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As a Turkey follower (I studied the country in grad school and wrote on it for my dissertation and first book) I’ve got thoughts on Turkey’s elections. But as someone not interested in hot takes, I’m going to wait until the election is over to provide some analysis.
Instead, I want to talk about Pope Francis’ “peace talks” between Russia and Ukraine. The Pope recently announced “secret” peace talks between Ukraine and Russia, although neither side seemed to be aware of this. His efforts have progressed, however, with Ukraine President Zelensky’s recent visit to Italy.
I should be a fan of this. I think Russia’s invasion of Ukraine was, and continues to be, a war crime: it needs to stop. I study religion and international relations, and thus should welcome an example of religion’s power in the world. But I’m concerned, not because I think he’ll fail but because I worry he’ll succeed.
My concerns have to do with the nature of the Pope’s current mission, and a past mission he conducted.
He is attempting to stay neutral in the conflict in order to find a middle ground between the combatants. Francis has been hesitant to call out Russia as the aggressor in the conflict while suggesting Russia was “provoked” into attacking Ukraine. He’s met with Putin supporters such as Viktor Orban of Hungary.
I can understand what the Pope is trying to do. Putin will never trust someone who condemns his actions, and–if the goal is peace rather than Russian surrender–this neutrality is the best way to achieve it.
But as I’ve argued before, peace at any cost isn’t really what Ukraine needs. Such a peace deal would likely give Russia some control over Ukraine, which is not acceptable. Ukraine needs a just peace that includes justice for the victims of Russian aggression, not just the end of fighting.
Most commentators believe Pope Francis’ peace efforts will fail…I worry they will succeed.
The Pope’s earlier peacebuilding in Syria demonstrates this concern. As I discuss in my forthcoming book with Cornell University Press, Francis opposed calls in 2013 for international military intervention in Syria in response to the Assad regime’s atrocities against the Syrian people. Some of this included explicit appeals to faith. Ultimately, Francis was successful in organizing a transnational coalition against intervention.
I was also opposed to military intervention in Syria. At the same time, I did not believe peace talks would cause Assad to start respecting human rights. And, unfortunately, Francis’ successful blocking of military intervention did not lead to a concerted effort to create a just peace for the Syrian people. Instead, it gave Assad the breathing room to crush his opponents. Some see this as a permanent stain on Francis’ legacy, and I worry his efforts in Ukraine will be as well.
Most commentary on the Pope’s Ukraine peace efforts seem to think they will fail. He is intervening in conflicts among Orthodox Christians, outside the Roman Catholic sphere of influence. Zelensky continues to receive support from Western leaders; he had a positive meeting with Italian Prime Minister Meloni, and both the UK and Germany have pledged military aid.
I think he may actually succeed.
In my forthcoming book I discuss why religious appeals affect power politics, by persuading leaders and resonating with domestic publics. I also discuss when they succeed or fail.
Pope Francis may not appreciate the immense power he wields.
The key variables are the credibility of the actor issuing the appeals and the material incentives facing their targets. A speaker credible on religious issues and targets amenable to their message leads to success. The absence of these conditions leads to failure.
Most situations in the real world, however, involve a mix of the two. Situations involve either a speaker with little credibility on religious issues but the ability to provide material incentives, or a credible speakers appealing to targets with disincentives to go along with their efforts. The theme of the book is that religious appeals have real impacts on power politics, but rarely in the manner intended by their wielders.
Pope Francis’ peacebuilding efforts are a rare exception. First, if anyone is credible on religious issues it’s Pope Francis. His ascension to the Throne of St. Peter was greeted by enthusiasm around the world, given the fact that he is from the Global South and has emphasized care for the poor and social justice. He has established (possibly problematic) religious ties with the UAE’s government. Even this proud Protestant, whose Lutheran ancestors had to flee the Palatinate because of the Thirty Years’ War, likes him. As seen in his work on Syria, he is able to mobilize transnational and inter-faith coalitions; he may do the same on Ukraine.
Additionally, everyone involved has material incentives to listen to him. Western backers of Ukraine are wary of being drawn into the war, and some worry about the drain on their military readiness from continued support. The war is not working out for Russia, and it’s not inconceivable Putin is looking for a face-saving out. Even Ukraine’s will may begin to wear down as this goes on.
Thus, even if Francis cannot bring Putin and Zelensky together, his efforts may spark a transnational social coalition that puts pressure on all involved states to end the war.
Again, if the goal was just peace–i.e. the absence of fighting–this would be good. But this sort of “peace” means Russia will not have to repair the country it devastated, while Ukraine will likely have to give up full control of its territory. Pope Francis’ efforts may succeed, but leave the people he’s trying to help worse off. This would not be a failure of his influence, but, ironically, an unfortunate success for religious appeals in power politics. Pope Francis may not appreciate the immense power he wields.
The Convention Concerning the Protection of World Cultural and Natural Heritage (“The World Heritage Convention”) entered into force in 1975. The world heritage regime, in effect, produces the shared heritage of humanity. States use their right, as set by the Convention, to nominate sites within their borders; the files accompanying the nomination make the case for the site’s “outstanding universal value.” The relevant Advisory Body—for cultural heritage sites, the International Council of Museums and Sites (ICOMOS)— evaluates the site and its file. The intergovernmental World Heritage Committee, composed of twenty-one rotating members, discusses the site, the file, and the ICOMOS recommendation during its annual meeting; it makes the final decision on additions to the World Heritage List.
The Convention requires the World Heritage Committee to meet annually to take the regime’s implementing decisions. The Russian Federation was supposed to host last year’s meeting during June. But Russia’s war on Ukraine led to strong pressures for a change in location; in the end, the session was indefinitely postponed.
In October 2022, Ukrainian President Zelensky officially nominated the Historic Centre of Odesa for inscription on the World Heritage List. He did so under the emergency procedure for sites facing immediate danger. Thus, if the nomination succeeded Odesa would also be placed on the List of World Heritage in Danger, which designates sites “for which major operations are necessary and for which assistance has been requested under the Convention.”
To fulfill its obligations under the Convention, the Committee held an extraordinary session at UNESCO’s Paris headquarters in December 2022. During this meeting, the Committee decided to convene a second extraordinary session in January 2023.
The agenda for the January 2023 meeting had three substantive items; the third item read “any other matter.” Italy, Belgium, Japan, Greece and Bulgaria advanced Odesa’s nomination by placing the “evaluation of nominations to be processed on an emergency basis” under that third item.
The Russian Federation responded with a series of procedural moves aimed at preventing the nomination from moving forward. The debate grew heated enough for the Saudi Arabian chair of the meeting to make multiple calls for order and civility.
The Russian objection focused on the rushed nature of the nomination.
The vote to adopt the meeting agenda was unprecedented in the regime’s history. It had to be repeated at each step of Odesa’s consideration for world heritage designation. During each vote, thirteen or fourteen Committee Members abstained. These abstentions by Asian and African Delegations reflect their broader refusal to take part in some of the Western-liberal actions on the Ukrainian conflict. The Russian Federation was the only Committee Member that voted in favor of its own proposals. Proposals by the countries sponsoring Odesa’s nomination got between five to seven votes. Since the required majority is calculated by members present and voting, supporters of Odesa’s inscription carried the day.
Odesa’s nomination took place via an emergency process. The Palestinian Authority regularly uses this process in an effort to get sites in its territory added to the List (two of its world heritage sites are currently on the Danger List). Israel always objects, arguing that those sites face no real danger. The Russian objection was different; it focused on the rushed nature of the nomination. Its Delegation expressed regret at not having been afforded the time to “generously share[] the documents from our archives including the decree by the Empress and the regional plans and the maps.”
In response, the Committee Members, the Secretariat and ICOMOS argued that regular timelines and procedures are not applicable to emergency nominations. Multiple speakers emphasized that what mattered were the site’s “outstanding universal value” and the emergency it faced—referred to as “reasons we all know” or “Russia’s war of aggression.”
On 25 January 2023, UNESCO’s intergovernmental World Heritage Committee added the Historic Centre of Odesa (Ukraine) to the World Heritage List. Inclusion on the World Heritage List means that Odesa has “outstanding universal value.” It is, therefore, part of the shared heritage of humanity.
But why did Ukraine nominate Odesa in the first place?
Russia’s invasion aimed to capture Odesa, and it seems likely that Moscow intended to ultimately annex the city. By successfully nominating Odesa, Kyiv reinforced international acknowledgement of its sovereignty over the city.
Article 3 of the World Heritage Convention states that sites can (only) be nominated by states on whose territory they are located. Therefore, Ukraine’s nomination of Odesa is an act of claiming sovereignty over the territory on which the city is located.
Further, sites are placed on the World Heritage List under the name of the nominating country and with specific boundaries. Thus, with its addition to the List, Odesa has been internationally registered as a Ukrainian (world heritage) site.
Ukraine’s nomination of Odesa is an act of claiming sovereignty over the city
To be clear, the Convention is not only a sovereignty-boosting mechanism. When placing sites on the List, states forfeit certain sovereign prerogatives and take on internationally sourced conservation and presentation requirements. However, in cases of contested sovereignty, the regime presents states with the opportunity to internationally register debated boundaries under their name.
The “Old City of Jerusalem and its Walls” nomination by Jordan in 1978 gave rise to the regime’s first debates on this matter. Ultimately, the site was inscribed in an extraordinary session. While Israel acceded to the Convention in 1999 and Palestine was admitted to UNESCO in 2011, the Old City of Jerusalem remains the only world heritage site not listed under a country.
Other contested boundary sites have since been nominated. The best-known case is Cambodia’s 2008 nomination of the Preah Vihear, amidst objections by Thailand. The inscription led to clashes along the disputed Thai-Cambodian border where the temple sits.
The Palestinian delegation’s remarks after the inscription of Hebron’s Old Town (2017) similarly attests to the dynamics of claiming and extending sovereignty via world heritage: “Palestine, as a sovereign state, even though it is occupied, has exercised its right to inscribe on the World Heritage List a city that is on its territory. It should be a trivial statement that people are masters of their own territory.”
In these cases, the Secretariat or the Advisory Body invokes Article 11 of the Convention. This article states that inscriptions do not prejudice contested sovereignty claims. And yet, as the examples show, states use the regime to internationally register contested territories under their name, and reinforce their sovereignty.
The terms of the nomination itself reinforced Kyiv’s efforts to associate Ukraine with Europe and the liberal international order.
Designating sites as world heritage involves describing their “universal value.” The nomination files, evaluations, and Committee discussions become exercises in narrative representation.
The nomination file describes historic Odesa as universally valuable as “a fragment of Late Renaissance Western European civilization,” a vibrant trade port, and a melting pot of different ethnic groups. Similarly, in his speech after the site’s addition to the List, the Ukrainian representative described Odesa as a multinational heritage “created by Greeks, French, Italians, Jews, Russians, Ukrainians, Tatars and other nationalities.”
As critical scholars have long noted, heritage is never simply about the past. Heritage is made from the present and shaped by its concerns. Heritage-making traces cultural histories of contemporary political communities. It aims to project these communities to a future that follows from their past.
Bulgaria and Greece emphasized close ties to multicultural Odesa
The nomination represents Odesa, and Ukraine more broadly, as part of past and present European culture. Further, it attaches the site and the country to valued elements of the liberal international order, namely, free trade and multicultural tolerance. Values of a virtuous cycle of trade and prosperity made possible by and fostering peaceful multiculturalism have been part of liberal-internationalism and integral to world heritage regime’s vision of humanity.
These threads repeat in the ICOMOS evaluation. The Advisory Body described Odesa as a city located on the Ukrainian shores of the Black Sea, which prospered in the 19th century as a result of liberal trade policies and the presence of diverse communities. Odesa was deemed universally valuable as a multi-ethnic, multi-cultural, cosmopolitan, historical city.
During the discussion of the site, the sponsoring countries referred to ICOMOS’s positive evaluation but focused on the closure of the debate to prevent further objections by the Russian Federation. After the inscription, however, Bulgaria and Greece took the floor to emphasize their countries’ close ties to multicultural and tolerant Odesa.
These interventions recognize and affirm the insertion of Odesa and Ukraine into structures of international, liberal values.
Such insertion is strengthened by the continued reference to the site as Ukrainian. For example, speaking on behalf of the Friends of Ukraine, the United Kingdom emphasized Odesa’s importance for “Ukraine’s rich history” as well as “global world heritage.” As a result, Odesa remains at once Ukrainian and becomes internationally recognized as part of a European and liberal-international world.
Moreover, these representations move Odesa and Ukraine away from Russia’s narrative frames.
Evidencing those frames, the Russian Federation’s Delegate remarked that “it would not be an exaggeration to say that for every Russian, the beautiful city of Odesa holds a special place in history and culture.” The Delegation elaborated on the Russian attachment to Odesa as “the so-called southern Palmyra, a hero city of the great patriotic war.” These remarks represent Odesa as belonging to Soviet history instead of the European Renaissance. The Delegation’s remarks, quoted earlier, on the Russian Federation’s willingness to open its archives and share the Empress’s decree further narrates Odesa as part of Russian imperial history.
A second member of the Delegation objected to the nomination’s “omission of the role of Russian culture and language in the development of Odesa.” He quoted from a 19th century traveler who “for objective reasons does not mention Ukrainians, due to the fact that there was no distinct Ukrainian nation group in these centuries.” Therefore, the Delegate contended, it is incorrect to describe Odesa as a Ukrainian city in the 18th-19th centuries.
If heritage is never simply about the past, then these remarks are not only about prior centuries. If heritage-making narrates histories of contemporary political communities with an eye to the future, then these se representations locate Ukraine’s present and future as intertwined with Russia.
After the designation of Odesa as world heritage, UNESCO’s Director-General Audrey Azoulay wrote that it is “thus placed under the reinforced protection of the international community. While the war continues, this inscription embodies our collective determination to ensure that this city… is preserved from further destruction.”
As the United Kingdom recalled in its speech, the Convention posits that the loss of world heritage sites amounts to the “harmful impoverishment of all nations of the world.” Crucially, Article 6 of the Convention commits states “not to take any deliberate measures that might directly or indirectly damage the cultural and natural heritage on the territory of another State Party.”
One can recall here the recent and well-publicized destructions of Timbuktu and Palmyra world heritage sites. Here, the world heritage designation inserted the two sites into moral and legal frameworks of international protection. International news media used world-heritage narratives to draw attention to the value of the sites and the loss at stake. The International Criminal Court charged an Ansar Dine member with war crimes for Timbuktu’s destruction.
In fact, the Russian Federation has made use of this moral universe in the past. To mark its contribution to the military campaign that took Palmyra back from ISIS, Russia organized a classical music concert in the ancient amphitheater. The concert positioned Russia as standing on the side of civilization against barbarity. In contrast to the opprobrium that the Russian Federation has received for its actions in the Syrian war, the liberation of Palmyra gave rise to conversations between UNESCO and Vladimir Putin on how to best protect and preserve the site.
And now, the world heritage designation of Odesa places the Russian Federation on the other side of this moral-legal universe.
[i] The recordings of the extraordinary meeting are available for public access. All quotations from the meeting are transcriptions by the author and they are linked to the relevant recording.
One year ago, Russia launched an illegal war on Ukraine, committing horrific war crimes against the people of Ukraine. Analyses and memorials abound, and I’m probably not the only person writing about this on the Duck today.
I wanted to address a specific aspect of this war, though: why Russia’s carefully cultivated ties with far-right forces in Western Europe and the United States failed to undermine Western opposition to the war.
Last year, as Russia was about to launch its invasion of Ukraine, I was finishing a chapter on Russia in my new book. The book, forthcoming with Cornell University Press, explores how states use religious appeals as a tool in power politics (Religious Appeals in Power Politics is the working title).
As Goddard and Nexon discussed in an article on power politics—or the efforts to form or break apart international coalitions—states use more than just military and economic tools. They also turn to cultural and symbolic instruments of power. Appeals to religion—shared faith, shared religiosity—I argue, are one such instrument of power.
One chapter looks at Saudi appeals to Islam to form an anti-Egyptian alliance in the 1960s. Another explores US appeals to “moderate Islam” and religious engagement in the Global War on Terrorism. One includes brief discussions of several other cases, such as China’s Confucius Institutes, the Pope’s mobilization against military intervention in Syria, and the early 2000s border dispute between Cambodia and Thailand.
The chapter that ended up being most relevant to current events, however, is the one on Russia.
Putin has expressed desire to control his “near abroad” connected to Russia as former Soviet states and ethnic Russian ties; this is often referred to as the Russky Mir, or Russian world. As part of this, he fostered ties with far-right groups in the West, presenting Russia as a like-minded power.
Some refers to these efforts as “civilizational,” “sharp power,” “soft power,” or “traditional values” (for my related complaint about the stretching of the term soft power, see my article in International Studies Perspectives).
I prefer to call them what they are: religious appeals (I have a whole other post planned about scholars and policy experts’ allergy to just calling religion religion). For example, in a December 2013 speech, Putin pushed back on Western criticism of Russia’s anti-LGBTQ laws, attacking the West for “treating good and evil equally;” he argued that Russia’s “traditional family values” were “the foundation of Russia’s greatness and a bulwark against ‘so-called tolerance.’”
These religious appeals seemed to have worked. US conservatives see Putin as a defender of “traditional Christian values.” Far-right forces in Europe see Putin as a defender of “true” Western values.
But this hoped-for transnational far-right coalition didn’t fracture the West and give Putin an easy victory in Ukraine. Western European states, which had struggled to unite on many issues, came together to oppose Putin’s victory. Many Orthodox figures criticized Putin.
So what happened?
Some could argue this shows that cultural and symbolic instruments of power (we need a better name for that) like religious appeals ultimately matter less than material concerns. Western Europe is militarily threatened by Russia’s aggression, so even right-leaning figures won’t support Putin.
This is partly true. As I argue in the book, religious appeals’ effects depend on the interaction between the credibility of their wielder and the material incentives facing the target. I based this on Busby’s work on moral movements in foreign policy.
It could also just be bad timing (for Putin). If Putin had invaded Ukraine while Trump was still the U.S. President (or if Trump had won in 2020) the outcome may have been much different. Trump and his allies have been much more antagonistic towards Ukraine, so the US-led aid to Ukraine may not have materialized.
But I’d argue (and expand on this in the book) that it has to do with the nature of religious appeals themselves.
Religion is a powerful force (it’s hard to find a good single article overview, but you could read my summary of research on religion and terrorism). This makes it a useful tool when it mobilizes domestic publics or persuades leaders to change their policies.
But this power also makes it unwieldy and unpredictable.
Religion increases the stakes of any interaction (just think of that old joke about never discussing religion and politics at dinner). Religious arguments are complex, and can easily be reinterpreted to suit conflicting interests or even turned back on their originator. And conventional statecraft tends to be based on secular language, so religious appeals are confusing and produce uncertainty.
In my book, I break slightly with Busby, and argue that the intermediate combinations of material incentives and credibility still matter.
Material incentives to cooperate combined with a lack of credibility on religious appeals (the situation during the US Global War on Terrorism), produce convenient coalitions that can easily fall apart or be redirected against the interests of the originator. Credibility on religious appeals combined with material disincentives to cooperate lead to a tense, unsettled situation in which the appeals roil international relations.
I’d suggest this is what happened with Putin’s religious appeals, and explains their limited effect on the Ukraine war.
First, they still had some effect. As I discussed above, Putin did gain some political benefits from his appeals. And there are lower-level benefits he’s still enjoying. The recent arrest of a German government agent spying for Russia seems to be tied to his right-wing views. It’s likely Putin’s appeals generated sympathy and made it easier to recruit him.
Moreover, Putin’s appeals may have led some to sympathize with Russia, but they increased mistrust of Russia among many others. U.S. Democrats previously supported engagement with Russia, but they have grown increasingly hawkish on such efforts. Moreover, some of the opposition to Putin has drawn on appeals to Western values, suggesting part of the reaction has to do with Putin’s religious appeals.
Putin’s failure to break apart Western opposition to the war on Ukraine prevented the easy victory he hoped for. This failure arguably occurred due to the issues arising from religious appeals in power politics. I’d even argue that if Putin had stuck to conventional geopolitical discussions, Western mistrust would have been more minimal (he may have lost domestic support, but that’s another post).
We shouldn’t relax yet, however.
If it is true that the German spy is tied to right-wing parties, and if he was radicalized through Putin’s religious appeals, this is cause for concern. Even if Putin’s religious appeals never form a durable pro-Russian coalition, they will continue to disrupt and roil Western politics.
FreshRSS 