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Public Books and the Sydney Review of Books have partnered to exchange a series of articles with international concerns. Today’s article, “Filling in Time Reading Vasily Grossman While Waiting for S,” by Maria Tumarkin, was originally published by the SRB on April 28, 2023. What a time to be reading about Annie Ernaux’s self-obliterating affair with S from the Soviet embassy in Paris, not that...
The post Filling in Time Reading Vasily Grossman While Waiting for S appeared first on Public Books.
If you spent the entire Friday night and Saturday glued to the news about Prigozhin’s armed rebellion, you are either an IR-head, a Russia-watcher or the Ukrainian army running out of popcorn. The avalanche of hot-takes about the start of a civil war, theoretical debates about a coup or not a coup and an army of blue-check grifters with the latest FSB letters reigned the day. The pundits who rushed to their keyboards with the news of Russia’s impeding collapse saw their takes turn to pumpkins even before midnight: after Wagner’s mostly unobstructed march to Moscow and seizing Rostov on Don without any resistance, Prigozhin announced the retreat of his forces “according to plan”.
For those not permanently online, the weekend featured quite a hullabaloo with Wagner mercenary group moving significant parts of their troops to Rostov, on the Russian side of the border from the occupied Ukrainian regions, as well as moving fast towards Moscow and shooting down several Russian aircraft around Voronezh. Voronezh is already featured in the Russian popular vocabulary as a proverbial foot/penis one might shoot themselves into (bombit’ Voronezh). Life imitates art, or, in this case, folklore. After accusing the Russian government of fabricating the pretences for invading Ukraine, Prigozhin demanded the ‘heads” of Defense Minister Shoigu and chief of the general staff Gerasimov angrily asking for respectful attitude from the deputy defence minister Evkurov on tape. The morning of June 24th was tense to say the least with Putin’s angry accusations of treason on TV (without naming names) and Russian Foreign Ministry spokesperson Maria Zakharova’s sanctimonious appeals to unity from a monastery outside of Moscow. The “heads” that Prigozhin demanded notably stayed silent, while a number of functionaries didn’t rush to declare support to the commander in chief.
The resolution came somewhat unexpected through (supposedly) Belarus’ Lukashenko’s mediation: according to the official communications, Prigozhin and his fighters were granted immunity “based on their military record” and Wagner’s head was supposed to leave for Belarus. After the initial mocking of the deal (and Prigozhin himself earning a record number of clown emojis on Telegram as a reaction to his retreat) and incredulity at the fact that you can dance in a church for two years prison time, but shoot down military aircraft and stage an armed rebellion for an exile in Belarus, Russian State Prosecutor’s office announced today that they are not dropping the criminal charges against Prigozhin. Interesting. Especially after one of the main TV pundits Kiselyov warning that the only thing that Putin does not forgive is treason, many are warning the Wagner chief to stay away from the windows. Prigozhin’s trolls rushed to praise the “wisdom” of everyone involved that prevented the bloodshed. After all, “you don’t want Russia to turn into Ukraine”, according to them.
So far, the best explanations I have seen come from Jeremy Morris, Tatiana Stanovaya, and Sam Greene (apologies for missing others). Jeremy’s central point is that Prigozhin’s stunt (not a coup) was an elaborate attempt at political communication with the power vertical. While I am not entire sure I agree with Prigozhin’s designation as “chthonic Karen” , Wagner’s chief’s threat to the regime stability was not insignificant. The true repercussions of the rebellion are yet to come as it’s unclear what exactly is Prigozhin going to do in Belarus or even whether he will get there, what will become of Wagner’s troops (will they sign MoD contracts? Will there be changes to the military command?). The short timeline of the rebellion does indicate it’s “not a coup” nature: there didn’t seem to be much coordination with other factions within Russia and specifically in Moscow. Granted, there were some unfazed street-cleaners and happy bystanders handing out food to the uniformed personnel in Rostov (remember, this city is one of the main areas of recruitment for Wagner), most population’s reaction was summarised in yet another Russian saying: a toad having intercourse with a viper. You don’t root for either.
When there is instability in the Russian state, people expect to see Swan Lake on TV. So far there was only a short Wagner interlude.
Guest post by Costantino Pischedda and Andrew Cheon
Drone strikes targeted Moscow last week. Though much remains unknown about it, the episode appears to be part of a series of unclaimed coercive attacks that US officials attributed to Ukrainian government personnel, including the killing of the daughter of a Russian nationalist, the sabotage of the North Stream pipelines, and drone attacks on the Kremlin.
With unclaimed coercion, perpetrators impose costs on adversaries to signal their resolve to prevail in disputes while denying involvement or simply not making any claim about responsibility. Unclaimed coercion is not unique to the war in Ukraine. Russia launched cyber attacks in 2007 to extract concessions from Estonia, though Moscow denied responsibility, and in 2010 Seoul claimed North Korea torpedoed a South Korean warship, Pyongyang’s denial notwithstanding.
Unclaimed coercion may have strategic benefits. Without unmistakable evidence about the identity of the perpetrator, the absence of a claim of responsibility creates plausible deniability, which, some argue, allows coercers to send intelligible, credible messages to targets while containing escalation risks. It may also reduce the costs of being seen as a norm violator. For instance, Austin Carson observed that, though both Saudi Arabia and the United States viewed the 2019 attacks on Saudi oil facilities as part of an Iranian coercive campaign, the absence both of conclusive evidence and a claim of responsibility prevented Riyadh and Washington from carrying out a tough military response, which would have looked “illegitimate while jeopardizing allies’ support.”
But there may also be drawbacks. Some research suggests that unclaimed acts muddle communication, leaving targets unsure about what is being demanded, making compliance less likely. Even if the coercive message is clear to targets, it may not be credible. If plausible deniability is seen as a way for perpetrators to shield themselves from the costs of appearing as norm violators by third parties and to contain escalation risks, targets may perceive unclaimed acts as cheap. A cheap action may signal unwillingness to engage in costlier and riskier overt acts to prevail in the dispute—that is, low resolve—which could embolden targets to resist.
Furthermore, the absence of a claim of responsibility could reduce the credibility of perpetrators’ reassurances implied in a coercive act (“if you do as I say, I will stop hurting you”). Targets may interpret perpetrators’ unwillingness to acknowledge responsibility as an indication of their deceitful nature, suggesting that promises to end hostile acts in exchange for concessions would likely be violated, in turn reducing incentives to comply.
Besides offering limited coercive leverage, unclaimed acts may fail to contain the risk of escalation. Targets, angry at being attacked, may confidently attribute attacks to the perpetrators despite a lack of evidence—and decide to retaliate. Incidents can engage targets’ reputation and honor, and thus be provocative, even when culpability is uncertain. For example, after the 1898 sinking of the USS Maine in Cuba, “Remember the Maine, to Hell with Spain!” became the popular rallying cry for war, even though it was unclear whether Spain was behind it.
Despite the growing interest in plausible deniability, there has been little empirical analysis of the effects of unclaimed coercion. Our research helps fill this gap, leveraging a vignette experiment, fielded in May 2022 on a sample of 854 US residents, recruited using sampling quotas to match Census statistics for gender, age, and education. The experiment exposed respondents to a fictional scenario depicting a major explosion at a NATO base in Poland used to funnel weapons to Ukraine during the ongoing war. All respondents were told that President Putin had previously warned of “unpredictable consequences” if NATO continued providing weapons to Ukraine and that both intelligence agencies and independent analysts identified Russia as the likely culprit without, however, ruling out the possibility of an accidental detonation. By randomizing whether Russia claimed or denied responsibility for the explosion, we were able to assess the effects of plausible deniability on targets’ views about complying with Putin’s demands and taking escalatory actions in response.
We found that when the attack is unclaimed, respondents are less likely to favor complying with Russia’s demands for interrupting the flow of weapons to Ukraine. Moreover, the absence of a claim of responsibility does not seem to affect respondents’ preferences for escalation. In our analysis of two possible escalatory responses by the United States to the explosion—an air strike against a Russian military base on Ukrainian soil and going to war against Russian forces in Ukraine—we found no statistically significant difference between the two groups of respondents. Thus, plausible deniability appears to reduce coercive leverage without the benefit of containing escalation.
Unclaimed attacks are among the possible tools at the disposal of governments, whose effects may vary depending on the circumstances. Policymakers considering resorting to unclaimed coercion—or fretting about its use by adversaries—should be aware that the payoffs are likely to be limited. For Ukraine, denying responsibility for attacks on Russian soil might offer the advantage of limiting reputational damage in the West, which would not be captured in our analysis. However, the evidence indicates that unclaimed attacks are unwieldy tools of coercion and are unlikely to reduce the risks of Russia’s escalatory responses.
Costantino Pischedda is Associate Professor of International Relations in the Department of Political Science at the University of Miami. Andrew Cheon is Assistant Professor of International Political Economy at Johns Hopkins SAIS.
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.
Continuing on Dostoevsky's 1880 novel, we respond to some objections to the Christian arguments that the characters Alyosha and Zosima put forward to respond to Ivan's "Rebellion" and "Grand Inquisitor" arguments. Most of these objections come from the audience Q&A.
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The post Ep. 316: Dostoevsky’s “Brothers Karamazov”: PEL Live in NYC (Part Two) first appeared on The Partially Examined Life Philosophy Podcast.Guest post by Alexandre Christoyannopoulos, Molly Wallace, and Ned Dobos
Ukraine has received tens of billions of dollars worth of military aid since the Russian invasion began one year ago. The international consensus seems to be that supporting Ukraine means financing its war effort. But a few dissenting voices have emerged of late, more ambivalent about the prudence—and ethics—of the current policy. Colonel Douglas MacGregor, a former advisor to the US Secretary of Defence, has warned that the choice of cure could turn out to be worse than the disease.
At least 7,000 Ukrainian civilians have already perished in the war. Thousands more have been injured, and millions have been displaced. MacGregor’s primary concern is that the bleeding will continue for as long as the fighting does. Russian forces advance, Ukrainian forces resist with violence, Russia responds with counter-violence, and the bodies continue to pile up. The Ukrainian state retains its sovereignty, but eventually we get to a point where, to quote MacGregor, “There are no longer any Ukrainians left!” This is hyperbole, of course, but that should not distract from the valid point MacGregor is making. States exist for the sake of their citizens, not the other way around. Therefore, if a given method of defending the state is causing its citizens to be killed or to flee en masse, that is a compelling reason to explore alternatives.
What is often overlooked about armed resistance is that, when it “works,” it does so by producing a mental rather than physical effect. Wars are won by breaking the enemy’s will to fight, not necessarily its ability to fight. Victory usually comes, if it comes, long before there are no enemy soldiers left; it comes when those soldiers who remain and/or their leaders are no longer motivated to fight, or in more extreme cases, when the soldiers are so demoralized that the leaders can no longer mount enough coercive pressure to make them continue fighting. Everything hinges on how the remaining members of the opponent group react to the destruction of their compatriots’ lives and their military or civilian infrastructure, not on the destruction itself.
Once we realize that the condition of surrender is not physical but psychological, it is only natural to wonder: Is there no way to change minds except through violence against bodies?
Nonviolent resistance is an alternative strategy for breaking the will of the aggressor. Protests and fraternization can engage the moral sentiments of the aggressor’s functionaries and citizenry, leading to a loss of popular support. Boycotts and blockades can alter the material cost-benefit equation of the aggression, so that it is no longer worth it. And nonviolent sabotage can directly diminish the aggressor’s capabilities by physically disabling military, transportation, or communications infrastructure.
Ukrainians have been engaged in various forms of such nonviolent resistance since the Russian invasion began. It took more visible forms at first—ordinary civilians demonstrating in Ukrainian colors or standing between Russian tanks and their towns—and has since shifted to less visible, more dispersed methods in response to Russian occupation and repression—graffiti, non-cooperation with Russian authorities, alternative communication, and governance institutions. There were even overtures to the Russian public and soldiers, eliciting responses from significant scientists, clerics, and journalists.
Unlike the militarized resistance, however, the nonviolent resistance has received no significant material support from the international community. Consider for example the Ukrainian government’s early offer of money and amnesty to Russian deserters, which circulated via SMS messages containing instructions on how and where to surrender and collect payment. According to The Times (UK), there was some initial uptake—a Russian soldier was photographed surrendering himself and his tank to Ukrainian forces in March, in exchange for cash and an offer of permanent resettlement in Ukraine. But consider what might have been.
Suppose the international community were to double the Ukrainian government’s offer of $50k per deserting soldier, as economist Bryan Caplan suggested. Desertion is a risky proposition, but for twice the payoff perhaps many more Russian soldiers might have considered the risk worth taking. Additionally, countries besides Ukraine could have offered Russian deserters amnesty and even citizenship within their own borders. This way deserters would need not worry about Russia eventually winning the war, occupying Ukraine, ousting its government, and taking its vengeance against them. The recent involvement of Wagner Group mercenaries on the Russian side only underscores the utility of economic incentives to alter the motivation of soldiers.
Of course, we cannot say for certain that a nonviolent approach will work. But we cannot say for certain that violence will work, either. So far it hasn’t.
If there are nonviolent ways to break Russia’s will to fight, why the reluctance to exploit them?
One possible reason is the widespread belief that nonviolence, although it can be effective, is not nearly as effective as military force. But this belief is more an a priori assumption than a rational conclusion based on an impartial appraisal of the evidence. Scientific research suggests that, during 1900–2006, nonviolent resistance outperformed violent resistance by a ratio of almost 2:1.
Maybe our desire to see wrongdoers not simply thwarted but punished explains the preference for violence here. Perhaps our sense of justice recoils at the thought of paying Russian combatants to desert, instead of making them suffer for what they have done—though this stance ignores the coercion and manipulation that Putin’s government has used against its own armed forces.
In any case, surely what matters most in all this is the welfare of the Ukrainian people. The reality is that massively financing the war effort has produced a state of attrition with no end in sight. Persisting with the current policy regardless, expecting things to change while the casualties mount, is a combination of delusion and depravity. We should now turn the spotlight onto those Ukrainians who—despite the loud calls for military weaponry—have been steadily engaged in various forms of nonviolent resistance and defense since the invasion. Their actions deserve more support—both moral and material—than the international community has so far provided.
Alexandre Christoyannopoulos is a reader (associate professor) in politics and international relations at Loughborough University, and his publications are listed on his website. Ned Dobos is a senior lecturer in international and political studies at UNSW Canberra, and author of Ethics, Security, and the War Machine: The True Cost of the Military. Molly Wallace is adjunct assistant professor in conflict resolution at Portland State University, senior contributing editor at the Peace Science Digest, and author of Security without Weapons: Rethinking Violence, Nonviolent Action, and Civilian Protection. The three of them are the editors of the new Journal of Pacifism and Nonviolence.
On Fyodor Dostoevsky's 1880 existentialist novel, focusing mostly on the "Rebellion" and "Grand Inquisitor" chapters.
How can we reconcile ourselves to the existence of evil and suffering? The character Ivan argues that we can't, that children's suffering can't be justified by any alleged Divine Plan. Dostoevsky's answer to this challenge is practical, concrete love and service to others, but does this really address or merely sidestep Ivan's challenge?
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The post Ep. 316: Dostoevsky’s “Brothers Karamazov”: PEL Live in NYC (Part One) first appeared on The Partially Examined Life Philosophy Podcast.The government of a country makes explicit or implicit threats to another: “if you cross this line, we will inflict harm upon you.” The threat fails; the government crosses the designated line. Has deterrence failed?
Well, yes. Of course. By definition. It is, for example, unequivocally true that the United States did not deter Russia from invading Georgia in 2008, nor Ukraine in 2014, nor Ukraine (again) in 2022. Should you have any doubts about this, you can always go read a nearly four-thousand word Foreign Policy article on the subject.
I agree with its authors, Liam Collins and Frank Sobchak, that U.S. policymakers made a number of mistakes in handling Russia. Trump’s rhetoric concerning NATO, Russia, and Ukraine did not exactly help make U.S. deterrence credible; then again, Trump wasn’t in office when Putin ordered the invasion. In retrospect, Obama’s decision to withhold lethal aid from Ukraine was probably mistake, as not much seemed to happen when the Trump administration reversed course. But do we really think that providing more javelins in 2015 or 2016 would have deterred Putin’s invasion?
Apparently, yes. For Collins and Subchak, Washington’s failure to deter Russia means that U.S. policymakers should, ipso facto, have adopted a more hardline policy toward Russia. But much like the opposite claim—that Georgia and Ukraine “prove” that the U.S. should have adopted a more accommodating approach toward Russia, for example, by not expanding NATO—we’re looking at reasoning that is less “ipso facto” than “post hoc ergo propter hoc.”
That is, just because X preceded Y does not mean X caused Y. In the context of policy analysis we might add that just because Y is bad doesn’t mean Y’ would be better.
Sometimes, X isn’t even X. The fact that ‘deterrence failed’ doesn’t imply that any attempt to accommodate Russia was a capitulation to Moscow. Sometimes the opposite is true.
For instance, Collins and Sobchak argue that Ukraine shows the folly of Obama’s decision to cancel the “Third Site” anti-ballistic missile system, which involving placing radar in the Czech Republic and interceptors in Poland.
But the Obama administration replaced the “Third Site” with the European Phased Adaptive Approach (EPAA), which (as the Russians soon figured out) was easier for the United States to upgrade into the kind of system Moscow worried about. EPAA also entailed eventual deployments in Romania; Obama committed to stationing Patriots on Polish territory, as well “left open the door to stationing new types of missile defense interceptors in Poland, an offer the Poles later agreed to accept.” Moreover, at the Wales NATO summit Obama convinced NATO to affirm that missile defense was part of its collective mission.
Given all of this, it seems bizarre to claim, as Richard Minter did in 2014, that after “Obama delayed deployment of missile defenses in Eastern Europe, Putin knew he had a free hand to reassemble the old Soviet Union piece-by-piece. Invading his neighbors would now be cost free.”
Now, Collins and Sobchak don’t write anything quite so ridiculous. But they sometimes land come within striking distance.
Consider the very opening of the article, which discusses the U.S. response to the Russia-Georgia war:
Recall the aftermath of the 2008 invasion of Georgia. The Bush administration airlifted Georgian soldiers serving in Iraq back to Georgia to fight, provided a humanitarian aid package, and offered tersely worded denouncements and demarches. But it categorically rejected providing Georgia with serious military assistance in the form of anti-tank missiles and air defense missiles and even refrained from implementing punishing economic sanctions against Russia. The United States’ lack of resolve to punish Russia for its gross violation of international law was underscored when U.S. National Security Advisor Stephen Hadley’s remark “Are we prepared to go to war with Russia over Georgia?”—made during a National Security Council meeting after the war started—was later released to the media.
Keep in mind that they’re talking about an effort to proved anti-tank missiles and air-defense systems during a war that lasted five days—one in which Russia systematically annihilated the shiny systems that the United States and its partners had previously provided. If the argument is that the United States should have given Georgia anti-tank weapons or air-defense missiles after the conflict, then (while that might have been a good idea) it’s not clear to me how that would’ve signaled U.S. resolve.
(Stephen Hadley’s remark first appeared, if I remember correctly, in Ron Asmus’ book about the Georgia war. So the passive voice is definitely doing some work here. At the time, Hadley refused to comment on the specific quotation but did confirm that the Bush administration decided that the risks of using force outweighed the benefits. This “revelation” shouldn’t have surprised anyone, including Moscow, since, you know, the United States did not, in fact, use force. What’s particularly strange about this example is that it’s backwards. What surprised people was the extent of support within the administration for a more aggressive response. The headline of the Politico article that I linked to above wasn’t “The United States didn’t risk war for Georgia.” It was “U.S. pondered military use in Georgia.”)
It is not obvious that the United States could have secured support for, say, more punishing sanctions. The Georgia War did not deter France from closing a deal to sell two Mistral-class helicopter carriers to Russia. Paris only cancelled that sale after the 2014 invasion of Ukraine, when Hollande (rather than Sarkozy) was president (interesting side note here).
But, as is typical for this genre, the article never seriously considers either the viability or the downside risks of alternative policies. This is… problematic… given that it is very difficult to assess what the world would like after fifteen years of concatenating changes produced by different policy decisions.
None of this means that we shouldn’t evaluate past policies and work through conterfactuals. That’s a crucial element of policy analysis, social-scientific inquiry, and policymaking, Collins and Sobchak, like too many others, don’t even do the bare minimum—in their case, despite writing a piece that runs as long as a short academic article in International Relations.
That failure is particularly pernicious when an obviously “bad outcome” makes it easy to gloss over. In fact, the last sentence of Collins and Sobchak’s article gives the game away:
The sad irony is that U.S. leaders, of both parties, chose to avoid deterrence for fear of escalating conflict—only to find themselves continually escalating their support once conflict started. Time after time, the United States chose the option that was perceived as the least provocative but that instead led to the Russians becoming convinced that they were safe to carry out the most provocative action of all: a full-scale invasion of Ukraine.
The United States ignored the eternal wisdom of the Latin phrase Si vis pacem, para bellum (“If you want peace, prepare for war”) and instead hoped that half-steps and compromise would suffice. While so far those decisions have prevented direct conflict between two nuclear-armed superpowers, they have caused Russia and the West to be locked in a continuing series of escalations with an increasing danger of a miscalculation that could lead to exactly that scenario.
Guest post by Jacqueline R. McAllister and Daniel Krcmaric
The International Criminal Court (ICC) shocked the world on March 17 by issuing arrest warrants for Russian President Vladimir Putin and his Commissioner for Children’s Rights, Maria Lvova-Belova. The ICC indicated it has reasonable grounds to believe that each bears criminal responsibility for unlawfully deporting and transferring children from occupied Ukraine to Russia—considered war crimes under international law. Rather than starting its ongoing investigation in Ukraine with arrest warrants for “small fry” war criminals, the ICC rolled the dice by going after its most prominent target ever: Vladimir Putin. Often considered the “most powerful man in the world,” Putin is the first leader with a permanent seat on the United Nations Security Council—and the first leader with an arsenal of nuclear weapons—to face an ICC arrest warrant.
What does all of this mean going forward? And how will the ICC arrest warrants influence the war in Ukraine?
It is important to start by managing expectations: Neither Putin nor Lvova-Belova is likely to land in the ICC’s dock anytime soon. Since the ICC does not have a police force, it relies on state cooperation for enforcement. Russia refuses to recognize the ICC, and it is inconceivable that Putin and Lvova-Belova will voluntarily turn themselves into the court. The road ahead for securing justice will be bumpy.
Nonetheless, the ICC’s arrest warrants may have several implications for the war, some negative, some positive.
In terms of negative implications, the ICC arrest warrants are unlikely to deter Russian forces from continuing to commit atrocities in Ukraine. In fact, they may perversely convince Russians to double down on their atrocity crimes. This may already be happening in Ukraine. During his surprise visit to Russian-occupied Mariupol after the warrants were announced, Putin thumbed his nose at the ICC by visiting a children’s center. Other Russian authorities have responded to the ICC arrest warrants by signaling that “more deportations are on the way.” Ukrainian civilians—the very people who have already borne the brunt of the war—may continue to suffer as their children are abducted and put on display in Red Square photo-ops and at concerts celebrating the war.
The ICC arrest warrants are also likely to make it harder for Ukraine and its Western allies to reach a negotiated settlement with Russia. The logistics of negotiating peace are more complex now that Putin is in the ICC’s sights. Will leaders in Western democracies be willing to negotiate directly with an accused war criminal? Might they insist that Putin be removed—as they did for other brutal leaders—as a precondition for meaningful negotiations? Will Putin be willing to travel abroad for a prospective peace conference? The ICC’s 123 member states now have a legal obligation to arrest him if he ever sets foot on their territory, making them undesirable sites for a peace conference. It is possible that China, fresh off its role in brokering a deal between Iran and Saudi Arabia, could play host. But China’s actions thus far have convinced Western officials that it would not be a neutral broker in Ukraine.
There are some positive implications, however. The arrest warrants could facilitate efforts to hold Putin and other top leaders criminally accountable. For example, following Serbian leader Slobodan Milošević’s indictment at the Yugoslav Tribunal, several of his key associates began sharing a wealth of much-needed evidence. As Yugoslav Tribunal Deputy Prosecutor Graham Blewitt explained in an interview with one of the authors, “Milošević opened up other areas of interest. Once he was indicted for Kosovo, we could then bring indictments for Bosnia and Croatia, because people talked to us. Some people were trying to do the right thing, and some people wanted to do deals.” In conjunction with military intelligence from Western governments, such testimony and documents linking top leaders to crimes proved crucial for prosecuting those who were previously beyond the Yugoslav Tribunal’s reach. It is possible that some in Putin’s inner circle could end up doing the same for the ICC.
If history is any indication, the ICC’s arrest warrants may also shore up support for Ukraine’s war effort, particularly from NATO. During the Kosovo War, the Yugoslav Tribunal’s indictment of Milošević helped to solidify support for NATO’s Operation Allied Force in Kosovo. Specifically, as NATO’s air campaign ground on with seemingly no end in sight, pressure mounted in Western capitals to bring hostilities to a close. In the face of such pressure, keeping the Alliance together posed a real challenge. The Milošević indictment, according to NATO Supreme Allied Commander Wesley Clark, was “a huge win. Nothing was more likely to stiffen the Allies’ resolve and push us forward into a winning situation than this indictment.”
Since Russia’s invasion of Ukraine over a year ago, questions have persisted about whether NATO, the US, and European Union will sustain their crucial support for Ukraine’s war effort over the long haul. Indeed, Putin seems to be gambling that Ukraine’s supporters will eventually falter in their commitment to its cause. If NATO’s experience in Kosovo is any indication, the ICC’s arrest warrants might help Ukraine’s backers to keep calling Putin’s bluff.
Jacqueline R. McAllister is an Associate Professor of Political Science at Kenyon College and will join the State Department’s Office of Global Criminal Justice in 2023 as a Council on Foreign Relations fellow. Her research appears in leading scholarly and foreign affairs magazines. Daniel Krcmaric is an Associate Professor of Political Science at Northwestern University and the author of The Justice Dilemma: Leaders and Exile in an Era of Accountability. He is currently writing a book about the turbulent relationship between the United States and the International Criminal Court.
Guest post by Marta Furlan
In 2014, the Houthis, a Zaydi Shia armed group from the Sa’ada region of northern Yemen, aligned with former President Ali Abdullah Saleh, who had been removed following the Arab Spring uprisings. Together, they defeated the government led by President Abd Rabbuh Mansur Hadi, and established control over the Yemeni capital of Sana’a and the entirety of northern Yemen.
At that time, Iran began to progressively increase its support for the Houthis, seeing partnership with the group as an opportunity to advance its revisionist agenda in the region and establish its influence in the southern Red Sea, an area of immense strategic significance. Threatened by aggressive Iranian expansionism at its doorstep, in March 2015, Saudi Arabia entered the war alongside Hadi. As Iran sided with the Houthis and Saudi Arabia sided with Hadi, Yemen became the battlefield of both a domestic competition for power between different local factions and a regional competition for influence between Teheran and Riyadh.
The complexity that characterizes the Yemeni conflict is not unique. In the modern Middle East, countries such as Syria, Iraq, and Libya also experienced civil wars that developed into multi-layered conflicts involving local, regional, and international actors. In Syria, for instance, the confrontation initially involved the Assad regime, the secular opposition, a plethora of jihadist groups, and the Syrian Kurds. It grew, however, into a competition between Iran, Saudi Arabia, and Turkey over the regional status quo and a competition between the United States and Russia over influence in the Middle East. Despite the civil war scholarship suggesting that one-sided victories become harder with the passing of time, the Syrian conflict ended de facto with the one-sided victory of Bashar al-Assad, supported by Russia and Iran.
As far as Yemen is concerned, the conflict is still ongoing. A major development, however, occurred two weeks ago when Iran and Saudi Arabia agreed to restore diplomatic ties and reopen embassies within two months, seven years after they severed relations. Following the signing of the agreement, which was brokered by China, questions emerged as to whether the deal might have positive implications for the war in Yemen.
Prospects aren’t promising. The conflict in Yemen is at its heart a civil war between Yemeni factions, which is driven by social and political tensions that emerged in Yemen following the country’s unification in May 1990. On the background of those tensions, the inception of the current conflict can truly be traced back to the early 2000s, when six rounds of confrontation saw the government and the Houthi movement fight each other in Sa’ada. Rather than being a simple binary confrontation between the Houthis and the Saudi-backed government, the war in Yemen is a complex mosaic of multiple armed factions fighting against and, at times, alongside each other. Within the anti-Houthi camp, there is a significant degree of military and political fragmentation, with different militias harboring different interests and visions. Some of those include the Southern Transitional Council (STC); al-Islah; the National Resistance Forces led by Tareq Saleh; and the National Shield Force formed by Saudi Arabia.
A reconciliation between Iran and Saudi Arabia will not address the deep-rooted and long-harbored hostility between the Houthis and their opponents, nor will it address the tensions and differences that dominate the anti-Houthi camp. At the very best, the Saudi-Iranian détente will facilitate the bilateral talks that have been ongoing between Saudi Arabia and the Houthis. Those talks were initiated last October, when a six-month-long ceasefire expired, yet no side (Houthis, Saudi Arabia, the government) was willing to return to the battlefront amidst war fatigue. However, the Presidential Leadership Council (PLC, Yemen’s de facto government) has been excluded from the Houthi-Saudi negotiation table. Its exclusion inevitably makes any Houthi-Saudi deal that might be reached in the future with Iranian support hardly consequential for the country’s peace and stability.
Will Yemen see a one-sided victory, similar to what happened in Syria? That’s unlikely. The Houthis and the government-aligned forces reached a mutually damaging stalemate in Marib that left them all weaker. Under these circumstances, academic research suggests that the warring parties could either take steps toward a negotiated settlement or persist indefinitely in a costly, stalled conflict.
The regional dimension of the war might gradually be moving toward a negotiated settlement between the Houthis and Iran, on one hand, and Saudi Arabia, on the other. Pummelled by years of fighting, the Houthis and Saudi Arabia seem to view bilateral negotiations favorably. But the domestic dimensions of the war continue to evade any negotiated settlement between Houthis and the PLC and between different PLC-affiliated militias. As the civil war literature suggests, the trajectory of the conflict will depend on how those parties assess what they can gain or lose from fighting versus negotiating. As the Houthis appear once again determined to resort to force, prospects for peace do not look particularly encouraging.
Marta Furlan is a research and policy consultant at Auswärtiges Amt (Federal Foreign Office) in Germany.
Guest post by Mark Nieman and Doug Gibler
Russia’s invasion of Ukraine set off a security spiral in Europe. Despite US President Biden’s pledge to “defend every inch of NATO territory,” Poland increased its military budget by a whopping 60 percent and asked to have US nuclear weapons based on its territory. Estonia, Lithuania, and Latvia also announced sizable defense increases, with Latvia re-instating compulsory military training.
Why didn’t Biden’s pledge reassure these NATO members? Is the alliance’s famed Article 5 promise—that an attack on one member is an attack on all—a less than ironclad guarantee?
NATO is an unprecedented and unique organization of formidable military might. It is also an alliance made up of democracies, which are generally considered more reliable alliance partners: they form more lasting alliance commitments, and honor them at higher rates than autocracies. So why then are the NATO members most vulnerable to Russian aggression also the most skeptical about NATO’s commitment to defend them?
Democracies are often put on a pedestal. It is a truth (almost) universally acknowledged among scholars of international relations that democratic countries are qualitatively different from authoritarian regimes—nicer, better, and more cooperative—especially when they interact with one another. Democracies do not fight wars against other democracies, though they are just as likely to fight autocracies as autocracies fight one another. Democracies are more likely to win the wars they do fight. And democracies are more likely to trade with other democracies.
But our research suggests that what drives the effectiveness of alliance isn’t democracy or shared values. Our recent article in The Journal of Politics shows that alliance reliability is driven by strategic geopolitical context and opportunities to renege, rather than domestic institutions.
What exactly would make democratic countries any more reliable allies than autocracies? Standard arguments focus on the nature of democratic norms and institutions, often pointing to their legalistic culture, foreign policy stability, or concern for international reputation. All of these explanations are valid, and many have been backed with sound empirical analysis. But they miss a key difference between democracies and autocracies: geography. A quick glance at a map reveals heavy geographical concentration among democratic countries. What distinguishes these areas of concentration—Western Europe, in particular—is a long history of violent conflict, which, once resolved, has been followed by a long history of peace. The geographical areas of concentration of authoritarian countries, in contrast, are characterized by periods of relative peace, followed by continuous or intermittent violence. This violence often centers around a small set of unresolved contentious issues, with those related to conflicting territorial claims being the most violent.
This geopolitical context matters for tests of alliance reliability: alliances are most likely to be called upon and violated when their geopolitical environment is hostile. In contrast, alliances in peaceful environments are less likely to be called upon, so they are less likely to be broken. So while democracies might appear to be better alliance partners, this is only because their commitments are rarely tested. Indeed, peaceful environments may themselves produce democratic counties. Without the threat of attack by a neighbor, states can devote fewer resources to the military, concentration of power devolves, and focus more on economic development and diversification. Threatening environments, in contrast, encourage greater militarization and power concentration, increasing the prospects of a garrison state and authoritarian regimes. To paraphrase Charles Tilly, war makes the state, but it is much more likely to make an authoritarian state than a democratic one.
In short, once the geopolitical environment is accounted for, democracies have the same reliability as other types of regimes. Instead, it is the strategic environment that seems to best predict whether alliances are honored: the riskier the environment, the more likely allies are to abrogate their commitments.
So are Finland and Sweden right to rush their NATO accession in response to the threat of Russian aggression? Will a formal membership make them safer than a mere promise? Yes, but this answer has nothing to do with the virtues of democracies. Alliances deter aggression, but they do so through the aggregation of capabilities rather than any enhanced commitments stemming from the domestic institutions of its members. Shared democratic institutions did not prevent France from abandoning Czechoslovakia in 1938. Russia’s invasion of Ukraine has given rise to similar fears of abandonment among NATO’s eastward members. These countries rightfully question whether Germany and France would come to their defense should they become the next target of Russian aggression.
Unable to trust their democratic allies, Eastern European countries are openly calling for assurance from NATO’s long-standing bedrock, the US. When push comes to shove, NATO’s junior partners are smart to not put their faith in a piece of paper and demand more tangible acts of support, such as troop deployments, training, and arms transfers. A promise, even by a democratic state, must be backed by action.
Mark Nieman is an assistant professor in the Department of Political Science and Trinity College at the University of Toronto, and an affiliate of the Data Sciences Institute. Doug Gibler is a Professor of Political Science in the Institute for Social Science Research at the University of Alabama.
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.
After more than half a century of dependence on Russian oil and gas, the war in Ukraine has forced German officials to reconsider their reliance on fossil fuels entirely.
If American leftists take seriously their commitment to self-rule and loathing of foreign aggression, they should shed their ambivalence about supporting Ukraine.
Guest post by Killian Clarke
Counterrevolutions have historically received much less attention than revolutions, but the last decade has shown that counterrevolutions remain a powerful—and insidious—force in the world.
In 2013, Egypt’s revolutionary experiment was cut short by a popular counterrevolutionary coup, which elevated General Abdel Fattah el-Sisi to the presidency. In neighboring Sudan, a democratic revolution that had swept aside incumbent autocrat Omar al-Bashir in 2019 was similarly rolled back by a military counterrevolution in October 2021. Only three months later, soldiers in Burkina Faso ousted the civilian president Roch Marc Christian Kaboré, who had been elected following the 2014 Burkinabè uprising.
These counterrevolutions all have something in common: they all occurred in the aftermath of unarmed revolutions, in which masses of ordinary citizens used largely nonviolent tactics like protests, marches, and strikes to force a dictator from power. These similarities, it turns out, are telling.
In a recent article, I show that counterrevolutionary restorations—the return of the old regime following a successful revolution—are much more likely following unarmed revolutions than those involving armed guerilla war. Indeed, the vast majority of successful counterrevolutions in the 20th and 21st centuries have occurred following democratic uprisings like Egypt’s, Sudan’s, and Burkina Faso’s.
Why are these unarmed revolutions so vulnerable? After all, violent armed revolutions are usually deeply threatening to old regime interests, giving counterrevolutionaries plenty of motivation to try to claw back power. There are at least two possible explanations.
The first is that, even though counterrevolutionaries may be desperate to return, violent revolutions usually destroy their capacity to do so. They grind down their armies through prolonged guerilla war, whereas unarmed revolutions leave these armies largely unscathed. In the three cases above, there was minimal security reform following the ousting of the incumbent, forcing civilian revolutionaries to rule in the shadow of a powerful old regime military establishment.
A second explanation focuses on the coercive resources available to revolutionaries. During revolutions waged through insurgency or guerilla war, challengers build up powerful revolutionary armies, like Fidel Castro’s Rebel Army in Cuba or Mao’s Red Army in China. When these revolutionaries seize power, their armies serve as strong bulwarks against counterrevolutionary attacks. The Bay of Pigs invasion in Cuba is a good example: even though that campaign had the backing of the CIA, it quickly ran aground in the face of Castro’s well-fortified revolutionary defenses. In contrast, unarmed revolutionaries rarely build up these types of coercive organizations, leaving them with little means to fend off counterrevolutions.
After looking at the data, I found that the second explanation has more weight than the first one. I break counterrevolution down into two parts— whether a counterrevolution is launched, and then whether it succeeds—and find that armed revolutions significantly lower the likelihood of counterrevolutionary success, but not counterrevolutionary challenges. In other words, reactionaries are just as likely to attempt a restoration following both armed and unarmed revolutions. But they are far less likely to succeed against the armed revolutions, whose loyal cadres can be reliably called up to defend the revolution’s gains.
Unarmed revolutions are increasing around the world, especially in regions like Latin America, Eastern Europe, the Middle East, and sub-Saharan Africa. At the same time, violent revolutions are declining in frequency, particularly those involving long, grueling campaigns that seek transformational impacts on state and society, what some call social revolutions. In one sense, these should be welcome trends, since unarmed revolutions result in far less destruction and have a record of producing more liberal orders. But given their susceptibility to reversal, should we be concerned that we are actually at the threshold of a new era of counterrevolution?
There are certainly reasons for worry. Counterrevolutions are rare events (by my count, there have only been about 25 since 1900), and the fact that there have been so many in recent years does not augur well. Counterrevolutionaries’ prospects have also been bolstered by changes in the international system, with rising powers like Russia, Saudi Arabia, and the United Arab Emirates acting as enthusiastic champions of counterrevolution, particularly against democratic revolutions in their near-abroads. Today’s unarmed revolutions, already facing uphill battles in establishing their rule, with fractious coalitions and a lack of coercive resources, must now also contend with counterrevolutionary forces drawing support from a muscular set of foreign allies.
But though they may struggle to consolidate their gains, unarmed revolutions have a record of establishing more open and democratic regimes than armed ones do. Violent revolutions too often simply replace one form of tyranny with another. The question, then, is how to bolster these fledgling revolutionary democracies and help them to fend off the shadowy forces of counterrevolution.
International support can be crucial. Strong backing from the international community can deter counterrevolutionaries and help new regimes fend off threats. Ultimately, though, much comes down to the actions of revolutionaries themselves—and whether they can keep their coalitions rallied behind the revolutionary cause. Where they can, they are typically able to defeat even powerful counterrevolutions, by relying on the very same tactics of people power and mass protest that brought them success during the revolution itself.
Killian Clarke is an assistant professor at Georgetown University.
Enlarge (credit: Jeffrey Coolidge/Getty Images)
Since the invasion of Ukraine one year ago, Russia has faced an exodus of tech companies and services. This includes the exit of Samsung and Apple, two of the world’s most popular smartphone brands. In response, the country has doubled down on its efforts to attain technological self-sufficiency, including creating a new Android smartphone.
The handset, which does not yet have a name, will be built by the National Computer Corporation (NCC), one of Russia’s largest IT companies, with an ambitious goal to sell 100,000 smartphones and tablets by the end of 2023. Alexander Kalinin, the founder of NCC, told local media on Monday that he aims to invest 10 billion rubles ($132.9 million) in the project and hopes to capture 10 percent of the consumer market by 2026.
The news comes just days after the US Department of Commerce banned exports to Russia of phones and other electronics that cost more than $300. Experts say, however, that a Russian smartphone will have a hard time beating inexpensive competitors from China, and it may encounter problems with using Google’s Android.
By Timothy Sisk
The row between International Olympic Committee (IOC) President Thomas Bach and Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky over potential Russian and Belarussian athlete participation at Paris 2024 exposes the Achilles’ Heel of the Olympic Games: the peace-promising celebrations are inescapably ensnared in nation-state power politics.
The IOC announced on January 25 a proposal to facilitate participation in the 2024 Olympic Games for individual athletes from Russia (and close ally Belarus) individually and neutrally in the Paris games. The statement reversed an IOC Executive Board decision from February 28, 2022, to impose more sweeping participation sanctions on Russia following the Ukraine invasion.
The International Paralympic Committee announced on January 23 that it would “follow” the IOC decision for the paralympic events, with President Andrew Parsons noting that “We wish to reiterate that we hope and pray that the conflict comes to an end, that no more lives are taken, and that we can run sports and politics separately.” Parsons gave a rousing denunciation of the Ukraine invasion from the podium in his opening-ceremonies speech as the Russian tanks rolled toward Kyiv, demanding “dialogue and diplomacy, not war and hate.”
The potential of Russian athletes participating at the 2024 Olympic and Paralympic Games in Paris while the horrors and war crimes unleashed by Russia in Ukraine and documented by a United Nations independent commission continue to unfold would constitute, Zelensky said, “a manifestation of violence.” Addressing a February 10 meeting of 35 foreign ministers convened to consider a boycott if Russians were to appear in the Olympic arena, he said, “If the Olympic sports were killings and missile strikes, then you know which national team would occupy the first place.” Reversing her earlier stance, Paris Mayor Anne Hidalgo said she supports Zelensky’s call and journeyed to Kyiv on February 9 in solidarity.
Olympic powerhouses including the US, UK, Germany, Australia, and New Zealand together with Nordic and Baltic states are drawing a line in the beach-volleyball sand against Russian and Belarussian participation at Paris. Some want to allow for a “dissident team” from these countries to be formed.
In a slope-side appearance at the World Alpine Skiing Championships in Courchevel on February 12, Bach defended the IOC’s position: “No, history will show who is doing more for peace.”
The IOC’s approach to addressing the thorny question of Russian participation in the 2024 Games is similar to the sporting world’s response to the sprawling Russian state-sponsored doping scandal and cover-up when it hosted the 2014 winter games in Sochi. In December 2019, the World Anti-Doping Agency slapped a set of four-year sanctions on Russia, including banning Russian teams from Olympic-related events, barring use of its flag and anthem, and imposing diplomatic and other sanctions. Athletes could participate but could not represent Russia as such, but rather the Russian Olympic Committee (ROC).
No worries for Russia, however, as the ROC and individual athletes easily evaded the athlete-representation sanctions. The uniforms of the Russian athletes at the Beijing 2022 Winter Games were fashion-forward, black splashed with the colors of the Russian flag. Nancy Armour writes in USA Today Sports that in Tokyo 2020 (which happened in 2021, delayed by the pandemic), 45 of the Russians’ 71 medals were won by members of the Russian Army’s Central Sports Club, according to the Ukrainian foreign ministry. Russian gymnast Ivan Kuliak was slapped by the International Gymnastics Union with a year-long ban for “shocking behavior” for sporting on his chest the invasion-related “Z” symbol on the podium standing next to a Ukrainian athlete (Kuliak won bronze; the Ukrainian, Illia Kovtun, won gold).
Despite rules against political speech, athletes are increasingly turning to tattoos, nail polish, hairstyles, and other clever non-verbal ways to communicate patriotism while staying just inside the non-political appearance rules of the IOC and the sport federations. Symbols are amorphous and consistently changing, so the IOC wages a Sisyphean struggle to contain political speech within the Olympic arena. In the run-up to Tokyo 2020, following the recommendations of the IOC’s Athletes Commission, the Executive Board reformulated its Rule 50.2 code on athlete political speech to allow more personal political speech outside its venues, ostensibly to prevent future “Black Power”-type salutes from the podium as courageously seen in the 1968 Mexico City games.
The IOC appears to see national de-identification as a way to cope with its Achilles’ Heel vulnerability to power politics. It touts the idea of a modern-day Olympic Truce similar to that found in the ancient Greek Olympics, on which the modern spectacle is at best loosely based; the truce allowed athletes to travel to the festivals unimpeded.
The IOC and sport federation bodies need the Russia participation question to be resolved soon, as qualifying events for Paris 2024 are in motion around the world. But the row continues. The Olympic Council of Asia has apparently invited Russian and Belarussian gymnastics and wrestling athletes to qualify through its auspices, while two United Nations special rapporteurs have backed the IOC approach on the basis of athlete human rights.
Russia’s February 2022 invasion rendered any Olympic truce a scrap of paper. The Kremlin unleashed the deadly operation on Kyiv just days before the Opening Ceremonies of the 2022 Beijing Paralympic Winter Games. In the year since, a reported 228 Ukrainian athletes and coaches have been killed.
In waging war while the Olympic flame burns, Russia is a serial offender: its military invaded Georgia in the period between the 2008 Olympic and paralympic events, and then seized the Crimean peninsula in 2014, in a similar window between these events.
The close association of the Olympic Games with the power politics of nation-states may well explain why the IOC, its president, nor any global sports body or figure have been awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in its 121-year history roughly commensurate with the Olympics. (The Prize was won by an Olympic medalist in 1959—UK diplomat Philip Noel-Baker—but not for his Olympic achievement; the Norwegian Nobel Committee cited his disarmament efforts).
The power-politics Achilles’ Heel of the Olympics disables its potential for furthering international peace. For how sport might contribute to peace, one must look elsewhere in youth-based development and peacebuilding programs, in the public good work of celebrity and everyday athletes, coaches, and humanitarian organizations, or in the Olympic Refugee Team which debuted in Rio 2016 that allows athletes displaced abroad to participate.
Beyond the Olympic Refugee Team, it is time for any athlete as an individual to have a path to qualifying for the Olympic Games with no broader representation of national identity beyond legal citizenship. Such a step might begin to free the Olympics from its disabling ensnarement in the power politics of nation-states and begin to give meaning to the right of individuals to participate in global sport outside of truce-destroying nation-states.
At the United Nations, Rihards Kols, member of the Latvian parliament, was not pleased that a Russian delegation participated in a meeting of the UN"s Organisation for Security and Co-operation. And he said so. "Russian warship, go fuck yourself!" he declared. — Read the rest
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