Rethinking Diplomacy

It was striking to me how At Home with the Diplomats echoed my own two and a half years experience with a Ministry of Foreign Affairs. I would posit that the French MFA may be an extrapolated version of the Norwegian one, and both are an extrapolation of society. European MFAs undoubtedly live in this long aristocratic tradition—even in countries where the monarchy was overthrown: a great majority of French ambassadors had an aristocratic particle name until very recently and diplomats with an aristocratic background are still well represented—and this pyramidal structure. I think this later feature is even more obvious within actual embassies (Neumann’s experience was at the home ministry), where the ambassador reign on top, sitting on the chancery, which is followed by the different sections, hierarchically organized and generally ranging from defense or economic affairs to education or cultural cooperation. In my experience at an embassy in a developing country, all the high rank diplomats were men, the office assistants almost all women, and the rest of the staff positions were filled with “locals:” a quite telling picture.

Among the many directions we could take the discussion along, I found particularly interesting, and again accurate, the description of the self behavioral regulation that diplomats must adopt so as to to fit in, quite in the way Foucault demonstrates with his Panopticon: agents are not sure whether and when they are being observed so they conform at all times. Neumann suggests that perspicacity and sharpness in analysis are useful for being successful but must be moderated in order not to upset the hierarchy, depending on the point of departure of the civil servant. Furthermore, the type of knowledge production that Neumann describes fits such a structure: it has to be consensual, politically correct, and consequently never truly innovative. The description of MFAs as rigid bureaucracies completes this idea, as in the bureaucrat’s view “it is only when the system does not work that something new is produced, because the very fact that something new is produced shows that the system has failed” (p. 86, this could be applied to many governmental agencies and bureaucracies in general). The use of Hedley Bull’s definition of diplomatic knowledge seems also right on point: there is urgency and short-lived prospects for knowledge produced in diplomatic missions abroad, so the “deep structures,” as Gramsci would have it, that shape the political and socio-economic landscape of a country tend to be overlooked. It would be interesting to discuss further Neumann’s matrix of diplomacy as a particular ontology, epistemology and methodology of knowledge production, comparable to anthropology and political science.

The question of gender and class, the different femininities and masculinities, illustrate the arduous social mobility, in MFAs and the rest of society alike. If diplomats can in some instances be vector of change in governmentality, MFAs are probably not instigators of social changes and seem to be slowly conquered after the rest of society (interesting inversion of calendar regarding voting rights in the countries mentioned though). I need to evoke the French case again as a recent article illustrates the disparities in career advancement depending on the alma mater or marital status of diplomats: https://sociologies.revues.org/2936?lang=en. Nevertheless, and as Neumann highlights, there is an interesting “don’t ask don’t tell” tendency in this proper environment, with very different forms of outcome.

If the genealogy and historical account of diplomacy are important, and if Neumann is probably right when stating that diplomacy has been neglected in comparison to other areas of global politics and that it eurocentrism is evident, I do not think that mainstream accounts are as restrictive as he implies. He bases his argument on Satow’s and Nicolson’s works, but many classes and seminars on the history of diplomacy, at MFAs or universities, would mention Egyptian or Roman cases (for instance). Yet, his particular anthropological, historical methodology and critical approach should also be discussed.

Beyond Mothers Monsters Whores

“If women ran the world there would be no war” [1] is a commonsensical phrase that we all probably heard at least once, and it’s the kind of “traditional wisdom” that Gentry and Sjoberg seek to question in Beyond Mothers Monsters Whores. As the authors show it is based on “traditional images of women as pure, maternal, emotional, innocent and peace-loving” or even on “feminist images of liberated women as capable and equal but not prone to men’s mistakes, excesses and violence” (p. 2).

This inability or unwillingness to view violence perpetrated by women as no different than the violence perpetrated by men is reflected in gendered narratives (which the authors define as “a story about an event or set of events recounted for an audience or readership” – p. 139). These narratives tend to portray women who commit violence as abnormal women; as mothers, monsters or whores.

Without going into further details about the book, I would like to propose a more general question about the book and about feminist theory, two specific questions and comment on two absences.

Firstly, as I started reading the book it struck me that this all seemed obvious to me. I found this interesting because it’s clearly not obvious. Yet I was not at all familiar with Gentry and Sjoberg’s work. This got me questioning how theory might slip into public discourse and reach broader audiences and also the purpose of theories more broadly. The authors advocate that their aim is to “complicate ideas” and to “shift how people think about, approach and live gender” (p. 16). Where does that leave us in our debate about what is theory and what should we do with it?

The first specific question is about the authors defense that there is no such thing as a gendered experience, that there is no such thing as “a common character or common experience that can be attributed to people on the basis of membership to those groups [men and women]” (p.5). While, yes, we all experience our femininity/masculinity differently, it seems to me that there is enough of a common experience.

The second question is really a doubt regarding the author’s criticism of rational choice theory for “ignoring traits associated with femininity such as human emotion and interdependence” (p. 33).

Finally, I noticed two absences. They are both understandable given the scope of the book, but I though they’d be interesting topics to expand the debate.

First, I noticed the authors barely comment on the fact that women commit much less violence than men: only 7% of murders in the US [2], for example. While I don’t think this goes against the authors thesis that violence perpetrated by women is underrepresented, I think it’s interesting to debate whether the recent opening to women of spaces of violence from which they were secluded is going to affect these trends more generally. Furthermore, is it going to affect expectations of feminine violence more generally?

Secondly, I noticed the absence of race. While I know we have been at this again and again, and it is not possible to include all “exclusions” in every debate, it seems that given predominant racial stereotypes regarding especially Black women and violence it would be a worthy inclusion is this particular debate.

[1] Yet only 7% of Americans think women in Public Office are better at dealing with national security: http://www.pewsocialtrends.org/files/2010/10/gender-leadership.pdf

[2]https://www.fbi.gov/about-us/cjis/ucr/crime-in-the-u.s/2010/crime-in-the-u.s.-2010/tables/10shrtbl03.xls

“Where then does the table come from?”

Despite the fact that Onuf’s World of Our Making contains an extraordinary amount of information and insight, one word effectively captures its overarching essence: irony. Onuf introduces this literary device early on as he elaborates his position as an author though the word scarcely appears in the text (I think he uses it exactly three times—once on p. 30, twice on p. 156 in footnote 22). Still, irony is on every page. Perhaps I should say ironies. In fact, I’ve identified three. 

 

To begin, it is ironic that Onuf puts forth this text in the hope that it will be “a tentative first step” towards “the construction of a new disciplinary paradigm” (22). Though this book “stands resolutely in the tradition of reasoned persuasion that has dominated Western thought for centuries,” Onuf means to persuade us to adopt his (new?) approach (27). He hopes that the reader “will accept my argument rather than retreat along the many steps so arduously taken,” even though he acknowledges that all books are “artful constructions” (28). This itself is ironic to some degree. I must admit, I accept his argument. What I do not understand is: why is he making it?

 

If a "better" configuration of social relations is inconceivable, why does he want to construct a new disciplinary paradigm? Perhaps this whole thing is meant as an experiment of sorts. Or perhaps it is simply that “[i]dentifying the pervasiveness of asymmetric and exploitive social conditions...does not preclude a personal, liberal commitment to making one’s immediate circumstances less this way” (30). Perhaps he does not believe his own argument. Wouldn’t that be ironic? Maybe he actually believes a more just distribution is possible (see irony #3 identified below). Or perhaps he believes that the improvement comes in convincing the mind to have will over the body (there are inescapable byproducts of the human condition, they are highly unpleasant, people are going to suffer and die, this is inevitable, but art reminds people that suffering is in their minds anyway). Onuf touches on this theme in his discussion of priests (teachers, entertainers, and all those engaged in “selling intellectual fashions or prompting mildly subversive thoughts in young minds” 105). As the Oracle famously told Neo in the widely popular Matrix trilogy: “There is no spoon.” Put differently, we might remember that: In the beginning there was a speech act, it brought suffering, suffering can end completely, a speech act is the way.


Secondly, it is ironic that this book did, in fact, “revolutionize” the discipline. Indeed it did construct a new paradigm. Is Onuf laughing at all of us? Are we dogs chasing our tails (to borrow his metaphoric circularity). Was replacement with constructivist accounts where Realist ones once stood really what Onuf had in mind? Recently I discussed this paradox with a former professor. Regarding this entire enterprise of disciplinary knowledge creation I asked: “Is anything ever new?” He invoked this text, he used the word “revolutionized,” and he was not wrong. Whether he was testing me to see if I saw the irony in his invocation, or if he, himself, failed to see it I’m not sure.

Onuf certainly knows (and, at least ostensibly, hopes) his text will do things in the world. There is such a sense of purpose here. Think of his careful attention to detail. Every single time he makes a reference to an individual, a feminine pronoun is used. This reminds us that “the point of a speech act is to have an effect on some state of affairs” (98). Nonetheless, as purposeful as he is, he ultimately argues that the human condition, necessarily social and mediated by determinate “faculties of experience,” is essentially fixed (certain conditions will arise no matter what we do or how we attempt to control and/ or avoid them). Is it ironic that I just need to know his intent in writing this book?

 

Finally, it is ironic that Onuf leaves no room for divine intervention. Say a flood that will restore balance to the universe. Irony may be the overarching essence, but theological ghosts haunt these many pages. He laces his text with this lingering doubt/ hope. “Everything must be located within the cells of the table. Where then does the table come from?” (Synoptic Table, see preceding page for quote). While he surely states that the table (and religion) are human constructs, we have no reason to rule out (pun intended) the possibility of God. Humans may construct inequality inevitably, but where did humans come from? In this formulation, divine intervention always looms large and inequality may end if we pray more, for example. Real transformation becomes possible.

On transformation Onuf says much in relatively few words, preferring instead to use the structure of the book to illustrate his point. He notes “[b]ecause the first chapter in Part one is a transformation of the last chapter in Part two, they together constitute a hinge connecting the two parts of the book and allowing them to be turned back on, or toward, each other” (28).  He continues with the assertion (borrowed from Piaget, with whom I am unfamiliar) that “all known structures—from mathematical groups to kinship systems—are, without exception, systems of transformation. But transformation need not be a temporal process: 1+1 'make' 2; 3 'follows hard on' 2...[w]ere it not for the idea of transformation, structures would lose all explanatory import” (28). The book is a structure--transformative potential is built right into it. So too are human social interactions structural (1+1 “make” 2). Perhaps this mysterious metaphor implies that God “follows hard on” 2. Consider creation of new life. In this instance, 1+1 actually “makes” 3.   

*Interestingly, Wikipedia tells me that there are three types of irony: verbal, dramatic, and situational (I cite Wikipedia thoughtfully—I will go out on a limb and say that I think Onuf would approve). In my view, World of Our Making engages all three.

Makere Stewart-Harawira (2005): The New Imperial Order: Indigenous Responses to Globalization

Makere Stewart-Harawira (2005): 

The New Imperial Order: Indigenous Responses to Globalization

Let us begin at the end.  In the epilogue to her book Stewart-Harawira addresses the challenges an indigenous Maori woman faces while writing about her own history. Writing about the results of her research, she states, is “writing” herself (p. 254). Her explicit positionality and the strong value commitment to a kaupapa Maori methodology is an important frame for the entire book. It is a study of “the interrelationship between indigenous peoples and the development of global order” from her standpoint as a woman, an academic, a Scot, a Maori, and an activist.

The stated goal of The New Imperial Order is to tell two different stories. On the one hand, Stewart-Harawira seeks to explore “the history of indigenous peoples’ relationship with the world order of nation states” (p. 1). On the other hand, she “is concerned with the development of the world order of nation states and its transformation into a global order” (ibid.). I agree that Stewart-Harawira tells two stories. However, in my opinion they differ slightly from the ones introduced in the introductory pages of the book.

First, the book tells a story of historical and systemic exploitation and marginalization of indigenous voices around the world from the 16^th century to today. Stewart-Harawira traces this history of institutionalized violence and structural marginalization (the “invisibilizing” of the indigenous) throughout the centuries from the emergence and development of international law that labeled indigenous peoples “primitive,” “uncivilized” and “underdeveloped” (chapter 3) to the expansion of a liberal world order (chapter 4) to the (re-)emergence of a neo-liberal American empire in the second half of the 20^th century (chapter 5 and 7). And while the story entails moments of resistance and transformation through “politics of indigeneity” (p. 115), “[i]ndigenous peoples are, to all intents and purposes, still in a position of ‘wardship’” to this day (p. 18). 

In my opinion, the detailed account of our own history has three purposes. For one, the story Stewart-Harawira tells is not a new one. It is by all accounts one of Western institutions, Western theories and Western scholars, in short a Western world order, that we are all too familiar with. However, by (re-)counting our history from the standpoint of an indigenous woman, Stewart-Harawira unmasks underlying logics of exploitation and marginalization that we – from a position of privilege – are not only taking for granted but are also constantly reproducing. Furthermore, her story of the development of our global order is one of incredible pain and loss: For example, the integration and subjugation of indigenous peoples into states (for example New Zealand) has more than often overlooked “the invisibilizing, even obliterating of the multiplicity of Maori histories” (p. 192).

Second, by introducing an “indigenous ontology of being” Stewart-Harawira seeks to open a space for resistance and – most importantly – transformation. This is an interesting enterprise and highlights a tension that Stewart-Harawira has difficulty to reconcile. While she insists on the heterogeneity of indigenous peoples and their experiences of imperialism and colonialization (p. 17), her indigenous ontology has a very essentialist character to it. Moreover, even though she seems reluctant to define indigenous knowledges as essentially different to Western knowledge, they are set up as dichotomies throughout the book: Indigenous knowledge is holistic, Western knowledge is not; indigenous knowledge is based on the inseparable nature of matter and spirit, Western knowledge – even though it originated of being - is based on a rationalist-positivist ontology separating the sacred from the profane. And finally, while Western knowledge assumes linearity, an indigenous ontology of being can best be described as a “double spiral” that symbolizes its power for transformation. One of the main arguments of the book maintains it is exactly the re-vitalization of indigenous ontologies that can transform the current global world order into one of ecological sustainability and peaceful coexistence. “The principles identified within traditional ontologies (…) illumine an alternative cooperative model for global order.” (p. 250).  But how?

Taken separately, both stories of the book seem interesting and compelling. However, I find that the story of indigenous ontologies and their contribution to world order transformation falls short. Stewart-Harawira introduces the content of her essentialist indigenous ontology in the first chapter of the book and only returns to it in chapter six, where she addresses the incorporation of New Zealand’s indigenous peoples into the state. This is one of the few places in the book where the reader is getting an idea about what she means by the potential of indigenous knowledges as means to resistance and transformation: here, she emphasizes the role of Maori education initiatives and collectively based political and social organizations (p. 199; see also p. 81). Overall, it seems that she is arguing for “the articulation of indigenous histories and cultural and social values as unique characteristics” as critical strategies for transformation (p. 139). Nevertheless, an answer to the question of how local indigenous ontologies favoring holism and balance are supposed to dismantle the “hierarchically driven political frameworks of exclusion” and develop “genuinely cooperative and inclusive frameworks that promote the ‘greatest good for all people’” remains missing.  

Possible discussion questions:

1. What do you think is the purpose of the book? In her conclusion, Stewart-Harawira states that she “endeavoured to trace the development of world order, the impact on indigenous peoples and the reciprocal relationship of indigenous peoples to and within the world system” (p. 238). According to my interpretation her book fulfills the promise of the first two but not the last. Do you agree?

2. Where is the resistance and how can it lead to transformation? I found Stewart-Harawira’s account of the development of human rights law (particularly the right to self-determination) one of the most surprising narratives of the book (chapter 4). Even though she argues that the endeavor has been largely unsuccessful, she also posits that human rights treaties provided indigenous people with a forum for participation and the pursuit of justice (p. 126). What about the claim that the human rights regime (and the subsequent humanitarian interventions) are nothing else than a continuation of Western colonialization? Stewart-Harawira addresses the issue of military interventions as means to gain access to resources. Not, however, in this context. If hegemonic institutions and laws do not provide any access, how can indigenous peoples use their indigenous ontologies as means for state and systemic transformation?

3. What is the role of crisis in Stewart-Harawira’s story? Is it necessary for transformation?