A Critical Humanitarian Intervention Approach (Rethinking Peace and Conflict Studies)

Rethinking Peace and Conflict Studies Series Editor: Oliver P. Richmond, Professor, School of International Relations, University of St. Andrews, UK Editorial Board: Roland Bleiker, University of Queensland, Australia; Henry F. Carey, Georgia State University, USA; Costas Constantinou, University of Keele, UK; A.J.R. Groom, University of Kent, UK; Vivienne Jabri, King’s College London, UK; Edward Newman, University of Birmingham, UK; Sorpong Peou, Sophia University, Japan; Caroline Kennedy-Pipe, University of Sheffield, UK; Professor Michael Pugh, University of Bradford, UK; Chandra Sriram, University of East London, UK; Ian Taylor, University of St. Andrews, UK; Alison Watson, University of St. Andrews, UK; R.B.J. Walker, University of Victoria, Canada; Andrew Williams, University of St. Andrews, UK. Titles include: Roland Bleiker AESTHETICS AND WORLD POLITICS Morgan Brigg THE NEW POLITICS OF CONFLICT RESOLUTION Responding to Difference Susanne Buckley-Zistel CONFLICT TRANSFORMATION AND SOCIAL CHANGE IN UGANDA Remembering after Violence Karina Z. Butler A CRITICAL HUMANITARIAN INTERVENTION APPROACH Jason Franks RETHINKING THE ROOTS OF TERRORISM Vivienne Jabri WAR AND THE TRANSFORMATION OF GLOBAL POLITICS James Ker-Lindsay EU ACCESSION AND UN PEACEMAKING IN CYPRUS Roger MacGinty NO WAR, NO PEACE The Rejuvenation of Stalled Peace Processes and Peace Accords Carol McQueen HUMANITARIAN INTERVENTION AND SAFETY ZONES Iraq, Bosnia and Rwanda Audra L. Mitchell LOST IN TRANSFORMATION Violent Peace and Peaceful Conflict in Northern Ireland Sorpong Peou INTERNATIONAL DEMOCRACY ASSISTANCE FOR PEACEBUILDING Cambodia and Beyond

Sergei Prozorov UNDERSTANDING CONFLICT BETWEEN RUSSIA AND THE EU The Limits of Integration Oliver P. Richmond THE TRANSFORMATION OF PEACE Bahar Rumelili CONSTRUCTING REGIONAL COMMUNITY AND ORDER IN EUROPE AND SOUTHEAST ASIA Chandra Lekha Sriram PEACE AS GOVERNANCE Power-Sharing, Armed Groups and Contemporary Peace Negotiations Stephan Stetter WORLD SOCIETY AND THE MIDDLE EAST Reconstructions in Regional Politics

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A Critical Humanitarian Intervention Approach Karina Z. Butler Research Fellow, Department of Politics and International Studies, University of Warwick, UK

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Contents List of Figure, Box and Tables

vi

Preface

vii

Acknowledgements

viii

List of Abbreviations

ix

Introduction 1 2 3 4

1

The Theory of World Security and Humanitarian Intervention

21

Problem-Solving Solidarist Theorising on Humanitarian Intervention

55

International Society’s Role in the Restructuring of Yugoslavia’s National Economies

102

A Critical Humanitarian Intervention Approach: How Might We Act to Prevent in the Future

144

Conclusion

179

Notes

189

Bibliography

194

Index

211

v

List of Figure, Box and Tables Figure I.1

Solidarist theorising as legitimising the structures of the neo-liberal international economic order

13

Box 2.1

Free market beliefs Source: Cited in Thomas (2000: 40)

93

Tables 2.1

Underlying assumptions of neoclassical economics Source: Adapted from Korten (1995: 70)

3.1

Inter-regional trade in South East Europe with percentage of total exports of SEE economies Source: Adapted from Bjelic (2005: 6)

4.1

FTF principles and practices Source: Adapted from Fair Trade Federation (2006: 3)

4.2

How Fair Trade Organisations differ from commercial importers Source: Adapted from Fair Trade Federation (2006: 5)

vi

94

137 166

167

Preface This book explores how reconceptualising security in terms of Ken Booth’s Theory of World Security can improve the theoretical and practical limitations of solidarist theorising on the subject of humanitarian intervention. These limitations stem from solidarism’s problem-solving approach to analysing Supreme Humanitarian Emergencies (SHEs), where the focus is on intervention to manage them rather than on preventing them in the first place. In an attempt to move beyond these limitations, this book proposes an alternative perspective, a ‘critical humanitarian intervention approach’, which argues that theories of humanitarian intervention need to focus on the prevention of SHEs rather than their management. This could be made possible if greater attention was given to the economic conditions that contextualise SHEs in the first place. This claim is substantiated with an analysis of the SHE in Kosovo (1998–9) where economic factors played an important role in the outbreak of violence. Failing to consider the economic context in which SHEs erupt brings with it the risk of missing opportunities for their future prevention. Only when the wider context in which SHEs occur, what I call the neo-liberal international economic order, becomes an integral part of theorising about them can solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention genuinely claim to promote international society’s moral commitment to encouraging human rights around the world.

vii

Acknowledgements This book would not have been written if it was not for the support of my two colleagues Paul Williams and Matthew Watson. They have repeatedly gone far beyond the call of duty to give me the support, advice, encouragement and feedback that I truly needed. While a great many other people have helped me along the way, I would particularly like to thank Professor Stuart Croft at the Department of Politics and International Studies at the University of Warwick for his involvement in the final stages of writing A Critical Humanitarian Intervention Approach. This book would never have had been published if it was not for the support I have received from the Economic and Social Research Council working as one of their postdoctoral research fellows. I would also like to thank Eve Richards for her support and feedback, which was found particularly valuable at the ‘writing up stage’ of my book. Next, I must acknowledge the support I received from Nicki Smith and Julie Gilson. I treasure their friendship. None of this work would have been possible if it was not for the dedicated support I had from the Barrow Cadbury Trust and in particular Mr Eric Adams, thanks to whom I was able to fulfil my dream to study. Last, but by no means least, I am indebted to my family and friends. My dearest June for her faith in my ‘big ideas’ and my parents, Zofia and Krzysztof Pawłowscy for instilling ‘the love for knowledge’ into me. Above all else, I am grateful to my dearest friend and soul mate, my husband, Simon, for his persistent belief in my abilities. It is his love, dedicated support, patience and endurance which made my experience of this project as enjoyable as it was. To Simon, together with our three little children, six-year-old Adam, three-year-old Anna and nine-month-old Oliver; this book is dedicated to all four of you. Karina Z. Butler (née Pawlowska) Birmingham

viii

List of Abbreviations AAK

Alliance for the Future of Kosovo

AVNOJ

Anti-Fascist Liberation Council of Yugoslavia

BAOL

Basic Organisation of Associated Labour

BSEC

Black Sea Economic Co-Operative

BIS

Bank of International Settlements

CMEA

Council for Mutual Economic Assistance

CEFTA

Central European Free Trade Agreement

CAFOD

Catholic Found for Overseas Development

CHIA

Critical Humanitarian Intervention Approach

Comecon

Council for Mutual Economic Assistance

EU

European Union

ECOWAS

Economic Community of West African States

EBRD

European Bank for Reconstruction and Development

EIB

European Investment Bank

EFTA

European Free Trade Association

ECC

European Economic Community

ESAF

IMF Emergency Social Adjustment Fund

FYROM

Former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia

FRY

Federal Republic of Yugoslavia

FDI

Foreign Direct Investment

GATT

General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade

GDOs

Grassroots Development Organisations

HDI

Human Development Index

HIPC

Heavily Indebted Poor Countries

IBRD

International Bank for Reconstruction and Development

ICISS

International Commission on Intervention and State Sovereignty

IFIs

International Financial Institutions

IMF

International Monetary Fund ix

x

List of Abbreviations

ICJ

International Court of Justice

IPE

International Political Economy

IFC

International Finance Corporation

ICG

International Crisis Group

IPA

International Peace Academy

KLA

Kosovo Liberation Army

LDK

Democratic League of Kosovo

LCY

League of Communists of Yugoslavia

NATO

North Atlantic Treaty Organisation

NAM

Non-Aligned Movement

NAFTA

North American Free Trade Agreement

NGO

Non-Governmental Organisation

OECD

Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development

ODI

Overseas Development Institute

OSCE

Organisation for Security and Cooperation in Europe

PRGF

Poverty Reduction and Growth Facility

SAPs

Structural Adjustment Programs

SEE

South East Europe

SHEs

Supreme Humanitarian Emergencies

SPSEE

Stability Pact for South East Europe

TNCs

Transnational Corporations

TDF

Territorial defence forces

UNDP

United Nations Development Programme

UNMIK

UN Mission in Kosovo

UNCTAD

United Nations Conference on Trade and Development

UNRATTI

UN Regulatory Agency for Transnational Trade and Investment

UNCED

UN Conference on Environment and Development

WTO

World Trade Organisation

WBG

World Bank Group

WHO

World Health Organisation

YPA

Yugoslav’s People Army

YCLCC

Comité Central de la Liga Comunista de Yugoslavia

Introduction

Following the military humanitarian intervention in Kosovo in March 1999, a new ‘moral [international] imagination’1 was born. It promised a better world in which human rights would be respected, encouraged and exercised. Indeed, no one better than the solidarists used the concept of humanitarian intervention to argue that a better world was on the horizon. This book argues that claims of a better world will remain nothing more than ‘imaginary’ unless the workings of the international economic order are included in the analysis of humanitarian intervention. Two central debates can be identified at the heart of thinking on humanitarian intervention, between both theorists and practitioners. One debate concerns theorising the primacy of either state sovereignty or international law; the second concerns the alleged progressive evolvement of international norms relating to human rights and the use of military force. It is within the context of the second debate that I consider the subject of this book, which is the solidarist theorising of humanitarian intervention. Although solidarist thinking, when considered in general terms, is less established than, for instance, that of realism or liberalism, its proponents’ particular view on the subject of humanitarian intervention is not. This is the case because solidarist thinking about humanitarian intervention (especially in the context dictated by the case study considered in this book) is shared by the most powerful state practitioners: influential United Nations agencies and prominent NGOs. The particular view shared is that an agreement to intervene militarily in circumstances dictated by Supreme Humanitarian Emergencies (SHEs) demonstrates international society’s overall moral commitment to encouraging human rights around the world. This shared belief is further 1

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A Critical Humanitarian Intervention Approach

considered in a progressive sense, as a part of evolving international norms within international society on the subject of human rights. In contrast to the above, it is regressive, I argue, to consider the act of military intervention in terms of evolving international norms on human rights. This is because the criterion upon which international society’s commitment to human rights around the world should be judged is the act of prevention of SHEs. The need to make this case becomes even more urgent given that scholarly debates and their influence on subsequent practice are mutually constitutive. Seen in this light this book has two aims. Through reconceptualising security by means of Ken Booth’s Theory of World Security its first aim is to explain why solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention prioritises the act of military intervention over the practice of prevention. Its second aim is to propose an alternative to the solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention perspective, which in this book is called a critical humanitarian intervention approach (CHIA).

Why solidarist theorising? Deciding on the exact intellectual boundaries of the solidarist approach to humanitarian intervention is contested; what follows is a wide rather than a narrow view of the approach. Accordingly, I distinguish between the central figures, regular contributors and participants of the solidarist approach to humanitarian intervention. Central figures of this approach include the later work of Hedley Bull, Tim Dunne, James Mayall, R. J. Vincent, Nicholas J. Wheeler and Peter Wilson.2 Regular contributors to the solidarist approach to humanitarian intervention include Alex J. Bellamy, Andrew Linklater and Fernando Teson.3 The participants who share the solidarist approach to humanitarian intervention are divided between theorists and practitioners. Theorists who contribute (although not exclusively) to the solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention are Hugh Miall, Oliver Ramsbotham and Tom Woodhouse.4 In selecting the practitioners who have contributed to the solidarist view on humanitarian intervention, I focus on the years immediately before and after the intervention in Kosovo. Therefore the International Commission on Intervention and State Sovereignty (ICISS) Report and speeches made by political leaders and the UN Secretary-General Kofi Annan become significant.5 Parallel to the developments among the practitioners are the advances made within the intellectual arena. Indeed, the subject of humanitarian intervention has inspired a variety of intellectual debates.6 However,

Introduction 3

it is the pluralist/solidarist divide within the English School approach that has arguably dominated these debates; it has also championed the normative content of those debates.7 The debates of the English School8 are characterised by two different conceptions of international society, those of pluralism and solidarism (Bull, 1966). These two approaches share a principal composition of international society that is characterised by shared values, rules and institutions. While both approaches agree on the principal composition of international society they differ on the normative content of this society. For pluralists, international society is characterised by ‘enough commonality to generate rules of association that are generally respected, but not enough to overcome local particularities’ (Ramsbotham and Woodhouse, 1996b: 31). From this perspective humanitarian intervention is not encouraged. In contrast to pluralism, solidarist opinion on the subject of humanitarian intervention differs considerably. Most solidarists would agree with R. J. Vincent’s classic definition of intervention as: ‘an activity undertaken by a state, a group within a state, a group of states, or an international organisation which interferes coercively in the domestic affairs of another state … It is not necessarily lawful or unlawful but it does break a conventional pattern of international relations’ (Vincent, 1974: 3). Further, solidarists argue that its purpose is to address ‘SHEs’ and this gives the military intervention its humanitarian character (Wheeler, 2000: 13). Accordingly, the notion of ‘supreme emergency’ has two components: its immediacy and the nature of the danger involved. A supreme emergency arises in situations of imminent danger and horrific circumstances. In other words, ‘a supreme emergency occurs where the danger is very close and in order to qualify it must be of an unusual and horrifying kind’. For solidarists ‘if humanitarian intervention is to be contemplated at all it must be only in situations of supreme humanitarian emergency’ (Bellamy, 2003a: 335; emphasis in original). Solidarists distinguish between extraordinary oppression and dayto-day oppression, where only the former is a legitimate reason to intervene on humanitarian grounds (Vincent, 1986: 126–7). Similarly the ICISS has concluded that military intervention for humanitarian purposes could be legitimised only in circumstances of ‘extreme and exceptional cases’ (ICISS, 2001: 31). Nicholas Wheeler also analyses what constitutes a SHE. First, he refers to the general concept of SHE as one which ‘captures the exceptional nature of the cases under consideration’ (Wheeler, 2000: 34). Second, he observes that there are no

4

A Critical Humanitarian Intervention Approach

objective criteria which help to decide when a supreme emergency becomes a humanitarian emergency or vice versa, because such an emergency exists when ‘the only hope of saving lives depends on outsiders coming to the rescue’ (34). Consequently, as Alex Bellamy observes, the key defining element of the solidarist definition of SHE ‘is not the scale or nature of human suffering but whether that suffering requires outside intervention to alleviate it’ (Bellamy, 2003a: 335). Critically, and in relation to the already mentioned normative composition of international society, solidarists believe that international society shares common rules and values and, crucially, that these provide a ‘springboard for progressively greater convergence and co-operation in the future’ (Ramsbotham and Woodhouse, 1996b: 31). Indeed, an agreement within international society to intervene is treated by solidarists as an example of this progressive convergence.9 The reason why it is treated as a progressive convergence, according to the solidarist approach, is that it is supposedly indicative of an international society in which states accept not only a moral responsibility to protect the security of their own citizens, but also the wider one of ‘guardianship of human rights everywhere’ (Bull cited in Wheeler, 2000: 12). In other words the concept of convergence in the context of solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention is used to demonstrate the act of humanitarian military intervention in terms of a change or a move away from the non-developmental international society perceived by pluralists to an international society which claims to be morally responsible not only for its own citizens but for the guardianship of human rights everywhere. This leads solidarists to call for turning such military practices into an acceptable universal norm by developing a theory of humanitarian intervention. As Wheeler observes, ‘there has been no systematic attempt to develop a theory of humanitarian intervention’, and although he never claims to have developed one, he does ‘develop a framework for deciding what counts as legitimate humanitarian intervention’ (Wheeler, 2000: 12). The solidarist commitment to building a framework, which might later be developed into a theory to address SHEs, is the main reason why the solidarist and not the pluralist approach is the subject of this book. Indeed this book is sympathetic to the solidarists’ objective of addressing SHEs; however, it is highly critical of their methods of theorising about those emergencies. In particular it is critical of the consequent effects of this theorising (encouraging common sense for intervention,

Introduction 5

as opposed to prevention) upon the role of international society; above all, upon the moral responsibility expected of international society as an agent for encouraging human rights everywhere. This criticism is incurred by what I consider a serious limitation within the normative purpose of solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention. The normative purpose of humanitarian intervention as pursued by solidarists is described as ‘putting the victims of human rights abuses at the centre of its theoretical project’. Solidarists further argue that their claim is validated by them being ‘committed to exploring how the society of states [international society] might become more hospitable to the promotion of justice in world politics’ (Wheeler, 2000: 38). It is, of course, not disputed in this book that the rights of victims need to be addressed. This is why it is accepted that an intervention of some kind to address SHEs may sometimes be necessary. Crucially, however, it is disputed that an agreement within international society to engage in military humanitarian intervention should be taken as indicative of international society’s becoming more hospitable to the promotion of justice in world politics. My judgement and opinion is further explained by the ‘paradox’ of the case study pursued in this book.

Why Kosovo? The case study explored in this book is the SHE of 1998–9 in Kosovo. Indeed Kosovo, in my view, represents the paradoxical nature of the solidarists’ normative argument. Its paradoxical nature derives from two observations. While at the point of humanitarian intervention Kosovo supposedly signified international society’s moral commitment to encouraging human rights around the world, at a different time, which I call the stage of ‘economic statism’, Kosovo represented the same international society discrediting its moral commitment. The use of ‘moral imperatives’ used by international leaders to justify NATO’s intervention into Kosovo exemplifies the first element of the paradox. President Bill Clinton, for instance, suggested that ‘by acting now, we are upholding our values. Ending this tragedy is a moral imperative’ (Clinton, 1999: 1). Similarly, Prime Minister Tony Blair described NATO’s intervention in terms of a just war, based not on territorial ambitions, but on the values of liberty, the rule of law, human rights and an open society (Blair, 1999a: 1). In other words it was accepted among Western leaders that the practice of intervention could be treated in terms of protecting ‘fundamental principles necessary for humanity’s progress’ (Blair, 1999b: 2).

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A Critical Humanitarian Intervention Approach

Paradoxically, however, the protecting by international society of principles necessary for humanity’s progress before Kosovo’s capacity for violence developed into a SHE was not considered with equal importance by international society, thus completing the second part of the paradox. The inconsistency between solidarists’ overall normative purpose of their theorising and their particular theorising on humanitarian intervention becomes even more significant when considered in the context of international society. This is the case because an important part of international society’s composition is its economic sphere, which in this book is identified with the neo-liberal international economic order. Bull clearly states that the economy is a part of international society and (his idea of) justice should rest on a fairer international political economy (Bull, 1990: 72–3).10 Further, it can only be assumed that the economic sphere composes part of Wheeler’s international society. Indeed, his starting point for Saving Strangers is Bull’s definition of international society (Wheeler, 2000: 2–7). Therefore, I argue that although solidarists, following pluralists, recognise the existence of the economic sphere within international society, they fail to consider the part played by the economy in contextualising what is considered a SHE. In substantiating this particular claim I trace back the effects of international society’s economic activities in the former Yugoslavia, beginning in the late 1970s and continuing throughout the 1980s and 1990s and up to the present. My focus is directed at both particular International Financial Institutions (IFIs) and the EU in their project to integrate the former state into the global economy. The moral content of the solidarist claim is further questioned now that the socio-economic situation in post-1999 Kosovo continues to be demonstrative of the same neo-liberal economic mismanagement policies which contextualised its SHE in the first place. Admittedly, it should be noted that although this process of economic integration occurred all across Eastern Europe, it did not have the same causal effect everywhere in the region. For instance, although economic integration was encouraged in Poland, the country did not witness a SHE on the scale of Kosovo. Here what is meant by the phrase ‘the contextualisation of Kosovo’s SHE’ becomes important for the argument. Contextualisation is to be distinguished from direct causation, for it is not the subject of this book to decide what directly caused the 1998–9 SHE in Kosovo. Contextualisation suggests the provision of

Introduction 7

favourable conditions for something to develop, in this case situations entailing the capacity for violence. Accordingly, it is argued that conditions where violence in Kosovo was possible, even likely, emerged during the process of integrating the former Yugoslavia into the global economy. This process involved the structural and institutional altering of Yugoslavia’s national economy, which (among other things) contributed to its vast unemployment, changed the socio-political dynamics between different ethnic minorities and consequently contributed to an overall sense of insecurity among its people. These unfavourable circumstances created a situation in which violence became likely. The definition of ‘contextualisation’ suggests that for such situations to develop into SHEs other factors must be included. Within the literature on the former Yugoslavia and Kosovo some examples of these additional factors would include the role of ethnicity, the end of the Cold War, the role played by individual political leaders, and other external influences such as the regional power politics of the former Yugoslavia.11 For that reason, it is not the focus of this book to distinguish between the different degrees of direct (or otherwise) causation. To focus on such subject matter, as appropriately observed by Oliver Ramsbotham et al., would involve entering ‘a difficult field much disputed by historians, philosophers and philosophers of science: namely, the issue of causation and counterfactuals’. It is a demanding requirement to know exactly how particular wars have been caused, ‘what particular cause would have had a particular effect, or that it was the agenda of a particular effect’ (Ramsbotham et al., 2005: 111). Moreover, whatever causes seem to be the primary ones they always operate together and in combination with other conditions. The authors further observe, ‘the effects of a cause are dependent upon other background conditions … conditions which shape events’ (111–12). What I identify as contextual conditions work together with primary causes to bring about conflict or war; ‘neither by themselves can satisfactorily explain war’ nor can they prevent SHEs (112). All in all, an intervention to manage SHEs may sometimes be necessary but it is disputed that such actions should be defined as demonstrative of international society’s overall moral commitment to encouraging human rights around the world. It is in addressing the contextual causes, identified within the economic realm that methods could be identified for preventing SHEs in the future. It is therefore imperative to include the elements of contextualisation in the analysis of SHEs. This is for two fundamental reasons: first, because

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A Critical Humanitarian Intervention Approach

economic factors played an important role in facilitating the outbreak of Kosovo’s emergency and, second, because unfavourable economic conditions should be treated by international society as opportunities to prevent SHEs that should not be missed in the future. In the meantime, it is argued in this book, solidarists encourage the act of intervention over the act of prevention because they maintain a problem-solving method of theorising about SHEs. This, at its most basic, is caused by its confined ‘whether or not to intervene’ logic of theorising on the subject of humanitarian intervention. A short demonstration of the ‘whether or not to intervene’ logic follows.

Whether or not to intervene Here it is important to say that it is not in my intention to provide either a detailed literature review on the subject of humanitarian intervention or to criticise the viability of the individual debates absorbed by the subject of humanitarian intervention. Rather, my aim is much more straightforward: to demonstrate that solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention is preoccupied with the ‘whether or not to intervene’ method of theorising. This pattern is conceptually too limited to encourage practices other than those of either intervention or non-intervention. This is a serious limitation, as it has consequences for what international society understands in terms of its moral duty to take on the guardianship of human rights everywhere. In fact, solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention can be divided between moral and legal debates. The moral debate, already presented above, claims as its main concern the well-being of human beings regardless of what international law implies. Accordingly, pluralist and solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention are typically presented as being about either the primacy for international order or individual justice. Considered in the context of SHEs and following the pattern of ‘whether or not to intervene’, pluralists regard intervention as undesirable, whereas solidarists regard it as necessary. For instance, pluralists argue against humanitarian intervention as it has major implications for international order.12 Solidarists, in contrast, claim that states need to intervene in order to help others.13 In other words, the focus here is the act of intervention, whereas I argue that reciprocal prevention should dictate the normative content of a theory which claims to fulfil the moral duty of assuming the guardianship of human rights everywhere.

Introduction 9

An identical approach to theorising about humanitarian intervention is taken within the so-called legal debates.14 These focus around three main questions: what does international law imply about whether humanitarian interventions can or cannot occur? Are there any exceptions absorbed by international law which would allow humanitarian intervention? And, finally, what happens when the Security Council does not authorise humanitarian intervention? Once again, the sophisticated character of these individual debates is not disputed; nevertheless, their focus remains the process of deciding whether or not to intervene. Finally, the solidarist search for justified humanitarian intervention continues the pattern of finding good enough reasons ‘to intervene or not’ by regulating the act of intervention through the application of the test of appropriate ‘criteria’.15 Both the logic of the solidarists’ argument16 and that of the political representatives of Western governments17 persist in asking for appropriate rules or criteria to make the act of intervention more acceptable through the method of regulation. Indeed, the search for criteria ‘essentially suggests what is now in the policy mainstream’ (Weiss, 2005: 233). In other words the ‘test of criteria’, as referred to by Farer, dictates when the use of force could justify the act of military intervention (Farer, 2005: 211–20). The debates in the search for criteria further endorse my main observation about the solidarist approach to humanitarian intervention, which is that it is too limited in its theoretical and practical scope to encourage the prevention of SHEs. This is as much as to say that the Just War is beguiling because it ennobles the profession of violence and offers a set of conditions that seem to suggest rational control and restraint (Booth, 2000: 314). To use Chris Brown’s words, ‘the test of criteria is one of execution’, without providing enough understanding of why it was needed in the first place (Brown, 2005: 226). I argue that the solidarists’ search for criteria does not exhaust the potential normative scope of a humanitarian theory. This means that the standards of normative theory – how states and therefore people should behave at their best when committed to the moral responsibility of encouraging human rights everywhere – is not given the chance to be put into practice. Here once again I agree with Brown, who in reference to the subject of criteria has argued, ‘If we are concerned about the existence of human rights violations on a large scale in the world, as we should be, but if we are also worried by the idea of the powerful engaging in repeated attempts to right these wrongs, as we also should

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A Critical Humanitarian Intervention Approach

be, then the answer is not to devise external objective tests for action, but to do our best to promote both prudent statesmanship and a wider and more generous definition of state interest’ (Brown, 2005: 228–9). In the context provided by this book, the main interest, I argue, should be associated with the reciprocal prevention of SHEs. Thus the next question to be asked is: why does solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention not sufficiently encourage the practice of prevention? This book argues that solidarists do not sufficiently consider the subject of prevention primarily because they are preoccupied by the decision of whether or not to intervene, and this in turn is caused by a problem-solving method of theorising about what is considered a SHE. My explanation of why solidarist endeavour is problem-solving in nature and my proposal of an alternative to such an endeavour depends on the analytical wealth offered by Ken Booth’s Theory of World Security.

Applying the Theory of World Security The Theory of World Security derives from a body of ideas defined by Ken Booth as ‘critical global theorising’ (Booth, 2007: 3, Chapter 2). The two main aims of his work are to understand current interpretations of world security better and to promote a reciprocal world security that contributes to the invention of a more inclusive humanity. By the concept of reciprocal world security, Booth means: ‘structures and processes within human society, locally and globally, that work towards the reduction of threats and risks that determine individual and group lives’. The notion of reciprocity implies that ‘the greater the level of security enjoyed, the more individuals and groups (including human society as a whole) can have an existence beyond the instinctual animal struggle merely to survive’. Security is ‘synonymous with the freedom of individuals and groups compatible with the reasonable freedom of others’ (2000: 2, 4). The theoretical framework for the Theory of World Security is developed upon Philip Allott’s typology of transcendental, pure and practical theories, which correlate to the themes of being, knowing and doing in relation to world security (Booth 2000: 3; emphasis in original). While all three components are relevant for a CHIA, it is the analytical validity of pure and practical theories that I employ to explain why solidarist theorising is inescapably problem-solving and what the alternative approach should look like.

Introduction 11

Why problem-solving In summary, a problem-solving theorising, as defined by Robert Cox, is characterised by two key features: a positivist method of theorising and a tendency to legitimise dominant political, economic and social structures (Cox, 1986). Although I use Cox’s interpretation of problemsolving theorising as my framework to demonstrate solidarist theorising in terms of problem-solving, it is Booth’s pure theory and its characteristics which I use to explain in more depth why solidarist theorising is problem-solving. Why solidarist theorizing maintains a positivist method of theorizing Accordingly, Booth’s pure theory is considered in terms of an emancipatory approach to epistemology where the notion of epistemology is pursued in terms of a method of exploring various ways of knowing about the world (Booth, 2007: 192). At its most basic, this method involves paying attention to the process of theorising itself, which within critical theorising is associated with reflexive theorising. An element of reflexive theorising, to which I pay marked attention, is one which calls theorists to recognise ‘the inherently politico-normative content of their paradigms [theories] and the normal-science tradition [common sense] they generate’ (Neufeld, 1995: 41). This element of reflexive theorising stands in direct contrast to the positivists’ method of theorising, in particular to their analytical consideration of their ‘truth as correspondence’. It has already been shown that the ‘truth as correspondence’, or the starting point for solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention, is an appropriate SHE presented in the context of its two characteristics: its urgency and the nature of the danger involved. These characteristics explain why the act of military intervention and not prevention follows the solidarist project. While it is not disputed that emergencies of this kind need to be addressed, it is questioned whether the common sense generated as a consequence of solidarist method of theorising is appropriate to consider in terms of international society’s overall commitment of encouraging human rights around the world. It is argued in this book that the common sense generated by solidarist theorising on the subject of humanitarian intervention overwhelmingly describes military intervention and not prevention as the ethically relevant action in circumstances dictated by SHEs. This is not to say, as demonstrated in Chapter 2, that the proponents of humanitarian

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intervention do not favour prevention over intervention (ICISS 2001: 31). What is argued instead is that, due to their positivist method of theorising about SHEs – where the emergencies are the main focus – prevention is desired yet remains outside the subject of their theorisation of humanitarian intervention. This results from the fact that such theorising is restricted to the process of deciding whether or not to intervene in SHEs rather than about ways of preventing them. The overwhelming focus on intervention brings two further consequences upon the solidarist project. The first is that the welfare of victims is considered before the welfare of all individual human beings and that the commonsensical theorising on military intervention dictates the boundaries of what it is possible for international society to accomplish in circumstances dictated by SHE. Unsatisfied by the above assumptions, which also explain why the positivist method of theorising is considered in this book to be problematic, I pay attention to the process of theorising itself and question the commonsensical validity of solidarist theorising. This is analytically possible because, following Booth’s analysis of the way in which power and knowledge are related, I argue that the subject cannot be separated from the object which it describes and so the ‘dependent and derivative status’ arrived at as a result of the subject/object association can be critically reassessed and changed. The critical reassessment becomes especially necessary when one learns from pure theory that theories have constitutive properties, which means that they can shape how one sees reality and therefore how one acts (Booth, 2007: 240, 247). In the context of this book, this means that unless the solidarist description of the SHEs scenario is challenged a military intervention will become the commonsensical prescription when international society has to deal with such emergencies. This is a disturbing observation because it has immense implications and consequences for what international society understands as the carrying out of ‘moral duties’ (Wheeler and Bellamy, 2001: 447) to fulfil the role of ‘guardianship of human rights everywhere’ (Bull cited in Wheeler, 2000: 12). The boundary of moral duty is from this perspective no more than an agreement to intervene militarily on a humanitarian basis. I argue that this is a serious limitation because it is the prevention of SHEs and not their management that should be the criterion for assessing the normative agenda of international society. This is even more serious because

Introduction 13

prevention is within the reach of international society – in particular its economic sphere. Consequently, the next question to ask is why solidarists do not include the economic part of international society in their analysis of SHEs. Answering this question also explains how solidarists exemplify the second feature of problem-solving theorising, which is the legitimisation of prevailing political, social and economic structures. Why solidarists legitimise prevailing political, social and economic structures18 In its second role, problem-solving theorising legitimises existing political, economic and social structures, which in the context of this book bring about further two limitations upon the solidarist project. First, the ways in which liberal economic remedies can increase the likelihood of violent conflict are rarely considered by solidarist theorising and, therefore, second, solidarists have a narrow understanding of why conflict occurs and how it can be prevented. Figure I.1 explains why I believe solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention legitimises the structures of the neo-liberal international economic order. This illustrates the way in which solidarists treat SHEs separately from their context (X 2), which I identify in this book as the neo-liberal international economic order (X 1). The international order is ‘a pattern of activity that sustains the elementary or primary goals of the society of states, or international society’ (Bull, 1995: 8). The patterns of activity sustained by the neo-liberal international economic order include the ‘conceptual separation between economics and politics, giving politics the lesser but important status, that of ensuring the specific political conditions necessary for efficient economic activity’ (Tooze, 1992: 236).

X1

X2

X3

Neo-liberal international economic order

Intervention (SHEs)

Peace-building

Figure I.1 Solidarist theorising as legitimising the structures of the neo-liberal international economic order

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Therefore, as Tooze argues, the goal of the neo-liberal international economic order is efficient economic activity. Further, economic activity is treated as apolitical and rational. This was reflected in the post1945 economic order represented by the Bretton Woods institutions, which were considered to be non-political organisations carrying out technical functions. The agencies of neo-liberal international economic order, such as the International Monetary Fund (IMF) and World Bank, continue to separate economics from politics (236). Following Booth’s pure theory and his explanation of the knowledge/ interest relation in the particular context of the purpose of ‘Critical’ change, I argue that solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention and SHEs fails to question whose interest ‘liberal knowledge’ serves and therefore it embodies liberal assumptions about the separation of politics and economics (Booth, 2007: 238). Consequently, the social, political and economic structures, which, I argue, contributed in the case of Kosovo to the outbreak of SHEs, are further legitimised and replicated in the peace-building stage (X 3).19 This is a crucial limitation because those ‘false’ legitimate structures once more fail to be included in solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention, associated in this book with the neo-liberal international economic order, and in fact make the eruption of a SHE more likely. This is the reason why I argue that the solidarist provision of security in the context of humanitarian intervention theorising is merely problem solving. This is the case because while solidarist theorising seeks to stop SHEs per se it does not transform the context within which these emergencies arise, and thus risks future SHEs. In contrast to problem-solving solidarist theorising, the alternative perspective, called a CHIA, aims to overcome the problematic positivist method and change the undesired structures instead of replicating them.

A critical humanitarian intervention approach Going beyond the positivist method of theorising Fundamentally, a CHIA is also committed to exploring how international society might become more hospitable to the promotion of justice in world politics, but it uses the potential for convergence and the common rules and values which already exist within international society to argue in favour of prevention, while solidarists use the potential to argue in favour of intervention. In an attempt to go beyond the positivist method, a CHIA does not reject the existence of

Introduction 15

SHEs but it rejects considering them in terms of their foundation for knowledge or seeing them in terms of their ‘truth as correspondence’. It takes this approach with the aim of avoiding the commonsensical properties generated by all theorising, discussed in this book in terms of the power–knowledge relation and the constitutive properties of theorising. This means that a theorist working within a CHIA is aware that treating SHEs as the starting point for further analysis will encourage intervention instead of the preferable prevention of crisis. Aiming to overcome this limitation, a CHIA, following Booth’s pure theory, rejects the positivist method and instead uses the analytical insight of the metaphor of anchorage to elevate methods of prevention over intervention. The metaphor of anchorage, by rejecting the idea of objective foundations, enables other arguments to enter the particular debate on humanitarian intervention. Crucially, despite the fact that the metaphor rejects the idea of objective foundations for the formation of knowledge, it nevertheless still shares the aims of objectivity. Still characterised by reflexive theorising, a theorist working within a CHIA argues that even though no neutral, context-independent standards exist to assess competing theories, reasoned judgements can be reached by means of argument in favour of a better theory that is judged by the worth of its standards (Neufeld, 1991: 15). Judgements in favour of a better theory are not based upon Archimedean points from which a positivist theorist proposes relevant practice correlative to her/his observation. Rather, these judgements of a better theory are made by determining which theory and therefore which consequent practice offers greater scope for lasting transformation. Accordingly, it is argued in this book that the criterion upon which a perspective is judged to be better is whether it provides greater scope for the future prevention of SHEs. To aid the task of finding a ‘better theory’ I use Robert Cox’s method of achieving a ‘perspective on perspective’ to orient the goal of the future prevention of SHEs (Cox, 1986: 204–54). A theorist working within the method of achieving a ‘perspective on perspective’ takes on what Booth described as the critical distance. According to pure theory, this means standing outside the common sense of theorising generated by a particular Archimedean point and, instead, asking whether that commonsensical view offers us ‘the best of all possible worlds’ (Booth, 2007: 236, 250). Crucially, the scope for developing a better alternative theory is developed upon the potential that already exists in a given context. A critique which is based upon

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the unfulfilled potential for transformation is identified by critical theorists as what they call ‘immanent critique’. In this regard, I argue that a CHIA is judged to be a better approach than solidarist theory on humanitarian intervention because it aims to elevate the act of prevention over intervention. In striving for prevention it argues that the referent object of security, that is, individual human beings, cannot be restricted to the role of victim, an argument explored in Chapter 2. Rather, the referent object of security needs to be individual human beings considered at all stages of their development and in every condition. Consequently, I argue that providing for security in terms of ‘human security’, as defined by Caroline Thomas, is better able to do this. Challenging and not legitimising the structures of the neo-liberal international economic order In Chapter 2 I will present different understandings of the concept of human security. These developments are found to be encouraging and, indeed, are considered in terms of the ‘unfulfilled potential’ upon which Caroline Thomas’s concept of human security could be built. Her concept of human security differs from the other concepts not only because it extends the primary subject of security from a state to human beings but, critically, because in doing so it highlights the importance of scrutinising global processes which may impact or jeopardise such security (Thomas, 2000: 6). The global processes in this book are associated with the workings of the neo-liberal international economic order. This means that in overcoming the second characteristic of problem-solving theorising, a CHIA includes the neo-liberal international economic order in its analysis of SHEs. This does not change the definition of SHEs but situates them within a wider analytical context, in particular the context of the neo-liberal international economic order. This has two main implications for this book. First, in conformity with the concept of human security as Thomas defines it, the political, social and economic structures of the neo-liberal international economic order (which in the case of Kosovo contextualised its SHE) are not further legitimised but are critically readdressed and changed. Second, addressing and changing the social, political and economic structures of the neo-liberal international economic order provides a better chance of preventing SHEs in the future. I propose, therefore, an alternative analysis of prevention that addresses the deeper structural causes of SHEs – what I call reciprocal prevention. This

Introduction 17

assumption is supported by the intellectual space already provided by the existing body of writing on deep prevention (Ramsbotham et al., 2005: 108). Deciding to identify the prevention of SHEs with the notion of ‘reciprocity’ is deliberate. Its purpose is to make it consistent with Booth’s already mentioned understanding of the purpose of security that it is ‘conceived as an instrumental value concerned to promote security reciprocally, as part of the invention of a more inclusive humanity’. This interpretation is to be distinguished from nationalist and statist interpretations, which promote an understanding of security ‘against others’ (Booth, 2007: 2). In other words the notion of reciprocity asks any theorist who takes a CHIA to include the working of the neo-liberal international economic order in her/his analysis of SHEs. The notion of reciprocity should be distinguished from sustainability, because reciprocal prevention does not guarantee the final end to SHEs. What it does, however, is provide favourable conditions within which the capacity for reciprocal prevention of SHEs could be built. These conditions are identified with economic and political measures, including the assessment of global economic structures, to address the sources of conflict. The ‘global economic structures’ in this book are identified with the ordinary workings of the neo-liberal international economic order described in Chapters 2 and 4. Accordingly, it is argued in Chapter 4 that challenging the workings of the neo-liberal international economic order alongside the eight characteristics of Booth’s practical theory challenges the current legitimacy of this order. I begin the process of reconstruction by explaining why the particular nature of the solution presented by the solidarist approach does not represent reality or ‘the best of all possible worlds’ (Booth, 2007: 250). This is the case because international society, and in particular its economic instigators of the neo-liberal international economic order (including the IMF, the World Bank and the European Union), helped shape the context in which the 1998–9 SHE in Kosovo took place. This is why this book argues that international society, instead of treating outside conflicts as separate from the Western world, needs to consider them as part of the context of the contemporary patterns of the neoliberal international economic order. For that reason, while solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention is satisfied with the deployment of forces and resources first to end the suffering and next to prevent its recurring on its own terms – this

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is the stage defined as peace-building – a CHIA by contrast begins the stage of peace-building with a sense of failure within international society due to not having prevented a SHE in the first place. This shift offers reciprocal preventative methods a better chance of being adopted by international society, because, it is argued, it is within the economic sphere that preventative methods could be applied. Consequently, a theoretical change in international society’s attitude to possible action in an emergency of this kind will change the nature not merely of the action to be taken but also of the choices made before the need for such action arises. The changing of international society’s attitude is pursued instrumentally through the book’s conception of the purpose of theorising in terms of the implementation of theory because, it is argued, ‘there is nothing so practical as a good theory’ because theories help to create realities which they go on to explain (Booth, 2007: 264). The conditions upon which the reciprocal prevention of SHEs could be built are encouraged along the so-called alternative path as defined by Thomas, which is complementary to Booth’s definition of an emancipatory community (2007: 268). The building of such a community, following Booth’s work, is considered in terms of an ever evolving project ‘a process and not of an end point’ (257). It is beyond the scope of this book to demonstrate how an emancipatory community should look; however, what is relevant for a CHIA is its focus on the problematic of the political/economic divide associated in this book with economic statism. Further, economic statism embraced by the neo-liberal international economic order implies a situation where domestic relations are more morally binding that international relations. In stark contrast to the above, a CHIA following Booth argues ‘equality is the condition for humanity’ and in this particular context it means that the impact of economic decisions that it has on society at home, needs necessarily have an equal consideration of their impact abroad (2007: 273). These different arrangements would apply to the normal workings of the neo-liberal international economic order, for the focus in this book is on international trade, finance, investment and global economic governance. I will add that although I accept that reciprocal prevention is a distant future I nevertheless consider reciprocal prevention and not military intervention in terms of progress because, following Booth, emancipation is about the politics of inventing humanity (256).

Introduction 19

Book outline The division of this book into chapters reflects its overall aim, which is to demonstrate how reconceptualising security in terms of Booth’s Theory of World Security explains and aids the limited solidarist approach to humanitarian intervention. It is considered to be limiting because it is primarily concerned with the process of deciding whether or not to intervene in situations of SHE, which ultimately focuses on the act of intervention as opposed to prevention. The aim of Chapter 1, therefore, is to propose putting in place alternative theoretical foundations, which will assist in the process of pushing beyond the confined solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention. While the purpose of Chapter 1 is to present the alternative theoretical foundations of the Theory of World Security, the purpose of the remaining chapters is to put these into practice. In Chapter 2 I first explain why the solidarist endeavour is problemsolving and focus in particular on its positivist method of theorising and its characteristic legitimisation of structures of domination. In an attempt to overcome the problem-solving solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention I further propose an alternative to the problem-solving approach perspective, which I call a CHIA. Accordingly, a CHIA, in contrast to solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention, seeks to present reciprocal prevention and not the management of SHEs as dictating the normative agenda of a theory which might consequently claim to be demonstrative of international society’s moral commitment to encouraging human rights around the world. This task is pursued first through overcoming the positivist method of theorising and, second, through seeking to change, rather than replicate structures which have contextualised SHEs, as demonstrated with the case study of Kosovo. Indeed throughout the book I am critical of the solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention, which, in its analysis of SHEs, ignores the wider international context. In order to stress the significance of my claim, in Chapter 3 I show how liberal institutions, such as the World Bank and the IMF, contributed to the outbreak of violence in Kosovo. I treat these findings as significant for two reasons. First, they are representative of a far more complex understanding of SHEs, in contrast to what is at present reflected by the solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention. But they also represent an array of opportunities, which, when taken into consideration by international society, could be seen as helping to prevent future SHEs.

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A Critical Humanitarian Intervention Approach

Following the latter belief, Chapter 4 continues to build upon a CHIA. Guided by the requirements of practical theory the emphasis in this chapter is on building favourable conditions within which the capacity for reciprocal prevention of SHEs may be built. The focus is on the normal workings of the neo-liberal international economic order, in particular the normal workings of international trade, finance, investment and global economic governance. Chapter 4 concludes that although reciprocal prevention does not guarantee the ultimate end to SHEs it nevertheless considers reciprocal prevention and not military intervention in terms of humanity’s progress.

1 The Theory of World Security and Humanitarian Intervention

Introduction The purpose of this chapter, divided into two parts, is to explore the possibility of putting in place alternative theoretical foundations which will assist the process of pushing beyond the theoretically confined solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention. This confined theorising focuses on the process of deciding whether or not to intervene. This decision-making process is in turn encouraged by the problem-solving method of theorising. It is argued that reconceptualising security in terms of Ken Booth’s Theory of World Security gives better scope for remedying this limitation. The two-part structure of this chapter facilitates the above task. In Part 1.1, I will summarise all three components of the Theory of World Security; I here pay particular attention to transcendental theory because a detailed analysis of pure and practical theories will continue throughout the rest of the book. The purpose of Part 1.2 is to propose an approach to epistemology that will be used in Chapter 2 to explain, first, why solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention is problem-solving and, second, to propose an alternative approach to humanitarian intervention to that of solidarist theorising. In this book the alternative is called a CHIA. There are two main problems identified within problem-solving theories and these are also relevant for the solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention. The first is their positivist method of theorising and in particular their treatment of the analytical element of the ‘truth as correspondence’. The second is their legitimisation of structures of inequality without any critical assessment. In order to substantiate both observations, I will first explain why the positivist method of theorising 21

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on the part of solidarist endeavour is problematic and why the analytical insight provided instead by Booth’s pure theory is a better alternative. The alternative theoretical foundations are identified with the process of reflexive theorising and in particular its elements of the relation between power and knowledge, the constitutive properties of theory and the metaphor of anchorage and its components of critical distance and immanent critique. In addressing the second problem associated with problem-solving theorising, I go on to propose alternative theoretical foundations to solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention, which in this particular context do not replicate existing structures but challenge and change them instead. Here the analytical insight of the particular ‘critical’ understanding of change and its element of ‘knowledge and interest’ is considered in some detail. While the purpose of this chapter is to explain the alternative theoretical elements of theorising, the purpose of Chapter 2 is to put them into practice.

Part 1.1 Theory of world security Ken Booth’s general understanding of theory comes from Philip Allott’s conception of theory defined as ‘a mental ordering of the reality within which a particular society constitutes itself’, a reality in which it explains and justifies the beliefs required for ‘society’s self-constituting’ (Booth, 2007: 207). This definition absorbs three different dimensions of theory, defined as ‘transcendental’, ‘pure’ and ‘practical’ theory. Indeed it is this typology which lends Booth the framework for his Theory of World Security. Transcendental theory Transcendental theory represents the grounding for society’s reality; it is society’s ontology because it provides society’s understanding of the source of truth and value; as such, it is theory entrenched in society at its deepest level (Booth, 2007: 207–8). Transcendental theory tells us what is real or what is the ‘is’ in world politics. For instance, realism claims that it deals with what is in international studies, but every theoretical system starts with this claim, that every theory has to assume, that human relations are founded on some sort of order and therefore every theory needs some sort of is-foundations (210). The strength of Critical Theory is that, as well as what exists, it considers how such an existence occurs in the mind of the person who makes the claim. The eight propositions of the transcendental theory of Theory of World

Theory of World Security and Humanitarian Intervention 23

Security, according to Booth, can be best summed up as ‘human sociality’ because this carries with it the radical possibilities immanent in the biology of being human (210). A summary of the eight propositions follows next. Biology is freedom It is our origin as biological entities and the relationship between our origins and our upbringing which make us open to change. This relationship forces us to be aware of what we can change (our created environment) and what we cannot (our biology); this in turn makes us conscious of choice and thus of freedom. What is human sociality Sociality, at a lower level than our human origin as biological entities, is low enough to be considered the matrix for our critical security. By sociality, we refer to our power to behave as a collective, which craves change as an expression of freedom and rejects the familiar. This inherent urge to be free from what we already know and hence independent of others long ago set up options for us which over time have created today’s complex global society. Since we know we have changed in the past, we can hope for change in the future; we need not be inhibited by a sense of what our common burdens are. Though we may never fully understand the results, we should try to work towards the limits of human potential, responsible for what we do, even when we are constrained by historical forces. Being adaptable to our circumstances, we can choose to go forward or hesitate; if we choose the former, we are even free to change the fundamental conditions of existence for international society. One example would be the creation of conditions for sustainable world security according to Booth or, in the context of this book, conditions for the reciprocal prevention of SHEs (Booth, 2007: 215). Cognition is first In the process of providing for the conditions of sustainable world security social scientists will enquire about the agent/structure dichotomy. Treated separately, an agent can be a person or a group of people capable of making things happen. Structure, however, is something that exists outside the agent but which, crucially, shapes the agent’s actions. Booth, following the tradition of Anthony Giddens, describes the agent/ structure association as follows. First he argues that agents and structures are not separate entities but entities which are mutually constitutive.

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Second, human beings are unique: however similar they are, they react in different ways to the same circumstances and can always imagine something outside these circumstances. Therefore, third, we use our cognition to respond both to the nature of our being and surroundings (‘structures’) and to our knowledge of choices made in the past. Fourth, structures are powerful and they affect human decisions but, crucially, they do not determine them. It is the interplay between human cognition and the dominant structures which ‘keeps alive the idea that change is possible, while at the same time providing a reminder of the power of structures’ (Booth, 2007: 219). History is made up as we go along Since all human institutions were made by our choice, they can equally be destroyed by choice. We can use our knowledge of the past, which changes according to our present standpoint, to illuminate what we do now. In other words, knowledge is seen by Critical Theorists as historically produced: this means that, ‘as the historical situatedness of an observer changes, so does our understanding of our past’ (Booth, 2007: 220).1 Was does not equal is or will be Considering the above analysis, it will come as no surprise that Critical Theorists fight essentialist sentiments. ‘Essentialism is the idea that some phenomena have intrinsic properties, an eternal nature’ (Booth, 2007: 221). If a reality were merely something constructed by those who assume it to exist, then it could easily be deconstructed. Too often it is assumed to have an absolute existence. It is the aim of critical theorists to untangle a ‘presentist’ mindset that, for instance, assumes static and timeless social conditions and to present in its place the potential for different sensibilities, for instance, one of world citizenship (222). To be human is to make meaning Human beings thinking symbolically have produced systems of culture and relationship, even of morality. Now they must turn to inventing systems for being human which will replace the exploitative, institutionally unjust relationships of the past by modes of interaction for mutual benefit. The individual is the ultimate referent Fundamentally, Booth in his work challenges the traditional referent of security, which was a state; he is ‘one of the most prominent advocates

Theory of World Security and Humanitarian Intervention 25

of making individuals the referent [instead]’ (Wyn Jones, 1999: 114). In ‘Security and Emancipation’, his three reasons against privileging the state as the referent object of security are, first, that there are different kinds of state, some providing for security and others not. The latter kind cannot be treated as referents of security. Second, states are too diverse in their character to be used as the bases for a theory of security. Last, a most persuasive argument in his overall work, is that it is illogical to think of a state as the referent of security, on the grounds that to do so is to confuse means with ends. States are or can be the means for providing security, but ultimately it is only with reference to individuals that the notion of security has any meaning. ‘It is illogical therefore to privilege the security of the means as opposed to the security of the ends’ (Booth, 1991: 320). All in all, security makes no sense unless it is the property of an individual. Essentially, however, and relevant for the subject pursued in this book, judging Booth’s analysis in terms of the straightforward refocusing of its referent object of security from state to an individual is not sufficient to challenge solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention. This is because solidarists also claim that their referent object of security is an individual. The question therefore is what is the difference between them? It will be explained in Chapter 2 why the referent object of security within the solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention is an individual, but only an individual in the role of a victim. This is an important observation, as it suggests solidarists’ limited understanding of human rights and the implied limitation of the duties which they would impose upon state leaders within international society. Therefore, Booth’s way of treating individuals as the main object of security is different from that of the solidarists, for, following the work of Gerard Delanty, he considers the individual as part of a set of complex collectives. These can include the family, state, particular community or a nation. ‘Community is not opposed to the individual [but rather] in collective action the self is enhanced in its identity’ (Booth, 2007: 226). In other words, Booth’s concept of the security of individuals covers their existence within their various groupings, since they think and behave in relation to these. Further, Booth’s reading of the individual as the referent subject of security can be enhanced in the light of Max Horkheimer’s isolation of one particular aspect of emancipation. Horkheimer believed that Critical Theory should be concerned with the corporeal, material existence and experience of human beings (Horkheimer, 1972a: 200). In so arguing, he does not deny the importance of class, state or other

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collectives. Simply, he does not believe that the existence and experience of individual human beings can be understood without viewing them in their context. On the contrary, he continually stresses that, in analysing various societies and their institutions, theorists should never lose sight of the effects on and the implications of these for individual human beings. ‘Those who are concerned with humankind as a whole rather than humans, in particular, need to keep in mind that the emancipation of the whole is the means to the emancipation of those who make up the whole’ (Booth, 2007: 226). Therefore, for both Horkheimer and Booth, the individual is always the ultimate referent for Critical Theory.2 Essentially, then, the emphasis on the individual does not acquire the limiting and reductive implications which might arise from ‘false liberal individualism’, wherein the individual is seen ‘in reductionist, atomistic terms’ (Shaw, 1994: 96–100). The point of the above observation is that identity considered in terms of ‘the whole [being] more than the sum of the parts’ (Wyn Jones, 1999: 115) must form an element of any analysis which claims to have an individual as its referent object of security. In other words, the concern of Critical Theorists is the individual in his context of social institutions. He cannot be approached except through his institutions and he is whole only in relation to them. Reality is holistic Thus embracing holism, which is the recognition that the whole is more than the sum of the parts, protects us against the false antitheses that limit the notion of the individual. Instead, Booth advocates a view summed up as embracing the ‘I-that-is-another in all of us’ a phrase of ‘hyphened commonality’ as opposed to the ‘imposed slash of necessary difference’ (Booth, 2007: 229). Indeed, any plan for world security seeks out unifying forces rather than reductive alternatives. Pure theory For Critical Theorists, the only legitimate knowledge is to seek to free others; this can be effected through pure theory. Pure theory provides a framework for an emancipatory approach to epistemology understood in terms of ‘what society says to itself about what it is and why, and what it might choose to be’ (Booth, 2007: 207). That is to say, the task of transformation or change needs to be informed by the normative purpose of a theory which within Critical Theory is associated with emancipation. Indeed, Critical Theory has been defined as an emancipatory theory (Devetak, 1996: 163). And ‘a cluster of themes inspired by

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emancipatory intent’ (Bronner, 1994: 56). Hence, Critical Theory stands or falls by the possibility that the potential for emancipation exists. In fact ‘epistemologically, it is only this possibility that gives Critical Theory coherence and, indeed, purpose. Without the ability to claim that a better world is possible or even conceivable, there is no means by which the present can be criticised’ (Wyn Jones, 1999: 56). Epistemology consists of theorising about knowledge but it includes also, with respect to the above, theorising about political potentiality. Different types of theory create different sorts of potential. Paying much attention to the concepts of epistemology, Critical Theorists ‘explore ways of knowing about the world’ (Booth 2007: 192) with the intention of transforming it for the better. The process of transformation, therefore, is not instigated at the practical level only but before the practice is implemented, at the stage of theorising about it. Considered in this way, one can understand why ‘much more than epistemology is at stake’ (Smith, 1996: 38). What is at stake is thinking and deciding about what is possible with the aim of advancing emancipatory ends. For the present book, this is an important procedure and therefore its detailed analysis, together with its eight propositions, will be investigated separately in the next part of this chapter. However, what is important to consider on separate terms is the concept of emancipation itself. Defining emancipation Emancipation as a political term dates back to the Enlightenment, but the idea of a ‘critique’, as associated with Critical Theory, goes back further and so therefore does the notion, if not the word, of ‘emancipation’. The word ‘critique’ was used by humanists and reformers during the Reformation period and has been described as ‘the art of informed judgement appropriate to the study of ancient texts’ (Connerton, 1976: 15). Its purpose was to comment on biblical texts, so ‘as to uncover hidden assumptions and, above all, to debunk claims to authority’. In other words, a ‘critique’ in its pre-Enlightenment sense was used as ‘a powerful weapon in the hands of those engaged in the criticism of established ecclesiastical practice’ (Neufeld, 1995: 14). By the nineteenth century, emancipation, for its part, was associated with progress, defined as a movement towards freedom and equality. In particular, progress – which engendered reason – was thought to abolish inequality among nations; thus progress was the process of emancipation (Pieterse, 1992: 5–41). Consequently the term was adopted by the nineteenth-century liberal and radical thinkers who claimed the duty to liberate slaves, workers, women, Catholics, Jews and others (Pieterse,

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1992: 7). Its main appeal was its unifying theme, of not only liberating oppressed minorities but also of liberating the world ‘from the apronstrings of the privileged classes’ (Feuerlicht, 1983: 41). Despite clear ideological differences among those who aspired towards ‘progress’, they agreed unequivocally that ‘mankind was on the way to freedom’ (Pieterse, 1992: 8). More recently, Booth has developed his understanding of emancipation. His explicit position is expressed in one of his early articles on the subject. Although the definition of emancipation is reviewed at a later stage in ‘Security and Emancipation’, he defines it here as follows: True (stable) security can only be achieved by people and groups if they do not deprive others of it. Security means the absence of threats. Emancipation is the freeing of people (as individuals and groups) from those physical and human constraints which stop them carrying out what they would freely choose to do. War and the threat of war is one of those constraints, together with poverty, poor education, political oppression and so on. Security and emancipation are two sides of the same coin. Emancipation, not power or order, produces true security. Emancipation, theoretically, is security. (Booth, 1991: 319) Booth here makes a direct reference to equating emancipation with security; indeed, ‘the starting point of analysis is that, after Booth, security is conceptualised in terms of emancipation’ (Wyn Jones, 2005). However, while ‘Security and Emancipation’ sums up the relationship between security and emancipation in a general sense, Booth’s other work, called ‘Three Tyrannies’, explains it in more detail. Here he defines emancipation as: The freeing of people as individuals and groups from those physical and human constraints which stop them carrying out what they would freely choose to do; this means identifying and struggling against oppressive structures of power, and creating new structures of power relationships that promise to enhance human potentialities. (1999b: 40) This definition first clarifies what emancipation is not. It is not a static concept, nor a fixed idea of what the world would look like. The purpose of emancipation is not an ultimate utopia, a recipe for a perfect world. Because the concept of emancipation takes history into

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account, it recognises that the world is always changing and therefore every emancipation will unavoidably create new margins (just as every new technical break-through creates new dilemmas) (Booth, 1999: 41). This explains why emancipation must be continuously contextualised, because conditions are always changing. It is also a reason, Booth further argues, why perhaps it is more appropriate to use the concept of emancipatory policies, which imply movement and mutability, rather than emancipation, which risks being associated with static ideas. It may be appropriate to think of the process of emancipation as a ‘political horizon: something to aim for, something that establishes perspective, but something that by definition can never be reached. Emancipation is not a state of being; it is the condition of becoming’ (41). Second, emancipation cannot be bought at the expense of others. Emancipation is based on the belief championed by Kant that ‘I cannot be fully emancipated until everybody is emancipated’ (Williams and Booth, 1996: 9). In political terms, as Booth argues, this accepts that not all oppression can end at the same time, but what it claims is that all ‘are moving in the same direction, towards human flourishing and away from oppression’. Accepting that emancipation can take place at different speeds at different times acknowledges that some can be emancipated before others – but this should not be ‘at their expense’ (Booth, 1999: 42). Third, Booth explains that emancipation is not synonymous with Westernisation. While it is important to include a Western contribution to the flourishing of ideas on human rights, it is also pivotal not to concede a Western monopoly on these ideas as ‘such a conclusion would be contradictory to the spirit of emancipation’ (42). This is understood, since Western society cannot represent the best of all possible worlds, if only for the reason that Western society does ‘not attain its own best standards’ in claiming superiority and is therefore hypocritical (42). Having established what emancipation is not, Booth gives it three main purposes. They may be summarised as follows: the first purpose of emancipation is to give a grounding for knowledge. Booth defines this in terms of emancipation as a philosophical anchorage. Valid knowledge is decided upon emancipatory potentials. In other words, truth is produced by human beings and a pragmatic truth, such as security, is created intersubjectively. The metaphor of anchorage implies a resting point in a dynamic process, to help recognise the better possibilities inherent in an existing situation (42). The existing situation is that international society has within it a realisable potential to converge into

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the sort of society which could respond more truly than at present to its moral responsibility to encourage human rights everywhere. Second, emancipation needs to be used as a strategic process. The idea of a ‘process utopia’, as opposed to an ‘end-point utopia’,3 emphasises the desirability of a dynamic rather than a static conception of the future; for this reason ‘the best way ahead is through benign and reformist steps calculated to make a better world somewhat more probable for future generations’ (Booth, 1999: 44). Last, Booth argues, the purpose of emancipation is to provide a tactical goal. This means that the idea of emancipation should be turned into effective action. Indeed, like early writers on Critical Theory, who called for a synthesis of philosophy and practice, Booth says that emancipation needs to be concerned with praxis and not critique alone, a purpose which he later explains in practical theory (44). Practical theory The final element of the Theory of World Security operates at the most immediate level of theorising, which is the constituting of ideas as practice It asks us how we might act when we compare ‘the reality of world politics constructed through statism with practices shaped by the promotion of cosmopolitan democracy’ (Booth, 2007: 207). Practical theory absorbs and advocates ideas already manifested in our behaviour. Primarily it is characterised by advocating the unity between theory and practice, where theory itself is considered in terms of political practice. Admittedly, theory considered in terms of practice and practice considered in terms of theory are not measured in the same way because generally, and, as observed by Booth, it is actions, not words, that speak the louder. Still, words lead to action and therefore scholars and their academic analysis have a direct role in either challenging or replicating the already existing situations of inequality. It is in their power, and therefore it is their responsibility not only to understand the world but also to change it, in Marx’s famous words (2007: 198–9).4 With regard to the practical dimension of theorising, it is always important to ask a theorist how her/his theorising affects the lives of ordinary people; how one person’s theorising influences another person’s policies and circumstances. Throughout this book, I describe the current neo-liberal international economic order as having contextualised the SHEs in Kosovo in 1999. I further argue that it is not enough to question particular policies which may have had a direct impact on what happened in Kosovo, but also the philosophies or commonsensical assumptions upon which these policies were built. For this reason

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my focus in this book is on de-legitimising the common sense of the so-called false neo-liberal legitimacy. This task is considered in terms of ‘practice’ because it necessarily needs to happen simultaneously with the implementation of relevant policies. Admittedly, putting practical theory into practice is challenging because, as Booth observes, it runs counter to the prevailing order; but at the same time it is inviting, because it represents an approach to world security in which everyone can get involved. This means that it may be a challenge to have a direct influence on decision-makers within actual governments, but influencing society at local and global levels is not in itself a challenge. Indeed, at present, civil societies are directly involved with issues of international significance and it is their attention which academic enquiry should take into account. As Booth argues, ‘we obviously do not have the agency of government … but we all have some space (talking to friends, choosing research topics, supporting particular charities, etc.) … to act as agents of common humanity’ (Booth, 2007: 199, 249). The theoretical practice of ‘a theory by doing’ works in the sense that a theorist’s practice may not be taken with the consideration it deserves, but if appropriately sustained by various supporting groups it cannot be ignored. Booth prescribes eight separate elements to practical theory, which I will use in Chapter 4 to suggest ways on which conditions for reciprocal prevention could be built.

Part 1.2 Pure theory The purpose of this part is to propose an emancipatory approach to epistemology, which I will use in the next chapter; first, to explain why solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention is problem-solving and, second, to build an alternative perspective which will be judged to be true to the extent that it provides favourable conditions for building upon the reciprocal prevention of SHEs. Accordingly I first explore the analytical validity of reflexive theorising where, guided by Ken Booth’s pure theory, I pay particular attention to explaining why the positivist method is problematic, why power and knowledge are related and why it is important to remember that theories are constitutive. Dissatisfied with the positivist method of theorising, I will argue that the so-called method of anchorage, which is still committed to a conception of truth but crucially informed by what it means to keep what is called a critical distance, is a better theoretical alternative to the positivist method. Second, I will continue explaining the process of theorising, focusing on elements which challenge the existing

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structures of domination as opposed to replicating them. Here the element of Critical Theory’s particular understanding of change and Booth’s interpretation of why all knowledge has interest become significant. Exploring the process of reflexive theorising Critical Theorists consider the process of theorising itself to be an important part of political practice. This process is informed by an element of critical theorising, defined as reflexive theorising. Mark Neufeld defines this ‘as a theoretical reflection on the process of theorising itself’ (Neufeld, 1995: 40). Within this definition, at least three core elements can be identified. The first element of reflexive theorising asks a theorist ‘to be aware of the underlying premises of one’s theorising’ (41). The second element of reflexive theorising encourages theorists to recognise the ‘inherently politico-normative content of their own paradigms and the normalscience tradition they generate’ (41). Here it is important to note that Neufeld, in referring to the entity of a ‘paradigm’, is not confined to any particular interpretation of it. Accordingly, he associates the entity of a paradigm with ‘a theory’, ‘theoretical tradition’, ‘discourse’ or ‘presumptions upon which theoretical edifices are erected’ (1995: 41–2, 58). The purpose of this elusive association is to characterise reflexive theorising as part of a larger theoretical project. This is a project that always rejects the assumption that subject and object can be separated, in the manner postulated both by positivist theorists themselves and also by theorists who postulate within theoretical traditions derived from positivist forms of theorising. The distinction between the positivist theorists themselves and those theorists who work within theories derived from positivist methodologies is an important feature of this work and leads to a second observation. This is that while most theorists use reflexive theorising to indicate the weaknesses of positivist theorising I use the characteristics of reflexive theorising to illustrate the limitations of problem-solving theorising, as defined by Robert Cox.5 Indeed, I argue that solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention is problem-solving in its nature. This means, first, that it is characterised by the positivist method of theorising but not necessarily by positivism itself. Second, it legitimates social and political structures, without considering their part in contextualising SHEs. This subject is explored further in Chapters 2, 3 and 4. Finally, the third element of reflexive theorising leads Critical Theorists to argue that, despite the absence of neutral observation language, ‘reasoned judgments about the merits of

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contending paradigms are possible’ (Neufeld, 1995: 41). All three elements will be considered in turn, but it is the second and the third elements which are particularly relevant for this work. The positivist method of theorising versus the method of anchorage: Explaining how power and knowledge are related and why theories are constitutive According to the first element of theoretical reflexivity, as analysed by Neufeld, the ‘theorist needs to be aware of the underlying premises of [their] theorising’ (1995: 41). In other words, the first element of reflexive theorising obliges theorists to pay attention to, and disclose, the assumptions upon which their theoretical edifices are created. This is an important characteristic of reflexive theorising, but in itself it would not qualify theorising as reflexive. For instance, even a positivist theory requires that ‘the sum total of generalizations be derived axiomatically from clearly identified starting assumptions’ (41). Consequently, it is the analytical quality of the other two elements of reflexive theorising which distinguishes it from positivism itself and, with relevance for this book, from problem-solving theory (41). The second element of reflexive theorising calls theorists to recognise ‘the inherently politico-normative content of their paradigms [theories] and the normal-science tradition [common sense] they generate’ (41). This second element of reflexive theorising is in direct opposition to positivist theorising (and also to problem-solving theorising), which uses the element of ‘truth as correspondence’ as a reference point for further analysis. The tenet of ‘truth as correspondence’ stipulates that ‘theoretical explanations will be true to the extent that they accurately reflect empirical reality; to the extent that they correspond to the facts’.6 In order to understand how this element has been criticised by Critical Theorists, it is helpful to follow Horkheimer’s response to the above. He believes that with the Enlightenment came the understanding of the world as a scientific universe, which could only be understood by science itself. Within this kind of world, every object became a possible focus of study. The Enlightenment project became ‘the development of universal, mathematically formulated science’ which brought European civilisation to an era of positivism (Held, 1980: 161). The term ‘positivism’ in Horkheimer’s understanding often refers to the logical positivism of the Vienna Circle.7 It is beyond the scope of this book to provide a detailed analysis of Horkheimer’s rejection of positivism. However, it is relevant to learn how Horkheimer saw what were considered the two main goals of the

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positivist approach. These are to be used later to associate the solidarist approach with maintaining some aspects of a positivist method of theorising of the problem-solving solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention. Accordingly, the first goal of positivism is to construct an objective empirical and systematic foundation for knowledge, and the second goal is to confirm that the world is composed of facts, which, given directly or indirectly, are the only objects of knowledge (Held, 1980: 164; emphasis added). Responding to the above, Horkheimer argues that both of the above goals rest on a particular set of assumptions, which is that subject can be separated from object, the observer from the observed. This means that theorists who hold ‘the truth as correspondence’ to guide their research assume that through proper methods of research design the researcher(s) can be factored out, leaving behind a description of the world as it truly is. Dividing the subject from the pursued object was one of Horkheimer’s main concerns. In his work ‘Traditional and Critical Theory’, which begins with the question ‘What is theory?’, he criticises what he calls ‘traditional theory’ (the mainstream understanding of theory) which is associated with the empirical method (Horkheimer, 1972a: 188). Accordingly, as Wyn Jones observes, in ‘Traditional and Critical Theory’, he criticises René Descartes’ understanding of scientific method, in which ‘deductively conceived and logically consistent assumptions are tested against empirically observable reality. Those assumptions are proven correct to the extent that they are confirmed by experimental observation’ (1999: 17). This observation leads to Horkheimer’s criticism of foundationalism; that is, the attempt to ground theory in a framework which presents ‘the truth as correspondence’, upon which theorists build their theoretical constructions. Pursued in this way, judgements about what is right or wrong can be made ‘because foundations exist on which all theories can be judged, regardless of time and place’ (Booth, 2007: 235). Horkheimer accepts that the world of experience or perception might appear as the foundation for knowledge. However, essentially for this book, he disagrees with the so-called dependent and derivative status of such conclusions (Horkheimer, 1972a: 138; emphasis added). In other words, he recognises the importance of basing a theoretical endeavour on ‘facts’, but what he is concerned with are the consequences of such an endeavour. Privileging a certain epistemology, or treating ‘the truth as correspondence’ as a main tenet of theorising, means that a number of ‘problematic issues’ are ignored (Neufeld, 1995: 41). For instance, the

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role played by a theorist or a community of researchers themselves in the production and validation of a particular view in effect undermines the truth claims of those who wish to challenge those views (41–2). It will be argued in the next chapter that solidarist theorists consider SHEs in terms of their ‘truth as correspondence’. The urgent characteristics of these emergencies not only condition their consequent theorising to intervene, but also give them the somehow ethical and therefore justified authority to claim to be describing the world as it really is. It is argued that claiming to describe the ‘real world’ makes other ways of knowing – other ways of being – (other ways of practice) illegitimate (Wyn Jones, 1999: 20).8 In other words, and following Booth’s pure theory, I argue that solidarists fail to reflect that power and knowledge are related in the sense that our language – our perception of things – can sustain a particular view which then legitimises a particular kind of action. The deeper the discourse is embedded, the greater is its power to structure a particular kind of behaviour. This risks maintaining social practices which reproduce only the dominant forms of social activity (Booth, 2007: 240, 242). As Horkheimer observes, traditional theorists (or problem-solving theorists, as this book argues) are unaware of how deeply they are involved in social processes and hence cannot see their theory’s social determination and lack of autonomy. This has resulted in traditional theory’s becoming conformist, uncritically submitting to the dominance of particular times and values: ‘theory was absolutised … and became a reified, ideological category’ (Horkheimer, 1972a: 194). Consequently ‘the scholar and his science are incorporated into the apparatus of society; his achievements are a factor in the conservation and continuous renewal of the existing state of affairs, no matter what fine names he gives to what he does’ (196). The most relevant implication of the power/knowledge relationship for the subject of this book is that it imposes a task, ‘to seek to uncover the sources of power in particular contexts, and what work it is doing’ (Booth, 2007: 242). It will be argued in the next chapter that solidarist theorising, intentionally or not, normalises and therefore gives a sense of priority to the act of military intervention over the act of prevention. This is considered a serious limitation, for it is argued here that the act of prevention should instead become the normalised part of theorising on humanitarian intervention, in particular if considered in terms of international society’s overall commitment to encouraging human rights around the world. Identifying the relationship within knowledge/power association becomes inescapable when one learns that theory is constitutive (Booth,

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2007: 247). This means that powerful theories shape the way in which we see reality and therefore how we act. In the context of this book, if the solidarists’ views on humanitarian intervention remain unchallenged, international society will continue to associate its duty to encourage human rights around the world with the act of military intervention in emergencies and not their prevention. Critical Theorists argue that all theories are inescapably part of society in general and subject to the pressures existing within it. The question is how these societal pressures are transmitted to the theorists. The answer is through so-called incalculable social mechanisms: whether they are aware of them or not, they cannot avoid their surrounding structures. Horkheimer does not think, however, that this is a one-way deterministic process. Just as structures influence theorists, theorists can also influence the prevailing structures: ‘Horkheimer was convinced that theorists and their theories play a vital role in the production and reproduction of the prevailing structures’ (Wyn Jones, 1999: 18). As Horkheimer writes: There is a human activity that has society itself for its object. The aim of this activity is not simply to eliminate one or another abuse, for it regards such abuse as necessarily connected with the way in which the social structure is organised. Although it itself emerges from the social structure, its purpose is not, either in its conscious intention, or in its objective significance, the better functioning of any element in the structure. On the contrary it is suspicious of the very categories of better, useful, appropriate, productive, and valuable, as these are understood in the present order. (Horkheimer, 1972a: 206–7) As Wyn Jones notes, links between theory and practice, although not immediately apparent, may still exist – either in a very mediated form or over time (1999: 18). Therefore, Horkheimer says, there is no theory of society that does not contain ‘political motivation’, even if this motivation is often unconscious, ‘and the truth of these [motivations] must be decided not in supposedly neutral reflection but in personal thought and action, in concrete activity’ (Horkheimer, 1972a: 222–3). Crucial to the above observation is that through the process of theorising and actual political practice theorists can reproduce or change the status quo. Thus, as noted above, ‘descriptions of the world (can) merge into prescriptions through legitimising and naturalising certain ideas about human society’, for example that war is inevitable, or that ‘the poor will

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always be with us’ (Booth, 2007: 248). Once again, the point here is that if we accept the above ideas as somehow natural or inevitable then our theorising and hence our behaviour will continue to replicate them. ‘If people act as if something is natural (or otherwise true), they will make it so. If, on the other hand, societies are organised in ways that regard such behaviours as unnatural and ethically abhorrent then what becomes politically desirable and feasible will change accordingly’ (248). Hence, I argue that if solidarists continue to encourage a view that SHEs can be addressed only through a military intervention then this indeed will become the only option. In other words, and following Booth, ‘what purport to be descriptions for the purpose of explanation merge into prescriptions for the purpose of policy relevance’ (248). Critical Theorists, however, being able to distinguish between description and prescription, are well equipped to reject the replication of traditional problems and seek instead emancipatory practices (248). In other words, facts do not provide the foundations for social theory; instead, every aspect of social theory can be understood only in the context of its conditions and relations. These do not appear in ‘immediate experience but are important in the understanding and explanation of things’ (Marcuse cited in Held, 1980: 165). To recall the above and following Horkheimer: ‘the world of perception is not merely a copy nor something fixed and substantial, but to an equal measure a product of a human activity’ (Horkheimer, 1972b: 159). An observation, he argues, is not a copy of a given reality, or a given objective world: ‘the world of objects is always the world of our objects – of our interpretation’ (Horkheimer cited in Held, 1980: 64). Crucially, to sum up, in challenging the positivist method Critical Theorists do not deny all facts or reject empirical enquiry: what is equally important to them is to recognise the so-called dependent and derivative status of conclusions based on such facts. Being aware of the power/knowledge relation and theory’s constitutive properties makes the task of recognising such conclusions or consequences feasible. This is why the positivist method is considered problematic and empirical enquiry is indeed critical (Booth, 2007: 244). As mentioned above, it has already been conceded that the foundational position promotes a view which claims that the world can be tested against ‘grounds’ that may be considered neutral and objective. They can be judged to be either right or wrong on the bases of their foundations. In contrast, the anti-foundational position considers all knowledge about the social as contextual. Instead, Booth rejects the foundational/anti-foundational divide by introducing what he calls the

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metaphor of anchorage. A dialogue between the foundational and antifoundational positions of the two methods allows him to incorporate elements of both (2007: 234–6). The metaphor of anchorage, Booth says, ‘represents the best resting place in a dynamic environment, but one that is subject to change. Anchorage will shift in the course of a ship being at sea … and they represent the most secure points contingently available to assess where we have come from and where we might head next’ (235). Corresponding to the earlier analysis of the validity of objective truth, Critical Theorists who think in terms of anchorage as the securest basis for knowledge do not allow the setting of ultimate answers but instead ‘give the opportunity for asking the big question (as far as possible at the time) about directions for thinking about what is real, what we can know, and what might we do’ (235). The method of anchorage provides the conditions for the concept of truth, which is to be discussed in the next section. Further, Booth associates the method of anchorage with Karl Popper’s ‘falsifiability’ thesis, which means that while one cannot prove that the idea of anchorage is valid across the world – like ‘love’ and ‘hospitality’ – all such ideas are worth adopting, at least until better options are found (Booth, 2007: 235). Love and hospitality, for instance, are ideas that have travelled well in our human social composition and therefore they can ‘provide a platform for the “time-transcending dialogue”’ absorbed by universal social facts’ (Gallie quoted in Booth, 2007: 236). Universal social facts arrive from Geoffrey Warnock’s list of plain facts, which state: That it is bad thing to be tortured and starved, humiliated or hurt is not an opinion: it is a fact. That it is better for people to be loved and attended to, rather than hated or neglected, is again a plain fact, not a matter of opinion. (Warnock, 1967: 60) Thinking of anchorage as the basis for knowledge instead of foundationalism, Critical Theorists do much to avoid the commonsensical properties of all theorising. Rather than being limited by a one particular view or dictating boundaries for any alternative debates, following the work of Mary Midgley, for Booth the metaphor of anchorage encourages and gives opportunity for asking a multitude of questions and in this way they call for a plurality of methods. The purpose of such methods is ‘to sharpen critique in the interest of better reconstruction’ or of creating a better life for future generations (Booth, 2007: 246). As already mentioned, a theorist working within the metaphor of anchorage is

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‘cautious’ about claiming to describe the real world. Rather, she/he asks whether her/his theorising contributes to creating a better life. The metaphor of anchorage, underlined by reflexive theorising, must not only describe, explain and understand but also be capable of recognising and eliminating the distortions within it, which serve to reproduce and reinforce a particular order as universalised and ahistorical (Hoffman, 1987: 237). Theoretical reflexivity rejects the notion of objective truth, because the truth cannot stand independently of human thought and practice. Subject cannot be separated from object, and one of the consequences of this statement is a questioning of the existence of objective standards for assessing competing knowledge claims. To sum up, knowledge claims are never ‘natural’ but human, not given but made, not imposed by nature but adopted by convention by the members of a specific community (Neufeld, 1995: 43). One should be aware of the politico-normative content of knowledge because ‘ideas, words, and language are not mirrors which copy the real or objective world – as positivists’ conceptions of theory and knowledge would have it – but rather tools with which we cope with our world’ (West, 1989: 201). However, when it is argued as above that Critical Theorists reject the existence of objective standards of knowledge (and do so for the consequences they bring, not the substance they form), at the same time they seek to achieve universal emancipation. Indeed, the knowledge which Critical Theory generates is by no means neutral, it is ‘politically and ethically charged by an interest in social and political transformation’ (Devetak, 1996: 161–2). Therefore the next question is: if theorists cannot arrive at objective standards of knowledge, how can they affirm the possibility of reasoned judgements? Substantiating an answer to this question comes next. Looking beyond Archimedean assumptions: The validity of critical distance, the concept of truth and immanent critique Despite the above observation, that no neutral, context independent standards exist by which to assess competing theories, human beings and theorists in particular can still use their faculty of reason in a given context to articulate standards and to persuade others, by means of argument, of the worth of these standards (Neufeld, 1995: 15). This can be done in a two-stage process. First, associated with the previous element of reflexive theorising Critical Theorists, working within the metaphor of anchorage, must acknowledge that doing without a neutral observation language is the necessary condition of all theorising, that knowledge has power and that all theories are constitutive. Rather than rejecting this inevitability, they acknowledge and deal with it. In its second stage, they

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deal with it by applying what Booth calls ‘a critical distance’, in place of objectivity, which entails more fallacies (2007: 236–8). Critical Theorists working at a critical distance seek to move beyond the limited implication of treating ‘the truth as correspondence’ as their reference point for further analysis. This is achieved through extending the conception of reason beyond the limiting implication of facts, or what are called their Archimedean point. Instead, Critical Theorists can choose a perspective which is judged to be true to the extent that it offers better scope for transformation. In terms of this book, for instance, a better perspective is one which enhances the scope for preventing SHEs. In the next section of this chapter, I describe how one arrives at a better theory. However, before I do so, I should discuss an immensely important quality of Critical Theory: one which commits a CHIA to a modern project, namely, its commitment to a conception of truth. A descriptive analysis of both stages comes next. In response to the first stage, it was shown above that there are no objective theoretical frameworks outside history or society from which to engage in ethical criticism or judgement. This is the case because it is not possible to separate subject from object, also shown in the lack of a ‘neutral observation language’. Since it is accepted that all theories have politico-normative content, such as legitimating particular knowledge (associated in this book with the act of intervention), what is essential is to reflect on knowledge and ‘judge’ whether this legitimised knowledge is the best of all possible kinds of knowledge, on the basis of its fruits. Before expanding on this issue any further, it may be helpful to consider why positivist theories and theories derived from positivism do not include this reflexive analytical possibility in their own theorising. It is because they share the element of so-called Cartesian anxiety (Bernstein, 1983: 18). This means that unless a theorist finds an Archimedean point of indubitable knowledge which can serve as the foundation for human reason upon which further theorising can be pursued, then rationality must give way to irrationality or reliable knowledge to madness. Richard Bernstein observes: With a chilling clarity Descartes leads us with an apparent and ineluctable necessity to a grand and seductive Either/Or. Either there is some support for our being, a fixed foundation for our being … our knowledge, or we cannot escape the forces of darkness that envelop us with madness, with intellectual and moral chaos. (Bernstein, 1983: 18; emphasis in original)

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Further, the ‘Cartesian anxiety’ is bound up with the conception of knowledge which Aristotle called episteme, defined as an apodictic knowledge of the order of nature and cosmos (Neufeld, 1995: 43). Neufeld’s point is that if episteme is the only meaning we are prepared to give to rational knowledge, we reach a point where the world is reduced in its normative scope by restricting the uses of episteme. Critical Theorists overcome the above problem by working under the umbrella term of anchorage. Instead of searching for objectivity, which ‘is not possible because social theorists cannot escape the contexts in which and from which they observe’, a theorist can still achieve a degree of so-called critical distance (Booth, 2007: 234, 236). To achieve a degree of critical distance, according to Booth, means ‘to step back from one’s context … while realising that one is not stepping onto neutral ground, an Archimedean point, from which to describe and observe matters of interest. While the aim of critical distance shares the aims of objectivity … it recognises what is possible and what is not, and in that sense begins from a categorically different place’ (237). It begins from a very different place because critical distance is a means of engaging in ‘immanent critique’, the aim of which is the promotion of emancipatory politics. Here one aspect of emancipation should be recalled. It has been explained that emancipation provides a standpoint for a critique of a state of affairs. However, the status quo is not criticised for lacking some sort of blueprint of what an ideal international society would look like. Rather, the status quo is criticised on the basis of the unfulfilled potential which already exists within it. This method of theorising is called an immanent critique. Moishe Postone and Barbara Brick define this as follows: An immanent critique does not critically judge what ‘is’ from a conceptual position outside of its object – as a transcendental ‘ought’. Instead it must be able to locate that ‘ought’ … as a possibility that is immanent to the unfolding of the existent society. (Postone and Brick, 1993: 230) In other words, an immanent critique is the ability to identify immanent, unrealised or unfulfilled possibilities within the reality of any given order. Related to this is the overall argument made in this book, which is that a critical humanitarian intervention approach is judged to be a better perspective on humanitarian intervention than the solidarist perspective, because it aims to encourage the act of prevention over

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the assumed-to-be-obligatory implementing of the act of intervention. It does so because, as argued above, its referent of security is individual human beings considered as part of complex collectives. This is to be distinguished from individual human beings in the role of victims, which, as Chapter 2 argues, is pursued by the solidarist approach to humanitarian intervention. Considering the referent of security in terms of an individual as part of a complex collective, however, requires either a sustainable approach to security or providing for security at all stages of human development. It is argued throughout this book that this condition could be fulfilled and this aim pursued along the lines of the concept of human security developed by Caroline Thomas.9 Her particular interpretation of human security could be built upon the immanent, unrealised and unfulfilled possibilities embraced by an already existing work on the general concept of human security. A detailed description of her concept of human security and the description of the general concepts upon which her particular interpretation could be built is to follow in the next chapter. Continuing and recalling the above, however, it is clear that Critical Theorists, instead of basing their theorising on objective or neutral standards of knowledge, use the method of critical distance, which in effect encourages them to use immanent critique. Immanent critique works within the immanent potential upon which a better life can be built. However, the building of something that is considered to be ‘better’ than something else requires Critical Theorists to have a conception of truth. Indeed it is the very commitment of Critical Theorists to the conception of truth which commits them to the modern project. At a basic level, as Booth demonstrates, a distinction can be made between objective and intersubjective conceptions of truth (Booth, 2007: 231). It is the latter concept of intersubjective, historical and daily truth that is closest to a Critical Theorist’s heart. Having a concept of truth is essential for Critical Theorists’ theorising but it must be pursued in a non-dogmatic manner. Explaining what he means by the concept of truth, Booth invokes Bernard Williams’s two virtues of truthfulness, ‘Sincerity’ and ‘Accuracy’ (Williams, 2002: 123–48, 172–205). Williams described the above virtues as having at all times a necessary existence within societies within which members have needed to communicate with each other. Without these virtues communication would not be possible and, therefore, without them a society could not prosper. This means that both virtues convey the notion of truth as something which is indispensable (Booth, 2007: 233; emphasis added).

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For example, ‘Accuracy’ is associated with seeking best evidence, which in turn is dealt with in an impartial and logical manner. ‘Sincerity’ means communicating in an honest manner – saying what one really means, as opposed to being dishonest. These virtues, as interpreted by Booth, are not relative; yet crucially, and deriving from his non-dogmatic conception of truth, ‘different people have different understandings of truth’ (2007: 233). For example, two historians may approach the same data with ‘Accuracy’ and ‘Sincerity’, but they still may arrive at different truth about this evidence. In other words, although truth is not accessible in its absolute form it nevertheless imposes an ‘indispensable condition of truthfulness’ without which the working of society would not be possible (233). A critical understanding of the concept of truth, following the work of S. R Bronner, is not about finding the absolute truth, but the search to establish conditions within which truth may be pursued (Bronner, 2004: 29). In the context of this book, the normative commitment of the CHIA is the prevention of SHEs. The prevention of SHEs dictates in this case the ‘truth’ of the CHIA. Indeed, even though the absolute prevention of emergencies may be a distant prospect, this does not mean that the conditions within which an absolute prevention should be pursued, that is, a fairer neo-liberal international economic order, do not better dictate international society’s moral commitment of encouraging human rights around the world. In other words, although the reaching of an absolute truth may not be possible in its absolute form, this does not mean that we should stop searching for it. Such reasoning is immensely important to reflexively orientated theorising. Hence, with its normative commitment to social transformation, this reasoning allows Critical Theorists to argue that what limits theories – the politico-normative content of the normal science which they generate – also makes a reasoned assessment of them possible. This means that ‘judgments about contending theories are possible by means of reasoned assessments of the politico-normative content of their projects they serve, of the ways of life to which they correspond’ (Connolly cited in Neufeld, 1995: 46). This feature is important because it makes possible a method (which this book pursues) of affirming the possibility of reasoned judgements in the absence of objective standards of knowledge. What follows in the next section is an analysis of this method. To sum up the above, an emancipatory approach to epistemology gives much attention to reflexive theorising, seen as a process which ascribes particular importance to the formation of knowledge. It is

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conscious of underlying premises, which means that it investigates the relationship between knowledge and the normative purpose of an inquiry. This will have implications for whether appropriate theorising challenges such injustices as are built into the prevailing order. Further, reflexive theorising asks theorists to pay attention to the inherently politico-normative content of paradigms or the relationship between power and knowledge and the constitutive elements of all theorising, in order to recognise the normal science tradition or the common sense being generated. This is an important aspect of a CHIA, associated in this book with the rejection of the positivist method, because, by not refusing to claim objectivity or to describe the real world, it yet allows theorists to consider alternative claims for inclusion in evaluating the normative content of a theory. It is important not to imagine that Critical Theory relinquishes objectivity on the grounds of its being irrelevant. Quite the opposite, it is relevant; but as encouraged by the metaphor of anchorage and its element of critical distance, it is important to be aware of the consequences of claiming objective knowledge in truth statements. This is because to do otherwise prevents other debates, such as debates on prevention, from being seen as relevant. Last, the third element of reflexive theorising informs Critical Theorists about theorising’s overall purpose; that is, to instigate emancipatory politics. This involves deciding upon contending theories/perspectives by means of reasoned assessments of the politico-normative content of the projects which they serve, of the ways of life to which they correspond. In short, it is the third element of reflexive theorising which commits the CHIA to the modern project or a conception of truth generally defined as the search for a better life, or, as referred to in this book, a search for a theory which encourages the prevention, as opposed to the management, of SHEs. Facilitating the process of implementing practice: Rejecting replication and seeking emancipation instead It is argued in this book that people can decide which projects encourage a better world through a process of ‘achieving a perspective on perspective’ to orient a specific goal, this being ‘to open up the possibility of choosing a different valid perspective’ (Cox, 1986: 207–8). Accordingly, Chapters 2, 3 and 4 aim to present two contrasting perspectives: one of problem-solving, demonstrating the solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention; and the other of a CHIA as an alternative to solidarist theorising. These are judged upon their usefulness for encouraging a humanitarian theory which prevents, instead of manages, SHEs.

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To recall my previous analysis, while the third element of reflexive theorising implies the method of ‘persuasion by means of argument of the worth of contrasting standards’, it should be observed that the method of persuasion is immaterial in situations where it is required for the prevention of SHEs or the reverse. Considering the extended work on human rights by solidarist theorists (see Introduction), one could comfortably assume that they also would choose the act of prevention over the act of intervention. In fact, the method of persuasion is relevant for showing a genuine political possibility that future SHEs could be prevented. This is why it is important to say at this stage that the assumption upon which I build my argument is that the prevention of SHEs is to be preferred to intervention. I approach this method using Robert Cox’s idea of contrasting perspectives. Such logic is closely connected to William Connolly’s view of contending theories. Connolly argues that in instances where there is not enough evidence to judge between two contending theories, certain assumptions should allow us to favour the theory which is more optimistic. He claims: Concepts and beliefs about social life help to some degree to constitute that life. Therefore, privileging the more optimistic assumption … might well help both to bring out evidence in its support previously unavailable and to contribute itself to the optimistic possibility. Those with the shared belief in a society that people must seek aggressively to exploit others justifies that conduct on the part of the privileged and contributes thereby to the assurance that such relationships are inevitable. Similarly, conduct based on more optimistic beliefs can sometimes contribute to their fulfilment. (Connolly, 1974: 64; emphasis in original) Connolly’s view of what one does when faced with contending theories resonates with one of Booth’s elements of practical theory, which says that one does not have to accept a given situation unless it is defined in terms of the best of all possible worlds. This is the case because his practical theory or his philosophy-by-doing operates within the already mentioned immanent critique, defined as an idea that situations have within them unfulfilled potential which could be used to promote a better life. The task of a theorist who uses immanent critique is to identify these potentials and then work through the politics required to strengthen them. The practice of immanent critique is partly about careful calculation but also about hope (Booth, 2007: 250). The element of hope is important and deserves some additional consideration.

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As observed by Booth, it was and still is the case that the idea of tragedy, not hope, receives most attention from scholarship. Yet reconciliation between former enemies, harmonious coexistence between people of different religions, the successful pursuit of social justice and so on, can appear. Therefore what exists in society is possible (181). This is why a world that does not work for the majority is not the best out of all possible worlds or, as I argue in this book, a world where one cannot prevent SHEs has an absolute need to be changed. Again, a theory or perspective will be found to be ‘true’ – will be judged to produce reliable knowledge – to the extent that it demonstrates its ‘usefulness’ as a guide to action in terms of the general political vision in which it is embedded and of the concrete political project to which it is directed (Neufeld, 1991: 16). This is important in that it provides a way of assessing contending theories which is not bound to the notion of ‘truth as correspondence’, but which is also capable of going beyond a logical ‘temperament’ to justify a choice of perspective (17). By linking the ‘epistemological’ and the ‘political’, it becomes possible to assess rival theory-specific standards knowledge definition in terms of the relative merits of the political visions/projects in which those theories are embedded (17). In short, it is possible rationally to compare contrasting theories once theorists recognise that the question of ‘which paradigm [theory] is superior?’ can be restated as ‘which general political vision/concrete political project is most appropriate to the global polis?’ and once it is recognised that, at the meta-theoretical level, the question of ‘what is reliable knowledge?’ can be reformulated as ‘how should we live?’ (17). The ‘perspective on perspective’ involves distinguishing between two contrasting types of theory, namely, problem-solving theories and critical theories (Cox, 1986: 207–8). Accordingly, as Robert Cox describes it, problem-solving theory, • ‘takes the world as it finds it, with the prevailing social and power relations and the institutions into which they are organized, as the given framework for action’; • has as its general aim to make these relationships and institutions work smoothly by dealing effectively with particular sources of trouble; • considers particular problems in relation to the specialised areas of activity where they arise, because it does not call into question the existing pattern of institutions and relationships. This results in the fragmentation of problem-solving theories among a multiplicity of spheres or aspects of action, each of which assumes a certain stability

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•

•

•

•

in the other spheres (which enables them in practice to be ignored) when confronting a problem arising within its own; appears to be more fixed and hence accurate because it works from a fixed order as its point of reference. This makes it attractive as a method of enquiry. However, some treat this as the most serious of its weaknesses, because it rests upon a false premise, since the social and political order is not fixed, but (at least in the long run) is for ever changing; has the ideological bias inevitable with this assumption of fixity, despite the convenience of method. Problem-solving theories, from the broader perspective of critical theory, can be represented as serving particular national, sectional, or class interests, which are comfortable within the given order; has a conservative purpose, since it aims to solve the problems arising in various parts of a complex whole in order to smooth its functioning. This very aim contradicts the frequent claim made by problem-solving theories to be value-free; is methodologically value-free, insofar as it treats the variables which it considers as objects, but it is value-bound by virtue of the fact that it implicitly accepts the prevailing order as its own framework. This also results in problem-solving theorists ignoring the question of how power and interest shape knowledge claims (208).

In contrast to problem-solving theory, Critical Theory fundamentally ‘stands apart from the prevailing order of the world and asks how that order came about … it does not take institutions and social and power relations for granted but calls them into question by concerning itself with their origin and how and whether they might be in the process of changing’ (208). Therefore, while problem-solving theory replicates, Critical Theory emancipates (Booth, 2007: 242–4). Critical Theory attempts to avoid the negative consequences of problem-solving theories; for example, the legitimising and replicating of the regressive aspects of prevailing situations (Booth, 2005a: 263, 2007: 242). This is why ‘critical theory questions existing [orders] while problem-solving theory accepts [them] as its parameters’. While problem-solving theory leaves power where it is, Critical Theory attempts to bring about structural change in the human interest (Booth, 2005a: 263). Indeed the question of ‘change’ is essential to the emancipatory project as envisaged by Critical Theorists. It is in fact the understanding of the concept of ‘change’ which fundamentally distinguishes critical from problem-solving theorists.

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In the implementing of change, Critical Theory, as mentioned above, does not accept a reality as given, but asks how it has come into existence (in this case, how SHEs have developed) and what the possibilities are of changing this reality or order. It is concerned with exploring any potential for structural change, as well as the construction of strategies for change. Using a Coxian analysis of change, I attempt to explain what is meant by the specificity of ‘critical’ change. Cox argues that Critical Theory is concerned with the historically constituted framework or structures within which political and economic activity takes place (Cox, 1995: 32). What is unique and specific about critical change is that it has two purposes, practical but also analytical, both to be applied jointly. The practical implementing of critical change in this book is associated with practices complementary to preventing SHEs, which can be facilitated by restructuring the working of the neo-liberal international economic order along an ‘alternative path’, a subject to be considered in Chapter 4. Here, however, I explain some elements of all theorising which theorists need to be aware of in order to implement change in an analytical sense, or, as Booth puts it, in the theorist’s head. This is crucial because unless change in the way we think is implemented, practical change will replicate and not emancipate. Here it is useful to observe that the understanding of ‘analytical change’ or change that takes in the theorist’s head relates to what has already been explained in terms of reflexive theorising and, in particular, taking on the critical distance as defined by Booth. Therefore a degree of convergence with the previous section on reflexive theorising cannot be avoided. In fact it is the reflexive element of critical theory, or taking on of a critical distance, which makes it possible to apply analytical change. Robert Cox shows awareness of the reflexive element within theorising while observing the politico-normative content of any theory. He recalls that ‘theory is always for someone and for some purpose’ (Cox, 1986: 207), meaning that a theory is always influenced by ‘human experience that gives rise to the need for a theory’ (217). What this observation mainly implies is that the reflective element teaches us – the theorists – that ‘there is no such thing as theory in itself, divorced from a standpoint in time and space’ (207). Therefore, in particular when a theory or theorists claim some sort of neutrality, ‘it is more important to examine it as an ideology, and to lay bare its concealed perspective’, or, more simply, it is more important to ask whose interest such theory serves (207). Here it should be noted that not everything understood as

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‘an ideology’ always has associations. Rather, once something becomes an ideology, other ways of knowing it become redundant. This is the case because, Cox argues, a structure represents a picture of reality which is true for a given group, community, relationship among states, workplace or other body. If the view of this picture is shared by many people then this is what is real to them, ‘and because they think of that reality in the same way, their actions and words tend to reproduce this reality’ (Cox, 1995: 33). In other words, knowledge has interests and, regardless of our approval or disapproval, these realities make the world and they are the parameters of experience (Booth, 2007: 238–40). Thinking of knowledge as having an interest will become significant in the questioning in the next chapter of what may be called the ‘false legitimacy’ of the neo-liberal international economic order. For instance, it will be argued that the undesirable elements of economic neo-liberalism are historical creations, in the sense that they have been built by people as their response to conditions which have provoked them to do so. This is why Critical Theorists reject so-called immutable reality; that is, they tend to examine, say, the origin of a state, or of economic neo-liberalism, and look for the forces which may be changing the nature of the state and the inter-state system (Cox, 1995: 34). To resume, it is enough to know that those realities are there for us to act as if they were ‘out there’, even if they are not physical things. In other words, Cox says, in the mind there is no clear separation between the object out there and the subject. All in all, ‘the ontology which defines the “real world”, the world of non-physical realities which shape our existence, is sustained by intersubjective meaning derived from long years of collective experience’ (33). These things which have intersubjective meaning have been built over time by human responses to material conditions; these are the intersubjective entities which are associated in this book with the privileging of the economic/political divide, an element sustained by the liberal logic that will be examined in subsequent chapters. The configuration of intersubjectively constituted entities, Cox continues, we can call an ontology, borrowing from philosophy. For each era and each object of interest, there is a relevant ontology. Ontologies tell us what is significant in the particular worlds we delve into – what the basic entities and key relationships are. Ontologies are not arbitrary constructions, but the specifications of the common sense of the epoch. Essentially, in this regard, it is necessary to go beyond the common

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sense of an epoch or, more precisely, beyond the ontology of a particular time, ‘to find the mental tools capable of understanding change in historical structures’ (Cox, 1995: 34). Once again, it is the understanding of change in terms of historical structures which makes it possible to argue, as the next chapter does, that what is constructed can also be deconstructed. In this sense, to facilitate the possibility of change, Cox argues that critical theory is a theory of history in the sense of being concerned not only with the past but also with a continuing process of historical change. Critical theory, like problemsolving theory, takes as its starting point some aspects or a particular sphere of human activity. But where the problem-solving approach leads to further analytical subdivision and limitation of the issue being dealt with, the critical approach leads towards the construction of a larger picture of the whole, of which the initially contemplated part is merely one component, and seeks to understand the process of change in which both the parts and the whole are involved (Cox, 1986: 209). Similarly, it is argued, a critical humanitarian intervention approach considers SHEs not only within the context of the urgency and danger involved in them, but within the whole complexity of humanitarian intervention, in which the neo-liberal international economic system constitutes a significant part. Therefore, critical theory contemplates the political complex as a whole and seeks to understand the process of change within both the whole and its parts (Cox, 1986: 209). Due to its reflexive element, practitioners of Critical Theory are able to stand back from the assumption of an immutable present/reality and ask how this reality – understood by Critical Theorists as set of structures – came about, with its political as well as its economic elements; how it is changing or how it may be induced to change (Cox, 1995: 32). To relate to the solidarists’ theorising on humanitarian intervention, I argue that they consider SHEs per se, rather than within the context of which the liberal international order constitutes a part. Cox understands structures in historical terms, as elements formed by collective human activity over time. Within them, there is no distinction between actors and structures; essentially, there is ‘no question of sacrificing the one or the other’ (1995: 33). Institutions such as states or economic orders are human institutions; therefore they are historical phenomena and not biological necessities (Booth, 2005a: 266). Denaturalising or inquiring into the growth of state formations will help the process of problematising all the institutional identifiers that divide humanity and that get in the way of recognising and implementing the view that all people, in principle, have equal moral worth (267).

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Historical change is the reciprocal relationship of structures and actors. Where problem-solving theory thinks of action as being confined within fixed structures, critical theory sees the structure-actor relationship as ‘a process configuring structural change’ (Cox, 1995: 33). Such a configuration of the implementation of structural change ‘does not determine actions in any direct, mechanical way, but imposes pressure and constraints. Individuals and groups may move with the pressures or resist and oppose them, but they cannot ignore them’ (33). In this fashion, it is argued that progressive moral change, in the context of the conditions implied by humanitarian intervention, should be associated with the prevention of SHEs and not their management. In pursuing this as the normative goal, values such as human rights and, equally important, economic justice should be pursued. Even though a specific conclusion (here associated with the total prevention of SHEs) may be out of reach, the means which are its equivalent, that is, the encouragement of economic justice, are not (Gandhi cited in Booth, 2005a: 268). By associating issues of economic justice with issues relevant to humanitarian intervention, theorists may resist or oppose the implications of economic justice, but they will not be able to ignore them. All in all, Cox presents the characteristics of reflexive theorising by reminding theorists that theories reflect diverse perspectives associated with different social and political projects. This is why theorists must provide a ‘perspective on perspectives’ by becoming ‘reflective upon the process of theorising itself’, that is, by becoming ‘clearly aware of the perspective which gives rise to theorising, and its relation to other perspectives’ (Cox, 1986: 207–8). This is why Cox’s analyses do not proceed with the positivist ‘truth as correspondence’ endeavour. Instead, he affirms that achieving a ‘perspective on perspective’ is oriented to a specific goal: ‘to open up the possibility of choosing a different valid perspective’ (207–8). Summarising the above, four concluding observations can be made. First, any theory including critical theory is time-bound and derivative of historical experience, which means that it stems from a perspective. While problem-solving theorists replicate the existing order, critical theorists call for change (or emancipate). Second, critical theorists analyse historical structures, which are the ways in which reality is defined for different people in different places; it takes apart the very framework used by people to cope with their reality. The intersubjective experiences of finding and using this framework reproduce reality in the form of continuing institutions and practices. While critical theorists, too,

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may maintain this element of problem-solving theories, it nevertheless contains such theories in the form of identifiable ideologies, therefore pointing to their conservative consequences (209). Third, people create reality as a response to the environment. Finally, therefore, change needs to be understood in terms of the fact that ‘each successive historical structure generates contradictions and points of conflict that bring about transformation’ (Cox, 1995: 33–6). Transformation is understood in terms of clarification of the ‘range of possible alternatives’, ‘[allowing] for normative choice in favour of a social and political order different from the prevailing order’ (Cox, 1986: 210). In the context of this book, the alternative valid perspective is judged to be a better perspective or theory in the sense that it encourages the act of prevention over the act of intervention. This is an important condition, because it is argued that, as long as international society claims to be fulfilling its alleged moral responsibility of encouraging human rights everywhere, it needs to exhaust all possible methods for preventing what is defined as a SHE in the first place.

Summary To summarise, the main purpose of Chapter 1 has been to explore the possibility of putting in place alternative theoretical foundations, which in the following chapters would assist the process of pushing beyond the methodologically confined solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention. This method of theorising focuses only on the process of deciding whether or not to intervene, a claim considered in the Introduction. It was argued in the present chapter that reconceptualising security in terms of Booth’s Theory of World Security would help, first, to understand why the solidarist approach to humanitarian intervention focuses on the act of intervention, as opposed to the act of preventing SHEs, and, second, it would facilitate the process of proposing an alternative perspective. This perspective in the following chapters will be judged to be true to the extent that it demonstrates its usefulness in leading to a humanitarian theory whose normative purpose will be guided by the possibility of preventing SHEs. Accordingly, I have explained why it is important for theorists to become aware of the process of theorising itself and the impact which it has on political practice. While presenting what is meant by reflexive theorising, I have focused in particular on exploring why this book presents the positivist method as problematic and prefers instead the method of anchorage. Accordingly, I argue that considering ‘facts’ as

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the starting points for analysis (the main analytical component of the positivist method) is problematic because, as the next chapter shows, it overwhelmingly restricts humanitarian intervention theorising to the subject of military intervention. What is considered a more desirable alternative to military intervention is the encouragement of reciprocal prevention, which, theoretically, can be supported through the method of anchorage, as described by Booth. Endorsing the method of anchorage, a theorist, taking on a critical distance, learns that power and knowledge are related and that all theories have constitutive properties. This is why she/he is well equipped to diagnose the restrictive common sense of a theory (here associated with the privileging of the act of intervention over prevention) and instead seek an alternative perspective. Achieving critical distance means being able to stand ‘analytically’ outside a given local or global framework, give a critique, and then explore the immanent potentials in order to release ideas which might promote the emancipation of people(s) from oppressive structures of domination (Booth, 2005b: 11). Critical distance implies being engaged in an immanent critique, which is the idea that ‘instead of trying to move forward on the basis of utopian blueprints, one should look for the unfulfilled potential already existing within society’ (Booth, 2005b: 11; see also 1999: 43). Critical Theorists, while paying much attention to the process of theorising itself, at the same time equally consider the importance of political practice. Admittedly, and as Stephen Leonard has observed, ‘forging a link between social theory and political practice is … no mean task’ (cited in Sterling-Folker, 2006b: 163). For one thing, how can a theorist move from an ontological position shared with post-modernism to one in which an enlightenment project may be treated as a foundational narrative? How can this project, together with its goal of human emancipation, be realised in an actual political practice? And how can International Relations (IR) theorists recognise and promote the actions and policies necessary to achieve this goal? (Sterling-Folker, 2006b: 163). Not forgetting that different answers to the above questions produce different kinds of Critical Theory, the variant proposed by this book views the economic sphere as the best potential site for change. However, before political practice can be encouraged within the economic sphere, a theorist needs to judge which political practices are more desirable and which less. The way in which a theorist can arrive at such a judgement is through a process of ‘achieving a perspective on perspective’ to orient a specific goal, which is ‘to open up the possibility of choosing a different valid perspective’ (Cox, 1986: 207–8).

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The ‘perspective on perspective’ involves distinguishing between two contrasting types of theory, distinguished as problem-solving theories, which replicate existing structures, and critical theories, which change those structures instead (207–8). It was argued, although still unsubstantiated, that in order to encourage the prevention of SHEs a critical understanding of change needs to be incorporated into the process of theorising on humanitarian intervention. In particular, it was explained how ‘change’ should be understood, in order to reject the replication of existing structures and accept instead the obligation to change them. Here the association of knowledge with interest became most significant. Accordingly, accepting that all knowledge has an interest, the crucial question to ask is whose interest the appropriate knowledge serves. It will be argued in the next chapter that although solidarists claim to have changed the ‘statist’ normative context of international society by ‘normalising’ the action of military intervention, and they may have addressed SHEs per se, they have not changed or even critically addressed the international context within which these crises arose. The international context in this book is associated with the neo-liberal international economic order.

2 Problem-Solving Solidarist Theorising on Humanitarian Intervention

Introduction In light of the findings reached through reconceptualising security in terms of Ken Booth’s Theory of World Security, my purpose in the current chapter is two-fold. My main aim is to explain why solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention is problem-solving in character; the second purpose is to propose an alternative perspective to problem-solving solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention: CHIA. Further substantiation and elaboration of this CHIA will continue throughout Chapters 3 and 4. The two-part structure of this chapter fulfils this aim. Part 2.1 explains why solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention is considered problem-solving. Briefly and following Robert Cox’s framework, I define such theorising as problem-solving theory, first, because it maintains the positivist method of theorising and, second, because it ‘legitimises prevailing social and political structures’, which in this book are associated with the neo-liberal international economic order (Cox, 1986: 207). These two reasons dictate the subsequent evolution of this chapter. Primarily, I evaluate the significance of the solidarist treatment of SHEs in terms of their ‘truth as correspondence’. I argue that such treatment is limiting because it prioritises the act of intervention over the act of prevention. Further, it treats the act of military intervention as exhaustive of international society’s moral responsibility in the event of SHEs. Solidarist theorists on humanitarian intervention continue with problem-solving theorising by following a liberal approach to international order, in which ‘artificial’ divisions are drawn between the political and economic spheres. This creates two main limitations for the consequent theorising. The first is that the way in which liberal 55

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economic remedies can influence the likelihood of violent conflict is rarely considered and, second, solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention has a narrow understanding of why conflict occurs and therefore how it can be prevented. Responding to these limitations, in Part 2.2 I propose an alternative perspective: a CHIA. This perspective, as already explained in Chapter 1, is judged to be a better alternative, to the extent that it gives a better chance of preventing SHEs. In proposing the preliminary elements of a CHIA, I reject the positivist method and encourage the method of anchorage instead. Theorists working inspired by the metaphor of anchorage do not reject the existence of SHEs but they do reject those solidarist conclusions that accept military intervention as a way of managing crisis under international society’s moral commitment to encouraging human rights around the world. A CHIA argues that what should be associated with international society’s commitment to uphold those rights is the prevention of SHEs. Having the prevention of crisis as its normative starting point a CHIA builds security alongside Caroline Thomas’s concept of human security, which first considers the welfare of all human beings, not merely of victims, and, second, runs counter to the existing legitimacy of the current economic order. A CHIA avoids replicating an existing international economic order and instead seeks to change it. Analytically, it is able to advance this argument because it works within an assumption that all knowledge has interest, which means (among other things) that all knowledge has been historically constructed. Therefore, a CHIA argues that a historical understanding of the assumed legitimacy of the neo-liberal approach to development, and hence to security, makes the reciprocal prevention of SHEs more probable.

Part 2.1 Problem-solving theory In the Introduction to this book I showed how solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention is primarily concerned with legal and moral debates. I further argued that such theorising is essentially about a process of deciding whether or not to intervene, and this is what makes the solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention methodologically confined. Accordingly, the legal debate essentially asks three questions: • What does international law have to say about whether humanitarian intervention can or cannot occur?

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• Are there any exceptions which would allow humanitarian intervention? • What happens when the UN Security Council does not authorise humanitarian intervention? Similarly, within the moral debates the realists contend that intervention can only take place when it benefits state interests, pluralists argue against intervention because it has implications for international order and solidarists claim that states need to intervene in order to help others. However, I argue that a theory whose normative commitment claims to uphold a moral responsibility to encourage human rights everywhere – a subject considered in the next section – needs to reach much further than an agreement on whether or not to intervene in the event of a SHE. In order to reflect the moral responsibility on the part of international society for the guardianship of human rights everywhere, international society should feel impelled to prevent situations requiring outside intervention from ever arising. It is argued and demonstrated in Chapter 4 that the moral argument of having a duty to others ought to apply to political, social and economic international relations, in order to minimise the need for intervention. Accordingly, states need to have a positive and sustainable duty of economic and political assistance, practising fair trade and allowing dignity to everyone. Following Parekh, I argue that theorising on humanitarian intervention should encompass the patterns of a fair world (Parekh, 1997: 49–69). While solidarists claim that legitimating humanitarian intervention in situations of SHE illustrates a ‘new solidarism in the society of states’ (Wheeler, 1992: 285), I argue that their theorising continues to be deeply influenced by the liberal assumptions which dominate the contemporary order. Indeed, as I hope to demonstrate, solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention legitimises the prevailing neo-liberal international economic order. This is only possible because solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention maintains a problem-solving approach in dealing with SHEs. Problem-solving theory takes the world or reality as given, without questioning it. It uses existing parameters to correct dysfunctions or problems which arise within this order or reality. It is therefore concerned (consciously or not) with specific reforms aimed at maintaining this reality. In Chapter 1, I explained in some detail what is involved in presenting the characteristics of problem-solving theory.

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In this chapter I synthesise these seven characteristics into two. First, problem-solving theory is characterised by positivist methodology (though this should be distinguished from positivism itself: see Chapter 1) and, second, it has the tendency to legitimise prevailing social and political structures, without considering their part in contextualising SHEs. Robert Cox argues that there are three main reasons why a theory would legitimise social and political structures Cox (1986: 206–8). First, it takes the world as it finds it; hence, second, the existing order is not questioned. Consequently, the general purpose of problem-solving theory is to make the system work smoothly. Seeing the solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention as problem-solving is a consequence of reconceptualising security in terms of the Theory of World Security. Presenting solidarist theorising in this way explains why solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention has a methodologically confined approach to what are considered SHEs. The positivist method In the Introduction to this book I claimed that the humanitarian content of solidarist theorising about humanitarian intervention is viewed through the lens of SHEs. SHEs have two components: their urgency and the nature of the danger involved. Therefore, for solidarists, ‘if humanitarian intervention is to be contemplated at all it must be only in situations of supreme humanitarian emergency’ (Bellamy, 2003a: 335; emphasis in original). Indeed, core theorists (Vincent, 1986; Wheeler, 2000) and participants (ICISS, 2001: 31) within the solidarist effort have reaffirmed this requirement by distinguishing between what are assumed to be more and less ordinary abuses of human rights. In this situation a more serious emergency such as a SHE becomes the primary focus of solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention. To be more precise, SHEs are treated as the ‘truth as correspondence’ (see Chapter 1) of solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention. Accordingly, and in accordance with the positivist method described in the previous chapter, the solidarists theoretically explain, or rather justify, the practice of humanitarian intervention as appropriate because it reflects the reality (‘the facts’) which their theorising identifies, in terms of an existing SHE. Solidarists argue in this way because they build their analyses on a particular set of assumptions: in this case the positivist method’s analytical condition that it is possible to separate subject from object or the observer from the observed, an analytical property explained in Chapter 1.

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Solidarist theorists (the subject) observing a SHE (the object) together with its two components, its intensity and the nature of the danger involved, claim to describe the world as it really is, a world where the only option for addressing SHEs is through military intervention. It is understood why SHEs provide the foundations for solidarists’ theorising; what is questioned, however, is the features of their subsequent theorising, in which the positivist method is not critically addressed, in particular the analytical validity of the power/knowledge relation and the constitutive properties of theories. This is problematic because it has two important effects upon the consequent solidarist practice towards humanitarian intervention. First, solidarists view the practice of prevention through the prism of military intervention. This also means that the welfare of victims is considered before the welfare of individual human beings at all stages of their development. Second, the act of military intervention dictates the boundaries of moral responsibility on the part of international society or dictates what international society is able to achieve in circumstances of SHE. I will look at the two consequences in turn. Accordingly, theorists (in this case, solidarist theorists) who hold ‘the truth as correspondence’ (in this case, the truth that a SHE exists) claim to guide their research in such a way as to filter out their role as theorists living behind a description of the world as it truly is. The description of the real world where intervention is the only option is clearly implied by a conversation held between Nicholas Wheeler and Bhikhu Parekh (Wheeler, 2000: 308). Parekh is known to argue that, although humanitarian intervention may sometimes be necessary ‘it is too limited, too late and too superficial to be of lasting value, and needs to be embedded in and undertaken as part of a larger project of creating a just … global order’ (Parekh, 1997: 49). In other words, he argues that the way to address SHEs is not through military humanitarian intervention but through developing global economic policies to address the underlying structural causes of poverty, which contribute, in his view, to causing SHEs. Therefore, when he asked Wheeler ‘why suffering and death become a matter of humanitarian intervention only when they are caused by the breakdown of the state or by an outrageous abuse of its power’, Wheeler, implying that nothing could be done except intervention, responded in the words of Mahatma Gandhi that using humanitarian intervention to end starvation and poverty would require ‘that the rich … learn to live more simply so that the poor can simply live’ (Wheeler, 2000: 308).

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The point here is that Wheeler claims to invoke the real world (where the rich will never learn to live simply), whereas Parekh does not. As Wheeler argues: ‘at the beginning of the new century, there is little evidence that the global rich in the West are ready to end their position of power and privilege’ (308). In other words, in the response quoted above, Wheeler claims to describe the world as it truly is. Thus, in his world, the only solution to SHEs is the act of military intervention. That is to say, his focus on intervention not only gives a sense of urgent priority to intervention but also limits the normative scope of what is possible within the so-called humanitarian intervention complex. Indeed, contradicting Wheeler’s above observation that ‘there is little evidence that the global rich in the West are ready to end their position of power and privilege’, the starting point for Saving Strangers is Bull’s definition of solidarist society. This however, entails a responsibility on the members of international society not only for their own citizens, but also for citizens everywhere (Wheeler, 2000: 2–7). In other words, Wheeler suggests that solidarism challenges the moral minimalism of pluralism by prioritising justice over order, or the welfare of human beings over the welfare of the state. This is reflected in the way that it establishes the minimum criteria for a legitimate humanitarian intervention. It is closely associated with its referent object of security, the individual human being. Accordingly, Wheeler announces that solidarism places ‘the victims of human rights abuses at the centre of its theoretical project’ (2000: 38). And he further argues that this is the case ‘since it [solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention] is committed to exploring how the society of states [international society] might become more hospitable to the promotion of justice in world politics’ (38). In sum, it is the practice of military humanitarian intervention, not prevention, that signifies international society’s moral commitment to encouraging human rights in the world. I argue, however, that while the welfare of the ‘victim’ may be considered by Wheeler’s theorising on humanitarian intervention, it is questionable whether the welfare of human beings is equally encouraged. This, I argue, would be a better demonstration of ‘international society becoming more hospitable to the promotion of justice in world politics’, as noted above. This observation is key to much else (and is further explored in this chapter) because it is argued that unless solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention engages with the wider

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issue of human rights and not with victims alone, its claim to be a human-centred theorising will continue to be limited. It is argued that, unless solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention takes into account the whole context of SHEs (which I call the humanitarian intervention complexity), the above limitation will persist. The fallacy of viewing the world through the prism of SHEs is that it describes only a singular, temporal part of the real world, a part characterised by the gruesome reality of SHEs. Such a description does not include the circumstances and epoch which contextualised SHEs in the past, nor those which still continue to do so. In this book this so-called context is identified as the current neo-liberal international order, paying particular attention to the neo-liberal international economic order which the solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention excludes. And because the potentials for reciprocal prevention are identified within the economic sphere in situations where such a sphere is not part of the debate, the hope of such prevention is not considered. This is why it is important and, as explained in Chapter 1, why theorists must become conscious of it: that while the world of experience, in this case SHEs, might appear as the foundation for knowledge, what is equally important is to be aware of the so-called dependent and derivative status of such conclusions (Horkheimer, 1972a: 138). Theorists must acknowledge the relation between power and knowledge or the ‘inherently politico-normative content of paradigms and the normal science tradition they sustain’ (Neufeld, 1995:41). It is argued in this book that the dependent and derivative status of solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention culminates in the act of intervention, as opposed to prevention. This is not to say that the proponents of humanitarian intervention do not favour prevention over intervention. However, the limitation of their approach, as observed in this book, is that their understanding of the act of prevention is viewed through the prism of military intervention. Solidarist international leaders, organisations and academics all demonstrate this approach. Kofi Annan understands prevention in terms of an act which prevents already existing conflicts from escalating beyond borders. In his 1998 Annual Report of the Secretary General on the Work of the Organisation, Annan observes: ‘In some cases effective prevention is actually impeded by the traditional focus on external threats to a State’s security. [If] … social justice, material well-being and peace [are] to be taken into account … an action needs to be pursued far

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enough to prevent local conflicts from escalating and spilling over into the international arena’ (Annan, 1998: paragraph 27). The association of prevention with the act of extensive pre-emptive intervention is most notably articulated in the document Responsibility to Protect. The Commission suggests moving from a ‘culture of reaction to a culture of prevention’, where prevention involves ‘forestalling the human cost from violence and war … to prevent extremely deadly conflict’ (ICISS, 2001: 27–43). A similar attitude is reflected in the academic literature. It is argued that, in the solidarists’ theorising about SHEs, where the emergencies are the main focus, while they want to prevent emergencies, the concept of prevention still remains outside the subject of humanitarian intervention. This results from confining the theorising to making a decision over whether or not to intervene, as explored in Chapter 1, and not to finding ways to prevent SHEs. For instance, in their theorising on humanitarian intervention the theorists do address prevention, though not as the principal aim of this theorising. Indeed, it is often not until the concluding paragraphs of their works that prevention is addressed.1 Or, as reflected by the remarks above, the kind of prevention considered is strongly conditioned by the concept of intervention. This is plainly demonstrated by Wheeler, who says: ‘Those who support a doctrine of humanitarian intervention do so on the solidarist grounds that preventing gross human rights violations [that is, by means of intervention] ranks with peace and security as one of the primary goals of the UN Charter’ (Wheeler, 1992: 471). In other words, those who support the act of military intervention, according to Wheeler, are committed to the ‘prevention’ of gross human violations. More recently, however, Alex Bellamy, in describing the important work of the Responsibility to Protect (R2P), gives the practice of prevention significantly more attention than his predecessors did and this is seen as an important and significant step in changing the way in which practitioners and theorists think about humanitarian intervention (Bellamy, 2009: 101). However, Bellamy’s understanding of the concept of prevention remains firmly situated within already violent situations, such as those of genocide, war crimes, ethnic cleansing and crimes against humanity. These violent situations are considered yet again because their two components, urgency and scale, dictate no option beyond intervention or non-intervention. To Bellamy, thinking of these atrocities in terms of their two characteristics, intervention/non-intervention is the only

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antithesis; intervention is understood as the only humanitarian or moral option and no other is considered. It is disappointing to learn, further, that Bellamy argues that associating R2P with broader projects, such as those of economic development, would ‘mire’ R2P’s overall purpose and endanger the development of ‘concrete measures to protect endangered populations’ (101). In contrast to what the author argues, a CHIA maintains that the implications of ‘responsibility to protect’ should involve a sustainable approach to security which necessarily involves the inclusion of the economic sphere in its analysis of crisis prevention. It is quite likely that including the economic sphere will ‘mire’ the R2P agenda, but this is no reason to reject its relevance; one must deal with its complex implications. Note, for the purpose of this section, that I do not claim that the key writers on the subject of humanitarian intervention, Nicholas Wheeler in particular, have been consciously intending to limit their theorising in terms of what is possible. Nevertheless, the influence of Wheeler’s theorising2 has made the theorising on humanitarian intervention methodologically confined. The above reflection also occurs to Steve Smith when he accuses International Relations theorising of not paying enough attention to the impact of theorists’ identities and their definitions of the issues in world politics. He observes: Relying on assumptions about sameness has meant that the discipline [International Relations] has taken the policy agendas of the dominant powers, and hence the dominant identities, in the world as those of all the world. This has created a chasm between the world as seen in the textbooks of the discipline and the world as seen in most of the world. This leads to a fundamental problem for the discipline, namely that it has played, and continues to play, a significant role in recreating the world of the powerful, which it sees as the ‘natural’ focus for explanation. (Smith, 2004: 506–7) Ironically, Wheeler argues: ‘It is a categorical error to posit a separation between words and deeds when thinking of how the social world hangs together; the former constitute the latter by establishing the boundaries of what is possible’ (Wheeler, 2000: 286). Despite his evident awareness, shown above, about the relationship between the process of theorising and its practical consequences for the subject, he still fails to observe the effects of his own theorising and that of the theorists who share

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his approach to the subject of humanitarian intervention. Solidarists fail to consider the relation between knowledge and power, which in this context is associated with their legitimising, through their theories, the act of intervention over the act of prevention. This means that the theorising continues to give overwhelming support to intervention over prevention, which, in turn, they associate with international society’s moral commitment to encouraging human rights around the world. Taken in sequence, solidarist theorising makes the possibility of preventing instances of SHE less likely. In contrast to solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention, a CHIA overcomes the consequences of the positivist method, for it pays much attention to the process of theorising itself and as such it owns a different normative startingpoint, one associated with the prevention of SHEs. How this takes place will become the subject of Part 2.2. In sum, solidarists’ ‘positivist’ treatment of SHEs limits their theorising on humanitarian intervention in the sense that it makes preventative measures seem unviable, however much they may be desired. This happens primarily because they are limited, in the sense that their referent of security is limited to anyone in the role of a victim, and this also means that only one aspect of the context of SHEs is considered. This context dictates only one viable option, that of military intervention. This being so, it follows that solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention, as will be argued next, runs on what I call the ‘liberal scenario’ and in particular its liberal logic of dividing the ‘economic’ from the ‘political’. This is caused by not explicitly including the neo-liberal international economic order in the solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention, but taking it for granted. In this way the economic order is further legitimised and not critically readdressed as such, fulfilling the second characteristic of problemsolving theorising.

Legitimising the prevailing social, political and economic structures and following the patterns of the liberal approach International order is ‘a pattern of activity that sustains the elementary or primary goals of the society of states, or international society’ (Bull, 1995: 8). However, the agencies of the neo-liberal international economic order conceptually separate economics and politics. This conceptual separation has immense consequences for thinking about and understanding the purpose of humanitarian intervention. The solidarist approach to thinking about humanitarian intervention reflects those

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assumptions about order which draw divisions between the political and the economic spheres. This in turn produces a situation where the context of humanitarian intervention is artificially divided between three stages. The first of these, ‘economic statism’, is not a constitutive part of solidarist theorising about humanitarian intervention; the other two are at the stages of ‘humanitarian intervention’ and ‘peace-building’. This has two major consequences. First, because the economic aspects of the international liberal order are neglected, the ways in which liberal economic remedies can actually increase the likelihood of violent conflict in certain parts of the world are rarely considered (Woodward, 1995). Second, solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention has in consequence a very narrow understanding of why violent conflict occurs and how it can be prevented. Solidarist theorists’ taking of the world as they find it and therefore failing to question an existing order First stage: Economic statism The first stage of the context of the humanitarian intervention complex reflects a variety of political, social and economic relations, corresponding to normal, everyday domestic and international relations, which may contribute to the outbreak of violence. Chapter 3 identifies these in terms of the policies of economic mismanagement which contextualised the 1998–9 SHE in Kosovo. This stage can be defined as economic statism, because political, social and, in particular, economic decisions are still being dictated by the rules of statism. This means that citizens are the primary responsibility of their own state alone; it has the primary responsibility for its own domestic activities but not for their international consequences. Thus, domestic relations are more morally binding than international relations.3 Even if the decisions, in particular the economic decisions, of different international institutions or specific states have contributed to undesirable international circumstances, as will be illustrated in Chapter 3 with reference to the Yugoslav crisis, solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention often ignores or fails to question them. Such logic is perfectly acceptable within economic liberalism where wealth is associated with national security: legitimate economic statism is justified by normal liberal practices. In the context of solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention, this implies that dying from unjust economic relations is less alarming

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than dying from physical violence. This claim has already been justified, in identifying the solidarist approach as one which distinguishes between ordinary and extraordinary abuses. Prioritising one act of wrong-doing over an assumed more serious act of wrong-doing creates an artificial logic, which excludes noting the early signs of crisis as a way of preventing SHEs. Indeed, the missing element of economics is evident within the solidarist literature, and it has been considered a significant limitation.4 Accordingly, Bull mentions trade as an important factor in cooperation within society (Bull, 1977: 70). He clearly states that economics is a part of international society and (his idea of) justice should rest on a fairer international political economy (Bull, 1990: 72–3).5 He is critical of Martin Wight’s limited orientation towards the economy (Bull, 1991: xix–xx), but nevertheless he himself, as noted by Barry Buzan, never develops a persuasive case for including economics in the discussion of international society (Buzan, 2004: 19). Similarly, Vincent criticises Bull for failing to include the economy as significant in his analysis of international order (Vincent, 1988: 196, 204). This means that he himself puts ‘economic’ on the agenda and his book Human Rights is a fine example of so doing (Vincent, 1986); but his focus nevertheless remains on the political side of the international economy (Buzan, 2004: 19). This being the case, he argues for the right to subsistence, defined as the foundation of a global human rights programme, and is aware that this implies a ‘radical reshaping of the international economic order’ (Vincent, 1986: 127). Vincent further observes that, ‘in regard to the failure to provide subsistence rights, it is not this or that government whose legitimacy is in question, but the whole international system in which we are all implicated’ (145). Regrettably, Vincent’s initial insight into International Political Economy (IPE) is taken no further, either by him or his followers (Buzan, 2004: 20). The exception here, as also observed by Barry Buzan, is the work of James Mayall, who in his early work did consider economic liberalism in terms of international society (Mayall, 1984: 313–21; 1989: 297–307). Unfortunately the potential for developing economic solidarism came to nothing in his later works (Mayall, 1990, 2000). Consequently, the next question which arises is why solidarists follow the tradition of economic liberalism or, more specifically, of neo-liberalism? An explanation of this can be found in the field of IPE. Fundamentally, in pursuit of joint gains, including the pursuit of collective security within international society, solidarists follow the liberal understanding of organising the economic sector (Buzan, 2004: 151).

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The pursuit of joint gains is legitimised by a number of liberal prior assumptions. Explaining the construction of what may be called the ‘false legitimacy’ of these presumptions is imperative for the purpose of proposing the alternative approach of critical humanitarian intervention. This is the purpose of the final part of this chapter. The purpose of the present section is, first, to identify those presumptions and, second, to demonstrate how these have been put into practice by such institutions as the IMF and the World Bank. Accordingly, neo-liberal presumptions draw their legitimacy first, from a conception of freedom based on private power, second, from placing much significance on individual choice in the market place and, third, from critiquing the public realm and therefore the associated ideas of collectivity and society. Finally, economic activity is not viewed as political in itself because it is assumed to have a distinct and superior rationality. One reason for the separation of economics and politics is that free-market economic behaviour is assumed to be highly rational, while politics is irrational, hence efficiency requires the minimum of political interference.6 Another reason is that it is assumed that conflict can be managed by international economic agencies because it takes place within a system which generates continual, pacifying economic growth (Tooze, 1992: 236). All the above assumptions have been embraced by global economic governance, represented by public institutions such as the IMF the World Bank, other multilateral development banks and the World Trade Organization (WTO), not forgetting the majority of governments. These institutions are defined as if they were all public institutions because they are expected to represent the interests of global citizens and to promote the global public good (Asetto, 1988: 20). This is a significant observation, because this chapter and the next question the credibility of such (publicly orientated) global economic governance, as well as proposing a possible alternative to it. The purpose of both the IMF and the World Bank, as Asetto observes, was set out in the Articles of Agreement, which state that their purpose is to promote stability in the international monetary system through the promotion of free trade, stable exchange rates and economic development (1988: 11). The IMF and the World Bank were established in 1945 with their main offices in Washington, DC. The IMF, representing 184 states, has the role of overseeing short-term cross-border money flows and questions of foreign exchange. Article I of the Articles defines the IMF’s particular purpose as promoting international monetary cooperation through consultation and the collaboration of members

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on international monetary problems. The Articles exhort the Fund to work towards the establishment of exchange rate stability, the establishment of a multilateral system of payments and the reduction of foreign exchange restrictions (1988: 12). The purpose of the World Bank Group (WBG) is to provide project loans for reconstruction and development in poor countries. Article I of the Bank’s Articles of Agreement (IBRD, 1994: 1) states that the Bank is to: 1. Facilitate the investment of capital for productive purposes; 2. Promote private foreign investment and to supplement private investment through loans out of its own capital; 3. Promote the balanced growth of international trade and equilibrium in the balance of payments; 4. Ensure that adequate financing exists for the ‘more useful and urgent projects’; and 5. Pay due regard to the effects of its options on business conditions among its members. World Bank loans facilitate credits for projects where the risk is considered too great for private lenders alone; significantly, several conditions govern the use of Bank credit. World Bank loans must be used for productive purposes and essentially to finance the foreign exchange needs of a project. The borrower must be unable to finance the project with funds from the private sector – the reason behind this condition is to promote private investment and enterprise (Asetto, 1988: 12). An essential observation for this book is that the activities of both the IMF and the World Bank are considered apolitical in nature, simply reflecting the ‘value free’ principles beneath ‘positive economics’ (Thomas, 2000: 56, Mirowski, 2002: 99). Indeed, this is confirmed by the Articles of both organisations. The Articles of the IMF are constructed in such a way as to exclude both political factors from consideration in decisions to lend and the formation of stabilisation policies designed to restore a balance of payments equilibrium. The so-called performance criteria, which apply to states which intend to borrow, are formulated ‘in arithmetic or other objective terms’ so that members of the IMF can be assured ‘that the Fund could [not] impede purchase under the Stand-by arrangement by decisions motivated by subjective or discretionary considerations’ (Gold, 1980: 12). In other words, and as embedded by the Articles of Agreement (Article IV, Section 3(b)) ‘the purpose of a program or loan conditions, according to the Fund, is not to alter a member’s economic

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or political structure, and thus, a member’s social or political policies are emphatically excluded … from consideration’ (20). Similarly, the character of the World Bank prohibits it from considering political criteria: it stipulates that [t]he Bank and its officers shall not interfere in the political affairs of any member; nor shall they be influenced in their decisions by the political character of the member or members concerned. Only economic considerations shall be relevant to their decisions, and these considerations shall be weighed impartially. (IBRD, 1994: Article IV, Section 10) In other words, the Bank asserts that its decisions to lend are formed on economic criteria alone (Asetto, 1988: 19). Both the IMF and the World Bank have been involved, in particular since 1979, in the structural adjustment programmes in the South and, relevant for this book, the former East (Scholte, 2005: 601). The so-called global economic integration is supported by neoliberalism as the most natural and universal path towards the economic growth and therefore the security of all humankind. This is why it is possible to argue that liberal ideology is promoted around the world as the only proper approach to issues involving security and development (Thomas, 2000: 13; Tooze, 1992: 236). However, while the World Bank and the IMF, among others, are associated with the instigators of this form of global economic integration, the integration itself is promoted through the liberalisation of trade, finance and investment.7 Trade liberalisation has been a significant characteristic of ‘global economic integration’ since the end of the Second World War. Then, through the General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade (GATT), developed countries sought to reduce barriers to trade, which has encouraged a number of rounds of ‘tariff-cutting exercises’ (Thomas, 2000: 70). From 1948 GATT brought major reductions in customs duties, quotas and other measures which had previously inhibited the cross-border movements of merchandise. In 1995, when its membership reached 122, it was absorbed into the WTO, a name indicative of the global movement towards trade liberalisation. Since then, it has increased its power to reinforce existing trade agreements and to pursue new avenues of liberalisation, such as investment flows (Scholte, 2005: 603). Free trade has also been encouraged at a regional level; one example is the North American Free Trade Agreement

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(NAFTA) (Thomas, 2000: 70). Trade liberalisation was especially significant in the early 1980s and 1990s, where the assumed free trade benefits outflanked the unexplored social implications of free trade, a subject to be further explored in this chapter. The liberalisation of finance can be summed up in terms of the ‘framing of the new reality of the late 20th century global financial system [where] the private sector is the overwhelming source of capital for growth’ (cited in Thomas, 2000: 76). Until 1999 the IMF actively sought to amend its Charter to enable its members to open their capital markets to overseas investors (Scholte, 2005: 608–12). Finally, global economic integration is encouraged by the liberalisation of investment. Indeed, Article II of the World Bank’s constitution identifies the promotion of private foreign investment as one of its fundamental purposes. And as early as 1956 the International Finance Corporation (IFC; an affiliate of the World Bank), was set up to invest in private sector companies, as opposed to governments. This is indicative of the overall neo-liberal principle where the role of the state is redefined as providing support for the private sector (Thomas, 2000: 84). Carla Hills, the US Trade Representative under the Bush (Senior) Administration, argued: ‘we want corporations to be able to make investments overseas without being required to take local partners, or export a given percentage of their output, or to use local parts, or to meet any of a dozen other restrictions’ (cited in Korten, 1995: 123). Reflecting (at least to some degree) the above liberal ideology, in the early 1980s and 1990s neo-liberalism led the international financial institutions (IFIs) to emphasise the role of the private sector in issues concerning development. One example is the European Bank for Reconstruction and Development (EBRD). Set up in 1991, it directs 60 per cent of its lending to the private sector (Thomas, 2000: 84). Its role is significant for post-1999 Kosovo and will be explored further in Chapter 3. In the above preliminary description of the instigators and their functions in the process of so-called global economic integration, it should be understood that these functions form a blueprint for policy prescriptions and these, in turn, have been marked with the powerful language of ‘There is no alternative’, or TINA, as observed by Caroline Thomas (2000: 13). Besides the appeal of neo-liberalism’s promises, such as the individual’s control over or consumption of the products which capitalism generates, Thomas observes further that neo-liberalism is further legitimised through the incorporation of an inclusive language. Some

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examples would include the terminology of sustainable development, transparency or accountability which is embedded in the language of the neo-liberal development approach. However, this book asks that the relation between the knowledge built by the instigators of the neoliberal international economic order and the interests of those whom it serves necessarily requires investigation. This is the case because, in line with Caroline Thomas’s view, it is argued that the neo-liberal legitimacy assumed above must be seen as a ‘false legitimacy’ (2000: 14 and Chapter 2). This argument rests on the clear discrepancy between the theoretical aspirations of neo-liberalism and its practical outcomes. For instance, as the United Nations Development Programme (UNDP) has shown, over the past decade the world economy has experienced high levels of growth. During this period the expansion in world merchandise trade has been nearly twice as high as the growth of world output. In 2005, the value of world merchandise exports for the first time reached the $10 trillion mark (UNDP, 2006: 28). • However, despite this apparent success, inequality, both globally and within countries, is rising (28). • The poorest 40 percent of the world’s population, the 2.5 billion people who live on less than $2 a day, account for five percent of global income, while the richest 10 percent account for 54 percent (8). • Despite growing advances in medicine and technology, every hour 1,200 children die from preventable diseases (9). • Although there are technical resources and no longer the logistical obstacles to abolishing poverty, more than 800 million people suffer from hunger and malnutrition. • 1 billion people do not have access to clean drinking water. • While trade can be one of the most effective engines of economic growth, many producers in poor countries remain cut off from international markets because they cannot compete with heavily subsidized goods produced in the developed world or because they lack the basic infrastructure and know-how needed to participate in the global economy (29). • Failure to break the vicious circle of poverty and conflict can have regional and global consequences. For example, of the 32 countries at the bottom of the Human Development Index (HDI), 22 have experienced violent conflict at some time since 1990; and of the 52 countries in which child mortality statistics are constant or even increasing, 30 have experienced violent conflict since 1990 (29).

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The significance for this book of the above list is that it demonstrates that the continued solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention, with its problem-solving logic of theorising about SHEs, replicates an order of significant injustice. It is inadequate in considering political violence to be different from ‘economic’ violence. It lets solidarists make assumptions about what constitutes violence and, more unfortunately, which deaths are relevant to explaining the world of international relations.8 Following Booth’s pure theory, I argue that solidarist theorists fail to consider that all knowledge has interests. Consequently, without questioning whose interest is served by the liberal assumptions upon which the economic international order is built, liberal analysis, like solidarist analysis, is quickly seen to be system-supporting analysis (Tooze, 2005: 293–4). The contradiction here, which also explains why solidarist theorising cannot claim to encourage human rights around the world, is that while solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention prides itself on being morally responsible within international society for encouraging human rights everywhere, the working of the current international order (associated at its most basic level with the liberalisation of trade, finance and investment) discourages these rights. Unless the international order is adjusted to accept that economic activity is political activity, solidarist theorising will encourage and reinforce the same order, which in the circumstances of Kosovo contextualised a SHE. Consequently, there is a significant risk that further intervention will be required. In this way, solidarist theorising has encouraged a systemsupporting analysis of international order, which has failed to prevent the need to intervene. The question why the solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention has not problematised sufficiently the structures and inequalities built into the prevailing order has a twofold answer. First, as explained above, it has not done so because it is an entrenched part of the liberal logic of dividing the political from the economic, where the economic is considered as apolitical and therefore excluded from the theorising of humanitarian intervention. In other words, SHEs are dealt with because of their political violence and not for the sake of their economic context. Second, it has not done so because it maintains a logic which claims that change is already happening and that the implementing of change is associated with arriving at an agreement within international society to intervene in order to address SHEs. Here, as outlined in Chapter 1, the difference between a problem-solving and a critical understanding of change is cardinal. This sequence of ideas reaffirms

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the final attribute of problem-solving theory, which is to make the system work more smoothly but not to change it. Solidarist theorists – making the system work more smoothly Second stage: Intervention as demonstrative of problem-solving change The second stage of the humanitarian intervention complex is intervention itself. According to solidarist theorising, it is a situation requiring an immediate decision on whether or not to intervene. Since there is no legally binding agreement among states to permit humanitarian intervention, it is argued that humanitarian intervention is grounded in the statist manner of thinking. There would be no need to justify humanitarian intervention ‘unless states were assumed to be sovereign and entitled to immunity from external interference’ (Parekh, 1997: 56). Consequently, much current theorising on the subject of humanitarian intervention is about finding good enough reasons to maintain or abandon statism. In the solidarists’ view, upholding or abandoning the properties of statism, that is, the principles of sovereignty and non-intervention, begins the process of change or, of moving from one stage to another. Essentially, the explanation for doing so is grounded in moral rhetoric, such as intervening to protect human rights. There is much evidence in the literature on humanitarian intervention which endorses the above. Hoffman et al. argue that the change in attitudes to sovereignty may signal a more widespread acceptance of the doctrine of humanitarian intervention. They argue that ‘there is a growing discrepancy between the norms of sovereignty and the traditional legal organization of the international system, on the one hand, and the realities of a world in which the distinction between domestic politics and international politics is crumbling’ (Hoffman et al., 1996: 13). Further, Weiss acknowledges a subtle but fundamental change in political attitudes to the concepts of sovereignty and domestic jurisdiction in which ‘the rights of individuals take precedence over the rights of repressive governments and the sovereign states they represent’ (Weiss, 1999: 21). Further, Richard Caplan argues that the 1991 unauthorised intervention in Northern Iraq led by the US, the UK and France; the Economic Community of West African States (ECOWAS) intervention in Liberia in 1990 and the NATO intervention in Kosovo in 1999 ‘are part of a larger trend that has seen states give increased weight to human rights and humanitarian norms as matters of international concern’ (Caplan, 2003:

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134; 2000: 25). He further argues that the international community has taken enough important steps to give international humanitarian law greater substance,9 and that ‘alongside these developments and the broad shift in international concerns, NATO’s enforcement actions in Kosovo, although unauthorised, begin to look somewhat less irregular’ (Caplan, 2003: 134–5). The theorising on humanitarian intervention has also influenced the secondary literature on humanitarian intervention: in this instance, the definitions of a good international citizen. Andrew Linklater, responding to the question of what it means to be a good international citizen when dealing with ‘states that are at war with sections of their own population’, gives four possible responses (Linklater, 2000: 50). First, the statist response would be that international society needs to respect the rights of sovereignty and therefore must not intervene. The second response is one of modified statism, which still accepts the responsibility to maintain sovereignty. In this instance, economic and diplomatic pressure would be deployed first to bring about changes in regimes which fail to comply with international conventions on human rights. However, such a position may be ineffective, and a genuine commitment to protecting human rights may in exceptional circumstances require resorting to force. Third is the legalist response, which accepts the logic of modified statism, but points out that international law does not entitle states to engage in war for humanitarian ends. Therefore, the good international citizen cannot act against the consent of the Security Council, even though inaction allows human rights violations to continue. Finally, as Linklater defines it, the moralist or cosmopolitan position argues that international relations privilege the rights of states over the rights of individuals, but it would be better if: International law [could] move away from its statist roots when faced with regimes guilty of genocide and ethnic cleansing. The good international citizen should be prepared to engage in humanitarian war to protect distant strangers and to force the international community to consider how best to change international law. (2000: 50) Nicholas Wheeler approaches the debate between statism and nonstatism by distinguishing his position of solidarism from that of pluralism. Pluralist international society theory, he argues, forbids humanitarian intervention on the grounds that it would disturb international order, which is based on the rights of sovereignty and non-intervention.

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Pluralist support for not intervening is described as statist. Fernando R. Tesón, from whose work Wheeler draws his conclusions, argues that objections to humanitarian intervention on the basis of its undermining international order are based on ‘statism which treats states as the relevant units in international relations’ (Tesón, 1988: 14). Therefore humanitarian intervention can take place only when the values of statism are questioned or broken. In the context of solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention, the values of statism are challenged by the values that place the welfare of individual human beings above that of the state. Essentially, however, as mentioned in Part 2.1 of this chapter, it is in some ways questionable to treat the solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention as evidence that international society is more hospitable to the promotion of justice. In the context of solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention, the values of statism are challenged by the normative purpose of the solidarist approach, which is to ‘put the victims of human rights abuses at the centre of its theoretical project’ (Wheeler, 2000: 38). The justifications associated with this purpose imply a non-statist environment. It is non-statist because the theorising on humanitarian intervention implies that ‘international society has become more hospitable to the promotion of justice in world politics’ (2000: 38). Not only the core theorists but also the practitioners demonstrate this observation. This was evident in the language used by the UN Secretary General, Kofi Annan, in a reference to humanitarian intervention as a challenge to the dominant understanding of state sovereignty (Annan, 1999a: 4). The rejection of statism does not per se make humanitarian intervention legal. However (and to recall the power/knowledge relation), it does give intervention a moral basis upon which it is easier to accept and morally require acts of military intervention. This is an important point, because it has immense implications and consequences for what international society understands as ‘the provision of moral duties’ (Wheeler and Bellamy, 2001: 477), fulfilling the role of ‘guardianship of human rights everywhere’ (Bull cited in Wheeler, 2000: 12). Solidarist theorising implies a situation where political violence is being addressed. Yet the suffering caused by economic relations within the statist system is ignored. Third stage: Peace-building to restore the neo-liberal international economic order The inconsistency between economic practice and political aspirations often remains after an intervention has taken place, and this is why

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solidarist theorising continues to follow the liberal logic of dividing the economic from the political, even after intervention. For instance, after NATO intervened in Kosovo, purportedly on the basis of having a moral responsibility to protect human rights, what followed was a period usually defined as peace-building (Boutros-Ghali, 1992). But the policies that were to help the process of peace-building in Kosovo reflected the failures of the neo-liberal international economic order. Detailed analysis of post-1999 Kosovo will be presented in Chapter 3; for the purpose of the present section, it is enough to say that the socalled reformist change took place immediately after the war, as much to ‘reconcile the ambitions of different international actors as to meet Kosovo’s needs’ (ICG, 2004: 1–36). Six years later, however, it was evident that the ‘international community has neglectfully cast Kosovo’s economy adrift’ (ICG, 2004: 36). This was confirmed seven years after the conflict when the UN Mission in Kosovo (UNMIK) did not appear to have Kosovo’s social and economic development as its primary objective (ICG, 2005: 5–7). Kosovo’s economic future still remains unclear, despite its recent declaration of independence. The EU is not united in its commitment to support its economic development, while the US and the UK consider its independence ‘conditionally’ (Sörensen, 2009: 280). The point here is that the economic situation is part of the neoliberal international order as instigated by the IFIs. This is an issue to be more systematically explored in the next chapter. Even though they justify intervention on humanitarian grounds and challenge political statism, the powerful states continue to disengage economic aspects from the political by using the logic of the first stage, economic statism – that is, considering economic decisions as non-political. If the solidarist theorists are to take the moral responsibility of implementing human rights everywhere, they should not limit this to times of acute crisis only. This is an important observation, because it is argued that claims signifying international society’s ‘implementing of human rights everywhere’ or ‘fulfilling the obligation to humanity’ cannot be reduced to heeding the plight of victims only. Rather, as this book argues, ‘implementing … human rights everywhere’ or ‘fulfilling the obligation to humanity’ needs to extend the responsibility of states to acknowledge ‘the duty to refrain from pursuing their interest in a manner that is prejudicial to others … exploiting their economic vulnerabilities, pressuring them for unfair economic privileges … all in all, principles of humanity [need] to create a fairer world’ (Parekh, 1997: 39).

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To recall: the first purpose of reconceptualising solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention in terms of the Theory of World Security was to make it easier to understand why such theorising is problemsolving. Taking the two main components of problem-solving theorising, I have explained why it maintains the positivist method and why it legitimises prevailing political, economic and social structures. Accordingly, I have argued that that solidarists consider SHEs in terms of their truth as correspondence, and when this in itself is not considered inappropriate the dependent and derivative status of their conclusions is. It is argued that solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention uses SHEs as the starting point for theorising without reflecting upon the analytical validity of the power/knowledge relation and the constitutive properties of all theorising. In practice this means that the act of intervention is prioritised over the act of prevention, which means in turn that the welfare of victims is considered as opposed to that of human beings at all stages of their development. The second consequence is that in instances of SHE the act of intervention dictates the boundaries of what international society can do. The solidarists’ focus on SHEs also means that the existing context within which these emergencies arise has not been sufficiently problematised as a legitimising structure, in this way demonstrating the second characteristic of problem-solving theorising. What is meant by the liberal scenario is the dividing of the humanitarian intervention complex into three separate stages: economic statism, intervention itself and peace-building. Critically, the first stage is not considered relevant for theorising about SHEs. One of the reasons why solidarists have not searched for change within the economic system is that, as far as they can see, the desired change has already taken place, since they associate it with the agreement on the part of international society to intervene. Theorising about humanitarian intervention without considering the working of the neo-liberal international economic order as integral to it comes to nothing because it does not explore or even consider the part played by this order in contributing to (or, as argued in Chapter 3, contextualising) SHEs. This, I argue, brings two more major consequences upon solidarist theorising. First, it fails to consider the function of liberal economic remedies as increasing or otherwise the likelihood of violent conflict and, second, solidarists as a result have a narrow understanding of why conflict occurs and consequently how it can be prevented.

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Part 2.2 A critical humanitarian intervention approach A CHIA rejects the problematic positivist method and instead encourages a method inspired by Booth’s metaphor of anchorage. The metaphor of anchorage is an umbrella term to include the analytical validity of two of its main theoretical characteristics, those of critical distance and immanent critique. In view of the above, a CHIA rejects the problematic positivist method, whose theorising is dictated by its correspondent truth. It does not reject the existence of SHEs; it does reject, however, the consequent practice arrived at as a result of considering SHEs in terms of their correspondent truth. A theorist taking a CHIA is able to do so because she/he, in theorising about SHEs, considers the relation between knowledge and power, an analytical property, which in this book explains the solidarists’ preference for the act of intervention over the practice of prevention. Dissatisfied with these conclusions, a CHIA, rather than treating an agreement to intervene as an act of moral value, considers it a failure on the part of international society not to have prevented the emergency in the first place. A theorist working within critical distance is able to judge the consequent theory on the basis of its fruits or, as considered in the context of this book, judge which theorising serves a better way of life. I have argued and showed that treating SHEs as a starting point for theorising has problematic consequences. Therefore, equipped with the knowledge that theories are constitutive and they can encourage or normalise only one view, a CHIA aims to encourage the reciprocal prevention of SHEs. In turn, only this way of thinking is claimed to imply the commitment of the CHIA to the promotion of justice in the world. Essentially, however, in striving for this goal a CHIA considers human beings as its referent point for further analysis, but essentially they are all considered as part of ‘complex’ collectives. This avoids considering human beings as solely in the role of victim and considers individual human beings at all stages of their development. This requirement asks to search for security is consistent with Caroline Thomas’s interpretation of human security, a detailed description of which is given below. Further, the building of Thomas’s concept of human security is made possible because of the unfulfilled potential already present within the broad area of work on the general concept of human security. The building of an aspiration upon an unfulfilled potential is associated with the practice of immanent critique. Accordingly, what follows next is a short demonstration of the work which has already been done on the general

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concept of human security, followed by the description of Thomas’s notion of human security itself. The unfulfilled potential of the concept of human security The concept of human security, considered in a general sense, involves a very broad collection of propositions. Presented as a concept, it is a relatively new term, ‘but one that is now widely used to describe the complex of international threats associated with civil war, genocide, and the displacement of populations’ (Human Security Centre, 2005: 1). All proponents of the concept of human security converge on the point that its primary goal is the protection of individuals. They differ, however, over what threats individuals should be protected from and consequently what action needs to be taken to address these threats. Here I distinguish three different concepts of human security, providing a brief summary of the first two and a more detailed description of the third kind. The first type is defined as a ‘narrow’ concept of human security, a significant characteristic of which is the distinction that it makes between human security and national security. Proponents of this particular concept of human security observe that, while national security focuses on the defence of the state from external attacks, human security is about protecting individuals and communities from all forms of political violence (Human Security Centre, 2005: 1; emphasis added). They pay much attention to the fact that even secure states do not always provide for the security of their own people, and therefore envisage that protecting people from their own governments is an important part of providing for human security, in its ‘narrow’ definition. It is into this context of providing for the security of individuals that solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention fits most comfortably. Indeed, the literature situating humanitarian intervention within the debate on sovereignty versus human security is most relevant here. One example is Boutros-Ghali’s view of human security, which infers that the sovereign equality of states and consequent prohibition of intervention forms an effective obstacle to human security (BoutrosGhali, 1995: 11–12). Further, military interventions, since the Cold War are justified by some in terms of protecting human security, as opposed to national interest (Cooper, 2004: 74). The second concept of human security is identified as ‘broad’ in nature (Human Security Centre, 2005: 2). The proponents of the ‘broad’ concept of human security are those associated with the UN Development

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Programmes, the Human Development Report (UNDP, 1994) and the Commission on Human Security’s 2003 report, Human Security Now (Commission on Human Security, 2003). They argue that the ‘threat agenda’ must necessarily be broadened to include ‘hunger, disease and natural disaster because these kill far more people than war, genocide and terrorism combined’ (Human Security Centre, 2005: 1). This particular concept of human security received its first global attention in the UNDP’s Human Development Reports. The late Dr Mahbub ul Haq argued that [f]or too long, the concept of security has been shaped by the potential for conflict between states. For too long, security has been equated with threats to a country’s borders. For too long, nations have sought arms to protect their security. For most people today, a feeling of insecurity arises more from worries about daily life than from the dread of cataclysmic world events. Job security, income security, health security, environmental security, security from crime, these are the emerging concerns of human security all over the world. (UNDP, 1994: 3)10 The 1994 report on human security was built on and refined throughout the 1990s. The 1995 Report of the Commission on Global Governance, Our Global Neighbourhood, argued that to address underlying the causes of conflict, ‘political, social, economic and environmental’ was ‘clearly, the best solution to security crises … to remove or alleviate the factors that cause people, groups and governments to resort to violence’ (The Commission on Global Governance, 1995: 93, 97). The observed relationship between potential conflicts and unfavourable economic circumstances was further endorsed by the 1997 UNDP report, which sought to change the focus of poverty from its association with income only, to a concept of poverty associated with the denial of choices and opportunities for living a tolerable life. The report drew a distinction between income poverty – an income of US $1 a day – and human poverty, associated with illiteracy, short life expectancy and so forth (UNDP, 1997: 2). These are important aspects of human security, marking a distinction between its quantitative and qualitative aspects, which will be considered in more detail shortly. A year later, in 1998, in the UN’s Annual Report, Kofi Annan suggested an expanded role for the United Nations and the Security Council; that of ‘addressing the root causes of violence – whether political, legal,

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institutional, military, humanitarian, human-rights related, environmental, economic and social, cultural or demographic’ (Annan, 1998: paragraph 29). Similar objectives were set in his 1999 speech on Facing the Humanitarian Challenge; Towards a Culture of Prevention, where he called for preventative strategies to address the root causes of conflict (Annan, 1999b). Essentially, the UN and the UNDP have played a substantial part in agenda setting, while at the same time encouraging a broader and wider understanding of security among international bodies, such as the World Bank, IMF and also some governments, the most significant being the Canadian and the Japanese. Here the distinction between a narrow and a broad concept of security becomes relevant, for the position of the Canadian government is best described in narrow terms, whereas the position of the Japanese government is broader in concept. Accordingly, the Canadian government’s meaning differs from that of the UNDP, but still changes the focus from the state to human security. The very breadth of the UNDP approach … made it unwieldy as a policy instrument and largely ignored the continuing human insecurity resulting from violent conflict. By the UNDP’s own criteria, human insecurity is greatest during war. Of the 25 countries at the bottom of the 1998 Human Development Index, more than half are suffering the direct or indirect effects of violent conflict. (Department of Foreign Affairs and International Trade, 1999) In contrast to the UNDP, the Canadian government’s main concern was to lessen the effects of violent conflict on people. Hence, its focus was on measures such as the ban on landmines and the creation of the International Criminal Court where people could be held responsible for war crimes (Smith, 2005: 53). In contrast, the Japanese government’s approach to human security is much nearer to the UNDP’s notion. It observes that, while it is important to put a ban on landmines, at the same time ‘it is necessary to go beyond thinking of human security solely in terms of protecting human life in conflict situations’ (Takasu, 2000: 1). Accordingly, the Japanese not only broadened the concept of security but also recognised that ‘human security requires conceptual clarification if it is to be taken seriously as a vision or instrument of foreign policy’ (Suhrke, 1998: 219, 221). Significantly, in 2003 a Commission on Human Security was established under the chairmanship of Sadako Ogata and Amartya Sen. Their report, submitted to the UN in May 2003, states that the security of

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people around the world is interlinked – as today’s global flows of goods, services, finance and people highlight. While political liberalisation and democratisation open new opportunities, at the same time they bring new disadvantages, such as political and economic instability and conflicts within states (Commission on Human Security, 2003: 7). While more than 8,000,000 people a year lose their lives to violence, about 2.8 billion suffer from poverty, ill health, illiteracy and so forth. Conflict and deprivation are interlinked, because deprivation has many causal links to violence. Wars kill people, destroy trust between them, increase poverty and crime and slow down the economy. Addressing such insecurities demands an integrated approach (Commission on Human Security, 2003: 9). The above are only some examples of how the concept of human security considered in both narrow and broad terms has gradually found its way onto the agenda of some international institutions and state leaders. The question which then arises is why it has done so. As I argue in this book, in common with other theorists, the reason is that poverty and inequality are beginning to be associated with national, regional and ultimately global security threats. In particular, Thomas argues, ‘there seems to be a correlation between the level of entitlement to human security and the propensity of conflict, defined not in orthodox interstate terms but in the wider sense to include the most frequent form of warfare, intrastate’ (Thomas, 2000: 8). Indeed, between 1990 and 1995, 57 per cent of countries experiencing war were scoring low on the UNDP Human Development Index, while only 14 per cent were ranking high (Smith, 1997: 15). In other places, as I explore in Chapter 3, poverty and inequality played a significant part, for instance, contributing to the 1998–9 SHE in Kosovo. Both the narrow approach, which focuses on direct violent threats to individuals, and the broad approach, which calls for recognising that these threats are closely associated with various forms of socioeconomic and political inequality, are considered necessary and important. This is because, first, they change the referent of security from a state to an individual and, second, because they share, although to a different extent, an approach to security which links human security with economic development (Human Security Centre, 2005). It is a useful step in proposing an alternative perspective where security is linked to economic development, in a debate already in progress. However, while it may be considered a step, it is still insufficient to address ‘fundamental economic and social structures which allow a privileged

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global and national elite to control a disproportionate share of available resources’ (Thomas, 2000: 8). Considering that poverty, inequality and security are linked together requires a shift in focus from states to individual human beings or the will to address inequality and poverty in their own terms. It also requires, as pointedly argued by Thomas, a ‘shift in focus to human security [which] also highlights the importance of scrutinising global processes that may impact on, even jeopardise security and global governance structures which drive these processes’ (2000: 9). This is where the third type of human security becomes most pertinent. The third concept, more specifically the concept of human security as defined by Caroline Thomas, differs from both the narrow and broad concepts in the sense that its proponents seeks to understand global economic integration and to associate it with a certain distribution of costs and benefits. It follows that the unequal distribution of resources is not caused by bad luck, but rather by existing global structures, which can in fact be changed (9). However, this change can be applied only when the workings of these structures are included in the debate on how to understand and provide for human security. In the meantime, the solidarist theorists on humanitarian intervention do not share this view. This is not to say that the general approach of solidarists to international politics fails to promote issues concerning the reduction of poverty and underdevelopment. My point here is that although the solidarists generally hold that combating underdevelopment should continue, it should also become part of their particular approach to humanitarian intervention. I argue that unless international society addresses the economic aspects of security it cannot claim to be upholding the moral duty of guardianship of human rights everywhere. In other words, working towards achieving only one aspect of security makes the other aspect insignificant. This is a crucial observation, as it has implications for understanding the sources of threats to security and consequently for the strategies to overcome these threats. To conclude, the developments within the narrow and broad concepts of human security are considered in terms of unfulfilled potentialities and it is upon these that Thomas’s third concept of human security could be built. They are unfulfilled because they do not reach far enough on their own to challenge the unfavourable structures of economic global processes, which in this book are associated with the workings of the neo-liberal international economic order. However, they are still considered in terms of ‘potentialities’ because they represent

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a debate already in progress, which links the issues of security to those of economic development. Overall, providing for security in terms of Thomas’s concept of human security, the next issue to be explored in more detail, provides a basis upon which one can explain why ‘social and economic structures allow a privileged global and national elite to control a disproportionate share of available resources’ (2000: 9). This is a pivotal explanation which must be mastered by theorists of security in order to change the structures that Chapter 3 argues have contextualised the 1998–9 SHE in Kosovo. Solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention fails to implement or even consider such an insight because when the issue of humanitarian intervention arises this theorising remains methodologically confined to deciding whether or not to intervene. This in turn results from the solidarists’ problem-solving approach to a number of issues embedded in the humanitarian intervention complexity. Caroline Thomas’s concept of human security: The ‘truth as correspondence’ of a critical humanitarian intervention approach As already discussed, there are different understandings of the concept of human security. However, the understanding which has been found most persuasive and which is also in agreement with the aspirations of Critical Theory is described by Caroline Thomas. Thomas, like Booth, not only moves from considering the state as the referent of security to considering the individual, but even more, she envisages an individual not as conceived in the ‘individual neo-liberal sense’ (Thomas, 2000: 6) but as part of a series of complex collectives: an individual who is not a ‘socially transcendental and ontologically self-contained being … for his humanity is articulated in and realised through social identities’ (Parekh, 1997: 61).11 Therefore human security responds to ‘conditions of existence in which basic material needs are met, and in which human dignity, including meaningful participation in the life of the community, can be realised. Such human security is indivisible; it cannot be pursued by or for one group at the expense of another’ (Thomas, 2000: 6). Considered in this context, Thomas’s interpretation of human security complies with Booth’s element of practical theory, which suggests a commitment to the unity of progressive means and ends through being true to each other. Indeed, he argues, it is the only way in which change can be brought about and also sustained. This is in contrast to a dualistic approach, which often replicates the ways which it claims to have changed (2007: 253–5). Further, the mutual working of means and ends is understood on the lines of what is called the ‘virtuous

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circle of security and emancipation’ (Booth, 2005d: 183). The test of this ‘virtuous circle’ is that it should pursue security (reducing the threats which determine the conditions of insecurity) and promote emancipation (reducing structural oppression), while the pursuit of emancipation (becoming more fully human) is to practise security (not against other people but together with them; Booth, 2005d: 183; 2007: 256). I argue that solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention fails this test. In the context of solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention, the pursuit of security – that is, bringing an end to SHEs – does not promote emancipation or conditions which would minimise the likelihood of SHEs later. Solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention may arguably give a clear message that SHEs are not acceptable, but it does not do enough to stop them reappearing. The test of the ‘virtuous circle of security and emancipation’ in turn requires a pursuit of security which would be congruent with the needs of an individual human who is being considered as part of a complex collective. The concept of this ‘virtuous circle of security and emancipation’ shifts the attention from ends (pursued sometimes at any price) to means. It is associated with the concept of virtue because it tells us how a virtuous person should behave. It does so in a normative sense for the potentiality of human becoming. It resonates the aim of applied ethics, which seeks to promote Aristotle’s belief that by acting virtuously we become virtuous (Booth, 2007: 256). Relating the above to human security, human needs are both material and non-material. Material needs lie at the core of human security, but the concept of non-material dimensions forms a qualitative whole (Thomas, 2000: 6). In other words, as Thomas observes, while material sufficiency is necessary it is not a sufficient condition of human security. These different needs can be categorised as either quantitative or qualitative aspects of human security. Quantitative aspects of human security refer to human material needs, such as food, shelter and health care. Thomas builds this argument on work done by the Canadian Foreign Minister, Lloyd Axworthy, who emphasises the importance of the ‘human needs’ approach to human security. He argues that ‘At a minimum, human security requires that basic needs are met’ (Axworthy, 1997: 183).12 However, while on the one hand Thomas builds on Axworthy’s ‘human needs’ aspect of human security, at the same time she has regard to its qualitative aspects. These involve the non-material human needs which make up human dignity, a concept which encompasses the values of meaningful participation in the life of a community and

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respect for cultural diversity. Admittedly, my focus on the qualitative aspects of human security is selective at this point, since it is beyond the scope of this book to provide a detailed review of this intricate subject.13 However, what is relevant to this book about the qualitative concept of human security is that it necessarily includes global economic structures in the theorising about human security. The characteristic of including global economic structures in analysing the provision of human security, although to a smaller degree than required by Thomas’s concept, has already been put upon a global agenda by the UNDP. Indeed, the historical development of the concept of ‘human development’, which would later be associated with the concept of human security as recently examined by Craig Murphy, conveys in my view the essence of the qualitative aspect of human security. Murphy, in tracing back the idea of ‘human development’, associates its ‘uniqueness’ with a speech made by Robert Kennedy, shortly before his assassination in 1968: Too much and too long, we seem to have surrendered community excellence and community values in the mere accumulation of material things. Our gross national product … if we should judge America by that – counts air pollution and cigarette advertising, and ambulances to clear our highways of carnage. It counts special locks for our doors and the jails for those who break them. It counts the destruction of our redwoods and the loss of our natural wonder in chaotic sprawl. It counts napalm and the cost of a nuclear warhead, and armoured cars for police who fight riots in our streets … Yet, the gross national product does not allow for the health of our children, the quality of their education, or the joy of their play. It does not include the beauty of our poetry or the strength of our marriages, the intelligence of our public debate or the integrity of our public officials. It measures neither our wit nor our courage; neither our wisdom nor our learning; neither our compassion nor our devotion to our country. It measures everything, in short, except that which makes life worthwhile. (Robert F. Kennedy cited in Murphy, 2006: 243) The association of Kennedy with the concept of human development is not coincidental. Its purpose was to mention Barbara Ward, who indeed influenced Kennedy’s thinking, but also people such as Mahbub ul Haq, who was the first person to associate human development with

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the concept of human security (Haq, 1993). Ul Haq’s concept of human security, as observed by Murphy, can be traced back to the thinking of Ward, who once observed ‘our physical capacity has gone beyond our ethical capacity: [as much as to say that] there was more to a human being, than producing wealth’ (cited in Murphy, 2006: 243). Amartya Sen remembers discussions with Ul Haq about life expectancy, literacy and other measurable things, beyond money ‘that might provide a better indication of whether people have been given a chance of a complete human life’ (cited in Murphy, 2006: 243; emphasis added). Regarding aspects other than money that make up for human development, the concept of human development allows a theorist to recognise that ‘as human beings, we value a multitude of things – many of which have no market price. Our sources of fulfilment are many, and the potential impediments to our fulfilment just as varied’ (Murphy, 2006: 244). To substantiate this observation, Murphy quotes from Martha Nussbaum, who observes that human development’s central question is not, ‘How satisfied is this woman?’ [or] ‘How much in the way of resources is she able to command?’ It is, instead, ‘What is she actually able to do and to be?’ The core idea seems to be that of the human being as a dignified free being who shapes her/his life, rather than being passively shaped or pushed around the world in the manner of a flock or herd animal (Nussbaum and Sen, 1993: 858; Nussbaum, 2002: 123). Critics of the qualitative concept of human security focus on the potential ‘richness of human needs as a recipe for a policy gridlock’ (Murphy, 2006: 245). While this is a fair observation, it is not the purpose of this chapter to categorise different human needs as prescribed by the concept. However, what is significant for my book, and is the subject of Chapter 4, is that the above analysis of the qualitative aspects of human development, which correspond with Thomas’s concept of human security, seek to change not only global policies affecting particular states but also the global economic structures upon which these policies are erected. The above ideas about human security converge with this book’s formulation of a CHIA. By this I mean that I propose including the neo-liberal international economic order in the analysis of SHEs and in consequence encourage international society to recognise its shared responsibility for such events. Crucially for this book, emancipation from oppressive power structures, be they global, national or local in origin and scope, is necessary for Thomas’s interpretation of human security. Substantive democracy at local, national and global levels and

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empowerment at the level of global governance through the wider representation of states are also to be desired. Thomas further argues that human security is pursued by most human beings, as part of their collectives, that is, households, villages or communities. At a global level, states have the authority but even more the responsibility to provide for the needs of human security; global governance institutions could set global development policies to apply the global rules of entitlement. All in all Thomas notes, A consideration of human security in the contemporary era requires us to consider humanity embedded not simply within discrete sovereign states, but within a global social structure, the capitalist world economy that has been developing since the sixteenth century. (2000: 7) It is argued that understanding the normative purpose of humanitarian theory in terms of providing for human security gives a better chance of reciprocally preventing SHEs. Having outlined the concept of human security, in Chapter 4, I look at ways of providing for these needs and consider how this in turn gives more scope or a better chance of reciprocally preventing such emergencies in future. Fundamentally what distinguishes Critical Theory from any problem-solving theory is its proponents’ understanding of change. So long as problem-solving theory works within the parameters of an existing order it fails to question the relation between knowledge and interest, but the CHIA, through the process of applying critical distance, stands apart from the prevailing order and asks how it came about and whether it might be in the process of changing (Cox, 1986: 208). Chapter 1 mentioned that two main purposes are ascribed to a critical change. These involve both analytical and practical qualities, to be considered jointly. The practical implementing of critical change in this book is associated with practices complementary to the principles of Thomas’s human security, which would help to provide more scope to prevent future SHEs; these practices can be facilitated by restructuring the working of the neo-liberal international economic order along an ‘alternative path’, a subject to be considered in Chapter 4. However, before such a change can be practically implemented, a theorist needs to learn that knowledge and interest are related; in this particular context, this means that the structures of neo-liberal economic international order are not nature’s own, but are constructed by human

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subjects. The result of this belief is to conclude that if the neo-liberal economic international order is constructed it can also be deconstructed, if this would make it easier for international society to take on the moral responsibility for encouraging human rights everywhere. The intersubjective construction of economic statism Accordingly, Susan George argues: ‘Once you understand that neoliberalism is not a force like gravity, but an artificial construct created by people, you can also understand that what some people have created, other people can change’ (George, 1999: 3). Indeed, the development of economic liberalism cannot be understood without analysing its historical circumstances, one of which is the modern state that accompanied its development. The history of the modern state is the history of the institutionalisation of security, which was closely linked to the idea of modernity and therefore to the concept of human progress. In fact, the notion of state security, after Jeremy Bentham, was inseparable from the idea of an economy (Tooze, 2005: 136). According to Anthony Burke, ‘this involved a series of shifts, firstly from economy as a principle for the government of the family to one for the general organisation of society, and then of sovereignty from a rule over territory to the government of a “complex of men and things” which would incorporate territory into a set of economic relations’ (Burke, 1997: 7). The key observation here is that, historically, security and political economy have been two inseparable elements of the construction and continuing reproduction of the state and modernity (Tooze, 2005: 137).14 It was not until the late nineteenth century that the process of explicit disengagement of the political from the economic was begun, a phenomenon described in Karl Polanyi’s Great Transformation (Polanyi, 1957). The internationalisation of ‘political economy’ and the separation of the ‘economic’ from the ‘political’ on the basis of the political imposition and then elevation of the ‘capitalist’ market become the necessary core social formation (Jessop and Sum, 2001: 89–101; Tooze, 2005: 137; Watson, 2005: 149–53). ‘Political economy’ was established and defined directly as being constituted by the interest of the state through the doctrine of mercantilism (where power was associated with wealth). Hence, any political challenge to the state from those who gained power and wealth from incipient capitalist industrialisation and the creation of surplus capital would need to split the economic realm from that of political economy. This historical explanation partly accounts for the liberal doctrine of the separation of politics and

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economics, a separation still embedded in theory and in practice within current international economic neo-liberalism (Tooze, 2005: 137). In Chapter 3 it is argued that this is what has contextualised the 1998–9 Kosovo SHE. Derived from the political/economic divide is the association of security with economic prosperity, which in turn is associated with the so-called statist international economy. Roger Tooze makes this observation on the basis of what he calls the ‘twin track for investigations into security by political economy and into economics by security’ (Tooze, 2005: 148). Accordingly, track one starts with ‘politics’ as the traditional concern of security, but with ‘economics’ added as a new domain of threat to the state. Track two starts with a re-politicised ‘economics’, leading to literature on ‘economic security’, where particular attention is paid to the global financial system (148). Essentially, however, the way the ‘economic’ is then related to the ‘political’, or the political to the economic, ‘[depends] upon prior ideological commitments as to the nature of the relationship between ‘economics’ and ‘politics’ normally expressed in paradigmatic terms of perspectives, or contesting approaches’ (Tooze, 2005: 148; Watson, 2005: 19–27). One example would be a liberal interpretation of economic security directly linked to and conditioned by the prior assumption of the link between economic prosperity and war, based on the assumed beneficial rationality of markets (Tooze, 2005: 148). This is why, as Tooze observes, economic security as a concept and as a political issue has been clearly constructed as an extension of statist International Political Economy (IPE). A statist IPE theorist ‘brings together the twin tracks by grafting the agenda of economics onto the classic concerns of state security via economic nationalism, otherwise defined as mercantilism’ (148). Mercantilism, or what Robert Gilpin calls ‘economic nationalism’ (Gilpin, 1987: 12–14) associates economic management with national interest: ‘any state [which] voluntarily ceded economic sovereignty operates against its national interest by jeopardizing the security of the nation’ (Watson, 2005: 23–4). In the tradition of mercantilism, power and wealth and hence national security are complementary and inseparable. This is particularly the case in the so-called strategic industries, considered as those industries whose healthy development is necessary for the maintenance of national military-political security (Tooze, 2005: 148; Watson, 2005: 23). However, despite the implications of mercantilism, after the Second World War the international economic structure emerged as a US hegemony but crucially was developed on the public basis of a liberal

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trade and investment order with a legitimating ideology of liberal political economy. An important characteristic of this order was the role of a state which could intervene in the market in order to facilitate the functioning of capitalism and the promotion of global stability. This was defined in terms of ‘embedded liberalism’, where states worked towards reducing barriers to trade but at the same time recognised the political importance of state intervention in national economies (Ruggie, 1982: 379–415). The spirit of the Keynesian approach of the early post-Second World War years is well summed up by George: The idea that the market should be allowed to make major social and political decisions; the idea that the State should voluntarily reduce its role in the economy, or that corporations should be given total freedom, that trade unions should be curbed and citizens given much less rather than more social protection – such ideas were utterly foreign to the spirit of the time. (George, 1999: 1) The underlying philosophy of embedded liberalism continued between the 1940s and the late 1960s. However, between the 1970s and the present, this approach was replaced by neoclassical economic theory. Admittedly, the shift between the Bretton Woods order and the ensuing period was more complex and fragmented than the present book suggests. It is beyond its scope to describe it with the degree of sophistication it deserves.15 Nevertheless, the focus on the privileged role of the market over that of the state, typifying post-1970 economies, remains, and is therefore appropriate for my own analysis. The ideological shift thus formed the foundations upon which the political and economic philosophy of neo-liberalism (also identified with neo-liberal pre-assumptions) was being further encouraged. Above, I identified those neo-liberal pre-assumptions together with the institutions which put them into practice, but here the focus is on the neo-liberal approach to development and therefore to the provision of security. Fundamentally what distinguishes the neo-liberal approach from the previous philosophy of embedded liberalism or subsistence economy is its emphasis on the privileged role of the market over that of the state and the other actors in the distribution of goods and services (Thomas, 2000: 36). The main aim was to replicate in the developing countries, including the former Yugoslavia, the social and economic changes which

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had already appeared in the North, following their scientific and industrial revolutions of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. The fundamental logic guiding this neo-liberal plan was ‘the possibility of unlimited economic growth within the context of liberal international economy. Wealth would “trickle down” through societies, and ultimately everyone would benefit’ (Thomas, 2000: 34–5; emphasis in original). Correspondingly, in the spheres of international trade and finance, the purpose of the IMF and the World Bank was and is to maintain and support a system of stable exchange rates and free trade, not forgetting undisturbed private foreign investment (Payer, 1982: 345). On this basis the major financial institutions, such as the IMF and the World Bank, encouraged policies acceptable to their major founders, that is, the Western powers and in particular Britain and the US (Asetto, 1988: 21). This can also be explained in the sense that Britain and the US were the crucial actors in the funding of both organisations and it was values and perceptions of those countries which formed (in the past and still nowadays) the basis upon which the international economy was organised. The predominantly Western economic governance, as well as favourably distributed towards the voting power of Western governments within the IMF, guarantees a predominant position of these countries within the global economy (Thomas, 2000: 19). In the 1970s it was observed by critics of the World Bank and the IMF that the policies of both were an ‘integral part of the foreign policies of Western capitalist nations towards underdeveloped countries’ (Hayter, 1971: 6). Indeed, in the 1980s, a period relevant for the case study of this book, Presidents Regan and Bush, as well as the British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher, put the underlying philosophies of these institutions into practice. This approach to the economy and therefore security became known as the Washington consensus and was encouraged in regions as diverse as sub-Saharan Africa, East Asia, Latin America and, relevant for this book, Eastern Europe. The origin and meaning of the term the ‘Washington consensus’ are well described by Paul Krugman: By ‘Washington’ Williamson [who first used this term] meant not only the US government, but all those institutions and networks of opinion leaders centred in the world’s de facto capital – the IMF, World Bank, think tanks, politically sophisticated investment bankers, and worldly finance ministers, all those who meet each other

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in Washington and collectively define the conventional wisdom of the moment … One may … roughly summarise this consensus … as … the belief that Victorian virtue in economic policy – free markets and sound money – is the key to economic development. Liberalise trade, privatise state enterprise, balance the budget, peg the exchange rate. (Krugman, 1995: 28–9) The working of the ‘Washington Consensus’ was most prominent in the 1980s and 1990s. According to the neo-liberal overall agenda, the market rather than the state determined entitlements to the fundamental material aspects of human security (see Box 2.1). The validation and legitimacy of neo-liberalism, essentially accompanying laissez-faire economics, also has a historical origin. It arrives from the famous phrase of Herbert Spencer (1820–1903) ‘the survival of the fittest’ (cited in Thomas, 2000: 40). It was used to justify beliefs such as that welfare provisions had a detrimental effect on the development of society as a whole and therefore should be made redundant. This was demonstrated throughout the 1980s and 1990s where advocates of neoliberalism argued that ‘the welfare state should be “rolled back” in order to eradicate the “culture of dependency” which it breeds, and that all areas of life should be opened up to “economic competition”’ (Thomas

Box 2.1 Free market beliefs • Sustained economic growth, as measured by gross national products, is the path to human progress • Free markets, unrestrained by government, generally result in the most efficient and socially optimal allocation of resources • Economic globalisation, achieved by removing barriers to the free flow of goods and money anywhere in the world, spurs competition, increases economic efficiency, creates jobs, lowers consumer prices, increases consumer choices, increases economic growth and is generally beneficial to almost everyone • Privatisation, which moves functions and assets from governments to the private sector, improves efficiency • The primary responsibility of government is to provide the infrastructure necessary to advance commerce and enforce the rule of law with respect to property rights and contracts Source: Cited in Thomas (2000: 40)

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and Reader, 1997: 9). Influential economists such as F. A. von Hayek (1899–1992) and his student Milton Friedman (1912–2006) helped to validate and legitimise such neo-liberal beliefs, defending their natural and commonsensical character (see Table 2.1).16 The deepening global inequality which accompanied these changes was not perceived as a problem, but quite the opposite (Thomas, 2000: Chapter 2). Inequality has been seen as ‘good’ for growth, because in the neo-liberal approach it stimulates entrepreneurial activity, helps generate jobs and keeps unemployment low. The so-called growth– equity trade-off is perfectly acceptable (Thomas, 2000: 39). The above logic of neo-liberalism was confirmed by Margaret Thatcher who once observed: ‘It is our job to glory in inequality, and see that talents and abilities are given vent and expression for the benefit of us all’ (Thatcher, 1996: 52). It is important to observe that such an approach not only increases global social division, but also validates and legitimises a situation of unacceptable inequalities which was to be mirrored not only in the former Yugoslavia but also throughout the world. The approach received a boost of confidence with the fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989, because with it fell the state-controlled economies of the former Eastern bloc and the economic and political liberalism of the West had triumphed (Fukuyama, 1989: 3–4).

Table 2.1 Underlying assumptions of neoclassical economics Underlying issues of neoclassical economics

Resolved as:

The pervasiveness of self-interest

Humans are motivated by self-interest, which is expressed primarily through the quest for financial gain.

The issue of the greatest financial return

The action that yields the greatest financial return to the individual or the firm is the one most beneficial to society.

Competitive versus cooperative behaviour

Competitive behaviour is more rational for individuals and firms than cooperative behaviour; consequently, societies should be built around the competitive motive.

The measure of human progress

Human progress is best measured by increases in the value of what the members of society consume; ever higher levels of consumer spending advance the well-being of society by stimulating greater economic output.

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Since the late 1970s the IFIs provided a vehicle used by the G7 throughout the world to promote an approach to security which disengages ‘the economic’ element necessary for providing for sustainable security. Indeed, the IMF and World Bank were the principal instruments through which the doctrine of neo-liberalism in relation to development was encouraged.17 The US-trained economic advisers, as well as US government officials, significantly influenced the workings of the World Bank and the IMF.18 The role of the IMF and the World Bank in encouraging a neo-liberal approach to development is especially significant because of the part it played in introducing structural and institutional reforms to national economies, such as in the former Yugoslavia in the process of integrating the former federation in the global economy. The IMF is described by Thomas as the ‘linchpin’ in the implementation of the neo-liberal vision of development and therefore of security (2000: 55). In addition to its usual role of providing short-term balance-of-payments support, in coordination with the World Bank, the IMF in the 1980s and 1990s encouraged the reform of national economies so as to reflect better the dominant vision of market-led rather than state-led development (Piper and Taylor, 1998: 38; Watson, 2005: 226). The reasoning behind such a vision was that this would facilitate a suitable environment in the borrowing countries, such as the former Yugoslavia, for attracting private capital in both the domestic and foreign spheres. This in turn would promote global economic integration along free market lines being institutionalised by the IMF and the World Bank as debt management strategy and formally defined as structural adjustment programmes (SAPs; Cheru, 1997: 165). An SAP is defined as ‘an attempt to establish a system of price-making markets in order to regulate and guide economic activity’ (Watson, 2005: 227–8). The main objective of the SAPs, along neo-liberal principles, was to remove distortions from the process of resource allocation, by subjecting this process to the disciplines of a supply-demand-price mechanism (227). SAPs enabled the IFIs to advance the role of the market and change the role of the state in order to create a prosperous environment for the private sector (Edwards and Wijnbergen, 1988). The consequence of this was that at the same time as structural adjustment loans were introduced, core neo-liberal components were also unconditionally encouraged. Some examples include the privatisation of public services and public assets, liberalisation of trade, finance and production and the relaxing of labour and environment laws (Mehmet, 1999: 127). Because the market and not the state became the motor

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for economic growth, the state could not determine the entitlement of citizens to the basic elements of human security. These included food, education, health care, transport and access to essential basic credit. The reasoning behind these decisions was that ‘the export-led growth expected to arise from these changes would generate the foreign exchange income necessary for countries to keep up debt repayment’ (Thomas, 2000: 56). Chapter 3, below, presents this logic as applying to the former Yugoslavia, where ‘structural and institutional reforms have redrawn the social as well as the economic map, profoundly altering the relationship between state, market and citizens’ (Thomas, 2000: 55). Significantly for this book, according to the neo-liberal approach to development and therefore security, the role of the IMF and the World Bank is considered apolitical, because it reflects the value-free principles uncovered by positive economics (Watson, 2005: 228). This is clearly a false assumption to make, as it manifests its own political position by its neo-liberal agenda of minimal government interference, a laissez-faire free market economy, free trade, financial liberalisation and the promotion of private business. To be apolitical is not an option. Discussions about development to provide for security for all were guided by a neo-liberal belief in the private sector and, by implication, a conception of the civil and political rights of the individual – or, more appropriately, the liberal individual (Thomas, 2000: 43). Compatible with political liberalisation, economic neo-liberalism justified the expansion of human freedom through better institutions and good governance. This in turn explains why in the late 1970s, the 1980s and the 1990s, IFIs were interested in political conditionality. It meant then and still means now that the World Bank, the IMF or the donor governments can withhold funds where political liberalisation is not sufficiently encouraged (Cheru, 1997: 165; McMichael, 1998: 105). Political conditionality, as will be explored in the next chapter, had a significant negative impact on the political, social and economic organisation of the former Yugoslavia. While a detailed analysis is to follow, what is principally questioned in Chapter 4 is the neo-liberal logic of development, which seeks political stability before economic development. For example, where, as a general rule, the history of the developed countries showed them pursuing political liberalism after economic development, political liberalisation throughout the former Yugoslavia in the 1980s and 1990s was being (as it still is) promoted as a precursor, if not a prerequisite, of economic development (Thomas, 2000: 43). The neo-liberal democratic reforms, as Thomas continues, ‘may give the illusion of empowering people, but without economic

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transformation the illusion may not be translated into anything more tangible’ (44). As will be shown with reference to the socio-economic situation of post-1999 Kosovo, the neo-liberal approach to development and security most effectively serves the interest of those in the possession of capital. Such an approach is complementary to economic neo-liberalism, which prioritises the creation of favourable conditions for foreign investment before securing favourable conditions for human development. These and the above-mentioned core ideas upon which the global neo-liberal economic order is built considerably undermine the solidarists’ and international society’s claim to fulfil the moral responsibility of encouraging human rights beyond their own states. Meanwhile, in conclusion to the above, the prevention of SHEs is not considered because the solidarist understanding of change continues to be problem-solving, the main consequence being that solidarist theorising does not consider the first stage of the neo-liberal international economic order as an opportunity for preventing SHEs. It is only when the whole context, which the solidarist theorists on humanitarian intervention artificially divide into a first, second and a third stage, is considered as one entity – the humanitarian intervention complex – that the need for intervention can be obviated. In the meantime solidarist theorising supposes that the ‘change’ to an alternative order is already taking place. This ‘change’ in the context of humanitarian intervention is understood as the breakdown of political statism, which implies extending our obligations to the rest of humanity. However, this logic is deeply problematic because obligations to the rest of humanity, when applied in situations of acute crisis, become inconsistent only with the principles of common humanity which solidarist theorising claims to uphold.

Summary This chapter has argued that the solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention in its analysis of SHEs is problem-solving. This means that it maintains a positivist method of theorising and it legitimises the prevailing social, political and economic structures of the current neoliberal international economic order. Solidarist theorists, it is argued, maintain the positivist method because they consider SHEs in terms of their ‘truth as correspondence’. In this book, I appreciate the solidarists’ need to consider SHEs as the starting point for their analysis, but I am critical of the failure of solidarist theorists to observe and address the consequences of their theorising, which are as follows.

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First, solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention, focusing on the two components of SHEs, the scale and the nature of the danger involved, overwhelmingly focus on the act of military intervention. The action of prevention is desired, yet it is seen through the prism of intervention and therefore it remains outside the subject of humanitarian intervention. This also means that the solidarist referent of security is considered in the role of a victim, as opposed to that of a human being at any stage of development. Treating SHEs in terms of solidarist correspondent truth also dictates their second limitation. This is the presenting of military intervention as exhaustive of international society’s moral responsibility in the event of SHEs. Indeed, the circumstances dictated by such emergencies as require an outside intervention are presented in terms of the ‘real world’ and therefore no other option seems viable. Solidarists claim to represent the real world and my rejection of this claim also explains why they legitimise the social, political and economic structures of the current neo-liberal international economic order as also representing the real world, fulfilling the second characteristic of problem-solving theory. Solidarists’ legitimisation of the neo-liberal international economic order implies two further limitations. The first is that the ways in which liberal economic remedies can increase or otherwise the likelihood of conflict are rarely considered; and, second, that solidarists have a narrow understanding of why conflict occurs and how it can be prevented. There are three reasons why these theories legitimise appropriate structures. They do so because in their analysis of SHEs they take the world as they find it; as a result they do not question it and therefore the overall purpose of their theories is to make the ‘world’ work smoothly. Accordingly, it was argued, the solidarists’ claim to describe the real world was limited because the world which they describe is seen through the prism of SHEs. It was argued, on the contrary, that their description of the world is incomplete precisely because it describes a singular and temporal part of the world, that part which is characterised by a SHE. It was further explained that solidarists theorise in this way because they follow liberal assumptions about the separation of politics and economics. This, in turn, produces a situation where the context of the solidarist understanding of humanitarian intervention is artificially divided between three stages: the stages of ‘economic statism’, ‘humanitarian intervention’ and finally ‘peace-building’. In the section called ‘Solidarist theorists taking the world as they find it and therefore not questioning it’ I explained the first stage, the

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stage of economic statism. Economic statism constitutes a context for situations requiring outside intervention, although the relations thus entailed are not included in the solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention. This, I argued, makes the solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention encourage unsustainable provision for security. It is unsustainable, even though solidarist theorising encourages the stopping of SHEs, because the wider international context has not been transformed. In other words, the solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention has not sufficiently problematised the structures and inequalities built into the prevailing neo-liberal international economic order because such theorising does not consider that order to be necessary to the analysis of SHEs. The context continues to be unquestioned at the stage of intervention itself. This happens because the solidarist approach by now considers the action of humanitarian intervention in terms of a normative shift; that is, that it is enough to demonstrate international society’s moral commitment to encouraging human rights everywhere. This means that, as far as solidarists are concerned, the rules of statism (where the security of a state is prioritised over the security of an individual) are being broken and therefore international society’s moral commitment to encouraging human rights everywhere is being fulfilled. Failing to address the structures of the current economic order happen at the third stage, more properly described as ‘peace-building to restore the liberal international order’, where the inconsistency between the flawed neo-liberal international economic order and the political aspirations continue after the intervention has taken place. Given the limitations of solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention, part 2.2 proposed an alternative perspective called a CHIA. This alternative perspective is considered to be a better alternative because it gives more scope for the prevention of SHEs. Accordingly, a CHIA, informed by the problematic positivist method of theorising, has instead built its analysis on SHEs, according to the framework suggested by Booth’s metaphor of anchorage. The metaphor of anchorage implied working within critical distance, which means being able to reflect upon the common sense of particular theorising. The theorist’s awareness about their theorising’s appropriate common sense puts them in a position to change it if they disapprove of it. A CHIA in its attempt to change the common sense of humanitarian intervention theorising from intervention to prevention does not reject the existence of SHEs; far from it. It accepts that in rare

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circumstances a military intervention may be the only option to stop immediate violence. Essentially, however, a CHIA argues that, should this be the case, the very need for intervention should be considered in terms of a failure on the part of international society to prevent it in the first place. Refusing to consider intervention as exhaustive of international society’s moral responsibility to encourage human rights and encouraging, instead, the practice of prevention in terms of what international society should do when faced with SHEs gives a different starting point for further analysis on the subject of humanitarian intervention. In striving for this goal, a CHIA considers the human being in the role of someone who is part of a series of complex collectives and not in the role of a victim. This book argues that the consideration of human beings at all stages of their development is consistent with Thomas’s interpretation of human security. Thomas’s conception of human security was considered most appropriate, since not only does it address the ill-treated operation of different economic policies but crucially it also questions the philosophies upon which those policies were built. It is accepted that the building of human security, as explained by Thomas, is no easy task but one which should not be discouraged, because there is unfulfilled potential upon which this distinct concept of security could be built. The unfulfilled potential was identified with the narrow and broad conceptions of the general concepts of human security. Both concepts were considered in positive terms but even so they still insufficient to question the assumed legitimacy of the current neo-liberal international economic order. Indeed, a theorist working within a CHIA is equipped with the knowledge that the concepts of knowledge and interest are related. The implication that this has on the alternative perspective of a CHIA is that a theorist working within this approach does not accept the given order as somehow ‘natural’, but questions it instead. The question asked in this book is whose interest the current neo-liberal international economic order serves. If the Kosovo crisis is viewed in the context of the neo-liberal international economic order it offers, among other things, an alternative perspective. This perspective is needed before a theorist can learn how the neo-liberal approach inescapably leads to unfavourable consequences. The underlying assumption of a CHIA is that the existing rules of society (here associated with the unfavourable rules of economic liberalism) are not natural and inevitable and therefore can be changed.

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This is why a historical understanding of the processes of global economic integration and the associated costs and benefits can help to inform a debate on the prevention of future SHEs. In other words, while solidarist theorists, intentionally or not, reproduce society through their descriptions of it, a CHIA affects society by understanding it and then seeking to change it. This chapter concluded by demonstrating that the statist working of the neo-liberal economic international order itself is historically constructed, which the next chapter will confirm as a fact too pernicious to ignore in the analysis of humanitarian intervention.

3 International Society’s Role in the Restructuring of Yugoslavia’s National Economies

Introduction The purpose of Chapter 3 is to trace back the effects of international society’s economic activities in the former Yugoslavia prior to the 1998–9 Kosovo crisis. In particular I analyse the role played by IFIs such as the IMF and the World Bank, as well as EU in their project of integrating the former state into the international economy. I argue that the project of integrating the former Yugoslavia into the neo-liberal international economic order, as instigated by these institutions, was prompted by the neo-liberal economic ideology of the late 1970s, 1980s and 1990s as presented in Chapter 2. This reflected the fact that structural and institutional reforms to the national economy of the former Yugoslavia were a condition for its integration into the global economy. In order to substantiate the above claims I explain what particular factors constituted the stability of the former federation preceding the Croatian and Slovenian declarations of independence on 25 June 1991.1 Next I consider the Yugoslav political and economic situation in the context of the external conditions of the global economy in the 1970s, 1980s and 1990s. Here I suggest that the key dates of that country’s decline in the 1970s closely corresponded to the unfavourable events of the oil and debt crises of the late 1970s and 1980s. These significantly contributed to Yugoslavia’s economic decline, here ascribed to its astronomical foreign debt. This phase in economic history is also associated with what was defined in Chapter 2 as the spread of the neo-liberal economic international order or neo-liberalism. In accordance with its core principles, neo-liberalism supports global economic integration as the best, the most natural and universal path towards economic growth and therefore 102

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security for all of humanity. Consequently, Yugoslavia found itself totally dependent on outside financial help, which it could receive only by participating in neo-liberal global economic integration. This meant undergoing a number of SAPs, significant reforms of the national economic system that had political consequences that gradually contextualised the different violent crises that ensued. Altering the internal arrangement of the economic and therefore political spheres contributed to Yugoslavia’s vast unemployment totals, which changed the socio-political dynamics along different ethnic lines, consequently contributing to overall insecurity among the Yugoslav people. Finally, it is argued that by changing the internal arrangements within the national economy of Yugoslavia, the IFIs – the representatives of the neo-liberal international economic order – significantly changed the dynamic between all the different republics and also the autonomous provinces of the former Yugoslavia. It is argued that all the above events, which resulted from neo-liberal policies, contributed to the conditions which led to violence in the former federation. It is in the context of these consequences that I then consider the case study of Kosovo, looking both at what preceded its 1998–9 SHE and the sociopolitical circumstances of this post-1999. The purpose is to provide analyses of change, which show that the SHE of 1998–9 Kosovo cannot be sufficiently explained without considering international society’s economic involvement (through its neo-liberal economic component) in contextualising that emergency. Indeed, this chapter further suggests that the post-1999 situation in Kosovo continues to demonstrate a problem-solving approach to crisis management. This means that while Kosovo’s 1998–9 SHE has been brought to an end, the conditions of neo-liberalism, which contextualised these crisis in the first place, remain there. I use the economic policies instigated by the EU to argue this point.

Part 3.1 Yugoslavia’s basis of stability before the 1991 wars2 The conflict in the former Yugoslavia, as well as in the province of Kosovo, has predominantly been portrayed as resulting from centuries-old ethnic hatreds (Dunne and Kroslak, 2001: 35). Indeed some of the most important political actors were allegedly influenced by the accounts of different historical writers (Pugh et al., 2004: 149). Robert Kaplan’s 1993 book had an influential impact on the thinking of US President Bill Clinton and EU mediator Lord David Owen, presenting

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the Yugoslav people (according to Kaplan) as ‘unusually wild and predisposed to violence’ (Ramet, 2005: 3).3 The Kosovo crisis of 1998–9 was closely associated with ethnic cleansing. US Secretary of State Madeleine Albright stated in March 1998: ‘we believe that in 1991 the international community stood by and watched ethnic cleansing [in Bosnia] … We don’t want that happen again this time’ (Wheeler, 2000: 258). British Prime Minister Tony Blair and Foreign Secretary Robin Cook said that the use of force in Kosovo was ‘to stop Serbian ethnic cleansing in Kosovo’ (Wheeler, 2000: 259). Ethnic cleansing was further reaffirmed in April 1999 by Kofi Annan, the Secretary General of the United Nations, who condemned ‘the vicious and systematic campaign of ethnic cleansing’ conducted by Serbian forces against ethnic Albanians in Kosovo (Annan, 1999d). Reference to genocide was also made. For instance the British Defence Secretary, George Robertson, claimed that ‘the air strikes have one purpose only: to stop the genocidal violence’ (Dunne and Kroslak, 2001: 35). Certainly some solidarist academic analysis shares this point (Wheeler, 2000: 265, 282). Alex Bellamy argues that ‘Kosovo in 1999 must be seen in the context of a traumatised population subjected to almost complete ethnic cleansing and acts of genocide’ (Bellamy, 2001: 120). The present book does not deny the gruesome violence which took place in the former Yugoslav state. Whether the former federation witnessed actual ethnic cleansing or genocide is debatable and has been considered in detail elsewhere (Booth and Walling, 2001). Nor does this book argue that the former federation was not ethnically distinct and that ethnicity played no part in its turbulent history.4 However, as discussed in the Introduction and Chapter 2, this book rejects the solidarist analysis of Kosovo’s 1998–9 SHE through its two components: its urgency and the nature of the danger involved. It argues that analysing crises in a manner identified with problem-solving methods limits the ways in which similar crises could be prevented in the future. In contrast, by considering SHEs in the context of the neo-liberal international economic order, one realises that this order significantly contributed to the collapse of the former Yugoslavia’s economic and political system. This in turn facilitated the many different crises which followed. However, before exploring the different ways in which the neo-liberal economic order contextualised the collapse of the system, it is important to consider exactly what things broke down. I identify these as Yugoslavia’s unique international position, its constitutional order defining governmental powers and property rights, and its social

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order, defining the concept of citizenship. Understanding how all three of these elements were disturbed provides clues for preventing a similar disintegration in the future. Yugoslavia’s international position Many have argued that there were two Yugoslavias, both shaped by the politics of the Great Powers. The circumstances of 1918–41 determined the composition of what was to become a multinational state. Responding to nationalist struggles against the empires of Austria, Hungary and Turkey, the great powers at Versailles (using the new principle of self-determination to justify the dissolution of the Habsburg and Ottoman empires) enabled a new multinational country to be formed (Woodward, 1995: 23; Bennett, 1995: 7; Glenny, 1999: chapter 4;Malcolm, 1994: chapter 7; 1998: chapter 13). Predictably and understandably the process of integration was a challenging one, most evidently represented in the choice of a unitary constitution over a federation, which meant a lack of autonomy for particular nations. The process of integration was made particularly difficult by the existing economic circumstances of the 1920s and 1930s. Eventually, however, the country was enriched by the cultures of ‘Habsburg, Venetian and Ottoman legacies; Roman Catholic, Greek Orthodox, Muslim, Jewish, and Protestant religions; Slavic dominance mixed with non-Slavic indigenous and immigrant traditions’ (Woodward, 1995: 23; see also Malcolm, 1994: 164–71). The later experience of the Second World War determined additional characteristics. United by anti-fascist bonds and the region’s vulnerable geopolitical position, the Yugoslav leadership paid particular attention to the potential threat from outsiders in war characterised as a struggle for territory between competing political systems, those of the capitalist West and the Soviet East (Woodward, 1995: 24; Bennett, 1995: 42; Malcolm, 1994: chapter 13). For several reasons the overall lack of trust played a significant role in the origins of the Cold War. The most evident reason was Tito’s disproval of Stalin’s regime or, to put it more simply, the fact that ‘Yugoslavia was not part of the Soviet camp’ (Bennett, 1995: 56). This resulted in Yugoslavia’s exclusion from the newly forming Eastern bloc. In other words, the Yugoslav leadership choose to be socialist but independent of Moscow (Woodward, 1995: 25). Despite its pivotal role as an anti-Soviet campaigner, the US refused to reconsider Yugoslavia’s request for inclusion in the Marshall Plan and therefore its early membership in Europe. Not surprisingly it was also blocked by the USSR from joining the Council for Mutual

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Economic Assistance (CMEA). Its difficult economic position was, however, eased by US military aid,; US initiated economic assistance from the International Monetary Fund, World Bank, the US Export-Import Bank and foreign banks; and the restoration of its trade relations with the West after August 1949 (Bennett, 1995: 59). Accordingly, some argued that the US in particular, both directly and even more through the above financial institutions, rewarded and cultivated the former state as ‘a virus which could infect the corpus communist body’. The former state was to be kept afloat as an example of ‘dissidence’ within the Eastern bloc (Freyberg-Inan, 2006: 228). As such, between 1961 and 1990 the former state signed ten standby agreements with the IMF, amounting to $3.5 billion in the period 1979–90. The World Bank, in the period from 1949 to 1991, lent a total of over $6 billion distributed through ninety loans (Freyberg-Inan, 2006: 240). The European Investment Bank (EIB), between 1976 and the beginning of the UN sanctions, granted 21 loans totalling over ECU760 million, 50 per cent of which was disbursed (Freyberg-Inan, 2006: 240). This outside economic help and Yugoslavia’s own internal political organisation helped the federation to modernise politically and be successful economically. Between 1958 and 1965 Yugoslavia reformed its economic system to the point where it could join the GATT as a full member. To accompany this relatively strong position in 1971, it negotiated association agreements with the European Community and, after 1979, with the European Free Trade Association (EFTA; Woodward, 1995: 26). Besides forming an example of dissidence within the Eastern bloc, more especially Yugoslavia impeded Soviet influence in the Mediterranean by providing a strong military deterrence against potential Soviet aggression in the Balkans. Essential to its position on the world stage was Tito’s particular care to found the Nonaligned Movement (NAM) and the Group of 77 as ‘alternatives to the superpower blocs’ (Woodward 1995: 26, emphasis added). Further, Yugoslavia’s goal of remaining independent and neutral dictated its economic and political system. To achieve this, Woodward argues, it needed to be self-reliant, for example by protecting strategic industries; defending the interior of the country by the most critical defence plants and governmental regulation of agriculture to ensure self-sufficiency in food. To reduce any potential attacks from either West or East, the leadership spread its military purchases between NATO and the Warsaw Pact. The operational controls of the armed forces were moved depending on the security threat and, as a result, in the early 1950s the Yugoslav’s

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People Army (YPA) was the third-largest regular land force in Europe, consisting of around 220,000 people (Woodward, 1995: 26; Bennett, 1995: 76–7). Significantly for the arguments used in this book, Yugoslavia’s need for neutrality also dictated its foreign economic relations. Yugoslavia operated in three distinctive markets: the West, where it mainly borrowed capital, such as commercial loans, imported advanced technology and spare parts; the third world, especially oil rich Iraq and Libya; and the second world of the USSR and CMEA, where the government negotiated secure access to fuel and other strategic resources in exchange for armaments, construction projects and manufactured goods (Woodward, 1995: 27; Bennett, 1995: 7). Yugoslavia’s economic openness in all three opposed Cold-War systems gave it flexibility and a potentially strong position, but at the same time it dictated certain areas of vulnerabilities, as will be explored in the next part of this chapter. Yugoslavia’s international position had significant implications for its domestic politics. As noted above, its unique position of being a communist state but at the same time being economically open to the West meant that liberal economic policies had some influence over the domestic political arrangements of the former state. One liberal policy, which is particularly significant for this book, was the policy of territorial decentralisation (Bennett, 1995: 68; Judah, 2000: 36; Malcolm, 1994: 202). Although the policy of territorial decentralisation is not the focus of this chapter, it is nevertheless essential to understand it as it helps explain the complex political and economic arrangements within Kosovo and indeed all the other republics. This arrangement was to be substantially undermined by the process of integrating the former Yugoslavia into the global economy in the 1970s, 1980s and 1990s. The implementing of territorial decentralisation in practice meant a combined system of liberal markets and socialist elements. For instance, emphasis was put on increasing the autonomy of ‘private’ firms. Further, foreign borrowings reinforced this government role in managing money because public loans from the IMF and the World Bank were made only to governments and commercial banks. This meant that the territorial organisation of economic decisions and strategically based industrial policy gave the former Yugoslavia a ‘distinct geopolitical character’ (Woodward, 1995: 28–9; see also Judah, 2000: 36–7; Bennett, 1995: 68). The economic organisation, Woodward further describes, was directed according to different localities and regions, which in turn become identified with different specialisations. For example, out of the six republics of the federation, Slovenia and Croatia were more integrated

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into European networks mainly because of the Habsburg legacy, their geographic proximity, and an industrial policy that favoured export production. In Macedonia and Bosnia-Herzegovina the economic organisation was mainly directed towards the Middle East and the Greek port of Thessaloniki (1995: 28). The republic of Serbia favoured business in Eastern Europe mainly because of its metal industry and heavy manufacturing. Macedonia, Bosnia and the province of Kosovo would mainly concentrate on the exporting of primary goods. Essentially the system of regional specialisation, reinforced by the territorial decentralisation introduced to the Yugoslav government by the Western institutions worked so long as the demand for Yugoslav goods remained stable. However, this situation was to become devastating for the federation once the demand for its products declined, especially after 1975. For the purpose of this chapter it is important to observe, however, that before this became a devastating reality, Yugoslavia enjoyed its prestigious international position of national independence, its organisation of defence and its role as an important state in European security and the Western anti-Soviet campaign. The second source of political stability in the former Yugoslavia was its constitutional arrangement. Yugoslavia’s constitutional order The constitutional order of former Yugoslavia is defined by Woodward as ‘a complex web of public property rights, federalism, and individual, group and national rights to social and economic equality’ (1995: 30). The bases for the constitution were drawn during the Second World War when the government of the time, called the Anti-Fascist Liberation Council of Yugoslavia (AVNOJ), announced in 1943 that it would replace the monarchy with republics to create a federation based on the territorial organisation of the partisan, antifascist resistance. The constitution was ratified on 31 January 1946. It was Yugoslavia’s first communist constitution. This was a pivotal time for Kosovo, as it confirmed Yugoslavia’s new structure as a federation of six republics, together with the two autonomous provinces of Vojvodina and Kosovo (Bennett, 1995: 53; Mertus, 1999: 288). The principle of sovereignty was particularly important for the constitutional order of the former Yugoslavia. It implied simultaneously the right to self-determination, obtained by the first Yugoslavia, together with democratic and socialist ideas of popular sovereignty. For instance the Slavic word ‘narod’ does not distinguish between the nation and the people. It was the republics, or the founding nations of the federation,

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which had rights, as well as the individual members of those nations, the ethnic people, who had the right to express their nationality and culture freely and without discrimination (Mertus, 1999: 288; also see in Malcolm, 1998: 327–8; Bennett 1995: 53). The choice of national identity, as described by Woodward, was voluntary – citizens had a right not to choose. However, once chosen, the identity was formally recorded and used to register at schools, hospitals or to vote. The concept of identity ‘conferred language rights and psychological security about the survival of a cultural community but also required that all federal activities take directly into account the proportional representation of individuals by constituent nationality – called the national key or quota system’ (1995: 36–9). Woodward further describes that those constitutional provisions to accommodate the conflict between the territorial and personal concept of a nation were essential for those areas of Yugoslavia which, for historical reasons, were nationally mixed. Constitutional protections also facilitated freedom of cultural expression for nationalities, such as using their own language in public forums, having their own newspapers and other media, forming cultural associations and in some cases being taught in their own language. Clearly there was a commitment to multiethnic coexistence. Therefore any political expressions of nationalism were treated as a threat to the socialist regime. Admittedly, though some of the measures were oppressive, they were applied evenly and often the ‘authorities went out of their way to balance a particular prosecution with charges against persons from other ethnic groups in the area’ (1995: 37). Indeed, it was the responsibility of the Communist party to ‘knit this all together … through creating political harmony, through party loyalty, rules of democratic centralism, and the patriotic principle – under the slogan “brotherhood and unity” of equal nations in one state’ (Woodward, 1995: 37). Therefore, the purpose of the constituent nation was to accommodate itself to the realities of an ethnically mixed country. Indeed it is important to observe that rather than denying the presence of an ethnically mixed population, the state acknowledged it, and even catered for the population’s different needs throughout its political and economic organisation. The federal institutions worked closely with a government based on a council which represented the republics and provinces. Those provinces were consulted and all decisions were made on the basis of consensus. The country’s mixed economy involved a number of institutions involved in a necessarily complex decision making process (38).

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For instance, Woodward continues, the retail market was regulated by free prices, though bilateral supply contracts were compulsory for all transactions between public enterprises, as well as between processing firms and private farmers. The way it worked was based on wide consultation of firms, localities, republics, producers’ associations, and civil servants, which had to be approved by the federal parliament. Most economic decisions involved consultation and debate between republican representatives, the federal government and the people involved. The federal government did not itself own productive assets but was responsible for the state’s common market, such as its monetary and trade policy, and for defence and foreign affairs. Therefore the republican governments were responsible for manufacturing, agricultural transportation and communications (1995: 38). Local governments were responsible for consumer markets, housing, welfare, local roads, schools, health care and employment. Because the republican government owned the productive assets it was their responsibility to support the common or federal expenditure. Like everything else, the YPA was also shared; it was under federal jurisdiction and hence the federal budget. The territorial defence forces (TDF), however, were under republican authority but funded from republican, local and enterprise revenues (1995: 39). The Yugoslav government’s provision for individual security Provision for individual security was the third major element of pre-war stability in Yugoslavia. The main concept of self-determination was the idea that ‘workers and citizens, in association, would govern their workplace and local communities’ (Benett 1995: 7–8 and Woodward 1995: 41). This system replaced private property and the market for capital and labour with shared, equal property rights for all employed persons and equal participation in managing this property. Those who managed property would be checked by constitutional obligations to consult with the representative workers and citizens. The self-fulfilling logic of the system was the belief that people with long-term employment, who were involved in decision-making about key functions would develop a sense of respect for common property. The government hoped that this in turn would encourage people to seek employment, therefore increasing the workforce and productivity (Woodward, 1995: 42). Alongside this system, as Woodward continues to describe, would be a society based on a guaranteed system of welfare. It was guaranteed welfare and employment which provided the communal and individual security of the Yugoslav people. The right to equal treatment in the

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economy therefore limited the part played by private wealth through restrictions on the amount of income-yielding private property and through progressive taxation on individual income and wealth from market profit. Essentially, people were the citizens of both their republic and Yugoslavia, but it was the federal government which granted the rights. It was the responsibility of both local and federal governments to provide for individual welfare. For instance, the federal government would provide set rates for wages, social benefits such as pensions, health care and social security, but essentially the practical realisation of these rights depended on local funds. This meant that the standard of living depended mainly on where one lived, meaning that richer republics provided better than poorer ones for the needs of their people (Woodward, 1995: 41–2). This observation is significant for Kosovo and its dependent position upon Serbia, an issue which will be explored in the last part of this chapter. Another significant observation is that social equality (or more appropriately inequality) depended on where one was employed. Yugoslav employment was of two kinds: by the state and by the private sector. The former qualified people for provision of health care, social benefits, social insurance and many other benefits. In other words, social benefits were not market purchases but distributed through the workplace. The primary provider for social welfare (and therefore individual security) was the state and not private wealth. Therefore when economic reforms deprived employees of job security many people found themselves forced into the private sector or unemployed. In order to adjust to declining profits, the deregulated private sector reacted by first delaying wage payments or reassigning less skilled or redundant workers downwards to jobs more in line with their qualifications. The first group who would normally be candidates for redundancy were those considered to have alternative incomes, such as women (more precisely, wives), young people and rural residents (Woodward, 1995: 43). In other words, the federal system was far from able to deliver economic equality; its purpose was equal treatment within a job category. This created a division between those employed by the private sector and those employed by the public sector, who essentially had different political and economic rights. The unemployed did not participate in the worker’s system of self-government, nor did they have second representation in the parliament. The outcome of this situation was that people with secured public sector jobs remained settled, whereas those without a job would often be discouraged from moving across the federation, partly because of the chronic lack of housing. Those who did

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migrate were young people in search of secondary or university education. This is important because it indicates that the paths of migration followed ethno-cultural lines. For instance, Croats would normally go to Zagreb University, whereas Serbs would go to Belgrade University (Nafziger and Auvinen, 2000: 109–10). The point of the above analysis is that it indicates that the primary social divisions and inequalities within Yugoslavia were not defined by ethnicity but by job status and growing unemployment, since in the socialist system jobs provided for communal and individual security. People did not differentiate among themselves along ethnic lines but by either occupation or social status. People of major cities had very different world views from those in rural areas. If ethnicity played a role it was ‘primarily a matter of self-identification and choice’ (Woodward, 1995: 45). Before moving on to the next stage of Yugoslav affairs preceding the 1991 wars, it is important to emphasise once again that Yugoslav society was held together by a complex arrangement at the international level, and by its extensive system of rights and overlapping sovereignties. National identities were institutionalised by the federal system, which granted near statehood to the republics and different rights to individuals. When there were obvious inequalities within the system they emerged alongside economic measures, such as territorial decentralisation; therefore they can be explained as a reaction to difficult economic (hence, political) circumstances and essentially not because of different ethnicity per se. Consequently, I will argue next, that Kosovo’s 1998–9 SHE was contextualised by Yugoslavia’s interdependent position in the global economy. This dictated the country’s dependence on borrowings from IFIs and therefore its need to comply with the conditionality terms imposed by those loans. Although the IMF and World Bank insist that such policies were essentially apolitical in nature and reflected the value free principles of positive economics (see Chapter 2), they involved a number of political consequences which in turn provided the breeding ground for nationalism within the former federation.

Part 3.2 The austerity programmes Stage one – the global scene in the 1970s The above analysis presented the international position of the former Yugoslavia as being nationally independent from the Soviet East. This meant that Yugoslavia played an important role for European security

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in Europe’s anti-Soviet campaign. In return for what the Western governments associated with an example of dissidence, large amounts of money were granted to the former federation to enable it to develop politically and economically. Yugoslavia required this help in order to make itself competitive enough to trade within the Western block. However, although Yugoslavia’s trade-dependent economic model functioned very well, this did not mean that it was resilient to the external global economic conditions of the 1970s and 1980s. Indeed, the key dates of the country’s decline closely correspond to external events. This suggests that Yugoslavia’s decline was indeed ‘related to events in the global economy, more than anything that was occurring internally’ (Freyberg-Inan, 2006: 228). These global events relate first to the rapid increase in oil prices in 1973–4; second, to the ensuing global debt crisis of the late 1970s and early 1980s; and, third, to the end of the Cold War which caused the loss of Yugoslavia’s strategic importance for the Western powers. Accordingly, the economic crisis of the early 1970s was characterised by the beginning of a debt crisis for Yugoslavia when the total foreign debt of the non-oil developing countries increased from $130 billion to $612 billion. By 1982, the total debt of the Third World, including Eastern Europe, stood at approximately $745 billion. The main, but not the only, cause of this debt and its growth was the rise in oil prices in 1973–4 and in 1979–80 (Milivojevic´, 1985: 1, 13). In fact, as Yugoslavia was dependent on energy imports and received no subsidised oil from the Soviet Union, it had no choice but to buy oil at world market prices. Yugoslavia’s need to remain neutral during the Cold War required the state to be competitive in world markets. In order to remain competitive, it needed to be technologically advanced, which required buying advanced technology for money which had to be borrowed. Its economic openness to all three ideologically opposed blocs during the Cold War gave it the flexibility which it wanted, though at the same time it made the country vulnerable to changeable economic circumstances (Glenny, 1999: 622–3). By the early 1970s, Yugoslav producers had become dependent on imported technology, spare parts and essentially short-term trade credits from the West. When those short-term credits stopped being available, things became critical. In the late 1970s, as Woodward describes, the Yugoslav government already owed $9.5 billion to Western banks, about $2.8 billion of which was in the form of short-term credit (1995: 28). Essentially the Yugoslav government, which had assumed that short-term credits would always be available,

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learned by 1981 that such credits would expire. Consequently when the economic crisis occurred, ‘the interest rates on the US dollar skyrocketed [together] with [those interest rates on] the foreign debts of all countries holding debts in those dollars’ (47). The borrowings in the 1970s of the former Yugoslavia had irreversible consequences. In order to repay its foreign debts the Yugoslav government was forced to turn to those resources which would restore its ability to finance crucial imports (47). By 1979, the government had turned first to domestic resources, in order to once again finance crucial imports. In summary, guided by the principles of neo-liberalism to remain competitive in order to be able to trade, the federal government implemented harsh economic measures to cut domestic consumption of imported goods and increase exports.5 The austerity programmes obliged the Yugoslav government to cut domestic consumption and in 1982 food subsidies were withdrawn; in 1983 prices for gasoline, heating, any form of fuel, food and transportation rose by one-third. Within a relatively short time the country witnessed two currency devaluations, with the value of the dinar falling by 90 per cent between 1979 and 1985 (Woodward, 1995: 51). Later policies involved ‘capping wages, reorienting production towards exports which could compete in Organizations for Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD) markets, recentralising political and economic decision making, privatisation and currency deregulation’ (Orford, 2003: 70). However, by the end of 1979, when oil prices rose for the second time, Yugoslavia’s economic circumstances and indeed global financial circumstances had not improved and ‘the conclusion of an IMF standby agreement and the World Bank structural adjustment loan were presented as the only solution’ (Freyberg-Inan, 2006: 229). Stage two – the 1980s Significantly for the fate of Yugoslavia, in the conditions of the world debt crisis of the late 1970s and 1980s, new IMF loans became significantly more expensive. Help from the IMF was offered in the form of high conditionality credit disbursements. This type of borrowing was particularly common at the time. For instance, in 1976, all IMF credits were low-conditionality but they increased every year and by 1982–3 60 per cent of IMF lending entailed high conditions. These high conditionality agreements, more commonly defined as structural adjustment programmes, signified the IMF’s power and influence. They meant that in disbursing credit the IMF had the power to offer it to different countries, on condition that these countries

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successfully completed what were called ‘strictly verified economic adjustments programmes’ (Milivojevic´, 1985: 65). In practice this meant the political and economic restructuring of national economies to make sure those countries were able to repay what they owned to the West. The restructuring was characterised by an anti-inflationary macroeconomic stabilisation policy of radical austerity which included trade and price liberalisation as well as institutional reforms to impose on firms and governments monetary discipline and real price incentives (Magas, 1993: 97). And these were introduced ‘just as vested interests in decentralisation were consolidating power … it was the worst possible moment’ (Oberg, 1999: point 16 quoted in Pugh et al., 2004: 152). The main principle behind these reforms as regards Yugoslavia was to integrate the country into the global economy, according to the account of the outline of the economic philosophy of neo-liberalism offered in Chapter 2. The main incentive among the domestic liberal economists and those employed by the IMF was to change the country’s infrastructure so as to reorient its productivity towards those exports which were more competitive in the West. This was the case because, according to neo-liberal thinking, full development and therefore security can only be achieved through economic prosperity. The immediate effect was that certain firms, sectors or areas were favoured over others. For instance, areas in East and West Yugoslavia, which had betterdeveloped transportation and people with marketing skills, benefited more than other, poorer areas (Pleština, 1995: 126). The reforms were also intended to change the composition of exported goods. In previous years Yugoslavia had been known for valueadded manufacturing, but the demand for this significantly declined in the 1980s. Therefore the declining demand put workers in agriculture, mining, metallurgy and defence who were concentrated in Bosnia and Herzegovina, Macedonia and Serbia as well as its two provinces of Kosovo and Vojvodina, in a vulnerable position, with the risk of immediate unemployment. In contrast, Slovenia and large areas of Croatia, because of their primary earnings capacities in foreign trade, were at a significant advantage (Woodward, 1995: 58). Woodward further observes that to facilitate the process of integrating Yugoslavia into the international economy along neo-liberal principles, further changes had to be made related to fundamental restructuring in the locus of economic decision-making. It was accepted among proreform liberal policymakers that it was the country’s political system, which had mainly contributed to the economic crisis. The federal

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government was criticised for ‘stalemate decision making’; ‘the myriad mechanisms of negotiated redistribution’, for instance, of wages, profits, taxes and transfers; and the role of political force (1995: 58). Some examples of these mechanisms would include workers in the League of Communists, councils in firms, the police, socialist alliances and unions. In the economic sphere the process of managerial appointments, investments and local patronage was also criticised. The overall belief was that in order to implement truly macroeconomic policies successfully the previous excessive decentralisation introduced in the 1960s–1970s by the IMF had to be radically reversed (1995: 59). This meant that from 1982 global integration guided by free market beliefs required a ‘unified domestic market, which meant reintegration of the segmented economies of the republics, and the free movement of labour, capital and goods across local and republican borders according to price signals and opportunities for profit (Woodward, 1995: 59). The complex system established in the period 1969–79 of bilateral contracts between suppliers and manufactures, of payments arrangements through producers’ cartels which rationed foreign exchange to prevent the growth of bottlenecks and of corporatist social compacts among firms, government and unions and local party and governmental networks – all these had to be fundamentally changed and this required constitutional reform (Oberg, 1999: point 16). Change to the constitutional arrangements began as early as 1982, when Prime Minister Milka Planinc accepted her mandate to move on with the IMF programme under the condition that with it she would be released from the rule obliging national proportionality in making cabinet appointments, which in effect meant that ‘the principle of republican parity in the appointment of prime ministers, by rotating alphabetically among the republics, fell victim to bargaining among the republics’ (Woodward, 1995: 73). In practice it meant that when in 1986 the prime minister by constitutional rotation should have been a Slovene, ‘Slovenia horse-traded concessions on economic reform in exchange for the appointment of a Bosnian, Branko Mikuli´c (73). Further, Woodward observes, the IMF conditions required the ‘federal assertion of economic authority over the republics, leaving little room for negotiations’ (1995: 56). Accordingly the federal government imposed a number of decrees and penalties. For instance, banks were asked to give priority to foreign debt repayments over new lending and contracts. Most significantly, however, in this tranche of economic reforms the National Bank was given the control of foreign exchange, when only five years previously as part of territorial decentralisation

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economic reforms had taken away the same power, distributing the assets and debits of the balance of payments of this bank among separate republican governments (57). Additionally, the IMF’s influence was observed in 1986, when republican opposition was substantially weakened because the IMF began to tie conditions for new credits to political reforms. In order to strengthen the federal opposition, despite clear opposition within the republics, the IMF asked for a change in the voting rules of the National Bank from consensus to majority decisions (Woodward, 1995: 74). This method of integrating a socialist system into the global economy appeared to be economic and technical, as the neo-liberal approach to development would hold it to be. However, as Woodward observes, it was ‘fraught with political implications’ (50). This book associates these political implications with the consequences which turn the country into a breeding ground for division alongside political, economic and consequently ethnic lines. The consequences outlined in this book are: excessive unemployment, polarisation along social and political lines, and significantly changed dynamics among the different republics and autonomous provinces such as Kosovo. By the mid-1980s the first underclass of unemployed, unskilled workers emerged when companies started laying them off. Wage and income restrictions, increased prices and unemployment mainly among young people and women plunged household earnings to what they had been 20 years before. By 1984 the average rate of unemployment was 14 per cent, but it varied enormously in different regions. For instance, there was full employment in Slovenia and 50 per cent unemployment in Kosovo (Malcolm, 1998: 337). By 1985, 59.6 per cent of the total registered unemployed were under the age of 25 (Woodward, 1995: 56). Inflation rose by 50 per cent and continued to rise. People used to a prosperous, comfortable life in the previous 20 years faced food shortages in stores, or food rationing outright. In 1983 the Yugoslav government announced a countrywide deep financial depression. By the end of 1984 ‘the average income was approximately 70 per cent of the official minimum for a family of four, and the population living below the poverty line increased from 17 to 25 per cent’ (Woodward, 1995: 52). Unemployment had an especially dire effect on the former Yugoslavia. It was a state in which the economy was shared between the private and the state sector. Those employed by the state sector, as already mentioned, would automatically receive health provision and, more importantly, lifetime security. Consequently, when they lost their jobs, these employees not only lost their basic economic livelihood but,

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even worse, also had their entire lives undermined. It was the same for private sector employees. No social welfare provision had been made to help such individuals when they were made redundant. Predictably, individuals used practices such as black market transactions, bribery and barter in order to survive. Personalistic criteria were used to obtain jobs and goods; this simply meant that there was pressure to employ a relative and ‘finding scapegoats on the bases of social prejudices, antifeminist backlash, and right wing nationalist incidents became more common’ (Woodward, 1995: 56). Critically, those economic polarisations created social/political polarisations (Magas, 1993: 179; Woodward, 1995: 73; Pugh et al., 2004: 153). While previously, under the austerity programme, the dominant mood sought localism, personalism or scapegoating, now independent political activities and new civic groups started emerging (Vayrynen, 2000: 466). This important development will be explored in the next part, using the example of Slobodan Miloševic´ and his role in the Kosovo crisis. It is crucial to observe that these social/political polarisations did not divide people according to whether they favoured the reforms or the reverse. Most Yugoslavs were neither for nor against the reforms, their views being mainly based on the economic experiences imposed on them by the austerity programme. These people, ‘because they were not mobilised by politicians who wanted their votes … had no need to choose either side, and were more likely to look to a particular employer, locality, republic or social status – the factors that most influenced the economic fate of their own families’ (Woodward, 1995: 62). The final significant consequence of the IFIs’ structural adjustment programmes was the changed dynamic between republics, especially those which were in a position to make a decision as to whether or not to accept different reforms (Strazzari, 2003: 144). Politicians within the different republics, although to a different extent, accepted that, in order to join the global economic order, they had no choice but to reform their economies to favour Western hard currency markets. Essentially, however, they argued that ‘no effective economic reform would occur without accompanying political change’ (Woodward, 1995: 49). Although the influence of different actors within the former federation should be taken into account understanding the crisis, however the focus in this book is to understand why these dynamics changed in the first place. The changed dynamics are ascribed to the workings of the neo-liberal international economic order. The key players who would be involved in a decision-making process on any changes, especially constitutional ones, were the six republics,

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two provinces, the army (YPA), the federal government and the external creditors. The most economically powerful actors in the former Yugoslavia were Slovenia, Serbia, Croatia and the army. The reason why the army was involved in the decision-making process was that it had a voting role in the federal party presidency equivalent to that of the republics, and also because it was the sole federal institution directly affected by the economic reforms (Woodward, 1995: 66). Slovenia was always economically better off than the rest of the republics. It had been successful economically since 1945, and was affected positively by the early Westernisation of the 1970s. The main concern of Slovenian policymakers in 1980 was to restore their position in terms of productivity, by modernising their own industries and redirecting Slovene firms towards foreign as opposed to Yugoslavian markets. This made it harder for it to integrate into the Yugoslav market and society. The 1980s indicators of its integration into the Yugoslav economy were unsatisfactory and continued to fall. Croatia economically had a mixture of domestic and export orientations. Its poorer regions depended on outside assistance, whereas its wealthy cities and coastal areas thrived on foreign exchange earnings and tourism. Like the Slovenian government, the Croatian government also opposed the federal tax levels. They supported marketisation, but essentially only when it did not revive federal authority. Politically, however, the very conservative leadership of the Yugoslav League of Communists (LCY) influenced Croatia. This was mainly pro-Yugoslav and anti pluralist, living ‘in fear of awakening Croatian nationalist sentiments’ (Woodward, 1995: 66). Compared with these two republics, Serbia’s economic position was very badly affected. It had an unemployment rate in 1981–5 of 17–18 per cent. In Belgrade alone it had been at 13.7 per cent since the 1970s and in Kosovo it exceeded 50 per cent. This difficult situation was reinforced when the austerity programmes began to be implemented. According to the federal system of taxes and transfers, Serbia, like Slovenia and Croatia, was classified as a developed republic. This status meant that it did not receive any federal credits. This was a particularly sensitive issue in relation to its own independent province of Kosovo. Because Kosovo qualified as an underdeveloped region, it qualified for the above funds. This meant that republican expenditure for equally poor areas within Serbia proper had become an increasing burden on its development and its capacity for growth (Woodward, 1995: 65). This issue will be further explored, using the example of Kosovo, in the last part of this chapter. However, for the purpose of this section, what is important to observe is that while previously the decisions about

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federal credits were made by republican representatives and provincial governments, after the 1980s they were made by representatives of different enterprises. These were involved in making decisions regarding local people. The conditions were justified on the basis of ‘profit-orientated investments and efficient use of declining resources’ (Woodward, 1995: 74). Throughout the 1980s the associated austerity programmes had significant political consequences, and as some have observed ‘quite apart from interest payments on its foreign loans, the rate of the debt repayment ensured that Yugoslavia was in fact exporting capital into the developed West’. As far as Kosovo was concerned, ‘it was left with the thankless role of the last and weakest link in this chain’ (Freyberg-Inan, 2006: 230). Thus, despite the tensions over Kosovo’s future, Serbia was still in favour of ‘greater pluralism, and constitutional democracy’ aiming for federal-level reforms and opposed to the disintegrative federalism of the 1943 principles established by the AVNOJ (Woodward, 1995: 65). Governments at the federal level were concerned about these dangerous developments. They opposed the IMF economic developments and, for instance, as late as 1988, the LCY president argued that with 6 million employed out of a population of 23 million, the last thing the country needed was efficiency-orientated reforms (Woodward, 1995: 74). Moreover, as David Gibbs observes, the 1990s were times when ‘debt relief was still a realistic alternative to war’ (cited in Freyberg-Inan, 2006: 230). Despite the urging by previous leaders to moderate the speed with which all of the above reforms were introduced, Western advisers to the IFIs remained convinced that the effectiveness of the programme for global integration depended on speed. The economic adviser to the Yugoslav government, Jeffrey Sachs, was known for introducing the so-called shock therapy stabilisation programme (Sachs, 1990: 13). The ‘shock therapy’ policy Starting in mid-December 1991 the programme of ‘shock therapy’ could not have been more true to the principles of the Washington Consensus outlined in Chapter 2. In Sachs’s own words the intention of shock therapy was to solve one big problem: how should the entire excommunist region of Eastern Europe and the USSR be re-organised in order to achieve ‘a recovery of human freedom and a democratically based rise in living standards’ (Gowan, 1995: 6). It principally aimed to ‘completely remove political barriers to a market economy’ and throughout the 1990s under intense pressure from the IMF, Yugoslavia’s

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federal government continued to attempt to reinforce political reforms under the conditions of this ‘shock therapy’ (Orford, 2003: 92). Crucially for the fate of former Yugoslavia, Sachs’s policy was directed at the whole region of Eastern Europe rather than accommodating individual states or regions within states. His ideas were influenced by the views of the American and British governments about the transformation of Eastern Europe as a region. He claimed that it was inappropriate to leave intact the Comecon region (Council for Mutual Economic Assistance) and that the ‘East European common market that some suggest as a precursor to integration with the West would simply be a poor man’s club’ (Sachs, 1990: 13). What followed ‘was a break-up and in effect the start of a competitive race by East European states to prepare themselves for direct entry into West European markets’ (Gowan, 1995: 7). Any ideas of a ‘mixed hybrid form of socio-economic system’ were rejected (Gowan, 1995: 7). Sachs argued that ‘the East European states must reject … ideas about a “third way” and go straight for a western style market economy’ (Sachs, 1990: 13). Alternative proposals were made by France and Germany. The Franco-German proposals were in favour of keeping the USSR and Eastern Europe linked via a freetrade regime. They also encouraged large public infrastructure projects embracing the USSR and Eastern Europe. Lastly the French notion of a pan-European confederation embracing both the EC and the whole of the east were rejected by the American approach. Eventually, however, the American approach was adopted and not the Franco-German proposals. (Gowan, 1995: 7). The economic package was adopted in January 1990 and, as analysed by Chossudovsky, it required budget cuts that involved redirecting Belgrade’s suspension of transfer payments to the governments of the republics and the autonomous provinces, thereby fuelling the process of political balkanisation and secessionism. The government of Serbia rejected Ante Markovic´’s austerity programme thus contributing to a significant number of demonstrations among Serbian workers. The agreement signed with the IMF required expenditure cuts of the equivalent of 5 per cent of GDP, in circumstances when earnings had already gone down because of inflation. By 1991, another dinar devaluation was announced, leading to other price increases (Chossudovsky, 1996: 521). Further conditions involved the liberalisation of the interest rate and reductions on import quotas. The Yugoslav government also lost control over its own monetary policy; in particular, the agreement signed

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with the IMF prevented the federal government from having access to credit from its own central bank, the National Bank of Yugoslavia. This condition enabled the budgetary process but it also took away the power of the federal state to finance its economic and social programmes. Moreover, as Chossudovsky observes, the deregulation of commercial credits alongside the banking reforms was conducive to a further collapse of investment by the socially owned enterprises (1996: 522). Crucially for the argument pursued in this book, Chossudovsky pays particular attention to the abolishing of socially owned enterprises. The reforms introduced under Markovi´c in 1989 had particularly contributed to the bankruptcy of the industrial sector (1996: 521–5). By 1991, industrial output had been reduced by 21 per cent and it was clear that the creditors’ intentions were to abrogate the system of socially owned enterprises. In fact the enterprise law of 1989 required the abolition of the ‘socially owned productive units under self-management with the Workers Council constituting the main decision-making body’ (522). The Worker’s Council, under the official name of the Basic Organisation of Associated Labour (BAOL), was to be transformed into a series of private capitalist enterprises, with the Workers Council being replaced by the so-called social bond controlled by the owners of each enterprise, including its creditors. The main purpose of these policies was to encourage the Yugoslav government to adopt massive privatisation, which meant dismantling the public sector. By 1990, Chossudovsky continues, more than half of Yugoslavia’s banks had been dismantled and the emphasis moved to creating ‘independent profit orientated institutions’ (1996: 522). As a result Yugoslavia’s previous three-tier system was destroyed. The National Bank of Yugoslavia, the national banks of the eight republics and autonomous provinces and the commercial bank were dismantled under the guidance of the World Bank. Speed was once again emphasised, given that the process of dismantling of the banks was to be completed within a mere five years. At the same time the development of non-banking financial intermediaries including brokerage firms, investment management firms and insurance companies was also to be introduced (522). Additionally, under the IMF/World Bank sponsored reforms, credits to the industrial sector were frozen, with a view to speeding up the bankruptcy process. Defined as an ‘exit mechanism’ and part of the 1989 Financial Operations Act, it had been introduced to stipulate that if an enterprise were to remain solvent for 30 days running, or for 30 days within a 45-day period, it had to hold a meeting within the following 15 days with its creditors to arrive at a settlement. This exit mechanism

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enabled creditors (including national and foreign banks) routinely to convert their loans into controlling equity in the insolvent enterprise. Essentially, under this act the government could not intervene and, should a settlement not be reached, bankruptcy procedures would be initiated, which in practical terms meant that workers would not normally receive a redundancy package (Chossudovsky, 1996: 522). Inevitably, in 1989–90 ‘222 firms went bankrupt, 86 were liquidated and 89,400 workers … laid off. During the first nine months of 1990, directly following the adoption of the IMF programme, another 889 enterprises with a combined workforce of 525,000 workers were subjected to the bankruptcy procedure. In less than two years, the “trigger mechanism” led to 600,000 workers out of a total industrial workforce of 2.7 million being laid off. The largest concentrations of bankrupt firms and layoffs were in Serbia, Bosnia-Herzegovina, Macedonia and Kosovo’ (Chossudovsky, 1996: 522). Kosovo was particularly badly affected. Having lost its constitutional powers, now a majority of its previously employed people lost their jobs. The main reason for this was that most of Kosovo’s industry was state-owned. Towards the end of 1990, when Markovic´ started his programme of privatisation, ‘the republican oligarchies, who all had visions of a national renaissance of their own, instead of choosing between a genuine Yugoslav market and hyperinflation, opted for war’, which in years to come ‘would disguise the real causes of the economic catastrophe’ (Boarov, 1992: 29). It is clear that the speed with which the policies of restructuring, including shock therapy, were carried out contributed to the rapid process of political disintegration (Orford, 2003: 95; Woodward, 1995: 384). While the policies of shock therapy were being introduced the country had already entered ‘a nationalist dynamic’ (Woodward, 1995: 17). As the name of the policy suggests the ‘shock therapy’, the speed with which the policies were introduced was absolutely essential. As demonstrated above, the federal government as well as international institutions were committed to implementing radical political and constitutional reforms. Their main purpose was to make possible the rapid transformation from socialist economic structures to a purely market-based economy. Regretfully, however, there was some inconsistency between the conditions needed for peaceful coexistence and the conditions of economic liberalisation. As some observed: ‘time was the commodity that was needed [to build a cross-republican, society-wide political organisation] to avoid civil war and genocide, rapid economic and political change was considered to be essential by the IMF, banks and financial institutions’ (Orford, 2003: 96).

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In support of argument in this chapter, the above analysis indicates at least three ways in which the process of integrating the former state into neo-liberal international economy had a significant contextual influence on the subsequent violent breakdown of Yugoslav society. First, at its most basic and as reflected in the 1970s, the programmes of liberalisation contributed to a sense of insecurity among the people of Yugoslavia. Some of the examples presented in this chapter show the effects of inflation, falling real incomes, shortages of consumer goods, unemployment and the threat of unemployment. Further, basic means of everyday living such as food subsidies and commodities such as gasoline, heating, food and transportation were disappearing. Second, these economic policies had real political consequences; one of them was the protecting of minority rights within a socialist system. As explained above, the socialist system of the former Yugoslavia had been based upon, among other things, the provision of state guaranteed jobs, which were distributed according to national status and state expenditure on cultural rights (Orford, 2003: 94; Woodward, 1995: 381). However, with IMF conditions came the destruction of these mechanisms. Examples included fiscal cuts, greater political centralisation and eventually the ending of the nationally based distribution of voting. Changing the conditions under which individual security is provided may sometimes be associated with what Polanyi calls an enforced change from redistributive relations (the socialist system) to exchange relations (the capitalist system) (Polanyi, 1957: 43–55). Although Polanyi’s work is not the focus of my book, he provides a useful distinction between three different organisational principles for the economy: reciprocity, redistribution and exchange. In the first, to summarise these, reciprocity depends on trust in the social system. So long as the transacting parties are satisfied with fair dealings over the long term, this is enough to qualify a system as reciprocal. It does not require each and every transaction to be a matter of barter. Everyone in a reciprocal economy has more or less the same power as everyone else (Watson, 2005: 147–8). In contrast, redistribution is founded on a system of rewards directed by strong central controls. Production is centralised and then redistributed according to estimates of social benefit, a system which requires everyone’s agreement. What distinguishes exchange economies, for their part, is the autonomy and subsequent detachment of the buyers and sellers, who acknowledge no obligations to one another beyond keeping appointments to make what each sees as fair exchange. They have no social cohesion, but meet for mutually convenient transactions

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and disperse again. The power to fix prices becomes the only power that matters (Watson, 2005: 147–8). Applying these distinctions to this case study, one could argue that the changes introduced in Yugoslavia (both domestically and internationally) as a response to worsening economic conditions amount to an enforced change from redistributive relations to exchange relations. In the former Yugoslav system there had been limits on private property rights, but these were adapted to the prevailing redistributive relations of the country’s economy, within which the government had to control the movement of resources so as to maintain a more or less equal level of advantages. When these limits were relaxed, it seemed to propel the citizens willy-nilly into a system of exchange relations. But the citizens had not adapted to the new character of the relations they had to share; if an economy moves from a primarily (or even at certain times partially) redistributive to an exchange system, those within the economy must change their economic behaviour. Where in the past they had to respect the wishes of a central authority, who decided what social good should be achieved by particular kinds of redistribution, now they had to think and behave as individuals and to look out primarily for their own interests (147–8). What is significant in the above analysis is that in the process of changing from one system to another no sensitivity was extended to the actual existing Yugoslav system or how it provided for individual securities. The individual who was socialised by a redistributive economy was able to hold in check the politicising aspects of ethnic identity out of deference to the wishes of a central state authority for a stable multi-ethnic federation. But the individual who was socialised by the individualising effects of exchange relations could not do the same. The third way in which the process of economic mismanagement acts had a significant contextual influence on the subsequent violent breakdown of Yugoslav society was through contributing to the nationalist dynamics developing during the 1980s. These were caused in particular through social polarisation, reduced protection of minority rights as well as reforms requiring constitutional reforms. There was an overall sense that the existing federal government lacked legitimacy (Chossudovsky, 1996: 521–5). Even though Tito’s governing was not without problems of its own it did provide a sense of community which depended upon the state’s ability to provide some level of economic support. In such conditions, ‘ethnic nationalism offered a form of community and identity’ (Orford, 2003: 94). In summary, the social impact of IMF economic liberalisation arguably ‘fuelled the nationalist dynamic by rapidly restructuring republican

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and federal levels of government, by implementing policies with divisive social consequences, and by advocating the removal of mechanisms that provided some support to individuals who would suffer under unrestrained economic liberalism’ (Orford, 2003: 92). As argued throughout this book, the destructive violence which was manifested within Yugoslavia and its province of Kosovo is not disputed. Nor is it disputed that conditions within Kosovo were especially conducive for economic rivalries to open into a conflict justified and fought along ethnic lines. However, with due regard at the same time to a CHIA, it is argued that the conditions imposed by the IMF, the World Bank and some Western states contextualised these violent events. This is an immensely important point, because it rejects the assumption that the violence in Yugoslavia was a local event, caused by local people, for which they should take sole responsibility. It is argued that to assert that the violence in the former Yugoslavia is a product of ‘local politics, interests, passions and ambitions, is to absolve international institutions of responsibility for taking account of the reception of the norms and the culture they impose’ (Orford, 2003: 96). This is why it is argued in a CHIA that the dissolution of Kosovo into SHE cannot be sufficiently explained without recognising the effect of policies but also the underlying core principles of the global neo-liberal economic order which sustained and justified these policies.

Part 3.3 Contextualising the 1998–9 Kosovo crisis The circumstances within Kosovo cannot be presented without recalling two significant factors. The first is related to the 1960s policy of territorial decentralisation and the second shows how the effects of territorial decentralisation became significant in the late 1970s and early 1980s. As noted already, due to the process of territorial decentralisation, the economic organisation of the different republics within the former Yugoslavia dictated their different manufacturing specialisations. In the case of Kosovo this was the production and export of primary goods. While this system worked throughout the 1960s and early 1970s, with the arrival of the global oil and debt crisis at the beginning of the 1970s, the demand for Kosovo’s primary goods substantially lessened, turning it into one of Yugoslavia’s poorest regions. The uneven development of the republics, already noticeable by the early 1970s and accompanied by a number of socio-political hardships imposed upon the former states by the different economic policies of the political and economic reorganisation, caused much animosity between

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the Federal Government, the different republics and the two autonomous provinces. Particular conflicts arose between federally mandated standards on such issues as the minimum wage, welfare rights, cultural rights and others; federal subsidies to poorer communities, federal aid to less developed regions; the federal army; and the republics’ assertion of their right to self-determination. It was financial issues which provoked all the different republics to assert the right to self-determination. For instance, while the republics had some independence, republican governments still relied heavily on federal funds, not least on funds from the World Bank, and it is in these circumstances that the new 1974 Constitution was granted (Woodward, 1995: 39). The 1974 Constitution was very significant for the two provinces within Serbia, Kosovo and Vojvodina. They gained full autonomy over their parliament, budgets and judicial system. This gave them the status of near-republics but not the title of a republic (Woodward, 1995: 40; Malcolm, 1998: 327; Bennett, 1995: 72). To make Kosovo a republic was not an option because it was unacceptable to both Serbs and Macedonians, an issue to be explained shortly (Judah, 2000: 38). The granting of the 1974 Constitution is important for the social dynamic between the people of Serbia and those of the province of Kosovo. According to Yugoslavia’s federal system of taxes and transfers, Serbia was granted the status of a developed republic and therefore did not receive any federal credits. This was particularly significant where Kosovo was concerned. Kosovo, in contrast to Serbia, did qualify as an underdeveloped region; thereby whether Serbia approved or not, it had to provide Kosovo with these funds. This happened as a result of the 1974 Constitution which gave Kosovo autonomy over its own budget while Serbia had no equivalent powers over decisions made within either of its autonomous provinces of Vojvodina or Kosovo. This combination of Kosovo’s reliance on federal funds from Serbia, while at the same time Kosovo was seen as a burden on Serbia’s own development, significantly contextualised the violence which was shortly to follow. Kosovo’s economy (hit harder than those of all other republics) very soon became a political issue. Serious violence first broke out in 1981 in Pristina, a major city of Kosovo. At first sight an insignificant event, a revolt by students over poor food in the university canteen, rapidly spread throughout Kosovo and the whole region (Malcolm, 1998: 334; Glenny, 1999: 624). The protest demanded the position of a republic for Kosovo, a demand which was unacceptable to Serbia, for reasons which are discussed below. A state of emergency was declared, during which lives were lost. This is why, as some observe, Kosovo after Tito’s

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death ‘was the first point of conflict and the first disaffected community against whom the army was deployed’ (Silber and Little, 1997: 27). There were attempts to reverse the situation. One example would be the attempt by the liberal party press to expose the nationalist-based opposition that existed among the intellectuals. The liberal party press produced a draft of a memorandum to the Serbian Academy of Science and Art seeking to effect an understanding between the different ethnic minorities. However, in 1986, when it was published, the economic hardship of the population of Kosovo caused it to have the very opposite result. It was treated as historical evidence of Serbian victimisation (Malcolm, 1998: 139–41; Glenny, 1999: 625). Regardless of the credibility of these findings, the document accompanied Serbian nationalists who allegedly faced discrimination in the very homeland of Serbian civilisation (Mertus, 1999: 13; Malcolm, 1998: 337–40).6 The fertile basis for nationalism was not lessened by the demographical increase of ethnic Albanians in Kosovo from 67 per cent to 78 per cent between 1961 and 1981 (Bennett, 1995: 88–9). Woodward comments that ‘tales spun of forced expulsion and even rape of Serbs and Montenegrins by rebellious Albanians became the basis for emotional appeals to receptive parliament to prevent what was increasingly called genocide against Serbs’ (1995: 74). This demand was expressed in Serbian rallies in both Kosovo and Serbia, which demanded that federal and provincial governments should arrest and expel ethnic Albanian leaders (Sterling-Folker, 2006a: 366). In this situation in 1987, Slobodan Miloševi´c, a still unknown Communist party official (elected Chairman of the Presidium of the Central Committee of the League of Communists the year before) travelled to Kosovo. There he made a speech which has often been seen as the initiator of contemporary Serbian nationalism. Gathering a large crowd in the town of Pristina, he symbolically declared that ‘Nobody has the right to beat you’ (Malcolm, 1998: 341). By directing this speech to the Serbs as opposed to the Albanian population, he became an overnight hero to the Serb minority within the province. Indeed, ‘news of the speech reverberated across Serbia and the shock waves spread fear throughout the federation’ (Bennett, 1995: 94). It should be recalled that Kosovo presented an obstacle to Miloševi´c’s plan for Serbia and the whole of the federation. In order for Serbia to pass any laws, it needed the approval of Vojvodina and Kosovo, its two autonomous provinces. While this had not been an issue in Vojvodina where Serbs formed the majority, Kosovo presented a very different situation. Under the terms of the 1974 Constitution, the Albanianled Communist Party had the power to block any laws passed by the

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Serbian Parliament. Moreover, the Yugoslav Federal Presidency had eight members, six from the republics and two from Serbia’s autonomous provinces. This basically meant that Kosovo’s vote had the same weight as Serbia’s. Therefore one can see why Miloševic´’s ambition was to control Kosovo’s federal representation (Bennett, 1995: 94). Already a President of the Serbian League of Communists, Miloševi´c successfully increased from July 1988 to January 1989 the number and size of popular demonstrations against the austerity measures. Exploiting the current economic hardship for his own advantage, in his speeches at the Yugoslav League of Communists’ Central Committee (YCLCC) he directly referred to the economic situation, stressing that ‘interest rates are wearing out the economy’.7 Demonstrations, initiated with small groups of protesters from Kosovo, fuelled with Miloševic´’s charisma, expanded to crowds measuring from 10,000 to 1 million (Glenny, 1999: 628). Miloševic´ acknowledged his complicity in his increasing resort to ‘the street’ to generate support by proclaiming an ‘antibureaucratic revolution’ – the code word used throughout the Titoist period for revolution from below against established power and official privileges (Woodward, 1995: 97). For instance, the direct consequence was that by October 1988 the governments of the provinces of Kosovo and Vojvodina resigned as a result of the continued demonstrations and were replaced by governments comprising Miloševic´’s allies. In November, the only two Albanians representing Kosovo province in the federal party were removed from their posts and in January the Montenegrin leadership also had to resign. The ‘antibureaucratic revolution’ curtailed the autonomy of Kosovo and Vojvodina, imposing a state of emergency in Kosovo (Malcolm, 1998: 342). Predictably, this situation was met with demonstrations and riots which, when faced with Serbian security forces, ended in deaths. The main justification given to the crowds was that constitutional changes were necessary to protect Kosovo’s remaining Serbs against harassment from the Albanian majority. By 1990, Milosevic had finally abolished the autonomy of Vojvodina and Kosovo; however, for reasons mentioned earlier he did not abolish their two seats on the Federal Presidency. Consequently, Serbia ended up with three out of eight votes on the Presidency, or four, if Montenegro was counted. Eventually, on 5 July 1990, Serbia’s political changes were ratified. Despite an obvious protest from the Albanian population, the result was predictable, given the greater Serbian population of Serbia proper (Malcolm, 1998: 344–6). As might be expected, this was met with outrage from the Kosovo Albanians who responded by forming their own party – the Democratic League of Kosovo, led by an intellectual and writer Ibrahim Rugova

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(Woodward, 1995: 118–21). Rugova’s disapproval was demonstrated in the form of an Albanian popular boycott of the Yugoslav and Serbian states; Albanians took no part in elections and paid no taxes or duties to the Federation. Rugova encouraged a movement to build separate institutions, such as schools and hospitals, exclusively for the Albanian population. In 1991 a referendum indicated overwhelming support for the building of an independent ‘Republic of Kosovo’. In the following summer, a second referendum elected Rugova a president of Kosovo. Unsurprisingly, however, the Serbian government ignored both referendums and therefore their outcomes (Malcolm, 1998: 347–9). It was in these conditions – an already apparent crisis, regional inequalities and rising intolerance between ethnic and religious groups – that the movement to break up Yugoslavia was initiated by the two richest republics, Slovenia and Croatia. This received the formal assent of Germany (through the German Foreign Minister, Hans Dietrich Genscher), which, ‘after neo-liberal parties had come to power in both republics with the 1990 elections, expected that an independent Slovenia and Croatia would move more quickly than an intact Yugoslavia to provide willing markets and attractive investment opportunities’ (Freyberg-Inan, 2006: 233). On June 25 and June 26, Slovenia and Croatia declared their independence which was followed by the YNA intervention instigating a decade of bloodshed. The next stage of Yugoslavia’s turbulent history is significant for the early 1990s and the wars in Slovenia, Croatia and Bosnia. It is beyond the scope of this book to provide an analysis of these wars, which are indeed thoroughly documented elsewhere.8 The next stage considered as significant in Kosovo’s decline into crisis is its post-Dayton position. It is significant because post-Dayton circumstances represent a situation where ‘the international community declared itself happy with [what must be considered] only partial solutions, ignoring that the problems of all six republics were inextricably bound up with one another’ (Calic cited in Glenny, 1999: 633). In the meantime, the violence in Kosovo, ignored during the wars in Slovenia, Croatia and Bosnia and moreover not considered in the 1995 Dayton agreement, continued. Unfortunately, as Misha Glenny recalls, the international community during 1991–2 focused on the problem of Serb, Croat and Slovene relations, while the ‘shattering implications for the rest of the country were barely appreciated’ (1999: 633). The more confident Serbian government after the Dayton agreement was able to be more coercive in its policies towards Kosovo (Malcolm, 1998: 252; Chandler, 2000: 42; Bellamy, 2002a: 11). But in contrast to

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the Serbian strategy, the Democratic League of Kosovo (LDK), elected in 1991 and run by Rugova, adopted a twin strategy for independence (Bellamy, 2002a: 12). Rugova was in favour of non-violent resistance, aware that the ‘[LDK] would have no chance of successfully resisting the [Serbian] army. […] We believe it is better to do nothing than to be massacred’ (Rugova cited in Bellamy, 2002a: 12). While some continued to support Rugova after Dayton, other Kosovar Albanians argued that his methods had achieved little. This led to the radicalisation of the Kosovar Albanians’ strategy and on 14 and 15 February 1996 further violence began, with four attacks on Serbian civilians and security personnel (Bellamy, 2002a: 59). The responsibility was claimed by a previously unknown organisation calling itself the Kosovo Liberation Army (KLA). In the following months there were several more incidents, for which the KLA claimed responsibility. Rugova questioned the validity of such claims, arguing that the Serbian extremists might have carried out the shooting instead (Glenny, 1999: 653). Following the Dayton agreement, the Kosovar Albanians looked at Croatia and Bosnia with envy. They referred to the fact that, with the help of the international community, the Serbs had been completely defeated in Croatia and partially in Bosnia. In addition, while Bosnia Herzegovina had received $5 billion from the international community in the form of aid and reconstruction, the Albanians, despite being Miloševic´’s first victim, had received nothing (Glenny, 1999: 653). In spring 1996, the KLA did not resemble an organised force, yet its increasingly violent methods made it a challenge to Rugova’s leadership, as well as provoking reprisals by the Serbian security forces (Malcolm, 1998: 354; Glenny, 1999: 654; Ignatieff, 2000: 13). Regarding its position outside Kosovo, the KLA in the first year of its existence did not arouse much attention. The West, together with the United Nations and Russia, was busy ‘putting the Bosnian jigsaw back together’. Indeed Misha Glenny further observes: After five years of vicious conflict in the former Yugoslavia, the West was tired of the Balkan tragedy. The death of a few Serbs in Kosovo barely registered in diplomatic cables and no government was interested in pursuing the matter. The peace in Bosnia depended on the goodwill and cooperation of Slobodan Milosevic. This was not the time, Western politicians thought, to open a Pandora’s box like Kosovo. (1999: 654) The KLA was supported by the Kosovar émigrés from Germany, Switzerland, Italy and France, from whom it drew the financial

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resources needed to continue its hit and run campaign against the Serbian police and military installations. Operating from bases inside neighbouring Albania, the KLA started to kill Serbian policemen, postmen and government workers. In 1998, the US Special Representative to Yugoslavia, Robert Gelbard, defined the KLA as terrorists. In practical terms, no effort was made to stop its activity by intercepting the money or weapons which sustained its campaign. As far as the Western powers were concerned, the Yugoslav case was closed at Dayton. Meanwhile, the KLA insurgents predictably caused counterattacks from the Serb police – the MUP (Caplan, 1998: 5; Malcolm, 1998: xxx). In late February 1998, one such counterattack killed 80 civilians in the Drenica region of central Kosovo. This killing sent shock waves throughout Kosovo: ‘it marked the end of the campaign of non-violent resistance and the onset of mass armed struggle’ (Ignatieff, 2000: 13). Initially this brought the KLA wide, although short-lived support. By late July the KLA was faced with counter-attacks from the Serbian offensive in which rockets were aimed at villages. Two hundred thousand civilians were driven from their homes into the mountainous areas and the KLA itself was driven back closer to the Albanian border. Yet again, all through the summer of 1998, Kosovo did not arouse enough attention from the international community to make a difference to the region. Even when the international community did condemn Miloševi´c’s counter-offensive strategies, at the same time ‘Western governments were quietly doing nothing, waiting for it to succeed’ (Ignatieff, 2000: 14). They apparently believed that the Serbian campaign, by reducing the self-confidence of the KLA, would increase the chances of an eventual settlement, thus persuading the Albanians to withdraw their demand for independence (Malcolm, 1998: xxxii). After the massacres in Drenica valley in September 1998, attempts were made to ‘internationalise’ the Kosovo problem. This meant that Kosovo was no longer considered a strictly internal matter, but rather a concern of the whole international community. At first, Miloševi´c complied, allowing the deployment in Kosovo of the OSCE Verification Mission of unarmed monitors. This was controlled by the 54-nation Organisation for Security and Cooperation in Europe (OSCE), based in Vienna (Malcolm, 1998: xxvi). The OSCE mission was part of America’s strategic policy in Kosovo under the command of William Walker. The purpose of the Verification Mission was to make sure that the Yugoslav army stayed in barracks, while the Kosovo guerrillas stayed up in the mountains. While the Mission was at work, Milosevic was prepared to negotiate with the Kosovars essentially, however, he was adamant that

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Kosovo should stay a part of Yugoslavia, while the Kosovars were determined to fight for its independence (Ignatieff, 2000: 14). The context of the conflicting aims of both parties fed further hostility, which continued well into the winter of 1998–9. On 15 January 1999, in the village of Racak 45 people were murdered, including a 12year-old boy and two women (Ignatieff, 2000: 14). The very next day, William Walker, visiting the site, accused the Yugoslav authorities of being responsible for this crime. ‘From the moment that agencies began to flash the news of Racak around the world, it was obvious to everyone concerned that nothing could be the same now’ (Judah, 2000: 194). The authorities in Belgrade rejected this accusation, claiming that the KLA had staged the events in Racak. However, when Judge Luise Arbour, the head of the International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia, refused to enter the country, it undermined the claim of the Yugoslav authorities that ‘they had nothing to hide’ (Judah, 2000: 194). Meanwhile, in the headquarters of government institutions in Washington, Paris and London, frantic rounds of emergency consultations began. Albright argued that future diplomacy must be supported by the threat of military action and British and French leaders supported her. In consultation with the Russian Foreign Minister a new plan was drawn up (Judah, 2000: 194). On 30 January 1999 NATO issued a plan for action; its most important decision was that a proper military peacekeeping force had to be introduced because the crisis was a ‘threat to international peace and security’ (Blair, 1999a). In its statement, the Contact Group (composed of the US, the UK, France, Italy and Russia) asked for the restoration of pre-1990 autonomy for Kosovo. It also called for a peace conference to be held the following month in the Château de Rambouillet, just outside Paris. But even on 18 March, after nearly two months of negotiations, no results had been achieved. Although the Albanian, American and British delegates signed the so-called Rambouillet Accords, the Serbian and Russian delegates refused. This has led some authors to conclude that this could have been predicted, considering that the Accords asked for the restoration of Kosovo’s autonomy to what it had enjoyed before 1990, a force of 300,000 NATO troops to maintain order in Kosovo and the unlimited right of passage for NATO troops and personnel. In other words, Rambouillet was a proposal that could never have been accepted by Miloševi´c and that the Contact Group proposal was effectively a NATO proposal with Russia acting as ‘a dissenting voice within the Contact Group’ (Herring, 2000: 226).

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Rambouillet was a temporary agreement and therefore the question of what was to follow was crucial. Its Article I.3 (Chapter 8), stated: ‘three years after the entry into force of this Agreement, an international meeting shall be convened to determine mechanisms for a final settlement for Kosovo, on the basis of the will of the people, opinions of relevant authorities, each Party’s efforts regarding the implementation of this Agreement, and the Helsinki Final Act’ (Herring, 2000: 226). Weller observes that when Albright referred to the ‘will of the people’ she meant the will of the people of Kosovo, not of Serbia or Yugoslavia (1999: 232–3). No wonder the Albanian Kosovar delegations considered the result a no-lose situation. If Serbia were to reject the deal, NATO would intervene, allowing their war for independence to continue. If Serbia accepted, Kosovo’s independence would come through a referendum after three years. This led the Yugoslav leader to observe that the Rambouillet agreement sought the independence of Kosovo, not its autonomy (Herring, 2000: 227). It is beyond the scope of this book to analyse the Rambouillet proceedings, but it is important to admit that the above view contrasts with those which do not consider the Conference proceedings as destined from the start to fail. Alex Bellamy, for instance, interprets them as ‘the best last chance for peace’ where ‘Milosevic’s decision was influenced by NATO’s inability to convey a credible threat. For coercive diplomacy to work, the target has to be made aware that the costs of non-compliance far outweigh the costs of compliance. In this case, NATO simply failed to persuade the Yugoslav president of this’ (Bellamy, 2002a: 18). Accordingly, on 1 October 1998, the first draft of the US-sponsored Hill Plan proposed autonomy for Kosovo within Serbia, further providing that this could change pending the agreement of all parties. As might be imagined, the unofficial government of Kosovo rejected it. In a move that was essential for what was to follow, the Serbian National Assembly made a counter-proposal on 23 March that was rejected by NATO – it was ‘ignored or given only a passing mention in pro-war narratives’ – and on 24 March Albright said that the goal of the NATO campaign was ‘achievable in a relatively short period of time’ (Herring, 2000: 228). Thus, on 24 March NATO bombing began, an act referred to as humanitarian intervention. This act was used by solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention as a way of demonstrating international society’s moral responsibility to encouraging human rights everywhere. The point of the above analysis in order to complement my overall argument about solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention,

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is that the Conference at Rambouillet, although associated with the prevention of SHEs, happened in the context of an already existing capacity for violence. This is why this book questions the moral worth of international society’s claim to fulfil the moral responsibility to encourage human rights everywhere. This happens because this book argues that international society provided the context for this crisis in the first place. It has already been acknowledged that there were other factors which contributed to Kosovo’s regrettable fate, and it is not the subject of this book to judge which one of these should take primary responsibility. However, what is clear is that ‘the structural adjustment programs that were imposed upon Yugoslavia [throughout the 1970s, 1980s and 1990s] were not inevitable. They were the results of choices made by Western officials to pursue debt repayment and to disregard the social and political consequences of these policies’ (Gibbs 2002: 16 cited in Freyberg-Inan, 2006: 234). Further, these choices were made even in circumstances where clear signs of political, social and economic disintegration were to be seen throughout the Yugoslav federation. Rather than acknowledging the damaging consequences which resulted from the neo-liberal economic policies, ‘the western financial community, led by the IMF, clearly opted for the imposition of austerity measures, in order to ensure at least some measure of repayment’ (Gibbs 2002: 16 cited in Freyberg-Inan, 2006: 234). Such policies were not only considered necessary, but also made legitimate because they complemented the neo-liberal idea of the Washington consensus (Henwood, 1993: 60). Clearly, the violent dissolution of the former Yugoslavia and Kosovo cannot be fully explained without including the impact of the neoliberal international economic order which sought to integrate countries into the global economy along neo-liberal principles. Solidarist theorising, however, does not include this context in its analysis of SHEs, in effect limiting the possibility of preventing such crises in the future. Indeed, their reformist conduct (identified in Chapter 2 with the management of SHEs rather than their prevention) continues into the stage of post-intervention, in this book identified with the stage of peace-building. Even more significant, by not including the working of neo-liberalism the solidarist problem-solving approach to humanitarian intervention legitimises it further. This too is demonstrated by the post1999 situation within Kosovo. It is beyond the means and purpose of this book to give a detailed account of Kosovo’s development following NATO’s intervention in

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1999. What is important, however, is to show that the state of post1999 Kosovo continues to be symptomatic of the neo-liberal method of integrating developing countries into the global economy. The role of the EU is particularly considered. It is argued that through its restructuring of the national economies of the former Yugoslavia, which has been insensitive to internal differences, the EU has undermined Kosovo’s own development. It is argued that there are two obvious ways of improving this development. The first way would be through enhanced regional cooperation within the West Balkan sub-region (of which Kosovo is a part) and the second would be its eventual membership in the EU. However, both processes are frustrated by the EU’s own trade policy towards South East Europe (SEE) considered as one region; this is at the same time considered as two separate entities, the sub-regions of the West Balkans and the East Balkans. In geographical terms the SEE region covers the following countries: Albania, Bosnia-Herzegovina, Bulgaria, Croatia, Greece, Macedonia,9 Romania, Serbia and Montenegro10 and Kosovo. As previously discussed with the example of the former Yugoslavia, the SEE region has long been associated with political unrest. Therefore establishing political stability here is the priority of most local and international actors, while efforts at economic integration are largely marginalised. The main international initiative driving the efforts to develop post-war Kosovo was the Stability Pact for South East Europe (SPSEE). This was initiated by the EU and officially adopted in Cologne on 10 June 1999. This is a politically motivated initiative, the purpose of which is to encourage and strengthen cooperation between the countries of SEE ( Jacobsen, 2000: 1–23; 2002: 1–20; 2005: 1–24). The ultimate aim of the SPSEE participants was to draw the countries of this region closer to the prospect of joining the EU. In accordance with its mandate, called Towards Stability and Prosperity: A Program for Reconstruction and Recovery in Kosovo (World Bank, 1999), the main objective was to create a vibrant market economy that was open to foreign trade through privatisation (SPSEE, 1999: 3). The Program demands that Kosovo fully reintegrate within the region of SEE (World Bank, 1999: 2). Significantly, however, full reintegration within the SEE region was flawed by the EU’s own policy towards SEE when considered as one region. The SPSEE initiative considers SEE as a region of simultaneously overlapping characteristics. While this is not disputed, there are also a great many differences which are not considered by the SPSEE initiatives. Based on these differences, two distinct subregions can be identified (Bjelic, 2005: 5).

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• The subregion of the East Balkans, consisting of Romania and Bulgaria, now members of the EU. • The subregion of the West Balkans, consisting of the former Yugoslav republics (except for Slovenia, which became an EU member in 2004) and including Albania. The countries of the East Balkans, such as Romania and Bulgaria, were in the past important members of the Soviet bloc. They were involved in international trade almost exclusively with socialist countries and therefore their economic structures corresponded with a Soviet model of trading. Significantly, in the 1990s, avoiding the kind of crisis witnessed in the former Yugoslavia, Romania and Bulgaria transformed themselves much faster into market economies with an effect of becoming EU members in 2008. The countries of the West Balkans (Albania, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Croatia, Macedonia, and Serbia and Montenegro) were outside the Soviet bloc and, as already mentioned, the former Yugoslavia had more economic integration with the West than with the East. This region developed a market economy within the conditions of the socialist political system. What distinguishes its two subregions is that after 1990 and in the subsequent conditions of dissolution and war, the West Balkans lagged behind in making the transition and in approaching the EU. Despite this obvious limitation, the West Balkan subregion’s complementary economic system of favourable trading terms (which existed and still exists between these countries) contributed to its high level of trade cooperation, especially between Bosnia and Herzegovina, Serbia and Montenegro, and Macedonia (See Table 3.1) (Bjelic, 2005: 6). However, while there is an evident potential within these countries to work together, their main limitation (dictated by the neo-liberal approach) is that the products of these countries are competitive only in neighbouring markets. This implies that integration between many sectors in these countries is possible only if it follows the open regionalism

Table 3.1 Inter-regional trade in South East Europe with percentage of total exports of SEE economies Economies Bosnia and Herzegovina Macedonia Serbia and Montenegro SEE

1995

1998

2000

2003

45 29 8 5

30 22 8 6

21 19 18 6

32 21 13 12

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model of trade integration. This would be especially relevant in the present circumstances, where their full EU membership in the near future is not envisaged (Bjelic, 2005: 1–20). This would be especially encouraging considering their past trade relations, their complementary economic system of favourable trade regimes, and relatively recent high level of trade cooperation, especially between Bosnia and Herzegovina, Serbia and Montenegro and Macedonia. Even more, cooperation with the sub-region itself would better provide for the actual needs of the people of this region. In the meantime the SPSEE initiative imposes trade regulations (especially those relating to the harmonisation with EU trade standards and the application of trade remedies according to WTO provision) to be true to the economic restructuring required by a single EU market and a regime dictated by WTO rules. This has caused some to observe that ‘the effects of trade diversion will be larger than the effects of trade creation in the region so the situation in SEE [can be] defined as trade aversion’ (Gligorov, 2004: 5). Such conflicting requirements for the West Balkans to restructure economically to satisfy simultaneously both their SEE partners and the global economy, create a situation where inter-regional cooperation is inoperative because it would contravene the trade rules upon which future EU membership relies. Trade integration in the SEE region should be constructed in accordance with the principles of open regionalism, together with a clearly defined strategy to join the European market, should this be chosen by the region as the best way to develop. The EU should support the future trade integration of these countries and ease their economic restructuring so as to include significant trade concessions. In addition, the EU’s own trade rules should apply equally to the whole region of the SEE, rather than different countries having different rules and these being conditional upon the benefits they bring into the EU (Bjelic, 2005: 1–20). The countries of the former Yugoslavia (except Slovenia and Albania), or the West Balkan sub-region, are afforded a different treatment by the EU due to their ‘involvement in wars that caused political instability and break up of relations between these countries’ (Bjelic, 2005: 11). The EU’s principal condition for the West Balkan sub-region (including Kosovo) to have any extensive economic relationship with it is its political stabilisation. Unfortunately, however, the eruption of violence in March 2004, which left 19 dead, nearly 900 injured and 4500 misplaced people, ICG (2004) made the possibility of political stability more remote.

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This was followed by Serbs boycotting the parliamentary elections in October 2004, which, much to the Serbs’ disappointment, was followed by the 2005 unlikely governmental alliance between the LDK and the Alliance for the Future of Kosovo (AAK) (Sörensen, 2009: 234). As soon as May 2005, the Norwegian Ambassador Kai Eide, appointed by the UN Secretary General, pursued a follow-up report on Kosovo’s future independence. Following the report, the Finnish President Martti Ahtisaari, who was also appointed by the UN Secretary General, began the status of negotiations to claim Kosovo’s independence from Serbia. The process of negotiations continued throughout 2006 with Serbian President Vojislav Koštunica, addressing the Serbian parliament in March on the Kosovo issue (Sörensen, 2009: 236). Indeed, in January 2007 Serbia offered extensive autonomy to Kosovo, but it was not until 17 February the following year that Kosovo declared independence from Serbia. Although the EU had much time to develop an adequate strategy directed at the new state, it had not been able to agree on join common foreign policy regarding Kosovo’s new position in the international arena. For instance the US, the UK, Germany and France recognised a ‘conditional independence’ for Kosovo but Russia, China, Spain, some Balkan States and many other countries did not (Sörensen, 2009: 280). Political stabilisation in Kosovo remains a pre-condition for the economic engagement of EU countries in circumstances where the economy itself needs urgent support. Political stabilisation is required in a situation where two years into Kosovo’s independence its judicial system is falling apart, the police, public prosecutors and courts are failing its citizens and organised crime and corruption are growing (ICG, 2010). As documented in the World Bank’s recent reports on Kosovo, its trade account and hence the current account ‘remains one of the most misbalanced in the region with a widening deficit in the last two years’. Kosovo has a very low production capacity level overall and its exports of goods covered only 10.3 per cent of its imports in 2008. The IMF projects a current account deficit of 37 per cent of GDP in 2009, up from 30 per cent in 2008 (World Bank, 2009: 4). In previous parts of this chapter it has been noted that the province of Kosovo is characterised by its predominantly agricultural character. Yet much of Kosovo’s agricultural land remains underdeveloped. This is particularly significant considering that until recently up to 40 per cent of Kosovo’s workforce was employed in the agricultural sector. Here is a most basic illustration of the EU’s inappropriate policy of prioritising political over economic development. While Kosovo’s farmers have a

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free trade agreement with the SEE countries, their poor infrastructure or lack of experience prevent them from coming anywhere near competing successfully, and this limitation applies even to competing in their own homeland. This situation, as already confirmed, is not going to be helped in the future by the tight EU budget settlement for 2007–13 (ICG, 2006: 5–6). To summarise the above, it is argued that the EU’s policies towards the province of Kosovo remain conflicting and indicate an insufficient commitment. It is argued that regional cooperation should be encouraged within the West Balkans and that the EU should support it in a determined and strategic way. For instance, the EU should create a joined-up framework for the accession of all the countries of the West Balkans ‘with conditions and aims so that West Balkan countries themselves determine the speed of integration to the EU by fulfilling these conditions’ (Bjelic, 2005: 16). Fundamentally, however, it is argued that the EU policy towards Kosovo must prioritise economic development before the political agenda. As a Belgrade University lecturer, Predrag Bjelic, observes: The economy must be at the centre of any policy making of the EU so the West Balkan countries can concentrate on economic co-operation, which will bring political stability. Countries that trade and strive for genuine economic prosperity do not have time for war. Economic co-operation can have a major role in the resolution of many political problems in the region including the final status of [independent] Kosovo. (Bjelic, 2005: 15)

Summary Summarising the above, Chapter 3 accepts that there were many factors which contributed to the tragic circumstances of Kosovo in 1998–9. Fundamentally, however, it rejects any analysis which purports to explain this violence by disengaging it from its political and economic context. It was shown above that the political and economic context within the former Yugoslavia was significantly influenced by the workings of the current economic order. Therefore, guided by the purpose of a CHIA, which works by prevention and not intervention, this chapter has sought to explain Kosovo’s SHE as a reaction to harsh economic measures. These were applied by international society, specifically some Western states, the World Bank, the IMF and outside creditors. It argues

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that before the wars of the early 1990s stability within the former federation was based on complex constitutional arrangements, the meaning of citizenship within it and its international role. It was the disturbance of these three attributes by the World Bank the IMF and some Western states that provided the breeding ground for ethnic tensions. The process of restructuring Yugoslavia’s national economies began fully as early as 1982 when the Yugoslav government sought a threeyear standby loan from the IMF. This loan was intended to repay previous debts acquired in the 1970s during the worldwide oil crisis. The conditions attached to this loan by the IMF involved major domestic restructuring, the main purpose of which was better to enable the servicing of foreign debt. Some examples involved domestic restructuring, such as cuts in government expenditure, trade, price liberation, the cutting of imports and the promotion of exports. Further restructurings, which came with later programmes, involved capping wages and reorienting production. Essentially it also involved recentralising political and economic decision-making, privatisation and currency devaluation. The direct restructuring of Yugoslav politics was made possible through the imposition of conditions requiring constitutional and institutional reforms. For instance, the new credits of the 1980s were offered in exchange for implementing such changes. Some of the most pivotal changes required by the IMF sought to move political and economic authority from republican governments and banks to the federal government and the National Bank. All of the IMF credits granted after 1982 required the federal reassertion of economic authority over republican governments. Later conditions, such as those attached to the ‘May Measures’ of 1988, abolished the socialist system of worker’s participation in firms’ decision-making and the slender protection against unemployment still left at this time was also removed. To add to the everyday hardship of ordinary people, severe cuts in public expenditure were also introduced. By the end of 1989 it was evident that the political and economic system of the former state was failing. There was an evident escalation in nationalist rhetoric, continued revision of republican constitutions, demonstrations against austerity measures, strikes, harassments of minorities by the police and attacks provoked along nationalist lines. However, despite these stunting social conditions, the economic advisers to the Yugoslav government continued to argue that the effectiveness of the programme for global integration depended on speed. The so-called shock therapy stabilisation programme was introduced.

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This could not have been more in line with the neo-liberal logic of integrating a developing country into the global economy. The 1990s in particular were focused on changing the role of the state to create a more favourable environment for the private sector. Methods included the privatisation of public services and assets and the liberalisation of trade, finance and investment. It was further argued in this chapter that SAP policies, as well as the core ideas which underlay those policies, contributed to Yugoslavia’s grave unemployment and social and political polarisation, as well as the changed dynamic between the different republics. It was in the light of these unfavourable conditions that Kosovo’s political circumstances were considered. Although this book has not considered in detail the political circumstances leading to the Kosovo crisis, four major events have been mentioned. The first was Belgrade’s abrogation in 1989 of the autonomous status which Kosovo had enjoyed under the 1974 Constitution. Second, the accession of Slovenia, Croatia, Bosnia and Herzegovina, and Macedonia to independence in 1991–2 shattered the commitment to Yugoslavia among the Kosovar Albanians. Third, the Dayton Peace Accords had a major destabilising effect on Kosovo. They left the question of Kosovo unresolved and consequently contributed to further unrest among the Kosovar Albanians. Finally, the Rambouillet peace negotiations failed to produce agreement and further negotiations ended in deadlock. Following Rambouillet there ensued a military intervention justified by solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention in terms of a moral commitment to encouraging human rights everywhere. Critically, however, this commitment did not extend so far as to scrutinise and consequently change the economic factors that contextualised Kosovo’s tragic circumstances in the first place. To substantiate this claim, Kosovo’s post 1999 situation was presented as a continuation of the neo-liberal agenda. Here the focus was on the EU’s role through the SPSEE initiatives in developing Kosovo after the war. The main subject of this concluding section was to focus on the EU’s inconsistent approach to Kosovo’s development. In particular, this section criticised the characteristics of the neoliberal approach to development, where political stability is considered a pre-condition for the EU’s full economic commitment, rather than the converse. The economic commitment means more than the EU’s handouts; it should mean integration into the European and transatlantic economic mainstream. This, however, has not become an option, for the region of the West Balkans is considered not sufficiently attractive

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to risk economic commitment on the part of the neo-liberal international economic order. To conclude, despite the evident neo-liberal agenda of integrating the former Yugoslavia and Kosovo into the global economy on strict neo-liberal principles, the damaging effect it had on the former state, while ascribed to many factors, has not been blamed on the neo-liberal international economic order. Not only does such a presentation of the conflict silence the economic sources of conflict (Pugh et al., 2004: 150) it also legitimises factors which I have argued contextualised Kosovo’s SHE in the first place. Following the logic of this argument limits the scope for future crises failing to consider the conditions which have contextualised them. Indeed, this is the critique which I direct at the solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention. Accordingly, the purpose of this chapter was to provide a basis upon which I argue in Chapter 4 that including economic sources of conflict provides a greater scope for the future prevention of such conflicts. Indeed, what has happened in the former Yugoslavia and continues to happen in Kosovo suggests that the increased potential for deep prevention of SHEs can be identified with the restructuring of the ordinary workings of the neo-liberal international economic order, an issue to be considered next.

4 A Critical Humanitarian Intervention Approach: How Might We Act to Prevent in the Future

Introduction In the previous chapter it was shown that the 1998–9 SHE in Kosovo had been significantly contextualised by the mismanagement of economic policies on the part of the neo-liberal international economic order and by the philosophical pre-assumptions upon which these policies are erected. This explains why I argue in this book that SHEs need necessarily be explained as part of the humanitarian intervention complex and not considered as separate from it. This is also why it is argued throughout the book that the workings of the neo-liberal international economic order and their underlying philosophies must be included in the understanding of SHEs. The primary motivation behind this reasoning is that to do so would give more incentive to international society to build an international economic context within which the reciprocal prevention of SHEs could be encouraged. Accordingly, suggesting practices by which this favourable context could be built represents the main aim of this final chapter. The chapter first carves out the space within which I situate the concept of reciprocal prevention. Further, it proposes an alternative to the working arrangements of the current neo-liberal international economic order, which, if applied, it is argued, would provide a more favourable economic context within which the reciprocal prevention of future crisis could be pursued. Although I draw parallels to my particular case study, my focus remains demonstrating how the ordinary working of the neo-liberal international economic order could be challenged and not on ways of changing particular policies into others which have a less damaging effect on vulnerable states. This is an important feature 144

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of this chapter and its purpose is to support an argument made throughout this book: that international society has to apply its sense of moral responsibility to the restructuring of the normal workings of the neoliberal international economic order. This in turn would demonstrate its encouragement of human rights everywhere.

Part 4.1 Setting the context for reciprocal prevention It was observed in Chapter 2 that there is widespread agreement on the need to prevent a future crisis. This is included in the solidarist view of this issue. Consequently, in discussing SHEs, this book does not question whether the prevention or the management of crisis associated with humanitarian intervention is the more desirable. Rather, the question relates to the possibility of prevention. Accordingly, measures to prevent conflict can be broadly divided into two types, type one defined as light prevention and type two associated with deep prevention.1 Light prevention is aimed at preventing situations with a clear capacity for violence from degenerating into armed conflict. It is not concerned with the root causes of conflict, but rather is intended to ‘prevent latent or threshold conflicts from becoming severe armed conflict’ (Ramsbotham et al., 2005: 108). Light prevention involves improving international society’s capacity to intervene in conflicts before they become violent. The solidarists’ campaign to regulate humanitarian intervention under different criteria is demonstrative of such an approach. Light prevention, pursued in this manner, correlates with the already described narrow understanding of human security. In contrast, the purpose of deep prevention is to address root causes. At the global level, addressing root causes may imply the addressing of particular policies instigated, for example, by the neo-liberal international economic order. Deep prevention means improving or otherwise changing the ‘economic and political measures to address the sources of conflict by encouraging economic development; meeting the needs for the identity, security and access of diverse groups; strengthening shared norms and institutions; addressing the sources of conflict in poverty, marginalisation and injustice; and building domestic, regional and international capacity to manage conflict’ (Ramsbotham et al., 2005: 108–9). Deep prevention corresponds to a broad understanding of human security. Indeed, it is the intellectual space already created by the concept of deep prevention within which I situate the concept of reciprocal prevention.

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This intellectual space can be found in the already existing literature, which emphasises the value of including economic factors in the understanding of crisis. Indeed, two significant developments in this area have taken place since the late 1990s. One pays attention to policy within the IFIs and the impact of their economic policy on the vulnerable. The other involves giving scholarly attention to the economic dimensions of contemporary armed conflict (Ballentine and Sherman, 2003: 1). In the first of these two developments, the IMF and the World Bank began in the 1990s to devote more attention to reducing poverty. One example in 1987 was the World Bank’s Operational Guidelines for investigating the negative impact of adjustment programmes (Vivian, 1995a: 2–3). These concerns were reinforced in the form of so-called safety nets. Safety nets were aimed at alleviating the social costs of adjustments, poverty and unemployment in particular, so as to make economic adjustment politically sustainable; finally, they were to contribute to the effectiveness of social services provision by restructuring the social sector. Most of these changes involved the restructuring of various social services (Vivian, 1995a: 1; 1995b; Subbarao, 1997). In the same year, 1987, the World Bank introduced a ‘Social Dimension of Adjustment’ as part of the SAPs (Bird and Killick, 1995: 34). As noted by Thomas, Ghana was the first country to be formally integrated into a ‘Programme of Action to Mitigate the Social Costs of Adjustments’ or PAMSCAD. This programme was a joint initiative of the Ghana government, the World Bank and UNICEF (Thomas, 2000: 65). Thomas further describes that some of the measures involved introducing fees in health services, greater contributions by parents to children’s education, cuts in the number of public sector workers and the withdrawal of subsidies on certain agricultural inputs. In total, US$83 million over two years was designated for spending on 23 projects. However, by 1990 only eight of the 23 projects had made good progress, and in 1996 the Overseas Development Institute (ODI) observed that there was no evidence that social integration into SAPs had taken place and, furthermore, that ‘the measures adopted addressed the pre-existing social problems rather than problems induced by SAP’ (65–6). In addition, in 1996 the IMF and the World Bank initiated the Heavily Indebted Poor Countries (HIPC) programme. The main aim of this was to bring the debt of the poorest countries down to sustainable levels, seen by the initiators as a reward for successfully implementing macroeconomic reform over a six-year period under the programmes of the

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IMF Emergency Social Adjustment Fund (ESAF). However, after three years in operation the initiative was heavily criticised and in 1999 the ESAF was transformed into the Poverty Reduction and Growth Facility (PRGF). This differed from its predecessor in that ‘the PRGF loans [would] be based on a national strategy document developed with the participation of civil society’ (Thomas, 2000: 64). Crucially, however, and in support of the argument made in this book, the link with necessary economic adjustments remains. Indeed, and as Thomas observes, the above developments appear to signify a shift towards the IFIs’ acceptance of their shared responsibility for the impact of their policies on vulnerable economies (Thomas, 2000: 66). Those developments coincided with scholarly attention to the need to understand better the role of economic factors in understanding crisis. In 1999 the International Peace Academy (IPA) co-sponsored a conference out of which flowed the now widely cited volume of Greed and Grievance: Economic Agendas in Civil Wars (Ballentine and Sherman, 2003: vii). It is beyond the scope of this book to provide either a detailed analysis of the ways in which these debates differ or to judge whether grievance or greed has the primary role in causing war.2 Rather, the purpose of the above evidence is to indicate an increased interest (considered as a positive development) in including economic factors in the analysis of crisis. In summary, the scholarly arguments run as follows. Controversially, Collier and Hoeffler first argue that ‘grievance’-based explanations of conflict are inappropriate. For instance, inequality, whether considered in terms of income, landownership or oppression, has no or only a limited effect on civil conflict. Moreover, they argue that ethnic and religious animosities have the potential to actually reduce the risk of conflict (Collier, 2001: 97). However, factors such as high dependency on primary commodity exports have in the past significantly increased such risk. Indeed, Collier and Hoeffler recalled this point two years later when they argued that ‘countries with low, stagnant and unequally distributed per capita incomes that have remained dependent on primary commodities for their exports face a dangerously high risk of prolonged conflict’ (Collier et al., 2003: 53). These two developments, together with the intellectual space generated by the concept of deep prevention (to be distinguished from deep prevention itself) are seen as encouraging and contributing to a context upon which the concept of reciprocal prevention could be built. It is still insufficient, however, to accommodate human security as defined by Caroline Thomas, and is therefore still insufficient to encourage fully

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the reciprocal prevention of SHEs. The main reason is that deep prevention does not question ‘deeply enough’ the legitimacy of the current neo-liberal international economic order. Accordingly, what is observed in both developments, one within the area of policy and the other within the academic sphere, is their shared ‘fixation’ on factors which are economic, but which are seen as essentially arising within the conflict-prone state concerned. This, as observed by Michael Pugh et al. is a limitation on the part of these writers, as it fails to seize some factors which are essential for a full understanding of conflict and therefore of post-conflict transformation or, as pursued in this book, its future prevention (Pugh et al., 2004: 1). The one factor particularly relevant for the argument I make in this book is a focus on the conflict interpretation of a particular entity – such as a state or a community – but regrettably detached from its genesis. (Pugh et al., 2004: 2, chapter 2). This in part explains the neo-liberal approach to providing for security, which I associate with the already explained false legitimacy of that approach and the focus on the economic/political divide. In consequence, this is an approach which is incontestably followed by solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention and indeed contributes to the solidarist problem-solving approach to what are considered SHEs. Thus, the limitation follows a logic where the ‘focus on the dynamics of conflict in states of the developing world tends to artificially distance the outside, predominantly Western world from their genesis and evolution – treating these conflicts as if they were exclusively driven by indigenous factors rather than as a systematic feature of contemporary patterns of globalisation’ (Pugh et al., 2004: 2; see also chapter 6). Developments such as these may be seen as encouraging for the reciprocal prevention of SHEs. However, they remain problem-solving because they replicate, rather than change, the very order which has contributed to the instances of crisis. In view of the circumstances of the former Yugoslavia, it is necessary to question the neo-liberal agenda itself to avoid what Paul Rogers refers to as the Western strategy of ‘liddism’ – attempting to keep the lid on growing insecurity without addressing the core reasons for dissent (Rogers cited in Pugh et al., 2004: 195). Not including the underlying agenda of neo-liberal economic order in the analysis of crisis is observed by some as an approach to conflict which has been co-opted into the neo-liberal enterprise – ‘used as an instrument of pacification in unruly border territories so that existing power structures can continue to control the global system’

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(Ramsbotham et al., 2005: 7). In this context Duffield further observes that conflict resolution and post-war reconstruction could be seen as the ‘riot control’ end of a spectrum that encompasses a broad range of ‘global poor relief’ activities (Duffield, 2001: 9, 15). In similar fashion, Thomas observes that the overarching policy of global economic integration via free market policies (of which the SAPs form an important part) cannot satisfy human security (Thomas, 2000: 60). While the underlying logic of economic liberalism protects the developed world from the effects of poverty, war and crime in developing countries, it continues to preserve the essential elements of neoliberalism which sustain these circumstances (Pugh et al., 2004: 195). In other words, what Duffield, Pugh, Rogers and Thomas say is that unless a theorist questions the agenda upon which neo-liberalism is based, their work will continue to be represented by system-supporting analyses. The particular characteristic of the neo-liberal agenda questioned in this book is one in which the political/economic divide is associated with economic statism. Indeed, Chapter 2 explained that solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention is problem-solving, first because it encourages the positivist method and, second, because it legitimises social, economic and political structures. Following this second characteristic, problemsolving theorising follows the liberal agenda, which means that it divides the humanitarian intervention complex into three separate stages: economic statism, intervention and peace-building. Essentially stage one, economic statism, was not considered to be relevant when SHEs were considered. This is the case because the commonsensical logic of the political/economic divide embraced by economic neo-liberalism implies that economic decisions are separate from political consequences. To put this in the context of the relations between the Western world and the rest of the world, economic statism implies that domestic relations (in this book associated with those instigated within the Western world) are more morally binding than international relations (in this book associated with the international relations held by the Western world towards the former Yugoslavia). Constructed on the ‘natural’ and commonsensical principles of neoclassical economics to integrate developing countries into the global economy, the damaging consequences of this so-called integration are not considered. This is the case because such methods of integration embed a preceding positive association, that is, that of global economic integration as the most natural and universal path towards economic growth and therefore security for all humankind (see Chapter 2).

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However, it has already been demonstrated by the case study of Kosovo that economic decisions have everything to do with political consequences. Therefore, in the process of reconstruction, while one cannot do much about what has happened in the former Yugoslavia, we can challenge the common sense upon which economic statism is built. This challenging was pursued through an emancipatory approach to epistemology and in particular the analytical element associated with the relation between knowledge and interest. This particular characteristic of pure theory allows theorists working within a CHIA to observe that the common sense upon which economic statism is built is artificially constructed and on this basis I argue in this chapter that such legitimacy can also be deconstructed. It was argued that the neoliberal approach to development was supposed to replicate the social and economic changes which ensued in the North after its scientific and industrial revolutions in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Therefore, in the spheres of international trade, investment and finance, it was argued, the role of the IMF and the World Bank was to maintain and support the neo-liberal agenda. This role was ascribed to the agents of the Washington Consensus. Constructed around free market beliefs, the Washington Consensus was considered a ‘natural’ way of fostering development and therefore security for all humankind. Its ‘natural’ and commonsensical character was embedded in the assumptions of neo-classical economics. It is in this ‘commonsensical’ context that the agenda of the SAP was analysed. Fundamentally this analysis showed the SAP to be another tool in the hands of the promulgators of the neo-liberal international economic order, used to favour their own agenda of elevating neo-liberal principles over the needs of those people who had suffered socio-political adjustments for the sake of neo-liberalism. Although more recent development policies than those implemented in post1999 Kosovo differ from those of the 1980–1990s SAPs, they nevertheless ‘continue to be set in the shadow of adjustment ideology’ (Watson, 2005: 227). Demonstrating only a few examples of the historical development of the neo-liberal agenda, I arrived at two conclusions. First, I observed that the different ‘ills’ of the neo-liberal international economic order never seem natural, but are always man-made. Indeed, the case study presented in Chapter 3 confirms this observation. My second conclusion was that by taking into consideration that structures are not permanent but instigated by human subjects and amenable to change, one can also argue that alternative economic arrangements can be built.

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The building of such arrangements should accompany the concept of human security, as defined by Thomas, where the satisfaction of human needs is central and applies equally to all human beings. It is argued that providing for such a security fulfils the aspiration of solidarists to be morally committed to encouraging human rights everywhere better than their present concept does. Based on the above claim that what is constructed can be deconstructed I begin the second part of this chapter by describing how one can begin to deconstruct the common sense of the current economic system.

4.2 How we might live along the alternative path Fundamentally, a CHIA begins its practical restructuring with the conviction that the problem-solving method of addressing SHEs does not represent ‘the best of all possible worlds’ (Booth, 2007: 250). This is the case because while solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention claims to be morally responsible within international society for encouraging human rights everywhere, the working of the current international order (at its most basic associated with the liberalisation of trade, finance and investment) discourages these rights. Unless the international order is adjusted so as to accept that economic activity is political activity, solidarist theorising will encourage and reinforce the same order, which, in the circumstances of Kosovo, has contextualised a SHE. In other words, solidarist theorising encourages a system-supporting analysis of the international order, which has failed to prevent the need to intervene. Admittedly, neo-liberalism is not the only factor which can contribute to poverty, war or crime, but, as has been demonstrated in the example of the former Yugoslavia and Kosovo, it did play a significant role in exacerbating these problems and consequently in contextualising the SHE there in 1998–9. Here what might be called the locus of blame becomes a useful concept. It would be simplistic to say that the locus shifts from blaming the community in crisis to blaming the neoliberal international economic order for setting up the conditions for the emergency. Rather, a CHIA begins by including the neo-liberal international economic order in its analysis of all SHEs and in consequence encourages international society to recognise its shared responsibility for such events. This shift makes it easier to use reciprocal preventative methods because, once international society has acknowledged its share of responsibility for a disaster, it will perhaps pay more attention to applying preventative policies. Therefore a theoretical change in

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international society’s attitude to possible action in an emergency of this kind might change the nature not merely of the action taken but also of the choices which can be made to prevent the need for such action. In Chapter 2, I demonstrated how power and knowledge are related and how this relationship influences particular views to become the common sense of an epoch, for instance, in the associating of intervention, as opposed to prevention, with international society’s commitment to encouraging human rights around the world. This was even more of a concern when it was further shown that all theories are constitutive, which means that ‘the practice of theory … contributes to creating the reality that they [theories] go on to explain’ (Bilgin, 2001: 273–82). Using the same logic, it is argued that, just as solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention encourages the logic of prioritising intervention over prevention, a theorist working within a CHIA can support the precedence of reciprocal prevention over military intervention. Such a theorist is able to regard ‘theorising’ instrumentally as she/he argues, following Booth’s Theory of World Security, that ‘there is nothing as practical as a good theory’ (Booth, 2007: 264). A theorist who operates within explanatory theory (here associated with the solidarist) cannot be removed from the reality she/he describes. This is the case as she/he becomes caught up in the ‘replication’ of already existing practices which are further reinforced through the ‘casual power of common sense’. It is in this way that theorists are involved in the practical process of influencing the thinking of society and their agencies. Critical Theorists, however, are in a position to be able to reflect or stand outside the theoretical contours of particular governmental practice, analyse it in more depth, invent new ideas and circulate and disseminate them first to students and then to the wider society (268). They do so, as already described in Chapters 1 and 2, through the application of critical distance. Through applying critical distance a Critical Theorist can analytically stand outside a given order or appropriate commonsensical view and ask if this order or view contributes to what is, for instance, our ideal view of society. Further, a theorist working within critical distance encourages the idea of immanent critique, where instead of searching for blueprints of what the ideal society would look like she/he looks for unfulfilled potential upon which such a society could be built. The unfulfilled potential of an international economic context where the reciprocal prevention of SHEs could be

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encouraged has been associated with the general concept of human security. However, considered in terms of its potential it was not strong enough to question the assumed legitimacy of the current neo-liberal international economic order. Consequently, Thomas’s concept of human security was proposed instead. This was considered the best option because, as already explained in Chapter 2, it respected the test of virtuous circle of security and emancipation, arguing that ‘means are ends’. It did so because it questioned not only the particular policies but also the philosophies upon which these were built. While Thomas’s concept of human security tells us what needs to be done to encourage the conditions where reciprocal prevention could be striven for, the so-called alternative path shows us how this could be put into practice (Thomas, 2000: Chapter 7). Building alongside the ‘alternative path’ is intended to be in agreement with Booth’s definition of the emancipatory community, which is the site for security (2007: 268). A place where people have ‘multiple identities … recognizing their solidarity in relation to a common conception of what it is to live an ethical life’ a place which gives them a ‘sense of belonging’ (138). It is beyond the scope of this book to demonstrate what is involved in building an emancipatory community. However, one area, which is relevant for the argument made for a CHIA, is the relevance of economics in the building of such a community. In particular, and as discussed in this book, the element of the economic/political divide encouraged by the solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention is relevant. Accordingly, an emancipatory community does not consider the ‘economic’ part as separate from politics, because ‘economics’ is within the ‘realm of power’ and so of politics. ‘In other words, the claim that economics is non-political is a political claim’ (Tooze, 2005: 155). The building of an emancipatory community must therefore not only critique the actual policies and workings of the current international economic order but necessarily the philosophical assumptions upon which those policies are built. The building of the alternative pathway in its most basic form should be thought of as a concept in a dynamic state of evolution, something which does not exist ‘out there’ and cannot be measured and neatly packaged. World politics defined in terms of a process implies not a static end-point, but rather a dynamic concept. Booth makes the distinction between ‘end-point utopias’ and ‘process utopias’, the second of which emphasises the preferred option of a dynamic rather than static conception of the future (Booth, 1999: 43, 2007: 251). Booth

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describes this process as ‘politics being about travelling hopefully … through benign and reformist steps calculated to make a better world somehow more probable for future generations’ (Booth, 1999: 44). The better world would need to be described by future generations, whereas the concrete possibilities would have to be relevant to the ever-changing context. In other words, the author continues, we may not know how particular institutions would look, but we can know by what principles those institutions should be guided. In other words, if we develop and look after appropriate process for today, then we may hope that the appropriate structures of the future will look after themselves (Booth, 2007: 252). Politics is an ever-evolving process; it is never an end-point since there is no perfect society. Taking this into consideration, however, does not imply that with the notion of the ideal and existing potential for transformation we cannot build the conditions for better alternatives (253). For instance, Thomas gives the alternative path three distinctive characteristics which, when put together, form an identifiable whole (Thomas, 2000: 111). These are: • Substantial revision of the liberalisation agenda for the purpose of encouraging the centrality of the human subject as associated with the principles of human security (see Chapter 2). • Working within the liberal framework, in relation to the above, on the understanding that the liberalisation achieved to date cannot be overturned overnight and therefore that correcting particular neoliberal policies should be seen as encouraging, but still insufficient to challenge the common sense of neo-liberalism. • Encouraging the flourishing of the human security agenda by widening the participation of states in global governance institutions, and by introducing more substantive participation – not participation alone – at the sub-state level. The concept of the alternative path, according to Thomas, while still at an embryonic stage, has nevertheless drawn a wide range of advocates. It involves the work of various NGOs, grassroots development organisations (GDOs), individuals, UN organisations and private foundations. Some examples of Northern NGOs include Oxfam (www.oxfam.org. uk), ActionAid (www.actionaid.org), the Save the Children Fund (www. savethechildren.org), the Catholic Fund for Overseas Development (CAFOD) (www.cafod.org.uk), World Vision (www.worldvision.org) and Christian Aid (www.christian-aid.org.uk). Examples of Southern NGOs

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include the Malaysian-based Third World Network, the Campaign against Hunger in Brazil, the Sarvodaya Shramadana Movement in Sri Lanka, and the Freedom from Debt Coalition in the Philippines (www. fdc.ph). Southern GDOs include landless peasants’ movements, rural workers’ unions, tribal peoples’ rights groups and others. Although these groups have less access and considerably fewer resources than their Northern partners, they still contribute significantly by lobbying for human security needs around the world (Thomas, 2000: 36–8). Indeed, what unifies the above agenda is its pressure on the distributive element of the gains of the development process, together with the appropriateness of the process itself. An approach to development which emphasises the element of distribution can be found in the Dag Hammarskjold Foundation (Ekins, 1992: 99). Its publication What Now? Another Development encapsulates alternative views about development. It argues that development should be: • • • • •

Need-oriented (material and non-material); Endogenous (coming from within a society); Self-reliant (in terms of human, natural and cultural resources); Ecologically sound; and Based on the transformation of power structures (the economy, society, race, patriarchy). (cited in Thomas, 2000: 37)

Thomas develops these elements in a bottom-up approach which includes: the equitable satisfaction of basic material and non-material needs, self-sufficiency, self-reliance, diversity, appropriate (often local) knowledge, community participation, local ownership and the control of policies and projects which are predominantly small-scale, and culturally, economically and environmentally sustainable (2000: 37). The above qualities taken together supply alternative core values upon which to construct an alterative approach to development and security. The core values of the alternative approach build on the concept of human security presented in Chapter 2. This implies a change of focus from states to individual human beings but crucially it also implies the scrutinising of global processes (associated with the present neo-liberal international economic order) that may impact human security. The approach accommodates the satisfaction of human needs and applies equally to all. As Booth argues, however, ‘equality is the condition for humanity’ and, as encouraged by a CHIA, it is a condition for humanity

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not only at the domestic level but also at the international level (Booth, 2007: 273). Following Ronald Dworkin, Booth observes that, at the domestic level ‘no government is legitimate that does not show equal concern for the fate of all those citizens over whom it claims dominion’ (Booth, 2007: 349). Crucially, the same logic should apply at the international level, in particular when it comes to the global economy. At present, as is the case with solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention, political theorists have a narrow understanding of the ‘political’ because they do not engage sufficiently with the issues of political economy, for instance, issues of equality/inequality. A CHIA, drawing on Booth’s practical theory, works within the conviction that ‘inequality is bad for the security of all around’, both at home and abroad (349). The issue of equality, considered in terms of the above domestic/ international divide, is further relevant for the consideration of the alternative approach when considered in terms of the qualitative aspect of human security. Thomas argues that human needs are both material and non-material, and consequently they take in both quantitative and qualitative aspects of human security. As already shown, human material needs correspond to material efficiency and non-material human needs correspond to human dignity, a meaningful participation in the life of a community which involves respect for cultural diversity. As already acknowledged in Chapter 2, the issue of qualitative needs is complex and it cannot receive in this book the detailed analysis which it deserves. However, for the purposes of this chapter it becomes most relevant when considered in the context of the so-called principle of inclusiveness and subsidiarity (Held, 2004: 98–102). Although he considers it in the context of global governance representation only, David Held explains ‘the principle of inclusiveness and subsidiarity’ in terms of: [the] means to clarify the fundamental criterion for drawing proper boundaries around those who should be involved in particular decision-making and those who should be accountable to a particular group of people. [It further] states that those significantly affected by public decisions, issues or processes should, ceteris paribus, have an equal opportunity, directly or indirectly through elected delegates or representatives, to influence and shape them. Those affected by public decisions ought to have a say in their making. (Held, 2004: 98)

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While the application of this principle appears straightforward at the domestic level, its implication at the level of international society becomes less clear-cut. This is the case because it is not clear how the notion of ‘significantly affected’ should be pursued or understood in the ‘more spatially complex’ reality of international society (Held, 2004: 99). For instance, a decision by a large US corporation can have a profound economic effect on the economic opportunities of different countries, but in all likelihood such a decision will be taken without consulting those in far-off lands (100). Or, as illustrated by the case of the former Yugoslavia during the 1970s, 1980s and 1990s, many economic decisions were taken without considering their effects on the economic opportunities of the people concerned. Admittedly, the issue of whether ‘the acting entity [should] be accountable to the set of people it affects’ is, as observed by Held, a hard issue to resolve but it is also at this point that it touches most nearly the argument which I make (2004: 98). I argue that a theory which claims to promote justice or human rights around the world, as solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention does, must necessarily address the effects of economic decisions as pursued by the instigators of the neoliberal international economic order. As shown in Chapter 2, the reason why the addressing of economic decisions is a ‘hard issue to resolve’ (to recall Held) is because its authority is legitimised by the commonsensical entity of economic statism, in particular the intersubjective entity of the political/economic divide. However, by reconceptualising security alongside Booth’s pure theory, it is argued that such legitimacy is false because, as a constructed entity, it can always be deconstructed. In the process of deconstruction (beyond what has already been demonstrated in Chapter 2), analytical information acquired from the qualitative aspect of human security becomes significant. It was presented in Chapters 1 and 2 that when reconceptualising security in terms of an emancipatory approach to epistemology, in which the subject of an individual is concerned, the individual should not be pursued as the abstract human being of liberal concepts, disengaged from her/his community, but should be considered as a part of a set of complex collectives. This set of complex collectives provides human beings with their required dignity, meaningful participation in their own community and respect for their cultural heritage, among other things. These needs are genuine and significant, and failing to address them may give rise to serious tensions and conflicts. Such an argument, although presented in the most basic way and lacking additional analytical detail, is still sufficient to justify why the analytical implications of qualitative needs is worth revisiting.

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Held argues that this ‘justification’ could be pursued when the abovementioned principle is connected directly to the idea of the impact of powerful forces (or ‘global processes’ in my terms) on people’s needs or interests (2004: 99). Indeed, if the global processes, considered in this book in terms of the ordinary workings of the neo-liberal international economic order, have an impact on people’s lives (as they evidently did in the case of Kosovo) then their impact should be restated. Held divides the impact of these global processes into strong, moderate and weak categories (98–102):3 • By a strong category is meant that vital needs or interests are affected, with fundamental consequences for people’s life expectancy. Therefore if people’s urgent needs are unmet, their lives will be in danger. • By a moderate category is meant that needs are affected in such a way that people’s ability to participate in their community in economic, cultural and political activities comes into question. Therefore if people’s secondary needs are unmet they will not be able to participate fully in their communities and their potential for involvement in public and private life will remain unfulfilled. Their choices will be restricted or depleted. In this context, people are at risk of harm to their life opportunities. • By a weak category is meant an effect which has an impact on particular lifestyles. If people’s lifestyle needs are unmet, their ability to develop their lives and express themselves will be thwarted. Considering the impact of global processes in terms of the first two categories, strong and moderate, one learns that different needs can be significantly affected, which in consequence puts people’s life expectancy and life chances at risk. Consequently, following Held, I argue that those whose lives are significantly affected by social forces and global processes ought to have a stake in determining the conditions and regulation of these, either directly or indirectly through political representation (2004: 98–102). Moreover, a better understanding of the global economic processes (including their nature as intersubjective entities) in the distribution of their associated costs and benefits at the domestic but also the international levels, can better provide for strategies which contribute to the prevention of SHEs. This is why it is important that the consideration of qualitative needs becomes a part of an alternative approach analysis and consequently part of a CHIA. Accordingly, the core values of an alternative approach to

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human security, as suggested by Thomas, come as follows (Thomas, 2000: 112–13): • The alternative vision of development and human security is dedicated to a system of rights enshrined through duties and obligations, which address the above human needs. Consequently, the market has no value in itself unless its operation enriches and satisfies human needs. • For an economic system to be valued it needs to work for people but also for the planet. The implication for this is that the distribution of the benefits of trade, finance and investment dictate the value of the system. Its value is determined by ascertaining whether trade, finance and investment reward all the parties concerned sufficiently and fairly. Therefore, the neo-liberal criteria of the maximisation of global wealth are irrelevant. Instead the specific effect on an economic system of the experience of income poverty and human poverty should be taken into consideration. • The competitive, market-orientated policies aimed at growth, liberalisation and global economic integration must be replaced with policies which encourage humanely oriented markets. This means that political intervention by the state in the economy operates under a mandate from its citizens. To put it more directly, governments have a responsibility to encourage policies nationally and globally aimed at the redistribution of resources, tackling poverty and protecting employment. To this end, economic activities, nationally and globally, in support of human needs, are cardinal. To illustrate the potential and workable scope of the above core values, ideas about trade, finance, investment and global governance will next be suggested. These alternative ideas will incorporate the features of the previously suggested opposition to furthering the extension of the liberal agenda, in order to modify policy more deeply and focus anew on the role of the state and substantive democracy (Thomas, 2000: 111–13). The desired destination of the alternative path in the context of humanitarian intervention is to challenge the philosophical bases upon which, as Chapter 3 argued, the neo-liberal international economic order justified such policies as contextualised the SHE of Kosovo in 1998–9. While fundamental transformation may not be imminently possible, short- and medium-term change may still be implemented. Essentially, however, these changes, although embodying short- and medium-term

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strategies, do not represent problem-solving strategies. They are part of a critical logic of implementing change. This is a very important distinction, for these two strategies represent different goals. Policies reflecting problem-solving change will sustain the neo-liberal outlook, whereas policies implying critical change will encourage programmes supporting the satisfaction of human needs. It is only the meeting of certain human needs that can be achieved in the short and medium term by modifying the existing neo-liberal framework, whether or not the allabsorbing complementary global structures are in place. Investment regulation The purpose of investment should be seen as helping the community in which the investment takes place, rather than generating profit for stakeholders. In other words, ‘corporations are only a means of meeting human needs’ (Korten, 1995: 324). However, the purpose of investment needs to go even further than a willingness to transcend profit. It must ‘positively facilitate the promotion of human rights defined not in a narrow civil and political sense [as advocated by solidarist humanitarian intervention practices] but in a broader sense, which includes economic and social rights as well’ (Thomas, 2000: 115). It is argued that the reciprocal prevention of SHEs requires international society to encourage human rights at the economic and political level. Here it may be timely to mention the Global Compact. This was announced by the UN Secretary General, Kofi Annan, in January 1999 and formally launched in July 2000 (Annan, 1999c). It asks companies to embrace, support and enact, within their sphere of influence, a set of core values in the areas of human rights, labour standards, the environment and measures against corruption. According to these principles, business should: • Support and respect the protection of internationally proclaimed human rights; • Make sure they are not complicit in human rights abuses; • Uphold the freedom of association and the effective recognition of the right to collective bargaining; • Uphold the elimination of all forms of forced and compulsory labour; • Uphold the effective abolition of child labour; • Uphold the elimination of discrimination in respect of employment and occupation; • Support a precautionary approach to environmental challenges;

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• Undertake initiatives to promote greater environmental responsibility; and • Encourage the development and diffusion of environmentally friendly technologies. What is significant about the Global Compact is that it asks for changes within the business communities, as opposed to asking for changes primarily within the countries within which they do business. While this is an encouraging shift (asking companies themselves to change, as opposed to the affected communities) the initiative remains committed to the agenda of neo-liberalism. Although the Global Compact calls for business to be compatible with society’s social values, it further notes that these need to be pursued in ‘partnership’ with the agenda of liberalising investment. The concept of ‘partnership’ pledges business communities to regulate their workings so as to support the core values of human rights, labour standards and environmental practices (Nelson and Prescott, 2003). Significantly, however, Annan does not call for a binding international code of behaviour, but rather a form of self-regulation.4 In contrast, to continue with Thomas’s analysis, in order to challenge the internal logic of neo-liberalism, self-regulation by corporations needs to be replaced with national and global public regulation. Its aim would be the protection of countries and local communities, rather than of private property. Accordingly, the Third World Network has drawn up a Citizen’s Agenda for the Reform of the Global Economic System, which argues that governments must: • Have the right to regulate investment; • Establish measures to redirect and improve the quality of foreign direct investment (FDI) flows; • Review and renegotiate international institutions and agreements concerning investments. Global finance should be reoriented from speculation to long-term investment; • Participate in the establishment of core standards of behaviour by transnational corporations (TNCs). These should serve the needs of people by contributing to locally and nationally determined sustainable human development strategies; and • Re-examine corporate structure, activities and accountability. Competitive deregulation and the ‘race to the bottom’ as strategies to attract investment should be replaced with source and destination country regulation, taxation measures, the use of export

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credit financing and the radical reform of International Financial Institutions. (adapted from Thomas, 2000: 115) These and similar concerns call for economic sovereignty as well as business practices that are compatible with the needs of society and do not necessarily embrace the agenda for liberalising investment. One way of reducing the economic sovereignty referred to above is through the establishment of a mandatory global code of conduct. This is not a new idea, for it was encouraged in the 1970s by the Third World states, but the increase of neo-liberalism in the 1980s made it unattractive (see Chapter 2). At present, however, with the ever-increasing number of corporations, the need to establish international controls over capital flows and corporate activity is imperative. The working of The Global Code of Conduct for instance, would imply that corporations respect the rights of communities within which they operate (Barnet and Cavanagh, 1994b: 186, 189). In the future, the ultimate goal the Global Code of Conduct would be to create an environment where TNCs would have less economic sovereignty altogether, because they would be held accountable to the local community (Thomas, 2000: 116). This would be possible because the code would call for import and export rules to keep capital local, should this prove to be the best way of protecting human security (Leaver, 1996: 3). Thomas further suggests that the UN Regulatory Agency for Transnational Trade and Investment (UNRATTI), for instance, could be the appropriate institution to encourage this global code. Its objective would be to promote self-reliance and global equity. It is through global conduct that governments would develop and enforce agreements relating to TNCs (Thomas, 2000: 217). Trade regulation – making it fair It is argued that governments must be free to choose not to trade externally and instead pursue self-sufficiency if they have a mandate from their citizens to do so. However, if they still choose the path of liberalisation, then they must be allowed to choose a pace which is appropriate to their needs. Crucially, however, as argued by Pugh et al., different policies of economic assistance need to complement the different needs of communities considered as a whole and they cannot be ‘driven by the ideological fixation of outsiders’ (Pugh et al., 2004: 181). If liberalisation is a state’s desired mechanism, then a redistributive mechanism should be put in place to compensate those states which would lose out

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under the pursuit of global advantage (Thomas, 2000: 116). As argued and presented in Chapter 3, an approach embedding a degree of sensitivity to the different needs of states, regions, ethnic communities and people would have found particular relevance in the 1980s and the 1990s in the former Yugoslavia. Essentially, while free trade may appear as progressive in principle, it is important to remember that it cannot be pursued without attention to those ‘countries who are extremely vulnerable to the initial phasing in of external market integration (especially of capital market liberalisation), and who have few resources, if any, to fall back on during times of economic transformation’ (Held, 2004: 58). Taking this into consideration, two alternative visions for the process of ensuring development could be proposed in Kosovo. The first refers to the creation of what the authors of War Economies call social capital and the second refers to the creation of trade relations complementary to the needs of the communities in question (Pugh et al., 2004: 182). I will consider these in turn. Following the work of Pugh et al., it is argued that different economic vulnerabilities within conflict-affected states, especially in the initial stage of their transformation, could be taken care of by creating so-called social capital. According to its first incentive, which would be particularly relevant for the former Yugoslavia and the province of Kosovo, borrowing would be less expensive and price inflation would be kept to a 20 per cent maximum. This would provide a necessary stimulus to consumption, savings and domestic investment (Pugh et al., 2004: 182). Further, lowering employment tax to stimulate registered employment would be fairer and more efficient, as it would spread the tax burden among more people while maintaining state income. For development to be sustainable, it needs to be based on economic policies which stimulate borrowing so as to build production capacity, while at the same time liberalising the vital means for processing and trade. Evidently, such an alternative approach to growth would have implications for transforming state-owned industries (182–3). The authors continue to argue that this would require a more balanced approach to transformation, involving a combination of privately owned and state owned industries, notably those in the timber, mineral and aluminium production sectors. In the meantime, what has happened in the former Yugoslavia and has had significant economic consequences for Kosovo has been a blanket refusal to give the state any chance to make its state-owned industries productive and competitive. Instead, too much emphasis on promoting economic growth was

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directed to the free market, privatisation and foreign direct investment initiatives. Export-led growth was encouraged, without increasing production other than by using expensive foreign and domestic capital. Such an approach failed to be economically sustainable in the sense that ‘the role of the state and its institutions, as well as its industrial, labour, and social policies … [was] neglected relative to making the country safe for private investors’ (181). Although providing social capital could facilitate the initial stage of transformation to a more desirable economy, it would be a more enduring way of encouraging development to create trade relations which corresponded to the needs of a particular community. It was demonstrated in Chapter 3 that the main initiative driving the efforts to develop Kosovo after the war was the SPSEE. This was a politically motivated initiative to encourage cooperation within the SEE region. Essentially, this cooperation was regarded as the prerequisite for integration into the European and Atlantic economic mainstreams. However, for reasons explained in Chapter 3, cooperation within the SEE region remains desirable, even though such integration is not imminent; consequently, what was suggested instead was subregional cooperation, within the subregion of the West Balkans in particular. This was encouraged because the accession of the West Balkans into the EU remains a distant prospect. Subregional cooperation within the West Balkans should also be encouraged, considering their favourable tradition of trading relations. However, while there is a clear argument for the possibility of their cooperation, what remains a limitation in the context of the neo-liberal international economic order is that their products are competitive only in neighbouring countries. This means that integration within the West Balkan subregion could not work unless the countries followed a close regionalism model and applied trade barriers to external competitors. Significantly for the argument of my book, such an approach, although considered as potentially beneficial for the West Balkan subregion, would be contradictory to WTO trade regulations, which the sub-region must follow unconditionally if it wants to join the EU. While there is certainly a case for enhancing sub-regional cooperation within the West Balkans, the mission of the whole Pact as applied to the region of SEE is to: ‘create vibrant market economies based on sound macro economic policies, markets open to greatly expanded foreign trade and private sector investment … developing strong capital markets and diversified ownership, including privatisation’ (Pugh et al., 2004: 178). The conclusion arrived by Pugh et al. remains that

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the EU model demonstrates a protective system for the sake of its own members and therefore it would not converge with the EU’s principles to support the protectionist model for the West Balkans (although this is justified for the sake of regional needs). In other words, despite the clear possibility that subregional cooperation could enhance long-term security within the West Balkans, ‘its creation must depend on the willingness of external institutions to revisit the dominant economic ideology of global integration’ (180). It is argued that a rethinking of the neo-liberal economic ideology could result from alternative trade and finance regulations. Revising neo-liberal economic ideology on the lines of fair trade and ethical trade principles Fair trade represents an example of trading which in the long term could become the standard within international society.5 Its goal is to contribute ‘towards change in international relations in such a way that disadvantaged producers can increase their control over their own future, have a fair and just return for their work, continuity of income and decent working conditions through sustainable development’ (Fairtrade Foundation, 2007). Fair trade works to ensure a better deal for small-scale independent producers who have been marginalised by standard international trading regimes (see Table 4.1 for the principles and practices of the Fair Trade Federation). Although still constituting a tiny fraction of global output, the fair trade market is expanding. Worldwide sales of fair-trade products reached more than $1 billion in 2005 and, in North America alone, sales jumped to an estimated $359 million in 2004, from $125 million in 2001 (Fairtrade Foundation, 2007). Fair trade is complementary to ethical trade. The Ethical Trading Initiatives work towards bringing together independent parties such as NGOs, trade unions, retailers and suppliers to establish consistent standards on ethical trading principles, such as companies guaranteeing core labour and human rights standards to their workforce (Blowfield, 1999). As with the fair trade initiatives, the scale of this project is still very small, although not insignificant. In the UK, the Co-op provides the most encouraging example. The Co-op is concerned about the way in which workers around the world are being exploited and its criteria embody five values: self-help, self-responsibility, democracy, equality and solidarity. These values reflect a belief in the ethical values of honesty, openness and social responsibility. The Co-op has declared publicly that it is committed to striving towards

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Table 4.1 FTF principles and practices F TF members are committed to the following principles and practices in their trading relationships: Fair wages

Producers are paid fairly for their products, which means that workers are paid at least that country’s minimum wage. Since the minimum wage is often not enough for basic survival, whenever feasible workers are paid a living wage, which enables them to cover basic needs, including food, shelter, education and health care for their families.

Cooperative workplaces

Fair Trade Organisations work primarily with small businesses and worker owned and democratically run cooperatives and associations which bring significant benefits to workers and their communities. Workers are able to access credit, reduce raw material costs and establish higher and more just prices for their products.

Consumer education

Fair Trade Organisations educate consumers about the importance of purchasing fairly traded products which support living wages and healthy working conditions. By providing information about producers’ history, culture and living conditions, Fair Trade Organisations enhance cross-cultural understanding and respect between consumers and communities in the developing world. They also educate consumers and policymakers about inequities in the global trading system.

Environmental sustainability

Fair Trade Organisations encourage producers to engage in environmentally friendly practices which manage and use local resources sustainably.

Financial and technical support

Small-scale farmers and artisans in the developing world lack access to affordable financing, impeding their profitability. FTF members that buy products directly from producers often provide financial assistance either through direct loans, prepayment or by linking producers with sources of financing.

Respect for cultural identity

Fair Trade Organisations seek to promote producers’ artistic talents in a way that preserves cultural identity.

Public accountability

FTF members’ finances, management policies, and business practices are open to the public and are monitored by the Fair Trade Federation.

an ultimate goal of ‘ensuring that one day all Co-op brand products will meet the standards of sound sourcing’ (www.co-op.uk section on Development). What is significant about both fair trade and ethical trading is that they represent a step towards a different way of trading. They

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demonstrate that not only business people but also ordinary consumers are prepared to change their habits of consuming and purchasing in order to improve the security of households in other parts of the world (see Table 4.2) (Blowfield, 1999). The success of fair trade and ethical trade has depended considerably on highly instructive campaigning strategies. As observed by Matthew Watson,6 these campaigns have focused on the ‘moral consequences of consumption choices’ (Watson, 2005: 217). They tell us about who benefits from adopting fair trade norms and how, as well as why it is ethically right that they should benefit. Consequently, as Watson continues, an image which is given to consumers is not of ‘a necessary effect of an unchangeable logic of surplus value extraction and structural exploitation. Rather, they are presented as real people with human emotions, human desires and human needs’ (Watson, 2005: 217). The conclusion from this is that there is an evident connection between producers and consumers where the consumer makes a choice to act against the assumed neo-liberal logic of surplus value. This must be the case, because consumers still choose to purchase fair trade products despite the fact that most fair trade products are more expensive than equivalent products which do not meet free trade standards. To conclude, price is a signalling mechanism, but ‘it signals much more than merely the foregone utility associated with paying that price. The price premium associated with

Table 4.2 How Fair Trade Organisations differ from commercial importers

• Their goal is to benefit the artisans they work with, not maximise profits. By reducing the number of middlemen and minimising overhead costs, FTOs return up to 40 percent of the retail price of an item to the producer. • They work with producer cooperatives that use democratic principles to ensure that working conditions are safe and dignified, and that producers have a say in how their products are created and sold. Cooperatives are encouraged to provide benefits such as health care, child care and access to loans. • They encourage producers to reinvest their profits into their communities. Many producers who work with FTOs have committed time and money to building health clinics and support other community projects in their villages. • Some Fair Trade Organisations work to shift processing and packaging activities to the developing world, so that as much work as possible will remain in the producer country. Often, such activities are performed abroad, depriving the neediest countries of the opportunity to boost their incomes.

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fairly traded products indicates a commitment to a particular type of world’ (220). Finance regulation The most basic assumption underlying an alternative way of financing is that capital must be made to work for the majority, and this must necessarily be secured by public regulation and redistribution. Capital needs to be productive and not speculative, it also needs to be long-term rather than short-term (FOE-US/TWN/IPS, 1999). Capital can work for people in various ways: to apply it to Kosovo’s situation, such an approach could be implemented by arrangements for so-called region-wide payments. However, in order to challenge the underlying principles of neo-liberalism, the finance regulations could be enlisted through an international speculation tax. I will go into these suggestions in turn. Chapter 3 demonstrated and the above section recalls the EU’s role in reconstructing post-1999 Kosovo. Fundamentally it was criticised for its unsustainable neo-liberal policy of prioritising its own protectionist trade policies over the long-term security of the West Balkan subregion. In contrast, following Pugh et al., I argue against policies, which ‘concede that mutual protection [that of EU members] to replace national protection [that of the West Balkan subregion] is a reasonable starting point, rather than aiming to engineer the integration of uncompetitive war-torn economies on the basis of complete free trade’ (Pugh et al., 2004: 183). Such an approach could be put into practice by the formation of a region-wide union for payments and customs. Proceeds from these payments could be distributed among the members on an equitable basis, while at the same time financing the union’s budget. At the same time, customs unions would have to pitch external tariffs at a sufficiently high level to protect the least efficient and most vulnerable producers, such as farmers in Kosovo (183). Further, following the authors’ analysis, this approach, together with currency devaluation and a production policy, to subsidise sectors which will grow as demand rises, could also benefit from the felling of weak industries. As discussed in Chapter 3, the region of the West Balkans, of which Kosovo forms part, is, for all its problems, characterised by complementary economies and therefore mutual cooperation may be presumed. On such a foundation, the overall effect would be to ‘foster production using currently underemployed resources, expand the size of the local market, offer economies of scale and interregional specialization, foster competition in a relatively equitable context, and increase bargaining power in dealing with other economies’ (2004: 183–4).

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Such an approach, at least in principle, could be supported by UN initiatives. The United Nations Conference on Trade and Development (UNCTAD) Trade and Development Report argues that, at a national level, governments should be able or allowed to regulate capital with the purpose of protecting national economies and therefore citizens from the undesired effects of highly mobile short-term capital and currency speculation (UNCTAD, 1998). However, while this approach is potentially beneficial to particular cases, such as Kosovo, far more stringent control would have to be applied in order to challenge the economic agenda of neo-liberalism. This, it is argued, could be achieved through the implementation of an international speculation tax, or what is called the Tobin tax (Tobin Tax Initiative, 2006). The Tobin tax is an example of how capital can work for the majority of people around the world.7 This international speculation tax would tax the world’s major currencies to discourage the short-term movement of capital (Haq et al., 1996). According to the Tobin Tax Initiative, the tax is described as a proposal to ‘tax cross-border currency transactions, for the purpose of reining in market volume and volatility; restoring national sovereignty over monetary policy; and raising substantial revenue for urgent global environmental and human needs’ (Tobin Tax Initiative, 2006: 1). It is not argued that the Tobin tax would deter all speculative activities and in this way restore a government’s full economic sovereignty,8 although its proponents continue to present it in terms of a ‘potential double dividend tax’ (this means that the Tobin tax has the potential to bring additional stability to foreign exchange prices while also creating large sums of money for use in funding global good causes; Watson, 2007: 196). The Tobin tax does not at first seem formidable, since it is set at only 0.01 to 0.02 per cent of each transaction; but when it is seen that, even in 2004, the turnover on foreign exchanges was almost US$1.9 trillion (BIS, 2004: 9) it is clear that not only might it bring in large sums which could usefully be spent on sustainable global projects,9 but operating such a tax would in itself help to stabilise currency markets.10 Although the practical implications of putting the Tobin tax initiatives into practice render it far from operational, its normative appeal puts it in a very strong position. Indeed, although no actual policies to put the tax in practice have been implemented, governmental discussions continue. The governments of Canada, the UK, France, Germany, Switzerland and Finland have begun some preliminary discussions.11 What must not be forgotten is that the Tobin tax ‘remains an alluring proposition’ symbolising the hope of introducing initiatives which would persuade the

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international economic order to work on the concept of human security (Watson, 2007: 217). Admittedly, in order for the above ‘financial disarmament’ to work, additional measures would have to be put in place. The most fundamental changes would have to apply to global economic governance. Here the distinction between the problem-solving application of change and a Critical application of change becomes significant once more. A demonstration of this follows in the remaining section of this chapter. Global governance The post-Cold War period has brought conditions in which global governance has flourished. Within public global governance, a picture of a unified globe necessitating and legitimising a common response to a variety of issues has been displayed. In the 1980s, UN-inspired think tanks talked of ‘Our Common Future’, and ‘Common Security’ (Hill, 2004). In the 1990s, a global management was to deal with issues concerning environmental, refugee and population crises. A series of global conferences put these issues on the agenda. Some examples included the UN Conference on Environment and Development (UNCED) in Rio de Janeiro in 1992, the Earth Summit in Copenhagen in 1995, the 1995 International Conference on Population and Development in Cairo, the 1996 Human Settlements Conference in Istanbul and the Rome Food Summit in the same year. More recent developments also confirm earlier trends. The following few examples include coalitions of like-minded governments and civil society, that is, the International Criminal Court; the Landmine Convention; public policy networks and partnerships, such as the already mentioned Global Compact; and the over 200 ‘Track II’ partnership agreements which emerged from the World Summit on Sustainable Development in Johannesburg in August–September 2002 (Hill, 2004: 5–7). Indeed, the influence of solidarists on the subject of humanitarian intervention demonstrates a similar trend. Mentioned in many accounts, the ICISS report talks about the responsibility on the part of international society to intervene in situations of grave human rights abuses. Certain academics consider agreements to intervene in situations of SHEs as illustrating a ‘new solidarism in the society of states’ (Wheeler, 1992: 285). To add to what is being done in the public sphere, businesses have also shown an interest in sharing global responsibility. The Global Compact, as explained above, forms one example. However, the inclusive language used by these conferences, declarations and important documents raises important

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questions already asked by Thomas. Whose globe are we talking about? Who is to manage it and with what authority? In whose interest? (Thomas, 2000: 16). As Thomas continues to observe, the above ‘global’ language assumes a common understanding of a particular problem, but, even more, a common understanding of how it is to be addressed. But throughout this book I have tried to show that in the solidarist view the only way to address SHEs is through the act of military intervention. Admittedly, this book does not deny that issues addressed by public global governance, together with its business correlative, and indeed the political statism addressed by the solidarist endeavour are all relevant. However, crucial to the alternative perspective of a CHIA these developments, Thomas argues, do not challenge the fundamental flaws within neo-liberalism; rather they ‘[lend] legitimacy to a broad neo-liberal framework for understanding development, and thus they have a direct bearing on human security’ (2000: 16). This is why I associate these developments with a problem-solving application of change. In this application, different problems are solved individually, but the context, the neo-liberal international economic order within which those problems arrive, remains in place. Therefore, the alternative to the solidarist perspective, a CHIA, calls for changes within global economic governance that pay attention to its public agencies, notably the IMF, the World Bank and the WTO. The most fundamental reason for this is that these institutions, as explained in Chapter 2, are supposed to represent the interests of global citizens and promote global public good. However, at present it remains the case that global governance is conducted from within the public institutions where the Group of 7 (G7)12 exercises most influence. Accordingly, an alternative description of human organisation is one which strives for participatory local democracy, enabling people to have greater control over their own lives. It is accepted that direct citizen participation at the global level may still be to some degree restricted, but it can nevertheless be constructed along more participatory lines by the involvement of more states in meaningful decision-making, which would in effect challenge the underlying mandate of institutions, as outlined in Chapter 2. At its most basic, a more meaningful participation could be encouraged not only between states themselves but also between states and non-state actors in the shaping and making of global public policy (Held, 2004: 95).13 Inge Kaul, while working for the UNDP, saw the problem of global governance representation as a matter of both quantitative and qualitative

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issues. She observes that ‘the imbalances among states as well as those between state and non-state actors are not always easy to detect, because in many cases the problem is not merely a quantitative issue – whether all parties have a seat at the negotiating table. The main problem is often qualitative – how well various stakeholders are represented’ (Kaul et al., 2003: 30). In other words, it is not enough to have a seat at a negotiating table to ensure effective representation. What is equally necessary is to have enough technical expertise and skill in negotiating, qualities often ascribed to the developed countries and not to poor developing ones (Held, 2004: 96). The above difficulties become even more significant in an environment which under-represents the poorer developing countries in major global agencies such as the IMF, ‘where twenty-four industrial countries hold ten or eleven seats on the executive board while forty-two African countries hold only two’ (Held, 2004: 96). It may appear rather naïve to think that power can ever be shifted. Chapter 2 showed how the IFIs are influenced by the US, and, within the US, are determined by the inclinations of the US Treasury, which acts on behalf of Wall Street bankers. Consequently the US is the largest contributor to, as well as the largest quota holder in the IMF (Thomas, 2000: 124). However, Chapter 2 also shows that this power has been constructed and, therefore, according to the next step of the argument, it can be deconstructed. An alternative approach, for instance, would put in new rules for the election of the Managing Director of the IMF and other IFIs. Instead of the present unspoken agreement that this position in the World Bank shuttles between the Europeans and Americans, the selection process should be widened. IFIs need to apply the same standards of good governance internally as they expect of their client states (Thomas, 2000: 125). Their governance, Thomas continues to observe, needs to become more transparent in order to make them more accountable for the situations in which they fail. Indeed many NGOs have done some work towards encouraging such reforms of the IMF. Some examples would involve the Centre of Concern in Washington, DC, and the Bretton Woods project in London; the evaluation of different IMF projects is still being conducted in-house.14 Fundamentally, should the IFIs be more committed to the above proposals of greater participation, they would ensure a wider but, more importantly, more meaningful state-level participation in the global-level decision-making process. For instance, if the WTO were to embrace the agenda of all of its members, the agenda for trade relations would differ significantly. Trade liberalisation

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would not represent a value in itself and growth on its own would not be the primary goal (2000: 125). Further on in the issue of enhanced participation, it needs to be observed that there has been much literature describing greater participation through the expanding role of civil society. Renato Ruggiero, while still Director General of the WTO, called for civil society to have greater influence, for instance, in developing trade rules (Marceau and Pederson, 1999: 13–24). Indeed his current successor, Pascal Lamy, continues Renato Ruggiero’s advocacy (Lamy, 2001). Essentially, however, as Thomas observes, while this is an important change and is to be encouraged, it still does not address ‘the fundamental problem of the structure of social power in the organisation: who sets the agenda, and in whose interest?’ (Thomas, 2000: 123). In contrast to the representatives of civil society, who speak for an unelected citizenry, the representatives of national governments, Thomas continues, are mandated to represent their citizens. Therefore, when making a case for development and social imperatives, those governments must feel confident that the rest of international society will take their views seriously. Crucially, while broadening the state level of global governance will encourage openness, accountability and transparency, at the same time it will at the global level move the focus of interest of the major international institutions towards a more human-centred development (2000: 124). Here a limitation to the alternative perspective of a CHIA can be observed. The above argument can only apply so long as states themselves can participate within their own domestic structures. However, while this is an obvious limitation, a call for increased global participation is only a step in proposing a more human-centred development. What would have to follow is an overarching agenda to enhance the security of human rights everywhere which would consider the welfare of economically and politically unstable states before they developed into areas of SHE, as witnessed in the former Yugoslavia. Indeed, the concluding argument of this chapter is that issues of investment, trade, finance and global (economic) governance should form part of solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention, to form an overarching agenda to encourage human rights everywhere. In the meantime, the solidarist agenda to increase human rights everywhere, in the context of humanitarian intervention, remains fragmented. This is the case because although the political violence is addressed by the solidarist endeavour, its economic component remains intact. Held, in the context of global governance, views the problem of ‘agenda fragmentation’ as one of the primary concerns over global governance.

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Using the work of Deacon (2003), Held observes that, for instance, the World Bank’s health and social policies are not the same as those of the World Health Organization (WHO), UNESCO or the International Labor Organization. Further, the UN Secretary General’s initiatives in the Millennium Project are not the same as the social policies of the UN’s Department of Economic and Social Affairs. Indeed, while the G7/ G8 has a set of global objectives, these are often in conflict with those of the G20 and G77 (Held, 2004: 94). Appropriately, and as observed by the previous head of the WTO, ‘our interdependent world has yet to find the mechanism to integrate its common needs’ (Moore, 2003: 223). It is argued that the above examples of change (although permeable and in need of further theoretical analysis) are the critical first steps which international society could have taken in order to legitimately satisfy its moral responsibility to encouraging human rights everywhere. Encouraging human rights in a manner where the political and the economic conditions of violence are treated as equally important would better unite the agenda of solidarist theorising, so as to make its provision for security more sustainable. Addressing the normal working of the neo-liberal international economic order within investment, trade, finance and global governance would help tackle the deepening global crisis of poverty and underdevelopment, but would also shift the agenda to a more meaningful concept of human security. For a start, the current presentation of liberalisation as the only option for development (which Chapter 3 considered as damaging to Kosovo’s development) would have to be scrutinised for its impact on the security of those affected by its workings. Meantime, solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention fails to observe that conflicts such as were witnessed in Kosovo demonstrated the ‘emergence of entirely new types of social formation adopted for survival on the margins of the global economy’ (Duffield, 1994: 100). The consequence of this limitation is that the solidarist approach lends legitimacy to the attempts of Western states, the most powerful economies, donor governments and IFIs to treat these wars as local symptoms of local failures, and thus expects ‘behavioural and attitudinal change’ within the states concerned and not in the neo-liberal international economic order (Duffield, 1997: 100). The two fundamental limitations of such an approach are, first, that the underlying reasons for SHEs are not being addressed, and, second, that the potential for taking deep preventative measures is not being fulfilled. This, as has been argued throughout, casts doubt on solidarism’s overall normative agenda to

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explore how the society of states might become more hospitable to the promotion of justice. In contrast to the above, a CHIA associates international society’s promotion of justice in terms of the reciprocal prevention of SHEs. It admits that this is not an easy task, although it observes that even though the ‘end’ (preventing SHEs) may not be immediately reachable, this does not mean that the ‘means’ by which reciprocal prevention is sought do not better fulfil international society’s moral commitment to encouraging human rights around the world. In other words, pursuing means by which the end of eventual prevention could be reached is associated with creating the conditions for humanity to be emancipated and to prosper. Indeed, ‘emancipation is the politics of inventing humanity’ (Booth, 2007: 256). Booth writes that it is too soon in society’s historical development to say what humanity means and what it means to be human (256). What makes a human today may be something very different in the next hundred years. What is essential to consider, however, is the already evident evolution of human consciousness. We have many examples of the progressive development of society’s consciousness. One example would be our appreciation of ‘the other’ in other parts of the world, even if it is for the most part considered in the political sense. Considered in such a way, Booth argues that inventing humanity ‘is in exploring and in becoming; it is living what biology will set free’ (257). In other words, the politics of inventing humanity associated with emancipation is about ‘creating the conditions to explore’ different possibilities, which in turn creates opportunities for opening spaces through ‘effective security policies’ which eventually aid people (257). Here the concept of progress links security and emancipation. These two concepts are associated with progress in the sense that ‘emancipation is the project of creating conditions for the pursuit of what it might be to be a human, as opposed to merely being human’ (257). Unless we absorb the idea of progress, ‘humanity will remain a prisoner of old ideas, traditional practices, and inherited power structures (and their interests)’ (258). A CHIA associates progress with the reciprocal prevention of SHEs and not their management in conditions of military intervention.

Summary Chapter 4 suggests alternatives to the current neo-liberal international economic order practices which, if applied, would encourage the

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building of an international context within which reciprocal prevention could be promoted. Thus, the purpose of Chapter 4 was to set an agenda for the way in which such initiatives could be supported. The chapter began by showing how the concept of reciprocal prevention fits within current ideas on conflict prevention. Accordingly, it positioned reciprocal prevention within the concept of deep prevention, as opposed to light prevention. However, while the concept of deep prevention provided the intellectual space within which reciprocal prevention would be set in motion, it was considered still insufficient to fully satisfy its demands, demands entailed by Thomas’s concept of human security. This was the case because, while the concept of deep prevention encouragingly promotes the link between various economic policies and their unforgiving impact on the security of people around the world, in doing so it fails to question the philosophies upon which those economic policies were built. In other words, the concept of deep prevention replicates the very order which developed the policies in the first place, that is, the current neo-liberal international economic order. In an attempt to overcome this problem, a theorist working within a CHIA is able to introduce the concept of reciprocal prevention. Reciprocal prevention questions particular deleterious economic policies, but crucially it also questions the philosophies upon which those policies were built. The main emphasis was placed on the legitimacy of the structures of the economic/political divide. Indeed, these are structures which have intersubjective meaning and which have been built over time by human responses to material conditions. It is the addressing of the economic/political divide which provides the CHIA with more scope for the reciprocal prevention of future SHEs. In the meantime, as Thomas argues, organising the world economy along laissez-faire lines, and promoting the attendant liberal conception of freedom as private power ‘[help] to reinforce and legitimise diverse forms of exploitation in the world economy and growing inequalities of health, income, employment opportunities and so forth’ (Thomas, 2000: 61). These inequalities are not contingent, but rather ‘the necessary outcome of social relations in a world capitalist economy’ (61). In other words, changing the economic structures of economic neo-liberalism to conform to what some describe as the alternative model gives a better chance of providing for human security, as defined by Thomas and, consequently, better potential for the reciprocal prevention of future SHEs. Suggested as alternatives to the current neo-liberal international economic order, initiative practices make up the last component

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of the CHIA discussed in this book. This part of a CHIA is developed alongside Booth’s practical theory. Accordingly, it begins with the conviction that a problem-solving approach to SHEs does not represent ‘the best of all possible worlds’ and there is much encouraging evidence within the world to argue in favour of the reciprocal prevention of SHEs. This practice of favourable argumentation is initiated by the knowledge of a theorist working within a CHIA, that there is a relationship between power and knowledge formation and also that all theories are constitutive. Therefore, a theorist in these circumstances is able to consider theorising as the initiating of actual practice; that is, ‘there is nothing as practical as good theory’. In the context of this book, this means that a theorist who reflects on the practice of theorising can encourage the practice of prevention over intervention in situations of SHE. A theorist can reflect when she/he works within critical distance. Working within critical distance also means working within immanent critique, which encourages the use of unfulfilled potential upon which alternatives to the practices of the current economic order could be developed. Unfulfilled potential was here associated with the general concept of human security. However, although considered in terms of potential, it was still insufficient to accommodate the demands of reciprocal prevention. This was prescribed to the specific concept of human security, as defined by Thomas. Primarily, this was the case because Thomas fulfils the important characteristic of practical theory, which is that ‘means are ends’. In doing so, she indeed questions not only particular policies but also the philosophies upon which those policies rest. The actual suggestion of practices which, it is argued, would provide a favourable environment within which reciprocal prevention could be promoted was pursued along the so-called alternative path. The idea of an alternative path strongly correlates with Booth’s idea of an emancipatory community considered in terms of providing a ‘side for security’. Emphasis was put on considering the economic and the political in terms of one entity. Admittedly, building along the alternative path is not an easy task, not least as it runs counter to the existing economic order. Even so, the building of this alternative, as Booth suggests, should be a continuous process where, among other things, ‘equality is the condition for humanity’. The particular practices absorbed by the alternative path, considered in terms of ‘an ongoing project rather than a static end point’, were arrangements that refer to the normal workings of the neo-liberal

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international economic order and thus the focus in the current chapter was on international trade, finance, investment and global economic governance. Accordingly, the purpose of investment, it was argued, should be directed towards meeting the needs of people, such as the protection of countries and communities, and not those of private property. Further, trade should be regulated along principles complementary to the needs of people. The examples proposed in this work were the ethical and fair trade initiatives. These, according to the ‘alternative path’, implied that if people choose to develop along liberal economic initiatives then they should be able to choose a pace appropriate to their own needs. This was particularly relevant for the case study of Kosovo. In similar fashion, finance regulation was to be judged upon whether it enabled capital to work for the interest of the majority. Considering the subject of finance regulation, the implemention of an international speculation tax, the Tobin tax, was proposed. The normative appeal, though remaining with the distant practical application of the Tobin tax, led me to question the picture of the ‘unified globe’, as represented by current global governance. It was argued that even when considered at its most basic – the global governance representation – the unified picture is flawed and needs to be corrected accordingly. Chapter 4 concluded by recalling once more that the sense of moral responsibility claimed by international society should be directed at the preventing of SHEs and not their management, associated with agreements to intervene militarily. It is acknowledged that the building of an international context within which reciprocal prevention could sustainably be pursued is a challenging one but one that invents humanity anew, as opposed to replicating its old flaws.

Conclusion

My primary observations about the solidarist approach to humanitarian intervention were directed at its method of theorising. I considered this approach to be limited, in the sense that it focuses primarily on the process of deciding whether or not to intervene in situations of SHE. I argued that this method was unsustainable because it failed to address the contextual basis upon which SHEs have developed in the past. This seemed to me an important limitation in view of its immense implications and consequences for what international society understands as the provision of ‘moral duties’ (Wheeler and Bellamy, 2001: 477) and of taking on the ‘guardianship of human rights everywhere’ (Bull cited in Wheeler, 2000: 12). In the context of solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention, the moral duty has been limited to coming to an agreement within international society to intervene militarily on a humanitarian basis. Strongly rejecting this conclusion, I argued instead that the moral duty within international society should instead be about the prevention of SHEs. It is this particular observation about the solidarist approach that has provided the intellectual space within which I situated the two aims of this book. Through reconceptualising security in terms of Ken Booth’s Theory of World Security, the first aim of the book was to explain the reasons for which solidarists prioritise the act of intervention over the practice of prevention. Its second aim was to propose an alternative to solidarist theorising on the humanitarian intervention approach, called a CHIA. I considered this approach to be a better alternative to the one advocated by the solidarist effort, insofar as it provides greater scope for building a context within which the future prevention of SHEs could be pursued. 179

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Accordingly, Chapter 1 introduced Theory of World Security, the different characteristics of which I have used throughout the book to clarify why solidarist theorising, in its analysis of SHEs, takes a problem-solving approach and what the alternative approach should look like. Chapter 2 thus argued that solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention is problem-solving because it maintains a positivist method of theorising and it legitimises the prevailing social, political and economic structures of the current neo-liberal international economic order. An explanation of why both characteristics are associated with the solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention then followed. I demonstrated in Chapter 2 that solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention, following the positivists’ method of theorising, considers their ‘truth as correspondence’ in terms of an already present SHE. This observation, while it was not rejected in principle (because the concern for human beings is shared by the CHIA), was considered restrictive in its consequences for the overall normative agenda of the solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention. Two particular consequences were considered. First, the solidarists’ analysis of SHEs, characterised by the two components of these emergencies, urgency and the nature of the danger involved, dictate no other action but military intervention. In other words, emphasis is put on the act of intervention as opposed to the prevention of crisis. This also means that solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention considers the welfare of individuals when they are the victims of a particular SHE, but fails to consider the welfare of human beings at all stages of their development. While the need to address the welfare of victims can hardly be disputed, what is neglected by solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention is the need to address the commonsensical qualities generated by all theorising. The book explains these qualities by means of Booth’s pure theory, in particular his account of the power/knowledge relationship and by the fact that all theories have constitutive properties. This is an important observation, because if we are not aware of the consequences of our theorising we do not even take into account a number of potentially important issues. These, for instance, include issues to do with the standards which define what counts as reliable knowledge or ‘the questions of the merits of those standards in the light of possible alternatives’ (Neufeld, 1995: 42). In other words, it is not disputed in principle that SHEs should form the starting point for the solidarists’ theorising on humanitarian intervention. What is disputed, however, is allowing the consequential

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common sense generated by all theorising – which in the context of this book is associated with the act of military intervention – to dictate the boundaries of moral responsibility on the part of international society or the boundaries of what international society can achieve in the circumstances of a SHE. This is the second consequence of solidarist theorising when considering SHEs, both in terms of their correspondent truth and in particular of the positivist method. Further, in their focus on a particular emergency, solidarist theorists consider it in isolation from its context. In this book this context is identified with the neo-liberal international economic order. This is considered as something with serious consequences because it is the neo-liberal international economic order which (as Chapter 3 argues) contextualised the 1998–9 SHE in Kosovo. Moreover, as Chapter 4 goes on to argue, it is the changes proposed within that order which provide greater scope for the building of a future international context in which preventing SHEs would be more viable. Failing to include the economic sphere in their analysis of SHEs, I have argued, compels solidarists to maintain a liberal form of international order which draws divisions between the political and economic spheres. It follows accordingly that solidarists artificially divide what I call the humanitarian intervention complex into three stages: the stages of ‘economic statism’, ‘humanitarian intervention’ and finally ‘peacebuilding’. Crucially, the stage of economic statism is not considered by solidarist theorists to be a constitutive part of their theorising on humanitarian intervention. This is why I have argued that solidarists do not question the order within which they operate and therefore legitimise certain structures of political, social and economic associations, thus exhibiting the second characteristic of problem-solving theorising. This conceptual separation has two immense consequences for thinking about and understanding SHEs. First, it fails to observe the ways in which liberal economic remedies can actually increase the likelihood of violent conflict in certain parts of the world; and, second, the solidarist approach reinforces a very narrow understanding of why violent conflict occurs and how it can be prevented. According to Robert Cox, there are three reasons why theories are able to legitimise the structures of their choice. They can do so because, as dictated by their problem-solving analysis of SHEs, they take the world as they find it and therefore do not question it; consequently, the overall purpose of their theories is to make the ‘world’ as it stands work smoothly. I argued that the first stage, economic statism, represents the

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context for SHEs, but, regrettably, it is not included in solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention. The context remains unquestioned at the second stage, the stage of intervention itself. Since military intervention undertaken on a humanitarian basis is not an accepted act within international law, it has to be justified on moral grounds. Consequently, the moral weight of such justification, by the stage of intervention, considers the action of humanitarian intervention in terms of a normative shift, that is, one demonstrative of international society’s moral commitment to encouraging human rights everywhere. This means that, as far as solidarists are concerned, the rules of statism (where the security of a state is prioritised over the security of an individual) are being broken and therefore that international society’s moral commitment to encouraging human rights everywhere is being fulfilled. In other words, solidarists see the implemention of ‘change’, as dictated by the possibility of being committed to an act of military intervention, as opposed to a process for preventing crisis. The pivotal question of whose interest is served by the neo-liberal international economic order fails to be addressed by the solidarist endeavour. Moreover, failing to address the structures of the current economic order is an omission at the third stage, properly described as ‘peace-building to restore the liberal international order’, where the inconsistency between the flawed neo-liberal international economic order and political aspirations continues after the intervention has taken place. To sum up, a CHIA shares the solidarists’ compassion for other human beings, which includes the need to address SHEs. However, what must be added is greater attention to the process of theorising itself and greater attention in particular to the commonsensical features generated by solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention. These were identified first in the favouring of intervention over prevention and, second, in measuring international society’s moral responsibility to encourage human rights around the world by whether it can agree to intervene militarily in situations of SHE. And, finally, solidarist theorising failed to investigate the statist features of the current neo-liberal international economic order as a viable route to the prevention of future crises. This was considered inappropriate because it was these features which contextualised the SHE in Kosovo in 1998–9. Still, my verdict on the problem-solving flaws generated by the solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention amounts to nothing unless strategies for a better alternative are available. Indeed, what is shared by both approaches, the solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention and the CHIA is the solidarists’ belief in a possible

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convergence, broadly associated and directed at an ultimate flourishing of humanity. A CHIA, following Booth’s practical theory, begins with the conviction that an agreement within international society to intervene in situations of SHE ‘does not represent the best possible world’. This is the case because among the scenarios that international society should strive for is one where international society seeks to prevent SHEs from developing in the first place. The practice of theorising, which encourages prevention as opposed to the military management of SHEs is pursued through a method of theorising inspired by Booth’s metaphor of anchorage. This method is characterised by reflexive theorising, in particular its theoretical ingredient of the relationship between power and knowledge. This, among other things, means that every theory generates its own particular common sense, which in the case of solidarist theorising is its focus on the act of military intervention. What is critical, therefore, is to be aware of such common sense. A theorist working within theories inspired by the metaphor of anchorage can, unlike many other theorists, reflect on its common sense as she/he works within critical distance. Working within critical distance means being able to reflect on one’s own theorising with a view to reflecting on what the theory in question does to a particular practice. In other words, and as commonly described, a theorist working analytically within critical distance can stand outside the reality she/he describes and can ask how her/his doing or theorising changes this reality. A theorist working within a CHIA and equipped with the above information is able to use this information instrumentally, for indeed ‘there is nothing as practical as good theory’, to paraphrase Booth. In an attempt to address and ultimately change what would otherwise become the reality of SHEs, it promotes theorising which associates international society’s moral duty and responsibility with the prevention of such emergencies. The association of international society’s responsibility in circumstances of SHE with their prevention and not with military intervention becomes more urgent when one learns that theories have constitutive properties, meaning that one person’s theory can become another person’s policy prescription. Once again, a CHIA aims to associate the practice of prevention, in place of intervention, as exhaustive of what international society should do, that is, its policy prescription in the event of possible emergencies. The particular understanding of the practice of prevention which international society must necessarily absorb is one which considers the

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ordinary working of the international economic order to be an inherent part of the thinking that aims at preventing future SHEs. Accordingly, a CHIA sketches out the contours of such thinking and the associated concept of reciprocal prevention. The notion of reciprocity is used deliberately and is meant to refer to the reciprocal provision for security, as defined by Booth. Reciprocal prevention differs from the solidarist understanding of prevention in the sense that solidarist theorising focuses on the protection of individuals in circumstances already entailing the capacity for violence. A CHIA, however, focuses first on protecting individuals by preventing the capacity for violence from even developing. It takes this approach because preventing such situations makes the development of SHEs less likely. Furthermore, the concept of reciprocal prevention is developed along the lines of Thomas’s concept of human security. Thomas’s particular interpretation of the concept of human security was regarded as the best option because, when considered in terms of the second element of reflexive theorising – that is, the common sense that it generated – it fitted the normative agenda of international society better. This agenda was associated with the provision of security to all individuals at all stages of their development. This is due primarily to the fact that Thomas’s interpretation of human security requires a sustainable provision of security, complementary to the reciprocal prevention of SHEs. The characteristic of sustainability implies the provision of security not only in circumstances of political statism, a point addressed in fact by solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention, but also in circumstances of economic statism. Thomas’s understanding of human security addresses economic statism because it ‘highlights the importance of scrutinising global processes that may impact on, even jeopardise’ human security (Thomas, 2000: 9). Significantly for the argument of this book, a constitutive part of this process of ‘scrutinising global processes’ is to address the assumed legitimacy of the neo-liberal international economic order. This is significant and was argued throughout, because the misconceived economic policies which contextualised the 1998–9 SHE were indeed constructed upon the false legitimacy of the neo-liberal international economic order. Accordingly, the challenging and changing of the neo-liberal international economic order involved its substantial revision for the purpose of encouraging the centrality of the human subject, as associated with the principles of human security. Analytically, a CHIA is able to argue

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for changes associated with the restructuring of the international economic order because this approach works within an assumption, following Booth, that all knowledge has interest, which means (among other things) that all knowledge has been historically constructed. This means that a theorist taking a CHIA can argue that a historical understanding of the assumed legitimacy of the neo-liberal thinking and its particular characteristic of the political/economic divide makes the reciprocal prevention of SHEs more probable. This is so because the historical explanations of the failings of the neo-liberal international economic order form a situation in which theorists may continue to disregard its flaws in their analyses of crisis; but, significantly, this situation no longer obtains and theorists may no longer ignore them. When Thomas’s concept of human security sketched the contours of the concept of reciprocal prevention, the building of an international environment favourable to reciprocal prevention was presented as what Thomas calls ‘the alternative path’. The idea of an alterative path strongly correlates with Booth’s idea of an emancipatory community considered in terms of providing the ‘side for security’. Emphasis was put on considering the economic and political factors in terms of one entity. Admittedly, building the alternative path alongside is not an easy task, not least because it runs counter to the existent economic order. Still, as Booth suggests, the building of the alternative should be a continuous process where, among other things, ‘equality is the condition for humanity’. The particular practices adopted by the alternative path, considered in terms of ‘an ongoing project rather than a static end point’, were arrangements that refer to the normal workings of the neo-liberal international economic order and thus focus on international trade, finance, investment and global economic governance. Providing for human security along the alternative path would mean, for example, that no market had value in itself unless its operation enriched human beings and satisfied their human needs. Further, to be valued, an economic system needs to work for all people and therefore its power to distribute the benefits of trade, finance and investment necessarily dictates its value. In these circumstances the neo-liberal criteria of the maximisation of global wealth become redundant. Instead, what is considered is the specific effect on an economic system of the experience of income poverty and human poverty. Further, the competitive, market-orientated policies aimed at growth, liberalisation and global economic integration must be replaced with policies which encourage humanely orientated markets. This, at the most basic level, would involve a substantial

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revision of global economic governance and its public agencies, notably the IMF, the World Bank and the WTO. The most fundamental reason for this is that these institutions, as Chapter 2 argues, are supposed to represent the interests of all citizens and to promote global public goods. Therefore, accepting that the inclusion of the economic sphere in theorising about humanitarian intervention offers greater scope for the future prevention of SHEs causes future research on this subject to change in ways which are nothing less than considerable. Considering the above, the implication for future research would mean not only converging the theorising on humanitarian intervention with IPE literature, as already pursued by Critical Security Studies specialists, but also converging it with the more nuanced analysis of the IPE specialists themselves. Three particular subject areas within IPE, if considered, would enrich future theorising on the subject of humanitarian intervention. First, considering that the neo-liberal international economic order is becoming the world’s economic system, any understanding and theorising about security must include insights into this economy. Here, a theorist’s analysis cannot be limited to merely recognising the economic elements of security. Rather, a theorist also needs to recognise that these economic elements entail a predefined political concept of security, which (to recall earlier analysis on economic statism) means that they are either attached to an existing analysis or must be considered separately under the separate subject of economic security. Further, in applying the insights of IPE, the subject’s own weaknesses must not be ignored. The most obvious one is its emphasis on national economic security, which would be particularly inappropriate to consider in the context of the issues implied by humanitarian intervention. Further, the critique that has already begun of the assumed legitimacy of the neo-liberal international economic order would need to deepen. The process of deepening would become particularly relevant for the prevention of SHEs if ‘the starting point for IPE … is the study of the constitution of the individual actor and then the study of individuals in action’ (Watson, 2005: 245). This is the case because the current conditions of the neo-liberal international economic order cannot change until the individual, considered by most IPE theorists to be invisible or understood in terms of the interaction between states and markets, begins to be considered as a conscious and reflexive agent of the international economic order (Watson, 2005: 244). Ultimately, all of the above demands ‘issue integration’, as opposed to ‘issue fragmentation’ – a practice of which,

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in my view, the solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention is guilty. Fundamentally, further research in the context of IPE, security and theorising on humanitarian intervention calls for the separation of politics from economics to be critically addressed, explored and shown for the fallacy that it is. Finally, emphasis has been laid on the extent of necessary political practice. The political practice for both solidarist theorising and a CHIA has always been the protection of individuals. However, the agreement between the two approaches broke down when it became clear that their respective political practices were not committed to the same extent. The solidarists argue that international society’s moral commitment to encouraging human rights around the world is fulfilled by protecting individuals in situations already entailing the capacity for violence. In contrast, a CHIA argues that international society’s moral commitment must extend to the prevention of such situations in the first place. This argument is relevant, since it was also demonstrated that this is the same international society as contextualised these capacities for violence to begin with. The implication of the final observation suggests that international society, in order to sustain its moral commitment to encouraging human rights around the world, requires a global perspective which would ensure the provision of such rights. Considered globally, this would be the case, since by definition it would scrutinise the regressive structures and processes contributing to situations where violent capacities are embedded. This observation is influenced by the belief that ‘smaller social units of universal human society will not be predictably secure until the whole is systematically secured’ (Booth, 2005a: 263). It is acknowledged that the building of an international context within which reciprocal prevention could sustainably be pursued is a challenging one, but one that invents humanity anew, instead of replicating its old flaws. The scope for future research within the subject of the political community and the way in which it could relate to the subject of humanitarian intervention is potentially vast. However, before extending it beyond questions which still need to be asked, I would encourage the solidarist theorising on humanitarian intervention to come back to some themes within ethical theories which are considered to be classical. One of these, for instance, would be Peter Singer’s famous premise stating: ‘if it is in our power to prevent something bad from happening, without thereby sacrificing anything of comparable moral importance, we ought, morally, to do it’ (Singer, 1985: 253). This

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would open new avenues for investigating the moral arguments for and against the reciprocal prevention of SHEs. Another such question concerns the right to life, which includes both the right not to have it taken away, and also the right to subsistence, which correlates with different duties. Here Henry Shue’s three types of correlative duty become significant: the duty not to deprive, the duty to protect from deprivation and the duty to aid the deprived (Shue, 1996: 56). These basic observations become especially significant when considered on a global scale, as they would provide a basis for action. Indeed, Charles Beitz identifies such action with his idea of social justice; it would involve thinking of the world as a single society where mechanisms applied within one’s domestic environment to combat inequality would also apply throughout the global environment (Beitz, 1979). Although I suggest revisiting solidarist theorising by asking ‘old questions’, I do not contemplate arriving at the same old answers. Rather, what is required are new strategies for addressing old problems, for example, questions about the nature of theory, the understanding of progress and what is meant by political practice.

Notes Introduction 1. The expression ‘moral imagination’ has been used before; see Ignatieff (1997: 8). 2. Vincent (1974, 1986); Bull (1990, 1991); Vincent and Wilson (1993); Wheeler and Dunne (1998); Mayall (2000); Wheeler (2000, 2001b, 2001c, 2004); Dunne et al. (2001); Dunne and Kroslak (2001). 3. Bellamy (2001, 2002a, 2002b, 2003a, 2003b, 2005); Linklater (2000); Tesón (1988, 1996, 2006). 4. Ramsbotham and Woodhouse (1996a); Ramsbotham et al. (2005). 5. Abiew (1999); Annan (1999a, 1999d, 1999f); Axworthy (2001); Blair (1999a, 1999b); Cook (2000); ICISS (2001). 6. There are many philosophical views on the subject of humanitarian intervention. Some examples would be utilitarianism, natural law, social contractarianism, communitarianism and legal positivism. For an overview of these debates, see Holzgrefe and Keohane (2003). 7. Vincent (1974); Vincent and Wilson (1993); Wheeler (1992); Dunne (1998); Jackson (2000); Tesón (1988b). 8. For an overview of the English School, see Dunne et al. (1998); Buzan (2004) and Linklater and Suganami (2006). 9. The changed normative practice of the Security Council in the 1990s and its willingness to define humanitarian emergency as whatever threatens international peace and security can be used as an example of such convergence. For instance, Resolution 688, implemented on 5 April 1991 on Northern Iraq and Resolution 794, adopted unanimously under Chapter VII on 3 December 1992 to act in Somalia. 10. See also Buzan (2004: 19–20, 196–7, 150–1). 11. On the role played by issues of ethnicity, see Booth Walling (2001); the end of Cold War, see Arato and Benhabib (1994: 325–31); the role played by political leaders, see Judah (2000); the regional power politics of the former Yugoslavia, see Glenny (1999). 12. See Bull (1977); Jackson (2000); Walzer (1980, 1992). For a review of the pluralist objection to humanitarian intervention, see Danish Institute of International Affairs (1999); Smith (1999); Wheeler (1992, 2000). 13. See in Grotius (1925a, 1925b); Bull (1966: 55); Wheeler (2000, 1992); Mayall (2000: 14); Arend and Beck (1993); Tesón (1988b); Linklater (1998: 166–7); Cutler (1991: 48); Vincent (1986); Vincent and Wilson (1993: 124). 14. See in Roberts (2001); Chesterman (2001: 45); Gray (2004); O’Connell (2000); Guicherd (1999); Simma (1994, 1999); Murphy (1996); Charney (1999); Wheeler and Bellamy (2001: 477). 15. The threshold for developing rules or criteria in order to be in a position to justify humanitarian intervention morally is the traditional ‘Just War

189

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16.

17. 18. 19.

Notes Tradition’ framework. See Fixdal and Smith (1998). For debates on the need for criteria for intervention, see Farer et al. (2005) and Stromseth (2003). Wheeler (2000: 33–51); Wheeler (2005). See also contributors in Dunne and Wheeler (2001: 178); Lang (2003); Welsh (2002: 514). See also Brown (2001); Falk (2001: 328). Blair (1999a); Cook (2000); Axworthy (2001); Annan (1999e); ICISS (2001); United National High Level Panel (2004). Some of the issues addressed next I have explored in my previous work in Pawlowska (2005). On the definition of peace-building, see Boutros-Ghali (1992, 1995).

1 The Theory of World Security and Humanitarian Intervention 1. For more detailed analysis see, Horkheimer (1992: 188–243). 2. An individual as the referent object of security appears throughout Booth’s work, best explained in Bilgin et al. (1998: 131–57). 3. Booth borrows the distinction between ‘end-point utopias’ and ‘process utopias’ from Joseph Nye. See Kolkowicz (1987: 245–7). 4. See Hoffman (1987: 232–49); Wyn Jones (1999: 145–63); Booth (2007: 199). 5. See George and Campbell (1990: 269–94). 6. Neufeld (1995: Chapter 1); see also Popper (1969) and Kolakowski (1968). 7. Its premises are identified by David Held as: (1) All synthetic knowledge is founded in sensory experience; (2) Meaning is grounded in observation; (3) Concepts and generalisations only represent the particulars from which they have been abstracted. Conceptual entities do not exist in themselves – they are mere names: positivism is associated with nominalism; (4) Sciences are unified accordingly to a methodology of natural sciences. The ideal pursued is knowledge ‘in the form of mathematically reformulated universal sciences … which assures the calculation of the probable occurrence of all events’; (5) Values are not facts and hence values cannot be given as such in sense-experience; value judgements cannot be offered the status of knowledge claims Held (1980: 163–4). 8. See also Alker and Biersteker (1984: 121–42, p. 138). 9. For a detailed analysis of human security as defined by C. Thomas, see Thomas (1997b, 2000); Thomas and Wilkin (1998).

2 Problem-Solving Solidarist Theorising on Humanitarian Intervention 1. For example Wheeler (2000: 310). 2. For an example of the way in which Nicholas Wheeler’s theorising influenced the academic sphere, see Dunne (2001: 238–41). 3. For more on statism, see Brown (1992); Nardin (1983). 4. Miller (1990); Richardson (1990: 148, 184); Buzan (2001: 471–88; 2004: 19, 20, 196–7, 150–1); Hurrell (2002: xvii). 5. For more detailed analysis of this particular issue, see Buzan (2004: 19–20, 150–1, 196–7). 6. See Tooze (1992: 236); Prachowny (1994: 27–8); Keen (2001: 161–3); Maki (2001: 6–7); Asetto (1988: 8).

Notes 191 7. For a detailed analysis of global finance and its governance, see Porter (2005) and Stubbs and Underhill (2000); for a critical examination of trans-border companies, see Barnet and Cavanagh (1994a); and for a thorough historical analysis of current challenges of global production and exchange, see O’Brien and Williams (2004). 8. Steve Smith uses a similar argument in relation to the discipline of International Relations (Smith, 2004). 9. These are associated with the establishment of two ad hoc war crimes tribunals for Yugoslavia and Rwanda, as well as the initiation of a treaty in 1998 to set up a permanent international criminal court jurisdiction over war crimes, genocide and crimes against humanity (Caplan, 2003). 10. Mahbub ul Haq associated the agenda of the UN with the concept of human security in 1993 in an address to the NGO/DPI Annual Conference (Haq, 1993). 11. Equally important is that the individual as described by Parekh ‘is not exhausted in any or all of them [his identities] as the communitarians maintain, and is ontologically prior to his identities’ (Parekh, 1997: 61). 12. See also Axworthy (2001: 19–23). 13. See Nussbaum and Sen (1993). 14. For more analysis of the historical construction of the ‘political’ and the ‘economic’, see Gill and Law (1988). 15. See Watson (2005: 11); Gill and Law (1988); Murphy and Douglas (2001: 393–412); Murphy and Tooze (1991). 16. For the way in which, within the neo-liberal economic sphere, human behaviour itself is predicated upon self-interested norms, see Tooze and Murphy (1996: 682–85). 17. See Broad and Landi (1996: 7–17); Thomas (1998; 2000: 43). 18. See Hayter (1971); Payer (1982); Asetto (1988).

3 International Society’s Role in the Restructuring of Yugoslavia’s National Economies 1. The subject of this book is the military humanitarian intervention in Kosovo, although the arguments I make also refer to the earlier wars in (1) Slovenia, (2) Serbo-Croatia, (3) Bosnia, (4) Bosnia-Croatia and (5) Kosovo. Although I use the work of Susan Woodward as my primary source (Woodward, 1995), other literature has supported the argument I am making. Some examples are: Blackburn (1993: 3–14); Bunce (1995: 709–18); Samary (1993: 27–30); Orford (2003); Milivojevic (1985); Chossudovsky (1996: 521–5). 2. For a similar association, see Woodward (1995). 3. Robert Kaplan’s best-selling book (Kaplan, 1993) is frequently considered to encourage a view of the Balkan wars in terms of ‘ancient hatreds’; see Ramet (2005: 3) and Johnstone (2000). 4. See Malcolm (1994); Bennett (1995); Glenny (1999). 5. See Pugh et al. (2004: 151); Dyker (1990); Ramet (1996: 9–43). 6. Woodward uses Mark Thomson’s analysis to sum up the above observation. ‘Mark Thompson provides a gory and helpful portrait of this “delirium” as he calls it, in Paper House, pp. 129–30. He goes on “A Croat journalist investigated the many allegations that Serb and Montenegrian women are being

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8.

9. 10.

Notes raped in Kosovo. Records show no disproportion between Albanian and Slav criminality in the province, and a lower than average number of rapes. Researches in Belgrade bore the journalist out: but by the time their dull book of statistics was published in 1990, who cared?”’ (Woodward, 1995: 456, note 44). Under Oscar Kovac’s rule, the so-called May Measures of 1988 were introduced. These measures involved three main policies in order to bring down inflation. These concerned putting limits on wages, on the money supply and on public expenditures. Additionally the ‘May Measures’ opened the Yugoslav economy to full foreign ownership rights and ended the system of workers’ participation in firms, including the procedural protections against precipitate and large-scale unemployment (Woodward, 1995: 96). Also see Boarov (1992) and Chossudovsky (1996). On Slovenia, see Mastnak (1994); Robbins (1997); Gow and Carmichael (2000); and Harris (2002). On Croatia, see Bartlett (2003) and Tanner (1997). On Bosnia, see Chandler (2000); Woodward (1995); Chossudovsky (1996); and Pugh et al. (2004). This is the abbreviated form of the Former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia (FYROM). Before 2003 this was known as the Federal Republic of Yugoslavia (FRY), which includes the territory of Kosovo.

4 A Critical Humanitarian Intervention Approach: How Might We Act to Prevent in the Future 1. See in Ramsbotham et al. (2005: 108). Other works use different terminologies, for instance light prevention is associated with ‘operational prevention’ and deep prevention with ‘structural prevention’; see Carnegie Commission on Preventing Deadly Conflict (1997). 2. Ballentine and Sherman (2003); Berdal and Malone (2000); Collier and Hoeffler (2001) and Collier et al. (2003). For earlier works, see Berdal and Keen (1997: 795–818); Collier and Hoeffler (1998) and Keen (1998). 3. Although David Held distinguishes between urgent and secondary needs (I assume to imply the order in which they are addressed), this book, complementary to earlier analysis, maintains the view that such distinctions are inappropriate, because prioritising one need makes the other less significant. It is those needs which at first appear to be least significant which have an equal potential (compared with the urgent needs) to develop into serious tension and conflict. 4. For different concerns about the Global Compact, see Martens (2004). 5. For a comprehensive review of Fair Trade issues, see Blowfield (1999: 753–70); Nicholls and Opal (2004) and Redfern and Snedker (2002). 6. Although Watson applies this analysis to fair trade only, it can also be related to the standards for ethical trading (Watson, 2005: 217). 7. For an analysis of the Tobin tax, see Watson (2007). 8. See Grabel (2003: 325) and Kaul et al. (1996: 5). 9. See in Atkinson (2005: 8); Caney (2005: 106) and Nissanke (2005: 60). 10. See Harvey (1999: 208) and Palley (2003: 8).

Notes 193 11. For international campaigners, see Tobin Tax Initiative USA (www.tobintax. org); War on Want, UK (www.waronwant.org); ATTAC, France (www.attac. org); Halifax Initiative Canada (www.web.net/~halifax); Network Institute for Global Democracy (www.nigol.u-net.com/tobin.htm). 12. Although it is now the G8 with the addition of Russia, it is the G7 that is most economically influential. 13. Separate issues comprising more detailed analysis on global governance can be distinguished as follows: on the internal composition of international agencies, see Conceicao (2003); on global public goods, see Held (1995) and Kaul et al. (2003); on different decision-making domains, see Held (1996); Pogge (1994) and Saward (2000); on social domestic multilateralism, see Beetham (1993); Buira (2003); Cohen and Sabel (2003) and Held (1996); on strengthening global governance, see Hirst and Thompson (1999). 14. For more information, see www.coc.org and www.brettonwoodsproject.org; see also Wood and Welch (2000).

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Index accuracy 42–3 agenda fragmentation 173–4, 186–7 agents 23–4 agriculture 106, 110, 115, 139–40, 146 Ahtisaari, Martti 139 Albania 136, 137 Albanians 128–34 Albright, Madeleine 104, 133, 134 Alliance for the Future of Kosovo (AAK) 139 Allott, Philip 10, 22 alternative path, concepts of 18, 151–78, 185 analytical change 48 anchorage, metaphor of 15, 29–30, 37–40, 41, 53, 56, 78, 99–100, 183 Annan, Kofi 2, 61–2, 75, 80–1, 104, 160–61 antibureaucratic revolution 129 Anti-Fascist Liberation Council of Yugoslavia (AVNOJ) 108, 120 anti-foundationalism 37–8 Arbour, Luise 133 Archimedean points 15, 40–41 Aristotle 41, 85 Asetto, V. 67, 68, 69, 92 assumptions awareness of 33, 44 challenging of 30–31, 150 austerity programmes 112–26, 141–2 Auvinen, J. 112 Axworthy, Lloyd 85–6 Ballentine, K. 147 bankruptcies 122–3 Barnet, R. 162 Basic Organisation of Associated Labour (BOAL) 122 Beitz, Charles 188 Bellamy, Alex J. 2, 3, 4, 12, 57, 62–3, 104, 130–31, 134, 179 Bennett, C. 105, 106, 107, 127, 128–9 Bentham, Jeremy 89

Bernstein, Richard 40 bilateral contracts 110, 116 Bilgin, P. 152 Bjelic, P. 136–8, 140 Blair, Tony 5, 104, 133 Blowfield, M. 165, 166–7 Boarov, D. 123 Booth, Ken on concept of truth 42–3 on critical distance 15–16, 40, 53, 177 on emancipation 28–30 emancipatory communities 18, 153, 177, 185 on human security 155–6 on humanity 175 metaphor of anchorage 15, 29–30, 37–9, 78, 99–100, 183 practical theory 17–18, 30–31, 45–6, 84–5, 156, 177, 183 pure theory 11, 12, 14, 15–16, 26–30, 31–52, 72, 150, 157, 180 on reciprocity 10, 17 ‘Security and Emancipation’ 25, 28 on structures 47–8 Theory of World Security 2, 10, 21–31, 77, 151, 152, 179, 180 ‘Three Tyrannies’ 28–9 transcendental theory 22–6 on utopias 30, 153–4 Booth Walling, C. 104 Bosnia-Herzogovina 108, 115, 123, 130, 131, 136, 137–8 Boutros-Ghali, Boutros 76, 79–80 Bretton Woods order 14, 91, 172 Brick, Barbara 41 broad human security 79–83, 145 Bronner, S.R. 27, 43 Brown, Chris 9–10 Bulgaria 137 Bull, Hedley 2, 3, 6, 12, 13, 60, 64–5, 66, 179 Burke, Anthony 89

211

212

Index

Bush, George 92 Buzan, Barry 66 Canada 81, 85–6, 169 Caplan, Richard 74, 132 Cartesian anxiety 40–41 causation 6–7 Cavanagh, J. 162 challenging of assumptions 30–31, 150 of dominant structures 16–18, 47–51, 144–5, 184–5 Chandler, D. 130 change 14, 47–51, 88–9, 97 Cheru, F. 95, 96 Chossudovsky, M. 121–3, 125 Citizen’s Agenda for the Reform of the Global Economic System 161–2 citizenship 74 civil society 173 Clinton, Bill 5, 103 cognition 23–4 Cold War 7, 79, 105–7, 112–13 Collier, P. 147 Commission on Global Governance 80 Commission on Human Security 80, 81–2 competitiveness 113–14, 137–8, 163 conflict conditions increasing likeliness of 7 contextualised by economic factors 7–8, 17, 30–31, 61, 104, 124–6, 127–30, 134–5, 147, 151, 181 intervention in see intervention and poverty 71, 80–81, 82–3 prevention of see prevention Connerton, P. 27 Connolly, William 43, 45 Contact Group 133 contending theories 45–6 contextualisation 6–8, 18, 30–31, 61, 104, 127–30, 134–5, 181 convergence 4, 14–15, 29–30 Co-op (UK) 165–6 Cook, Robin 104 Cox, Robert 11, 15, 32, 44, 45, 46–7, 48–52, 53, 55, 57, 181–2 Council for Mutual Economic Assistance (CMEA) 105–6, 107, 121

criteria, tests of 9–10 critical change 14, 48–50, 88–9 critical distance 15–16, 40, 53, 78, 88, 99–100, 152, 177 critical humanitarian intervention approach (CHIA) as alternative to problem-solving theorising 47–52, 56, 78–97, 151, 171 and alternatives to neo-liberal economic order 151–75, 185–6 challenging dominant structures 16–18, 47–51, 184–5 challenging underlying assumptions 30–31, 150 and conceptions of truth 42–4 and critical distance 15–16, 40, 53, 78, 88, 99–100, 152, 177 and evaluation of theories 32–3, 39–40, 43–4, 45–52 holism of 50 and immanent critique 15–16, 41, 42, 53, 152 inclusion of analysis of economic order 16–18, 50, 61, 87–8, 144–5, 148–9, 151 individuals as referents 16, 42, 78–9, 155–7, 186 and metaphor of anchorage 15, 37–40, 41, 52–3, 56, 78, 99–100, 183 prioritisation of prevention 16, 41–2, 56, 145, 152–3, 175–6, 183–4 promotion of justice 175 and reciprocal prevention 16–17, 78, 144–53, 160, 175–6, 184–5, 187–8 reflexive theorising 32–44, 45–52, 183 rejecting positivist methodology 14–16, 33–44 Critical Theory 22, 24, 25–7, 30, 32–52, 88–9, 152–3; see also critical humanitarian intervention approach (CHIA) Croatia 107–8, 109, 115, 119, 130, 131, 136, 137 cultural freedom 109 currency devaluations 114, 121, 168

Index 213 Dag Hammarskjold Foundation 155 danger 3, 11, 57, 104 Dayton agreement 130–31, 142 Deacon, B. 174 debt crisis 113, 126 deep prevention 145, 148, 176 Delanty, Gerard 25 democracy 87–8 Democratic League of Kosovo (LDK) 129–31, 139 Descartes, René 34, 40–41 description 36–7 development 155 Devetak, R. 26, 39 dignity 57, 84, 85–6, 156–7 domestic relations, as more binding than international 18, 65, 149 Drenica region (Kosovo) 132 Duffield, M. 149, 174 Dunne, Tim 2, 103, 104 economic development 67–70, 76, 82, 136–40, 155, 163–4 economic factors contextualising conflict 7–8, 17–18, 30–31, 61, 104, 124–6, 127–30, 134–5, 147, 151, 181 and prevention 7–8, 12–13, 63, 144–51 as rational 14, 67, 96 as separate from politics 13, 55–6, 64, 67, 68–9, 72–3, 76, 89–90, 96, 153 and security 79–83, 86–7, 89–91, 96 see also neo-liberal economic order economic growth 67, 69, 92–4, 95–6, 102–3, 163–4 economic integration 6–7, 69–70, 102–3, 115–26, 136–40, 141, 149–50, 163–4 economic justice 6, 51 economic liberalism 65–71, 89–97; see also neo-liberal economic order economic nationalism 90–91 economic sovereignty 162 economic statism 5, 18, 65–73, 76, 89–97, 99, 149–50, 157, 181 economic violence 72 Eide, Kai 139 Ekins, P. 155

emancipation 11, 25–30, 41, 43–4, 47–51, 85, 87–8, 150 emancipatory communities 18, 153, 177, 185 embedded liberalism 91–2 Emergency Social Adjustment Fund (ESAF) 147 empiricism 34 employment 110–12, 115, 117, 123, 124, 139–40 end-point utopias 30, 153–4 ends 85, 177 Enlightenment 27, 33 environment 80–81, 155, 161, 166 episteme 41 epistemology 11, 26–7, 34–5, 43–4, 150; see also knowledge equality 155–6, 185 essentialism 24 ethical trade 165–8 ethnic cleansing 104 European Bank for Reconstruction and Development (EBRD) 70 European Community 106 European Free Trade Association (EFTA) 106 European Investment Bank (EIB) 106 European Union (EU) 6, 76, 136–40, 164–5, 168 exchange rates 67–8, 92, 169 exchange relations 124–5 exports 107–8, 114, 115, 126, 164 fair trade 57, 165–8 Fairtrade Foundation 165 Fair Trade Federation 165, 166 false legitimacy 14, 49, 67, 71–2, 98–9, 157 false liberal individualism 26 falsifiability 38 Farer, T. 9 Feuerlicht, R.S. 28 finance regulation 168–70 food subsidies 114, 124 Finland 169 foundationalism 15, 34, 37–8 frameworks 4–5 France 121, 133, 139, 169 free markets 93, 96, 116, 149, 150

214

Index

free trade 67–8, 69–71, 92–3, 96, 163 Freyberg-Inan, A. 106, 113, 114, 120, 130, 135 Friedman, Milton 94 Gandhi, Mahatma 51, 59 Gelbard, Robert 132 General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade (GATT) 69, 106 genocide 104, 128 George, Susan 89, 91 Germany 121, 130, 139, 169 Ghana 146 Gibbs, David 120 Giddens, Anthony 23 Gilpin, Robert 90 Glenny, Misha 105, 113, 127, 128, 129, 130, 131 Gligorov, V. 138 Global Compact 160–61, 170 global governance 170–75 globalisation 93 Gowan, P. 120, 121 grassroots development organisations 154–5 Great Transformation (Polyani) 89 Greed and Grievance: Economic Agendas in Civil Wars (Ballentine and Sherman) 147 Group of 7 (G7) 95, 171, 174 Group of 8 (G8) 174 Group of 20 (G20) 174 Group of 77 (G77) 106, 174 Haq, Mahbub ul 80, 86–7, 169 Hayek, F.A. von 94 Heavily Indebted Poor Countries programme (HIPC) 146–7 Held, David 34, 156–8, 163, 172, 173–4 Herring, E. 133, 134 Hills, Carla 70 historical change 50–51 history, and structures 24, 47–8, 50–51 Hoeffler, A. 147 Hoffman, M. 39, 73 holism 26, 50 Horkheimer, Max 25–6, 33–4, 36, 37 human development 86–7

Human Development Reports (UNDP) 80 human dignity 57, 84–6, 156–7 human needs 85–7, 156–8 human poverty 80 human rights 1–2, 4–5, 7–10, 12–13, 35, 57, 60–61, 72, 74, 75, 134–5, 160–61, 165, 170, 173–5 Human Rights (Buzan) 66 human security 16, 42, 56, 79–89, 96, 100, 145, 147, 149, 150, 153, 155–9, 174, 177, 184–6 Human Security Centre 79, 80 Human Security Now (Commission on Human Security) 80 human sociality 23 humanitarian intervention see intervention Ignatieff, M. 131, 132–3 immanent critique 16, 41, 42, 45–6, 53, 152 immediacy 3, 11, 57, 104 imports 107, 113–14, 121 inclusiveness 156–8 income poverty 80 individuals as complex collectives 25, 42, 78–9, 84, 89, 157 as referents of security 16, 24–6, 42, 78–80, 82, 155–7, 187 as victims 12, 16, 25, 42, 60–61, 76–7, 78–9 welfare of 12, 60–61, 75 industry 107–8, 122–3 inequality 71–2, 82–3, 94, 155–6 inflation 117, 121, 163 infrastructure 115, 140 interest, knowledge as having 14, 49, 56, 72, 100, 150 interest rates 114, 121 International Commission on Intervention and State Sovereignty (ICISS) 2, 3, 57, 62–3, 170 International Criminal Court 81 International Finance Corporation (IFC) 70 International Financial Institutions (IFIs) 6, 67–70, 76, 95–6, 106,

Index 215 120, 126, 146–7, 171–2; see also International Monetary Fund (IMF); World Bank international law 8–9, 56–7, 73–5 International Monetary Fund (IMF) 14, 67–70, 81, 92–3, 95, 96, 106, 107, 114–17, 120–26, 139–141, 146–7, 150, 171, 172 international order 8, 64–5 International Peace Academy (IPA) 147 International Political Economy (IPE) 6, 66, 89–90, 186–7 international relations, as less binding than domestic 18, 65, 149 intersubjectivity 42, 49–50, 89–97 intervention deciding on use of 8–10, 12, 56–7, 62, 73–5, 179 defined 3 legal factors 9, 56–7, 73–5 moral factors 5–6, 7–9, 35, 57, 59, 75, 78, 134–5 as only option 63–4 pre-emptive 62–3 prioritisation over prevention 8–10, 11–12, 35, 59–64, 98, 170, 179 solidarist approach to 8–10, 11–12, 35, 41, 59–64, 65–78, 134–5, 170 intervention complex 13, 60–61, 65–78, 99, 149–50, 181 investment 68, 70, 92, 95 regulation of 160–62 Iraq 74 Italy 131, 133 Jacobsen, H. 136 Japan 81–2 Judah, T. 107, 127, 133 justice 5, 6, 14, 51, 60–61, 75, 174–5 Kant, Immanuel 29 Kaplan, Robert 103–4 Kaul, Inge 171–2 Kennedy, Robert 86–7 knowledge episteme conception of 41 formation of 43–4 as having an interest 14, 49, 56, 72, 100, 150

as historically constructed 56 and power 35–7, 59, 61, 64, 78, 152 see also epistemology Korten, D. 160 Kosovo Alliance for the Future of Kosovo (AAK) 139 autonomy 108, 127–9, 134 competitiveness 163 conflict in 103–4, 127, 129, 131–4, 138–9 context of crisis 126–40 Democratic League of Kosovo (LDK) 129–31, 139 Drenica region 132 economic development 76, 136–40, 163–4 economic integration 136–40, 163–4 economy 108, 115, 119–20, 126–7, 139–40, 163–4, 168 elections 139 employment 117, 119, 123, 139–40 ethnic cleansing 104 ethnic relations 128–31 EU policy towards 136–40 genocide 104, 128 independence 76, 131, 134, 139 infrastructure 140 Kosovar Albanians 128–34 Kosovo Liberation Army (KLA) 131–2 NATO intervention 74, 76, 133–4 OSCE Verification Mission 132 peace-building 76 portrayal of conflict 103–4, 128 Pristina 127, 128 Racak village 133 Rambouillet Accords 133–4, 142 reasons for use as case study 5–8 referendums 130 relations with Serbia 111, 119–20, 127–34, 138–9 Kosovo Liberation Army (KLA) 131–2 Koštunica, Vojislav 139 Kroslak, D. 103, 104 Krugman, Paul 92–3 Lamy, Pascal 173 landmines 81

216

Index

Leaver, E. 162 legitimisation 13–14, 32–3, 46–7, 64–77, 98–9, 157, 174, 181 Leonard, Stephen 53 Liberia 73 liddism 148 light prevention 145 Linklater, Andrew 2, 74 Little, A. 127 loans 68–9 locus of blame 151–2 logical positivism 33 Macedonia 108, 115, 123, 136, 137–8 McMichael, P. 96 Magas, B. 115, 117 Malcolm, N. 105, 107, 116, 127, 128, 129–30, 131, 132 Marceau, G. 173 markets free 93, 96, 116, 149, 150 privileged over state 91–2, 95–6 Markovic´, Ante 121, 122 Marshall Plan 105 Marx, Karl 30 material needs 85–6, 156, 158 Mayall, James 2, 66 means 85, 177 mercantilism 90 Mertus, J. 109, 128 Miall, Hugh 2 Midgley, Mary 38 Milivojevic´, M. 113, 115 Miloševic´, Slobodan 128–30, 131, 132–4 Millennium Project 174 migration 111–12 Mirowski, P. 68 modified statism 74 Montenegro 129, 136, 137–8 Moore, M. 174 moral responsibility 4, 5–6, 7–8, 12–13, 57, 59, 72, 175, 179, 188 Murphy, Craig 86–7 Nafziger, W. 112 narrow human security 79–80, 81, 82–3 National Bank of Yugoslavia 116, 117, 122, 141

national identity 109 nationalism 109, 123, 125, 128, 141; see also economic nationalism NATO 5, 74, 133–4 Nelson, J. 161 neoclassical economic theory 91–2, 94 neo-liberal economic order alternatives to 151–75, 185–6 analysis included in CHIA 16–19, 50, 61, 88, 144–5, 148–9, 151 challenging of 16–18 construction of 89–97 contextualising conflict 7–8, 18, 30–31, 61, 104, 124–6, 135, 147, 151, 181 impact upon Yugoslavia 102–3, 114–15, 118, 124–6, 135 legitimisation of 13–14, 30–31, 49, 57, 67, 70–2, 157, 174 as part of international society 6 replicating of 14, 32, 37, 47–8, 76–7, 148, 152 see also economic liberalism; economic statism Neufeld, Mark 11, 15, 27, 32, 33, 34, 39, 41, 46, 180 neutrality 106–7, 113 Nonaligned Movement (NAM) 106 non-governmental organisations (NGOs) 154–5, 165, 172 North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA) 70 Nussbaum, Martha 87 Oberg, J. 115, 116 objectivity 15, 34, 37–9, 40, 42, 44 Ogatra, Sadako 81 oil crisis 113, 126 ontologies 49–50 oppression 3, 28–9, 87, 147 Orford, A. 114, 120, 123, 124, 125–6 Organisation for Security and Cooperation in Europe (OSCE) 132 Our Global Neighbourhood (Commission on Global Governance) 80 Overseas Development Institute (ODI) 146 Owen, David 103

Index 217 Parekh, Bhikhu 57, 59–60, 76–7, 84 participation 171–3 Payer, C. 92 peace-building 14, 18, 76–8, 99, 135–40, 149, 182 Pederson, P. 173 perspective on perspective 15–16, 44–6, 51 Pieterse, J.N. 27–8 Piper, U. 95 plain facts 38 Planinc, Milka 116 Pleština, D. 115 pluralism 3–4, 8, 57, 75 polarisation 117–18, 121, 123, 125 political conditionality 96, 114–15, 117, 124, 141 political justice 5, 6, 14, 60–61, 75 political stability 136–40 political violence 72, 79 politics as dynamic process 153–4 as separate from economics 14, 55–6, 65, 67, 68–9, 72–3, 76, 89–90, 96, 153 Polyani, Karl 89, 124 Popper, Karl 38 positivism 32, 33–4, 40 positivist methodology 11–13, 32–9, 58–64, 97, 180 Postone, Moishe 41 poverty 71–2, 80–81, 82–3, 149, 151, 174 Poverty Reduction and Growth Facility (PRGF) 147 power, and knowledge 35–7, 59, 61, 64, 78, 152 practical theory 10–11, 17–18, 30–31, 45–6, 84–5, 156, 176–7, 183 pre-emptive intervention 62–3 Prescott, D. 161 prescription 36–7 prevention and contextualisation 7–8 intervention prioritised over 8–10, 11–12, 35, 59–64, 98, 170, 179 possibility of 13, 52–3 prioritised by CHIA 41–2, 56, 145, 152–3, 175–6, 183

reciprocal 17–18, 61, 144–53, 160, 175–6, 184–5, 187–8 role of economic factors in 7–8, 13, 63, 144–51 solidarist approach to 8–10, 11–12, 35, 41, 59–64 Pristina 127, 128 private investment 68, 70, 92, 95, 160–62 privatisation 93, 95, 122–3, 136 problem-solving theorising 11–14, 32, 46–7, 55–77, 97, 148, 171, 180–81 process utopias 30, 153–4 Program for Reconstruction and Recovery in Kosovo 136–7 Program of Action to Mitigate the Social Costs of Adjustments (PAMSCAD) 147 progress 27–8, 89 progressive convergence 4 Pugh, Michael 103, 115, 117, 148, 149, 162–5 pure theory 10, 12, 14, 15–16, 26– 30, 31–52, 72, 150, 157, 180 qualitative human security 85–7, 156–8 quantitative human security 85–6 Racak village (Kosovo) 133 Rambouillet Accords 133–4, 142 Ramet, S.P. 104 Ramsbotham, Oliver 2, 3, 4, 7, 17, 145, 148–9 Reader, M. 93–4 Regan, Ronald 92 realism 22, 57 reciprocal prevention 17–18, 61, 144–51, 160, 175–6, 184–5, 187–8 reciprocal relations 124 reciprocal world security 10 reconstruction loans 68–9 redistributive relations 124–5 referendums 130 reflexive theorising 11, 32–44, 45–52, 183 replication, of dominant structures 14, 32, 37, 47–8, 148, 152 Responsibility to Protect (ICISS) 62–3 Robertson, George 104

218

Index

Rogers, Paul 148, 149 Romania 137 Ruggiero, Renato 173 Rugova, Ibrahim 129–31 Russia 131, 133, 139; see also Soviet Union Sachs, Jeffrey 120–21 safety nets 146 Saving Strangers (Wheeler) 6, 60 Scholte, J.A. 70 Second World War 105 secondary needs 158 security economic factors 80–83, 86–7, 89–91, 96 and emancipation 85 and equality 155–6, 185 individuals as referents 16, 24–6, 42, 78–9, 82, 155–7, 187 and poverty 80, 82–3 provision of in Yugoslavia 110–12, 124 reciprocity of 10, 17 states as referents 61, 79–80 see also human security; insecurity ‘Security and Emancipation’ (Booth) 25, 28 self-determination 110, 127 self-regulation 160–61 Sen, Amartya 81, 87 Serbia antibureaucratic revolution 129 economic integration 136, 137–8 economy 108, 115, 119, 127 employment 119, 123 ethnic relations 128–31 nationalism 128 rejects austerity programme 121 relations with Kosovo 111, 119–20, 127–34, 138–9 security forces 131–2 Serbian Academy of Science and Art 128 Shaw, M. 26 Sherman, J. 147 shock therapy programme 120–26, 141–2 Shue, Henry 188

Silber, L. 127 sincerity 42–3 Singer, Peter 187 Slovenia 107–8, 115, 117, 119, 130, 131, 137 Smith, Steve 63 social capital 163–4 solidarist theorising background 2–5 distinguished from pluralism 3–4, 74–5 individuals as victims 25, 42, 60–61 and legitimisation of structures 13–14, 64–78, 98, 157, 174, 181 positivist methodology of 11–13, 58–64, 180 and poverty 83 prioritisation of intervention over prevention 8–10, 11–12, 35, 59–64, 98, 134–5, 170, 179 as problem-solving 11–14, 32, 44–5, 55–78, 97, 171, 180–81 and truth as correspondence 35, 55–6, 58–61, 77, 97, 180 Sörensen, Jens 139 sovereignty 73–5, 79, 108–9, 162 Soviet Union 105–6, 107, 113, 120, 121; see also Russia speculation 168–70 Spencer, Herbert 93 Stability Pact for South East Europe (SPSEE) 136–7, 138, 142, 164–5 states markets privileged over 91, 95–6 as referents of security 61–2, 79–80 sovereignty of 73–5, 79–80, 162 see also statism statism 30, 54, 73–5, 182; see also economic statism Sterling-Folker, J. 128 Strazzari, F. 118 structural adjustment programs (SAPs) 69, 95–6, 117–18, 142, 146–7, 149, 150 structures and agents 23–4 challenging of 16–18, 47–51, 144–5, 185

Index 219 legitimisation of 13–14, 32–3, 46–7, 64–78, 98–9, 157, 174, 181 relation to theories 36 replication of 14, 32, 37, 47–8, 148, 152 Subbarao, K. 146 subsidiarity 156–8 supreme humanitarian emergencies (SHEs) defined 3–4 and intervention see intervention prevention of see prevention see also conflict sustainability 63, 85 Switzerland 131, 169 taxation 111, 116, 119, 127, 130, 161, 163, 168–70 Taylor, L. 95 territorial decentralisation 107–8, 116–17, 126 Tesón, Fernando 2, 75 Thatcher, Margaret 92, 94 theories constitutive nature of 35–7, 53, 152 evaluation of 32–3, 39–40, 43–4, 45–52 relation to structures 36 see also reflexive theorising; solidarist theorising Theory of World Security (Booth) 2, 10, 21–31, 77, 151, 152, 179, 180 Third World Network 161–2 Thomas, Caroline on an alternative path 18, 151, 153, 154–5, 159, 162–3, 170–71, 172–3, 176–7 on economic order 68, 69–71, 92, 93–4, 95, 96–7, 146–7, 149, 170–71 on human security 16, 42, 56, 79, 82, 83, 84–9, 100, 147, 151, 153, 155, 156, 159, 160, 162–3, 176–7, 184–5 ‘Three Tyrannies’ (Booth) 28–9 Tito, Josip Broz 105, 106, 125, 127 Tobin tax 169–70 Tooze, R. 14, 69, 89, 90–91, 153 trade cooperation 137–8, 168

trade liberalisation 69–71, 95, 162, 172–3 trade regulation 162–5 ‘Traditional and Critical Theory’ (Horkheimer) 34 transcendental theory 10, 22–6 transnational corporations 161–2 Treaty of Versailles 105 truth concepts of 42–4 as correspondence 11, 15, 33–5, 55–6, 58–61, 77, 97, 180 intersubjective 42, 49–50 objective 34, 37–9, 42 unemployment 7, 111–12, 115, 117, 123, 124 UNESCO 174 UNICEF 146 United Kingdom 76, 92, 121, 133, 139, 169 United Nations 131 United Nations Conference on Trade and Development (UNCTAD) 169 United Nations Department of Economic and Social Affairs 174 United Nations Development Programme (UNDP) 71–2, 80–81, 86, 171–2 United Nations Mission in Kosovo (UNMIK) 76 United Nations Regulatory Agency for Transnational Trade (UNRATTI) 162 United Nations Security Council 9, 57, 74, 81 United States 76, 92, 95, 105–6, 121, 132, 133, 139, 171 universal social facts 38 urgent needs 158 US Export-Import Bank 106 USSR see Soviet Union utopias 30, 153–4 Vayrynen, R. 118 victims, individuals as 12, 16, 25, 42, 60–61, 76–7 Vienna Circle 33

220

Index

Vincent, R.J. 2, 3, 57, 66 violence conditions increasing likeliness of 7 economic 72 political 72, 79 see also conflict virtuous circle 85 Vivian, J. 146 Vojvodina 108, 115, 127, 128–9 Walker, William 132–3 war crimes 81 Ward, Barbara 87 Warnock, Geoffrey 38 Washington Consensus 92–3, 120, 150 Watson, Matthew 90–91, 95, 96, 124, 150, 167–8, 169–70, 186 Weiss, T.G. 9, 73 welfare provision 93–4, 110–11, 118 West, C. 39 West Balkan sub-region 136–40, 164–5, 168 Westernisation 29 What Now? Another Development (Dag Hammarskjold Foundation) 155 Wheeler, Nicholas J. 2, 3–4, 5, 6, 12, 57, 59–61, 62, 63–4, 75, 104, 170, 179 Wight, Martin 66 Williams, Bernard 42 Wilson, Peter 2 Woodhouse, Tom 2, 3, 4 Woodward, Susan 105, 106–12, 113–14, 115–20, 123, 124, 127, 128, 129–30 Workers’ Council 122 World Bank 14, 67–70, 81, 92–3, 95, 96, 106, 107, 114, 122, 126, 127, 139, 140–41, 146–7, 150, 171, 172, 174 World Health Organization (WHO) 174 World Trade Organization (WTO) 67, 69, 138, 164, 171, 172–3

Wyn Jones, R.G. 26, 27, 28, 34, 35, 36 Yugoslav People’s Army (YPA) 106–7, 110, 119 Yugoslavia austerity programmes 112–26, 141–2 bankruptcies 122–3 break up of 130–31 competitiveness 113–14 constitutional order 108–10, 127, 128–9 currency devaluations 114, 121 economic integration 6–7, 102–3, 115–26, 136–40, 141–2 economy 106, 107–8, 110, 112–26 employment 110–12, 115, 117, 123, 124 ethnic relations 7, 109, 112, 121, 123, 125, 130 EU policy towards 136–40, 164–5 exports 107–8, 114, 115, 126 imports 107, 113–14, 121 individual security 110–12, 124 industry 107–8, 122–3 inflation 117, 121 infrastructure 115 international position 105–8, 137 migration within 111–12 neutrality 106–7, 113 polarisation 117–18, 121, 123, 125 portrayal of conflict 103–4 republics, dynamics of 116, 118–19, 126–7 shock therapy programme 120–26, 141–2 territorial decentralisation 107–8, 116–17, 126 welfare provision 110–11, 118 see also Bosnia-Herzegovina; Croatia; Kosovo; Macedonia; Montenegro; Serbia; Slovenia; Vojvodina