translate into the single dynamic of changing systemic share (relative power) for the member states. They explain what sets the cycles in motion and the peculiar properties of relativepower rise and decline. The single dynamic thus results in a graph depicting the various state relative-power trajectories simultaneously—the changing structure of the system. Moreover, each state’s future power and role projections in that system are tied to the changing slope of its power cycle.12

The power cycle theory applies to the debate over the ‘‘decline’’ of American power, but it also is useful in analyzing shifts in regional balances of power. Relative to the former Soviet Union, America has had a sharp rise in its power position. This increase is rather deceptive since the collapse of the Soviet empire has shifted the power position of each nation on the global power hierarchy.13 If the international system is being transformed primarily because of shifts in the power cycle, the principal innovation likely will be the emergence of an independent role for the European Union. This will be the beginning of a new multipolar configuration—the United States and Europe with China and Russia as emerging major powers. Shifts in the power cycle will ‘‘loosen regional balances of power and stimulate regional competition for new status and new foreign policy roles.’’14 Interstate conflicts and implosions of nation-states will continue to occur in various regions. Some—but not all—of these events will ‘‘threaten’’ international security. How do we decide which events are primarily regional and which have system-wide implications? The decision would have to be based upon the potential for impacting the relative power ratio of major states. The war in Bosnia fits that criterion, for example. III. A LACK OF CONSENSUS In considering the range of American foreign policy options for the next decade and beyond, we must note the fact that in the absence of an overriding threat

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there is no general strategic doctrine and that there is a lack of consensus about what constitutes ‘‘vital’’ interests. Since foreign policy elites are divided about defining potential threats and interests, public opinion and foreign policy are more tightly linked today than in the period of the Cold War.15 There are two general clusters of attitudes on foreign policy issues: (1) neo-isolationism, protectionism, liberal unilateralism, and conservative unilateralism; and (2) internationalism and multilateralism. Public concerns with domestic economic and cultural issues have fed the current resurgence of neo-isolationism and protectionist attitudes. Both of these orientations, as well as the pressure for the United States to act unilaterally in international affairs, have appeared in varying degrees throughout American history. Conservative unilateralists generally seek to use U.S. power—alone if necessary—to protect the nation’s economic interests and to punish countries which pose a threat to those interests. Liberal unilateralists generally propose using American power—alone if necessary—to promote humanitarian ideals. Support for a minimalist or neo-isolationist strategy generally hovers between 35 and 41 percent.16 Such attitudes reflect economic uncertainties and a weariness with the costs associated with the Cold War, regional conflicts, and American involvement in international peacekeeping operations. Linked to some of these attitudes are the arguments for unilateral use of American military power in certain cases, rather than seeking multilateral approval and having U.S. troops assigned to international peacekeeping or peace-enforcing operations. In spite of the resurgence of neo-isolationist, unilateralist, and protectionist attitudes, there remains substantial public support for ‘‘pragmatic internationalism’’17 and multilateral peacekeeping operations.18 In other words, most Americans support an active world role for the nation, especially if these activities strengthen the well-being of the United States: e.g., ‘‘stopping the inflow of illegal drugs, protecting jobs, preventing the spread of nuclear weapons, reducing illegal immigration, securing energy supplies, and cutting trade deficits.’’19 They also support an active diplomatic presence, NATO, a strong defense, free trade, and collective peacekeeping through the United Nations. Public support for foreign aid has declined, however, even though many respondents to polls have an exaggerated view of the amount of foreign assistance in the federal budget. Some opinion polls reflect strong support for internationalism and multilateralism, as long as the United States does not face the prospect of a protracted military intervention. For example, 76 percent believe the United Nations (not the United States) should be the ‘‘world policeman’’; 74 percent agree that the United States should play a shared world leadership role; 67 percent favor UN peacekeeping; and 88 percent agree that America should work with other nations to maintain peace and protect human rights.20 An interesting alternative policy for the United States is the ‘‘pivotal states strategy.’’21 In addition to managing relationships with Europe, Japan, Russia,

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and China, America should concentrate upon several nations which impact their surrounding regions. Chaos and instability may prove a greater and more insidious threat to American interests than communism ever was. With its migratory outflows, increasing conflict due to the breakdown of political structures, and disruptions in trade patterns, chaos undoubtedly affects bordering states.22

Assuming that the public resists intervention in areas peripheral to U.S. interests, a pivotal states strategy could strengthen the foreign policy consensus. What defines a pivotal state ‘‘is its capacity to affect regional and international stability.’’23 Pivotal states might include Mexico, Brazil, Algeria, Egypt, South Africa, Turkey, India, Pakistan, and Indonesia.24

CONCLUSION In order to understand emerging international security trends, scholars should first concentrate to a greater extent on the nature of political regimes and on patterns of social change. In addition, a variety of non-military threats must be addressed: population patterns; illicit flow of drugs, technology, and information; ecological degradation; and human rights abuses. During the next few decades, a multipolar power configuration will emerge, amidst an increasing globalization of international economic relations. Regional competition for new status and new foreign policy roles will foster a variety of conflicts, some of which will impact the relative power ratio of major states. The role of the United States in dealing with emerging trends affecting international security is unresolved. There is a potential of solid support for internationalism and multilateralism, assuming that there is strong presidential leadership in that direction. Perhaps the most effective international strategy for the United States is two-fold: (1) reassurance to nations in Europe and the AsiaPacific region that there will be no abrupt change in the military balance of power and (2) a ‘‘pivotal states strategy,’’ concentrating upon those developing nations which can impact the stability of their surrounding regions.

NOTES 1. Robert Latham. 1995. Thinking about security after the Cold War. International Studies Notes, 20(3):10. 2. David Dewitt. 1993. In David Dewitt, David Haglund, and John Kirton (eds.), Building a New Global Order: Emerging Trends in International Security. New York: Oxford University Press, p. 5.

392 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15.

16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24.

Puckett Ibid. Latham, ibid, p. 11. Ibid., pp. 11–13. Ibid., p. 10. Dewitt, p. 5. Making Intelligence Smarter: The Future of U.S. Intelligence. Report of an Independent Task Force (New York: Council on Foreign Relations 1996), p. 11. Quoted by Albert Legault, Conclusion: Towards the Twenty-First Century, in Dewitt, Building a New Global Order, p. 410. Dewitt, ibid., p. 5. Michael Mandelbaum. 1996. Foreign policy as social work. Foreign Affairs (January/February):28–29. Charles F. Doran, Quo Vadis? The United States’ Cycle of Power and its Role in a Transforming World, in Building a New Global Order, pp. 15–16. Ibid., p. 31. Ibid., p. 34. Andrew Kohut and Robert C. Toth. 1995. In Aspen Strategy Group, The United States and the Use of Force in the Post Cold War Era. Queenstown, MD: The Aspen Institute, p. 134. Steven Kull. 1995/1996. What the public knows that Washington doesn’t. Foreign Policy, 101(Winter):103. John E. Rielly (ed.). 1995. American Public Opinion and U.S. Foreign Policy, 1995. Chicago: Chicago Council on Foreign Relations, p. 18. Kohut and Toth, pp. 153, 166. Rielly, p. 18. Ibid. Robert S. Chase, Emily B. Hill, and Paul Kennedy. 1996. Pivotal states and U.S. strategy. Foreign Affairs 75 (January/February):33–37, 49–51. Ibid., p. 34. Ibid., p. 37. Ibid.

20 U.S. Foreign Exchange Interventions Domestic Politics and International Factors Quan Li Pennsylvania State University, University Park, Pennsylvania

I. INTRODUCTION On August 15, 1971, the United States suspended the convertibility of the dollar into gold. The dollar was then formally devalued twice, in 1972 and 1973, and began to float in 1973. The flexible exchange rate regime was coupled with successive capital decontrols across states, shrinking policy autonomy and the emergence of global financial integration (Frieden, 1991; Andrews, 1994; Cohen, 1996). The effects of domestic macroeconomic policies were transmitted across state borders, and policymakers scrambled for new policy tools to handle the monstrous speculation and frequent capital movements that can nullify macroeconomic policy measures. Under these circumstances, foreign exchange rate policy interventions have become one of the most important policy instruments available for external adjustment and for stabilizing the international monetary system (Frieden, 1991). In addition, foreign exchange interventions may also affect domestic monetary policy.1 Recent econometric analysis (Dominguez and Frankel, 1993a, 1993b; Dominguez, 1993) has verified the effectiveness of foreign exchange market intervention as an independent policy instrument. Foreign exchange operations by a state can be either through buying and selling home currencies in the open market or through payments between central banks or international agencies such as the International Monetary Fund (IMF). 393

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The subject of this paper is the open market currency operations by the United States Treasury or Federal Reserve (also called the Fed). When the Treasury or Fed buys U.S. dollars, it actually sells foreign currency and thus depletes reserves. If it sells U.S. dollars, it then increases reserves. Figure 1 shows how U.S. interventions against the two most important foreign currencies—the deutsche mark and the Japanese yen—fluctuated between March 1973 and December 1994. The U.S. intervention activities in the foreign exchange market have exhibited huge variations over time and across currencies. Interventions against the deutsche mark were concentrated around the 1970s and late 1980s; such activities against the Japanese yen clustered in the late 1980s. Across currencies, more

(a)

(b) Figure 1 (a) U.S. foreign exchange market intervention operations against DMark; (b) U.S. foreign exchange market intervention operations against yen. Data source: Federal Reserve Board of Governors.

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interventions have occurred against the deutsche mark compared to those against the Japanese yen. From March 1973 to December 1994, there were on average 3.6718 interventions against the deutsche mark per month and only 0.8969 interventions against the Japanese yen. Apparently, this is related to the fact that the deutsche mark has been a more important reserve currency in the international monetary system. The question posed in this article is whether there exist general patterns in the bureaucratic intervention activities that underlie political and economic interactions among and within nation-states. Are these patterns attributable to various systemic and statist explanations in the study of state foreign economic policy? Can variations in the intervention activities across different foreign currencies be explained by these different theoretical approaches? Is it possible to integrate systemic and statist explanations such that we get a better understanding of state foreign economic policies? In this chapter, I seek to answer these questions within the context of the American foreign exchange rate policy intervention activities. My analysis examines American foreign exchange monthly interventions against the deutsche mark and the Japanese yen, respectively, from March 1973 to December 1994. The focus is upon the complementarity and integration of systemic and statist explanations.2 A combination of systemic and statist explanations will hopefully provide us with a better understanding of U.S. foreign economic policy.

II. INTEGRATING SYSTEMIC AND STATIST EXPLANATIONS American foreign economic policies have been studied through different theoretical approaches at systemic, statist, and societal levels of analysis.3 Despite their differences, scholars of foreign economic policy agree that state institutions are important and that statist approaches can enhance systemic and societal explanations (Ikenberry, Lake, and Mastanduno, 1988). In recent years, much scholarly work has been done to explore the domestic sources of American foreign economic policy behaviors, especially the combination of statist and societal approaches. However, most of these studies have focused on trade policy issues, and there have been few efforts combining systemic and statist explanations to account for state foreign economic policy. This study seeks to find out whether systemic and statist approaches are of complementary nature in explaining foreign economic policy behaviors. Such an assessment requires combining them within the same statistical model to control for possible spurious relationships. The statistical analysis can be meaningful only when we resolve the incompatibility between the assumptions of the theories at two different levels of analysis. Systemic theories view nation-states as unitary actors, and foreign economic policies result from the choices of these unitary actors. On the other hand, statist

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approaches believe political power is distributed among different domestic actors and their conflict and compromises lead to certain foreign economic policy outcomes. The introduction of domestic politics demands some modification of the unitary actor assumption. Here, I assume that the Treasury is the sole representative of the United States in these foreign exchange policy intervention activities for reasons to be discussed next. The bureaucracy has to make a policy choice regarding whether to intervene in the foreign exchange market to realize their policy preferences under various constraints. This assumption makes it possible for us to examine the interaction of international and domestic factors.4 Given that the Treasury is the decision-maker in foreign exchange rate policy, systemic and statist explanations can be integrated from a policy choice perspective. The bureaucracy makes choices to realize policy preferences under various domestic and international constraints. As Ikenberry et al. (1988) point out, foreign economic policymakers are different from domestic policymakers; they stand in between the domestic and international arenas. They are expected to pursue specific foreign policy and national interests, or follow the call of their own ideology. As a result, bureaucratic policy preferences are formed both in light of state relative capabilities and ideological partisanship. The realization of these preferences, however, is constrained by both U.S. obligations to international regimes and domestic institutional structures, especially congressional political control. The United States has been a critical stabilizer of the international monetary system. The Treasury bureaucracy, which represents the United States at the International Monetary Fund and World Bank and negotiates about macroeconomic policy coordination issues, has performed the stabilization function (Destler and Henning, 1989; Henning, 1994: 109; Cohen, 1994: 52–53). The Treasury engages the United States in international obligations and has to commit financial resources to fulfill these obligations. On the other hand, the domestic institutional structure forces the bureaucracy to strike a balance between its own policy preferences and responsiveness to congressional pressures. As a result, both the fulfillment of international obligations and the realization of bureaucratic preferences depend upon the bureaucracy’s policy autonomy. The bureaucracy is caught in a two-level game (Putnam, 1988). More specifically, the bureaucracy is constrained in its ability to realize its policy preferences and fulfill obligations to international regimes by domestic political institutions. There is a trade-off between maintaining bureaucratic policy autonomy and satisfying congressional preferences. This can only be shown in a model combining both systemic and statist factors. A. Systemic Approaches to Foreign Economic Policy Two prominent schools of thought represent systemic approaches to the study of state foreign economic policy. They are structural realism and neoliberal insti-

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tutionalism. They share assumptions about the state as a unitary rational actor and the anarchic nature of the international system. They promise to predict the recurrent patterns of state behaviors. Foreign exchange rate policy has taken on a more prominent position in a state’s foreign economic policy over time because of the adoption of the flexible exchange rate regime and the trend toward global financial integration (Frieden, 1991). From the point of view of systemic level scholars, it has become an important policy instrument for promoting economic growth and national power in general (Helleiner, 1994; Webb, 1995). On the other hand, foreign exchange rate policy is one of those issue areas that witnesses strong influences from international regimes (Keohane, 1984). Therefore, it is appropriate for evaluating neorealism and neoliberalism in terms of their predictions about American foreign exchange rate policy behaviors. Structural realism (Waltz, 1979) posits that state behaviors are structurally determined by the characteristics of the international system; within a system of anarchy, the distribution of power among states and concerns over their relative capabilities determine state actions and their outcomes. The international system is characterized by anarchy (i.e., absence of common interstate authority). The direct implication of anarchy is that states rely on self-help and thus are extremely sensitive to the erosion of their own relative power and the accruing of relative gains to others (Waltz, 1979; Grieco, 1988). Empirical studies of relative gains have been sporadic, and the results are highly mixed.5 With the decline of U.S. influence in international finance and the rise of Germany and Japan as world economic powers, the foreign economic policy behaviors of the United States should reflect such concerns over the relative increase in power of these two countries. There are competing hypotheses regarding the impact of relative gains concerns. For a pure structural realist, the concern over relative gains is constant, perennial, and thus always present. Foreign exchange rate policy is an external economic adjustment strategy that can be employed strategically by a state to its own advantage. Gilpin (1987: 163) points out that the mercantilist bias for export surplus in modern economies is clearly reflected in the foreign exchange policy interventions of modern industrial powers. Competitive currency devaluations in the early period of this century is an often cited example (Gowa, 1983). Under a flexible exchange rate regime, dollar appreciation reduces U.S. export competitiveness and thus affects its economic power; more importantly, it increases the trade competitiveness of the corresponding country. With an unconditional concern over relative gains, the United States is expected to intervene whenever the dollar appreciates. Critics of this unconditional concern over relative gains (Keohane, 1993; Snidal, 1991) agree that states are concerned about relative gains, but that such concerns tend to be conditional, depending on the issue, number of players, their perceptions, and the power differential between them.6 A state is concerned about

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relative gains when its competitor is catching up. Thus, it is hypothesized here that when the dollar appreciates, accompanied by an increase in the economic growth differential between other industrial powers and the United States, the United States will intervene in the foreign exchange market. Intervention, as an expression of relative gains concerns, is conditional upon the growth differential between its economic competitors and the United States. The distribution of power among states also has important implications for the distribution of economic adjustment costs among them (Gilpin, 1987). From the perspective of a structural realist, this has been a perennial theme for bargaining among states. Foreign exchange intervention operations demand the allocation of financial resources and thus impose burdens of adjustment on the states. The key issue is who is to adjust or to intervene more actively in the foreign exchange market? From the point of view of structural realism, the distribution of power determines the behaviors of states (Waltz, 1979). Therefore, the asymmetry in the power distribution among states predicts that the weaker state is to shoulder the burden of economic adjustment. Under a flexible exchange rate regime, an important determinant of such bargaining power is the relative level of trade dependence between states (Webb, 1995: 47–49). The less trade-dependent state can afford to hold out longer under unfavorable foreign exchange market conditions. A state that is more trade-dependent intervenes more actively in the foreign exchange market. Structural realism has been criticized on the grounds that it has neglected the impact of international regimes upon state behaviors (Krasner, 1983; Haggard and Simmons, 1987). Keohane (1984) suggests that international regimes—rules, norms, and decision-making procedures—can affect the behaviors of nationstates. States or their decision-makers have a demand for mutually beneficial exchanges and thus set up international regimes among themselves. International regimes can reduce the relevant uncertainty and transaction costs by increasing contacts among states and structuring their mutual expectations. States and their decision-makers adopt a different incentive structure due to the shadow of the future. But, the extent to which international regimes influence state policy behaviors depends on the issue area (Keohane and Nye, 1977; Cohen, 1994). In the foreign exchange policy area, international regimes do exist. In the post-Bretton-Woods-System period, a new international monetary regime emerged in early 1976 (Keohane and Nye, 1977: 84). It is codified in the IMF executive board decisions, ‘‘(1) Countries should not manipulate exchange rates in order to prevent balance of payments adjustment or to gain unfair competitive advantages to others; (2) countries should intervene to counter disorderly market conditions; (3) countries should take into account the exchange rate interests of others.’’7 The United States agreed to these rules and had them approved by Congress. These principles have been strengthened over time through an impor-

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tant institutional channel, the seven power summit and its declarations and agreements (Putnam and Bayne, 1987; Funabashi, 1988). Two hypotheses are generated to assess the importance of these international regimes with respect to the U.S. foreign exchange market interventions. First, to correct disorderly market conditions, the Treasury has to devote precious resources for the purpose of stabilizing the foreign exchange market. Drastic exchange rate volatility increases market uncertainty and affects the efficient allocation of resources. Under the influence of the international regime, the higher the volatility, the more actively the Treasury will intervene in the market. Second, if international regimes have an even stronger impact, the bureaucracy ought not to consistently intervene for the sole purpose of correcting U.S. balance of payments deficits, and yet other states’ balance of payments difficulty should have the opposite effect. It is expected that the dollar appreciation together with current account surplus will lead the Treasury to intervene so as to help other countries, and that the dollar appreciation together with current account deficit will not lead the Treasury to intervene in order to gain an advantage in trade competitiveness through currency devaluation. This hypothesis tests whether the United States is strongly committed to the maintenance of international regimes in the international monetary system. B. Statist Approaches to Foreign Economic Policy Systemic approaches to the study of a country’s foreign economic policy have been criticized as inadequate explanations for their intentional disregard for domestic politics. Both structural realists and neoliberal institutionalists (Waltz, 1979; Keohane, 1993: 294) acknowledge such inadequacy, but argue that systemic explanations are a necessary first cut before we move to other levels of analysis. Statist approaches explain state foreign economic policy outcomes by examining both domestic institutions and the policy preferences of policymakers (Ikenberry et al., 1988; Simmons, 1994). Their explanatory power is argued to be independent of systemic factors. Foreign exchange policy interventions are at the discretion of a bureaucracy, which is constrained by domestic political structures. Previous research (Funabashi, 1988; Destler and Henning, 1989; Frankel, 1990; Henning, 1994) has explored the influence of domestic institutions and bureaucracies with regard to foreign exchange policy interventions. The ability of policymakers to realize their own policy preferences depends to a large extent on the institutional arrangements of domestic politics. One such institutional approach studies the centralization and diffusion of power within the state, especially the relationship between the legislative and the executive (Ikenberry, 1988: 227). On foreign economic policy issues, economic interdependence and the bureaucratization of policymak-

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ing have increased the salience of the issues and made the politicians more watchful of the bureaucrats’ behaviors (Putnam and Bayne, 1987: 18). Since the 1980s, there has been a large body of empirical literature studying the political control of the bureaucracy in American politics, and yet no similar study has been undertaken in terms of foreign exchange rate policy.8 I argue that the study of American foreign economic policy behaviors can benefit from the empirical analysis of the political control of bureaucracy. American foreign exchange rate policy is formulated and implemented by a bureaucracy—the Treasury. Yet, there is a principal-agent type of institutional relationship between the bureaucracy and Congress. According to the Constitution, Congress is empowered ‘‘to coin money, regulate the value thereof and of foreign coin.’’ This implies that Congress controls foreign exchange rate policy. Over time, Congress has delegated that power to the bureaucracy, expecting that the agent strive for outcomes desired by the principal. The problem, however, is that the agent can develop its own distinctive interests such that the principal must find a way to ensure that the agent acts in the principal’s interests (Moe, 1984). Studies of the political control of bureaucracy suggest that Congress can influence the bureaucracy and its policy output through appointments, budget, oversight, and legislation (Wood and Waterman, 1994; Ringquist, 1995). In the foreign exchange rate policy area, appointment and budget are not effective policy channels for Congress. Rather, Congress exercises control over the bureaucratic policy output mainly through oversight and legislation. Since the bureaucracy enjoys an information advantage over the principal, the information asymmetry between them increases the possibility of bureaucratic shirking (Wood and Waterman, 1994: 23; McCubbins, 1985). Since foreign exchange rate policy is of high technical sophistication (Destler and Henning, 1989), Congress must reduce such information asymmetry to avoid bureaucratic shirking. Oversight hearings are a low cost and readily available tool for such a purpose. In addition, oversight hearings serve as a signaling device for Congress to convey its interests to the bureaucracy. In the general sphere of foreign economic policy, Congress has in fact made more frequent use of oversight hearings to affect the bureaucracy (Cohen, 1994: 96–97). Treasury officials are called upon to report and explain their foreign exchange policy actions before various committees of both Houses, including finance, banking, foreign relations, commerce, and the joint economic committees. It is hypothesized that if oversight hearings in foreign exchange rate policy are an effective policy instrument for political control, the bureaucracy responds with significantly different intervention activity in the foreign exchange market. Congress is reluctant to intervene in foreign exchange rate policy since it is an area of low political visibility and high technical sophistication (Destler and Henning, 1989; Helleiner, 1994). In addition, many of the oversight hearings serve

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the purpose of reducing information asymmetry between Congress and the bureaucracy. Thus, Congress usually does not give specific instructions about the intervention operation, which is carried out at the discretion of the bureaucracy. Congressional interest in bureaucratic policy output is constituency based and reelection oriented (Schattsneider, 1935; Weingast and Moran, 1983; Weingast, 1984). When societal pressures become heightened and other means of political control are not effective, Congress attempts to institutionalize its interest through direct legislation to bind bureaucratic behaviors. Of course, direct legislation, as a means of influence, is much harder to wield and much less flexible, compared to oversight hearings. But once adopted, it is much more powerful and influential in affecting bureaucratic behaviors. Congress attempted to pass legislation regarding foreign exchange rate policy as early as 1983; seven bills were proposed in both Houses in the year of 1985 (Destler and Henning, 1989: 110). Finally, in 1988, these attempts culminated under the Omnibus Trade Act. Two hypotheses are generated to assess the impact of congressional legislation upon the bureaucratic policy behaviors. Specifically, the Exchange Rate and International Economic Policy Coordination Act of 1988, included in Subtitle A under Title III of PL100-418 Omnibus Trade and Competitiveness Act of 1988, authorizes international negotiations by the Treasury on exchange rate and economic policies and requires regular reports from Treasury about foreign exchange intervention activities. It is hypothesized that this piece of legislation elevates the prominence of the issue and sends a signal of greater congressional control to the executive bureaucracy. If the bureaucracy is responsive, the enactment of the Omnibus Trade Act should indicate qualitatively different bureaucratic behaviors and is expected to exert a long run influence. The legislation by itself does not specify actual intervention activities. On the other hand, Congress is more explicit about the operation of intervention when it comes to the trade-related dimension of foreign exchange rate policy. It not only requires that the Treasury Department designate an officer of multilateral development bank procurement to promote U.S. company exports and their access to multilateral development bank procurement opportunities, but also exhorts the Treasury to be more sensitive to the U.S. trade balance.9 This indicates that when it comes to the trade-related aspect of foreign exchange rate policy, Congress expects more active bureaucratic interventions than before the law was enacted. Since dollar appreciation has been specifically pointed out as a problem during the mid- and late 1980s, a bureaucracy responsive to the legislation is expected to be more interventionist when the dollar appreciates. The ideological dispositions of foreign exchange policymakers constitute a more autonomous dimension of the bureaucratic policy preference structure. Policy decisions are often informed and guided by the political beliefs and attitudes of the policymakers (Krasner, 1978). Ideological partisanship serves as a good indicator of these unobserved political beliefs and attitudes of the poli-

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cymakers and reflects their differences in policy preferences (Quinn and Shapiro, 1991). Democrats are in favor of a Keynesian type of government intervention in the national economy whereas Republicans are more likely to support laissez faire, neoclassical policy packages. Partisanship matters in terms of policy output. With respect to foreign exchange rate policy, the same theoretical expectations apply; Democrats intervene more than Republicans (Odell, 1982). There exists some qualitative empirical evidence regarding the policy decisions of the Treasury officials and Reagan himself during his first term (Destler and Henning, 1989; Funabashi, 1988).

III. OPERATIONALIZATION, DATA, AND METHODOLOGY The dependent variable in my study is direct U.S. exchange rate policy interventions in the foreign exchange open market. Most foreign exchange operations conducted by the Treasury have been concentrated in the U.S. dollar, the deutsche mark, the Japanese yen, and the Swiss franc. In this paper, I will focus on the buying and selling of dollars against the deutsche mark (DM) and the yen in open market intervention operations. In most studies on the effects of interventions by economists, intervention is measured by the amount of currency buying or selling. The purpose of this chapter is to specify the conditions under which the Treasury decides to go into the market to intervene, and not the amount of intervention. Therefore, the underlying concept of foreign exchange market intervention is best measured as an event count of the number of interventions in the foreign exchange market over a specific period. The dependent variable is measured by the number of interventions per month by the United States against the DM and the yen respectively from March 1973 to December 1994.10 Data on the dependent series are obtained by counting the number of days of intervention in the respective market from the daily intervention data provided by the Federal Reserve Board of Governors. The working assumption here is that the bureaucracy considers a day of intervention as one intervention event. This assumption may not be totally unrealistic from a market operational point of view. The same measure is also used in Klein (1993). To test the hypothesis that states have an unconditional concern for relative gains, I use a dichotomous measure of dollar appreciation. It is coded 1 if the difference between the monthly average exchange rates of DM/dollar or yen/ dollar for two consecutive months is greater than zero, and is coded 0 otherwise. It tests the stronger version of the relative gains hypothesis, in other words, the relative gains concerns are always present. The expected sign of this variable is positive. The hypothesis about conditional relative gains concerns is tested by using an interaction term of Japan (or Germany) and U.S. industrial production growth

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differential and the dollar appreciation dummy variable. The industrial growth differential is calculated as the difference of the industrial production index between Germany (or Japan) and the United States; it is lagged two months since such information is usually available to the bureaucracy with a two-month lag. It tests conditional relative gains concern, and the expected sign is positive. To test the hypothesis of asymmetric adjustment costs, I use the relative trade dependence ratio between the United States and Germany (or Japan), in other words, the U.S. trade dependence level over Germany (or Japan) trade dependence level. The measure used for trade dependence is export value (reported monthly) over GNP (reported quarterly), both in current dollars. The measures are again lagged two months. The higher the U.S. trade dependence ratio relative to Germany or Japan, the more adjustment costs the United States will share, the more active the United States will be in its interventions. For the two hypotheses regarding international regimes, exchange rate volatility is measured as the absolute value of the percentage change in the monthly exchange rate (deutsche mark/dollar or yen/dollar). The greater the volatility, the more disorderly the market conditions are, the more active the bureaucracy should intervene in the market under the constraint of international regimes. Greater volatility leads one to expect more active interventions. The second hypothesis about international regimes is tested by including an interaction term of the two-month lagged U.S. trade balance variable and the dollar appreciation dichotomous variable. The interaction term is expected to be positively related to the number of monthly interventions against the respective foreign currency. The greater the trade surplus, along with dollar appreciation, the more active the bureaucracy should be in curbing the deteriorating impact on other countries’ balance of payments situation; the greater the trade deficit, when accompanied by dollar appreciation, the less interventionist the bureaucracy should be in manipulating the exchange rate to improve its own balance of trade situation. The domestic institutions hypotheses are tested by the following measures. For the impact of oversight hearings, I use the number of relevant congressional oversight hearings, lagged for one month. Here, only those congressional hearings are considered in which chief Treasury officials testify with specific relevance to U.S. foreign exchange rate policy or intervention activities regarding the relevant currency or country. Though Congress does not give specific instruction about the direction of action in those oversight hearings, the greater the pressure Congress exerts through hearings, the more responsive the bureaucracy will be. The Exchange Rates and International Economic Policy Coordination Act of 1988 was approved by the President on August 23, 1988. To test whether it impacts behaviors of the Treasury in the foreign exchange market, a binary variable representing the law is coded as 1 since September of 1988 and 0 before

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that. There is no specific expectation about the degree of intervention, but the bureaucracy is expected to behave differently afterwards. On the other hand, to test the influence of the Multilateral Development Banks Procurement Act of 1988 and the Omnibus Trade and Competitive Act in general with respect to trade related issues, an interaction term of the law dummy variable and the dollar appreciation dummy variable is included in the model. Under relevant circumstances, the bureaucracy is expected to intervene more actively. To assess the importance of ideological partisanship, I use the presidential administration party affiliation. Months with a Democratic President in office are coded 1 whereas those under a Republican President are coded 0, with the expected sign being positive. This measure implies that bureaucratic policy preferences should be more Keynesian-oriented and that the bureaucracy is prone to intervene in the market under a Democratic President. Under a Republican President, the bureaucracy believes in more of a laissez faire, hands-off approach. This is reasonable if we accept the assumption that when the President selects his cabinet, he picks those who are close to him in policy preferences. One possible problem is that this does not reflect the variations within one administration with different Secretaries of the Treasury. On the other hand, it may be more realistic because the President does and is able to keep his cabinet in line with his own policy preferences through personnel changes; his appointment power enables him to do so. Since the dependent variable is the number of foreign exchange interventions undertaken by the United States within each month from March 1973 to December 1994, it is discrete event count. For event count models, OLS regressions are not appropriate because the dependent variable is not normally distributed (King, 1989a, 1989b, 1989c). Another commonly used statistical technique for event count analysis is Poisson regression. It is also not suitable for my analysis here since Poisson regression assumes that events are independent of each other and occur at a constant rate (δ2 ⫽ 1). These assumptions do not hold for U.S. foreign exchange interventions because the dependent variable is possibly plagued with underdispersion or overdispersion. If an intervention has successfully stabilized the market, the probability for a follow-up intervention is decreased. This is a case of underdispersion (δ2 ⬍ 1). However, market speculators sometimes test the commitment of a government in terms of intervention and stabilization. In such cases, government intervention can lead to more speculation activities and higher market volatility, thus making another intervention necessary for the sake of intervention effectiveness. This is the case of overdispersion (δ2 ⬎ 1). King (1989b, 1989c) has developed a maximum likelihood estimator for discrete event count variables, in which a dispersion parameter is estimated that tells us what type of dispersion is with the underlying process. This Generalized Event Count (GEC) estimation routine, contained in the statistical package

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COUNT developed by King, is used to estimate the event count models of the U.S. interventions against the deutsche mark and the Japanese yen respectively.11

IV. FINDINGS The Generalized Event Count (GEC) model is applied to Treasury interventions against the deutsche mark and the Japanese yen using three different model specifications. Table 1 presents the findings of the systemic explanations for interven-

Table 1 Systemic Explanations of American Foreign Exchange Policy Interventions (March 1973–December 1994) Independent variables Dollar appreciation dummy (Expected sign: ⫹) Industrial growth differential* Dollar appreciation dummy (⫹) Relative trade dependence ratio (U.S./Germany, U.S./Japan) (⫹) Exchange rate volatility (⫹)

US trade balance* Dollar appreciation dummy (⫹) Gamma

Constant

Number of observations Log-likelihood

Interventions against DM Interventions against yen 0.5445*** (0.2228) 2.443 0.0622 (0.0524) 1.187 3.0293** (1.5017) 2.017 ⫺0.0105 (0.0947) ⫺0.111 0.0757*** (0.0260) 2.909 2.3238*** (0.0957) 24.272 0.4319 (0.5399) 0.800 262 784.81

0.2780 (0.2860) 0.972 0.1057 (0.1109) 0.954 2.2583*** (0.8535) 2.646 0.2510*** (0.0682) 3.681 ⫺0.0161 (0.0325) ⫺0.496 1.9889*** (0.1852) 10.738 ⫺2.3920*** (0.6392) ⫺3.742 262 13.492

* Statistically significant at p ⬍ .10 (one-tail); ** statistically significant at p ⬍ .05 (one-tail); *** statistically significant at p ⬍ .01 (one-tail). For Gamma, the null hypothesis is that σ squared equals 1. The t statistic is calculated as: (parameter estimate ⫺ 1)/(standard error of the parameter estimate).

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tions against the two currencies respectively. Table 2 contains the estimates of the statist model. Finally, Table 3 presents the results from the combined systemic and statist model. Table 4 provides descriptive statistics for all variables. Across all six models in the three tables, the gamma parameter is statistically significant and positive, rejecting the null hypothesis that the dispersion is constant (δ2 ⫽ 1). It shows the presence of overdispersion and the necessity of using a GEC model to analyze the underlying event occurrence process. The result that market speculators do test the authority’s commitment to intervention effectiveness is in line with those observations made by Treasury officials in the reports to Congress. In addition, it indicates that controlling for such overdispersion is critical to the tests of our hypotheses without getting spurious relationships. For the systemic model, both structural realism and neoliberal institutionalism receive some empirical support. In the dollar/DM case, the dollar appreciation dummy and relative trade dependence ratio are both statistically significant and in the expected direction as structural realism suggests in the unconditional

Table 2 Statist Explanations of American Foreign Exchange Policy Interventions (March 1973–December 1994) Independent variables Law (⫹, ⫺)

Law* Dollar appreciation dummy (⫹) Ideological partisanship (Democrat President ⫽ 1) (⫹) Gamma

Constant

Number of observations Log-likelihood

Interventions against DM

Interventions against yen

⫺1.5264*** (0.3530) ⫺4.324 0.5011 (0.4333) 1.157 1.0856*** (0.1513) 7.176 2.0463*** (0.1123) 18.224 1.1120*** (0.2656) 4.187 262 812.289

0.6614** (0.3082) 2.146 0.5164* (0.3482) 1.483 0.0501 (0.2747) 0.182 1.9996*** (0.1968) 10.161 ⫺0.6478*** (0.2363) ⫺2.741 262 12.212

* Statistically significant at p ⬍ .10 (one-tail); ** statistically significant at p ⬍ .05 (one-tail); *** statistically significant at p ⬍ .01 (one-tail). For Gamma, the null hypothesis is that σ squared equals 1. The t statistic is calculated as: (parameter estimate ⫺ 1)/(standard error of the parameter estimate).

Table 3 Integrated Explanations of American Foreign Exchange Policy Interventions (March 1973–December 1994) Independent variables Relative gains: Dollar appreciation dummy (Expected sign: ⫹) Industrial growth differential* Dollar appreciation dummy (⫹) Asymmetric adjustment cost: Relative trade dependence ratio (U.S./Germany, U.S./Japan) (⫹) International regimes: Exchange rate volatility (⫹) U.S. trade balance* Dollar appreciation dummy (⫹) Domestic institutions: Oversight hearings (⫹, ⫺) Law (⫹, ⫺) Law* Dollar appreciation dummy (⫹) Ideological partisanship (Democrat President ⫽ 1) (⫹) Gamma

Constant Number of observations Log-likelihood LR test (X 2) df ⫽ 4 (relative to systemic model) df ⫽ 5 (relative to statist model)

Interventions against DM

Interventions against yen

0.2040*** (0.0304) 6.703 0.0654** (0.0314) 2.080

0.4194*** (0.0740) 5.669 0.0931 (0.0853) 1.092

3.8763*** (0.0093) 414.953

–0.0351 (0.0466) ⫺0.752

0.0596 (0.0683) 0.873 0.0391*** (0.0167) 2.345

0.2705*** (0.0520) 5.204 ⫺0.0027 (0.0256) ⫺0.105

⫺0.0141 (0.0617) ⫺0.228 ⫺1.7790*** (0.0233) ⫺76.346 0.6956*** (0.0172) 40.343 0.9013*** (0.0351) 25.707 1.9508*** (0.0287) 68.064 ⫺0.0097 (0.2319) ⫺0.042 262 818.00

0.5601 (0.1180) 4.748*** 0.8858*** (0.0808) 10.961 0.2608*** (0.0654) 3.986 ⫺0.0046 (0.0986) ⫺0.046 1.8881*** (0.0812) 23.248 ⫺1.5680*** (0.0643) ⫺24.383 262 32.675

66.38*** 11.422***

38.366*** 40.926***

* Statistically significant at p ⬍ .10 (one-tail); ** statistically significant at p ⬍ .05 (one-tail); *** statistically significant at p ⬍ .01 (one-tail). For Gamma, the null hypothesis is that σ squared equals 1; the t statistic is calculated as: (parameter estimate ⫺ 1)/(standard error of the parameter estimate).

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relative gains concerns and asymmetric adjustment cost hypotheses. On the other hand, the interaction term of U.S. trade balance and dollar appreciation is also significant and positive, indicating that international regimes do induce more active bureaucratic actions in the creation of collective goods in the international monetary system. The conditional relative gains concerns and exchange rate volatility hypotheses, however, are not statistically supported. Neither systemic theory nor statist theory by itself provides the best explanation for the Treasury interventions against the deutsche mark. In the dollar/yen model, the asymmetric adjustment cost variable is significant and in the expected direction, yet none of the relative gains variables is statistically significant. Exchange rate volatility comes out significant with an expected sign whereas the interaction of U.S. trade balance and the dollar appreciation is not. Compared to the dollar/DM model, the dollar/yen model also provides limited support for both structural realism and neoliberalism. But, such support is lent to different sets of hypotheses in the two models. The implications of these differences are to be discussed in the next section. For the statist model, law and ideological partisanship both have statistically significant impacts upon the bureaucratic intervention operations against the deutsche mark. The Exchange Rate and International Economic Policy Coordination Act of 1988 affected the bureaucratic incentive toward market interventions. Although the direction of its impact is not specified, its sign turns out to be negative, indicating fewer bureaucratic interventions against the deutsche mark after 1988. In addition, under a Democratic President, the bureaucracy tends to be more active in intervention operations than under a Republican President. Congressional oversight hearings are statistically insignificant in terms of their influence over the bureaucratic intervention operations against the DM. The interaction term of the dollar appreciation and law, gauging the impact of congressional preference with respect to trade issues, turns out to be insignificant although very close to the 10 percent significance level. For the dollar/yen model, oversight hearings, law, and the interaction term of law and the dollar appreciation are all statistically significant. Oversight hearings and the interaction term of law and the dollar appreciation are in the expected direction. Without a specific expected direction, law turns out to have positive influence over bureaucratic interventions against the yen. Domestic institutions have noticeable influence upon the probability of bureaucratic interventions against the Japanese yen. The ideological partisanship does not exhibit such impact. The results in terms of the direction of law and the impact of partisanship and oversight hearings are different from those in the dollar/DM model. A comparison of these two models seems to reveal a trade-off relationship as to how close the bureaucracy can follow its ideological partisanship and the calling of Congress.

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Table 3 includes findings about the combined dollar/DM and dollar/yen models. An important question the combined models try to answer is whether the systemic and statist explanations are complementary in nature. Statistically, the log-likelihood ratio (LR) test (Pindyck and Rubinfeld, 1991: 240) evaluates the joint hypothesis that the additional set of parameter estimates in the combined model are zero, compared to the baseline model—the systemic or the statist model. The hypothesis is rejected with statistical significance for both combined models. Neither the statist nor the systemic model washes out the impact of the other one, showing their complementary nature; both provide relevant explanatory variables, and the omission of either may well lead to a specification error. The combined dollar/DM model shows that the significant results in the individual models are robust; most of the previously significant variables remain significant. Even after controlling for the impact of other intervening variables, relative gains concerns still come out significant. The statist model’s explanatory variables exhibit the strong influences of domestic politics. More interestingly, some previously insignificant variables—the conditional relative gains concern variable and the interaction term of law and dollar appreciation—become significant. The combined dollar/yen model retains most previously significant variables and shows greater precision and smaller standard errors for their parameter estimates. Yet, the systemic variables seem to be less robust, compared to the domestic politics variables. The previously significant relative trade dependence ratio now becomes insignificant, and the dollar appreciation dummy variable turns out to be statistically significant. Yet, exchange rate volatility is still statistically significant. As in the dollar/DM model, the domestic institutions and ideological partisanship variables are very robust. These findings shed light on bureaucratic policy behaviors in the murky world of international finance. Since both combined models are shown through the log-likelihood ratio (LR) tests and the generally decreasing magnitude of the standard errors of the parameter estimates to perform better than each individual model, I will focus on the combined models in discussing the implications of these findings in the next section.

V.

CONCLUSION

The foreign exchange market now has the largest daily turnover among all markets including goods and services, and stocks and bonds, which is a consensus among both scholars and practitioners (Cohen, 1994: 29; Luca, 1995: 2). Foreign exchange intervention operations are an important policy instrument for a state to regulate the market and stabilize an international monetary system. The above

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Table 4 Variable Descriptive Statistics Variables Number of monthly interventions Dollar appreciation dummy Industrial growth differential* Dollar appreciation dummy Relative U.S.-Germany (Japan) trade dependence ratio Exchange rate (DM/dollar or yen/dollar) volatility U.S. two month lagged trade balance* Dollar appreciation dummy Number of lagged monthly oversight hearings Law Law* Dollar appreciation dummy variable Presidential partisanship

Mean (DM/$)

Variance

Mean (Yen/$)

Variance

3.6718 0.4695 ⫺0.0505

24.6121 0.2500 2.2912

0.8969 0.4885 0.0060

6.7365 0.2508 0.9614

0.2746

0.0029

0.6316

0.0188

2.2787

3.1110

2.0575

3.1656

⫺3.1444

21.5043

⫺2.0924

16.1546

0.2176

0.3011

0.2252

0.3054

0.2901 0.1412

0.2067 0.1217

0.2901 0.1374

0.2067 0.1190

0.2710

0.1983

0.2710

0.1983

findings help to answer questions about whether there exist any general patterns in the bureaucratic foreign exchange rate policy behaviors and whether these patterns are subject to explanations from both systemic and statist approaches. Some nonobvious findings concern whether the bureaucracy behaves differently in the interventions over the two currencies and why. Theoretical implications may also be inferred to help understand the absolute gains versus relative gains debate and demonstrate the merits of incorporating systemic and statist approaches. I start the discussion with reference to the neorealist and neoliberal debate. The global economy is claimed to be an issue area that may be immune from relative gains concerns (Lipson, 1984; Keohane and Nye, 1977). But, the results here indicate that even in a field where international coordination and cooperation are most prominent, nation-states still exhibit behaviors driven by relative gains concerns. The intensity of such concerns is certainly related to the strength or power of the relevant competitor. This may partly explain the fact that bureaucratic interventions tend to focus more against the deutsche mark than the Japanese yen. Due to the critical role the deutsche mark played in the European Monetary System (EMS) during the floating exchange rate period, it is reasonable to find that the United States exhibit both conditional and unconditional relative gains concerns with respect to the dollar/DM operations. Contrary to the uproar

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about Japan in the 1980s, the bureaucracy does not seem to share the common perception about a threatening Japanese yen. On the other hand, the pessimistic realist prediction that the nation-state always behaves in a manner that is consistent with relative gains concerns may have to be qualified. International regimes can correct the purely myopic selfinterested behaviors of nation-states. As in the dollar/yen interventions, the United States does commit resources to deal with disorderly exchange rate volatility in a consistent manner; in the dollar/DM operations, the Treasury makes intervention decisions that are aimed at helping countries in balance of payments difficulty. Although it may be argued that international regimes are no more than institutions of interest that reflect only the will of the dominant powers, the findings here do lend some support for the conclusion that nation-states, even though caring about relative gains, may still act in a long-run oriented manner that may facilitate international cooperation. That international regimes matter does not require nation-states to be altruistic, only that they should not be purely myopic. According to my current results, bureaucratic interventions in the foreign exchange market do exhibit patterns that support explanations from both neorealism and neoliberalism. Neither has shown superiority in terms of the empirical evidence presented here. What is not answered in this chapter regarding the neorealist versus neoliberalist debate is the specific conditions under which the bureaucracy switches from following relative gains concerns to honoring its obligations prescribed by relevant international regimes. This study has garnered strong evidence regarding the usefulness of the statist approach in explaining bureaucratic interventions in the foreign exchange market. Domestic politics alone can affect bureaucratic intervention decisions. Across both foreign currencies, domestic institutions have been shown to have significant impacts upon bureaucratic behaviors. Direct legislation is an effective policy tool in order for Congress to extract responsiveness from the Treasury in all its intervention operations. As a response to the legislative instructions, the bureaucracy decreased its absolute level of intervention activities in the dollar/ DM operations after September of 1988 and targeted the allocation of resources to trade-related dollar appreciation episodes. The same period was characterized by congressional pressures in passing trade protectionist bills and increasing oversight hearings. The focus of congressional attention was upon Japan, and the bureaucratic response was to increase interventions against the yen. The incorporation of the statist with the systemic explanations points to the most interesting theoretical implication in this article. Ikenberry et al. (1988) suggest that the foreign economic policymaking bureaucracy enjoys relatively greater policy autonomy vis-a`-vis its domestic economic policymaking counterpart, due to its special institutional functions. The analysis here seems to suggest that actual bureaucratic policy autonomy may be very small even if it actually exists. In the context of foreign exchange policy interventions, the degree of

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domestic political control over the bureaucracy explains the extent to which the bureaucracy realizes its policy preference embedded in national interest and ideological partisanship, and its commitments to international regimes. The weaker the congressional influences are, the more policy autonomy the bureaucracy enjoys to realize its own preferences and to fulfill its international obligations. In the deutsche mark intervention activities, congressional influence is exercised only through the use of direct legislation, a highly effective but extremely unwieldy policy instrument. But, in the dollar/yen operations, Congress is shown to have more direct influence. It certainly makes good use of direct legislation and is also able to affect bureaucratic behaviors through a more flexible and less costly policy tool—oversight hearings. The level of Congressional influence differs according to the currency and the foreign country involved. As a result, in the deutsche mark operations, the bureaucracy is better able to follow its own policy preferences in terms of national interest and ideological partisanship. It is also able to pursue the much more restrictive international regime commitment, which requires it to have great policy autonomy to exercise its discretion. In contrast, in the dollar/yen interventions, the bureaucracy is very much limited by Congress in its ability to act as it does in the deutsche mark operations. This may result from a strategic choice by the bureaucracy to maintain its policy autonomy. It may be that the yen is of more importance with respect to trade issues and yet less salient in terms of its general influence over the international monetary system. The Treasury responds more actively to Congress in terms of the yen operations, but maintains more policy autonomy in its deutsche mark operations. Despite these conjectures, the key point is that the control by Congress over the Treasury has led to a loss of policy autonomy. As it is often suggested in the qualitative literature (Funabashi, 1988; Destler and Henning, 1989), the Treasury had to succumb to the external pressures when Congress frequently summoned Treasury officials to testify about the impact of an overvalued dollar on U.S. trade with Japan and when Congress threatened protectionist trade and exchange rate policy legislation in the mid-1980s. Thus, the conclusion here that congressional dominance should shrink bureaucratic policy autonomy in realizing the bureaucracy’s policy preferences and fulfilling the United States international commitments should come as no surprise.

NOTES 1. There are two types of foreign exchange interventions: unsterilized and sterilized. In an unsterilized intervention, an intervention can have a real effect on the aggregate money supply. In this sense, it is part of macroeconomic monetary policy. Thus, it can influence interest rates, prices and the economy as a whole. In fact, U.S. interventions are usually operated in a sterilized manner. That is, in addition to the currency

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transaction, the authorities will sell government securities to offset the increases in reserve. Under the Bretton Woods system, interventions were undertaken when exchange rates moved out of the parity bands. After Bretton Woods, individual countries are not obliged to correct the exchange rate misalignment unless they desire to. For further discussion, see Marston (1987) and Lewis (1993). In this paper, I follow the convention and do not differentiate between these two types of interventions. The societal approach is not employed in this study due to the properties of the issue area, which preconditions possible theoretical synthesis of the different approaches in the study of foreign economic policymaking (Cohen, 1994: 151–154). American foreign exchange policymaking is very bureaucratized, and societal interests have a hard time directly accessing the decision-making process (Destler and Henning, 1989; Henning, 1994). Most often, societal interests find expression in the policy outcomes only indirectly through the channel of Congress and, for that reason, their influence is not directly examined in this chapter. One often-cited example is the lobby activities of Caterpillar at the Treasury to try to persuade it into taking a more interventionist approach in the early 1980s (Destler and Henning, 1989). However, the Treasury was not very responsive to these societal pressures, and Caterpillar had to resort to lobbying Congress for a solution. For a review of these three approaches, see Ikenberry, Lake, and Mastanduno (1988). For discussions about possible synthesis and about other approaches, see Cohen (1994). As stipulated in the Gold Reserve Act of 1934, the Treasury has exclusive control over the use of its Exchange Stabilization Funds (ESF) for intervention. And yet the actual operations are carried out by the foreign exchange desk of the Federal Reserve Bank of New York serving as the Treasury’s agent. Developments in the foreign exchange market have made the Treasury dependent on the Fed’s cooperation in taking joint actions and using some of the Fed’s resources in order to carry out effective interventions. However, based on the convention and precedent, the Treasury exercises greater authority over this matter and makes all final decisions regarding intervention activities. Therefore, throughout the chapter, I will consider that the Treasury is the decision-maker in terms of all foreign exchange policy interventions and that the Federal Reserve takes only a secondary role, mainly responsible for carrying out the actual buying and selling instructions from the Treasury bureaucracy. This is not an unreasonable assumption given that the Treasury’s constituency is the overall economy (Cohen, 1994: 55), in other words, it takes the national interest in a growing economy as its own interest (Henning, 1994). In the foreign economic policy area, the Treasury enjoys sufficient authority delegated by Congress and the President to represent the United States (Cohen, 1994: 51–53). In his case analysis of United States vs. Japan industrial policies, Mastanduno (1991) finds that relative gains concerns do not always translate into policy outcomes. Iida (1995) does not discern significant relative gains concerns by either Japan or the United States in terms of foreign exchange rate policy coordination. Foreign exchange market interventions are usually targeted at the bilateral exchange rate involving two states. According to Keohane (1993: 276), this qualifies the foreign exchange policy behaviors as a test for the relative gains concerns.

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7. IMF Executive Board Decision no. 5392-(77/63), adopted 4/1977, as cited in Dominguez (1993). 8. For a good review, see Wood and Waterman (1994). 9. See the Multilateral Development Banks Procurement Act of 1988, Subtitle C under Title III of the Omnibus Act of 1988. 10. These dates are the starting and ending dates of the daily intervention data provided by the Federal Reserve Board of Governors. In addition, this measure of intervention captures only those events by Treasury or Fed using American funds as in the Exchange Stabilization Fund (ESF) or Fed account. It does not include those actions undertaken by the U.S. authorities representing the foreign central banks (as using their funds in their accounts with Fed). 11. Because interventions against the deutsche mark and the yen are modeled separately, a potential estimation problem arises. Intuitively, due to decreasing exchange and capital controls across borders, foreign currency markets are tightly linked technically, and speculations in the $/DM and $/yen markets may well be interrelated. If this is true, then intervention activities may also be related across currencies. Statistically, this implies that the error terms of these two separate models are correlated, and the price for estimating them individually is a loss of efficiency. It would be desirable to model them as a seemingly unrelated GEC system. But, such an estimator is not available in the current literature. Given that the potential problem is a loss of efficiency, it should only decrease the chances of finding significant results in estimating separate GEC models.

REFERENCES Andrews, D. M. (1994). Capital mobility and state autonomy: Toward a structural theory of international monetary relations. International Studies Quarterly 38:193–218. Baldwin, D. (1993). Neoliberalism, neorealism, and world politics. In: D. Baldwin (ed.), Neorealism and Neoliberalism: The Contemporary Debate. New York: Columbia University Press. Cohen, B. (1996). Phoenix risen: The resurrection of global finance. World Politics 48: 268–296. Cohen, S. D. (1994). The Making of United States International Economic Policy. Westport, CN: Praeger. Destler, I. M., and Henning, C. R. (1989). Dollar Politics: Exchange Rate Policymaking in the United States. Washington, D.C.: Institute for International Economics. Dominguez, K. (1993). Does Central Bank Intervention Increase the Volatility of Foreign Exchange Rates? NBER Working Paper #4532. Dominguez, K., and Frankel, J. (1993a). Foreign exchange intervention: An empirical assessment. In: J. Frankel (ed.), On Exchange Rates, Chapter 16. Cambridge: MIT Press. Dominguez, K., and Frankel, J. (1993b). Does Foreign Exchange Intervention Work? Washington, D.C.: Institute for International Economics. Frankel, J. (1990). The Making of Exchange Rate Policy in the 1980s. NBER Working Paper #3539.

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Frieden, J. (1991). Invested interests: The politics of national economic policies in a world of global finance. International Organization 45:4254–4352. Funabashi, Y. (1988). Managing the Dollar: From the Plaza to Louvre. Washington, D.C.: Institute for International Economics. Gilpin, R. (1987). The Political Economy of International Relations. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Gowa, J. (1988). Public goods and political institutions: Trade and monetary policy processes in the United States. International Organization 42:15–32. Grieco, J. M. (1988). Anarchy and the limits of cooperation: A realist critique of the newest liberal institutionalism. International Organization 42:485–507. Helleiner, E. (1994). States and the Reemergence of Global Finance: From Bretton Woods to the 1990s. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Henning, C. R. (1994). Currencies and Politics in the United States, Germany and Japan. Washington, D.C.: Institute for International Economics. Iida, K. (1995). International cooperation in exchange rate management: Coordination of U.S. and Japanese intervention, 1977–1990. International Interactions 20:279– 295. Ikenberry, G. J. (1988). Conclusion: An institutional approach to American foreign economic policy. In: G. J. Ikenberry, D. A. Lake and M. Mastanduno (ed.), The State and American Foreign Economic Policy. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, pp. 219– 243. Ikenberry, G. J., Lake, D. A., and Mastanduno, M. (1988). Introduction: Approaches to explaining American foreign economic policy. In: G. J. Ikenberry, D. A. Lake and M. Mastanduno (ed.), The State and American Foreign Economic Policy. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, pp. 1–32. Keohane, R. (1986). Neorealism and Its Critics. New York: Columbia University. Keohane, R. (1988). After Hegemony. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Keohane, R. (1993). Institutional theory and the realist challenge after the cold war. In: D. Baldwin (ed.), Neorealism and Neoliberalism: The Contemporary Debate. New York: Columbia University Press, pp. 269–300. King, G. (1989a). Event count models for international relations: Generalization and applications. International Studies Quarterly 33:123–147. King, G. (1989b). Variance specification in event count models: From restrictive assumptions to a generalized estimator. American Journal of Political Science 33:762– 784. King, G. (1989c). Unifying Political Methodology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Krasner, S. (1983). Regimes and the limits of realism. In: S. Krasner (ed.), International Regimes. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Lewis, K. K. (1993). Are Foreign Exchange Intervention and Monetary Policy Related and Does it Really Matter? NBER Working Paper #4377. Lipson, C. (1984). International cooperation in security and economic affairs. World Politics 37:1–23. Luca, C. (1995). Trading in the Global Currency Markets. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice Hall. Marston, R. C. (1987). Exchange Rate Policy Reconsidered. NBER Working Paper #2310.

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Mastanduno, M. (1991). Do relative gains matter? America’s response to Japanese industrial policy. International Security 16:73–113. McCubbins, M. D. (1985). The legislative design of regulatory structure. American Journal of Political Science 29:721–748. Moe, T. M. (1984). The new economics of organization. American Journal of Political Science 28:739–777. Odell, J. S. (1982). U.S. International Monetary Policy: Markets, Power and Ideas as Sources of Change. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Pindyck, R. S., and Rubinfeld, D. L. (1991). Econometric Models and Economic Forecasts. New York: McGraw-Hill, Inc. Putnam, R. D., and Bayne, N. (1987). Hanging Together. London: Sage Publications. Quinn, D. P., and Shapiro, R. Y. (1991). Economic growth strategies: The effects of ideological partisanship on interest rates and taxation. American Journal of Political Science 35:656–685. Ringquist, E. J. (1995). Political control and policy impact in the EPA’s office of water quality. American Journal of Political Science 39:336–364. Schattschneider, E. E. (1935). Politics, Pressures and the Tariff: A Study of Free Enterprise in Pressure Politics. New York: Prentice-Hall. Simmons, B. (1994). Who Adjusts? Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Snidal, D. (1991). Relative gains and the pattern of international cooperation. American Political Science Review 85:701–726. Waltz, K. N. (1979). Theory of International Politics. Reading, MA: Addison-Wesley. Webb, M. (1995). The Political Economy of Policy Coordination. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Weingast, B. R. (1984). The Congressional-bureaucratic system: A principal-agent perspective with applications to the SEC. Public Choice 41:147–192. Weingast, B. R., and Moran, M. J. (1983). Bureaucratic discretion or Congressional control? Regulatory Policymaking by the Federal Trade Commission. Journal of Political Economy 91:765–800. Wood, B. D., and Waterman, R. W. (1994). Bureaucratic Dynamics: The Role of the Bureaucracy in a Democracy. Boulder: Westview Press.

21 Security Policy at the Dawn of the Nuclear Age The Case of the Aircraft Nuclear Propulsion Project Carolyn C. James Iowa State University, Ames, Iowa

I. SYNOPSIS A. Boundaries of the Investigation This study focuses on structures and processes for nuclear force decision-making, particularly scientific advice that is manifested in policy. The selected case study is the Aircraft Nuclear Propulsion (ANP) Project. The substantive concern is with the relationship of scientists to the government, both civilian and military officials, during the formative era for U.S. nuclear policy. Thus, the core research question is this: What role did nuclear experts play in executive branch, nuclearrelated decisions during the crucial, initial phase of development for weapons of mass destruction? If it is discovered that scientists did play a role, several questions flow from this research priority: How did nuclear scientists transmit recommendations to decision-makers in the executive branch? What kinds of influence did scientists use to affect nuclear doctrine under the Truman and Eisenhower administrations? Did scientists become actively involved in the decision-making process early enough to influence the outcome? Influence will be evaluated in terms of an advisor’s success in obtaining acceptance for their recommendations. The impact of individuals, through both formal and informal channels, also will be assessed. 417

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The preceding questions, taken together, constitute an investigation of the content and process of decision-making for a major issue in public policy. Three entities are the principal focus of research: the Atomic Energy Commission’s (AEC) General Advisory Committee (GAC), the President’s Science Advisory Committee (PSAC), and the White House Office of the Special Assistant for Science and Technology, more commonly known as the President’s Science Advisor. The AEC was formed after World War II using an organizational model provided by the wartime Office of Scientific Research and Development (OSRD), headed by Dr. Vannevar Bush (Price, 1954; Baxter, 1968; A. Smith, 1965; Bush, 1945). The AEC reflects a structural compromise between the scientific community (particularly as found in university settings, such as committeestyle decision-making) and traditional government policymaking practices, such as direct access to high government policymakers, including the president.1 Included in this introduction is a brief description and history of the abovenoted advisory groups. The structure of the analysis, including a brief synopsis of the two pertinent literatures, will be presented next. The case study then appears and is followed by concluding remarks. Until the launch of Sputnik, science advisors in the executive branch were located in agencies external to the White House. If the president’s staff, for instance, needed an expert opinion on a security-related technological matter, its members would contact the Science Advisory Committee at the Office of Defense Mobilization. On the day of Sputnik’s launch, October 4, 1957, for example, a member of the White House staff contacted William Carey, a well-known scientist connected to the Bureau of the Budget. The White House urgently wanted to know how it should deal with this sudden change in the security relationship with the USSR (Carey, 1987). Carey advised that the first step should be to put the Science Advisory Committee in the White House and further specify a single individual to be the president’s personal advisor for strategic decisions. The existing Science Advisory Committee was moved, but did not become the personal tool of the president until 1958, when James Killian was brought in from MIT to serve as the first person appointed as the President’s Science Advisor and chairman of the newly formed PSAC. PSAC was active in institutionalization of science advice within the government. It was responsible for creating several new positions, including the Department of Defense’s Advanced Research Projects Agency and Assistant Secretaries of Science and Technology in other departments (Garwin, 1988). Although PSAC met intermittently, the President’s Science Advisor was a full-time job. Creation of a President’s Science Advisor also was promoted by Isodor I. Rabi, a GAC member from December 1946 until August 1956, who originally suggested Killian for this office. PSAC lasted until the Nixon administration, when a member of the committee spoke publicly against the president’s support for the supersonic transport airplane. Although not technically illegal, this action

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undermined the president’s confidence in the committee’s ability to render objective advice on security matters. PSAC was never reinstated, but by act of Congress, the Office of Science and Technology Policy (OSTP) was set up in 1976. Most of the work PSAC supervised was performed by continuing and ad hoc committees comprised of outside experts (Long, 1987). They were selected for special expertise on the matter at hand. Permanent employees of PSAC consisted primarily of staff members. Each committee would be assigned a staff member to work full-time with it in order to coordinate activity. In addition to rendering advice on security issues, PSAC also offered input as to the nature of advisory machinery. For example, at PSAC’s recommendation, the Department of Defense created a position called the Director of Defense Research and Engineering, with Herbert York as the first appointee. The GAC was comprised of nuclear experts from various disciplines, selected by the president (without the need for Senate approval) to render advice on the uses of nuclear energy (Sylves, 1987). These were departmental, rather than presidential committees, however, so they often were able to remain nonpartisan in nature. Since the members came from many scientific disciplines, they offered (at least in theory) a broad range of expertise to the issues at hand. In reality, different individuals tended to reflect loyalties to their disciplines rather than render objective policy assessments. This aspect of the GAC was critical in affecting outcomes since, at times, the complexity of nuclear science and technology elevated the advisors to policymaking status. The amount of influence a scientist exercised was the product of personal contacts within government, status in the field, scientific achievements, and level of expertise. The classified nature of much of the material also meant that advice was given only to occupants of the highest positions of government, who enjoyed top security clearances. The GAC could operate outside AEC mandates and serve in oversight or review functions. The committee was most influential during the Truman administration, losing some of its clout under Eisenhower to the AEC chairman. Part of this shift in power occurred in response to fallout from the Robert Oppenheimer hearings, which tended to cast doubt on all of its members in an indirect sense. When the Department of Energy was formed in 1977, GAC was disbanded, although some of its members at the time continued in other advisory roles. At times, formal scientific organizations, such as the Federation of Atomic Scientists, influenced policymaking by virtue of members placed on advisory committees. Their role grew in proportion to expansion of the atomic energy labs, which reflected wartime structures. Enabled by the McMahon bill, these ‘‘outside’’ labs were owned and supported financially by the federal government, but ran under private contractors.2 The central government, then, worked as an umbrella for several independently run, yet interconnected, research institutes. Why is it worthwhile to probe the influence of science advisors and advisory groups in the domain of public policy? The theoretical importance of

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this chapter derives from its intended contribution to knowledge in two areas: (a) science and government, and (b) security policy, in particular as related to civil-military relations. Science and government refers to the influence of science advisors on policy formulation and execution. Security policy relates to decisions within the executive branch; in fact, most of the critical choices about military strategy and foreign policy are made in that setting today (Huntington, 1961; Wood, 1964). As an illustration, the type, size, and delivery systems for the nuclear force structure are no longer determined by the legislature. The increasing complexity of national security components played a significant role in this shift away from Congress, but not the actual science or its practitioners. Rather, the sheer scope of demands prevented Congress from fulfilling the breadth of planning requirements. Science and government, and security policy, the two foundations for this chapter as related to previous literature, will be summarized in turn. This will help to establish the wider intellectual relevance of the case study that follows. Science and government addresses the effects of the sciences and their practitioners on government. The complexity of some technical issues requires expert knowledge. Understanding how this information is gathered, by and for whom, helps illuminate behavior within the political system. Of particular interest in this case are any modifications to policy processes and leadership roles wrought by an increasingly technical and destructive military strength generated by nuclear physics and molecular chemistry. The kind of policy influence to be researched will be narrower than that found in many works on science and government. A distinction exists between advisory committees interested in ‘‘policy for science’’ and ‘‘science in policy’’ (Brooks, 1964). Most policy for science issues (including peer review for evaluation, awards or funding decisions for scientific research, and design projects outside security or nuclear energy objectives) are beyond the scope of this study. However, controversies concerning research and design programs for future nuclear-related capabilities, for example, the nuclear airplane, will be included. This project will concentrate on science in policy situations. Greater understanding of nuclear decision-making requires an in-depth study of the content and processes of security policymaking within the executive branch, the locus of strategic decisions. The primary concentration in this chapter will be on security issues, most notably with respect to nuclear weapons; science, defense, and foreign policies are interrelated as specific areas of analysis. A subsidiary of security policymaking is the specific relationship between the military and civilian leadership on the one hand and nongovernmental science advisors on the other. Over time, civil-military relations have responded to a variety of forces. In this century, technological advancements have catalyzed change. In particular, the introduction of nuclear weapons has made an impression on the formation processes of its own related military doctrine. Interactions

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between civilian government and military leadership on nuclear issues have been altered by the nature of the weapon itself (Janowitz, 1971). In the nuclear realm (as well as others) a gap exists in the structure of American civil-military relations, lying somewhere between constitutional intent on security issues and reality. This gap is due to a variety of factors, for instance, the American liberal democratic system of government. Another cause is the complexity of nuclear technology. This organizational discrepancy has allowed the military to influence political affairs and civilian concerns to intrude into military affairs. Within the civilian realm, the organizational gap has broadened to encompass more nongovernmental groups, including members of the scientific community. The primary questions to be asked about the preceding areas in the context of the ANP Project are as follows; each query refers to the time period noted at the outset. Who were the most influential actors? How was their influence created? Did it have a lasting effect on overall structure and process regarding nuclear policy?

B. The Structure of the Analysis This chapter parallels in many ways Smith’s (1992) work on science advisory committees: he investigated when and why scientists achieved success in meeting policymakers’ expectations, and under what circumstances they operated most effectively. For example, consider the Defense Science Board (DSB). The DSB was created in 1956 to augment the work done by internal technical experts who, although considered qualified, could not meet all Department of Defense needs. The DSB, as an advisory committee, has had more recommendations adopted when it addresses hotly-contested policy issues than less controversial matters. The concomitant sense of lost objectivity, however, weakens the DSB’s ability to claim more than parochial concerns. Research into the DSB also indicates that, in this instance, the advisory committee requires outside direction to enable it to make a meaningful contribution to the policy process. Final assessments are based upon the advisors’ ability to effectively render recommendations. Smith determined whether or not a scientific advisory committee was successful in influencing a policy’s content on the basis of the following criterion: A simple rule of thumb is that the adviser or committee, while conforming to the agency’s bureaucratic culture, should normally produce some change in attitudes, outlook, and policies, should buy time to allow a process of thought to mature, or should at least reinforce predispositions or policy inclinations beyond what already existed (B. Smith, 1992, p. 6).3

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Here, then, is the fundamental question about the role of scientists: did their input to the policy process make a sufficient impression to alter or add to the way in which nuclear policies were formulated? This chapter will rely upon a model of expected cause and effect relationships within executive level structure and process for scientific consultation. Let T0 represent the point in time at which decision-makers perceive a substantive problem or need in security policy and assume that either the problem or its potential solutions involve nuclear technology. Adopting criteria similar to Davis (1966) in a study with comparable priorities, the pertinent interval continues with investigation of the problem and its possible solutions, designated as T1. T′1 is the time at which a policy proposal is presented for consideration. T2 designates the period of time in which the specific policy proposal is reviewed for possible adoption. The process ends with the executive branch decision to pursue or reject recommendations, designated as T 2′, including whether or not scientific advice met any of Smith’s three criteria for success: altered policy, additional time for review, and/or strengthened predispositions. In cases with multiple policy assessments over time, such as the nuclear airplane, the model recycles, beginning again at T0 when a review of the policy is deemed necessary. If advice is not offered, by definition it will not produce any effect. If prior advice is given, however, there is greater likelihood it will influence decisions. In other words, if expert recommendations had not been made, final policy may have been different. Therefore the model, based on the research question, generates three hypotheses, worded as probabilistic statements: H1: Expert advice offered by nuclear scientists results in a higher probability that policy changes will occur. H2: Expert advice offered by nuclear scientists results in a higher probability that a longer period of time will be taken for policy considerations. H3: Expert advice offered by nuclear scientists results in a higher probability that preexisting policy dispositions will be strengthened. Each of the propositions is inherently falsifiable. The hypotheses are listed in hierarchy of importance according to the level of effect at issue: H1 ⬎ H2 ⬎ H3.4 If advice is not accepted or seen to have some other effect when it is offered, based on the record available through the case study of the ANP Project, then the hypotheses must be rejected. While this may seem to be testing the obvious, there is still utility in the investigation, since the obvious is not always found to be true.5 The case study of ANP will be used to assess the impact of scientific expertise on nuclear weapons policy: research and development efforts toward a nuclear-powered aircraft in the late 1940s and 1950s (including both the Truman and Eisenhower years). At one time ‘‘near and dear’’ to the Air Force, the Aircraft Nuclear Propulsion Project (ANP) never reached the point of implementation.6

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ANP ultimately was unsuccessful in that an aircraft with practical value that used a nuclear reactor for its power plant never materialized. The final decision to scrap the project in 1961 reflected concerns about costs and negative public opinion rather than feasibility. A nuclear-powered airplane remains technically possible but too problematic along several dimensions, including political, to be realized in the foreseeable future. The nuclear jet envisioned by the Air Force would be capable of extremely long-term continuous flight without refueling. Beginning with specific proposals that originated in 1946, ANP ballooned into a research and development project that spanned 15 years, included several governmental and private institutions, and consumed over $1 billion. By the time of its cancellation, ANP had been scrutinized repeatedly by the GAC and in later years the PSAC as well, both comprised of civilian expert advisors. Debate over the nuclear airplane remained primarily in the executive branch throughout its incomplete development. Central participants included the military, private contractors, the AEC, and the GAC. This nearly forgotten venture also was a subject of heated discussion among a wide range of scientific organizations and individual scientists. Actors relevant to this study are concentrated within the executive branch of the U.S. political system, in particular the Office of the President, Department of Defense (DoD), and Department of Energy (DoE). Relations with Congress, while important in the overall process, are beyond the scope of this chapter.7 It is appropriate to begin with the executive branch, the most central branch of national security decision-making. The Office of the President, the DoD, and DoE are logically more germane than other executive agencies, and even more so relative to the congressional and judicial branches of government, in discussions of nuclear doctrine and related classified issues. While these other areas of government will be referred to occasionally, they are considered generally exogenous to the current study. This exclusion, while admittedly limiting the external validity of the findings to some degree, will permit a focused concentration on the more powerful executive branch actors. Some restrictions are essential to make research feasible, so referring to Congress only as it relates directly to the executive branch seems appropriate. Similarly, nongovernmental entities under contract to components of the executive branch also will be included whenever appropriate. The time frame for the nuclear aircraft case study will cover the full duration of the project. Since this venture repeatedly encountered reviews that focused on its continuation versus cancellation, the period of investigation is expanded. Shortly after accepting his post, Secretary of Defense Robert McNamara canceled the project in 1961, an outcome suggesting that earlier threats to its continuation had not been idle. Hence, there will be multiple iterations (i.e., T0 ⫺ ⬎T1 ⫺ ⬎T2) as the decision to pursue or reject the project is revisited. Specifically, there are four periods: August 1945 until May 1951 (Iteration I), June 1951 to May

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1953 (Iteration II), June 1953 to December 1956 (Iteration III), and January 1957 to March 1961 (Iteration IV). In sum, the present investigation seeks to augment existing research on scientific advice, specifically, on nuclear issues for defense policy.

II. CONTENT OF THE ANALYSIS The idea of the ANP Project may seem almost ludicrous today, but in the context of the first 15 years after World War II, it appeared both feasible and desirable (Keirn, 1960; Lambright, 1967; Sylves, 1987). To many informal observers, scientific advancement had brought an early end to the war with Japan in the form of an atomic bomb. It is not uncommon for technological advances to increase in times of national emergency as each side in a conflict tries to improve its relative strength. Breakthroughs in World War II that are associated with the Allied victory include the atomic bomb, radar, and the proximity fuse. Hitler’s decision not to push research and development until 1942 is seen as one explanation for Germany’s ultimate defeat (Brodie and Brodie, 1973). The role of science practitioners is also significant. For example, it was F.A. Lindemann and Henry Tizard of the British Science Advisory Committee to the Royal Air Force that persuaded the Air Marshals to recognize the new radar technology, acquire sufficient confidence in this untested and untried discovery, install radar sets on their planes, and train their flyers to use it. They also had to convince military leadership to respond to the intelligence it produced (Peil, 1987). Nascent atomic energy held an almost mystical promise of technological leaps transforming society forward to a safer, less complicated world (York, 1995), although this mentality was not universal (Skolnikoff, 1991; Snow, 1963). As the Cold War set in and the United States contemplated war with the Soviet Union, a successful ANP offered many advantages. As of 1948, American security was being based increasingly on the threat of atomic retaliation. The only means of delivery, though, was by strategic bombers with limited reach. The mainstay of the Air Force’s future long-range strike capability, the B-52 bomber, would not take to the air until 1952. Even then, in order to protect the nation and its overseas allies, as well as threaten the Soviet Union, the United States depended upon several costly foreign bases. ANP would give the United States the capability to keep an aircraft armed with atomic warheads aloft for days at a time, providing a constantly airborne atomic threat solely dependent upon support from military installations on American soil. U.S. bases in other countries could then be reduced to the political requirements of forward presence and necessary military support for the Army and Navy (Baer, 1957). ANP was the brainchild of then Colonel Donald J. Keirn, an expert in jet engine designs assigned to Wright Field in Dayton, Ohio, during World War II. In

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1944, Col. Keirn wrote to Vannevar Bush, then director of the Office of Science Research and Development (OSRD), and the civilian science advisor closest to President Roosevelt. Keirn wanted to know if research of this kind could be incorporated into the Manhattan Project to develop an atomic bomb. This was not the first request to expand Manhattan Project research. During the war, Edward Teller had pushed for fusion studies. His request would be granted several years later by President Truman in the American drive for a hydrogen or thermonuclear bomb following the Soviet’s first successful atomic detonation (R. Rhodes, 1995). At the time, though, atomic propulsion for aircraft was too far down the list of priorities to be given any real consideration.8 After the war, in August of 1945, President Truman placed a priority on the improvement of military aircraft, thus constituting the beginning of the first iteration (I at T0). Keirn, along with high-ranking members of the Army Air Corps, the Navy’s Bureau of Aeronautics, and private jet engine companies, again raised the idea of an atomic airplane, thus identifying T1. One of the primary private supporters of the idea was J. Carlton Ward, Jr., who in 1945 was the president of Fairchild Engine and Airplane Corporation. Ward and Keirn were able to convince the Army Air Corps to begin feasibility studies. The project was originally under General Groves of the Manhattan Engineering District, with Keirn as the project manager. It was at this time that investigations began to determine if atomic propulsion for aircraft was attainable. As early as 1946, primary research was taking place at Oak Ridge National Laboratory (ORNL), although some elements of the project were already being sub-contracted out to private industry and universities. The original proposal for an aircraft powered by nuclear energy, then known as NEPA, or Nuclear Energy for Propulsion of Aircraft, was submitted in May of 1946 (i.e., T 1′) and produced with nearly all the input coming from the military. Almost immediately, civilian scientists were brought in to review the proposal, i.e., T2. Several feasibility studies were conducted, including the findings of the Research and Development Board of the Department of Defense and the President’s Air Policy Commission. The most important study was conducted in 1948. A group of 40 non-governmental scientists at MIT was assigned to determine overall feasibility of NEPA. Headed by Professor Walter G. Whitman, chairman of MIT’s Department of Chemical Engineering, the effort was tagged the ‘‘Lexington Project,’’ and fell under the auspices of the Joint Committee on Atomic Energy (JCAE) and the AEC. The Lexington Project concluded in September of 1948 that successful fruition of a nuclear aircraft project would require development of improved metals and more potent chemical fuels. Thus, ANP was possible, but with the warning that it would probably cost upwards of $1 billion and take as long as 15 years. This prediction proved to be not far off the mark. The first iteration ends at T 2′ and the second (iteration II) begins at T0 when ANP was formally adopted as a project in mid-1951, placing research and devel-

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opment emphasis on the power plant. This did not occur, though, without skepticism. Each of the next three iterations would be fraught with criticism. Within the AEC itself, the GAC had a fairly consistent track record of doubt about the nuclear airplane, in spite of the fact that Whitman himself served on the GAC from 1950 to 1956. (Another proponent, who served on the GAC from 1952 to 1958, was former NEPA project director and AEC research division director, James B. Fisk.) According to the official AEC history, GAC worried that the project was controlled not by nuclear physicists engaged in pure science, or ‘‘basic research,’’ but by engineers responsible for scientific applications, or ‘‘applied research.’’9 This could mean that a great deal of effort would be spent on developing engines and airframes rather than concentrating on the actual nuclear reactors. In other words, too few individuals involved in the project really understood atomic energy and the challenges the project faced. Instead, administrative and public relations issues could take precedence and endanger ultimate success (Hewlett and Duncan, 1969). Objections also came from the private sector. Robert J. Oppenheimer and James B. Conant stated as early as 1948 that, although the aircraft could be developed, technological barriers were too immense to make the endeavor cost-effective. At that point, their objections were overruled. Although it appeared in political circles to be something of an albatross, ANP was jealously sought after in many quarters. For example, then director of ORNL, Alvin M. Weinberg, wanted the project headquartered at Oak Ridge. He succeeded only in terms of the planning stages. The Air Force was his main competition. The plane originally was to be supersonic and had a target date for completion in the early 1960s. The Air Force, though, wanted to move up delivery and decided it would be easier to produce a subsonic aircraft that used an existing airframe such as the B-52. Lawrence R. Hafstad, AEC engineering division director, concurred with this decision. Work proceeded from this point under an Air Force and AEC Joint Office of Aircraft Nuclear Propulsion, directed by Major General Keirn. It was at this time that the project took the name ‘‘aircraft nuclear propulsion,’’ placing the emphasis on reactor rather than airframe development. According to the Atomic Energy Act, all nuclear reactor research had to be conducted under the auspices of the AEC. The split between the Air Force and the AEC enabled much more funding for ANP than if it had been exclusively under one organization or the other. This was a boon for such a project, since it also meant that the AEC would provide the funding, not the DoD (Hewlett and Duncan, 1969). Throughout the project, GAC reviews were found to be either ambivalent or negative. Cost was of primary concern, but the feasibility of ever achieving a nuclear-powered flight also was questioned repeatedly. GAC often suggested that funding and human talent would be better utilized elsewhere. In addition, some of its members feared that the introduction of atomic-powered aircraft could damage existing airline industries.

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The change in presidential administrations did not immediately alter ANP’s status. Originally begun by the Truman administration, President Eisenhower was apparently not aware of the project until November 20, 1952. At a meeting with top AEC officials early in his administration, the president said that ANP seemed ‘‘fanciful.’’ Commissioner Eugene M. Zuckert defended AEC decisions on their effort to give the Air Force what it had wanted. The president reprimanded Zuckert by insisting that the civilian agency had a responsibility to expose useless ventures, adding that he wanted to establish a mechanism for scientific experts to review this and other developmental projects (Hewlett and Holl, 1989). These reviews would reaffirm that, concurrent with the ANP’s advantages, were some extremely ambitious technological challenges to be overcome. From ANP’s official birth date of May, 1951, until its cancellation a decade later, a heated debate existed over flight testing. In essence, the task was to design and build a nuclear reactor power plant that safely could be used to power a jet engine. A controversy existed about the basic engineering of the nuclear reactor that was reflected in the fundamental policy debate as well. There were three camps (Lambright, 1967). The first advocated a ‘‘fly early’’ goal. Whether or not the aircraft was appropriate for its designated missions, the United States would be the first nation to fly a jet powered by nuclear energy. The Air Force advocated this approach as well as the JCAE and the AEC (Green and Rosenthal, 1963). The technological ramification of a ‘‘fly early’’ decision was a push for a direct cycle reactor. General Electric was given the primary contract for its development, eventually taking over much of the work begun at Oak Ridge. Both direct and indirect cycle reactors provide power by heating air. True to its name, the direct cycle reactor supplies the turbine with heated air flowing directly from the reactor core. This method is simpler, in that technological barriers are fewer and less complex. Hence, an atomic-powered jet engine could be functional sooner. The problem, though, was that this reactor would be larger and heavier, a dilemma that could ultimately cause delays in actual airborne deployment. The White House and DoD advisors represented a second view, tending to support the indirect cycle. It made more sense in terms of creating an airplane that could serve military purposes. Pratt and Whitney were responsible for its development and would use a system that heated a liquid metal coolant in the reactor. The coolant was then channeled through loops to the engine, where the air to run the turbines was heated. This reactor would be quite complex, requiring more time for research and development, but more compact since liquid metal is a better conductor of heat than air. A third group, including the Bureau of the Budget, part of the House Appropriations Committee, and the various Secretaries of Defense, was the least enthusiastic. For them it was not a question of reactor technology, but a desire to see ANP cut back or canceled altogether. Some nuclear scientists and engineers also were included in this group, but their opposition typically had a moral rather than

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a practical foundation. The purpose of ANP was, after all, to build a more effective delivery system for a weapon of mass destruction; the objection, therefore, was to the mission purpose rather than the technology. Whether the choice would be to cancel, ‘‘fly early’’ with a direct cycle reactor, or be patient and wait for a more mission-worthy aircraft, the decision was political in nature. It was also unanswered for ANP’s duration, resulting in simultaneous and costly programs (Comptroller General, 1963). A secondary concern about overall ANP development was the provision of an appropriate airframe. Since the aircraft would be manned, sufficient shielding was necessary to protect the crew from radioactivity. The reactor also had to be much smaller than the existing technology allowed. In order to be compact enough and light enough to be used in an airplane, it would have to release more energy, some 500 percent more heat than the first submarine reactor. The shielding, therefore, would need to be more efficient than was available. Existing land-based reactors at the time usually were protected by six feet of concrete.10 Concern about radioactive contamination following a crash was dealt with summarily by the science experts: atomic-powered aircraft would fly over sparsely populated areas, including Canadian territory as well as American. Other technological obstacles included developing tires resistant to ionizing radiation from engine exhaust and materials able to withstand extremely high temperatures. After several recommendations to cancel ANP, in 1953 it was nearly eliminated. Among those who opposed continuation of ANP was Edward Teller, who stated in September 1953 in his capacity as an AEC consultant that he doubted the airplane could ever reach the test flight stage (Lambright, 1967). In March, 1953, or T1 in the second iteration, the Ad Hoc Committee of the Air Force Advisory Board, the group that provides advice to the Chief of Staff, suggested that the project be cut in half due to cost and delays. By late spring, and at the urging of the National Security Council, the DoD recommended cancellation (i.e., T′1). Objections came from the Joint Committee on Atomic Energy’s Subcommittee on Reactor Development, thus identifying T2. When cancellation of the ANP was being considered, Eisenhower needed JCAE cooperation to change part of the Atomic Energy Act in the administration’s effort to improve the role of private industry. The compromise at T 2′ was a poor one; all ANP funds in the 1954 fiscal budget were removed, but the program continued in minimal form on unallocated funds diverted by the Air Force. At the beginning of the third iteration at T0, controversy would revive ANP, in this case interservice rivalry. Proponents within the Air Force and the Navy claimed that ANP would give the United States a decisive advantage. The Air Force continued to point out the value of having 1000-hour strategic bombers that did not require refueling. In addition to being based in the United States, it could be used to strike any missed targets following a missile attack. The Navy felt a 1000-hour jet would be better served in anti-submarine warfare. Flying

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close to the ocean surface, it would be able to conduct thorough sweeps of vast areas in remote locations. Disagreements over the design of the airframe, mission purpose, and which service would continue to control a jet with nuclear propulsion continued with participants both in and out of uniform. DoD squabbling meant a lot of headaches for AEC and national laboratories such as Oak Ridge. Almost every time the DoD went through a policy spasm, alterations would be called for on the project. Due to the interrelated nature of ANP components, nearly every change that had a technological requirement impacted reactor development whether it was specifically about the reactor or not. Problems such as these contributed to a rising price tag that had reached over $600 million between the years of 1953 and 1958 alone. The Navy began the quarrel in 1953. The Air Force responded quickly, this time led by General LeMay, whose earlier interest in ANP was minimal at best. In previous years, LeMay’s Strategic Air Command had not exhibited as much interest in this kind of long-term research and development project, concentrating instead on procuring conventional long-range bombers. Yet, in April, 1954, the Air Force announced that ANP was needed as soon as possible. Their argument had some substance to it, since advances on the technological side had been made, particularly in shielding. This first tenuous period of the third iteration was eased by two events, the first of which occurred on August 12, 1953, when the Soviet Union successfully detonated its own thermonuclear device. Scientists who had fought against nuclear propulsion were suspected of intentionally slowing the project to the advantage of the USSR. These sentiments were reinforced by the recent Oppenheimer hearings and the wave of anti-Communist McCarthyism. In fact, during the hearings, Air Force Major General Roscoe C. Wilson testified that scientists had objected to ANP development, with the implication being that their loyalty might be in question (AEC, 1954). The second event came in January, 1954, when Secretary of State John Foster Dulles made his massive retaliation speech, threatening the Soviet Union with all-out nuclear punishment for any transgression. This effectively sealed the priority of the strategic bombing mission (E. Rhodes, 1989). The deciding factor came in the form of a report from the National Advisory Committee for Aeronautics, the predecessor to NASA, issued early in 1955, urging the acceleration of ANP, i.e., T1. With hopes for ANP revived, the Air Force issued General Operational Requirement (GOR) No. 81, also known as Weapon System 125A, which would be a nuclear-powered, supersonic airplane for delivering nuclear warheads. It also called for an acceleration of ANP so a prototype would be airborne by 1959. The proposal was ultimately accepted by both the AEC and the DoD at T 1′ . The critics were numerous, in particular the Navy, which still supported ANP, but not the Air Force’s version, at T2. The Navy increased pressure for an atomic-

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powered aircraft of their own. They argued that it made more sense to have an atomic seaplane, since accidents would expose fewer civilians to harmful radiation than an airplane that lands on solid ground. The Navy also pointed out that current engine designs, both for Pratt and Whitney and General Electric, did not meet specifications for a Navy seaplane. The Air Force, wishing to control DoD supervision of ANP on the uniformed side of the Pentagon within their service, indicated that the sea-based aircraft could be co-opted into their strategic bombing mission. They also proposed augmenting their own nuclear reactor-powered engines with chemical engines to boost the plane’s speed to 2000 miles per hour. The proposed Navy project was itself under attack. GAC virtually ridiculed the idea. An example of this negative sentiment is seen in the September 22, 1955 letter from Eugene P. Wigner to GAC chairman Isodor I. Rabi, objecting to the work Pratt and Whitney had done on engine development. An enormous amount of money had been paid to them already and Wigner questioned whether they would ever be able to come up with a working prototype. Another of the GAC members, Edwin M. McMillan, stated, ‘‘It would be sensible to fly one nuclear airplane before getting deluged with others’’ (GAC minutes, 1955). But the Navy still managed to spend several million dollars on preliminary designs before President Eisenhower finally ended their effort at inclusion. It seemed to him that, in reality, the services were fighting over a slice of the nuclear pie that GAC doubted would ever be served. Another important setback came in a report from the Air Force Science Advisory Board Nuclear Panel on the USAF ANP Program that recommended caution in proceeding with the project. In recognition of this and other highranking recommendations against ANP, the overall budget was cut and its mission restricted to concentrate more on pure research for nuclear propulsion systems and shielding, thus identifying T 2′ in the third iteration. As late as 1957, there was still concern that the reactor would be light and small enough for an airplane yet provide protection for the air crew. In January, 1957, even GAC member Weinberg, a staunch proponent, remarked, ‘‘The main problem of nuclear flight is the problem of obtaining adequate thrust with sufficient low weight’’ (GAC Minutes, 1957). Yet this year the project would not be canceled either. Iteration IV begins in 1957 as advocates of ANP argue for its revival at T0. Once again, progress in Soviet technology and a perceived imbalance in relative power would play a key role. On October 4, 1957, the Soviet Union launched Sputnik, raising the specter of an intercontinental missile launched from Russian soil striking the United States. This development of an intercontinental delivery system was seen by some as more threatening than the payload (Davis, 1967). At this same time the rumor, later debunked, began circulating that the Soviets were nearing success in developing their own atomic-powered propulsion systems for aircraft. This was due in large part to a more than sensational story by Representative Melvin Price, head of the JCAE and an avid supporter of ANP, following his visit to the Soviet

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Union (Green and Rosenthal, 1963). In the same fervor that existed at the end of World War II, science and technology panaceas again were sought, raising science to new levels of hope for answers to American national security threats. Similar solutions were being considered in the executive branch and were manifested in the creation of the President’s Science Advisor and the President’s Science Advisory Committee. Thus, at T1, in this fourth and final iteration, the United States entered another period of policy debates about nuclear force structures, including ANP’s ultimate role. Concomitant with the rise in expectations from the scientific community was a resurgence of interest in ANP specifically. Trying to take advantage of the Sputnik reactions, the Navy took one last stab at ANP, arguing that it would be a slow, subsonic jet, and therefore undesirable for the Air Force. The anti-submarine warfare role was reintroduced, but to no avail. Congressman Price represented the basic response from Capitol Hill. He asked the president to place as the priority for ANP a successful flight of a test-bed using a nuclear power plant as soon as possible. Price and others like him were concerned as much with prestige as they were with deployable weapon systems. ‘‘Fly early’’ became ‘‘fly first,’’ before the Soviet Union embarrassed the United States again. The GAC was not as easily swayed by the furor over Sputnik. After a status report from Oak Ridge was received stating that a flight soon would be possible due to imminent technological breakthroughs, Chairman Warren C. Johnson told AEC Chairman Lewis L. Strauss in November of 1957, ‘‘We believe that such an airplane will not serve any objective purpose and will be very expensive. Considering the great urgency of several other programs, and considering the budgetary situation, we feel that to plan such a flight is unwise. Most particularly we feel that one should not justify such a flight on the basis of propaganda designed to counter the Russian successes in the satellite field.’’11 GAC voted unanimously to recommend against earlier flight. GAC’s decision was supported by the newly formed science advisory machinery in the White House. The President’s Science Advisor, James Killian, selected a group of scientists and engineers from PSAC, headed by Robert Bacher, to submit a recommendation. Although many on the Bacher Panel recommended immediate cancellation, the majority view was reflected in the report. In essence, ‘‘fly first’’ was replaced with a commitment to basic research on improving reactor performance and component materials. The Eisenhower administration followed the Bacher Panel proposals. The JCAE reacted badly, especially to the news that the Bacher Panel report would not be turned over to them. President Eisenhower held firmly to the stand that communications between him and his science advisors was privileged information. Instead of ANP ending after the Bacher report, it muddled on through the end of the Eisenhower administration. More rumors were circulating of a Soviet ANP, and attacks from Congress had spilled over into the media. Administration unwillingness to share the Bacher Panel report raised additional suspicions about

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White House knowledge. The furor reached a peak with the publication of a socalled Air Force leak that the Soviets had already test-flown a nuclear-powered long-range bomber (Holz, 1958). It is not surprising that the president decided to delay complete cancellation in the face of public outcry for a nuclear-powered jet as soon as possible. Publicly he did hold firm to the conviction that ‘‘fly first’’ was impractical. Funding was cut and remaining dollars became devoted to basic power plant research, but research into both the direct and indirect cycle reactors continued. By 1958, the AEC, providing indirect support for the President, noted that conventional aircraft were being successfully developed that could do an equal or even better job of fulfilling ANP mission requirements in certain areas (Hewlett and Duncan, 1969). The Air Force needed a new proposal that would provide the critical mission needed to preserve ANP. In October of 1958, GOR No. 172 was issued, thus signifying point T 1′ of the final iteration. Known as CAMAL, the Continuously Airborne-Alert Missile Launching and Low-Level Penetrator Weapons System placed emphasis on very low bombing attack capability at subsonic speed but did not specify an accompanying weapon system. Despite this shift in requirements from supersonic speed and high altitude capability, CAMAL did not settle any disputes. Instead, it produced even more heated debates, i.e., T2. As of May 7, 1959, at a meeting with Air Force and Army leaders, the DoD may well have requested emphasis on the direct cycle reactor, the choice for the ‘‘fly-first’’ advocates, since Deputy Secretary of Defense, Donald A. Quarles, seemed to indicate his support. However, Quarles died suddenly the next day. His role in ANP went over to a new position, the Director of Defense Research and Engineering (DDRE), a post held by Herbert York of the University of California’s Radiation Laboratory at Livermore. The DDRE was a particularly powerful position, referred to in some circles as the ‘‘vice-president for science.’’ York’s excellent reputation in the DoD and at the White House served to further magnify his influence. York wanted to reach a decision on one reactor or the other as quickly as possible, promoting the indirect cycle as his personal favorite.12 York received a great deal of criticism for his decision, not surprisingly, from supporters of General Electric’s direct cycle reactor. GAC’s stance also softened. Its Reactors Subcommittee forwarded the opinion that, if the DoD wished to continue development, it should suspend Pratt and Whitney’s indirect cycle reactor and pursue only the General Electric direct cycle reactor. The JCAE’s response was to hold public hearings on ANP, the only time this would occur. Many views were aired on both sides of the issue, including the Air Force’s effort to gain permission for CAMAL. The administration was not moved. ANP faded further into almost pure research, but still without choosing one type of reactor over the other. Still concerned about negative public opinion and media coverage, the president decided to leave the matter for his successor. When the Kennedy administration came to power in 1961, one of McNa-

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mara’s first major cancellations was ANP, i.e., T 2′. Fearing a highly publicized accident, the new Secretary of Defense cited hazards to public relations as much as any physical damage (Hilgartner et al., 1982). GAC agreed. A nuclear airplane might be possible, but the investment in time and money was still prohibitively high and the environmental dangers remained controversial.

III. CONCLUSION It is appropriate now to review the progress of scientific advice about the ANP Project and then return to the three hypotheses in order to assess them on the basis of the evidence as a whole. The initial drive for the specific program of ANP began in 1946 when Keirn (with support from elements of the Army, Navy, and private industry) pushed successfully for feasibility studies. In spite of some dissent among individual scientists, the project was approved for research and development on the basis of reports from the Research Defense Board, the Air Policy Commission and the Lexington project, all efforts that were sponsored by the executive branch. Particularly after the initial NEPA proposal was put forth, scientific advice was critical to decision-making. Referring back to the original hypotheses, H1, expert advice offered by nuclear scientists results in a higher probability that policy changes will occur, cannot be rejected. During the second major period of consideration, three main entities questioned ANP’s future: GAC, the president, and the Department of Defense (including the Air Force). The JCAE was the primary supporter of ANP at this time. Scientific advice generally went against project continuation. Changes in the perceived balance of power with the Soviet Union, heightened anti-Communist sentiment at home, and interservice rivalry overrode the predominantly negative expert opinion from the scientific community. These advisors, however, primarily in the form of GAC, kept the issue alive. The program was cut back, but the decision to cancel was put off. This offers tentative support to H2 (i.e., expert advice offered by nuclear scientists results in a higher probability that a longer period of time will be taken for policy considerations). The June, 1953 to December, 1956 time frame closely resembled the preceding iteration. Most of the GAC members were against continuation of ANP. Even proponents of the program began to have concerns about its successful fruition. Once again, outside influences, primarily Sputnik and the rumored Soviet atomic jet, prevented cancellation. The controversy remained, though, once again consistent with H2. The final period of 1957 until cancellation witnessed a weakening of GAC’s stance against ANP, but the introduction of two new actors: the President’s Science Advisor and PSAC. PSAC, in the form of the Bacher Panel report, and the

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two science advisors to the president, Killian and Kistiakowsky, all recommended either cancellation or severe reduction. The DoD, as represented by its DDRE, Herbert York, wanted to concentrate on just one reactor program. They saw their options as focusing on which reactor would be developed, not whether one would be developed in the first phase. In the face of such overwhelming opposition, postponement was chosen for political reasons. It took a new administration in office, still enjoying its honeymoon period, for cancellation to occur without fear of congressional or public condemnation. Only then can H1 be said to receive clear support. Viewed in terms of its ability to keep the chances of cancellation alive, GAC can be viewed as effective, although having a weaker impact than if a firm decision had been made one way or the other. It did manage to keep the issue active for many years until a responsive ear was found in the persons of President Kennedy and his Secretary of Defense Robert McNamara. Had GAC and other civilian scientists not been capable of input, the continual review process may not have been as stringent. As for PSAC and the President’s Science Advisor, their opinions may well have facilitated the new administration’s decision to end ANP. The application of atomic energy to American defense policy clearly has altered the relationship of science to government, particularly concerning the roles of individual expert advisors to the executive branch. Whether through committee appointments or individual posts, such as the DDRE or the President’s Science Advisor, the practitioners of nuclear science became more intimate with policymaking procedures during the Truman and Eisenhower administrations. The results were readily visible as increased influence by government advisors on national security decisions. The scope of this influence reached into both civilian and military spheres, inherently affecting the civil-military relationship itself. Additional research involving recently declassified materials should further illuminate the role of the preceding advisors. Once results are fully compiled, the relationship of nuclear scientists as advisors to civilian and military members of the Truman and Eisenhower administrations should be more properly understood. Future applications of this study, for instance, comparison with later administrations or other forms of government, then can be undertaken.

NOTES 1. Since the OSRD was part of the Office for Emergency Management, Dr. Bush found himself on equal footing with top military leaders as well. 2. Military control of nuclear energy research was manifested in the May-Johnson bill, which was not passed into law, while the ultimately successful McMahon bill placed

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6. 7.

8. 9. 10.

11. 12.

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nuclear research under the civilian-run AEC. President Truman signed the McMahon bill on July 26, 1946. Thus preservation of the status quo can be taken as evidence of influence as long as an otherwise relatively high probability of a change in policy can be demonstrated. H1 and H3 are inconsistent with each other, on the surface. But in a given case, each still could be true about different components of policy. The use of probabilistic statements as hypotheses reflects that fact that patterns may be discerned in ‘‘social regularities which are known to have exceptions’’ (Babbie, 1995). The acronym NEPA, or Nuclear Energy for the Propulsion of Aircraft, also is used in the earliest stages of the project. As cited above, the overwhelming majority of critical choices about military strategy and foreign policy are made in the executive branch, therefore it becomes the natural choice for an assessment of impact among expert consultants. As will be seen, Congress did attempt to overcome scientific criticisms of the ANP Project through the media and in public hearings. A later, post-war approach to Bush was also made, but simply turned down by him as impractical. The distinction between basic and applied science reflects the definition used by Sapolsky (1990). Ceramic materials were one avenue of testing for shielding. Although the nuclear airplane never took flight, the technology gained in this one area would mature to be useful later—as shielding tiles for the space shuttle. Letter, December 10, 1957, Department of Energy Archives, Germantown, MD, as quoted in Sylves (1987), The Nuclear Oracles, p. 139. Killian’s successor, George B. Kistiakowksy, agreed with York that only the indirect cycle had any real potential for practical use (Kistiakowsky, 1976).

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22 Expanding the Existing Nuclear Disarmament Regime Prospects for Bilateral U.S.–Russian Cooperation George A. MacLean University of Manitoba, Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada

I. INTRODUCTION In many ways, multilateral cooperation [1] in the field of nuclear disarmament is the most important dynamic in the post–Cold War era. Indeed, the end of the rhetorical hostilities between East and West has allowed for a more constructive dialogue amongst significant actors regarding arms control, disarmament, and the general security of the international system. However, while this new ‘‘order’’ has to its credit successes, such as the indefinite renewal of the Nuclear NonProliferation Treaty in April 1995, it also has been marked by setbacks, including the recent failure of the Comprehensive Test Ban Treaty (CTBT) talks in Geneva, Switzerland [2]. Varying degrees of success, then, have led to inevitable questions about the structure and scope of strategic issues as we move further away from the Cold War period. This paper examines the effects of collaborative efforts (particularly those of the United States and Russia) to reduce the threat of nuclear materials diversion and their general implications for the process of nuclear disarmament and nonproliferation. These initiatives are indicative of the next logical dimension of the nuclear restraint regime, referred to here as ‘‘nuclear materials elimination.’’ These developments in international security regimes, and particularly those relating to materials non-proliferation, are couched in burgeoning cooperative rela439

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tions between the United States and Russia that have precipitated and established a broader multilateral relationship for disarmament and non-proliferation. Importantly, cooperation in the area of nuclear controls between the former Soviet Union and the United States constitutes a unique opportunity for confidence building and security assurances. The impetus for this new cooperation emanates both from the domestic sphere of what commonly is referred to as the ‘‘national interest’’ of these countries, and the international structure of relative power and state-to-state relations. In short, cooperative initiatives in nuclear restraint are the result of the nexus of domestic and international levels of analysis [3]. Overall, the conclusions here contribute to our understanding of order and change in the international system as they pertain to security concerns and the specific relationship between the United States and Russia. Developments in the post–Cold War era between East and West are representative of new thinking in strategic relations. In light of emerging and particularly post–Cold War security challenges, it is necessary to reexamine the security climate of our contemporary system in order to best understand both the context and the direction of change.

II. NUCLEAR RESTRAINT REGIMES: THE COLD WAR AND BEYOND The Cold War nuclear arms race was a story involving two primary actors and four main acts [4], predicated on the control and manipulation of military atomic energy. America’s use of the atomic bomb in the war with Japan marked the beginning of the first period of the arms race and the introduction of the truly strategic side of nuclear energy. The period of American nuclear monopoly lasted until 1949. At that time, the United States could have waged a unilateral nuclear war against the Soviet Union, with no fear of similar reprisals [5]. Although the Soviets gained nuclear capability long before it was thought possible by the Americans, the United States still retained this dominance through the second stage until the late 1950s. During most of the 1960s the United States still held a first strike capability, but by the end of this decade, the USSR reached a rough balance with the United States, which is maintained until the end of the Cold War. The stages of the nuclear arms race set the conditions and established the principal actors for the accompanying disarmament process. There were other players, of course [6], but the circumstances set by the two superpowers dominated the substance of nuclear restraint negotiations for the duration of the Cold War. Moreover, while the nuclear buildup was accompanied by other areas of arms acquisitions such as conventional, biological, and chemical weapons, strate-

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gic nuclear weapons posed the greatest single threat to international peace and security. As Lawrence Freedman has argued, the nuclear arms race during the Cold War was marked by the ‘‘importance of being first’’ [7]. Although both sides recognized the unavoidable mutual losses that would accompany a nuclear war, it was nonetheless important to maintain, to quote Paul Nitze, ‘‘a position of nuclear attack-defense superiority’’ [8]. The nuclear arms race of the Cold War period, therefore, was a strategic balance of terror, and a time of mutual nuclear deterrence [9]. Forming the backbone to this time of mutual distrust and antagonism, the nuclear arms race established a seemingly intractable dynamic. A virtual state of affairs between the two nations, nuclear capability as policy underwent a series of configurations. For American strategic doctrine, nuclear strategy evolved from a period of unilateral monopoly, to a policy of massive retaliation, flexible response, mutual assured destruction, extended deterrence, countervailing tactics, and finally to weapons reduction and preventative diplomacy. The USSR also held a war-avoidance strategy during the Cold War; however, sderzhivanie (denying the enemy a victory) and ustrashenie (response with punishing retaliation) were the core of the Soviet’s nuclear strategy, which sought to prevent any attempt at American strategic superiority [10]. Yet as the nuclear arms race escalated, corresponding attempts to control the development of weapons continued. The arms control-disarmament initiatives were a recognition by both parties that procurement should not go unchecked; they also formed the basis for a confidence-building mechanism between the nuclear adversaries. These initiatives allowed for continued dialogue and a means of maintaining relative balance between the United States and the Soviet Union, avoiding a disproportionate and therefore unstable power relationship. Although arms control has a long and varied history [11], it had a particularly crucial role during the Cold War. Hence, arms control is most often associated with that period. Superpower negotiations aimed at controlling or reducing nuclear weapons represent a period that has spanned over 30 years, working toward the eventual goal of complete nuclear disarmament [12]. The ‘‘process’’ element is significant here because it brings to bear the increasing and progressive scope of arms control agreements and treaties, moving from issues of testing and possession, to limitation and eventually reduction. The outcome of the process has led to the nub of the problem itself: controls and alternate uses of military fissionable material. The elimination of military fissile material, therefore, is in fact the desired ‘‘endgame’’ of the arms control and disarmament process since eliminating this material by definition eliminated the related nuclear capability. Numerous arms control and disarmament treaties—multilateral as well as bilateral—were negotiated during the Cold War [13]. Reflective of the era in which they were negotiated and signed, as well as the foreign policies of those

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administrations involved, these treaties represent a progression in both scope and subject matter. Broadly speaking, the most significant arms control initiatives reflect five main stages of the nuclear restraint regime: testing, possession, limitation, reduction, and elimination (see Table 1). Furthermore, the final stage—the endgame, as it were [14]—reveals the importance of fissile material for the logical evolution of the regime [15]. At the center of new developments in nuclear restraint is the matter of control over fissile material in both multilateral and bilateral arms control efforts. Important advancements in this field include the U.S.–Russian Highly Enriched Uranium (HEU) agreement, bilateral agreements on the cessation of plutonium production (the Gore-Chernomyrdin agreement), and the current pre-negotiation efforts toward a fissile material production ban in Geneva [16]. These developments, in concert with nuclear weapons treaties (Strategic Arms Reduction Treaty I and II, Intermediate Nuclear Forces treaty) are indicative of the possibilities for arms control and disarmament in the post–Cold War environment, yet also serve as an example for other nuclear weapons possessing states and the so-called ‘‘threshold’’ states (those that likely have nuclear weapons programs but have not acknowledged it officially). A logical, albeit complicated, trajectory is the incorporation of these other states into the new regime of nuclear weapons and materials controls. The immediacy surrounding fissile material controls is reflective of a ‘‘new’’ international security concern that has replaced the former strategic dilemmas of the Cold War. Admittedly, while it is not entirely a new issue, it has at least increased its significance for non-proliferation efforts. This developing security dilemma involves existing inventories of fissile material that may be used in the manufacturing of nuclear weapons, as well as ongoing production of new fissile material. In many ways, this issue is of primary concern in that fissile material constitutes the most important component for the construction of nuclear weapons. With no controls over weapons grade fissile material [17], there can be little hope of effective control over proliferation, both vertical and horizontal [18], of nuclear weapons themselves.

A. The Paradigm in Context: Previous Restraint Regimes 1. Testing As signatories to the Limited (or Partial) Test Ban Treaty (LTBT) of 1963 (along with over 100 other nations that have signed since), the United States and Soviet Union pledged to eliminate nuclear testing in the air, under water, and in outer space. The LTBT was a watershed in the control of nuclear arms, beginning the cooperative side of the nuclear relationship between the two parties. Furthermore, it took the nearly disastrous Cuban Missile Crisis of 1962 to convince the two

Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty (NPT), 1968

Strategic Arms Limitation Talks (SALT I), 1972; SALT II, not ratified

Intermediate-Range Nuclear Forces Treaty (INF); Strategic Arms Reduction Talks (START I), signed 1991; START II, signed 1993 HEU Agreement (1994); Plutonium Disposition Agreement (1993); Fissile Material Cutoff PreNegotiation Talks, ongoing

Possession

Limitation

Reduction

Materials elimination

Limited (Partial) Test Ban Treaty (LTBT), 1963

Representative treaty/agreement

Testing

Regime

Bilateral: U.S.–Russia; Multilateral: Conference on Disarmament (CD) members, 63 states

Bi/Trilateral: United States, Russian Federation, Ukraine

Bilateral: United States, Soviet Union

Multilateral: 170⫹ states

Multilateral: over 100 signatory states

Actors or dimension

Table 1 Paradigmatic Development: Nuclear Restraint Regimes

Eliminated nuclear testing in air, outer space, and under water Addressed ‘‘horizontal’’ proliferation; committed NWS to limit ‘‘vertical’’ proliferation SALT I: Limited land- and sea-based delivery vehicles; Anti-Ballistic Missile (ABM) treaty; compliance verification SALT II: sought to limit heavy bombers, MIRVed systems INF: Abolished intermediate nuclear weapons; START I: reduced warheads and launchers; START II: reduced warheads to 3000–3500 each Conversion of HEU; Pu production ban, explosive fissile material production ban

Coverage

Widened scope for fissile material controls

Call for deployment, dismantlement and storage agreements; Cooperative Threat Reduction (CTR) program; fissile material coverage

Initiated call for Comprehensive Test Ban Treaty (CTBT) Widened role for International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA); pressure for CTBT Led to reduction talks

Subsequent developments

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nations that increased communication was vital for the maintenance of security and the avoidance of first use [19]. The initial proposals of the LTBT—still not signed by two possessing powers, China and France—have been used as a basis for a wider testing regime, most notably the efforts to institute a Comprehensive Test Ban Treaty (CTBT) [20]. 2. Possession Increasing the breadth of nuclear weapons controls, the Nuclear Nonproliferation Treaty (NPT) of 1968 created a decidedly asymmetrical system of possessor and non-possessor states [21]. The NPT was intended to address ‘‘horizontal’’ proliferation by prohibiting new states from acquiring nuclear weapons in exchange for a commitment amongst established nuclear powers to limit ‘‘vertical’’ proliferation through the reduction of their own nuclear arsenals. While the multilateral component of the NPT was obviously crucial for containing emerging nuclear weapons programs, the commitment to reduce weapons signalled the beginning of U.S.–Soviet warhead reduction negotiations culminating in the START agreements. The May 1995 NPT renewal conference meetings in New York ended in a decision to extend the treaty indefinitely into the future. In addition, largely as a result of United States pressure, the possessing states agreed to seek a CTBT and a pledge to continue reducing warheads with an intention to eliminate them completely [22]. 3. Limitation Following the success of the NPT talks in the late 1960s, nuclear weapons treaties moved from issues of testing and possession to limitation. Mounting U.S. concern regarding the increasing vulnerability of its nuclear forces, in concert with the emerging relative symmetry with the Soviets, led to the first Strategic Arms Limitation Talks (SALT I) signed in 1972. As an interim agreement, SALT I placed a ceiling on the number of land- and sea-based strategic nuclear delivery vehicles the two sides had while negotiating a more substantive treaty (SALT II). SALT I did not preclude the development of MIRV (Multiple Independently Targetted Re-entry Vehicle) technology [23], but did freeze the number of offensive strategic missiles deployed or constructed for the following five years. SALT I is also important because it contained the Anti-Ballistic Missile (ABM) treaty restricting each side to only two ABM sites—one at the capital city and another elsewhere. Both sides believed that the ABM treaty protected their strategic offensive capability [24]. SALT I created a verification process through which each side could monitor the other’s compliance to the agreement. SALT II was meant to continue the ‘‘obligation’’ both sides had to further limit the development of strategic offensive arms. SALT II, essentially outlined at the 1974 Vladivostok talks between U.S. President Ford and Soviet General

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Secretary Brezhnev, sought to limit strategic nuclear delivery vehicles including heavy bombers at an aggregate ceiling of 2250; limit MIRVed systems at 1320 [25]; continue the ban of new land-based ICBMs (Intercontinental Ballistic Missile); limit the development of new strategic offensive arms; and to incorporate the SALT I articles of verification. Although both sides adhered to the broad guidelines of SALT II, ratification was scuttled in 1979 by the United States Congress in response to the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan. With the end of the SALT talks, nuclear weapons negotiations entered yet another phase, that of real reductions in nuclear forces. 4. Reduction During the American presidential race of 1980, candidate Ronald Reagan severely criticized the content of SALT II as ‘‘fatally flawed’’ and a threat to U.S. ICBM capability [26]. Nonetheless, Reagan adhered to the terms of the nonratified agreement upon taking office while at the same time initiating a disarmament process that attended not just to simple limitation of weapons, but also sought to create true reductions in the nuclear strategic forces of both sides [27]. As an indicator of this reduction regime, the Intermediate-Range Nuclear Forces (INF) Treaty of December 1987 abolished an entire class of nuclear weapons, those with a range of between 500 and 5500 kilometers. All of these weapons were destroyed by June 1991. After the disintegration of the Warsaw Pact and the unification of Germany, first the United States then the Soviet Union (later Russia) unilaterally eliminated their short-range tactical nuclear weapons, the second time a class of nuclear weapons was destroyed [28]. On the strategic weapons front, negotiation continued for the better part of a decade on the START I agreement. START I was signed in January 1991, leaving each side with roughly 6000 warheads and 1600 launchers [29]. START II, which included further cuts in strategic offensive warheads to around 3000– 3500 each, was signed in January 1993. START II sought to close the potential loopholes contained in START I including warhead calculation, verification procedures, and the total elimination of MIRVed ICBMs. Whereas the START agreements are laudable in that they create a framework for actually reducing the overall number of warheads allowed for each side, they cannot be considered irreversible [30]. This is because the main effect of the agreements is to move strategic weapons from deployed positions to storage, or reserve status. Although there is a shared view that the START agreements are part of a larger process that includes weapons destruction, the agreements do not actually contain conditions for the destruction of the missiles themselves, or the disposition of the nuclear material contained in their warheads. Nevertheless, some dismantling of warheads and their delivery systems has taken place. For instance, the republics of Belarus, Kazakhstan, and Ukraine agreed to send their

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nuclear weapons to Russia on the condition they be dismantled. Furthermore, the U.S. Department of Energy led an initiative to begin a joint program to dismantle weapons in a limited manner beginning in 1994. And the U.S. Congressional Cooperative Threat Reduction (CTR) program included a bilateral plan to dismantle weapons that fell under the START initiative. However, there are no limits or conditions regarding military fissile material either contained in these (or remaining) weapons or those currently held in reserve. Furthermore, there are no agreements regarding stockpile limits for either weapons or nuclear material, and no exchange or information or data on weapons that are stored. Part of the reason here has to do with the persisting security concerns in Russia regarding the inclusion of American personnel in verification exercises. American inspectors have been permitted to witness, supervise, or verify Russian reduction processes in only a limited manner. This has resulted in some serious concerns about just what material is being stockpiled, and in what manner. These concerns, which are not dealt with in the START accords, are related to the broader issue of materials control in Russia. Indeed, part of the immediacy surrounding fissile material conversion and the safety of nuclear material in the former Soviet Union related to the threat of smuggling. Market economy reforms in Russia have not left the nuclear industry untouched. Extremely high and protracted levels of inflation and the demise of state authority resulted in wage suppressions of up to 70 percent among nuclear scientists, engineers, and plant managers [31]. Furthermore, even Russia’s new nuclear regulatory agency Gosatomnadzor (GAN) admitted that it was unable to track its own inventories. GAN director Yuri Vishevsky stated that GAN ‘‘would like to bring some order to the area of stockpile accountability, [but] there are too many possessors of nuclear material,’’ leaving a full inventory practically impossible [32]. The apparent inability of the Russian Federation to control its own nuclear stockpiles resulted in numerous reports of black-market sales of strategic materials. In the summer of 1994, several accounts of nuclear material smuggling [33] illustrated the urgency surrounding institutionalizing safeguards for post-Soviet nuclear material. In response, the Russian Interior Ministry created a smuggling incident ‘‘registry’’ in 1995 [34]. It found that most incidents involved workers in the nuclear industry, not organized crime. The Russian Foreign Intelligence Service suggested that no amounts of ‘‘usable’’ weapons material had been lost. However, contradictory accounts of organized crime involvement and Russian weapons-grade material seized in Germany leave questions about the Russians’ ability to account for their material [35]. GAN’s admission about the amount of material and its whereabouts highlights this uncertainty. Nuclear materials smuggling is neither the main concern regarding the need to extend the restraint regime, nor is it a sidebar. Instead, it is an indicator of a problem. There is reason to be relatively confident that since large-scale, black-

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market sales have not occurred, there is therefore no current smuggling proliferation dilemma. However, the contradictory Russian accounts, and the dearth of materials safeguards, verification, and control illustrate the potential for real security threats. In addition, the issues and fears surrounding nuclear smuggling bring to light the weaknesses of the START agreements. In sum, the achievements of the Cold War arms control and arms reduction process have been a necessary, albeit incremental, precursor for the broader goal of total disarmament. Dealing with fissile material controls during the Cold War was wrapped up in the strategic relationship of East-West relations; hence the relative lack of success regarding preceding fissile material control initiatives. The end of the Cold War, however, presents a unique opportunity to attend to the quintessential matter regarding nuclear restraint: elimination of strategically functional materials. B. Extending Nuclear Restraint: Moving to an Elimination Regime The START agreements are essential for bilateral weapons reduction. Moreover, they constitute, along with the INF agreement and European tactical weapons reductions, a logical progression in the advancement of nuclear restraint in the United States and Russia. But their drawback lies in what they do not cover— the ‘‘multiplier effect’’ of associated nuclear issues. Verification, monitoring, stockpiling, in addition to conditions covering possible redeployment, maintenance, and the future of the former superpowers’ remaining arsenals are beyond the scope of the START agreements, as drafted and signed by the two countries [36]. However, instituting the START reduction regime mandates the next order of business: attending to related issues of nuclear materials security. This is part of the evolution of nuclear restraint, as each level introduces new and deeper disarmament and non-proliferation initiatives. Of these related issues, the future of the HEU and plutonium contained in the warheads is crucial, given their central role in weapons manufacturing. Therefore, a fissile material ‘‘elimination’’ regime is something of a watershed in global non-proliferation, in a sense coming full circle in our consideration of the fissile materials issue. Eisenhower’s forewarning that the spread of nuclear weapons material (and by direct association fissile material and related technology) needed to be checked by its incorporation into more limited, yet progressive arms control initiatives of the 1960s, 1970s, and 1980s. Returning to the fissile material question is crucial because dealing with fissile material (with the eventual goal of eliminating the material) is in effect the culmination of the entire nuclear restraint regime. That is, eliminating the material contributes to the overall goal of eliminating the proliferation problem (although the matter of civilian material diversion remains), as well as the associated concerns about nuclear

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trafficking. Though the call to abolish strategic nuclear materials—or at least to impose a more rigid form of controls—has been made by non-superpowers, implementing the elimination regime required the U.S.–Russian initiative. There have been some agreements between the two sides covering military material, but they are largely interim arrangements [37]. On the plutonium front, the 1994 Gore-Chernomyrdin agreement covers safeguards for reactor-produced plutonium and a long-term storage facility for weapons plutonium. On the American side, the U.S. Department of Energy has agreed to give up its ‘‘excess’’ military HEU and plutonium for IAEA (International Atomic Energy Agency) supervision as a demonstration of voluntary action on fissile material [38]. The problem here is that these agreements either do not eliminate the military fissile material, or they allow for large remaining military stockpiles [39]. Aside from continued stockpiling and limited verification exercises, little has been accomplished in the way of eliminating the strategic threat of plutonium. And given its toxic and volatile nature, there are few safe alternative uses for military plutonium [40]. As a central component of nuclear weapons programs, fissile material is something of a thread that winds its way through a series of multilateral initiatives. It has maintained an important connection with the process of negotiations aimed at controlling or reducing nuclear weapons, working toward the eventual goal of complete nuclear disarmament. At the core here has been the issue of how to eliminate nuclear weapons, and in particular the manner in which that goal might be achieved. Arms control efforts have been unable to deal with the problem comprehensively, and instead moved to a more incremental or more fragmented process. Elements of this alternate process included: Freezing the status quo, through the implementation of the Nuclear NonProliferation Treaty (NPT); Dealing with the matter based on environmental concerns, such as the Limited Test Ban Treaty (1963), the Outer Space and Antarctic Treaties (1959); Seeking weapons limitations and reductions agreements (SALT, INF, START); and Establishing regimes to deal with essential components of weapons programs, such as the Missile Technology Control Regime, the Chemical Weapons Convention, or the Biological Weapons Convention. Eliminating fissile material constitutes a unique dimension in the process of arms control in that it represents on one level a form of arms control, since limits on production or stocks of fissile material would control a degree of new weapons development [41]. Yet on another level, controls over fissile material also include material either slated for weapons use or material extracted from dismantled weapons. Cultivating stable global nuclear relations, then, depends

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upon the expansion of nuclear restraint. As part of the general arms control process, nuclear weapons agreements are confidence-building measures which also serve to decrease the global threat of nuclear proliferation. In basic terms, the significance of the materials elimination regime may be outlined in the following manner: Arms control, particularly in the nuclear arena, is essential for the continuance of bilateral relations; Fissile material control is essential for arms control; As a form of arms control, fissile material elimination is also disarmament. In sum, material controls contribute to better relations among the nuclear powers in two ways. First, the new elimination regime seeks to ban new production, and ultimately eradicate existing stockpiles, or at least render them strategically useless. Second, the regime institutes the next stage of nuclear restraint among the nuclear powers by targeting the material used in the construction of warheads. This, then, clearly represents a strategic opportunity in the post–Cold War era to push the envelope of existing nuclear agreements.

III. MULTILEVEL ANALYSIS AND EAST-WEST STRATEGIC COOPERATION Though not the primary focus of this paper, a word or two is necessary on the issue of multilevel analysis as it relates to the fissile material issue [42]. Decisions regarding primary analytical units are essential in international political inquiry and, whether made consciously or not, have a direct bearing on the utility and scope of the study. The levels of analysis problem, as it has come to be known, is an enduring issue in the subfield, and in political science in general. The ‘‘problem’’ of levels of analysis, as William Moul has pointed out, concerns the ‘‘choice and limitations (or lack of them) posed by the units in question’’ [43]. Ultimately, useful and informative investigations begin with careful deliberations in regards to the units employed. And, for international relations, these determinations must be made in the first order to provide direction for the analyst and a framework for the audience. Multilevel research itself presents two issues: first, the decision regarding levels of analysis; second, the decision made regarding the units of interaction. The analytical question pertains to the way in which we conceptualize politics, whereas the interaction issue is related to actual political behavior that takes place. In this light, the levels of analysis are necessarily separate, given the initial decision made by the observer about the conceptual framework employed. Levels of interaction, however, are difficult to separate because events on the domestic level do ‘‘spill over’’ to the international level, and vice versa [44]. In short,

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we may compartmentalize the domestic and international determinants affecting nuclear restraint for analytical reasons, but the interaction between the determinants is intractable. Despite various perspectives, it would be improper to simply ‘‘choose a level.’’ Indeed, the initial decision regarding analytical units must be more encompassing, especially in cases involving international security and domestic politics. On the matter of extending the nuclear restraint regime, the nexus of decision lies in the interaction of the international environmental milieu and the determinants of foreign policy decision-making. On this latter point, the influence of domestic concerns, it should be noted, is not limited to what might be characterized as the mundane realm of decision-making; rather, the domestic sphere of interest here strikes at the heart of the ‘‘national interest’’ of states as it relates to security concerns. Despite its ambiguity, the national interest is fundamental for any government’s foreign policy. It is a term that defies concrete definition and therefore is often criticized for its inability to predict behavior as an explanatory model for all decisions. To that extent, the national interest is not a tool for prediction. Yet, as Gordon Schloming has argued, investigating a nation’s interests reveals the ‘‘guiding principles of its foreign policy and how it coordinates means and ends’’ [45]. A country’s national interest may be briefly defined as that which contributes to its self-preservation, national security, sufficiency, and prestige [46]. In other words, the national interest as the ‘‘goals that are sought by the state’’ [47] incorporates an objective rationale and the relative importance of political interests. Expanding the nuclear restraint agenda is basically preventative diplomacy employed by national governments. The desired outcomes include better relations between East and West, and a degree of nuclear assurances; these are in the national interest, as they contribute to the aforementioned goals of the state and establish a cooperative strategic framework. That a state would seek an environment in which it was secure appears axiomatic. But the relationship between the state and security is more complicated than that, and it illuminates a fundamental debate concerning central units in international relations analysis. Security can be defined in several ways—militarily, politically, economically, socially—but in all its facets it contributes to the strength and preservation of the state as a political unit. In this way a state’s security is always at the heart of its national interest, since the primary goal of any state is self-preservation. There are two reasons why the state-security relationship is important here. First, the state is defined as a legitimate central decision-making authority with sovereignty over a defined territory and people. Although there are broader influences on the activities of the state (for example, interest groups, corporations, media, and other states), it remains a unitary entity. That is not to suggest that

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other actors do not exist; they clearly do. But nuclear restraint is a foreign policy initiative, and foreign policy decisions are the domain of the state, even with outside influencing factors. Foreign policy is a state mandate because it is policy—an articulated framework or principle of action that guides government behavior beyond its borders. Second, the security issues relating to fissile material, Russian reforms, and non-proliferation that are the subject matter of this study are defined by the state. The security imperative inherent in reducing the threat of nuclear materials diversion surely affects the individual wherewithal and security of a state’s constituent parts. However, security and the national interest remain questions of government policy. State preservation, state prestige, state security in the international environment ‘‘trickle down’’ to individuals and constituent societal interests, they do not ‘‘bubble up.’’ Security, then, is the realm of state actors and it is defined in goals or national interest. This general debate about ‘‘levels’’ represents a controversial subject of long-standing in political science. The boundaries constructed around international and domestic politics pose a serious setback for real progress in international relations theory, according to Yale Ferguson and Richard Mansbach. In their examination of the utility of empiricism, research agendas, and the future for theory, Ferguson and Mansbach identified areas of political inquiry that they believed to be central in the quest for a relatively parsimonious methodology. In their opinion, domestic and international politics, actually constitute a single arena that encompasses countless individuals as well as numerous layered, overlapping, and interacting political authorities and other groups . . . . Politics is a seamless web, and we should be engaged in seeking a unified theory—or at least an approach to understanding—of politics sui generis [48].

Rather than manipulating the levels, they suggest, theorists ought to begin looking at the levels as one, in order to obtain a better understanding of the true causes of political phenomena. Ferguson and Mansbach show how the levels debate has affected the discipline as a whole. The problem, however, is that the levels question has no predictive power. As an explanatory framework, on the other hand, it is quite persuasive. International studies should not preordain the salient influences and issues, but instead should consider the events in question in a more holistic manner. In addition, the link between international and domestic levels of interaction is especially meaningful in regards to nuclear non-proliferation for a number of associated reasons. Obviously, international political, economic, and strategic concerns were directly influenced by East-West tensions during the Cold War. Similarly, in the post–Cold War era, incorporating the former Soviet republics into global trade, security, and political arrangements has become a primary yet

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problematic mandate for Western industrialized nations. Yet, as de facto leader of the industrialized world, the United States had (and has) a central role in the pursuit of this goal. Broadening the restraint agenda contributes to this goal. Second, post–Cold War, East-West relations are central for international security for a decidedly domestic reason: the state of the Russian economy, the potential for domestic uprisings, and related fears about a resurgent and nationalistic Russian empire. Finally, questions regarding nuclear stability in the former Soviet Union motivated both sides to proceed with a deepening of the reduction regime in order to either substantially reduce or safeguard the amount of material which was, at best, poorly safeguarded, and at worst, could wind up in the wrong hands. In sum, the interconnection of security and economic concerns in the extension of nuclear restraint may help break down the perceived barriers between studies of national economic policy and international security issues.

IV. CONCLUSION Regime analysis has been bandied about in international relations literature for some time. The most comprehensive contribution in this regard has come from Stephen Krasner, who typified international regimes as ‘‘principles, norms, rules and decision-making procedures around which actor interests converge in a given issue-area’’ [49]. While the purpose of this chapter is not so much to situate the extension of nuclear restraint within the regime literature, this definitional overview does shed some light on the utility of the materials elimination process for a number of reasons. First, the process is highly normative; attitudes and beliefs about the ‘‘taboo’’ of nuclear weapons and materials in the post–Cold War era are buffeted by the anxieties surrounding the possibility of nuclear materials diversion. Second, the rules associated with some of the emerging nuclear materials agreements are couched in the language and diplomacy of the previous nuclear restraints eras. Third, the preliminary accords pertaining to nuclear materials and nuclear fuel provide the basis for institutional and deliberative fora for future and perhaps more profound measures. Finally, regime analysis lends well to the extension of nuclear restraint because—notwithstanding a firm history of strategic assurances in the nuclear field—the materials concern has indeed become an important ‘‘issue-area’’ with the close of the Cold War. Regime terminology is particularly prescient for nuclear restraint because events and revolutionary change at the systemic level have had serious effects for disarmament and non-proliferation as a process. It has been suggested here that the impetus of systemic events was necessary to move beyond the traditional restraint methodologies; the onset of consequent nuclear non-proliferation measures was unimaginable without a significant alteration to the Cold War relationship. In this light, the title of Krasner’s early work [50] is telling: structural changes were in fact causal forces behind subsequent regime consequences [51].

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For contemporary studies of foreign policy, the end of the Cold War was indeed a momentous turning point. It was, however, a process predicated on several related causes rather than a single defining event. But as a relatively peaceful process, it gained momentum as each part of the old order seemed to drop off in a manner that appeared revolutionary in light of the conditions of the Cold War era. Although there was little in the way of a real ‘‘prediction’’ of this chain of events, there have been several retrospectives offered: the ‘‘Gorbachev factor’’ [52], the ‘‘End of History’’ thesis [53], the inability of the Soviet economy to compete in the world system [54], and the suggestion that a resurgent United States was essential for a ‘‘new world order’’ [55]. Although the real reason behind the end of the Cold War is more of a combination of these factors, the sudden end to that era simply was not predicted and any analysis of its causes is necessarily post-facto. The consequences of inaction on nuclear materials elimination are potentially detrimental. Michael Mandelbaum has reminded us in a rather ominous piece that the most important ‘‘lesson’’ for international security in the post– Cold War era has not yet occurred. The lesson, he argued, is the actual use of a nuclear device manufactured from materials made available at the end of the Cold War [56]. Indeed, this would be a lesson for the entire global community, given the uncontainable and calamitous effects of a nuclear explosion. Mandelbaum’s argument, which is not merely apocalyptic, is part of a cautionary post–Cold War literature that suggests the end of the bipolar nuclear stalemate has actually created a more unstable environment [57]. The initial peaceful transition from the Cold War period ushered in a time of caution, if not apprehension, as the rocky transition to democracy and market reforms in Russia coupled with domestic political instability cast a pall over the buoyancy and the early post–Cold War years [58]. The evolution of international arms control—despite the bumps along the road—provided the necessary groundwork for the final stage of restricting nuclear use and development. In turn, this demonstrates a strategic link made between the Cold War arms control process and the post–Cold War attempts to preserve the conditions that emanated from this process. Arms control initiatives and assurances are essential for bilateral cooperation after the Cold War, given their direct contribution to global peace and confidence building. Importantly, this depends on maintaining the achievements of the arms control period. If war avoidance were the core doctrine of the Cold War, then confidence preservation is the substance of the emerging era.

NOTES 1. The term ‘‘multilateral’’ is used here to denote the various levels of nuclear disarmament and non-proliferation initiatives that have been undertaken in the post–Cold

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3.

4.

5.

6.

7.

8. 9.

MacLean War era (more detail follows). Although this chapter primarily emphasizes the bilateral U.S.–Russian relationship, it is important to account for the multilateral dimension that, at times, complements (or is driven by) the superpower dynamic. The essential parameters of the CTBT were adopted into a United Nations General Assembly resolution calling for a comprehensive ban on testing. However, given India’s lack of support, the viability of the resolution is in question. The rationale behind the nuclear materials elimination regime in its current preliminary phase is the product of the intersection of international and domestic determinants. That is to say, nuclear security and the systemic goals of the former superpowers are mutually dependent and form the strategic rationale behind this new bilateralism. The determinants behind these new initiatives involve a crucial relationship between the ‘‘international’’ and the ‘‘domestic’’ level of interaction, leaving a single level of analysis as an inadequate framework. Though not the central thesis of this chapter, some thoughts on the international-domestic politics relationship precede the conclusion of this paper. Bruce Russett and Harvey Starr refer to these periods as U.S. monopoly, U.S. dominance, U.S. preponderance, and the period of essential equivalence. See World Politics: The Menu for Choice (5th ed.). New York: WH Freeman, 1996, pp. 274–276. Despite the fact that the USSR tested its first nuclear device in 1949, it did not have a delivery system capable of reaching the United States at that time, nor did it have a stockpile of weapons sufficient to wage a nuclear war. Of the confirmed ‘‘Group of Five’’ nuclear powers, China has over 400 warheads, and Great Britain and France have 200 and 480, respectively. The unofficial nuclear capability of Israel stands at approximately 200 warheads, and the nuclear programs of India and Pakistan are suspected to number about 50 and 15, respectively. Another suspected nuclear possessing state, North Korea, has perhaps 10–15 warheads. It is still unclear at the time of this writing whether International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA) inspections in North Korea uncovered an established nuclear weapons program. North Korea agreed to the inspections in 1995 after security assurances, the promise of closer relations with the West, and access to nuclear power reactor technology were extended by the United States. There are other possible nuclear powers, including Iran and Libya, as well as several potential nuclear powers. Iraq’s covert nuclear weapons program was halted following the Gulf War; IAEA inspectors believed that Iraq was only 18 to 24 months away from constructing a crude nuclear device at the close of the war. More advanced, deliverable weapons would have followed in about three to four years—by about 1995. See Roger Molander and Peter Wilson, On dealing with the prospect of nuclear chaos, The Washington Quarterly, 17 (Summer 1994): 19–40; David A. Kay, Denial and deception practices of WMD proliferators: Iraq and beyond, The Washington Quarterly, 18, Winter 1995. Lawrence Freedman, The Evolution of Nuclear Strategy (2nd ed.), Houndsmills: Macmillan in association with the International Institute of Strategic Studies, 1989, p. 123. Quoted in Freedman, p. 124. A more dangerous variant of traditional balance of power, the Cold War balance of terror meant that neither side could eliminate the other’s nuclear forces because neither the United States nor the Soviet Union possessed a full first-strike capability.

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12.

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Paul Buteux has argued that ‘‘[d]eterrence in its contemporary usage is a product of the nuclear age,’’ given the strategic centrality of nuclear weapons during the Cold War. See Glenn Snyder, The balance of power and the balance of terror, in Paul Seabury (ed.), The Balance of Power, San Francisco: Chandler Publishing, 1965; Paul Buteux, The theory and practice of deterrence, in David Haglund and Michael Hawes (eds.), World Politics: Power, Interdependence and Dependence. Toronto: Harcourt, Brace, Jovanovich, 1990. See Buteux, pp. 96–97. Fifth-century negotiations between Athens and Sparta regarding Athenian city wall fortification represent one of the earliest recorded attempts to reach a politico-security accord. Although it was not an arms control agreement per se, the talks were aimed at avoiding an Athenian strategic advantage and providing a security assurance to the Spartans. See Frederic Pearson, The Global Spread of Arms: Political Economy of National Security, Boulder: Westview Press, 1994, pp. 73–74. Perhaps the first significant arms control treaty was the Rush-Bagot Treaty of 1817, reducing British and American naval forces on the Great Lakes. The inter-war period spawned a series of naval agreements among the United States, Japan, Italy, and the United Kingdom controlling the development of types of ships. More broadly, the KelloggBriand Pact of 1928 (The Pact of Paris) called for a renunciation of war. Regarding nuclear weapons, the ambitious post–World War II Baruch Plan sought to restrain nuclear weapons development through fissionable materials control. It is recognized here that this final goal is not entirely achievable, given the continued security considerations of the nuclear powers and the impossibility to ‘‘de-invent’’ nuclear weapons technology. It should also be noted that this chapter does not equate arms control (which seeks to manage and regulate the use and development of arms) with disarmament (which is a more proactive procedure involving actual cutbacks). However, disarmament is part of a larger arms control process (since reducing capability by definition manages or controls capability) that contributes to confidence building among states in the international system. In this way, one may consider arms control as the broader rubric under which disarmament as a process may be categorized. Jan Nijman has identified at least 150 bilateral U.S.–Soviet treaties and agreements between 1946 and 1988 in: The Geopolitics of Power and Conflict, London: Belhaven, 1993. Furthermore, between 1959 and 1993 there were at least 30 major multilateral arms control agreements. The primary bilateral agreements—those that represent stages or shifts in the regime—are examined here. Other U.S.–Soviet agreements include the 1963 direct communications ‘‘Hot-Line’’ Agreement; the 1971 Nuclear Accidents Agreement; the 1972 High Seas Agreement; the Nuclear War Prevention Agreement of 1973; the 1987 creation of Crisis Reduction Centres; and the Testing Verifications Treaty of 1990. Other multilateral treaties included the 1959 Antarctic Treaty, prohibiting military activity in the Antarctic area; the similarly-based 1967 Outer Space Treaty and 1971 Seabed Treaty; the 1972 Biological Weapons Convention and 1981 Inhumane Weapons Convention; the 1990 Conventional Forces in Europe limits; and the confidence-building 1992 Open Skies Treaty. It is beyond the scope of this chapter to examine each agreement. However, the most significant agreements, examined here, reflect the state of relations between

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15.

16.

17.

18.

19.

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MacLean the two nations. For a detailed outline of major arms control agreements during this time period, see Russett and Starr, World Politics, pp. 309–312. Arms Control Association (ACA) President Spurgeon M. Keeny, Jr. has argued that START II represented the ‘‘endgame’’ of nuclear restraint. See Keeny, ‘‘START II: The Endgame,’’ Arms Control Today, December 1992. However, as discussed below, the limitations of START II lead to the conclusion that it was not a ‘‘permanent’’ solution, and therefore not the ‘‘endgame.’’ As significant as the elimination regime is for nuclear security, it must be seen as an outcome of the precedent set by the limitation and reduction regimes. Without these developments, elimination could not occur. Under the HEU agreement, the United States agreed to buy 500 metric tons of enriched uranium extracted from Russian warheads to be destroyed under the START agreements, representing a clear example of converting military goods to civilian use. Russia pledged to use the proceeds from these sales (estimated at U.S. $11.9 billion over the full term) to convert defense enterprises, increase safety in nuclear power stations, clean up polluted areas, and construct uranium conversion facilities. The fissile material ‘‘cutoff’’ issue is complicated by the fact that existing inventories and current and future production are considered by many (including significant possessing and threshold states) to be separate matters, and therefore must be examined in isolation if the final goal of global nuclear disarmament is to be obtained. This is no small matter, given the range of fissile material development—stockpiles and production—in nuclear weapons states (NWS) and threshold, or undeclared nuclear weapons states (UNWS). The materials most commonly used in the production of nuclear weapons include uranium with a fissile isotopic composition of greater than 90 weight percent (w/o) U-235 and plutonium Pu-239; however, it now appears too restrictive to limit analyses of stockpiles material to these compositions. Weapons may be constructed using other uranium isotopes such as U-233 and U-238, and some possessing states (notably the United States) have the technology to construct explosive devices using civilian reactor grade plutonium. Low enriched uranium (LEU—less than 20 w/o U-235) may be enriched (or re-enriched) to bomb-grade levels, and fully one-quarter of the enrichment work is already achieved by creating LEU. Vertical proliferation refers to growth in the number of nuclear warheads within nuclear weapon states (proliferation of warheads); horizontal proliferation refers to the growth in number of new nuclear possessing states (proliferation of possessors). Reflecting on the Cuban crisis, Henry Kissinger noted the importance of achieving a mutually beneficial outcome: ‘‘Grandstanding is good for the ego but bad for foreign policy. . . . Superpowers have a special obligation not to humiliate each other.’’ Henry Kissinger (Years of Upheaval, Boston: Little, Brown, 1982), cited in Russet and Starr, World Politics, p. 302. Others have suggested a middle-ground approach. Jozef Goldblat and David Cox, for example, proposed a Very Low Threshold Test Ban (VLTTB) of not more than 5 kilotons as a ‘‘meaningful alternative’’ to the CTBT. The LTBT spurred the 1974 Threshold Test Ban Treaty between the United States and USSR limiting underground tests, as well as the 1976 Peaceful Nuclear Explosions Treaty (PNET—also

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22.

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25. 26.

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between the United States and USSR) regulating nuclear explosions outside regular weapons tests. Goldblat and Cox (eds.), Nuclear Weapons Tests: Prohibition or Limitation? Stockholm: SIPRI in association with Oxford University Press, 1991. The 1995 NPT Review Conference statement of objectives included a commitment to conclude a Comprehensive Test Ban Treaty (CTBT). The NPT grew out of a 1961 United Nations General Assembly resolution to pursue a treaty governing the acquisition and proliferation of nuclear arms. The 1968 Treaty also required possessing states to allow the International Atomic Energy Agency, created in 1957, to monitor their nuclear programs. The NPT allowed for continuing developments of civilian nuclear power programs. The NPT Extension Review Conference adopted a set of principles and objectives for nuclear non-proliferation and disarmament, but was not able to adopt a final declaration. The principles and objectives included decisions regarding non-proliferation, nuclear disarmament, nuclear weapons-free zones, security assurances, safeguards, peaceful uses of nuclear energy, and increased resources for the IAEA. See Berhanykun Andemicael, Merle Opelz, and Jan Priest, Measure for measure: The NPT and the road ahead, IAEA Bulletin, 37 (September 1995): 33. Continued weapons testing by China undermines the potential for the CTBT. China recently urged a longer phase-in period for the CTBT during negotiations in Geneva. China wants the longer period in order to catch up to U.S. and Russian technology. The United States has offered to abide by the conditions of a CTBT, but threatens to restart testing if the other major powers do not adhere to it. Former U.S. Arms Control and Disarmament Agency Director Gerald Smith argues that ‘‘it is difficult to conceive of any single measure that would do more to stem the spread of the nuclear scourge than a comprehensive ban on nuclear testing. See Smith, End testing, stem the bomb’s spread, Arms Control Today, November 1990, p. 9. This was important to both sides because MIRVed (multiple independently targeted re-entry vehicle) weapons allowed for exponential increases in warheads-per-missile. The ABM treaty underwent a debate of reinterpretation under Ronald Reagan in the mid-1980s with the announcement of the Strategic Defense Initiative (SDI, or ‘‘Star Wars’’). SDI appeared to abrogate a ‘‘narrow’’ interpretation (permitting only ABM research) of the ABM treaty. But the Reagan administration argued that a ‘‘broad’’ interpretation (allowing testing) or even a ‘‘broader than broad’’ (granting actual deployment) allowed for space-based anti-ballistic missile technology. The Soviets contested the American interpretation, arguing that Article V of the ABM treaty clearly stated that parties were ‘‘not to develop, test, or deploy ABM systems or components which are sea-based, air-based, space-based, or mobile land-based.’’ This number still allowed both sides to increase their MIRV capability by about 40 percent from the initial signing of the treaty. David Cox has argued that the Reagan administration was interested in a reduction treaty in order to reduce the potential threat of Soviet SS-18s on U.S. ICBM forces. See Cox, Arms control, in Haglund and Hawes, p. 113. The fact that the United States and the Soviet Union adhered to the conditions of SALT II despite not ratifying it suggests that both sides considered it central to their

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28. 29.

30.

31.

32. 33.

34. 35. 36. 37.

MacLean security interests, and that an official ratification was put off for political reasons. See Coit D Blacker and Gloria Duffy (eds.), International Arms Control: Issues and Agreements (2nd ed.), Stanford University Press, 1984. Steven Spiegel, World Politics in a New Era, Toronto: Harcourt Brace College Publishers, 1995, p. 539; Freedman, The Evolution of Nuclear Strategy, pp. 416–420. These numbers were complicated by a counting system that allowed both sides to have more warheads than outlined in the cuts. This discrepancy between the ‘‘actual’’ and ‘‘accountable’’ number of warheads was addressed in the START II agreement, where warhead numbers were counted against the overall limit. See START II: new thinking in an era of nuclear cooperation, Arms Control Today, December 1992, pp. 3–9. Ratification of START I by the Russian Federation was delayed due to its demand that Ukraine join the NPT regime as a non-possessing state. Part of the Trilateral Agreement in January 1994 required Ukraine to do so, in exchange for security assurances and remuneration in the form of reactor-grade fuel. Russia has since adhered to the START I guidelines. Jonathan Dean argues the ‘‘final stage’’ cannot be achieved without attending to concerns regarding remaining weapons and the inclusion of other possessing nations. Dean, The final stage of nuclear arms control, The Washington Quarterly, 17, Autumn 1994. On the other hand, the Russian Strategic Rocket Forces in charge of deployed nuclear weapons have not suffered the same cutbacks. Unlike most other wings of the Russian military, the Forces maintain internal cohesion. The proliferation concern, then, is not as acute regarding deployed weapons. See International Institute for Strategic Studies, Strategic Survey 1994–1995, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1995, p. 18. Russia easy target for bomb thieves, The Globe and Mail, August 19, 1994, p. A10. Among these accounts were 300–350g Pu-239 in Munich, a similar amount of mixed-oxide (MOX) fuel with an unusually high content of plutonium, and a seizure of 10 kg LEU stolen from the Yetakerinburg plant in the Ural mountains. See Plutonium seizure worries Germans, Globe and Mail, August 15, 1994, p. A1, A6; William Broad, Plutonium smuggling global wake-up call, Globe and Mail, August 18, 1994; Germans link Russian to plutonium smuggling, Globe and Mail, August 16, 1994; Russia catches uranium thieves, Globe and Mail, August 25, 1994; NuclearFuel, August 29, 1994, p. 3; Financial Times, August 25, 1994, p. 2. The Ministry reported 27 verifiable incidents in 1993, 16 in 1994, but none in 1995. Post-Soviet Nuclear Defense and Monitor, October 31, 1995, p. 12. Programme for Promoting Nuclear Non-Proliferation, Newsbrief, 32, 4 th Quarter 1995, pp. 14–15. The necessity of reductions among other major nuclear possessing states is also a concern here. Efforts to implement a fissile material ban have a long legacy, including the Quebec Agreement of 1943, the American Baruch Plan in 1946, U.S. President Dwight Eisenhower’s watershed ‘‘Atoms for Peace’’ speech before the United Nations General Assembly in 1953, and the creation of the International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA), still the foremost organization in the global nuclear materials non-proliferation and regulatory regime. In 1954 Indian Prime Minister Jarwahal Nehru called

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39.

40.

41.

42.

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for a global ban on fissile material production. As well, from 1956 to 1969 the call for a fissile material cutoff accompanied most of the American efforts at arms control. The USSR also made proposals regarding a production cutoff in 1989 and 1990. Material controls also maintained a decidedly multilateral dimension, as the United Nations General Assembly (UNGA) continually passed resolutions calling for a freeze on nuclear weapons production throughout the 1980s. U.S. President Clinton’s first address before the UNGA in September 1993 included a call for a global production ban on fissionable materials for nuclear weapons and precipitated a UNGA consensus resolution for a production ban on such materials (UNGA Resolution 48/75L). As of 1999, the United States had not released a final figure of how much material it would hand over to international supervisors, nor has it stated how much would be retained for future strategic reserves. See Dean, The Final Stage. It did announce in March 1995 that it would remove 200 tons of fissile material from its stockpile to be released to the IAEA. United States, White House, Office of the Press Secretary, Briefing on presidential foreign policy speech, March 1, 1995, p. 2. The United States and Russia still possess roughly 220 tons and 200 tons of plutonium in either weapons-grade or spent fuel form. The United States has about 550 tons HEU, and Russia has 1250 tons HEU. David Albright, Frans Berkhout, and William Walker, World Inventory of Plutonium and Highly Enriched Uranium 1992, Oxford: Oxford University Press in association with SIPRI, 1993. [The SIPRI study contains a much more conservative figure for Russian HEU, at 720 tons. Russia’s Ministry of Atomic Energy, MINATOM, claims the higher amount is correct.] Although mixed oxide fuel (MOX) is often touted as an alternate use for plutonium, it does not have wide appeal with uranium prices remaining low and the related security threat inherent in reusing plutonium. Aside from limited Japanese and German MOX research, there has been little acceptance of the idea. The recent stalling of the Hanau MOX plant in Germany illustrates the reluctance of the nuclear industry to use MOX. There is also a disarmament dimension here as some fissile material initiatives, such as the U.S.–Russia HEU agreement, involve material extracted from dismantled weapons. The levels of analysis issue is of vital importance to the fissile material reduction regime and has been examined in greater detail by the author. See George A. MacLean, The geopolitical economy of fissile material: U.S. foreign policy and statesociety relations, unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, Department of Political Studies, Queen’s University, Canada (1996); The Twain Shall Meet: Bringing Together Putnam and Krasner in Foreign Policy Analyses, paper given at the Canadian Political Science Association Annual Meeting, June 1997, St. John’s, Newfoundland; Revisiting the Level of Analysis Problem: The Politics of Post–Cold War Economic Conversion, paper presented at the Canadian Political Science Association annual meeting, Montreal, June 4, 1995; Trade for Security: The Interplay of Domestic Economic and International Security Issues in the HEU Agreement, paper presented at the Fuel Cycle ’95 conference, San Diego, April 4, 1995; The Political Economy of National Security: Foreign Policy Decision Making and Post–Cold War U.S.–

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43. 44.

45. 46. 47.

48.

49. 50. 51.

52.

MacLean Russian Relations, paper presented at the Toward the Third Millennium Conference, School of International Affairs, Carleton University, Ottawa, November 3–5, 1994. William Moul, The levels of analysis problem revisited, Canadian Journal of Political Science, 6 (September 1973): 454. A. Nuri Yurdusev makes a similar argument. He suggests that the contention made by Singer (that the ‘‘problem’’ concerns levels of analysis) is ‘‘incomplete and rather confusing.’’ He suggests that there is a normative bias in decisions regarding the philosophical and theoretical foundation for study, but the practical, or concrete forms is really the ‘‘level’’ that we observe: the state, individual, groups, system, etc. The framework and the actors, then, ought to remain separate considerations. See Yurdusev, Levels of analysis and unit of analysis: A case for distinction, Millennium, 22 (Spring 1993): 77–78. Gordon C. Schloming, Power and Principle in International Affairs, Toronto: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1991, p. 412. See Robert Endicott Osgood, Ideals and Self-Interest in America’s Foreign Relations, Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1953. Stephen Krasner uses this simple definition of the national interest in, Defending the National Interest: Raw Materials Investments and U.S. Foreign Policy, Princeton: Princeton University, 1978, p. 12. Yale H. Ferguson and Richard W. Mansbach, Between celebration and despair: constructive suggestions for future international theory, International Studies Quarterly, 35 (December 1991): 373. Stephen Krasner, Structural causes and regime consequences: regimes as intervening variables, International Organization, 36, Spring 1982. See previous note. Structure, regimes, and their interrelationship with the levels of analysis question are dealt with in greater detail in, The Twain Shall Meet: Bringing Together Putnam and Krasner in Foreign Policy Analyses, paper given at the Canadian Political Science Association Annual Meeting, June 1997, St. John’s, Newfoundland. This is a version of the ‘‘great man theory.’’ The Gorbachev leadership (March 1985–December 1991) allowed for previously unthinkable developments in Soviet domestic political freedoms and its openness to the West. These initiatives also led to the ultimate demise of the USSR, mostly due to the mismanagement of reforms by the lingering Communist leadership, and the populist rise of Boris Yeltsin. There are three notable developments that took place under Gorbachev leadership: First, the glasnost, or openness, policy of 1986. Rather than a sudden and immediate change from traditional Soviet policy, glasnost intended to open up participation in public life, beginning with literature and the fine arts, and then moving to a reexamination of Soviet history, social issues, and finally economic concerns. The second was the 1988 restructuring (perestroika) program of policy change and system reform. Finally, the 1990 constitutional revisions introduced true party competition and led to the eventual (yet not lasting, given the lower house elections of December 1995) demise of Communist power. The substance of these reforms are examined in great detail in several excellent works. See, for example, John Miller, Mikhail Gorbachev and the End of Soviet Power, New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1992; and

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54.

55.

56. 57.

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Stephen White et al., Developments in Soviet and Post-Soviet Politics, Durham: Duke University Press, 1994. Francis Fukuyama suggested in 1989 that the ‘‘flood of peace breaking out in many regions of the world’’ could be explained as an ‘‘unabashed victory of economic and political liberalism.’’ See The End of History? The National Interest, 16 (Summer 1989). Fukuyama’s piece was immediately and almost universally attacked as premature and short-sighted, leading Fukuyama to remark that his article was uniquely successful in drawing disapproval from all ideological wings. The closed world of the command economies of Eastern Europe were competitive for a time following World War II; this led to the now famous declaration by Nikita Krushchev that the Communist world would ‘‘bury’’ the economies of the West, which were interpreted as self-destructive by the Soviet leadership. In fact, as a result of post-war reconstruction, Eastern European industrialization progress and growth rates rivaled those of the West in the 1960s, accompanying real improvements in socio-economic conditions in urban areas. However, by the end of the 1960s, the relative autarky of the Soviet bloc resulted in declining growth and investment, agricultural stagnation and an inability to compete with technological advances in the West. See Ian Kearns, Eastern and Central Europe in the world political economy, in Richard Stubbs and Geoffrey R.D. Underhill, Political Economy and the Changing Global Order, Toronto: MacClelland and Stewart, 1994; Thomas E. Weisskopf, Russia in Transition: Perils of the Fast Track to Capitalism, Challenge, November-December 1992, pp. 28–37. Although he did not use the term ‘‘new world order,’’ Joseph Nye argued that the United States was uniquely qualified to lead the international system, given its dominance in production, monetary affairs, technology innovation, and military superiority. Nye’s Bound to Lead: The Changing Nature of American Power (New York: Basic Books, 1990) is perhaps the best example of the ‘‘revivalist’’ argument that countered the ‘‘declinist’’ thesis of writers such as Paul Kennedy in The Rise and Fall of Great Powers, (New York: Free Press, 1988). Michael Mandelbaum, Lessons of the next nuclear war, Foreign Affairs, 74 (MarchApril 1995): 22–37. See, for example, Brad Roberts, From nonproliferation to antiproliferation, International Security, 18 (Summer 1993): 139–173. Roberts argues that the ‘‘old way’’ of thinking about proliferation is not sophisticated enough to meet the demands of a changing and more volatile international environment that includes non-nuclear proliferation, non-superpower proliferators (unchecked by the division of spheres of influence), and a markedly different international system. The Strategic Survey, published by the International Institute for Strategic Studies, has made continued reference to the expanding issues of concern caused by the end of the Cold War (see, in particular Strategic Survey 1994–95, London: Oxford University Press, 1995. An admittedly incomprehensive survey would also include Lewis Dunn, Containing nuclear proliferation, Adelphi Papers, 263, Winter 1991; and Rethinking the nuclear equation: The United States and the new nuclear powers, The Washington Quarterly, 17 (Winter 1994): 5–25; Jack Spence, Entering the Future Backwards: Some Reflection on the Current International Scene, Review of International Studies, 20 ( January

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1994): 3–13; John Mearsheimer, Back to the future: Instability in Europe after the Cold War, International Security, 15 (Summer 1990): 5–56; and Why we will soon miss the Cold War, Atlantic Monthly, August 1990; Allen Lynch, The Cold War is Over—Again, Boulder: Westview Press, 1992; Brad Roberts, Arms control and the end of the Cold War, The Washington Quarterly, 15, Autumn 1992, and 1995 and the end of the Post–Cold War Era, The Washington Quarterly, 18, Winter 1995. 58. It also created some serious challenges to the tenuous relationship forged with Moscow, such as the aforementioned Communist victory in the Duma elections.

23 Economic Development and International Transportation Along the Border Exploring Feasibility Issues for State and Local Governments Nadia Rubaii-Barrett and William A. Taggart New Mexico State University, Las Cruces, New Mexico

I. INTRODUCTION As international trade issues assume increasing levels of importance to the economic health of nations, agreements on tariffs and trade are recognized as being vital to the economic strategies of countries from Latin America to Eastern Europe. International agreements will in many ways shape the ‘‘new world order’’ in the post–Cold War environment as borders become more abstract and transnational trade becomes the modus operandi for commercial activity. The North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA), for instance, produced a combined market of 360 million people among the three participating countries (U.S. Department of Commerce, 1992). Changing market conditions such as this create new opportunities for subnational policymakers to consider as part of their economic development strategies. Because of their location, state and local governments adjacent to international boundaries will find themselves in an enviable position to pursue activities vital to international trade and, in the process, have a positive impact on economic development on both sides of a border. One such opportunity facing government officials is associated with the transportation of goods among nations. With the expected growth in international trade, shipping, particularly land-based shipping, will become a vital component 463

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of the North American economy over the next several decades (U.S. Department of Transportation, 1994). One critical element of the international transportation equation will be the intermodal transfer, that is, the transfer of goods from one mode of transportation to another (Carmichael, 1999; LBJ School of Public Affairs, 1991). Intermodal facilities dealing in surface transportation permit large rail shipments from distant origins to be transferred to trucks for delivery of smaller cargo to local destinations and to locations not accessible by rail. Conversely, these facilities allow local manufacturers, such as the maquiladoras on the U.S.-Mexico border, access to rails, thereby expanding their markets. Given the vast land borders between neighboring countries in North America, land-based intermodal transfers will become increasingly important. The location of such facilities on international borders is logical for two major reasons (LBJ School of Public Affairs, 1991). First, while NAFTA is designed to facilitate trade between the three participating countries, it does not eliminate other issues associated with the sovereignty of each nation. This includes such concerns as the importation of prohibited goods and illegal drugs, the immigration of undocumented aliens, and the inspection of certain consumer goods. International shipments must pass through a border station and a Customs office on the way from one nation to another. This pause in shipment provides an excellent opportunity to complete an intermodal transfer. At the same time, the need for intermodal transfers is likely to increase because of differences in transportation standards, regulations, and laws between the nations (Steele, 1993). While trucks will eventually be able to move freely between nations under NAFTA, train restrictions will continue to exist. Producers, hoping to deliver goods in a timely fashion to distant markets in another nation, will not find trucking to be an efficient distribution system. A facility located on the border will offer a convenient place to transfer cargo when it is necessary to utilize different shipping modes for the delivery of goods. The development and operation of an intermodal facility is a relatively high cost venture, significantly complicated by the international issues it presents when situated on an international border (Rubaii-Barrett and Taggart, 1994). It is this kind of location and a facility’s corresponding ability to integrate the simultaneous pursuit of multiple goals, however, that offers the potential for the greatest economic return. These multiple goals include the transportation and transfer of goods across international lines to reach both local and distant markets, while meeting the various legal requirements enforced through inspections by numerous public agencies on both sides of a border. The time required for transferring and inspecting (and possibly, temporary storage) is a variable cost to shippers (Muller, 1989). A facility on the border offering integrative features will reduce time delays and thereby lower transportation costs.1 A land-based intermodal facility designed to support cross-national trade presents several unique challenges and opportunities to government planners and

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policymakers. Initially, public officials need to determine if such a project is desirable, and if so, to develop a plan of action based upon the best possible mix of options available. This chapter outlines the major strategic considerations involved in the initiation of such a project. The objective is to identify and examine key factors associated with the possible development of an intermodal facility designed to support international trade activities transcending the land borders of the United States. The discussion is organized around four major feasibility issues: economic, technical, intergovernmental, and international. Failure to adequately address any one of these areas will increase the probability of experiencing serious impediments either in constructing such facilities or in their subsequent operation.2 The intent, therefore, is to guide public officials in policy directions designed to maximize success in responding to the globalization of economic trade.

II. STUDYING INTERMODALISM IN AN INTERNATIONAL CONTEXT This research is based on information derived through the application of multiple data collection strategies: document and archival research, telephone interviews, personal interviews, nonparticipant observation at selected border-crossing sites and intermodal facilities, and participant observation. Multiple collection methods were employed due to the potential bias associated with relying exclusively on one method. Utilizing multiple data sources enhances the validity of the findings through research triangulation (Babbie, 1992:109). Of special note is the paucity of published materials in this area. Although government reports and statutes, academic journal articles, and various books and monographs did provide some information, the scarcity of written research in this field necessitated the use of alternative data collection strategies. This effort is informed, in part, by the authors’ experiences as participants on a task force exploring the feasibility of establishing an intermodal facility in the state of New Mexico. The task force, which operated in full gear for approximately 30 months between late 1992 and early 1995, was charged with exploring the possibility of developing an intermodal facility situated on the southern border with the state of Chihuahua, Mexico. Its goal was to identify and clarify critical issues potentially serving as barriers in New Mexico’s efforts to initiate such a project (Transportation Systems Center, 1993). The authors served as consultants on certain aspects of the study and, in the process, were given an opportunity to participate in and observe the on-going activities of the task force (Taggart et al. 1992; Rubaii-Barrett and Taggart, 1994). This group was composed of numerous public and private sector officials representing a number of special interests. As part of the authors’ involvement in this project, telephone and personal

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interviews were conducted between October 1992 and May 1994 with a wide array of public and private sector officials involved in intermodal operations and/ or international trade. Initially, contacts were made with public officials in U.S. states bordering on Mexico or Canada (n ⫽ 16, including Alaska). The first calls were placed to state transportation, highway, and/or economic development agencies to identify existing intermodal facilities and other operations associated with international trade and transportation. This had a ‘‘snowballing’’ effect, until an official (or officials) could be located capable of reporting on the status of such endeavors within the state. This person (or these persons) then served as a contact to identify other officials serving in capacities directly related to these interests. At the same time, similar calls were made to almost all states with water port facilities in order to identify recent activities in land-based transferring and international trade (n ⫽ 32, there is some overlap with the previous group). This was done in part because U.S. ports have a much longer history in dealing with the movement of goods between nations. In addition, persons in key federal government agencies were contacted to discuss their role in approval of new ports of entry, their inspection responsibilities for goods crossing the border, and their experiences with international cooperation involving either Mexico or Canada. In total, the authors met with 44 individuals and spoke to an additional 35 by phone; of those 79 persons, 49 were federal government officials, 22 worked at the state or local levels, and eight were representatives of private sector organizations or professional associations. Finally, several intermodal, port, and border crossing sites were visited to examine the regulatory processes associated with each type of facility. This included facilities in Michigan, Texas, New Mexico, and Virginia. These visits usually spanned several hours and provided an opportunity to talk with administrators and line personnel about duties and responsibilities, organizational issues, and operational relations with other units (domestic and international) sharing similar goals. The following discussion is shaped not so much by any one case or source of information but more on what might be considered as critical issues confronting policymakers across a number of dimensions. Hence, the discussion will not focus per se on individual cases. Rather, these materials are used to outline suggestions for how to logically proceed by isolating the strategic considerations involved. Specific cases are referenced in the notes only to the degree that they help clarify or support a point being made.

III. ESTABLISHING AN INTERMODAL FACILITY ON THE BORDER: FEASIBILITY ISSUES Feasibility, in general, is the probability that a policy can be carried out or be put into effect (MacRae and Wilde, 1985: 219). Feasibility is influenced by a

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number of factors or conditions which are typically expressed through the political process (see, for example, Edwards and Sharkansky, 1978; MacRae and Wilde, 1985). Feasibility issues are a reminder that public policies involve multiple stakeholders, all of whom play a role in shaping a policy’s success or failure. State and local governments are well advised to ensure that the range of stakeholder perspectives are reflected in any effort to explore if international intermodalism has a strong possibility of being successful. The need to transfer and inspect goods suggests four areas where questions involving potential stakeholders arise concerning the feasibility of establishing a border intermodal facility. The transfer of goods between modes of transportation or between different carriers using the same form of transportation presents both economic and technical concerns. The issue of inspections raises more complicated issues related to intergovernmental and international feasibility. These four aspects of feasibility—economic, technical, intergovernmental, and international—are graphically portrayed in Figure 1. However, as the figure illustrates, these elements are not mutually exclusive and cannot be considered entirely independent of one another. Determination of economic feasibility, for example, is in large part a function of technical decisions regarding design and location, which influence the construction and operating costs of a facility, and the prospects for offering integrated inspection services. In approaching each of these elements, it is important to recognize what the major issues are and what actors are involved—have a stake—in shaping the desired outcome. Most projects undertaken by a public organization are evaluated to some extent in terms of their economic and technical feasibility. These considerations are relatively straightforward with respect to an intermodal facility, though some unique issues are presented. Stakeholders include potential investors (both public

Figure 1 Feasibility issues in developing an intermodal transportation facility situated on an international boundary.

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and private), users (representing trucking, rail, and shipping interests), and inspectors (public officials on both sides of the border). The other two components of the feasibility issue that are explored in this research represent what might be more generally called political feasibility (MacRae and Wilde, 1985). In the context of an intermodal transportation facility on a border, it is more convenient to speak of intergovernmental and international feasibility as separate considerations (Rubaii-Barrett and Taggart, 1994). The discussion of intergovernmental feasibility is limited to those actors in the United States, whereas the subsequent examination of international feasibility necessitates consideration of counterpart organizations, individuals, and processes on the other side of the border. In the following sections, each element of the feasibility equation is discussed, with some references to how they relate to each other. A. Economic Feasibility Economic feasibility issues are perhaps the most obvious consideration. Potential investors, both public and private, must have reasonable assurances that the proposed intermodal facility will be cost effective (Harper and Evers, 1993). The need for substantial investments of money in the early stages of a large-scale project and continued support throughout demand that policymakers ensure adequate commitment to and financial support for the project early in the process. Failure to do so may result in large sunk costs. Assessing economic feasibility requires consideration of the costs of construction and operation, the projected revenues, and possible funding sources.3 1. Estimating Costs The costs of an intermodal facility are a function of the expenses associated with construction and continued operation. Construction costs are, in large measure, determined by a facility’s design, and thus are related to technical requirements. Among the expenses to be considered are the acquisition of land; laying track; road construction and paving; construction of facility buildings to house various operations and storage; purchase of equipment, track, signal and communication devices; earthwork; lighting; installation of utilities, drainage, and fencing. Operating costs are projected based on labor costs, facility maintenance, equipment leases, fuel, parts and supplies, ordinary business expenses (telephone, postage, electronic data processing, office supplies, utilities), depreciation, professional fees, insurance, and continued security. 2. Projecting Revenues The rationale for considering an intermodal transportation facility on an international border is a product of either existing demand or projected increases in

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demand. Trade between the United States, Canada, and Mexico has increased since the passage of NAFTA, resulting in a shortage of bridges, roads, and rails to handle the flow of commercial traffic (Mathews, 1998). At the most basic level, economic feasibility requires that the proposed facility be cost effective. It is expected that the facility will produce a sufficient revenue stream because of the time savings it offers users in shipping commodities. This requires assessing commodity and traffic flows, projected increases in trade, competition from other facilities, and the volumes or tonnage of commodities likely to flow through the facility. Based on these estimates and assumptions about fees to be imposed for various services, it is then possible to develop income projections for the facility. 3. Funding Arrangements Many capital projects on the same scale as an intermodal transportation facility are financed through some combination of general revenue and capital budgeting, with the implementation of user’s fees to finance at least some portion of the debt (Taggart et al., 1992). Private transportation and shipping companies may also provide funds and receive repayment through fees. Although it is possible to fund such a facility entirely through either public revenues or private funds, there are considerable advantages to having some form of public-private partnership for funding as a means to provide access to the widest range of funding sources.4 Public funding for an intermodal transportation facility can draw from a full range of public sources at all levels of government.5 Federal government funding may be available through special appropriation or from existing sources, such as the Intermodal Service Transportation Efficiency Act (ISTEA), the Federal Railroad Administration and, for specific aspects of the operation, other agencies such as the General Services Administration, the Customs Service, and so on. State and local governments can take advantage of an existing tax base, while usually enjoying more favorable borrowing privileges on the bond market or from appropriately dedicated public trusts and funds.6 The prospect and, in most cases, need for the combined resources of the local, state and national governments necessitates the coordination of funding decisions. It is also important to consider the opportunities for public and private funding on both sides of the border.7 These funding issues help to illustrate the linkage between economic feasibility and the concerns of intergovernmental and international feasibility. B. Technical Feasibility Technical feasibility is the ability to design a border intermodal facility to meet both the transfer and inspection requirements noted earlier. In a narrow sense, the technology exists to handle the transfer function. Planners are confronted with numerous options from which to select, ranging from the type of lift operation to

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be employed to the degree of automation used in processing shipments. Questions of technical feasibility arise when the transfer issue is juxtaposed with that of inspecting. Inspection directly relates to the concerns of stakeholders found in the intergovernmental and international arenas. Yet at the same time, the need to transfer and inspect creates technical feasibility concerns, including site selection, facility design, and automation. 1. Site Selection Establishing an intermodal facility on the border by definition limits the number of possible sites. The list of sites grows shorter in light of other considerations including land availability, access to major highways and primary rail lines, and other needed infrastructure. At the same time, the site should be situated so as not to interfere with general urban development patterns (Mathews, 1998). For this reason it is critical for decision-makers to assess if a suitable site is available. This determination must consider the acquisition of a large tract of land (to handle current and future development) and any potential environmental impacts precluding its usage as an intermodal facility. It must be accessible by truck and rail on both sides of the border and might also be linked to air service. In western states the availability of public lands may offer a cost effective alternative. 2. Facility Design The physical layout of the facility must be adequate to handle the expected traffic and ensure the smooth movement of machinery and cargo throughout the yard. A facility on the border has special infrastructure needs because of inspection requirements involving two countries. Decisions about how international transfers will be conducted, the movement of personnel, handling of certain cargo (e.g., refrigerated goods), the possible holding/storing of shipments, and security all present special design challenges. In addition, inspection agencies have specifications for their operations in order to perform their varied tasks. 3. Automation Computerized information systems are an integral component of the activities undertaken by the transportation industry, shipping brokers, and inspection agencies representing various governments. What is missing, however, is a high degree of integration between the various systems, particularly on a cross-national basis (UTAPRP, 1991). Currently there exists a great deal of duplication of effort. The feasibility of establishing an international intermodal facility needs to consider the extent to which duplication can be eliminated and shipping information can be shared to improve the processing of cargo. Actors on both sides of a border have similar, though slightly different, information needs. Recently, developments have occurred within each country’s major inspection agencies that ap-

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pear promising for the future integration of activities. In addition, the Customs agencies of the participating countries, to varying degrees, offer computerized interfacing with shippers and transportation operators. Centralizing these varied activities in a common location will certainly make it easier to pursue issues of automation but is no guarantee that it will actually occur. Steps should be taken to explore beforehand the extent to which these different systems can be networked, as this would represent a major step in reducing delay time during intermodal transfers and inspections. C. Intergovernmental Feasibility Almost all economic development activities have some element of intergovernmental relations as municipalities and states comply with conditions for federal aid, develop mechanisms for generating revenue to compensate for declining resources from the national government, and cooperate with multiple agencies who have some interest in or ability to affect an economic development plan. An intermodal transportation facility located on an international border raises several unique and important intergovernmental issues which must be properly considered to assess feasibility. In examining the feasibility of such a facility, it is essential to consider the full range of intergovernmental actors who have a stake in the process and outcome and to appreciate the complexity of coordinating the activities of multiple agencies and officials at various levels of government. The intergovernmental feasibility issues are related to the identification of a lead agency or agencies, personnel costs, specific agency concerns, and the approval process for a port of entry permit. 1. Leadership One of the first intergovernmental decisions concerns which government official(s) will take the lead role in assessing all aspects of the feasibility of the project and spearheading the effort to see it through to fruition. It is essential that, regardless of which agency plays the lead role, officials from all levels of government are involved at a very early stage in the process. Certain aspects of the research and planning, facility design, construction, and operation require cooperation and commitment of officials from: county and municipal planning and economic development offices, state transportation and commerce agencies, and a long list of federal government agencies. It is assumed that either local or state policymakers will initiate the process in an effort to encourage economic development that will be most beneficial to people and businesses in the jurisdictions closest to the facility. Officials at the subnational level may be fully aware of and competent in coordinating the activities of state and local entities, but they may not fully appreciate the range and scope of interests held by various federal government agencies in relation to a proposed intermodal facility on an international border.

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2. Personnel Costs Not unlike other federal agencies, many of those engaged in border-related activities are experiencing decreasing budgets. As such, there is a common concern that current understaffing at existing facilities may be exacerbated by the demands of a new facility opening for business. The most impressive infrastructure and facilities will not be effective in promoting economic development if there is insufficient staff to engage in needed inspection tasks. It may be possible for a facility to take advantage of some of the cross-training conducted among inspectors of several federal agencies. In addition, facility operators may reimburse or cost share with various federal agencies for staffing.8 3. Specific Agency Concerns In addition to the general concerns about staffing shared by officials in many government agencies, there are some matters that are specific to particular agencies, stemming from their unique jurisdiction and responsibilities. At a minimum, the special concerns of officials at the Customs Service, the Immigration and Naturalization Service (INS), the Animal and Plant Health Inspection Service (APHIS), the General Services Administration (GSA), the Fish and Wildlife Service (FWS), and the Food and Drug Administration (FDA) must all be considered in the design, construction, and operation of such a facility. Table 1 highlights the mission of seven major federal agencies and briefly summarizes the concerns each has as it relates to an intermodal facility situated on or near an international border. The issues presented by these agencies all have the potential of significantly side-tracking or halting altogether the development of such a facility. 4. Obtaining Approval One way in which the intergovernmental complexities at just the national level become apparent is in the permit approval process for a border crossing or port of entry. Bridge crossings linking the United States with either Canada or Mexico require a presidential permit (as per the International Bridge Act of 1972, as amended in 1987). Although a presidential permit is not required, there is an almost identical permit process for land-based crossings that is fairly elaborate and takes a considerable amount of time. The process is not as formalized as that dictated for a presidential permit and, as such, there is no universally accepted or authoritative checklist of what is required. There is, however, some consensus as to who must be involved in the review and approval process. For land crossings, the Department of State coordinates review by other federal agencies, secures the necessary environmental assessments, and serves as the lead agency in the final exchange of diplomatic notes with the other country. The latter two tasks

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Table 1 Major U.S. Federal Government Agencies with an Interest in a Transboundary Intermodal Facility: Identification of Mission and Primary Concerns Department of Treasury, Customs Service Mission: Collecting duties on goods entering the United States and regulating the flow of certain contraband. Transboundary intermodal concerns: With respect to the design of the facility, there must be designated tracks to await Customs inspections. Brokers prefer that the Customs Service use permanent crews rather than rotating inspectors to better facilitate smooth and quick processing of regular users who have a good track record. Use of the Customs computerized line release program would be helpful, but requires sufficient traffic flow to justify its implementation. Department of Justice, Immigration, and Naturalization Service (INS) Mission: Regulating the flow of people crossing the U.S. border. Transboundary intermodal concerns: Limited concerns if facility is restricted to commercial activity. Limits on number of persons permitted to enter with each shipment and length of stay. Facility should employ eligible workers to handle loading and unloading. The INS also designates ports as either Class A or Class B; the former allows issuance of documentation on site, the latter requires that documentation be obtained elsewhere. A facility which straddles the border and would allow free movement of officials from neighboring countries within the compound would require special arrangements. Department of Agriculture, Animal and Plant Health Inspection Service (APHIS) Mission: Regulates all agricultural products entering the United States, and facilitates the export of American agricultural products through a certification program. Keeps plant pests out of the United States. Transboundary intermodal concerns: Need designated dock space, prefer designated track space, inspection areas, and possibly an area for fumigation. Prefer all commercial traffic in an region to go through a single facility, regardless of whether it needs to be transferred to another mode of transportation. Department of Interior, Fish and Wildlife Service (FWS) Mission: Enforcement of the Convention on International Trade of Endangered Species (CITES), which identifies threatened wildlife and plants, and specifies under what conditions and with what documentation such goods can cross international borders. Some additional United States regulations to enforce. Transboundary intermodal concerns: Prefer a facility that is wholly commercial. The facility should be designed with a stop required for exports as well as imports, since FWS has a responsibility to inspect cargo flowing in both directions. Department of Health and Human Services, Food and Drug Administration (FDA) Mission: Regulation of all human and animal food and drugs, medical devices, anything that emanates radiation (TVs, radios, lasers), biological items (blood, tissue), and cosmetics.

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Table 1 Continued Transboundary intermodal concerns: Single designated dock space is generally sufficient. Need on-site or nearby storage facilities to hold cargo if samples require lab tests. If a large volume of FDA goods are expected to flow through the facility, design should include a laboratory where tests could be performed to avoid shipping samples to regional labs. Department of Transportation (DOT) Mission: Facilitate and promote the development of safe and efficient modes of transportation. Transboundary intermodal concerns: Concern about ability of facility to link the National Highway System and to improve the trade and transportation linkage across the border. Source of several types of funding for an intermodal project. General Services Administration (GSA) Mission: Provide and maintain buildings to house all federal government agencies, except the military. Transboundary intermodal concerns: Facility must meet size and design specifications for border crossings (GSA, 1992). Time-consuming and competitive process for GSA approval and funds, with decisions based on priority rankings of inspection agencies.

relate more specifically to technical and international feasibility, so the first State Department activity will receive principal attention here. The first step in obtaining a permit is to designate a sponsor. The United States sponsor is generally a state government official who prepares and presents the application to the State Department. The application must contain: (1) information on the sponsor, (2) a description of the site for the proposed facility, (3) the design, construction, financing, and operational plans for the facility, (4) an assessment of the local, regional, and national impact of the proposed port, and (5) evidence of support from officials on both sides of the border. The sponsor submits the application to officials at the Department of State, who are responsible for disseminating copies of the proposal to members of an interagency task force, which consists of representatives of numerous federal agencies. Table 2 provides a complete list of agencies usually involved in permit approval. Initial distribution is to Washington, D.C.–based offices of the agencies, but the proposals are generally passed on to regional and district officials for closer review. Regional and district offices do not offer approval, but rather they provide input and feedback on the merits and feasibility of the application. The chances for approval are increased significantly if the subnational sponsor has worked with area officials from these agencies to address their concerns prior to the preparation of a formal application. Some regions have a Border Station Task Force, with multiple agency representation, to assist in the informal review of proposals and resolution of problems before an application is submitted.

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Table 2 U.S. Federal Agencies Involved in Approval of Port of Entry Department of Agriculture Animal and Plant Health Inspection Service Department of Commerce Department of Defense Office of Interamerican Affairs Department of Energy Department of Health and Human Services Food and Drug Administration Department of the Interior Fish and Wildlife Service Bureau of Reclamation Bureau of Land Management Office of Environmental Policy Department of Justice Immigration and Naturalization Service Department of State Department of Transportation Federal Highway Administration Federal Railroad Administration Department of the Treasury U.S. Customs Service Environmental Protection Agency Federal Emergency Management Agency Federal Highway Commission General Services Administration International Boundary Commission, U.S. Section (for U.S.Canadian crossings) International Boundary and Water Commission, U.S. Section (for U.S.-Mexico crossings) International Joint Commission, U.S. Section (for U.S.Canadian crossings) Interstate Commerce Commission

D. International Feasibility International feasibility encompasses the issue of whether necessary support and approvals can be obtained from counterpart agencies and officials on the other side of the border. For a transboundary intermodal transportation facility to be developed, agreement must be reached on a variety of issues, including the location, design, operation, and governance of the facility. International feasibility encompasses issues of binational involvement, restrictions on the use of land

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surrounding a border and the boundary line itself, development of cooperative institutional arrangements, allowing the movement of facility personnel across the border, and addressing the security, environmental, and jurisdictional concerns of both nations. In many ways, questions related to international feasibility are among the most complex and introduce considerable uncertainty in assessing the viability of developing an intermodal facility on a border. 1. Binational Involvement Diplomatic protocol demands early binational involvement on a number of formal and informal levels. Federal government officials who are experienced in binational negotiations understand fully the importance of early and significant involvement of officials in both countries during the planning, design, and development processes. State and local officials more familiar with economic development activities within their limited jurisdictions may be less aware of the potential consequences of acting without early international involvement. It is not sufficient to survey interested parties in the other country to ascertain levels of support for a project while planning activities occur only in the United States. This is particularly important if some effort will be made to engage in cost sharing with the other nation. Such a one-sided approach will only create tensions and lead to problems in securing financing, obtaining necessary approvals, and in implementing the plan. The process must be a coordinated binational effort from the earliest stages to ensure adequate consideration of legal, cultural, and other differences that may affect the prospects for the project’s success. Early coordination is necessary not only in terms of the formal requirements for approvals, but also due to consideration of the pride and sovereignty of each country. At a bare minimum, approval is required from Canadian or Mexican officials as part of the designation of a new port of entry. Following or concurrent with the complex port-of-entry approval process found in the United States, a similar process must be undertaken in the other country. The process described earlier in the context of intergovernmental feasibility—for the port-of-entry permit—is essential to any border crossing. It does not, however, address the unique issues of a transboundary site or joint operations. 2. Maintaining Border Integrity An intermodal facility straddling the border raises new concerns and heightens the demand for coordinated international efforts beginning early in the planning process. On the United States–Mexico border, the International Boundary and Water Commission (IBWC) has the responsibility to maintain the integrity of the line that indicates the international border between the two countries. The IBWC has two sections, one in each country. A similar institutional arrangement exists on the northern border of the United States, with the International Boundary Commission’s (IBC) U.S. and Canadian components. As a general rule, these

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agencies insist that the sight not be blocked between markers and monuments which demarcate the international boundary, and there is a standard restriction against buildings or structures within 60 feet of either side of the border. There is some precedent on the U.S. northern border for buildings that straddle the international line. These buildings literally have lines painted on the sides and roof to indicate the border and plexiglass dividers inside to allow for a clear line of sight. Terms of financing for construction and maintenance must be spelled out in a Memorandum of Understanding or Joint-Use Occupancy Agreement signed by the two national governments and, perhaps, subnational government officials as well.9 This is only one alternative, however. It is also possible to have a facility which straddles the border without having buildings which block the line of site. Existing rules prohibit buildings straddling the border, but do not preclude a facility that straddles the border. Roadways, buried pipes and other level or underground forms of infrastructure are acceptable although they do require approval from the appropriate binational organization (IBWC or IBC), as well as the Bureau of Land Management. Additionally, if power lines are to cross the border, the Department of Energy must grant approval. A design which avoids placing buildings directly on the border avoids the issue of binational ownership and maintenance of a single structure, however it may do so at the expense of opportunities for fully integrated binational activities. 3. Institutional Cooperation For a facility to take full advantage of the efficiencies possible from a combined intermodal transfer station and border crossing, some coordination of effort is required among the officials of both nations. Much of the paperwork and inspection process is duplicated by officials from the country of origin and the country of destination. A transboundary facility provides the opportunity for officials to work cooperatively to reduce the number of discrete stops a load of cargo must make.10 As noted, a strategy for cooperation could include development of compatible computer systems for tracking cargo and filing required documents. It may be possible to train officials in each country as to the other country’s documentation requirements, and charge them with mutual enforcement responsibilities. Cooperative arrangements of this type have been tried on a limited basis among specific counterpart organizations, but there is no precedent for a fully integrated approach across all inspection agencies at a single site. 4. Movement of Personnel Truly cooperative binational inspections and enforcement would require not only agreements to facilitate cross-training and certification, but also the ability of officials of both nations to move freely throughout the intermodal facility. One possible arrangement for binational governance is to ‘‘create a fenced ‘federal zone’ that would allow workers and equipment from both countries to move

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freely within the facility’’ (Breazeale and Associates, 1992). At present, there is no official national or international designation of a ‘‘federal zone,’’ and many other terms are used in a similar context, including ‘‘international zone,’’ ‘‘free zone,’’ ‘‘sterile area,’’ ‘‘secure zone,’’ or even ‘‘bubble on the border.’’ Regardless of the label applied, the concept is very much the same and encompasses both coordination of services and movement within the facility than spans the international boundary. Together, these concerns raise some interesting international security issues. 5. Security All domestic and international agencies with a border-related function have a security aspect to their mission. The agencies charged with immigration responsibilities are inherently concerned about persons coming and going across a border without documentation checks. Personal safety and cargo security are crucial to the effective operation of a port of entry and an intermodal facility. For a facility that extends into two countries, presumably there would be an entrance within each country that would require a strict security check. Within the facility, there would need to be an identification or badge system that clearly identifies the organizational affiliation of each employee, what authority they have, and where in the facility they are permitted to enter. An identification system is not only important to immigration officials, but also to customs officers, who are less concerned about the nationality of individuals, but must be able to ensure cargo security and prevent tampering. 6. Environmental Concerns In addition to ensuring the integrity of the boundary line, binational organizations on each border are committed to preventing run-off of noxious substances from one country to another. On the U.S.-Mexican border, the IBWC has this as its second major responsibility, whereas a separate organization—the International Joint Commission (IJC)—exists to serve this function along the U.S.-Canadian border (Mumme, 1993; Lemarquand, 1993). Part of the task of these agencies is to monitor and control transboundary drainage. Thus, they will be concerned with design and environmental issues related to any proposed facility. The technical design process must resolve how waste will be controlled and disposed of without creating serious harm to either country. Any proposed facility which fails to adequately address these issues will be denied approval by the appropriate binational organization(s). 7. Jurisdictional Concerns Other important issues to be addressed regarding international feasibility stem from broad jurisdictional concerns. For example, one is related to the payment

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of state and federal income taxes by private sector employees working within the facility. The issue arises whether taxes will be imposed based on where the individuals work, where they live, or the company for which they work. There is also the issue of determining who will respond to accidents within the facility. And finally, there are overarching questions of territoriality and of which country’s laws will apply within the facility. These issues are not insurmountable, but they do require full binational resolution prior to breaking ground on a transboundary intermodal facility.

IV. CONCLUSION Careful planning for the coordination of intermodal and border crossing activities is necessary for the complete integration of transportation and trade, as is the cooperation among agencies on both sides of the border. The feasibility of developing an intermodal facility capable of satisfying the transfer and inspection needs of shippers and governments, respectively, is a function of four factors: economic, technical, intergovernmental, and international. Each feasibility issue is, in turn, comprised of specific elements summarized in Figure 2. Special concerns about operating on an international border must be taken into consideration, including a need for international and intergovernmental cooperation and coordination. While existing intermodal facilities do not currently work in coordination with the inspection services, recent developments in international trade agreements create an opportunity for developing a more integrated approach. Potential advantages of such an approach are numerous, as benefits may accrue to a number

Figure 2 Specific elements of each feasibility issue associated with developing an intermodal transportation facility situated on an international boundary.

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of affected parties, ranging from shippers and manufacturers to local and state governments on both sides of the border. While some privately owned and operated surface-based intermodal transportation facilities currently operate successfully, the future of such endeavors depends in large part upon the willingness of state and local governments to play a major role by devoting the time, energy, and financial support in order to bring U.S. border states up to modern standards for intermodal transportation. Public authorities have advantages over private interests in gathering the capital required to invest in these projects, and intermodal facilities often present an excellent opportunity to attract new business into and through a particular state or region. International trade will continue to play an increasing role in our national economy, and border areas within the United States are in an exciting position to take advantage of this opportunity. State and local governments interested in responding to this opportunity need to be mindful of the complexity involved and the number of potential roadblocks that may arise. In general, government officials must take into account the full range of feasibility issues when considering similar types of economic development projects associated with international trade.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS Research support for this project was provided in part by Sandia National Laboratories, Albuquerque, New Mexico, contract numbers AE-7347 and AH-8500. The views contained herein are those of the authors and do not necessarily represent the opinions of officials affiliated with the funding agency. The authors would like to thank Christopher Good and Julia Reiser for their research assistance during stages of this project. This chapter was originally prepared for presentation at the 1996 Annual Meeting of the Western Social Science Association.

NOTES 1. The current practice for handling transfers and multiple inspections on both sides of a border is best described as a sequential process, with the transfer coming before or after a series of international inspections. This, of course, increases delay time. Many delays necessitate the use of temporary storage facilities which adds to shipping costs. 2. This approach is similar to that taken by Walter et al. (1993) who identify the attributes associated with successful promotion of local rail projects. They focus almost exclusively on the economic feasibility issues and the private sector stakeholders. They label the necessary conditions as: (1) a core freight shipper, (2) an entrepreneur-

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4. 5. 6.

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10.

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ial attitude, (3) cost control, (4) appropriate market niche, and (5) transportation service integration. The authors recognize that this is a somewhat narrow treatment of the economic factors associated with a project of this type. From an economic development point of view, public officials would also need to consider other kinds of costs (e.g., opportunity costs and increased demand for public services) and benefits (e.g., jobs created and increased tax base). Here the focus is on those economic issues directly related to establishing an intermodal facility. One example of an existing facility which effectively utilizes a combination of public and private funds is the Philadelphia Regional Port Authority. This was an important consideration in the decision to have public funding for the Northern Express Transportation Authority (NETA) in Shelby, Montana. A unique funding approach was applied at the Virginia Port Authority (VPA), which was constructed entirely with trust fund monies on a pay-as-you-go basis. The use of a dedicated fund for transportation allowed the state to construct an intermodal port facility without incurring debt. One model that can be used, albeit on a domestic level alone, is the bi-state funding of the Delaware River Port Authority. On an international level, the coordinated financial arrangements of the Detroit/Wayne County Port Authority (DWCPA) and the Windsor Harbour Commission (WHC) provide a useful model. For example, the Virginia Port Authority provides free office space to federal inspection agencies from which services are required. There are three examples of Combined Border Facilities (CBFs) on the U.S.-Canadian border developed through a Memorandum of Understanding of officials of both nations. Facilities exist in: Danville, Washington/Carson, British Columbia; Alburg, Vermont/Noyan, Ontario; and Turner, Montana/Climax, Saskatchewan. Additionally, the state of Montana has signed a Joint-Use Occupancy Agreement with Alberta, Canada, which specifies the terms for splitting the costs of a joint inspection and weigh station. For example, the Coutts, Alberta inspection and weigh station, which is located entirely within Canada, is staffed by both Canadian and State of Montana officials as a means of reducing the number of stops required of vehicles entering the United States. Previously, vehicles had to stop first at the Canadian inspection/weigh station, then at the U.S. Customs facility, and finally at the State of Montana weigh station in Sweetgrass. The final stop has been eliminated as a result of this cooperative venture.

REFERENCES Babbie, E. 1992. The Practice of Social Research. 6th ed. Belmont, CA: Wadsworth. Breazeale, D. and Associates. 1992. Report for Sandia National Laboratories and the Santa Teresa Intermodal Border Crossing Steering Committee. Rancho la Costa, CA. (Available through Sandia National Laboratories Transportation Systems Center.)

482

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Carmichael, G. 1999. Celebrating intermodal. Traffic World, 258(4):9. Edwards, G. C. III and Sharkansky, I. 1978. The Policy Predicament: Making and Implementing Public Policy. San Francisco, CA: W. H. Freeman. General Services Administration. 1992. U.S. Border Station Design Code. Washington, D.C.: General Services Administration. Harper, D. V. and Evers, P. T. 1993. Competitive issues in intermodal railroad-truck service. Transportation Journal, 32(3):31–45. International Bridge Act of 1972, as amended in 1987. United States Code, Title 33, sec. 535. Lemarquand, D. 1993. The International Joint Commission and Changing Canada–United States boundary relations. Natural Resources Journal, 33(1):59–91. Lyndon B. Johnson School of Public Affairs. 1991. Texas-Mexico Transborder Transportation System: Regulatory and Infrastructure Obstacles to Free Trade. Austin, TX: The University of Texas at Austin. MacRae, D., Jr. and Wilde, J.A. 1985. Policy Analysis for Public Decisions. Lanham, MD: University Press of America. Mathews, A.W. 1998. On the borderline—NAFTA reality check. Wall Street Journal. June 3, 1998: A1. Muller, G. 1989. Intermodal Freight Transportation. 2nd ed. Westport, CT: Eno Foundation for Transportation. Mumme, S. 1993. Innovation and reform in transboundary resource management: A critical look at the International Boundary and Water Commission, United States and Mexico. Natural Resources Journal, 33(1):93–120. Rubaii-Barrett, N. and Taggart, W.A. 1994. Background Work for Creation of an Authority and Federal Zone. Las Cruces, NM. (Available through Sandia National Laboratories Transportation Systems Center.) Steele, L. 1993. With or without NAFTA trucks and rails go full throttle in Mexico. Twin Plant News, 42(1):34–38, 60. Taggart, W.A., Rubaii-Barrett, N. and Good, C. 1992. Funding and Operation of an Intermodal Transportation Facility at the Santa Teresa Border Crossing. Las Cruces, NM. (Available through Sandia National Laboratories Transportation Systems Center.) Transportation Systems Center. 1993. The Santa Teresa–Dona Ana County Intermodal Facility Feasibility Study, Phase I. Albuquerque, NM: Sandia National Laboratories. University of Texas at Austin Policy Research Project (UTAPRP). 1991. Report Number 98: Texas-Mexico Transborder Transportation System. Austin, TX: University of Texas. U.S. Department of Commerce. 1992. NAFTA: The Beginning of a New Era. Business America. 113 (17): 22–25. U.S. Department of Transportation, Federal Highway Administration. 1994. Assessment of Border Crossings and Transportation Corridors for North American Trade, A Report to Congress pursuant to the Intermodal Surface Transportation Efficiency Act of 1991, Sections 1089 and 6015. Washington, DC: Department of Transportation, Pub No. FHWA-PL-94-009, 1994. Walter, C.K., Maze, T.H., Maggio, M.E., Smadi, A.G., and Allen, B.J. 1993. Public assistance and promotion of local rail projects. Policy Studies Journal, 21(2):325–337.

Index

Abkhazia, 209, 211 ABM (see Anti-Ballistic Missile) AEC (see Atomic Energy Commission) Agrupacio´n Electoral Ceutı´ (ARC, Ceuta’s Electoral Group), 72–73 Aircraft Nuclear Propulsion (ANP) project, 417 Albanians, 198 American fair labor standard, 14 foreign exchange rate policy, 400 options, 376 goals in Congo/Zaire, 22 involvement in Zaire, 21 ANC, African National Congress, 95 Animal and Plant Health Inspection Service (APHIS), 473 ANP (see Aircraft Nuclear Propulsion project) Anti-Ballistic Missile (ABM), 444 Anti-personnel landmines (APL), 154 ANZUS treaty (Australia–New Zealand–United States Security Treaty), 105, 159 APHIS (see Animal and Plant Health Inspection Service) APL (see Anti-personnel landmines) Arab-Israeli conflict, 166, 176

Arafat, Yasser, 170–171, 173 ARC (see Agrupacio´n Electoral Ceutı´) Ardzinba, Abkhaz leader Vladislav, 210 ARIC, Rural Association of Collective Interests, 344 Aristide, restore to power in Haiti, 370– 372, 378 Armenian-Azerbaijan conflict, 215 Association agreements, 237 Atomic Energy Commission (AEC), 418 Atoms for Peace, 82 Australia’s arms control, 143–144, 159 Azerbaijan, 215 Baltic Council of 1992, 238 Bar-Ilan, David, 165 BBC, 318 BECR (see Black Sea Cooperation Region Project) Beilin-Mazen accord, 169, 180 Bilateral U.S.–Russian cooperation, 439 Bi-National Commission (BNC), U.S.– South African, 96 Biological Weapons Convention (BWC), 152, 161 Black Sea Cooperation Region Project (BECR), 238 483

484 BNC (see Bi-National Commission) Bosnia-Herzegovina, 186–187, 198, 200 Boutros-Ghali, UN Secretary-General Boutros, 211 Brezhnev doctrine, 229, 233 British Labor Party, 303 Bush administration and U.S. foreign policy, 85 BWC (see Biological Weapons Convention) CAMAL (see Continuously AirborneAlert Missile Launching) Canberra Commission on the Elimination of Nuclear Weapons, 151, 159 Carter administration and U.S. foreign policy toward South Africa, 83 CCSD, Social Democrats, 276 CD, Conference on Disarmament, 145, 162 CDU Christian Democrats, 304 CE (see Council of Europe) Ceausescu, Romanian leader Nicolae, 232 Cedras, 372, 376 CEFTA (see Central European Free Trade Association) CEI (see Central European Initiative) Central European Free Trade Association (CEFTA), 238 Central European Initiative (CEI), 238 Central Intelligence Agency (CIA), 93 in Zaire, 30 CEU (see Ceuta Unida) Ceuta People’s Socialist Party, PSPC, Partido Socialista del Pueblo de Ceuta, 73 Ceuta Unida, CEU (United Ceuta), 73 Ceuta’s Electoral Group, ARC, Agrupacio´n Electoral Ceutı´, 72–73 Ceuta’s Nationalist Party, PNC, Partido Nacionalista Ceuti, 73 Chemical and biological weapons, 152 Chemical Weapons Convention (CWC), 146

Index Christian Democrats (KDU-CSL), 276 CDU, 304 Christian Social Union (CSU), 304 Chuch’e, the watchword of collapsing North Korea, 106 CIA (see Central Intelligence Agency) CIS, Commonwealth of Independent States, 205–207, 221 CITES (see Convention on International Trade of Endangered Species) Civic Democratic Alliance (ODA), 276 Civic Democratic Party (ODS), 276 Civil elites, 253 Civil instruments for politics in Colombia, 359 Civil-military relations, 251 Clinton administration and U.S. foreign policy toward South Africa, 94 CNC, National Peasant Confederation, 344 Coalicio´n Electoral Musulmana (Muslim Electoral Coalition), 73 Coalicio´n por Melilla (CPM, Coalition for Melilla), 72 Cobalt in Zaire, 29 COCOM (see Coordinating Committee for Multilateral Export Controls) Coding scheme for type of state categories, 368 Cold War, 188 America’s view of, 367 in East Asia, 103 nuclear arms control, 440 nuclear arms race, as mutual nuclear deterrence, 441 as strategic balance of terror, 441 in East Asia, 103 Third World countries view of, 367 Colombia militia in the 20th century, 362 wars among civilians, 362 war in the 19th century, 359 century of constitutions, 360 COMECON (see Council for Mutual Economic Assistance)

Index Commonwealth of Independent States (CIS), 205 Comprehensive Test Ban Treaty (CTBT), 149, 439, 444 Concept of security, transformation of, 376 Conference on Disarmament (CD), 145, 162 Conference Towards a Global Ban on Anti-Personnel Mines in 1996, 156 Conservative alternatives, 1–2 goals, 1 unilateralism, 390 Continuously Airborne-Alert Missile Launching (CAMAL), 432 Conventional weapons, 153 Convention on International Trade of Endangered Species (CITES), 473 Coordinating Committee for Multilateral Export Controls (COCOM), 145 Copper in Zaire, 28–29 Council for Mutual Economic Assistance (COMECON), 232 Council of Europe (CE), 236 CPM, Coalicio´n por Melilla (Coalition for Melilla), 72 Creative Britain, 311–312 Croatia, 186–187, 191, 193, 198, 200 CSU (see Christian Social Union) CTBT (see Comprehensive Test Ban Treaty) CTR, Cooperative Threat Reduction, 443 CWC (see Chemical Weapons Convention) DCMS (see Department for Culture, Media, and Sports) DDRE (see Director of Defense Research and Engineering) Declaration of Principles, 166 Defense policy, 253 Defense Science Board (DSB), 421

485 Demilitarized Line (DML), 109 Democratic Center Union, UCD (Unio´n del Centro Democra´tico), 71 Democratic Front for the Liberation of Palestine (DFLP), 170 Democratic Justice Party (DJP), 126 Department for Culture, Media, and Sports (DCMS), 319 Department of Defense (DoD), 423 Department of Energy (DoE), 423 Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade (DFAT), 145 Department of Transportation (DOT), 474 Dependent image with operation restore democracy, 376, 378 Deutsche mark (DM), 394, 402 DFAT (see Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade) DFLP (see Democratic Front for the Liberation of Palestine) Diaspora, 169, 171 Director of Defense Research and Engineering (DDRE), 432 Displaced workers, 1 DJP (see Democratic Justice Party) DM (see Deutsche mark) DML (see Demilitarized Line) Doctrine of General People’s Defense, 1968, 193 DoD (see Department of Defense) DoE (see Department of Energy) Dollar exchange rates, 1, 15 Domestic politics and international factors, 393 DOT (see Department of Transportation) DPRK, Democratic People’s Republic of Korea (North Korea), 120 DSB (see Defense Science Board) East Asia and the Cold War, 103–104 Eastern Europe, 229 East Europe security, 235 and Soviet reform, 232

486 East European exports/imports, 242– 243 East Jerusalem, 176 East NATO, 282 EBRD (see European Bank for Reconstruction and Development) Economic development, 463 Economic feasibility, 468 estimating costs, 468 funding arrangements, 469 projecting revenues, 468 Economic policy, 253 EEC, 265, 266 Elchibey, Azerbaijan pro-Turkish leader Abulfaz Ali, 216 ELF (see Eritrean Liberation Front) Elimination of nuclear weapons, 151 Elite images, 367 and policy preferences, 368 Emerging trends in international security, 387–388 Emperor Haile Selassie, 45 EMS (see European Monetary System) Enclaves, 58 EPLF (see Eritrean People’s Liberation Front) Eritrea, 43 British rule of, 44 Ethiopian rule of, 44 Italian rule of, 44 Eritrean Liberation Front (ELF), 46 Eritrean National Pact Alliance, 52 Eritrean People’s Liberation Front (EPLF), 47 Eritrea’s secession from Ethiopia, 43 Ethiopia, 43 EU (see European Union) Euro-Barometer 35, 289 Eurocorp, 260 European Bank for Reconstruction and Development (EBRD), 236 European Monetary System (EMS), 410 European public, 287 European Union (EU), 232, 251 model, 257

Index Exchange of factories, 12 of goods, 4 Exchange Rate and International Economic Policy Coordination Act of 1988, 401, 403, 408 Exporting democracy, 1 humanitarian vs. national interest criteria, 17 EZLN, Zapatistas or Azpatista Army of National Liberation, 335 Fair labor standard, American, 14 FAO, United Nation’s Food and Agriculture Organization, 108 FDA (see Food and Drug Administration) FDP, German Free Democrats, 304 Fed, The, 394 Federal Republic of Yugoslavia, 186– 187 Fish and Wildlife Service (FWS), 473 FN, National Front, 304 FNLA (see Front for the Liberation of Angola) Food and Agriculture Organization (FAO) of United Nations, 108 Food and Drug Administration (FDA), 473 Foreign exchange interventions, 393 rate policy, 397 Foreign factories in the United States, 1, 12–13 Foreign policy, 253 decisions, 17 humanitarian, 18 Foreign relations of the ROK and DPRK, 135 Former Soviet Republics (FSRs), 236 Former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia (FYROM), 239 Freedom Union (US), 276 Free trade agreements, 15 French Communist Party (PCF), 304 Frente POLISARIO, liberation front, 65, 74

Index Front for the Liberation of Angola (FNLA), 30, 87 FSRs (see Former Soviet Republics) FWS (see Fish and Wildlife Service) FYROM (see Former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia) GAC (see General Advisory Committee) Gamsakhurdia, Georgia president Zviad, 208 GAN, Russian nuclear regulatory agency Gosatomnadzor, 446 Gaza Strip, 165 GEC (see Generalized Event Count) General Advisory Committee (GAC), 418 Generalized Event Count (GEC), 404 General Operational Requirement (GOR), 429 General Services Administration (GSA), 474 Generational influences, 300 Geopolitical discourse, 58–59, 64 Geostrategic threats to Israel, 174 German Free Democrats (FDP), 304 Globalization, 312, 317 Global media strategy, 318 GNP (see Gross national product) GOR (see General Operational Requirement) Gorbachev administration, 205, 210, 231, 233 Gore-Chernomyrdin agreement, cessation of plutonium production, 442, 448 Gosatomnadzor, Russian nuclear regulatory agency (GAN), 446 Gross national product (GNP), 5, 171, 403 GSA (see General Services Administration) Haiti American image of an overall dependent country, 373

487 [Haiti] American passivity toward its crisis, 373 American policymakers’ images of, 370 antipathetic sentiment, 370 inferiority, 370 coding scheme for the type of state categories, 368 image of Haiti, 370 self-image, 369 impact of American images on operation restore democracy, 374 dependent image with operation restore democracy, 378 self-image with operation restore democracy, 374 Hamas, 167, 170, 173, 177 Hebron agreement of 1997, 165 Henry Kissinger, Nixon’s foreign policy advisor, 83 Highly Enriched Uranium (HEU), 442 Hizballah, 168 Humanitarian foreign policy, 18 Hwang Jang-Yop, 107 IAEA (see International Atomic Energy Agency) Iberian kingdoms, 60 ICRC (see International Committee of the Red Cross) IEC (see International Economic Communities) Image model, 368 Imagined communities of Spain and Morocco, 63 IMF (see International Monetary Fund) Immigration and Naturalization Service (INS), 473 Immigration policy, U.S., 1, 9–10 Impact of American images, 374–375 of dependent images on operation restore democracy, 376, 378 Imperialism, 23, 25 Leninist model, 25

488 Increasing compatibility between ROK and DPRK, 134–135 Industrial diamonds in Zaire, 29 INF (see Intermediate-Range Nuclear Forces treaty) Information, scripts, and issue frames, 80 Inhumane Weapons Convention of 1980, 155 INI, National Indianist Institute, 344 INS (see Immigration and Naturalization Service) Institutional Revolutionary Party (PRI), 335 Integrated explanations of American foreign exchange policy interventions, 406 Integrating systemic and statist explanations, 395 Intergovernmental feasibility, 471 leadership, 471 obtaining approval, 472 personnel costs, 472 specific agency concerns, 472 Intermediate-Range Nuclear Forces treaty (INF), 146, 442–443, 445, 447–448 Intermodal facility on the border, feasibility issues, 466–467 Intermodal transfer, 464 International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA), 145, 161, 443 International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC), 155 International competitiveness, 1, 4 International Economic Communities (IEC), 1, 16 International feasibility, 475 binational involvement, 476 environmental concerns, 478 institutional cooperation, 477 jurisdictional concerns, 478 maintaining border integrity, 476 movement in personnel, 477 security, 478 International integration, 335

Index Internationalism, 390 International Monetary Fund (IMF), 234, 337, 393 International policy, 1 conservative and liberal positions, 3 of U.S. and the U.N., 3 win-win solution, 3 International prosperity, 4 exchange of goods, 4 evaluating alternative position on tariffs, 4 getting Japan and other countries to reduce tariffs, 5 improving international competitiveness, 4 NAFTA, 8 negotiating free trade in farm products, 7 exchange of factories, foreign factories in the U.S., 12 U.S. factories going abroad, 14 exchange of people: U.S. immigration policy, 9 international refugees, 11 volunteerism in technical assistance, 11 general exchange facilitators, dollar exchange rates, 15 international economic communities, 16 International refugees, 1, 11 International strategy for United States, 391 International transportation along border of U.S. and Canada, 464 along border of U.S. and Mexico, 464 Intervention, 2 Intifada, 165, 169 Irredentism, 175 Iskandrov, Tajikistan leaer Akbarsho, 214 Islamic-Democratic coalition of Tajikistan, 214 Islamic Jihad, 167, 170, 177 Israeli-Palestinian reconciliation, 166

Index Issue frames, scripts, and information, 80 Izquierda Unida, IU (United Left), 73 Japan problem, 112 JCAE (see Joint Committee on Atomic Energy) Jerusalem–Tel Aviv–Haifa triangle, 174 Jihad, 167 Joint Committee on Atomic Energy (JCAE), 425 Katanga, region of Zaire, 27 KDU-CSL, Christian Democrats, 276 Kissinger, Henry, Nixon’s foreign policy advisor, 83 Korea, 106 Kozyrev, Foreign Minister Andrei, 206, 222 Lack of consensus, 389 League of Nations, 203 Lebel, Moldova General Alexander, 212 Leninist model of imperialism, 25 Lexington Project, 425 Liberal alternatives, 1 goals, 1 positions, 2 unilateralism, 390 Limited Test Ban Treaty (LTBT), 442, 448 Log-likelihood ratio (LR), 409 LTBT (see Limited Test Ban Treaty) Lumumba, Patrice, prime minister, 22– 23 Madrid Peace conference, 166 Major U.S. Federal Government Agencies with an Interest in a Transboundary Intermodal Facility, 473 Manhattan Project, 425 Marxist-Leninist theory, 230 Media policymaking, 311 Melilla Nationalist Party, PNM, Partido Nacionalista de Melilla, 71

489 Melilla People’s Union, UPM, Unio´n del Pueblo Melillense, 71 MFN (see Most-favored nation trading status) Mine Ban Convention of 1997, 156 Minsk Group (Belarus, France, Germany, Hungary, Italy, Russia, Sweden, and Turkey), 216 Mobutu era in Zaire, 21–22 Moldova, 211 Most-favored nation trading status (MFN), 240 MPLA, Popular Movement for the Liberation of Angola, 30, 85 Multilateral cooperation, 439 Multilateral Development Banks Procurement Act of 1988, 404 Multilateralism, 390 Multilateral peacekeeping operations, 390 Multilevel analysis, and fissile material issue, 449–451 Muslim communities, Spanish citizenship of, 68 Muslim Electoral Coalition, Coalicio´n Electoral Musulmana, 73 Nabiev, Tajikistan Communist leader Rakhmon, 214 NACC (see North Atlantic Cooperative Council) NAFTA (see North American Free Trade Agreement) Nagorno-Karabakh, 215 National goals, 127 identity, 58–59 materialism, 125 strategies of ROK, DPRK, U.S., PRC, Russia, and Japan, 124, 127, 130 tactics, 128 values, individualism, 125 National culture vs. international trade, 311 National Front (FN), 304

490 National Solidarity Program (PRONASOL), 346 National Strategic Security Memorandum 39, NSSM-39 (U.S. policy toward southern Africa), 83 NATO (North Atlantic Treaty Organization), 188, 236–237, 251, 258– 260, 287 enlargement in 1998, 264 EU, 245 expansion, support for, 297–299 support for, 290–293, 301 Nazarbaev, Kazakhstan president Nursultan, 206 Neo-isolationism, 390 Neo-mercantilism, 24 NEPA (see Nuclear Energy for Propulsion of Aircraft) Netanyahu, Prime Minister Benyamin, 165 New Democratic Republican Party, 126 New Korea Democratic Party (NKDP), 125 New Labour, 317 New Musical Express (NME), 330 NGOs (see Non-government organizations) Nixon administration and U.S. foreign policy toward South Africa, 81– 83, 86 NKDP (see New Korea Democratic Party) NME (see New Musical Express) Non-government organizations (NGOs), 147 Non-Proliferation Treaty, 146, 161 North Africa, Spanish enclaves in, 57 North American economy and international trade, 463 and land-based shipping, 463 North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA), 8, 336, 342, 463 North and South Korea, 106 North Atlantic Cooperative Council (NACC), 236

Index North Atlantic Treaty Organization (see NATO) NPT, Nuclear Non-proliferation Treaty, 146, 161, 444, 448 NSG (see Nuclear Suppliers Group) NSSM-39, National Strategic Security Memorandium 39 (U.S. policy toward southern Africa), 83 Nuclear disarmament regime, 439 Nuclear Energy for Propulsion of Aircraft (NEPA), 425 Nuclear Non-proliferation Treaty (NPT), 444, 448 of 1995, 439 Nuclear policy, U.S., 417 Nuclear Suppliers Group (NSG), 145 Nuclear testing, 148 Nuclear-weapons states (NWS), 146 Nuclear-weapons-free zones, 146, 150, 161 Nuclear weapons treaties (START I and II, INF), 442 NWFZs (see Nuclear-weapons-free zones) NWS (see Nuclear-weapons states) Oak Ridge National Laboratory (ORNL), 425 OAU (see Organization of African Unity) ODA, Civic Democratic Alliance, 276 ODS, Civic Democratic Party, 276 OECD, Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development, 313 Office of Science and Technology Policy (OSTP), 419 Office of Scientific Research and Development (OSRD), 418 Officers in Yugoslav military, 196 OIC (see Organization of the Islamic Conference) Okinawa, 113 OLS regressions, 404 Omnibus Trade Act, 401 ONUC, United Nations operation in the Congo, 204

Index Operational Test and Evaluation Command (OPTEC), 157 Organization for Security and Cooperation in Europe (OSCE), 206, 236, 273 Organization of African Unity (OAU), 45, 49, 51, 91 Organization of the Islamic Conference, 239 ORNL, Oak Ridge National Laboratory, 425 OSCE (see Organization for Security and Cooperation in Europe) Oslo 2 agreement of September, 1995, 169–170, 178, 180 OSRD, Office of Scientific Research and Development, 418 OSTP, Office of Science and Technology Policy, 419 PA (see Palestinian Authority) Palestine Liberation Organization (PLO), 47, 165 Palestinian Authority (PA), 165 Palestinian Covenant, 166 Palestinian domestic politics, 169 Palestinian state, 165 foreign policy orientation of a Palestinian entity, 171 Palestinian domestic politics and foreign policy, 169 policy implications, 177 geostrategic dimension, 179 sovereignity, 180 timetable, 179 real Middle East and the Arab-Israeli conflict, 166 strategic threats, 174 geostrategic threats to Israel, 174 irredentism, 175 terrorism, 177 threats to Hashemite Jordan, 176 threats to scarce resources and environment, 176 Paradigmatic development, nuclear restraint regimes, 443

491 Parson’s Value Classification, 122 Partido Comunista de Espan˜a, PCE (Spain’s Communist Party), 73 Partido Democra´tico y Social de Ceuta, PDSC (Social and Democratic Party of Ceuta), 73 Partido Independiente Hispano Bereber (PIHB, Spanish Berber Independent Party), 72 Partido Nacionalista Ceuti, PNC (Ceuta’s Nationalist Party), 73 Partido Nacionalista de Melilla (PNM, Melilla Nationalist Party), 71 Partido Popular (PP, Popular Party), 70 Partido Socialista del Pueblo de Ceuta, PSPC (Ceuta People’s Socialist Party), 73 Partido Socialista Obrero Espan˜ol (PSOE, Spanish Socialist Workers Party), 71 Partisan influences, 303 Partnership for Peace (PFP), 236 Patrice Lumumba, prime minister, 22– 23 PCE, Partido Comunista de Espan˜a (Spain’s Communist Party), 73 PCF, French Communist Party, 304 PDRY (People’s Democratic Republic of Yemen), 48 PDSC, Partido Democra´tico y Social de Ceuta (Social and Democratic Party of Ceuta), 73 Peace Corps, 12 Peacekeeping Russian, 203 Soviet Union, 204 People’s Republic of China (PRC), 130 PFC [see Progreso y Futuro de Ceuta (Progress and Future of Ceuta)] PFLP (see Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine) PFP (see Partnership for Peace) PHARE (see Poland and Hungary: Aid for Economic Restructuring) PIHB (see Partido Independiente Hispano Bereber)

492 Pivotal states strategy, and the United States, 390–391 PLO (see Palestine Liberation Organization) PNC (see Partido Nacionalista Ceuti) PNM (see Partido Nacionalista de Melilla) Poisson regression, 404 Poland and Hungary: Aid for Economic Restructuring (PHARE), 237 Political sources of Zapatista rebellion, 343 Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine (PFLP), 170 Popular Party, PP (Partido Popular), 70 Possibilities for strategic interaction, ROK, DPRK, and others, 131 Post–Cold War American policymakers’ images of Third World country, 368 changes, 368 foreign policy decision-making, 367 issues, 367 nuclear disarmament, 440 security policy, 287 Power cycle, 387, 389 PP (see Popular Party) Pragmatic internationalism, 390 PRC (see People’s Republic of China) President’s Science Advisory Committee (PSAC), 418–419 Previous restraint regimes, 442 PRI, Institutional Revolutionary Party, 335 Prime Minister Patrice Lumumba of Congo/Zaire, 22–23 Problem-solving mode, 79 Progreso y Futuro de Ceuta, PFC (Progress and Future of Ceuta), 73 PRONASOL, National Solidarity Program, 346 Prosperity, international, 4 Protectionism, 390 PS, Socialist Party in France, 303 PSAC (see President’s Science Advisory Committee)

Index PSOE (see Partido Socialista Obrero Espan˜ol) PSPC (see Partido Socialista del Pueblo de Ceuta) Public opinion and foreign policy, 288– 289 Pyongyang’s actions, 108 Rabin, Yitzhak, 178 Rakhmonov, Tajikistan Communist leader Imomali, 214 Rally for the Republic (RPR), 304 Reagan administration and U.S. foreign policy, 84 Re-branding Britain, 323 Refugees, international, 11 Reunification Democratic Party, 126 ROK, Republic of Korea (South Korea), 119 RPR (see Rally for the Republic) Russian peacekeeping, 203, 210 Saddam Hussein, 172 SALT I, Strategic Arms Limitation Talks, 444–445, 448 SALT II, subsequent Strategic Arms Limitation Talks, 444–445, 448 SAM (see Surface-to-air missile) San Francisco Treaty of 1951, 104–105 Script, Cold War, 81 Scripts, information, and issue frames, 80 Security policy, 417 Self-image with operation restore democracy, 374–375 Serbian-Montenegrin centralists, 186 Serbs, 185–186, 187 Shevardnadze, Foreign Minister Eduard, 205, 208–210 Simonstown Agreement of 1955, 82 Slovenes, 185 Slovenia, 186–187, 199 and dispute with federal authorities, 199 Snegur, Moldovan president Mircea, 212

Index Social and Democratic Party of Ceuta, PDSC, Partido Democra´tico y Social de Ceuta, 73 Social Democrats in Germany (SPD), 303 Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia, 185, 201 Socialist Party in France (PS), 303 Socioeconomic sources of Zapatista rebellion, 336 South Africa, U.S. foreign policy toward, 81–82 South and North Korea, 106 Southern Africa, U.S. foreign policy toward, 79 South Ossetia, 208, 209 South Pacific Nuclear Free Zone (SPNFZ), 145 Soviet reform and East Europe, 232 Soviet Union peacekeeping, 204 Spain’s Communist Party, PCE, Partido Comunista de Espan˜a, 73 Spanish Berber Independent Party, PIHB Partido Independiente Hispano Bereber, 72 Spanish citizenship of Muslim communities, 68 Spanish enclaves in North Africa, 57 Chafarinas Islands, 57–58 Melilla, 57 Pen˜o´n de Alhucemas, 57 Pen˜o´n de Ve´lez de la Gomera, 57 Spanish Protectorate in Morocco, 61 Spanish Socialist Workers Party, PSOE, Partido Socialista Obrero Espan˜ol, 71 Spatial strategies, 64, 65 SPD, Social Democrats in Germany, 303 SPNFZ (see South Pacific Nuclear Free Zone) Sputnik, 418, 431, 433 START I, Strategic Arms Reduction Talks of 1991, 442, 445–448 START II, Strategic Arms Reduction Talks of 1993, 278, 442, 445–448

493 START III treaty, 273, 278 State foreign economic policy and neoliberal institutionalism, 396 and structural realism, 396, 398 Statist approaches to foreign economic policy, 399 explanations of American foreign exchange policy interventions, 406 Statutes of autonomy, 62 Strategic arms reduction treaties (START), 146 interactions of the DPRK, 133 interactions of the ROK, 132 Strategic Arms Limitation Talks of 1972 (SALT I), 444 Studying intermodalism in an international context, 465 Subnational conflict, 335 Subsidies, well-placed, 5 Super-optimizing analysis, 1 Surface-to-air missile (SAM), 174 SWAPO (South West Africa People’s Organization), 86 Systemic approaches to foreign economic policy, 396 explanations of American foreign exchange policy interventions, 405 Tajikistan, 213 Tariff positions on, 4 reduction, 1, 6 Tax breaks, 5 Technical assistance, volunteerism in, 11 feasibility, 469 automation, 470 facility design, 470 site selection, 470 Temple Mount, 176 Ter-Petrosayan, Armenian president Lev, 216 Territorial Defense Forces, 196 Terrorism, 177

494 Thematic coding, 368 Three-mines policy, 160 Title III of PL100–418 Omnibus Trade and Competitiveness Act of 1988, Subtitle A, 401, 404 Tito, Josip Broz, President, 190, 193– 194 Towards a Global Ban on Anti-Personnel Mines conference of 1996, 156 Trans-Dniester republic, 211–213 Twenty-Seventh Soviet Party Congress, 231 TWF, Television Without Frontiers, 325 Type of state image category, 368–369 perceptions of capability, 368 for culture, 369 for decision-making style, 369 for locus of decision-making, 369 for motives, 368 UCD (see Unio´n del Centro Democra´tico) UDF (see Union for French Democracy) UMHK (see Union Minie`re du Haut Katanga) UN, United Nations, 232 UNEF, United Nations Emergency Force, 203 UNGA, United Nations General Assembly, 41, 149 UN Observer Mission in Georgia (UNOMIG), 211 UN Protection Force (UNPROFOR), 155 Unio´n del Centro Democra´tico (UCD, Democratic Center Union), 71 Unio´n del Pueblo Melillense (UPM, Melilla People’s Union), 71 Union for French Democracy (UDF), 304

Index Union for the Total Independence of Angola (UNITA), 30, 85 Union Minie`re du Haut Katanga (UMHK), 27 UNITA (see Union for the Total Independence of Angola) United Ceuta, CEU, Ceuta Unida, 73 United Left, IU, Izquierda Unida, 73 United Nations (UN), 2, 203, 219, 232 charter of, 204 Emergency Force (UNEF), 203 General Assembly (UNGA), 44, 149 operation in the Congo, 204 Transition Assistance Group (UNTAG), 204 volunteer force, 2 as world’s peacekeeper/policeman, 390 United States, support for, 293–297, 302–303 United States Treasury/Federal Reserve (see also The Fed), 394 UNOMIG (see UN Observer Mission in Georgia) UNPROFOR (see UN Protection Force) UNTAG (see United Nations, Transition Assistance Group) UPM (see Unio´n del Pueblo Melillense) Uranium in Zaire, 29 U.S. and Canada, 465 U.S. and Mexico, New Mexico, USA, and Chihuahua, Mexico, 465 U.S. factories abroad, 1, 14 U.S. federal agencies involved in approval of port of entry, 475 U.S. foreign exchange market intervention against DM, 394–395 against the yen, 394–395, 402 U.S. foreign policy toward South Africa, 79, 81–82 US, Freedom Union, 276 U.S.–Russian Highly Enriched Uranium agreement, 442 U.S.–South African Bi-National Commission (BNC), 96

Index USSR nuclear arms race strategy sderzhivanie (denying the enemy a victory), 441 ustrashenie (response with punishing retaliation), 441 Variable descriptive statistics, 410 Verified hypotheses of ROK-DPRK relations, 136 Volunteer force, United Nations, 3 Volunteerism, 1, 11 Wars and the military, 359 Weapons of mass destruction (WMD), 144 West Bank, 165 Western European Union (WEU), 238 West NATO, 282 Westphalia, treaty of 1648, 251 WEU, Western European Union, 238 Win-win analysis, 1–2 WMD (see Weapons of mass destruction) Yeltsin government, 209–210, 212 Yossi Beilin-Abu Mazen accord, 169, 180 YPA (see Yugoslav People’s Army)

495 Yugoslav Federal Army, 193 Yugoslav military, 185 Albanians in, 198 officers in, 196 Serbian soldiers in, 196 Yugoslav People’s Army (YPA), 196, 199–200 Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia, 186– 187 Yugoslavia, Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia, 185 Zaire American benefits in, security, economics, diplomacy, 21–22 cobalt in, 29 copper in, 28 industrial diamonds in, 29 Mobutu era, 21 uranium in, 29 ZANU (Zimbabwe African National Union), 86 Zapatismo and international relations theory, 348 Zapatistas and international relations, 335 Zapatistas (EZLN), 335 ZAPU, 86