Archive for ‘Peace’

May, 2014

‘Frame-Breaking Conciliatory Moves between Enemies’

Professor Nicholas J. Wheeler

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In his 2010 book, How Enemies Become Friends, the US International Relations theorist Charles Kupchan evoked for his readers a scene from the 1990 film, The Hunt for Red October in which captain Marko Ramius (played by Sean Connery) commanding a Soviet ballistic missile submarine wants to defect with his submarine and crew to the United States. However, a US Navy Captain, Bart Mancuso, (played in the film by Scott Glenn) tracking the Soviet submarine in the USS Dallas, has orders to destroy the Soviet vessel which US political and military leaders fear could be commanded by a renegade intent on launching a nuclear attack against the United States. At a crucial moment in the underwater game of cat and mouse, the CIA agent on board the US submarine, Jack Ryan (Alec Baldwin), persuades Mancuso to take a gamble (it is apparent in the subsequent dialogue just how much of a gamble) on the Soviet captain’s peaceful motives and intentions. Ryan has a hunch – no more – that Ramius is intent on defection and not attack. Mancuso is highly doubtful, after all what Ryan is asking for, risks the potential destruction of the US submarine if the gamble on Ramius’s potential trustworthiness turns out to be wrong. Nevertheless, the story requires the dramatic leap of trust (this idea is discussed in Lewis and Weigert 1985: 970; Booth and Wheeler 2008: 234-237; Wheeler 2011: 160-2) that Mancuso makes when he orders that the submarine’s propeller be reversed, thereby revealing to the Soviet submariners the position of the US submarine, and exposing it to possible destruction. The Soviet captain fortunately interprets the US commander’s decision to make his vessel vulnerable as clear evidence of his peaceful intent, and reciprocates by not taking any hostile actions. A sequence of deescalation follows through a series of unilateral-reciprocated non-verbal communicative acts (using sonar, periscopes and Morse code) and this leads eventually to a face-to-face meeting aboard the Soviet vessel in which arrangements are made for the Soviet submarine and crew to defect to the United States (Kupchan 2010: 39-40; Clancy 1984).

The US captain’s decision to reverse his submarine’s propeller and expose the submarine to possible attack as a way of signalling his peaceful motives and intentions is what I have in mind by a ‘frame-breaking conciliatory’ move (I am grateful to the US trust researcher Roderick Kramer’s for suggesting this formulation to me). The comparison with Osgood’s ‘gradualist’ (the term was coined by Amitai Etzioni who developed similar, though distinctive ideas to Charles Osgood in the early 1960s and continues to apply these ideas today to contemporary challenges) approach is clear. Osgood had called for low-risk initiatives that would build trust that could then establish a platform for bolder unilateral-reciprocal moves. However, as we saw yesterday, such moves might prove too limited to convince decision-makers in an adversary state who are operating with a mindset of ideological fundamentalism and applying bad faith thinking to any conciliatory gestures by an opponent.

‘Red October’ type signalling, in contrast, promises to send a powerful signal of peaceful motives and intent that is hard to discount. Some US International Relations theorists have dubbed what I am calling ‘frame-breaking conciliatory’ moves as ‘costly signalling’. To illustrate this idea, the trust researcher Diego Gambetta wrote that, ‘No poisoner seeks to demonstrate his honesty by drinking from the poisoned chalice. Drinking from a chalice…is a reliable signal that the drink is clean’ (2009: xviii– see also Bacharach and Gambetta 2001; Möllering 2009: 143). In the International Relations context, the idea of costly signalling is used to capture the idea, in Andrew Kydd’s words, that states ‘would hesitate to send [such signals] if [they] were untrustworthy (2000: 326 – see also 2005). However, Kydd argued that there is an explicit link between the costliness of the signal – the extent to which the signal communicates peaceful motives and intent – and ‘the level of trust’ (2005: 198). What Kydd is saying here is that because costly signalling entails a level of risk which increases as the signal becomes more costly, then states should not send such signals until they have built up a corresponding level of trust. However, as I have argued elsewhere (Wheeler 2013), and am developing at greater length in my book, Trusting Enemies, which will be published in 2015, Kydd has no adequate explanation for how this level of trust can be developed.

However, in the case of Red October, Ryan – and crucially Mancuso – have almost no basis for trusting Ramius’s intentions before Ryan convinces Mancuso to send the dramatic signal. In this case, Ryan and Mancuso act as if Ramius could be trusted, and in so doing, they hope to conjure into existence the very trust that they need in order for their gamble to pay-off. This is very different from Kydd’s idea of costly signalling which presupposes a prior level of trust before the costly signal can be sent.

The Red October vignette is the stuff of fiction and Hollywood, and the question is whether it has any relevance to building trust in the contemporary world. Kupchan used the story to argue in his book that it was dramatic, frame-breaking moves of this kind that are necessary for adversaries to begin a process of diplomatic accommodation, but the cases he discussed in the second part of his book (especially the Anglo-American rapprochement in the late 19th Century) provide little evidence for this claim. More broadly, there is scant evidence that state leaders gamble in the way the captain of the USS Dallas did, and of course, in the real world, it is most likely that Mancuso would have been court-martialled (despite the positive outcome) for endangering the USS Dallas so cavalierly. Mancuso only put at risk his command, but what about leaders who have a primary responsibility for the security of their citizens? They face decisions under the security dilemma (the existential condition of uncertainty) as to whether to trust in which the costs of misplaced trust could – thinking of a nuclear context – be weighed not in the loss of one submarine, but the lives of millions of their citizens.

My point here is not to argue that ‘frame-breaking conciliatory’ moves should only be discussed in the context of novels and films; rather, it is to advance the point that examples of leaders acting as if trust existed in relations with their adversaries will be rare indeed. My best example of this would be Anwar Sadat’s courageous decision to visit Jerusalem in November 1977 and in a speech before the Knesset, publicly recognise Israel’s right to exist. This was close to being a leap of trust, though there had been prior communication between the two sides, and Sadat was working through trusted intermediaries, as well as knowing that he had US president Jimmy Carter supporting his unilateral conciliatory initiative. If it was a leap then, it was one furnished with something of a safety net, though this is not to detract from the game-changing nature of his move in visiting Israel, since it opened the door to the spectacular breakthrough that took place in Egypt-Israel relations through the US sponsored Camp David peace process.

Sadat is the outlier here, and the real challenge is to think creatively about how to build the trust that can lead the leaders in conflict situations to make frame-breaking conciliatory moves. I suggested yesterday that Osgood’s GRIT fails as a trust-building mechanism for two reasons: first, it may not be possible to domestically legitimate a strategy of making unilateral low-risk concessions if these are pocketed by an opponent without reciprocation, and second, the limited nature of the moves (to hedge against exploitation by an adversary) may be insufficient to break down a deeply embedded ‘diabolical enemy image’ (to return to Ralph White’s idea discussed in Tuesday’s blog) which dismisses GRIT type moves as tokenistic, or worse, a trap. In my final blog tomorrow, I will explore how far face-to-face encounters at the highest level of diplomacy are a critical, yet neglected mechanism for building trust between enemies, and making possible conciliatory frame-breaking moves.

Nicholas J. Wheeler is Professor of International Relations in the Department of Political Science and International Studies, and Director of the Institute for Conflict, Cooperation and Security at the University of Birmingham.

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May, 2014

Building “A Spiral of Trust” through GRIT

Professor Nicholas J. Wheeler

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Yesterday’s blog explored how peaceful/defensive self-images and ideological fundamentalist beliefs can generate security competition, even between states with peaceful motives and intentions. How, then, might a spiral of distrust be substituted for a ‘spiral of trust’. The latter idea was invoked by the US social-psychologist Charles Osgood in his 1962 book, An Alternative to War or Surrender. Writing nine months before the Cuban missile crisis which took the world the closest it has been to nuclear war, Osgood argued that such a virtuous spiral could be achieved if one side in an adversarial relationship broke the stalemate by making a unilateral conciliatory gesture. As I discussed yesterday, decision-makers operating with peaceful/defensive self-images always look to their opponent to make the first gesture of peace. But Osgood appreciated that if both sides in a conflict expect the other to make the first conciliatory move, then the result will be deadlock. Osgood called his strategy ‘graduated and reciprocated initiatives in tension-reduction’ (GRIT), and its great virtue is that one side recognising this predicament, seizes the initiative and acts unilaterally to break the spiral of distrust.

Although the word empathy does not figure in the book (perhaps surprisingly given his psychological background), the book can be read as a direct appeal to US political leaders, politicians, and citizens to empathise with their Soviet enemy. Osgood argued that the United States was operating with a mindset of ‘ideological fundamentalism’ (though he used the term ‘Neanderthal mentality’ to describe the US ideological stereotyping its Soviet enemy) and that this was compounded by a US peaceful/defensive self-image. Osgood warned against US policy makers projecting their own ‘self-image of peaceful intent upon others and assume that they must see us the same way we see ourselves’ (1969: 140). This fed the US image of the Soviet Union as an implacable foe because Soviet hostility could only be the result of its innate aggressiveness to US values and interests. Ethnocentric thinking of this kind operated on both sides and it served to blind the two superpowers from understanding that their enemy also had legitimate fears and interests that had to be satisfied if humanity was to avoid nuclear Armageddon (1969: 18-36).

Increased empathy, and the exercise of security dilemma sensibility (see yesterday’s blog for this idea), is the first crucial step on the road to trust building, but this has to be translated into unilateral conciliatory moves that might build trust (Wheeler 2011a, 2011b, 2013). GRIT begins when one state publicly announces that it is planning to carry out a cooperative move as a way of promoting de-escalation, and then proceeds to implement this in line with the new strategy. These moves are designed to induce reciprocation and it is part of GRIT that the announcement of a unilateral initiative(s) is coupled with an explicit invitation to reciprocate.

What makes GRIT such a potentially important approach to de-escalation and trust building is that unlike most negotiation and bargaining strategies, it is not conditioned on reciprocation. Crucially, the strategy is not pronounced a failure if the other side does not immediately reciprocate, though the ultimate test of the strategy is securing reciprocation. Osgood believed that if GRIT was continued for a long enough period of time, and the Soviet government saw itself reaping the benefits from US concessions in terms of a decrease in tensions, then Moscow would come to reciprocate US concessions. Ultimately, Osgood saw no reason why, if ‘The Neanderthal Mentality’ could be broken, the superpowers could not develop an ‘atmosphere of mutual trust’ which would not only reduce tensions and the risks of war, but increase the likelihood of successful negotiations on ‘critical political and military issues’ (1969: 88).

The importance of Osgood’s case for de-escalation was hammered home only a few months later when the United States and Soviet Union went ‘eyeball to eyeball’ (in US National Security Advisor’s Dean Rusk’s memorable phrase uttered at the height of the crisis). Set against the risks that the Cold War could lead to this apocalyptic outcome, Osgood claimed that ‘GRIT balances limited risks extended over a long time-scale against at least the hope of ultimate survival and preservation of our way of life’ (1969: 158).

Few students read about GRIT these days (I’m pleased to say that Osgood’s book has an important place on the reading list of my module, ‘Theories of Global Cooperation’ at Birmingham) which is a pity because Osgood’s work deserves a wider audience. Although some scholars have argued that Gorbachev put into practice policies of GRIT, Gorbachev actually, as I will discuss tomorrow, went even further than Osgood had recommended, with far-reaching and highly beneficial consequences for international security. That said, the opening conciliatory moves that Gorbachev made towards the United States after he took over the leadership of the Soviet Union in March 1985 could be read as a textbook example of GRIT.

Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for President Obama’s outreach to Iran at the beginning of his first administration. Although as far as I am aware, no administration officials talked in terms of GRIT (perhaps reflecting the lack of awareness of these ideas in the wider diplomatic community), it could be argued that the Obama administration’s initial gestures of conciliation was an example of GRIT. The President took an important symbolic step in his March 2009 Nowruz message (marking the Iranian New Year) to the people and leaders of Iran by calling it ‘The ‘Islamic Republic of Iran’. This was language that no previous US President had used, and Obama called for ‘engagement that is honest and grounded in mutual respect.’ At the same time, the Obama administration suggested that it was open to lifting the Bush administration’s precondition that negotiations on Iran’s disputed nuclear programme could only take place if Iran suspended its uranium enrichment activities first.

Iran’s Supreme Leader, Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, responded to Obama’s New Year message by saying, ‘They chant the slogan of change but no change is seen in practice.’ Khamenei viewed the US move as a propaganda gimmick designed to win Obama the moral high ground, and not as a genuine gesture of conciliation. I would argue that the Supreme Leader was operating – and continues to operate today – with what K.J. Holsti (see yesterday’s blog for this idea) called ‘an inherent bad faith model’ (1967: 26) of an adversary. Osgood was aware in relation to the Soviet Union that its most likely initial response to the US government announcing a strategy of GRIT would be to view it as ‘a Cold War trick.’ But he claimed that as each publicly announced initiative was followed by another, then the Soviet ‘bogey man conception’ or bad faith model of the United States would increasingly be at odds with US actions (1969: 104). Osgood’s lesson for Obama, then, would have been to keep pursuing low-level conciliatory initiatives that might break down the enemy image held by the Supreme Leader. But it was exactly this which Obama was unable to do. As Trita Parsi shows in his excellent book, a Single Roll of the Dice, US domestic politics and the need to reassure Israel that the United States was not caving in on the question of Iran’s uranium enrichment, made it extremely difficult for the president to continue in the way that GRIT would prescribe. The violence and crackdown following the disputed election in Iran in early June 2009 constrained Obama still further, and spelt the end of the administrations short-lived experiment with GRIT.

The perverse consequence of Obama’s experimentation with GRIT was that he and his advisers were disillusioned by the lack of Iranian reciprocation, believing that it showed that Iranian decision-makers, crucially the Supreme Leader, did not want to cooperate. This strengthened the hand of those in the administration, like Secretary of State Hillary Clinton, who wanted to increase the diplomatic leverage against Tehran through stronger sanctions. That said, the administration did not give up pursuing avenues for de-escalation, but in the end, these failed to stem the pressures supporting a more confrontational posture. What is more, any subsequent cooperative initiatives were pursued in a multilateral context, and conditioned on Iranian reciprocation.

The case of Obama and Iran raises the question, which Osgood never satisfactorily answered, as to whether a strategy of GRIT could be legitimated in a US domestic political context, if it entailed making even limited concessions to an ideological enemy that were not immediately reciprocated. At the same time, because Osgood wanted to limit the type of concessions to those that would not jeopardise national security, the question has to be asked as to whether unilateral cooperative moves of this kind will ever be sufficient – even if repeated – to overcome the suspicion and distrust that is generated in the minds of decision-makers who adopt a ‘bad faith model’ of an adversary. Tomorrow, I will explore the possibility of building trust through what I call ‘frame-breaking moves.’ These are game changing actions, taken by one state in an adversarial relationship, that are aimed at decisively signalling its peaceful motives and intentions. Such moves, in contrast to GRIT, have the potential to convince decision-makers to jettison a previously held ‘bad faith model’ of an adversary.

Nicholas J. Wheeler is Professor of International Relations in the Department of Political Science and International Studies, and Director of the Institute for Conflict, Cooperation and Security at the University of Birmingham.

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March, 2014

The imagery of burns

Dr Jonathan Reinarz

Burns are visually distinct and emotionally overwhelming. They are horrific and iconic. Think only of Thich Quang Duc, the Buddhist monk whose self-immolation was filmed and photographed in a carefully orchestrated protest against Vietnamese President Ngo Dinh Diem in 1963. Sitting in the lotus position, the elderly monk was doused with petrol by fellow monks before he set himself alight. The act, not surprisingly, ended in his death, but the events of 11 June 1963 also sparked a dramatic escalation in the conflict between Vietnam’s dictatorship, which favoured the country’s Catholic minority, and its Buddhist community. A description of the event by American journalist David Halberstam manages to add drama to the haunting photograph taken by Associated Press photographer Malcolm Browne by emphasising more than just visual spectacle.

‘Flames were coming from a human being; his body was slowly withering and shrivelling up, his head blackening and charring. In the air was the smell of burning flesh…Behind me I could hear the sobbing of the Vietnamese who were now gathering. I was too shocked to cry, too confused to take notes or ask questions, too bewildered to even think.’ (D. Halberstam, The Making of a Quagmire, 1965, 211) 

Sociologist Michael Biggs has argued that the power of this extreme form of protest comes from the likelihood that self-immolation will end in death (70% of cases are fatal). Hunger strikes may be averted, but in cases of self-immolation, death is not conditional. Not surprisingly, responses to such images are dramatic.

‘The Napalm Girl’

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Napalm

My second example captures another moment in the history of Vietnam (8 June 1972), nearly a decade after Guang Duc’s self-immolation. It was taken minutes after inhabitants of Trang Bang, a village north of Saigon, experienced a napalm strike, and it shows children running towards a wire roadblock on Route 1, the main highway between Saigon and Cambodia. As described in the first pages of Robert Neer’s recent history of napalm, earlier these children had been huddled with their families in a temple under the protection of South Vietnamese soldiers, when the building was mistaken for a North Vietnamese target. A group of injured and frightened children subsequently escaped the site and fled to a nearby checkpoint, where a waiting journalist noticed a naked nine-year-old girl who had been stripped by napalm, which continued to burn. It was then that Associated Press photographer Huynh Cong ‘Nick’ Ut captured his Pulitzer-Prize-winning photo. To many, it dramatically depicts the impact of war on non-combatants, and the day after it was taken, the photo appeared in newspapers alongside the heading ‘The Terror of War’. ‘Napalm Girl’ has become the best known image of the Vietnam War and is credited with bringing about a shift in the American public’s attitude towards the conflict.

Although burns have the potential to erase a person’s identity, by literally scorching away their features, the ‘Napalm Girl’ now has a name, Kim Phuc, and her story has been told in a film and a well-known biography. After capturing this pivotal image, Nick Ut took Kim and her brother to a South Vietnamese hospital. She subsequently spent 14 months in the Barsky Unit in the American hospital in Saigon. Kim’s burns, which covered 50% of her body, were grafted by American surgeons and, after two years of treatment and rehabilitation, she was able to return to her village. Like many burns victims, her life was fundamentally transformed, only, in this case, it was further altered by the particular political context. Forced to leave school, she was regularly interviewed and became a ‘national symbol of war’. Eventually defecting from Vietnam while en route to Cuba, she now lives in Toronto, Canada with her family. In 1997, she established the Kim Foundation International, a charity that assists child victims of war.

‘Mohamed Bouazizi’

As unique as Kim’s story may appear, many burns casualties have resisted remaining individual tragedies. Like the fiery death of Guang Duc, some have inspired imitators, or galvanised collective action. More recent cases of self-immolation have demonstrated this yet again, with the suicide of Tunisian fruit-vendor Mohamed Bouazizi recognised as a catalyst of the Tunisian Revolution, if not the wider uprising in the Arab world; in Panara and Wilson’s The Arab Spring (2013), he is the butterfly of chaos theory whose fluttering wings continue to cause storms around the globe. While burns units in the West continue to treat cases of self-immolation (two were admitted to the Birmingham Burns Unit over the Christmas holidays), many more patients, past and present, share similarities with Kim Phuc. As in the past, approximately 50% of burns victims are children. Their stories, like that of Kim, are also more often heard, not just in the popular press, but at burns conferences, such as that mentioned in yesterday’s posting, in order to better understand the experiences of patients.

Dr Jonathan Reinarz is Director of The History of Medicine Unit and a Reader in the History of Medicine at the University of Birmingham.

February, 2014

Democracy, Rights and European Hopes in Turkey

Dr Luis Cabrera

Yesterday I wrote about the importance of individuals being able to both chasten and challenge political leaders. Constitutionalized liberal democracy, I suggested, is valuable primarily – though not solely – as a means of doing this. The right to vote in regular elections, along with rights to assembly, speech, protest, and closely related rights to bring formal challenges in courts, all are means of holding those who govern us to account.

Today I want to shift the focus from India and the Dalit (former untouchables) human rights struggle to Turkey. The two may not be obvious cases to treat in the same book or blog series, but in fact, some important issues intersect in both. In the Dalit human rights case, activists struggling on behalf of a category of persons within a country assert that those persons’ rights are being systematically violated. They believe that India’s democratic institutions and courts remain stacked against Dalits, despite anti-discrimination laws on the books. At the same time, the Indian government strongly resists ‘outside interference,’ or outreach by such activists to global human rights actors. It reserves the right to interpret rights standards and rights fulfilment to itself.

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Protestor, Turkey, July 2013

In the Turkish case, similar claims are heard about democratic institutions and leaders who are increasingly unresponsive to opposition voices. Turkey has long been noted as a secular country, observing strict separation between state and Islam, the religion ascribed to an overwhelming majority of its population. One of the consistent complaints from opposition and activist leaders has been that Prime Minister Recep Tayyip Erdogan (pronounced ER-doh-WAN) has been incrementally introducing religious values and behavioural restrictions into law. Activists also complain of a creeping authoritarianism, on which more below.

The Turkish case, like the Indian one, has a significant international, or supranational, angle. Where the Dalit human rights activists have sought to reach out to the global human rights community in the absence of anything like a Global Court of Human Rights, Turkey has long held hopes of joining the still-expanding regional governance project just beyond its own borders.

For me, the Turkish case has been of great interest for the ethical questions it raises about obligations across borders. My basic presumption has been that Turkey stands to receive the same human rights benefits as other less-rich countries had on joining the European Union in the last several decades. These would include particularly Spain, Ireland, Portugal and Greece. Spain and Portugal were not only relatively poor countries at the time of accession, but they also faced steep challenges to democratization and democratic consolidation. Many observers see European Community membership as an important factor helping them develop stable, rights-respecting democratic institutions.

Of course, few would suggest that membership in the now-European Union is a cure for all political ills, or that the EU itself has developed into a fully defensible set of democratic institutions. EU leaders are still dealing with the fallout from the global economic crisis, which revealed some cracks in institutional design that may need more than a quick plaster-over. Yet, longtime EU observers will note that this is far from the first crisis, and that in fact the EU’s demise has been predicted many times.

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Istanbul Police lined up, July 2013

In relation to Turkish accession, my presumption remains that it would deliver significant additional rights benefits to Turks. It would further integrate the country into the EU common market, give it a much stronger political voice in helping to shape and set the direction for that market, while enhancing economic opportunities for individual Turks, not least free movement across borders. It also should help to better ensure robust democratic rights.

I went to Istanbul for the first time last summer, to interview government officials, activists and think-tank representatives about prospects for Turkish accession. Full accession for Turkey has long been a controversial issue in some EU states, of course. This is because first, important issues remain unresolved around EU member state Cyprus. Turkey holds half of Cyprus’ territory in circumstances that continue to draw protest from several quarters. Turkey also would become the second largest EU country, behind Germany, giving it instant political clout in the union. And, a factor which is generally whispered about except by far-right factions, which tend to shout about it, Turkey would be the first Muslim-majority country in the EU. Even so, there is significant support for Turkish accession within the EU, along with opposition, notably within Germany and France.

When I arrived in Istanbul, after an earlier trip to Brussels to interview Turkish and EU officials, I found that few had EU accession foremost in their mind. Rather, they were focused on the flashpoint of Gezi Park. That park – an urban oasis in a city notably lacking in greenery – had become the focal point for demonstrations against the Erdogan regime, stemming from plans to let developers raze it for a shopping plaza.

I took a hotel near the park, which had been cleared of activists not long before in a police crackdown which saw three protesters and one police officer killed. The government response brought harsh criticism from the European Parliament. That was rejected by Erdogan, who questioned the Parliament’s legitimacy and blamed the protests on outside influences.

I spent several days interviewing leaders of activist groups that were focused on democratic governance, with emphasis on those which also interacted with EU institutions, as well as some political party and policy officials. On two nights, I joined the protesters who still filled the streets of the posh shopping district near Gezi Park. In interviews, they expressed their anger at what they saw as authoritarianism and religiosity gradually but relentlessly taking over their political institutions. Few mentioned the EU without prompting. Support for accession in polls of Turks has steadily dropped in recent years, as frustration has grown over the slow pace of accession talks – even while Croatia, which was given permission to move toward full membership at the same time as Turkey, was admitted. Yet, when asked, most saw EU membership as providing additional resources to challenge the government.

After a few dozen interviews, and being water cannoned and tear gassed by police, I decided I had collected enough from the protesters themselves (!) I did, however, join them another night, after they had quietly walked back into Gezi Park, police standing by, and turned it again into a site for singing, chanting, and expression of views.

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Protestors filling Istiklal St., July 2013

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Woman in goggles, July 2013

Now, six months later, EU leaders are again laying charges of authoritarianism, this time in response to a stringent law pressed by the Erdogan government on internet usage. Critics charge that the law amounts to bald censorship. At the same time, there were hopes for progress on EU accession talks, after years of virtual standstill. The struggle to shape the country’s democracy undoubtedly will continue, though it remains to be seen whether it will be conducted more firmly in the EU context.

Police and billboards, Turkey, July 2013

Police and billboards, Turkey, July 2013

Luis Cabrera is Reader in Political Theory, Department of Political Science and International Studies, University of Birmingham.

October, 2013

Peace

‘Make love not war’ was the slogan of the 60s. Surely one of the most effective ways to save humans is to ensure peace? Indeed, the United Nations primary purpose is to ensure international peace and security. It is at the heart of the modern system of international law and politics. But how does the pursuit of peace map across into international human rights?

In 1976 the Commission on Human Rights passed a resolution stating that there is a right to peace. Two years later the General Assembly with a Declaration on that same topic. In the same year, the United Nations Educational, Scientific & Cultural Organisation declared that there is a right to peace to which each individual is entitled. But simply declaring a right does not mean that it exists.

There has been a growing trend towards viewing peace as a human right. A group of rather disparate and not necessarily connected academics, NGO activists, practitioners, government delegates and UN staff are setting out more and more evidence to place ‘peace’ within the international human rights framework. The reasoning goes that peace impacts upon the attainment and realisation of all other rights. So – the proponents say – if we develop and enshrine a right to peace then it will have a positive impact on the whole system.

Sounds good, doesn’t it? In an ideal world, we would all live in peace and that would help to ensure that our other rights were more easily realised. But that does not mean that the peace has fully entered the international human rights law system. There are no international or regional legal mechanisms that protect an individual’s right to peace. There is no redress or remedy, at those levels, for a violation of the right to peace. But there have been some positive developments in recent years.

The first case on this subject was brought in 2003 before a court in Costa Rica. Luis Roberto Zamora Bolanos successfully sued the Costa Rican government over its support for the invasion of Iraq and over its plans to extract and process nuclear materials. This led to legislation being annulled within that state. The grounds for the case were that the government was violating the right to peace. In 2006, Zamora brought another case challenging the Arms Decree on the grounds that it threatened the right to peace. The court used this case to discuss the ambit of the right to peace, saying it is more than just a duty to avoid war. The court found that there is a positive duty to actively promote peace and justice. This case formally established Costa Rica as the first country to recognise, legally, the right to peace.

The United Nations Human Rights Council and the United Nations General Assembly have continued to discuss and pass resolutions on the right to peace. There is a growing body of evidence from these political bodies that suggests that many countries around the world recognise that there is a right to peace. Many countries, but not all. Almost every country voting against or abstaining on these resolutions are from the Global North. Most countries who take the floor during discussions support the right to peace, again with Western states being the exception. The ideological divide is clear –and that divide is an obstacle to ‘peace’ being enshrined within international human rights law.

There is merit to the argument that international human rights is expanding far beyond traditional notions and that newer rights, like the one to peace, threaten to dilute the system. That area increasingly includes subjects – such as politics, the environment and economics – that are difficult to protect or promote and that might better be dealt with through other frameworks.

But that expansion has occurred because there is a greater understanding of the overlap between different areas. Peace may be a political ideal, but it is also a fundamental tool for realising other human rights. Where peace is undermined, individuals’ rights cannot adequately be implemented or protected. There seems to be increasing awareness of the need to enshrine, promote and protect the right to peace, despite the right pushing against the boundaries of traditional understandings of human rights.

Follow Rosa Freedman on Twitter: @GoonerDr

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