Security Communities and their Neighbours: Regional Fortresses or Global Integrators?

Security Communities and their Neighbours Regional Fortresses or Global Integrators?

Alex J. Bellamy

Security Communities and their Neighbours

Also by Alex J. Bellamy INTERNATIONAL SOCIETY AND ITS CRITICS KOSOVO AND INTERNATIONAL SOCIETY THE FORMATION OF CROATIAN NATIONAL IDENTITY UNDERSTANDING PEACEKEEPING (with Paul Williams and Stuart Griffin)

Security Communities and their Neighbours Regional Fortresses or Global Integrators? Alex J. Bellamy School of Political Science and International Studies University of Queensland, Australia

© Alex J. Bellamy 2004 All rights reserved. No reproduction, copy or transmission of this publication may be made without written permission. No paragraph of this publication may be reproduced, copied or transmitted save with written permission or in accordance with the provisions of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, or under the terms of any licence permitting limited copying issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency, 90 Tottenham Court Road, London W1T 4LP. Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages. The author has asserted his right to be identified as the author of this work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. First published 2004 by PALGRAVE MACMILLAN Houndmills, Basingstoke, Hampshire RG21 6XS and 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N. Y. 10010 Companies and representatives throughout the world PALGRAVE MACMILLAN is the global academic imprint of the Palgrave Macmillan division of St. Martin’s Press, LLC and of Palgrave Macmillan Ltd. Macmillan® is a registered trademark in the United States, United Kingdom and other countries. Palgrave is a registered trademark in the European Union and other countries. ISBN 1–4039–0622–X This book is printed on paper suitable for recycling and made from fully managed and sustained forest sources. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Bellamy, Alex J., 1975– Security communities and their neighbours : regional fortresses or global integrators? / Alex J. Bellamy. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 1–4039–0622–X (cloth) 1. National security–International cooperation–Case studies. 2. Security, International–Case studies. 3. Regionalism (International organisation)–Case studies. 4. Alliances–Case studies. I. Title: Security communities and their neighbours. II. Title. JZ5588.B45 2004 327.1′16–dc22

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Printed and bound in Great Britain by Antony Rowe Ltd, Chippenham and Eastbourne

To my darling wife, Sara

Contents List of Abbreviations

viii

Acknowledgements

x

Introduction: Security Communities and International Relations

1

1

The Social Construction of International Society

14

2

Security and Community

30

3

Security Communities and their Neighbours: A Framework of Analysis

51

Security Communities in Transition: The European Experience

63

Building Community from Confrontation: The Southeast Asian Experience

88

4 5 6 7

Stalled Integration and Perpetual War: The Gulf Cooperation Council

118

Asymmetry, Security and Trade: The North American Security Community

150

Conclusion: Reshaping International Relations?

178

Notes

189

Index

215

vii

List of Abbreviations AFTA AMF ANZUS APEC ARF ASA ASEAN ASEAN-ISIS ASEM ASP CACM CENTO CSCE CSCAP EAPC EBRD EC ECJ ECSC EEC EU GCC GDP IMF INTERFET MAPHILINDO NACC NAFTA NATO OAPEC OAS OECD

ASEAN Free Trade Area Arab Monetary Fund Australia, New Zealand and United States Defence Agreement Asia-Pacific Economic Cooperation ASEAN Regional Forum Association of Southeast Asia Association of Southeast Asian Nations ASEAN Institute of Strategic and International Studies Asia-Europe Meeting ASEAN Surveillance Process Central American Common Market Central Treaty Organisation Council for Security and Cooperation in Europe Council for Security and Cooperation in the Asia-Pacific Euro-Atlantic Partnership Council European Bank of Reconstruction and Development European Community European Court of Justice European Coal and Steel Community European Economic Community European Union Gulf Cooperation Council Gross Domestic Product International Monetary Fund International Force in East Timor Malaysia, The Philippines and Indonesian Union North Atlantic Cooperation Council North American Free Trade Agreement North Atlantic Treaty Organisation Organisation of Arabic Petroleum Exporting Countries Organisation of American States Organisation for Economic Cooperation and Development viii

List of Abbreviations ix

OIC OPEC OSCE PfP PLO RDF SADC SEANWFZ SEATO UAE UAR UEA UK UN UNCLOS US WEU WTO ZOPFAN

Organisation of Islamic Conference Organisation of Petroleum Exporting Countries Organisation for Security and Cooperation in Europe Partnership for Peace Palestine Liberation Organisation Rapid Deployment Force South African Development Community Southeast Asian Nuclear Weapons Free Zone Southeast Asian Treaty Organisation United Arab Emirates United Arab Republic United Economic Agreement United Kingdom United Nations United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea United States Western European Union World Trade Organisation Zone of Peace, Freedom and Neutrality

Acknowledgements I would like to thank a number of people for their help and support during this project. Michael Barnett provided insightful early advice about the direction of the project. I am also grateful to Mark Beeson, Tim Edmunds and Matt McDonald for reading parts of the manuscript and making many useful suggestions. I would like to thank Alison Howson, the anonymous reader and all at Palgrave Macmillan for their assistance in putting this book together and for making many helpful suggestions. I would also like to thank Shirley Tan for her excellent and patient work on the manuscript. Finally, I owe my biggest debt of gratitude to my wife, Sara. Throughout this project she has been on hand to provide excellent editorial advice and loving support. Brisbane

x

Introduction: Security Communities and International Relations

Contrary to popular images of International Relations, people have never inhabited a state of nature. The ‘state of nature’ was an analogy used by Hobbes, Rousseau and others to describe the human condition prior to the creation of states. It was a brutal world where individuals had to rely on force to survive. Thankfully, individuals have always constructed societies and communities. Nevertheless, traditional approaches to International Relations continue to cling onto Hobbes’ concept of the state of nature for two principal reasons. First, many writers believe that without the modern state there would be no society, no rules, and no realistic expectation of peaceful change. Life without the state would be ‘nasty, brutish and short’.1 Individuals would confront their personal security dilemma on a daily basis never knowing whether their neighbour’s preparations for self-defence were in fact preparations for future attack.2 In such a situation there would be no economy, no culture, no politics, and no human development of any kind. This belief provides the foundation for a communitarian justification for the state. This justification holds that states allow individuals to escape the state of nature. They create a space for communities to construct moral meaning and pursue collective aims. Moreover, they allow individuals to pursue their own idea of the good life without the daily fear for their lives.3 Thus, the dominant realist conception of International Relations awards the state ontological priority not only because it happens to be the most powerful actor in global politics but also because it is a normative good in itself, because it allows us all to escape our personal security dilemmas. Second, realists claim that Hobbes’ analogy of the state of nature provides an accurate picture of contemporary global politics. The state of nature, they argue, is part of the supposedly ‘timeless wisdom’ of 1

2 Security Communities and their Neighbours

realism. Robert Gilpin, for instance, asked whether today’s students ‘know anything that Thucydides and his fifth century BC compatriots did not know about the behaviour of states’.4 Is the world not as Thucydides described it in The Peloponnesian War? That was/is a world divided into two types of political space. On the one hand there is domestic politics. The domestic realm is a world of binding laws, the pursuit of justice, and the creation of national identities and cultures.5 Beyond the state’s boundaries lies a condition of anarchy where there are no rules, no shared interests and identities and the perpetual fear of imminent destruction. In this anarchic international system, states can only rely on themselves to guarantee their preservation. This world is a ‘self-help’ system of like units pursuing their own interests and engaging in the politics of survival.6 In the international sphere all politics is the pursuit of power7 and all states confront a security dilemma which according to Wheeler and Booth is a situation ‘when the military preparations of one state create an unresolvable uncertainty in the mind of another as to whether their preparations are for “defensive” purposes only (to enhance its security in an uncertain world) or whether they are for offensive purposes (to change the status quo to its advantage)’.8 Thomas Hobbes’ analogy of the state of nature therefore fulfils two important functions for realists: it provides a moral justification for the state and the perpetuation of an international order based on states as well as a parsimonious portrait of the way the world works beyond state borders. However, the state of nature is an analogy not an historical fact – a point often overlooked by theorists and practitioners. States were not created as a rational collective response to individual security dilemmas. They were merely one form of political community among many that were constructed in particular times and places for particular reasons. They were neither natural nor inevitable.9 Forces of modernisation, industrialisation and nationalism produced them.10 States have formed a global system of governance for less than 60 years. Furthermore, wherever there has been more than one state in a global system they have shared common rules and values, and interests and identities have crossed the boundaries between them.11 For instance, the 600-years-old boundaries between the Ottoman and Habsburg Empires were not only barren wastelands that hosted frequent battles. They were also spaces of intensive trade and the transaction of ideas. The city-state of Dubrovnik prospered at this intersection for more than 500 years before the forces of nationalism and self-determination carried

Introduction: Security Communities and International Relations 3

Napoleon through its gates.12 Even during the barbarity of the Second World War, the UK and Germany continued to observe certain customs of war. Before the accidental bombing of London by the Luftwaffe, both sides desisted from the aerial bombardment of cities. Throughout the duration of the war, both tended to treat their prisoners of war with a basic level of decency and both refused to use their stockpiled supplies of chemical weapons, even as London was threatened and Berlin fell.13 If we were to believe the realists, states would be so preoccupied with protecting themselves from their neighbours that they would not be able to do many of the things we have come to expect them to do. However, the world beyond state borders is not an amoral and anarchic void and it never has been. Political communities of similar and different types have tended towards integration and the formation of wider societies and communities. Moreover, the spaces between political communities are not uninhabited voids. Just as the space between the Ottoman and Habsburg Empires was filled with bandits who stole from all sides, traders who traversed boundaries, and others with transient identities, so people, goods and ideas occupy the spaces between modern states. This book investigates one such form of community that stretches out beyond state borders into the supposedly anarchic spaces beyond. The security community idea, pioneered by Karl Deutsch in the 1950s and revived and modified by Emmanuel Adler and Michael Barnett 40 years later,14 offers a way of understanding how states might reconfigure their perceptions of security by adopting a logic different to that of the security dilemma. That they do is evidenced by the fact that with a few notable exceptions (Australia and the US, for instance), global defence spending is falling; furthermore, even at the peak of the Cold War, global defence spending, whilst immense, was not sufficient to suggest that states were singularly (or even primarily) preoccupied with guarding against imminent destruction; finally, in their relations with others, states often do not always use the language of realism and in several cases (Western Europe in particular) do not even use the language of International Relations. British policy towards other western European states is not formulated by the Foreign and Commonwealth Office or the Ministry of Defence. Instead, virtually every government department in the UK has permanent relations with their equivalents in Europe and, to the extent that it is useful to talk about state-to-state relations, those relations are mediated through a web of institutional and social networks.

4 Security Communities and their Neighbours

Realists admit that states can and do cooperate with each other but stop short of saying that they are able to form societies or communities.15 To make this latter claim would be to do away with the two functions performed by the Hobbesian analogy. Rather than do this, realists and neo-realists suggest that states may build temporary alliances when it suits their short-term interests to do so. Craig Snyder, for instance, argued that states form temporary alliances only when they perceive it to be to their relative advantage in terms of material gains.16 Viewed this way, states will participate in an alliance only if it helps them to pursue a particular objective.17 According to these approaches, states are primarily concerned with two issues when entering into an alliance with others. First, they are concerned with relative material gains.18 They want to know that other members of the alliance are not benefiting more than they are and that there are no ‘free riders’ who acquire security through the efforts of others. Second, they are concerned with the degree of obligation. Alliances are constructed in response to particular threats and place a burden on their member states to respond to that threat and – more importantly – to be prepared to respond.19 Thus, realist security politics are characterised by a focus on the relative power, usually defined narrowly as military or economic power, of different states and groups of states. Within this worldview there are two principal explanations for the persistence of peace between states. The first is the balance of power. This is the idea that peace can be maintained by ‘balancing’ the power of leading states through the formation of alliances and coalitions. This creates a more equitable distribution of power within the international system and deters either side from challenging the status quo by force.20 The second realist strategy for maintaining order is hegemony. A hegemonic order is one ‘organised and maintained by a state wielding a predominance of power’.21 In this type of order, the hegemonic state is responsible for setting the rules and enforcing compliance with them. Whilst this picture may describe the methods employed by states to maintain order in nineteenth century Europe prior to the First World War and in some regions during the Cold War, it tells us very little about the global international society that emerged after 1989. This failure is perhaps best captured by realists’ repeated insistence that after the Berlin Wall collapsed NATO would inevitably collapse. Kenneth Waltz, William Wohlforth and others argued that Western states would realise that with the Soviet threat gone their security interests would be best pursued through new alliances.22 They argued that the

Introduction: Security Communities and International Relations 5

US would no longer have geostrategic interests in the European region and would therefore withdraw, prompting the demise of NATO. However, not only is NATO still together, but the ‘coming anarchy’23 that many realists predicted would characterise the post-Cold War era has failed to materialise. Indeed, there were fewer armed conflicts in the 1990s than there were in the 1980s, or the 1970s for that matter.24 NATO is both larger and more integrated (at both political and military levels) today than it was in 1989. In 1995 it undertook its first combat mission in Bosnia (Operation Deliberate Force) and four years later launched a 78-day ‘humanitarian war’ against Yugoslavia in an attempt to halt ethnic cleansing in Kosovo.25 NATO has undoubtedly changed in the years since 1989 and its members have learnt new ways of acting and speaking, both in their relations with each other and in their relations with outsiders. Since 1989, its members have become immersed in a web of security relationships. These include NATO’s own ‘Partnership for Peace’ (PfP), the ‘Euro-Atlantic Partnership Council’ and the ‘NATO-Russia Council’. The mythical ‘order’ that characterised the Cold War has not given way to ‘anarchy’. Indeed, the spaces between states have never been so populated and regulated.26 The flow of goods and ideas across borders is so intense today that the borders themselves are becoming obscure and new borders – not all of them spatial – are being constructed. How, then, are we to understand the flourishing of security cooperation between states after the end of the Cold War? The persistence and growth of NATO, the GCC, NAFTA, ASEAN and other such institutions and relationships suggests that these relations between states cannot be understood by thinking solely in terms of costs and benefits, winning and losing, or relative and absolute gains. For the states in these and other relationships, the relationship itself has become a matter of habit. In the Pacific region, for example, a state’s identity is shaped in significant ways by its membership of ANZUS or ASEAN. This identity frames the way that the state conducts itself, the way it constructs its interests and the values and norms that it holds dear. The manner in which international society is socially constructed is discussed further in the following chapter. My main point here is that the security dilemma – predicated though it is on the idea of a social and moral void in the spaces between states – is a relationship (rather than an ‘object’). It is a social activity and is therefore created by communication and identity politics, both of which help to frame norms and interests.

6 Security Communities and their Neighbours

Traditional alliance theories, with their emphasis on objective goods such as pre-political ‘national interests’ and degrees of obligation and mutuality, downplay the social and relational aspects of transnational security relationships. Such theories hold that ‘societies’ and ‘communities’ only exist within states and cannot exist between them because of their cultural, moral, linguistic, religious and other differences. This view, of course, relies on the Hobbesian analogy and the fallacy that states were created to allow pre-defined communities to escape the state of nature. As soon as we hold out the possibility of thinking about international society as social practice, we are required to rethink the way that states construct and pursue ‘security’. From this perspective, security becomes less about creating mutual obligations in order to mitigate security dilemmas and more about reconstructing the global neighbourhood by reshaping identities, interests, norms, values and ultimately the boundaries between ‘us’ and ‘them’.

Security communities The concept of the security community can be traced to a seminal work led by Karl Deutsch in 1957, though Richard van Wegenen has been credited with first introducing the concept in the early 1950s.27 According to Deutsch and his collaborators, ‘a security-community is, therefore, one in which there is a real assurance that the members of that community will not fight each other physically, but will settle their disputes in some other way’.28 They argued that there were broadly two types of security community, an amalgamated type and a pluralistic type. An amalgamated security community occurs with the ‘formal merger of two or more previously independent units into a single larger unit’29 that share the same government. Deutsch identified the formation of the US as the prime example of this type of security community. By contrast, entities that form a pluralistic security community retain ‘the legal independence of formal government’.30 Once again, the authors drew on a North American example by focusing on the US-Canadian relationship. Ole Wæver later described the pluralistic security community as simply a ‘non-war community’, a group of political communities who share reliable expectations that their political disputes will be resolved by non-violent means.31 Deutsch insisted that both types of community (amalgamated and pluralistic) depended upon some form of institutionalisation, though he argued that the actual level of institutionalisation could vary from a very loose accommodation (such as the CSCE in the 1980s) to highly

Introduction: Security Communities and International Relations 7

developed sets of institutions (such as the EU today). Moreover, a security community cannot be measured solely in terms of the degree to which its members wage or fear war amongst themselves. Members of such a community also have to desist from preparing to wage war on other members.32 Security communities are bound together by compatible core values, shared languages and institutions, and a degree of shared identity described by Adler and Barnett as a sense of ‘we-ness’.33 The concept received little attention during the Cold War, and indeed not until Adler and Barnett’s work in 1998 was it reconsidered with any vigour. Nevertheless, the security community idea makes a number of important contributions to the study of contemporary International Relations. First, it opens the possibility of thinking about ‘community’ within the international space. As Hedley Bull put it in the 1970s, states inhabit an international society based upon their shared interest in the preservation of the society itself.34 The extent to which that ‘society’ can be viewed as exhibiting the characteristics of a ‘community’ is dependent upon the existence of shared norms of behaviour and common identities. Understood as ‘collective understandings of the proper behaviour of actors’,35 norms not only act as a guide for state action, they also shape that action by contributing to the construction of a state’s identity, framing its interests, and defining its world view.36 An ‘embedded’ or ‘internalised’ norm such as membership of a mature security community acts as a generative structure that shapes perceptions of cost, benefit, legitimacy and identity in ways that often go unnoticed.37 The idea that norms are important points us towards Deutsch’s interest in transactions and relationships. For Deutsch, a security community (like all communities) is framed by interaction between agents. The norm at the heart of a security community that says that its members must not prepare for war with each other cannot be created through formal legislation or the construction of institutions alone, though both play an important role in establishing and reinforcing it. Instead, the norm develops through an iterative process that combines ideational and material factors. On the one hand, to establish a security community norm states have to consistently desist from preparing for war with each other over a period of time. On the other hand, they also have to say that this is what they are doing. Viewing international society as a social activity based on communicative action raises the important issue of social learning. Just as states have to ‘learn’ how to act in relationships characterised by the security dilemmas, so security communities are all about ‘learning’

8 Security Communities and their Neighbours

how to act and teaching others to do likewise. Deutsch’s approach to understanding politics more generally centred on two key concepts, which are of help here.38 The first was the idea of domination. Domination referred to the ability of a ‘centre’ to make rules and its ability to enforce them. Deutsch argued that in all communities compliance with rules is at least 90 percent voluntary. Without a high degree of voluntary compliance, rules would be simply impractical – as the US found with its prohibition laws. If laws were not generally followed voluntarily, ‘there could be no law and no government as we know them’.39 Complying with rules therefore has to be a matter of habit. Voluntary compliance is not a matter of ‘common sense’ or pure coercion but social learning. States ‘learn’ to act in particular ways when they think that their relationships with neighbours are framed by the rules of the security dilemma, for instance. They ‘learn’ to act differently if they perceive those same relationships in terms of shared membership of a security community. Adler and Barnett’s recent work made three important additions to Deutsch’s schema. First, they offered a more rigorous definition of security community. They abandoned the idea of amalgamated security communities, talking instead about communities of sovereign entities that enjoy ‘dependable expectations of peaceful change’.40 This expanded the notion of ‘security’ from the exclusively military towards the whole panoply of inter-community relations and security concerns. Furthermore, the use of ‘dependable expectations’ of peaceful change emphasised the relational character of the community by alluding to processes of social iteration, learning, and habit building that help to create both expectation (expectations are usually constructed by interpretations of what happened in similar situations in the past) and dependability. Second, they enhanced the concept by distinguishing between different types of security community and discussing how communities change over time. The two types they identify are loosely- and tightlycoupled security communities. A loosely-coupled security community comprises sovereign states that maintain dependable expectations of peaceful change and nothing more. Tightly-coupled security communities, Adler and Barnett argue, are more demanding in two respects. First, such communities exhibit a degree of ‘mutual aid’. Second, they maintain a framework for governance. Each of these two types may go through three stages of development: ‘nascent’, ‘ascendant’, and ‘mature’. In nascent security communities, states begin to consider how they might coordinate their

Introduction: Security Communities and International Relations 9

activities in order to increase their mutual security, reduce transaction costs, or create the potential for further interaction in the future. According to Deutsch, this might occur if the community’s members are threatened by war or a common enemy. Ascendant security communities display ‘increasingly dense networks; new institutions and organizations that reflect either tighter military coordination and cooperation and/or decreased fear that the other represents a threat’.41 Moreover, there is a deepening of mutual trust and the emergence of collective identities. The building of institutions leads to increased social interaction, promoting shared identities and mutual interests.42 These processes can lead to the formation of a mature security community. To return once again to Adler and Barnett, ‘at this point, regional actors share an identity and, therefore, entertain dependable expectations of peaceful change’.43 When a security community matures, ‘mutual aid’ and consultation becomes a matter of habit. A mature security community comes about when the norms at its heart become embedded or internalised by its member states. Mature security communities may develop political agency in their own right and the transnational institutions housed within them may make rules and create generally accepted social knowledge.44 The third useful addition that Adler and Barnett made to Deutsch’s concept come in their discussion of the impact that membership of a security community has on state behaviour. They argued that there is a mutually constitutive relationship between the member state and the security community.45 Member states seek legitimacy for their actions from the community by justifying their actions in terms of the community’s norms.46 Indeed, in mature tightly-coupled security communities, the identity of the state itself is shaped by its membership of a security community.47 Membership of a security community frames who we think ‘we’ are in terms of the political boundaries of the community, the values that ‘we’ cherish and the resources and strategies we use to appropriate them, and the way that ‘we’ expect ‘ourselves’ to act. It also tells us who ‘they’ are, what ‘they’ are doing, and whether or not ‘they’ constitute a problem. By itself, membership of an institution does not automatically equate to membership of a security community. Greece and Turkey, for example, are both part of NATO though it is fair to say that Turkey is not yet part of the Western European security community. Though to a lesser degree today than in the past, both these states prepare for war with the other. Similarly, non-membership of institutions does not necessarily mean that you are not part of that community. For many

10 Security Communities and their Neighbours

years Austria was neither a member of NATO nor the EU, yet it could be plausibly argued that Austria was part of the Western European security community as it developed. As Sean Kay points out, therefore, the assumption that NATO embodies a security community is problematic.48 Particular institutions may fulfil a role as a ‘security community-building institution’49 but the community itself is founded on the relationships between actors rather than particular institutional arrangements. This discussion of the relationship between membership of a security community, institutional affiliation, and the construction of norms within that community raises an important question. A key issue that was overlooked by both Deutsch and his collaborators and by Adler and Barnett is the relationship between those on the inside and those on the outside of the security community. Do the development of norms by a community of states, the articulation of shared interests, and production of common identities project themselves beyond the borders of the community or do they provoke a withdrawal from engagement with outsiders? Put another way, does the proliferation of security communities foster integrative transnational relations between insiders and outsiders or create regional fortresses preparing for the kind of civilisational conflict envisaged by Samuel Huntington?50 Both key texts on security communities make an explicit normative claim for the concept: security communities offer a path to peace (or at least less war) in global politics. According to Deutsch, the central task of integration between political communities is the maintenance of peace.51 Adler and Barnett, meanwhile, supported the conjecture that ‘violent conflict can be mitigated and even eliminated by the development of mutual identification among peoples and not through conventional practices such as balancing and collective security schemes’.52 These claims closely mirror the democratic peace thesis put forward by Bruce Russett, Michael Doyle and others.53 The democratic peace theorists argued that democratic states – or rather, societies that recognise each other as democratic – do not fight each other. However, critics point out that whilst liberal democracies may not fight each other they are even more warlike in their relations with nondemocracies than the non-democracies themselves because they do not recognise the legitimacy of states and societies that are not democratic.54 By extension, therefore, we must conclude that the construction and development of security communities does not necessarily lead to more harmonious global relations.55 Indeed, one may intuitively expect more tightly-coupled security communities to take on

Introduction: Security Communities and International Relations 11

the functions of states and perceive outsiders as living in anarchic conditions characterised by the security dilemma. It is precisely this question that will occupy us for the rest of the book. Namely, what effect the development of security communities has on global politics generally and the relationships between ‘insiders’ and ‘outsiders’ in particular. To return to Hobbes, do members of a security community construct their shared identities, interests and values on the basis of a mutual belief that beyond the community’s border lies a Hobbesian state of nature? To put it another way, are we talking about a paradigm shift, as Adler and Barnett claim,56 or merely the extension of the ‘domestic realm’ to the borders of the security community and the reproduction of realist logic and the politics of the security dilemma at a regional level?

Security communities and their neighbours Hypothetically, there are three potential responses to these questions. (1) What I describe as the ‘regional fortress’. Here, the boundaries between insiders and outsiders may become more rigid than those that existed before the states involved identified themselves as the ‘insiders’ and ‘outsiders’ of a security community. In these cases, security communities exhibit dependable expectation of peaceful change within, but perceive outsiders as a threat to those norms and identities and act accordingly. (2) The ‘ambivalent community’. In this situation the boundaries between insiders and outsiders remain qualitatively unchanged as the security community develops. This happens when bilateral relations between an ‘insider’ and an ‘outsider’ are not altered. This may happen when two states already enjoy shared norms of behaviour and identity roles that are not affected by one of the state’s entering into a security community with others. (3) The ‘integrationist community’. With an integrationist community the boundaries between insiders and outsiders become softer. This can happen when the logic of shared norms, common interests, and elite networks that produce the sense of community amongst insiders project themselves outside without immediately incorporating outsiders into the community itself. In some cases this can lead to the creation of new or enlarged security communities. Alternatively, it may produce overlapping structures of loosely- and tightly-coupled security communities. Sometimes the construction of security communities accentuates centre-periphery, insider-outsider relations. The (Western) European

12 Security Communities and their Neighbours

unification project during the Cold War, which encompassed military unification through NATO and economic unification through the EEC, contributed towards the significant hardening of the east-west boundary that was described as an Iron Curtain. The construction of a very different kind of community behind the curtain exacerbated this process. In the post-Cold War world, however, that very same European project – which has become both wider and deeper – has acted as a conduit for the breaking down of ideational and material boundaries in Central Europe. What, then, influences the effect that the development of norms creating a security community has on the relationship between members of that community and states on the other side of the boundary? The first part of the book attempts to provide a loose framework for understanding why particular security communities may act as regional fortresses, ambivalent communities or integrationist communities. I begin, in the following chapter, by discussing the social construction of international society. I argue that the relationship between members of a security community and their non-member neighbours can be understood by reference to the idea of common norms and identities. Security communities are groups of states that have developed mutual expectations based upon commonly held norms. In tightly-coupled security communities, states also share common identities, structures of governance, and interests. In such a community, the relationship between individual members and the community is mutually constitutive: the state’s identity is constructed by its membership of the community which in turn shapes the way that the state sees the world, the manner in which it constructs its interests, and the ethical and legal rules that it binds itself to. This chapter identifies the way that norms, institutions and identities are constructed in international society, the manner in which they influence the creation and nature of a security community, and how they construct and shape insider/ outsider relations. Building on this, Chapter 2 explores the concepts of community and security, considering what communities are, their physical manifestations as epistemic and transversal communities, and their relationship with the construction of boundaries and discourses of security. Drawing on sociological work on nations as ‘imagined’ or ‘abstract’ communities, I argue that communal identities are constantly constructed and reproduced in both abstract and material ways. Group identities are constantly changing. Returning to security communities, I show that their development has a profound effect on identity con-

Introduction: Security Communities and International Relations 13

struction and reproduction, re-configuring boundaries between ‘them’ and ‘us’. The security community is a generative structure that plays a vital role in the construction of identity in international society and hence shapes state practice. However, identity construction is an ongoing political struggle rather than a process with a fixed end-point. There is, therefore, no limit to the possibilities of identity construction inherent to the process of security community building. The chapter concludes by addressing the question of boundary creation and maintenance, showing that the construction of group identities tends to be predicated on the creation of boundaries between ‘self and other’ but questioning the commonplace idea that this has to be so.57 Drawing on the conceptual work of the previous two chapters, Chapter 3 outlines a framework for understanding the effect of the development of security communities on insider/outsider relations. It argues that there are four central characteristics in the way that a security community is constructed that shape whether a particular community reifies boundaries and becomes a regional fortress or softens boundaries and becomes integrationist. These are: • The evolving nature of ‘community’ within the security community. • The extent to which the normative content of the community overlaps with global norms. • The degree of social, institutional, and economic ties within the security community. • The scope and quality of relations between insiders and outsiders. The second part of the book investigates the impact of the development of security communities on relations between insiders and outsiders by using this loose framework to investigate four contemporary community-like relationships.58 They are, the Western European security community, ASEAN, GCC, and NAFTA. Each begins with a brief historical overview of the security community before focusing on the four sets of factors identified above and assessing whether each particular community is a regional fortress, ambivalent community, or integrationist community, and asking why that might be.

1 The Social Construction of International Society

This chapter explores the claim that international society is socially constructed and investigates how that insight might shape the way we think about the relationship between security communities and their neighbours. Although the so-called constructivist synthesis in International Relations theory1 is relatively recent, many of the insights it offers resonate closely with Karl Deutsch’s view of international relations as a social and communicative activity. Both emphasise the way that state behaviour is framed by membership of an international society imbued with common norms, identities and values. This view turns realist commonsense on its head. It teaches us, for instance, that states in central Europe today have certain interests because they are members of NATO, rather than becoming members of NATO in order to fulfil pre-existing interests. This chapter proceeds in three parts. Firstly, it outlines the idea that contemporary states form an international society, an idea drawn from English School writers such as Hedley Bull and Martin Wight, before discussing what this means for the pursuit of security. The second part of the chapter discusses the constructivist turn and shows how ideas about the social construction of reality help us think about how security communities function. The chapter ends by briefly considering how norms, the ‘logic of appropriateness’ and processes of socialisation and social learning shape the relationship between security communities and their neighbours.

Securing international society The idea that states form an international society is usually attributed to Hedley Bull. According to Bull, a society of states (or international 14

The Social Construction of International Society 15

society) ‘exists when a group of states, conscious of certain common interests and common values, form a society in the sense that they conceive themselves to be bound by a common set of rules in their relations with one another and share in the working of common institutions’.2 This view marked a significant departure from the realist view that states inhabit an international system that is anarchic, unmanageable, amoral and where outcomes are shaped by the clash of power blocs.3 In a realist international system, states act in particular ways simply because of their different levels of power. Realism’s Thucydidean legacy tells us that states will always find their place in the pecking order and act accordingly. The idea of an international society, however, suggests that states can recognise that their membership of such a society bestows certain responsibilities on them. At the simplest level, the recognition of rules and norms is reflected in the fact that strong states are not forever invading weak states. Indeed, inter-state violence initiated by the strong is the exception rather than the rule in world politics. International society approaches to security share three common ideas. First, they insist that security should be understood as a normative value not an instrumental object. Second, English School discourses of security – even those most closely associated with realism – recognise that security is socially constructed and does not rest on fixed foundations. Finally, the hold that the invocation and resonance of security discourses takes place within a political community, but the community is not necessarily limited to the state. International society itself can provide the setting for the invocation and acceptance of alternative (or non-statist) conceptions and practices of security, such as the notion of ‘human security’ that has found resonance in international institutions, transnational civil society, and domestic communities.4 For Bull, Martin Wight and other adherents to the English School, international society is comprised of states. This is a position that makes the English School, relevant for the study of security communities, but one that has been heavily criticised because it overlooks both the very existence of non-state actors in world politics and the ways that they influence the formation and resonance of international norms.5 For English School writers, international history is a history of the formation of states in Europe. The European society of states was exported globally by colonialism and then became a truly global phenomenon when decolonisation created a global international society in Europe’s image.6 Given this view of history, it is perhaps

16 Security Communities and their Neighbours

unsurprising that non-state actors or economic and social forces do not figure much in this approach. Nevertheless, in recent years there has been a growing appreciation that whilst states may remain the key actors in international society, they are not – and never have been – the sole actors. A variety of studies have shown, for instance, that nonstate actors have played a pivotal role in the construction of today’s global human rights regime.7 Similarly, international organisations and security communities, especially mature security communities, have agency in international society. Different facets of the Western European security community may act independently of the states that comprise them. Even non-state actors, though, are bound by the logic of appropriate action that underpins international society. Thus, incorporating non-state actors into our picture allows us to acknowledge that security communities have agency without forcing us to change the approach’s basic assumptions. A second and much more controversial question is ‘what kind of international society is there and what is the nature of security within it?’ Are the rules that states recognise limited to practical rules that govern their relations (such as the rule of non-intervention, rules governing appropriate diplomatic behaviour etc.) or do they extend to purposive rules that embody the will of the society as a whole (such as human rights rules, environmental rules etc.)?8 Is security best provided through practical rules permitting security for states or purposive rules demanding that states provide security for individuals? There are two basic positions on this question: pluralism and solidarism.9 Hedley Bull argued that both conceptions agreed that the states system is actually a society of states made up of common values, rules and institutions. Bull argued that there was disagreement, however, about the normative content of this society and about three important questions in particular: the place of war in international society, the sources of international law, and the relative status of individuals.10 A pluralist conception of international society is limited to recognition of the component unit’s (the state’s) right to exist. This is manifested in the reciprocal recognition of state sovereignty and the norm of nonintervention and acts as a powerful barrier against ‘supranational’ activity in areas of ‘high’ state politics connected with security policy.11 In contrast, the solidarist conception of international society holds that diverse communities can and do reach agreement about substantive moral standards and that international society has moral agency to uphold those standards. According to Bull, a solidarist international society is one in which the member states display a degree of

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solidarity in developing and enforcing international law.12 Solidarist and pluralist approaches to international society are roughly (though not directly) analogues with tightly- and loosely-coupled security communities. In the former, states and societies establish close connections and pursue common purposes. In the latter, states retain their autonomy but forge practical rules of coexistence. The question now is what are norms and how do they help to shape state behaviour?

The constructivist turn Constructivism is a label given to a wide variety of approaches to International Relations that range from Wendt’s ‘scientific realism’, which looks at how states as unitary actors construct world politics, to poststructural constructivism.13 What all varieties of constructivism share is a belief that there is no objective social reality ‘out there’ waiting to be discovered. Instead, social meaning is constructed by social interaction, which creates a web of norms and rules that govern appropriate action.14 Although constructivism is a broad church, Christian Reus-Smit has identified three common concerns that serve as a useful starting point. First, constructivists argue that normative and ideational structures are just as important as material structures.15 Realist, liberal and critical theorists of International Relations have tended to assume that material structures are the driving force behind world politics. For example, realists argue that material structures related to the distribution of power determine the way that states ought to act and the manner in which disputes are resolved. Constructivists reject this position because it cannot explain the way that actors actually behave in international society. An understanding of the distribution of power in Europe tells us very little about the contemporary relationship between Hungary and the US, for instance. Instead, we need to appreciate that both Hungary and the US inhabit an international society constituted by ideational structures that govern conceptions of legitimate statehood, the scope of appropriate action and perceived interests. Constructivists argue that ideational structures shape the identities and therefore interests of actors in world politics. As Finnemore put it, ‘states are embedded in dense networks of transnational and international social relations that shape their perceptions of the world and their role in that world. States are socialised to want certain things by the international society in which they and the people in them live’.16 It is ideas rather than material structures that create the logic of the

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security dilemma and the balance of power. As we will see in the following chapter, ideas about identity and the limits of community determine social boundaries that separate insiders and outsiders. Perceived membership of such communities based on shared identities that may transcend individual states shape interests. Contrary to the position shared by neo-realists and neo-liberals, interests are not prepolitical givens but are constructed by social interaction. In international society, actors can be socialised into changing their interests through membership of new communities, the internalisation of global norms, and the formation of new identities. Such processes are mediated and framed by the domestic institutions and social norms contained within states and individual communities.17 The second common concern shared by constructivists is that ‘understanding how non-material structures condition actors’ identities is important because identities inform interests and, in turn, actions’.18 Alexander Wendt argued that identities are important because they frame the interests of actors.19 Wendt rejected the rationalist insistence that interests are given, an idea that underpins both neo-realism and neo-liberalism, as nonsense. As Wendt put it, ‘to assume a priori that interests are never socially constructed is to assume that people are born with or make up entirely on their own all their interests…clearly this is not the case’.20 Interests are meaningless without identity because they flow from the position of an agent in particular places, social situations, and historical contexts. Interests cannot therefore be divorced from identity. Constructivist approaches to international society are therefore deeply concerned with identity formation and change. Identities, including the identities of states, emerge from social interaction. Although Wendt argued that state identity derived from processes of socialisation in international society, most constructivists insist that identity formation is much more complex and includes both international and domestic relationships and interaction between the two. International society conditions the identities of states by conferring legitimacy on states that adopt a particular physical appearance based upon Western ideas about bureaucratic organisation (partially explaining why the vast majority of states have almost identical bureaucratic structures) and follow its constitutive practical rules.21 Thus, even states that break the rules (such as Iraq when it invaded Kuwait) seek to justify their actions by reference to those same rules (Iraq first argued that it had been invited to invade by the new government of Kuwait and then claimed that it had never recognised the Kuwaiti state). For

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many postcolonial states, the very existence of the state – and hence a significant aspect of its identity – is based upon rules that protect the juridical sovereignty of political entities that have never enjoyed positive sovereignty.22 A state’s identity is also framed by domestic conceptions of identity. Most often, these ideas are couched in terms of national identities that define a national group (one that often has a state of its own or aspires to one), a particular national territory, and a national way of life. In many cases though, such as modern Turkey and perhaps the US, the domestic elements of a state’s identity are based upon a ‘culture of the state’ or a citizen-based identity sometimes referred to as ‘civic nationalism’.23 Reus-Smit argues that ideational structures shape the identities and interests of actors in three ways.24 First, ideational structures define the limit of political imagination by telling us what is possible and what is impossible. Within international society, this contributes to the construction of an international ‘commonsense’ which makes some activities appear more appropriate (or necessary, or possible) than others in particular times and places. Second, and somewhat reminiscent of Karl Deutsch, ideational structures provide a framework of meaning that allows communication to take place. If human action in general is taken to be ‘rule-governed’, it is only intelligible by reference to the social conventions and norms of behaviour that provide its context. As Kratochwil put it, ‘not only must an actor refer to rules and norms when he/she wants to make a choice, but the observer, as well, must understand the normative structure underlying the action in order to interpret and appraise choices’.25 Finally, ideational structures can constrain an actor’s conduct. Constructivists argue that actors are constrained by the moral force of established norms. In international society, states tend to be deeply reluctant to act in ways that are inconsistent with embedded norms. On the one hand then, states – even powerful states – constantly try to justify their actions by appealing to international norms. On the other hand, to be able to do so their actions must be ‘in some manner consistent with the proclaimed principles’.26 Wendt describes the process by which identities are formed and come to frame interests as ‘socialisation’. As Wendt puts it, ‘socialization is in part a process of learning to conform one’s behaviour to societal expectations’.27 Thinking about the socialisation of states is made more complicated by the fact that ‘societal expectations’ refers to a number of different societies and networks, which often collide. Take, for instance, a situation where a territorially based national identity

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insists that a piece of territory that lies outside the boundaries of the state should be incorporated into the homeland. A dilemma is created between the identity of the state as a manifestation of that irredentist national identity and its legitimacy as a state in international society, which is based upon compliance with that society’s constitutive practical rules. Such dilemmas are not easily resolved and it is not clear that one source of identity will always trump the other. However, the fact that today states do not, by and large, resolve these tensions by military force even if they are physically able to do so suggests that the external socialisation aspects of identity and interest formation are at least as significant as the internal component. The third common concern that binds constructivists is the view that the relationship between agents and structures is mutually constitutive.28 This position is known as ‘structurationist’.29 It follows from the two observations above that reality is socially constructed (thus granting agency to actors) and that identities, interests and behaviour are conditioned by ideational structures. Constructivism attempts to find a synthesis between approaches adopted by much of political science, which focuses on the actions of actors and the way that they create political institutions and ideologies and those of structural approaches to politics and International Relations that include neorealism and Marxism (world systems theory) which hold that political action is determined by socio-economic and historical structures.30 The idea of mutual constitution holds that although actors are constituted and constrained by ideational and material structures, ‘those structures would not exist were it not for the knowledgeable practices of those actors’.31 The social structures that constitute and constrain states in international society are themselves constructed and maintained by social interaction between states. Thus, constructivists hold that the structures that comprise international society can be altered by the conscious actions of agents. For instance, security communities evolve from conscious political practices by states but create new ideational structures that socialise both members and non-members into new types of behaviour. Although there is considerable difference between different brands of constructivism they all agree that reality is socially constructed, that ideational structures condition the identities and interests of social actors and hence frame their actions, and that the relationship between agent and structure is mutually constitutive. With regards to our study of security communities and international society, it is worth developing this line of investigation by thinking about three

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concepts that emanate from constructivism that tell us important things about the way that security communities are constructed and perpetuated. These concepts are: norms, social learning and the ‘logic of appropriateness’. Norms According to Jeffrey Legro norms are ‘collective understandings of the proper behaviour of actors’.32 Thus, international society is founded on the collective understandings of states as to what constitutes proper behaviour. As Hedley Bull argued, even when states break the rules they recognise that they need to justify their actions to other members of the society in terms of the shared rules.33 Norms fulfil three particular functions within international society and security communities.34 Firstly, they help to constitute the actors. The existence and agency of states in international society is based upon two facets of sovereignty. The first, sometimes referred to as ‘positive sovereignty’, refers to the ability of the state to hold a ‘legitimate monopoly of violence’ and to enforce authoritative laws within its territory.35 The second aspect is referred to as ‘juridical or negative sovereignty’ and refers to the recognition of the state by other members of international society and the conferring of sovereign rights upon it. In order to become states, therefore, political entities require recognition by others, which is bestowed when the entity in question fulfils the society’s normative criteria for what a state ought to be. Such criteria change over time. During decolonisation the principal criteria were based on the legal concept of uti possidetis. A colonial entity could become a state only if it occupied a clearly demarcated territory and required no revision of boundaries. In the 1990s, however, states borne out of the former Yugoslavia had to fulfil a series of human rights and constitutional requirements before they received recognition. International norms therefore contribute to the constitution of actors in international society by both identifying who the actors are and conferring rights and responsibilities upon them. The second function of norms, and the one most often referred to, is their role in constraining the activities of social actors. Given that states are partly constituted by international norms they are conditioned to act in particular ways and are constrained by more than simple calculations of power. As Michael Barnett put it, states are ‘embedded in an increasingly dense normative web that constrain [their] foreign policy’.36 As with all societies, international society is ‘rule-governed’ and legitimacy within that society is obtained by acting in accordance

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with the rules. Thus, even powerful states do not act with complete disregard for international norms. Nor are norms simply swept under the table when the survival of the state is at stake. Finally, norms provide a framework for meaningful communication between actors in international society. Norms create a meaningful language of international society based upon established patterns of social interaction. In their discussion about diplomatic relations, for instance, states invoke a body of shared meanings encapsulated in the Vienna Convention. Norms frame the way that states justify their behaviour and provide a means for international society to evaluate those claims. That is not to say, however, that they are always consistent or straightforward. Norms often collide, forcing state leaders to make difficult choices. Many of the most difficult dilemmas in international society, such as the relationship between sovereignty, human rights and intervention, involve competing norms and reflect the different values attached to them. When seeking to justify an act – and all states do try to justify their acts – states ‘resort to norms’37 in order to make meaningful arguments that can be tested by the society of states as a whole. Critics of both English School and constructivist approaches argue that norms do not exist or are not important because they have very little effect on state action. For instance, they argue that it can be proved that norms have no effect on state practice because the norm of non-aggression is frequently breached by states and always has been.38 What is important to note, however, is that when states do breach this norm they attempt to justify their actions in terms of other internationally held norms such as the right of self-defence. Moreover, states only infrequently admit that they have breached the non-aggression norm. When accused of breaching the norm, the great majority of states make a defence based upon the facts of the case rather than the validity of the norm.39 This actually strengthens rather than detracts from the argument that norms are important because it shows how norms act as a frame of reference for states. It is useful to think about the role of norms as a facilitator of communication as acting in two ways. Nicholas Wheeler has shown that thinking about the role of norms in terms of a game provides a useful analogy.40 A football match, like international society, is constituted by rules. A referee is given the job of adjudicating and the players, by and large, play according to those rules and recognise the role of the referee. Importantly, as only one man among 22, the referee cannot physically enforce his decisions, so compliance is largely voluntary.

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The object of football is to win the game by scoring goals. Different teams adopt different tactics for doing so. Some will make extensive use of the ‘offside’ rule. Doing so involves difficult calculations about the rules and the most effective way to conduct such a strategy. The practical rules of the game give the players a common language that allows them to calculate strategies based upon expectations about what it means to be successful and what the other players will do. Moreover, both teams have a vested interest in abiding by these rules and acknowledging the status of the referee because their very existence as participants in a game depends upon them doing so. Football is not football without two goals, a ball, and a variety of rules. Social norms therefore fulfil three important roles in international society. They contribute to the constitution of actors, they constrain those actors’ actions, and they provide a framework for meaningful communication. However, norms often collide. It is therefore also important to note how they change and develop over time and how some norms remain relatively weak whilst others become embedded and frame both the identity and interests of states. Ward Thomas helpfully identifies two kinds of norms: ‘conventiondependent’ and ‘embedded’. Convention-dependent norms ‘rely heavily on precedent and patterns of reciprocal adherence’.41 They are predicated on agreed moral principles but do not accord fully with the identities and interests of social actors. To take an example that Thomas himself uses, norms about targeting civilians in wartime were weaker when they impaired the military effectiveness of great powers than they are today, because such norms sit easily with Western ideas about the efficiency of precision warfare. Convention-dependent norms are therefore based on reciprocity. Members of a society agree that such patterns of behaviour are a normative good but they are not constitutive because failing to uphold them will not result in either the rescinding of an actor’s identification as a legitimate actor or the collapse of international society. To return to the football analogy, there is a norm that if the ball is deliberately put out of play in order to allow a player to receive medical treatment, the opposing team should return the ball to the team that kicked it out from the throw-in. Both teams, and the football community at large, recognise this norm as a moral good. However, failure to uphold it – for instance if a team believes it will be detrimental to winning the game – does not constitute a fundamental challenge to the rules or cause the game to end. A powerful team may suffer less for its breach of the norm than a weaker team, which may for instance lose sponsorship because of its perceived unethical play, but it will nevertheless be open to scrutiny

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by other teams, pundits and the wider society. If a strong team were to ignore this norm it is likely that other teams would begin to ignore it as well until the norm itself falls into obsolescence. Such norms may therefore act as a framework for meaningful discussion and, when practised, constrain the behaviour of actors. However, they tend not to be constitutive and can become redundant through repeated non-compliance. By contrast, embedded norms are built upon agreed moral principles, patterns of repeated adherence, and fulfil each of the constitutive, constraining, and communicative functions outlined above. Embedded norms constitute the identities of actors and therefore help to frame their interests. For instance, the norm of non-aggression helps to create a society of discrete sovereign states and thus the identity of the constituent units. It is therefore generally regarded that it is not in the interests of a particular state to become irredentist because global irredentism would erode the non-aggression principle thus destroying international society and many, if not all, of its constituent actors in turn. A football team that picked up the ball on a regular basis and refused to be constrained by the decisions of the referee is no longer playing football. By refusing to obey the game’s constitutive or practical rules, the team has effectively brought the game to an end. In international society, states follow embedded norms as a matter of habit. Such norms frame the identities and interests of actors and provide a framework of meaning that is often unseen. Social learning Just as people have to learn the rules of football before they play, so states have to learn the norms and rules of international society. States learn to act in particular ways through interaction with others. As, over a period of time, states come to act consistently in certain ways (for example, desisting from irredentist aggression) norms become embedded and internalised. Thus, members of NATO consult the North Atlantic Council when making significant military decisions as a matter of habit. On the day-to-day level, diplomatic relations are conducted in accordance with the Vienna Convention also as a matter of habit. Social learning in international society is never ‘fixed’ or ‘complete’ but is a continuous process through which state identities and interests are constantly reconfigured. Constructivists tend to argue that such learning takes place through communicative action. Actors justify their actions in terms of what they perceive to be common norms and those justifications are evaluated by the society. If they are rejected, other members of the

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society may take punitive action, causing the actor to reassess its interests and modify its behaviour. When this happens it can be said that the actor in question is ‘learning’.42 These processes are not unconscious or apolitical. Powerful states act as ‘teachers’ more often than weak states do. For instance, the West is largely responsible for a global economy in its own image replete with methods of surveillance and punishment that keep other states in line. If the US were to argue that states should act in particular ways (by fighting terrorism, for instance) it would have a much more profound effect than if Malawi were to make a similar argument (say, for global distributive justice). Although many constructivists focus on language and the power of argumentation, it is important to bear in mind that the force of an argument is shaped as much by the material power of the actor putting it forward as by the merit of the argument itself. However, material power is not all and it is also worth pointing out that actors also have ideational power. For instance, in international society the arguments put forward by some states are given social weight well beyond what one would expect given their material power. This comes from the ideational power that such states have, which derives from their moral standing. States like Norway and Canada influence international politics in ways that cannot be explained by material factors. Both have contributed to the framing of a discourse of ‘human security’ at the UN. Both are key actors within UN peacekeeping operations. With the 1992 Oslo accords for the Middle East, Norway achieved something that the mighty Cold War superpowers had failed to do. These three achievements were possible because the society of states recognised Norway and Canada as ‘forces for good’ in the world, giving them a heightened degree of agency. According to Jack Levy, there are two principal types of social learning which change actors’ beliefs or confidence in their beliefs.43 First, there is what he describes as ‘causal learning’: learning about the consequences of particular actions. Secondly, there is ‘diagnostic learning’ which refers to an actor’s ability to interpret a particular social situation.44 Besides different types of learning, such processes can also be differentiated by reference to the quality and quantity of learning. Thus, when actors interact within an institutional and bureaucratic setting, learning tends to be more substantive and substantial and may be embedded within a common institutional memory. Social learning and norm construction is not a matter of unconscious or apolitical communication, but is shaped by politics and material and ideational power relationships. Moreover, social learning

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does not end with the socialisation of particular norms or the embedding of norms in state identity. Rather, it is an on-going process in which states learn to act according to some norms whilst also learning to ignore other norms that were once embedded. The logic of appropriateness Contrary to neo-realist and neo-liberal approaches to International Relations, which insist that states act in accordance with rational calculations of costs and benefits (the so-called ‘logic of consequentialism’), a constructivist approach argues that the importance of ideational structures to the construction of identities, interests and norms creates a ‘logic of appropriateness’.45 The logic of appropriateness holds that the social and normative environment that action takes place in is important. Because social norms constitute, constrain and provide frameworks of communication for actors, actions cannot be meaningfully divorced from their context. The logic of appropriateness therefore holds that, ‘human actors are imagined to follow rules that associate particular identities to particular situations, approaching individual opportunities for action by assessing similarities between current identities and choice dilemmas and more general conceptions of self and situations’.46 The functions of norms and processes of social learning mean that actors tend to act in accordance with what is considered to be appropriate in particular circumstances. Such ‘rule guided behaviour’ differs from the instrumentalism of the ‘logic of consequentialism’ because actors will try to ‘do the right thing’ rather than simply maximise pregiven interests.47 For example, before Nazi Germany embarked on its irredentist global crusade, its leaders attempted to create a context in which such actions would be seen as appropriate. Similarly, in order to facilitate the Oslo peace accords in the Middle East, Rabin had to create a domestic context that made the logic of ‘land for peace’ seem appropriate. In more recent times, Sharon has altered that logic.48 Constructivism therefore offers a way of thinking about the way that states relate to one another in international society. Constructivist ideas about the importance of ideational structures and the mutually constitutive relationship between actors and structures sit comfortably with the view that security in international society is normative rather than instrumental and that there are many different logics of, and paths to, security. Both agree that there is no objective truth or external logic of security. Moreover, they emphasise the idea that security is rooted in relationships and constructed

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through interaction. Within international society there are a variety of norms relating to security, which often collide. In certain times and places, states are expected to act according to the logic of the security dilemma whilst in others they forge security communities. The point is that security communities do not represent a ‘transcending’ of the security dilemma as some suggest. That argument would imply that the security dilemma is an endemic condition. Instead, security communities are manifestations of alternative ways of thinking about and practising security.

Security communities, constructivism and the inside/outside problem From the above discussion it is clear that the way that states pursue security in international society is framed by their identities and interests. It is not, as neo-realists and neo-liberals would have us believe, an instrumental activity based upon the consequentialist logic of costs and benefits. A state’s identity tells it who it is, who ‘they’ are, what ‘they’ are like, and what sort of actions may be appropriate in particular situations. It also tells it what or who makes it insecure and the logic of appropriateness suggests methods for dealing with that insecurity. Within a mature security community based on embedded or purposive norms, the sense of shared identity extends to other members of that community, framing its interests as it does so. The way that such security communities develop can be thought of in terms of processes of social learning and norm construction. Within a security community, states learn to relate to other members differently from the way that they relate to outsiders. The issue of the extent to which this shapes state behaviour relates to how mature a particular security community is. This can be thought of in terms of the extent to which the three functions of norms operate within it. Thus, we can address this problem by posing three questions: • To what extent are the identities and interests of the members of the security community constituted by membership of that community? Addressing this question involves an elaboration of the practical and purposive elements of the community as distinct from international society more generally. • To what extent are actors constrained by their membership of a security community? This question draws our attention to the ways in which members of a security community seek legitimacy from the

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community at large and the value they attach to those processes of legitimisation. • To what extent does the security community produce a framework for meaningful communication between its members? This question calls for an assessment of both the content and context of dialogue between members of a security community. The greater the extent to which the particular norms that a security community is based on constitute, constrain and provide a framework for meaningful communication for its members, the more it will contribute to the construction of their identities and interests. What does this mean for the relationship between security communities and their neighbours? First, we can expect that the development of norms within a security community produces a logic of appropriateness that is different from that which exists between members and non-members. In order to understand the relationship between security communities and their neighbours, therefore, we need to understand the logic of appropriateness that frames state behaviour and the extent to which this logic crosses the boundary between inside and outside. Second, it directs us towards investigating processes of social learning that contribute to the socialisation of norms. On the one hand, such practices create the norms of behaviour that constitute the security community in the first place. On the other hand, members of a security community may engage in ‘teaching’ others about the community’s norms. Similarly, individual members (and the community as a whole) may be taught new norms of behaviour by outsiders. The relationship between a security community and its neighbours is therefore shaped by on-going processes of socialisation and social learning. The extent to which a particular security community develops along an integrationist or fortresslike path depends upon these mutual processes of social learning. Finally, this discussion prompts us to think about the central role of identity formation in international society. Traditionally, the idea of ‘community’ has been restricted to relations within states or even within a particular neighbourhood. For pluralist international society writers, the societal aspect of their approach is limited to recognition of the society’s constitutive rules: those practical rules that allow international society to exist. However, we need to also address the possibility of purposive communities within international society. Such communities require an extension of the neighbourhood beyond the boundaries of individual states.

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Following from this, then, it is clear that in order to investigate the relationship between a security community and its neighbours we need to consider three interrelated issues: • The way that social norms operate within security communities and between insiders and outsiders. • The logics of appropriateness that they foster. • The processes of social learning that permit the construction, dissemination and internalisation of norms. However, in order to understand how norms frame these relations we need to address the question of what communities within international society look like, the direct link between the provision of security and the concept of the community, and how this shapes the context in which norms frame relations between insiders and outsiders.

2 Security and Community

This chapter explores the possibility of thinking about community in international society and questions the relationship between security and community. In order to understand the impact that the development of security communities has on relations between insiders and outsiders we need to understand not only how norms, identities and interests frame international behaviour (Chapter 1) but also what communities are, the way they are formed, the way that they function and change, and the manner in which these processes frame issues as security issues. To that end this chapter is divided into four parts. The first considers the meaning of community and puts forward the possibility of thinking about ‘anarchic communities’1 or ‘abstract communities’2 in international society. The second section identifies two types of transnational community that serve as important vehicles for the construction of security communities. These are epistemic communities or policy networks comprised of state officials, politicians, bureaucrats, military professionals and others,3 and transversal communities comprised of elements of civil society.4 The third section asks how processes of community building and securing contribute to the construction and reification of boundaries in international society and whether the construction of security communities merely reproduces realism at the regional level or whether they constitute an important change in the way that we think about the boundaries between political communities. The final part of the chapter turns to the question of how these communities construct discourses and practices of security. It considers how processes of ‘securitization’ (the process of making an issue a ‘security’ issue5) depend on the identification (or construction) of 30

Security and Community 31

‘threat’,6 conceptions of the self as a security referent, and ideas about the appropriate agents of, and paths to, security.7

Community Emanuel Adler and Michael Barnett argued that a community can be defined by three characteristics.8 The first is that ‘members of a community have shared identities, values and meanings’. Second, ‘those in a community have many-sided and direct relations; interaction occurs not indirectly and in only specific and isolated domains, but rather in some form of face-to-face encounter’. Third, ‘communities exhibit a reciprocity that expresses some degree of long term interest and perhaps even altruism’.9 They argue that these characteristics can exist at any level of social abstraction from the locale to the transnational. However, they point out that the requirement that communities be constituted by direct contact makes it more difficult to build transnational communities than local communities. As Michael Taylor put it, ‘a group of individuals amongst whom relations are to some extent mediated is to that extent less of a community than a group in which relations are relatively direct’.10 The idea that communities require direct or face-to-face interaction makes the existence of any form of community above the locale problematic. Although Adler and Barnett argue that there is no necessary constraint on cross-border interaction, arguing that technological advances such as video conferencing permit non-territorial forms of interaction, they hold a perspective similar to Giddens’ view that social integration (processes of community building) is dependent upon reciprocal social practices at the day-to-day level.11 A study of the relationship between a security community and its neighbours that was based on this restrictive conception of community would be concerned solely with the identification of actual political/personal networks and the physical relations between diplomats and bureaucrats.12 An alternative way of thinking about the types of interaction necessary to constitute a community is provided by Benedict Anderson’s notion of the ‘imagined community’. Benedict Anderson’s pioneering work investigated how the nation came to be ‘imagined’ and the strong ties of sentimentality generated by this imagination. He began by arguing that national identities emerged as a result of complex social interactions with varying degrees of ‘self-consciousness’.13 Anderson saw the community as an imagined entity because ‘the members of even the smallest nation will never know most of their

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fellow members…yet in the minds of each lives the image of their communion’.14 To say that the community is imagined is not to say that it is ‘false’, ‘fabricated’, or ‘invented’. Rather, it is ‘imagined’ in three ways. Firstly, it is imagined as limited because all nations have limits, and none aspires to incorporate mankind. Secondly, it is imagined as being sovereign – the highest source of moral and political value. Finally, it is imagined as being a source of value able to command the highest levels of commitment across boundaries of socio-economic class. Following Anderson, it is possible to envisage an extended community in which actors do not come into direct contact with one another but nevertheless share a sense of community. We need to develop these insights in three ways. First, we need to recognise that the construction of community, even a mature tightlycoupled security community, does not provide us with a teleological end point. Rather, processes of social formation, identity construction, and the identification of collective interests and appropriate means of securing them are on-going and permanently contested. A community’s identity is constantly constructed, reconstructed and challenged. Second, when thinking about anything other than a community in the locale or a narrowly defined epistemic community, it is important to recognise that political communities are ‘imagined’. That is, the members of the community will never meet the great majority of other members but can still identify with them. Finally, our conception of community needs to recognise the mutually constitutive relationship between a community and its members. Communities are constructed by social interaction but that interaction is itself framed by the language, values, identities, interests and logics of appropriateness of the community. A concept of community predicated on these three claims can also help to overcome the problem of extrapolating the idea of the community from the locale to the international.15 How then should we conceptualise the ‘community’ aspect of a security community? We should conceive community as containing three elements which are non-sequential, on-going, and permanently contested. These provide a concept of social formation and integration understood as an on-going process that crosses a number of different levels of social abstraction, and an understanding of the different types of norms constructed by communities which Terry Nardin labelled ‘practical’ and ‘purposive’.16 First, we require a concept of social formation and integration. In order to understand these complex processes I will introduce the concept of ‘abstract community’ originally developed by Paul James. The notion of ‘abstract community’ helps to iden-

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tify the on-going processes of identity construction and reconstruction that takes place with communities. Second, the development of norms conducive to the construction of loosely- and tightly-coupled security communities is predicated upon rules of practical association. These rules regulate social interaction, creating a basic framework of meaningful communication and the dependable expectations of peaceful change identified by Adler and Barnett. They also help to identify legitimate actors and types of participation. Finally, tightly-coupled security communities (though not loosely-coupled ones) should be conceived as purposive communities capable of establishing shared beliefs about what the good life is and how it should be attained. The community should therefore not be seen as merely the social context in which interaction between agents takes place but rather as a social entity that has moral agency. To begin with the first requirement: what is the concept of ‘abstract community’? Paul James viewed processes of social formation and integration as resulting from a number of relationships at different levels of social abstraction. He argued that traditional approaches to social integration were guilty of ‘treating social life as if it were constituted on one plane’.17 Thus, they reduce complex processes of social formation to a single dominant ontology or explanation. The result is that: There may still be recognition by those same theorists that social life is conducted along different time-space extensions, from face-toface interactions to more disembodied interactions mediated through the electronic media, but the actuality of constitutively different human natures formed across different societies, and the possibility of contradictory subjectivities formed within the same society or the same person, are often either disregarded or relegated to the realm of psychoanalysis.18 James introduced two further concepts to help us elaborate the idea that processes of social formation are complex, contradictory, multilevelled, and continuous. The first was the idea of ‘continuity-indiscontinuity’. This notion distinguishes between levels of social continuity and discontinuity and thus avoids the perception that they must be mutually exclusive (i.e. there can be no process of continuous community building if we can identify discontinuities such as a shrinking of the community, or a change of language etc.). Continuity-indiscontinuity is supported by the view that there is no single ontology of social formation but that instead communities are constituted at a

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number of levels of social abstraction. At the most material level it is possible to see a great deal of discontinuity, dislocation, and change in the identity, interests, values, and norms of the community. Viewing social formation from this level, the dominant theme appears to be one of constant change and uncertainty. However, using a more abstract ontology makes it possible to see historical continuities in processes of social formation.19 The relationship between the different levels of abstraction and continuity-in-discontinuity is understood by James as being one in which ‘both communities, drawing upon practices constituted at a disembodied level of abstraction, “call upon” less abstract levels to give their association a depth of meaning. Both communities connect strangers in terms of affiliations expressed through a continuing but subordinate level of face-to-face integration’.20 The community should therefore be located at the intersection of different levels of social abstraction. This begins to explain why it is so difficult to locate a relatively fixed communal identity at the international level. Within imagined communities there are simultaneous social processes that are either continuous or changing depending upon the level of abstraction that is used. The greater the level of abstraction the more the picture is one of continuity-over-change. Communities are constituted and named at the most abstract level but are constantly reproduced, represented, and re-interpreted at the most local level in ways that cause cross-level contradictions. Other approaches to social formation attempt to reconcile these contradictions by awarding ontological priority to one of the levels. James argues that it is not necessary to reconcile the contradictions. Instead, locating and understanding the contradictions is an essential part of the study of social formation in itself. The idea that social formation is a contradictory process is expressed in the oxymoronic concept of ‘abstract community’. According to James, ‘the…community…only becomes possible within a social formation constituted through the emerging dominance of relations of disembodied extension’.21 He moves from ‘imagination’ to ‘abstraction’ in order to emphasise that the processes he is describing are both material and ideational, unlike Anderson’s ‘imagined communities’ which are essentially constituted in the realm of ideas. The oxymoron is completed with ‘community’, implying ‘direct relations of mutuality’, something which in turn implies spatial presence in contradiction to the processes of abstraction that negate the need for direct face-toface interaction.22 James deliberately marries ‘abstract’ and ‘com-

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munity’ in order to emphasise the contradictions of ‘continuity-indiscontinuity’ and the ways in which the identity of individual actors both constitutes and is constituted by the abstract, and therefore the way that identities can appear to persist or change depending on the ontology employed to study them. Communities should therefore be understood as undergoing perpetual processes whereby abstract ideas are embedded in local practices which in turn help to reshape the abstract ideas. This helps us to begin understanding how and why communities may change over time. There is an on-going process through which the abstract ideas that frame the community are embedded or internalised in the identities of individual actors through the processes of social learning and socialisation that we discussed in the previous chapter. It is important to understand, however, that this is not a one-way process. As abstract ideas about the community’s practical and purposive content are internalised, they are reinterpreted and changed on the basis of many other factors such as the actor’s past experience and language. Because communities are conduits for social interaction our second step must be to outline and identify the rules of practical association that they are predicated on. A useful shorthand way of thinking about these rules are in terms of citizenship rules which tell us who the legitimate participants are, how participation should proceed, and what basic rights and duties each actor has. Andrew Linklater argues that citizenship rules are based on three basic premises. First, citizenship bestows legal rights on all ‘persons’ which derive from their membership of the community.23 It is not radical to suggest that states have certain rights that accrue from their membership of international society and the recognition of their statehood by others. States have a unique right to use force, have sovereign rights of non-intervention and territorial integrity, have the right to make and unmake treaties and have the sole right to make laws within their own territory. States within a security community, however, have a further set of legal rights. In a loosely-coupled security community, this comprises the right to expect other members not to prepare for war against it. Members of more tightly-coupled security communities also have a right to expect assistance if they are attacked by outsiders and to expect others to abide by the collective decisions of the community. Membership of mature tightly-coupled security communities may also bestow rights upon the individual citizens. Citizenship also refers to the right of participation in the political life of the community. Once again, it is fair to say that all states are

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granted basic participatory rights by virtue of their statehood. All states have a right to participate in the diplomatic processes of international society, they all have the right to membership of the UN and the right to speak and vote in the General Assembly. Within tightly-coupled security communities, states are given the right to participate in all the activities of the community whereas loosely-coupled security communities tend not to have formal rules governing participation. NATO’s North Atlantic Council, for instance, is comprised of all 19 NATO members and takes decisions on the basis of consensus. Thus, even the smallest members of the community can play an equal and important role in the political life of the security community. Finally, citizenship refers to duties as well as rights. Although the first two aspects of citizenship can be reasonably applied in international society more broadly, the idea that states have duties is problematic. We can agree that states have a duty to respect the rights of other states but there is no agreement as to whether the duties of states go beyond simple respect for the practical rules of the society. Solidarists tend to point towards the development of norms about humane governance, intervention, and the concept of ‘sovereignty as responsibility’ as indicative of an emerging set of duties that bind states.24 Pluralists, however, reject the claim that such norms are developing and the idea that they should be developed.25 The idea that members of a security community have duties to each other is less problematic, however. Members have a duty to uphold the purposes and principles of the community, to act in accordance with the norms and logics of appropriateness fostered by the community, and (in some mature tightly-coupled security communities at least) to organise their domestic politics and society in ways concordant with the aims and ideals of the security community (by fostering human rights, for instance).26 These rules therefore play a vital role in constituting the actor by telling us who or what a legitimate actor is and by demanding that they respect the legitimacy of similar types of actors. They are constitutive of an ‘anarchic community’ in which there is only a limited concentration of force and no means of enforcing collective decisions27 but which are nevertheless communities because their members hold a wide range of shared values and beliefs, relations between them are intensive and many-sided, and they exhibit some degree of communal identity and agency. Importantly for the purposes of our study, each aspect of international citizenship provides a basis for differentiation between those on the inside and those on the outside of a security community. Insiders have a broader and deeper set of rights bestowed

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upon them by their membership. Moreover, members of a security community have a broader and deeper set of duties and obligations which are different in degree between loosely- and tightly-coupled security communities. Whatever their type, however, security communities produce their own logic of appropriateness that constitute and constrain actors as well as provide a framework for meaningful communication between them. Communities are not merely practical associations of actors, however, they may also be purposive because they are predicated on agreed moral principles and can be moral agents in their own right. Only tightly-coupled security communities contain purposive elements. Dennis Poplin offers a useful way of thinking about the nature and role of such communities and of contrasting them with what he describes as ‘mass society’.28 According to Poplin, moral communities exhibit four key characteristics. These are: • ‘Identification: members of the moral community have a deep sense of belonging to a significant meaningful group. • Moral unity: members of the moral community have a sense of pursuing common goals and feel a oneness with other community members. • Involvement: members of the moral community are submerged in various groups and have a compelling need to participate in these groups. • Wholeness: members of the moral community regard each other as whole persons who are of intrinsic significance and worth’.29 By contrast, an international society is characterised by alienation (no sense of identifying with a meaningful group), moral fragmentation (members pursuing different moral goals), disengagement (no compulsion to participate in collective activities), and segmentation (actors regard each other as means to an ends).30 Members of tightly-coupled security communities are therefore submerged in normative, institutional and personal networks through which they create common moral meaning and pursue common goals. The extent to which these networks frame identity and activity within a tightly-coupled security community is shaped by its level of maturity. These conclusions should not surprise us given the argument in the previous chapter that membership of a security community is partly constitutive of each unit’s self identity. In contemporary Europe, German national identity, for instance, is deeply enmeshed in broader conceptions of European

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identity and community. As Ole Wæver put it, ‘the discursive role of “Europe” is best captured by studying how e.g. the meaning of “German” interests is redefined by an inclusion of “Europe”. The central narration of what “Germany” is and where it is heading in the future is one, where “Europe/EU” is essential. If Europe was removed (integration collapsed), the meaning of Germany would have to be radically rearticulated’.31 Wæver’s argument brings us to an important point about the relationship between the community and the individual actor. We are not talking about transcending national loyalties or replacing particularism with cosmopolitanism, an idea that is implied in much of the security communities literature.32 Instead, what we are talking about here is the production of common identities in which ‘the category of the collective is part of the self-conception of individuals’.33 To return to Wæver’s example, the Western European security community should not be viewed as merely an instrumental means to ends that are informed by the German government’s pre-political ‘interests’ (see Chapter 4). Instead, conceptions of German identity are deeply embedded in conceptions of what it means to be European to the extent that conceptions of German national interest are mediated and partly constructed by its membership of the community. It is possible therefore to think about communities operating at the international level and (in Chapter 1) that such communities are partly constitutive of the identities (and hence interests) of its members. I agree with Ole Wæver that this constitutive relationship is only partial. On the one hand a state’s or society’s identity is constituted by a wide variety of domestic, historical, social, economic and geographic factors.34 On the other hand, different types of security community have different constitutive effects – an issue I explore more in the following chapter and throughout Part Two of the book. Such communities, I argued, comprise three broad elements. First, they are ‘abstract communities’ constituted at the nexus between the abstract and the particular in a way that produces contradictions that are never resolved. The community is never fixed and is constantly rearticulated. Although other approaches to security have argued that parsimony demands the relative ‘fixing’ of identity for the purposes of study, a study of the relationship between a security community and its neighbours is a study of dynamic processes of identity change. Second, such communities are predicated upon rules of practical association. Although these rules are also features of international society more generally – to some degree at least – they also fulfil another function.

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They differentiate between insiders and outsiders by bestowing higher levels of rights, participatory rights, and duties on insiders. Finally, tightly-coupled security communities exhibit the characteristics of a moral community through which moral purposes are identified and pursued. Perhaps more importantly, the moral community contributes to the construction of a ‘we-group’.35 In such a community, the differentiation between individual members and the community as a whole is broken down. Actors appeal to the community’s standard of legitimacy in order to justify their actions and are able to ‘shame’ others into ‘norm-conforming behaviour and to modify the collective outcome that would have resulted from constellations of interests and power alone’.36 What the construction of ‘we-groups’ means for the construction and pursuit of security is discussed in the final part of the chapter. The next two sections of the chapter explore the idea of community in the international realm more fully. First by identifying two practical manifestations of community (epistemic communities and transversal communities) and then by discussing the way that communities construct borders and boundaries in international society.

Epistemic and transversal communities My aim in this section is to precisely identify the types of groups that are the manifestation of a security community. To identify and understand a community we need to understand both its ideational and material components. The concept of ‘abstract communities’ helps us to make sense of the ideational processes that underpin security communities. A consideration of epistemic and transversal communities helps to identify and understand the material relations that transmit these ideas. In the international sphere, communities comprise epistemic and transversal elements. It is within epistemic and transversal communities that social learning takes place through interaction that creates communal identities, values, and interests. That is, a security community comprises both direct relations between networks of professionals and direct and indirect relations between different elements of national civil societies. Both types of community contribute to the construction of the practical and purposive social norms that constitute actors, constrain actions and provide a framework for meaningful communication within the security community. An epistemic community is understood as ‘a network of professionals with recognised expertise and competence in a particular

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domain and an authoritative claim to policy-relevant knowledge within that domain or issue-area’.37 According to Peter Haas, epistemic communities are formed when professionals are brought together by four common concerns: shared normative beliefs, shared beliefs about causation, shared criteria for evaluating valid knowledge, and a common policy enterprise. Because an epistemic community can lay claim to the production of valid knowledge within a particular area they can influence the construction of perceived interests and appropriate actions by establishing generally agreed notions of causation (e.g. activity x would not be in our interests because it would produce negative effect y).38 Indeed, such communities may themselves articulate a logic of appropriateness by constructing generally accepted ‘commonsense’ about particular topics. For instance, during the Cold War, nuclear deterrence achieved the status of commonsense amongst many Western (and Eastern) policy networks largely because these ideas were enunciated, by and large without challenge, by a transnational epistemic community of strategists. Epistemic communities also have the power to define plausible policy alternatives, shaping the scope of political debate and limiting the construction of national interests.39 Thought of another way, the epistemic community can be understood as a group of people who contribute significantly to the construction of epistemes or ‘regimes of truth’.40 According to Foucault, each community has its own regime of truth. Such regimes provide ‘the mechanisms and instances which enable one to distinguish true and false statements, the means by which each is sanctioned; the techniques and procedures accorded value in the acquisition of truth; the status of those who are charged with saying what is true’.41 Similarly, epistemes refer to sets of shared symbols and references, expectations based on knowledge about causation and predictability of action and intention.42 Within its own subject area, the epistemic community holds a privileged position. It is recognised as the arbiter of truth and falsity on a particular subject, it articulates ways of evaluating knowledge claims and frameworks for understanding causation, and contributes to the construction of national interests and appreciation of logics of appropriate behaviour. Because they are based on subject matter rather than citizenship or national identity there is no reason to assume that epistemic communities cannot be multinational and indeed most epistemic communities are multinational. For instance, there is a global community of military professionals schooled in the basic art of Clausewitzian warfare, the rules and logic of the Geneva Conventions, and the funda-

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mental principles of civil-military relations enunciated by Huntington, Finer and others.43 As a community, they build their own identity and interests that may be quite different to the perceived self-interests of the state they are housed in. Thus, the identities and interests of individual members of an epistemic military community may differ greatly from the perceived national interests of the state, and this may persuade state leaders to act in ways that seem inimical to the narrower interests and identities of the state. Such interests may be constructed through the ‘supranational entrepreneurship’ of senior officials in international organisations and, I would add, other members of the epistemic community.44 In tightly-coupled security communities, specific epistemic communities operate within broader networks of transversal political communities comprising members of different states. Although such communities may be present in loosely-coupled security communities, they tend to be much less obvious and to play less of a role. A transversal phenomenon is ‘a political practice that not only transgresses political boundaries, but also questions the spatial logic through which these boundaries have come to constitute and frame the conduct of international relations’.45 Thinking in terms of multinational or transnational relations accentuates the boundaries between different groups. Instead, viewing community relations in terms of transversal relations points towards complex flows of people, ideas, capital, and goods.46 Thinking in terms of transversal communities allows us to appreciate that relations between different groups are becoming increasingly non-territorial.47 For instance, in the ASEAN region there is a transversal business community that comprises all the aspects of a community (shared values, interaction etc.) but is not territorially based. Elsewhere, this phenomenon has been labelled ‘distancelessness’ by Martin Heidegger, a ‘network society’ constituted by ‘flows’ rather than territory by Manuel Castells, and the ‘nonterritorial region’ by John Ruggie.48 What all these perspectives share is the view that the contemporary era is marked by an increase in global flows and ideas to such an extent that territoriality and geographic place are no longer determining factors in politics.49 That is not to say that a ‘global society’ is emerging.50 Rather, my point is that international society is characterised by an increasing number of transversal relations through which elements of civil societies housed in different states relate to each other in ways that make viewing those relations through the lens of boundaries between states unhelpful. In addition to containing clearly identifiable

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epistemic communities, security communities also contain transversal communities of groups in a diverse range of settings that relate to each other in ways that are not mediated by the state. These communities also contribute to the construction of norms, practical and purposive, constitutive and constraining, and logics of appropriateness. The ideas fostered by epistemic and transversal communities need not always be commensurate and may come into conflict. For example, an epistemic community of defence experts within a security community may decide that land mines are the most effective weapon for a strategy of territorial defence. However, civil society groups within the same security community may come together to oppose the production and use of land mines on moral grounds. Both the epistemic and transversal communities may evoke the shared norms and logics of appropriateness (the former may talk about the need to defend the community, the latter may insist that land mines are indiscriminate weapons and contravene the community’s purposive norms) that have been fostered by the security community. In the end, political leaders will have to make difficult choices based on socially learned understandings of which norms are most appropriate in particular circumstances. Finally, it is important to note that the limits of the epistemic and transversal communities do not necessarily correspond with the boundaries of the security community. Of course, on matters divorced from narrow security concerns (trade policy, for instance) there may be no congruence whatsoever between the security community and epistemic and transversal communities. That there is such congruence in the four cases discussed in the following chapters may be coincidental. However, even on ‘security’ matters (however defined) there is no direct congruence between the security community and the epistemic and transversal communities that it comprises. For instance, the epistemic community of military professionals, politicians and defence experts at the heart of the mature tightly-coupled Western European security community includes people from outside NATO and the North Atlantic area. These may be from aspirant states (such as Lithuania) or from states only indirectly connected with the security community but directly connected to one or more members of the community (such as Oman, which enjoys particularly close military and historic links with the UK). In some contexts, one could conceive a situation whereby increased interaction actually worsened relations between a security community and its neighbours. For instance, if Western Europe imposed its own values on the rest of Europe through conditional aid in ways that were

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inimical to the perceived interests and values of the recipients, such heightened levels of interaction may produce greater friction creating a regional fortress rather than a global integrator. This issue prompts us to explore the normative quality of the communities suggesting an investigation of the construction of boundaries and the way that they impact upon relations between a security community and its neighbours.

Boundary construction If an identity can be generically understood as ‘the understanding of oneself in relationship to others’51 it follows that a community’s identity is predicated on relationships with ‘others’. Two implications flow from this insight. First, communities of all types, including security communities, must draw boundaries around themselves in order to differentiate between themselves and outsiders. As we observed earlier, one of the primary distinctions of Benedict Anderson’s ‘imagined communities’ was their imagination of themselves as limited and bounded. The second insight, is that the pursuit of securing communities is ‘achieved through the inscription of boundaries, which serve to demarcate an “inside” from an “outside”, a “self” from an “other”, a “domestic” from a “foreign”’.52 The study of boundaries, borders and frontiers is one of the defining motifs of the field of political geography.53 The field went through a decline in the 1960s and 1970s54 but with the end of the Cold War, the fracturing of several states and the growth of post-positivist International Relations, the field has witnessed a major revival. According to Kristof, the term ‘frontier’ comes from the notion of being ‘in front’ or at the ‘spearhead of civilization’. For Kristof, a frontier implies a degree of outward looking. A frontier is best understood as a space of contact with the outside. The term ‘boundary’, on the other hand, comes from the word ‘bounds’ implying strong territorial limits. A boundary is therefore a definite line of demarcation and separation between inside and outside.55 Boundaries are not the only type of separation between insiders and outsiders, but are the most rigid. They are clearly marked lines in the sand that tell us where one entity ends and another begins, the limits of a state’s jurisdiction and the territorial limits of the abstract community. Writing in 1928, however, Lucien Febvre pointed out that there were ‘no natural frontiers…between countries, only the memories of man-made ones concretised by the forces of history’.56

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The construction and maintenance of boundaries is an essential feature of sovereign statehood and with the globalisation of the state, frontiers everywhere were replaced by boundaries.57 We could not have a society of sovereign states without boundaries which is why the constitutive rules of that society (sovereignty, territorial integrity, nonintervention) are all concerned with boundary maintenance. The boundaries between states are not generally ‘natural’ boundaries of geography though they may make use of natural features such as rivers or mountain ranges. Instead, state boundaries are the products of politics, violence and state building. They are, to return once again to Deutsch, fashioned through interaction.58 As Wilson and Donnan put it boundaries ‘are signs of the eminent domain of that state, and the markers of the secure relations it has with its neighbours, or are reminders of the hostility that exists between states’.59 They argue that the modern boundaries between states have three core elements that allow them to fulfil their functions. First, boundaries constitute a legal borderline which simultaneously separates and joins. They separate states and political communities from each other whilst also demarcating the limits of citizenship and unifying the political community housed within. Second, boundaries have a physical element through their demarcation and policing by the state.60 This allows the state to decide what goods, people, and ideas it will allow into and out of its territory. Finally, boundaries form part of a wider frontier area where the inhabitants develop their own identities (often cross-border identities) in order to negotiate the meaning of life at a frontier.61 Boundaries, therefore, comprise two key elements. First of all, they are created and manifested at the ideational level. Boundaries are created by the differentiated levels of loyalty that individuals and groups give to their state or locale. For centuries, states have worked hard to create and maintain this loyalty through nationalism, welfarism and at times militarism.62 The state was particularly successful in overriding other forms of loyalty because it was able to territorialise loyalty (i.e. connect a people to a place) and accommodate other sources of loyalty within it. Communities developing within such states develop their own way of life, their own values and their own interests. Ideational boundaries are therefore created where differing identities and value systems collide. It is the second, the material aspect of boundaries that gives them their resonance. Policing boundaries and determining which people, goods and ideas are allowed to cross them is one of the main functions of the modern state. Boundaries between states are a physical barrier as well as ideational

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barrier. As such, they can determine whether an individual receives an education or health care. To understand the formation and perpetuation of boundaries, it is therefore necessary to study both the ideational and material aspects of boundary formation. On the one hand, we need to investigate the extent to which the ideas, identities, interests and values that are developed within the community reflect those on the outside. A strong sense of particularism either inside or outside the community is likely to create strong ideational boundaries. On the other hand, boundaries are physical entities that are traversed to a greater or lesser extent. In order to understand the nature of a particular boundary we need to not only consider its ideational aspects but also understand the types of physical interactions and processes that traverse the boundaries. In particular, to understand an international boundary we need to assess the volume of epistemic and transversal interaction and its nature. What does this mean for the relationship between a security community and its neighbours? First, the creation and maturation of both loosely- and tightly-coupled security communities radically alters the nature of boundaries between the members. In a mature tightlycoupled security community the boundaries between members need not be policed as heavily as the boundaries between insiders and outsiders. Moreover, the internal boundaries of a security community may not provide absolute demarcations of jurisdiction. The rules, laws and norms devised by the community may extend beyond state boundaries and the development of specific epistemic and transversal communities may further blur the distinction between jurisdictions.63 Secondly, imagined communities need boundaries and the predominant – though by no means only – form of boundary-making in the world today is territorial. However, the ability of epistemic and transversal communities to not only transcend but also refute their spatial logic means that we cannot simply extrapolate that when a security community matures the internal boundaries between members weaken but the external boundaries operate in the same way as traditional boundaries between states. The type of boundaries constructed by security communities is shaped by the process of their formation and by their purposive and practical norms. The processes of community formation and norm construction are framed by particular discourses of security which tell the members of a security community who they are, what threatens them and what appropriate measures can be developed in order to deal with that threat.

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Constructing security The question of who it is that is to be secured has been central to debates about security after the Cold War. As several writers have pointed out, talking about security per se makes little sense outside of an understanding of who it is that is being secured and why it is that the entity we are securing is worth securing.64 So far, this chapter has focused on the nature of the thing that is being secured by security communities: the community. The community is constituted at the nexus of different levels of abstraction. It comprises the individuals who live within member states,65 particularly if the state members of a security community have also agreed webs of rules and norms governing their conduct with regards to their citizens – a feature of mature security communities. It also comprises the civil societies that operates within the security community and the transversal communities that develop between them.66 It also comprises the state and a broader conception of the ‘community’ as a whole. Such communities, I argued, were manifested in epistemic and transversal communities and although predicated on boundaries, the normative quality of those boundaries is not unalterable. Michael Williams has persuasively argued that focusing on the community means continuing to prioritise ‘structures of exclusionary group identity’ and thus reproducing the inside/outside logic of realism.67 However, in the preceding discussion I argued that whilst the construction of communities does lend itself to the construction and reification of inside/outside identities, this is not an inexorable process. There are two grounds for thinking that security communities may sometimes challenge self/other identities and that such communities may act as forces of integration rather than separation. First, if we understand communities per se as abstract communities we are compelled to see them as complex, multi-layered and overlapping. This opens up the possibility that there are many potential points of interaction and integration with ‘outsiders’. Second, epistemic and transversal communities challenge the spatial logic of boundaries. If such communities extend beyond the boundaries of the security community (such as the Euro-Atlantic Partnership Council or OSCE) the normative nature of the boundaries may change and self/other rationalisations may be challenged. What I am arguing is that the logic of community that underpins the security community lends itself towards boundary construction and the separation of self and other, insiders and outsiders that threatens to reproduce rather than replace

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realist logic. However, this logic is not inexorable and security communities also contain the seeds of integration that can break down regional fortresses. Whether they actually do so or not is framed by the way that the community identifies itself and the way that it pursues security. What is security and how is it pursued? This is a question that has prompted a large amount of literature and debate, which I do not intend to deal with here.68 Security can be understood as a discourse that is used to identify particular problems and justify certain solutions.69 It provides the frame for the construction of norms, values, interests and identities of a security community though what we mean by security is also constituted by those norms, values, interests and identities. Put simply, a security discourse is made up of four components. First, there is a need to identify who or what it is going to be secured and why. It is possible to talk about the security of the individual, society, regime, state, or region amongst others.70 It is not enough to simply identify what it is that is to be secured, we also need an idea about why. For realist, communitarian and pluralist English School writers alike, the state should be secured because it provides a basic level of order that permits societies and individuals to pursue their own conceptions of the ‘good life’.71 For others, the security community should provide the referent of security because of the common values, norms, interests and identities that it fosters. Second, there is a need to identify threat authoritatively. This role is usually one fulfilled by state leaders but can also be fulfilled by other authoritative members of the community. In order to be resonant within the wider community, the articulation of threat must be done by an authoritative actor and must make use of dominant conceptions of identity, values, and interests – though discourses of security can alter each of these over time. Identifying threat usually involves the identification and vilification of an ‘Other’ from whom the threat emanates. The identification of an Other is a key element of realist approaches to security because the Other constantly threatens the survival of the state.72 Such vilification does not directly flow from the identification of threat but rather from the identification of threat within a realist mindset. Threats can be identified without a simultaneous identification of an enemy.73 Third, there is a need to identify the most effective agent for dealing with the threat. This has traditionally been the state, which it was often claimed reflected the unity of purpose of the community

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by reducing the meaning of security to the narrow idea of the survival of the state.74 This position is based on a flawed understanding of what the community is, as we saw earlier. It also overlooks the extent to which security communities and international organisations have agency in their own right. Thus, the states of Western Europe today do not prepare to defend their own territory from attack. Indeed, the British armed forces do not even train to defend the UK from attack. Instead, the principal security agent in Western Europe is NATO. Finally, having identified who ‘we’ are, what or who is threatening is, and what agents we have at our disposal to meet that threat, a security discourse identifies a set of appropriate actions. The scope of such actions will flow from the community’s logic of appropriateness that in turn flows from the practical and purposive rules and norms that constitute the community and give it agency. The logic is also framed by broader norms in international society. When the two sets of norms collide (the community’s logic of appropriateness and the norms of international society) it is not self evident which will win out. Those decisions will be based on hard political choices. Security, therefore, involves the identification of the self, the identification of threat, the identification of an agent for dealing with the threat, and the identification of an appropriate response. In this and the previous chapter we have located each of these factors in the construction and maturation of security communities. The ‘self’ was conceived in terms of a complex abstract community constituted at multiple levels of social abstraction. This community draws boundaries around itself in order to separate it from others. Threats are usually identified by the community and in particular by the epistemic and transversal communities that provide the physical embodiment of the community. A tightly-coupled security community becomes the primary agent of security. Finally, as we saw in the previous chapter, the logic of appropriateness is socially constructed within the security community but with reference to both the domestic social norms of its members and the broader norms of international society.

Security and community This chapter has set out precisely what we are talking about when we talk about community in international society – a necessary starting point for a study of how those communities relate to outsiders. In

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order to understand how communities construct norms, identities and logics of appropriateness that guide the way they relate to outsiders we first need to understand what a community is. The ideational processes at its heart are generally concerned with the identity of the community and with rearticulating the practical and purposive rules and norms that it constructs. The insider/outsider relationship therefore takes places in a context where the meaning of ‘insider’ (and hence its interests, identities and values) is constantly being questioned and subtly changed partly as a result of interaction with outsiders. The chapter moved on to identify two physical manifestations of the security community – the epistemic community and the transversal community. The epistemic community, as understood here, is comprised of politicians, bureaucrats, experts and other professionals. These groups construct ‘regimes of truth’ or epistemes based on their professional knowledge that provide an important basis for the identity of the security community more broadly. Tightlycoupled security communities are often also characterised by increased transactions across borders between different elements of the civil societies contained within the broader security community. These transversal communities undermine the spatial logic of territorial statehood. Moreover, we noted that the boundaries of epistemic and transversal communities need not correspond directly with the boundaries of the security community, opening up an avenue of investigation enquiring whether overlapping communities facilitate broader integration or the reification of bifurcated identities and political boundaries. All communities, I argued, are imagined as having some form of boundary. Within international society, frontiers were replaced with boundaries as the society of states was globalised. Boundaries are physically and socially constructed and are meant to demarcate areas of jurisdiction and security. However, the development and maturation of security communities changes the very nature of boundaries between the members. This prompts us, first of all, to note that boundaries can be constructed in different ways (as frontiers, for instance) and secondly, to ask whether or not security communities merely reproduce the realist boundary logic at a regional level. Finally, we turned to briefly consider how security is constructed within communities. That is, how a particular issue is made into a security issue.75 The task now is to construct a way of thinking about the evolving relationship between insiders and outsiders based upon

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the general conceptions of international society outlined in the previous chapter and the concepts of community and security identified here. This is the aim of the following chapter, which attempts to construct a framework for understanding the relationship between different types of security community and their neighbours.

3 Security Communities and their Neighbours: A Framework of Analysis

How are we to understand the relationship between a security community and its neighbours and explain why some security communities may become regional fortresses whilst others become powerful sources of integration? Before moving on to examine the four aspects of the framework outlined briefly in the introduction, it is worth recapping where we are in the argument. States, I argued, inhabit an international society comprised of rules and norms that shape the relations between them. However, there is little agreement about the nature of that society: pluralists argue that it is a loosely bound society tied together by practical rules of association that help to manage the relations between states. Solidarists, on the other hand, insist that international society also consists of purposive rules and norms through which the society as a whole pursues moral purposes and can come to hold moral agency. Whilst solidarism constitutes a powerful critique of pluralism it is questionable whether the international society we inhabit today is actually solidarist or not. The fact that many states remain selective about the way they pursue and implement the society’s purposive rules suggests that at best international society exhibits weak solidarist trends.1 What is important for our study is not that there is a global solidarist society but that states can develop purposive rules and norms. Even if international society is more pluralist than solidarist there are groups of states that do articulate common moral and political principles and purposes. I do not intend to cover the theory of security communities again except to reiterate a few points from my earlier discussion. First, the main advocates of the security communities idea believed that the proliferation of such communities could create stable peace in international society. Second, security communities are different, they may be 51

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loosely- or tightly-coupled and may be at any one of three stages of development. These differences have a profound effect on their relationship with outsiders. Third, security communities are communities and therefore we need to think more systematically about the way that communities are constructed and perpetuated and the way they shape the actions of agents. Finally, security communities produce, and are embedded in, social norms. These norms fulfil three principal purposes: they partly constitute the identities (and hence interests) of agents; they constrain the actions of members through logics of appropriateness; and they provide a framework for meaningful communication, that members can use in order to make themselves understood to others. The task now is to tie these ideas together into a framework for understanding the relationship between security communities and their neighbours. The aim is not to produce a rigid framework that would permit the extrapolation of general laws.2 Instead, my aim is to identify some of the key problems and questions that need to be addressed if we are to begin to understand the relationship between insiders and outsiders. As I mentioned in the introduction, this framework is centred on four sets of factors, which the rest of this brief chapter will elaborate on. The four areas can be divided into two broad types. The first two (the evolving nature of ‘community’ and the transferability of norms) refer to the norms, identities, interests and values that are constructed by the community. These are the ideational aspects of the security community that tell its members who they are, provide a guide to the common purposes and principles of the community, and play a significant role in the construction of each actor’s perceived interests and the methods they believe to be legitimate means of pursuing their interests. The latter two areas (the degree of ties within the security community and the scope and quality of insider-outsider relations) focus on the physical manifestations of the security community and the way that the ideas identified earlier frame political practice.

The evolving nature of ‘community’ in the security community In the previous chapter, I outlined a concept of community that drew upon three ideas. First, the notion that a community is an ‘abstract community’ constituted at the nexus of competing levels of social abstraction. Second, the idea that communities are founded upon prac-

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tical rules of association. Third, that tightly-coupled communities also construct purposive norms: ideas about common moral purposes and the community’s agency to pursue them. It is also important to bear in mind that each security community is comprised of a multiplicity of different national communities each embarking on similar processes. There is therefore constant contestation about the meaning of the security community, which draws not only upon the discursive resources of the security community itself but also upon the resources of each national community. The construction of security communities as ‘communities’ can be thought of as the result of three sets of social practices that often collide, providing sites of contestation about what the community is and what it should be doing. At the most abstract level there are the ‘frames’ that mark out the community from others. According to Michael Barnett, ‘frames are specific metaphors, symbolic representations and cognitive cues used to render or cast behaviour and events in an evaluative mode of action’.3 These frames are the ‘big stories’ of the community, which identify its birth, its purpose and its membership in broad terms. We know a community when we see one because of its ‘frames’. By themselves, however, these abstract frames are meaningless. For instance, although they may tell us in broad terms that being North American is different from being Latin American because North Americans have a different history, culture and set of values, they tell us very little about what it actually means to be North American today or how they should act. By itself the history of the founding fathers is meaningless as an indicator of identity, interests and values in the contemporary world. At the next level of social abstraction are political entrepreneurs who operate within the community. 4 These actors interpret and reinterpret the abstract frames in order to add resonance and legitimacy to political programmes in the contemporary era. For instance, NATO partly legitimised its decision to intervene in Kosovo by recourse to abstract ideas about the ‘European’, anti-fascist and anti-communist identities that underpinned the alliance.5 Similarly, members of ASEAN justify their stance on the sanctity of sovereignty by recourse to abstract ideas about an ‘ASEAN way’ (see Chapter 5). Processes of contestation and change are more evident at this level of social abstraction. Thus, in both the examples mentioned here there is no consensus about what the abstract frames should be telling the community. For some members of the Western European security community, a common European identity meant that NATO

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should have exercised greater caution and restraint over Kosovo than it did.6 In order to have an impact on framing the identities, interests and values of actors, the interpretations and justifications offered by political entrepreneurs must have resonance at the day-to-day level. In order to be able to frame interests and shape behaviour the abstract frames and points of reference used by political entrepreneurs must be internalised or embedded in the identities of the communities and individuals that comprise the security community.7 These processes take place through the constant iteration and reiteration of more abstract notions of identity and through the physical actions of the security community and the states that comprise it. As Radcliffe and Westwood put it, ‘as a modern regime of power, the state utilises a series of mechanisms that come to rest on the body and through which power relations are produced and channelled. Individual subjects are then constituted in and through the relations of power and discourses produced by it’.8 Thus, for instance, a security community may be internalised in the identities of local communities or individual subjects through acts such as differentiated border controls, a politics of insecurity that locates the security community as the agent of security, and embedded conceptions of common identity. It is important to note, however, that this is not a one-way process. As the arguments of political entrepreneurs are embedded in individual and local group identities, they are reinterpreted, prompting political entrepreneurs to revise their stories, ultimately prompting subtle shifts in abstract frames. This may happen, for example, if a significant portion of a population refuses to accept that a threat emanates from a particular outsider. The security community’s conception of itself is therefore constantly changing and subject to challenge. As Paul James argued, such communities display elements of both continuity and discontinuity. At the abstract level, change is relatively infrequent. Political entrepreneurs tend to make reference to the same frames and they change slowly, subtly and infrequently. For instance, from its earliest conception the Western European security community was predicated on common ideas about the defence and promotion of democracy. Over time, however, precisely what that meant and the policy implications that flowed from that observation have changed markedly. This relative constancy makes identifying abstract frames the best way of identifying a community and its boundaries in the first instance. The abstract community provides the context in which practical and, sometimes, purposive norms are developed. Both practical and purposive

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norms fulfil the three functions of norms identified in Chapter 1 (constituting, constraining, and providing a framework for meaningful communication). Practical rules and norms allow the community’s actors to work together and associate by providing a framework for interaction. In particular, we identified three functions of practical rules and norms which are broadly concerned with telling us who the legitimate participants are, how they should participate and what rights and duties they have. Drawing from Andrew Linklater, these were: • The community bestows rights on the individual members by virtue of their membership. • Members of a community have a right to participate in the political life of the community. • Members of a community are obliged to fulfil whatever duties are expected of them. By and large, tightly- and loosely-coupled security communities exhibit differing degrees of practical norms. Over time, these practical rules produce the expectations of peaceful change that Adler and Barnett argue become constitutive of the security community. They do so in three primary ways. First, they make it harder for members to physically prepare for war against another member because it is a lot harder to keep those preparations secret from other members of the security community. Second, such norms make it harder to justify aggressive actions towards another member of the security community. Recalling our discussion of norms and the role of the logic of appropriateness (see Chapter 1), states will not act unless they can justify their actions by reference to some commonly held norms. Finally, practical rules and norms provide a degree of order and trust that permits the construction of purposive rules and norms over time. Purposive rules and norms, which are peculiar to tightly-coupled security communities, give security communities both normative content and moral agency. They produce clearer and more powerful notions of communal identity and shape a more forceful set of perceived common interests. In particular, such norms help to construct a community that has four characteristics: • • • •

Identification Moral unity Involvement Wholeness

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The identities of the constituent parts of the security community are not transcended or replaced. Rather, they are changed by their membership of the security community. Being a member of a tightlycoupled security community informs the state bureaucracy’s and political leadership’s sense of what it means to be Canadian, or Malaysian, or German for instance. The first aspect of this framework therefore comprises an analysis of the ideational aspects of the security community. This requires a study of the discourses and political contests that rage about the constitution and identity of the security community and an assessment of the evolution of its practical and purposive rules and norms.

The extent of shared normative content By themselves the normative quality and institutional maturity of the security community tell us very little about the way that it relates to outsiders. This second set of issues therefore places the security community within a broader regional and global context. Its purpose is twofold. First, it aims to assess the extent to which the security community’s interests, identities, values and norms are commensurate with broader regional and global interests, identities, values and norms. In particular, whilst being concerned with the global level, my main concern is to understand the level of complementarity between the goals, identities, values and norms of the security community and those of its immediate neighbours. Does the normative content of the security community actively debar participation by outsiders? For example, during the Cold War, the creation of pro-democracy and pro-liberalism norms within NATO was a deliberate attempt to mark it out from its neighbour, the Warsaw Pact. The goals that the Western European security community pursued at that time were all about creating and then defending a particular Western way of life from the perceived communist threat. Therefore the identities, interests, norms and values of the Western European security community at that time was one of the key reasons why an ‘Iron Curtain’ descended across central Europe. After the Cold War, however, the interests, identities, norms and values of the new democratic states of central and eastern Europe shifted to ones more commensurate with those of the Western European security community. This facilitated not only the destruction of the Iron Curtain but also the enlargement of the security community and the blurring of the boundary between insiders and out-

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siders to the extent that it is not at all clear today who is a member of the security community and who is not (see Chapter 4). The first task in this set of questions therefore is to identify the evolving points of similarity and difference between the ideas espoused by the security community and those held dear by its neighbours. The second task is to evaluate the way in which the security community pursues its goals. The question here is, does the security community pursue its goals by constructing a concept of security that depends upon the identification and vilification of an ‘Other’ from where the primary threats to the security community emanate? This question points towards two issues. First, there needs to be a study of the way that the security community pursues security or, alternatively, ‘securitizes’ issues. At the end of Chapter 2 we noted that security is socially constructed by discourses that identify the self (the referent) that is to be secured (and a reason why it ought to be secured), a threat that the self needs to be secured against, an agent who is going to be doing the securing, and an appropriate and effective set of tools to accomplish the task. This logic of appropriateness is determined by the answer to the first three questions. Thus, if the ‘we-group’ is Western liberal democracy, the threat emanates from a very real fear of chemical and nuclear attack by Iraq (and political entrepreneurs in the West are able to persuade their constituents of this), and the appropriate agent of security is perceived as being NATO, then the logic of appropriateness tells us that the security community may engage in large scale pre-emptive military attacks on Iraq. If, on the other hand, the ‘we-group’ is the GCC, the threat we perceive emanates from Islamicist resistance to US military deployments on our territory and the appropriate agent is the collective diplomatic voice of the GCC, a very different logic of appropriateness presents itself. A further issue that springs from the way that the security community pursues its goals is the question of boundary construction. Does the security community construct and reify boundaries and if so what type of boundaries? There are at least three potential answers to this question. First, as with Western Europe during the Cold War, the security community may simply reproduce the logic of realism at the regional level constructing and reifying rigid boundaries between insiders and outsiders. This may purchase internal homogeneity at the expense of turning the security community into a regional fortress. On the other hand, loosely-coupled security communities such as ASEAN, for instance, may be predicated on the idea of preserving the internal boundaries between states. In such cases, the security community may

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have little effect on either the quality of internal or external boundaries. Finally a security community, such as Western Europe after the Cold War, may develop a complex web of institutions and relationships that blur the boundaries between insiders and outsiders, creating indistinct frontiers. The construction of particular kinds of boundaries depends upon the self-identity of the community, the complementarity of its common life with that of outsiders, and the way that it constructs and pursues security. The second aspect of the framework therefore investigates the normative and ideational place of the security community within a broader regional and global context. It investigates the extent to which the identities, interests, norms and values of the security community overlap with those of its neighbours, the manner in which the security community constructs and pursues security, and the logic of boundaries that flows from it.

The degree of institutional, economic and social ties within the security community The final two areas of the framework turn their attention to material aspects. Replicating the pattern of the first two elements of the framework, where the first investigated the security community itself and the second assessed its relationship with outsiders, the third area aims to investigate the material quality of the security community. It does so in four stages. First, it returns to the question of what type of security community we are investigating but approaches it not by assessing the extent of shared identities and values but rather the scope of the physical manifestations of the security community. Is the security community manifested in institutional form? How many institutions? What type of institutions? What areas do they cover? Are they authoritative or merely consultative? Are they intergovernmental or transnational? The aim of this line of questioning is to precisely map out the qualitative and quantitative scope of the security community’s institutional reach and to ask whether it is merely a vehicle for cooperation between its members (as loosely-coupled security communities are) or whether the security community is an authoritative actor in its own right. The second line of enquiry develops the first and refers to the epistemic community. It is interested in identifying the scope and depth of the security community’s epistemic communities. For instance, the epistemic communities embedded in the three security communities

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that contain the US exhibit a considerable monopoly of authoritative knowledge on defence matters. NATO’s epistemic communities in the defence sector are arguably the most authoritative sources of knowledge on defence in Western Europe. At the other end of the spectrum, a security community’s epistemic community may be weak. Epistemic communities embedded in the GCC or ASEAN are not considered to be authoritative on defence issues by the member states of those two organisations. Developing this idea of the physical manifestations of community we need to also assess the extent of transversal community within the security community. That is, we need to consider the extent to which there is a transnational civil society within the security community that blurs the boundaries between member states through much higher levels of border crossing and economic relations. Some security communities, such as North America and Western Europe have relatively open borders that facilitate the flow of goods, ideas and people across. Others, such as ASEAN and the GCC have a much lower degree of direct contact between civil societies. It is important to note, however, that it is not necessarily the case that the higher the level of transversal interaction within the security community the less likely they are to construct integrationist relations with its neighbours. The case can be made that the opposite supposition may be more accurate. On the one hand transversal communities may be inclined towards cosmopolitan identities making it more difficult for the security community to construct rigid boundaries between insiders and outsiders. On the other hand, there is nothing to say that the scope of the transversal community is limited to the security community, an issue developed below. Finally for this section, we need to assess the extent to which the security community’s institutions and the epistemic and transversal communities that it fosters actually shape the identities, interests and therefore behaviour of individual state members. It is all well and good to argue that such communities exist, but we need to also show that they frame and influence the behaviour of member states. Within security communities, epistemic communities may play a number of important roles particularly in technical sectors. So, for example, NATO’s Partnership for Peace programme (PfP) in Central and Eastern Europe has created its own epistemic community, which produces authoritative knowledge about the need for NATO enlargement, the manner in which it should be done, and the timetable. Although this epistemic community does not determine the policies and preferences

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of member states, it is clear that it has shaped them. Similarly, the transversal communities housed within a security community may also play an important role in fostering new logics of appropriateness by helping to reshape the identities and interests of member states. For instance, the German government’s decision in the 1990s to rewrite the constitution to allow the Budeswehr to participate in peacekeeping and humanitarian operations overseas was partly inspired by transnational pressure placed to do ‘something’ in response to the bloodshed in the Balkans. This third set of questions therefore investigates the physical aspects of the security community by assessing the scope and depth of its institutional framework, the quantity and quality of its epistemic and transversal communities, and the extent to which these three factors influence the identity, interests and hence behaviour of member states by fostering and promoting new norms and logics of appropriateness.

The scope and quality of relations between insiders and outsiders The fourth and final element of the framework builds on the previous section by investigating the scope and quality of physical relations between insiders and outsiders. In particular it is interested in the processes of social learning and socialisation through which outsiders may ‘learn’ to develop identities, interests, norms and values commensurate with the security community. Simultaneously insiders may ‘learn’ to be more sensitive to the wider impact of their actions. Of course, social learning could produce the reverse outcome, teaching insiders and outsiders to mistrust each other. This final section develops in two parts. Firstly, it replicates the questions of the earlier section and enquires about the scope and quality of institutions, epistemic communities and transversal communities that cross the boundary between insiders and outsiders. The Western European security community is unique in the extent to which its institutional framework stretches out beyond the security community through organisations and arrangements such as the OSCE, PfP, EuroAtlantic Partnership Council (EAPC), and the Council of Europe. Other security communities contain few, if any, institutions that stretch beyond its boundaries. Indeed, there is an interesting correlation between the type and maturity of the security community and the extent to which its institutional tentacles reach across boundaries.

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As well as formal institutional ties, the epistemic and transversal elements of a security community may also stretch beyond its boundaries. For instance, an Asian community of defence experts stretches all the way to the US, as do the Western European, Arabian Gulf, and Australasian defence communities. Similarly, broader elements of national civil society have direct relations with elements of civil society in other countries on a regular basis. The purpose of posing these questions again is to first of all identify the existence of important sources of overlap and interaction between insiders and outsiders and then to evaluate its quality. Interaction is not always integrationist. During the Cold War, for example, periods of increased interaction did indeed promote instances of heightened cooperation such as détente. However, on other occasions interaction merely entrenched mistrust and insecurity as happened during the Berlin airlift, the Korean war and the Moscow Olympics in 1980. As well as merely identifying the existence of such relationships, therefore, I am interested in understanding the way that they contribute towards the construction of security discourses and boundaries, both within the security community itself and amongst its neighbours. Finally, the scope and quality of inside/outside relations is shaped by a web of bilateral and multilateral relationships between members and non-members. For example, through its close bilateral relations with Oman, the UK may actually improve interaction at a variety of levels between the Western European and the GCC. Similarly, through its poor relations with Argentina in 1982 in the aftermath of the Falklands Invasion, the UK fostered a more hostile relationship between Argentina and Western Europe as a whole. At a non-governmental level, it may be very difficult for a particular government to maintain the security community’s collective identification of threat if the society within a particular state has close transversal relations with the supposed origin of the threat. This was the case with Greek-Serb relations in the 1990s and West German-East German and West GermanPolish relations throughout the majority of the Cold War. In both these cases, the civil society in one member of a security community (Greece and West Germany) identified closely with the civil society (though importantly not the government) of a state identified by the security community as posing a threat (Serbia, East Germany and Poland). In these cases, social relationships prompted Greece and West Germany to pursue their own strategies that, whilst remaining part of the security community, attempted to challenge the predominant discourses of security and boundary construction espoused by the security

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community. The Greek government did this by consistently calling for NATO moderation in Kosovo and developing its own humanitarian role and the West German government did likewise through the policy of Ostpolitik (see Chapter 4). The identification and assessment of bilateral and multilateral relationships between individual members of the security community and outsiders therefore covers four aspects: institutional links (such as the UK’s cross-border links with the Commonwealth), epistemic links (such as the CSCAP process in the Asia-Pacific region), and transversal links (global, regional and historical). As with the previous set of questions, the final aim here is to show how such links frame state behaviour on both sides of the security community’s boundary.

Conclusion The loose framework of analysis for understanding the relationship between a security community and its neighbours that I will apply in the following four chapters can therefore be divided into two halves. The first two areas investigate the ideational aspects of the security community. It investigates the processes by which the community is constructed in the first place by assessing its identities, interests, values, and norms and then locating them in their broader regional and global context. The second part of the framework focuses on the physical manifestations of the community and the extent to which they cross the boundaries between insiders and outsiders. Here, the focus turns to identifying the existence of such communities and assessing their normative quality and the types of social learning (atavistic or integrationist) that take place within them. The question of whether a security community acts as a regional fortress, reproducing the logic of realism at the regional level or a global integrator that can fulfil the normative goals set for it by its proponents therefore revolves around a complex relationship between competing ideational and material factors. The task of unravelling these factors and explaining the relationship between them is made more complicated by the fact that they are mutually constitutive: the scope and quality of physical relations is shaped by common ideas whilst at the same time ideas common and otherwise are shaped by those physical relations.

4 Security Communities in Transition: The European Experience

The Western European security community is unique for a number of reasons. It is the only region in the world that can be unproblematically labelled as a security community. That community was selfconsciously constructed over a number of decades. It is bound together by complex webs of institutions and relationships. And, since 1989 at least, its relations with its neighbours have moved from mutual antagonism across an ‘Iron Curtain’ towards integration and enlargement. Following the framework outlined in Chapter 3, this chapter is divided into four parts. The first part investigates the identities, interests and values of the security community by discussing the evolution of the ‘European idea’. Part two compares these identities, interests and values with those of outsiders. The third and fourth parts investigate the material aspects of the community – the third by considering the institutional, epistemic and transversal relations within the community, the fourth by investigating the quality and quantity of these relationships across the security community’s borders. Three central themes come to the fore when thinking about the Western European security community. First, although the process of community building after the Second World War was self-conscious, there was no agreement about either what that community should look like or how it should be constructed.1 Debates about the future, nature, or usefulness of particular institutions and their relationships with each other, member states, and the community’s citizens are not new. Broadly speaking, two traditions can be discerned. The first is often referred to either as pluralism or ‘Gaullism’ after one of its leading advocates, Charles de Gaulle. This approach is similar to the pluralistic security community and sees integration as the formation of a community among states.2 Such a community is fostered through 63

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diplomacy, inter-governmental institutions and strategic coordination between states. The second approach may be described as ‘functionalist’ or ‘integrationist’ in its fullest sense and was traditionally sponsored, to a greater or lesser extent, by successive German governments. This position is broader than pluralism and holds that political or economic cooperation begets interdependence at a number of levels. As Ernst Haas put it, ‘as the beliefs and aspirations of groups undergo change due to the necessity of working in a transnational institutional framework, mergers in values and doctrine are expected to come about, uniting groups across former frontiers’.3 Throughout the integration process these two visions have sat side-by-side, sometimes competing with each other, sometimes reinforcing each other, and sometimes overlapping to such an extent that the boundaries between them become blurred. The idea of blurred boundaries – both conceptual and material – forms the other two themes that run through this chapter. The second key theme is the unclear relationship between the security community and international institutions. In the earlier chapters I pointed out that there is no direct link between a particular institution or organisation and a security community though there is often a tendency to equate the two. In the European case, there are so many institutions it is not clear which one the security community rests on. The three institutions usually considered as candidates are NATO, the EU, and the OSCE. Emanuel Adler is right to point out that all members of the security community are members of the OSCE. However, not all members of the OSCE are members of the security community whilst some states that are not members of the EU (the US, Canada, and Iceland for instance) clearly are members of the security community and the same can be said of some non-members of NATO (Austria, Finland, Ireland).4 The third theme is the question of where Europe’s boundaries are. There are, broadly speaking, three approaches to this question. The first, and surprisingly least helpful approach is to argue that Europe is defined geographically. There are numerous problems with this. Which geography or history do we use? How, in the last ten years, has ‘Eastern European’ become ‘Central Europe’? Does the European security community include North America or the former Central Asian Soviet republics? A second approach is to equate Europe with a particular institution. However, the three institutions mentioned above have vastly different memberships. The OSCE extends from ‘Vancouver to Vladivostock’, NATO extends to Turkey’s borders with Iraq, whilst the

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EU occupies a more homogenous (but expanding) territory. An alternative approach, is to understand Europe as an idea rather than a place. According to one of the fathers of integration, Jean Monnet, European integrationists were not in the business of defining borders, it was their neighbours who were creating borders by refusing to participate in the integrationist project.5 Alternative bases for an ‘idea’ of Europe include a common history and common democratic values, ideas encapsulated by Mikhail Gorbachev’s notion of a ‘common European home’.6 Europe’s transition from a Cold War fortress into an integrationist community was predicated on three factors: a contested model of integration, a complex relationship between particular institutions and the community as a whole, and the impossibility of identifying what Europe means. On the one hand, therefore, Western Europe stands alone as a region that we can label as a security community without too many problems. On the other hand, however, the Western European security community is impossible to locate with any certainty. It is this blurring of boundaries and the multi-layered networks of cross-border relationships that accompany them that make Europe unique.

The European idea Although it may seem self-evident that ideas play an important part in bringing individuals, societies and states together, many writers continue to deny their relevance. For some, mostly North American writers, disagreements between Western European states over the appropriate institutional configuration for Europe reflect the states’ concerns about their relative power.7 Others saw in the European project a desire to continue the age-old practice of balancing power8 whilst others caricatured post-Cold War Europe as being led by a ‘benign unipolar’ hegemon (the US).9 One of the pervasive themes of the previous three chapters, however, was that ideas are important. Ideas shape identities and hence interests, they shape norms and provide logics of appropriateness, and they give meaning to material capabilities. It is therefore important that we begin by outlining some of the ideas that inform the Western European security community. I noted in Chapter 2 that identities tend to be constructed in relation to an ‘Other’ – knowing who you are means knowing who you are not. If, as is often the case, the Western European security community is equated with NATO, the initial post-war Western European ‘Other’ can be quite clearly identified as the communist world. The birth of NATO,

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a collective defence alliance, was a response to the perceived Soviet threat to Western Europe, a threat that seemed particularly pertinent after the Soviets provided assistance to Greek communist rebels.10 The Soviet occupation of Eastern Europe and the forced implementation of communism in Eastern Germany, Hungary, Czechoslovakia and elsewhere provided an important source of unity amongst non-communist European states. However, the onset of the Cold War was only one of two primary imperatives behind the idea of integrating Europe. The second imperative was provided by Europe’s immediate preintegration history. As Margaret Ball pointed out in 1959, European integration was a product of its times. In the post-war era, she remarked, Europe faced two types of challenge. The first was the challenge of declining living standards and the second was the challenge of living in a hostile environment.11 That hostile environment included not only the Soviet threat but also Western Europe’s own history. As Jean Monnet put it during the Second World War: ‘There will be no peace in Europe if states reconstitute themselves on a basis of national sovereignty…European countries are too confined to ensure prosperity and essential social developments for their people’.12 Europe’s ‘Other’, included itself. As Ole Wæver observed, ‘the European idea was to a large extent shaped as a revolt against Europe’s own past’.13 This meant that after the Cold War, ‘Europe’s “Other”, the enemy image, is today not to a very large extent “Islamic fundamentalism”, “the Russians” or anything similar – rather, Europe’s Other is Europe’s own past which should not be allowed to become its future’.14 The European idea was therefore only partially predicated on the Soviet threat and even then it was often only the military dimensions of integration that were presented as such. The idea of European integration as an escape from its own history was used during the Cold War by Willy Brandt to justify West Germany’s Ostpolitik orientation and once again after the Cold War by Europeans from both sides of the former Iron Curtain to justify European enlargement and integration independent from the former superpowers (see below). The key figure to develop these ideas into a vision of European identity after the Second World War was Jean Monnet. For Monnet, European integration and the construction of a common European identity was not about balancing or trading sovereignty and national identity but about creating a new type of political community. As Monnet himself put it, ‘don’t speak in terms of giving up sovereignty…the truth is we are creating a common sovereignty’.15 This common sovereignty would be manifested in political and economic

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institutions. Through processes of social learning and socialisation, such institutions would create norms that shape interests, values and hence behaviour. Thus, ‘institutions alone become wiser; they accumulate the general experience and from this experience and this wisdom come the rules which, once men have accepted them, change gradually not their nature, but their behaviour’.16 Institutions, Monnet argued, would provide a mechanism for harmonising interests and forging common identities and values. Such a European community would express the view of the community as a whole while national governments would continue to express the views of the communities they represent.17 From the outset, therefore, the European project was not about (re)creating national exclusivity or patterns of identity at a regional level. According to Monnet and other notable European thinkers such as Jurgen Habermas, being European does not mean repudiating one’s national identity in favour of a regional identity.18 Rather, to be German, French or British is also to be European. Thus, the very notions of a German or French state are embedded in European ideas, histories and politics.19 To return to Ole Wæver, European identity does not replace nation-state identities. Instead, it adds an extra layer of identity.20 National identities in Europe are partly constituted by notions of a single European identity that shapes the way that states, organisations and individuals relate to each other. What does this common identity consist of? The first thing that might be said about it is that there is no single European identity. As I noted in Chapter 2, identities are constructed at a number of levels from abstract frames to everyday practice. As Hugh Seton-Watson pointed out ‘there have been many and there are many Europes’.21 European identity owes more to politics and economics than culture and genealogy. In the post-war era a common identity and the reality of a common Europe was forged by increased economic interaction. Although these practices may not (to-date) have been enough to create a ‘common people’ resembling a nation, we must bear in mind that the European idea was not to recreate a nation and state at a regional level. Moreover, such identity has been powerful enough to reshape the ‘inside-outside’ logic of sovereignty to the extent that today, ‘national identity is expressed through the merging of efforts in a larger entity’.22 Sovereignty-bound conceptions of identity still remain powerful however and both European and national actors have competed to either create or destroy a European ‘national’ type identity. Many writers

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argue that the integrationist project rests on the EU’s (as yet unfulfilled) capacity to forge a new collective identity that can transcend national parochialism. There are many in the EU that share this view. In 1993, the EU’s de Clerq report investigated how the Union might go about creating such an identity. It recommended that the Union invest in communicating a shared sense of identity by creating a common culture and history, a mission put into practice in the Erasmus and Socrates education exchange programmes.23 The idea that Europeanists aim to replace national identities with a regional national-type identity has been mobilised by so-called ‘Euro-sceptics’ who believe that European identity leads to the denigration of national identities.24 If we understand European identity as functioning alongside, rather than instead of, existing national identities, we can locate the European idea within a common set of ideas about citizenship, human rights and democracy. Members of the European security community share common ideas about human rights and citizenship, encapsulated in the principle of the free movement of peoples and recognition by member states of the jurisdiction of the European Court of Justice.25 Citizens of the EU appeal to European courts and decision-makers to overturn national decisions. Membership of the community therefore prompts states to alter their behaviour to come into line with European norms and provides individuals with an extra layer of identity and governance. Although attempts to create a European ‘nation’ have floundered, a different and more complex form of identity has been created that cohabits with other forms of identity in a mutually constitutive relationship. Who is allowed to join the European security community and what are the rules that guide their behaviour? This is a very difficult question to answer given the impossibility of determining both ‘Europe’ and the limits of the security community. As we noted earlier, Ernst Haas held that the creation of new loyalties and identities flowed from participation in transnational institutions. It is through interaction based on practical rules of association that common identities, values and interests are created. These practical rules are therefore embedded in the three institutions at the heart of the security community: the EU, NATO and OSCE. Each has different rules governing membership, participation rights, and duties which permit individual states to enjoy the benefits of the security community without needing to participate in all the institutions associated with it. There are extensive literatures about the history, role and rules that underpin each institution that we cannot discuss in any detail here. Figure 4.1 provides a broad overview of the rules governing each organisation.

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Organisation

Membership

Participation

Duties

OSCE

Open to all North American and Eurasian states; minimum human rights and democracy criteria; respect for four baskets of Helsinki final acts.

All members have right to participate. All decisions taken by consensus of all members, except decision to suspend member (unanimity minus one).

Uphold Helsinki final acts (conduct peaceful international relations, uphold human rights internally); collective decisions are non-binding – no enforcement.

EU

Open to any European state whose (market) economy, criminal justice system, human rights record, democratic standing, and infrastructure reaches a compatible level with the EU.

Some decisions taken at inter-governmental level, some taken at supra-national level (European Commission, European Parliament), some taken on weighted majority voting.

Harmonise political, economic, and judicial systems; abide by the legally binding decisions taken by the Union; implement ECJ rulings; abide by EU law.

NATO

Cold War – open to any North Atlantic area state that might contribute strategic assets. Post-Cold War – open to any European state that fulfils military and political criteria.

North Atlantic Council takes decisions on consensus basis. All members have right to participate in military commands. Supreme Commander is always American.

To aid the military defence of any other member.

Figure 4.1

The practical rules of European institutions

We can discern four common themes from this very brief overview of the practical rules. First, each institution has a slightly different geographical scope though each is equally vague. Second, all three institutions are based on normative ideas about the maintenance of democracy, (liberal) human rights and market economics. Today, the basic membership rules relate to normative concerns rather than the strategic concerns that underpin traditional military alliances. Even the OSCE, which has the loosest membership rules and hence the largest membership has suspended states (Yugoslavia) for failing to adhere to basic rules about human rights.26 Third, because the

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members of each institution share common values each has a high degree of decision-making by consensus which has not noticeably impaired their ability to act. Finally, each institution demands that members abide by common decisions and work towards a basic degree of integration in the institution’s key areas. Within their areas of interest, therefore, each institution has a degree of agency. This agency varies from the high levels exhibited by NATO in the military sphere and the EU in the economic sphere to lower levels of agency such as the OSCE’s role in creating common standards for elections through observation and reporting. Taken together, therefore, these practical rules help to create states that share common values and – perhaps more importantly – enforce and uphold them in their domestic as well as international politics. Given that the institutions that comprise the European security community have normative rather than strategic or instrumental principles at the heart of their membership criteria, it is quite clear that the community is a purposive one. It has a common – though fluid – identity that sits alongside national identities in a mutually constitutive relationship. The idea of European citizenship suggests a basic degree of moral unity based on agreements about what it means to be a citizen. Each member state guarantees to the other members that it will uphold basic human rights and democratic principles and also (even in the case of the OSCE) accepts that other member states have a right to scrutinise their performance. Moreover, the security community is based on principles of liberal market economics and is manifested in the trade relations it fosters.27

The European idea and its neighbours Our next task is to investigate the extent to which these common norms, values and identities are shared with outsiders and the impact they have on relations between insiders and outsiders. Many commentators have observed that one of the most striking features of 1990s Europe is the extent and swiftness with which former communist polities adopted Western European style democracy, market economics, and human rights.28 This is remarkable not only because it represents a wholesale voluntary shift in values from communism to Western capitalism but also because it was met with a raising of the normative bar by the security community. Whereas dictatorships in Greece, Portugal and Spain had been admitted into the community during the Cold War on the basis of not being communist, states

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seeking membership or even good relations with the community after 1989 had to demonstrate their commitment to the ideas and values discussed in the previous chapter. Although anti-democracy movements and illiberal regimes did spring up in Slovakia, Belarus, Serbia and Croatia, illiberal governance was removed by the ballot box under European supervision in three of these cases and elsewhere in Central and Eastern Europe democratic change has taken root in places that have never experienced democracy before.29 One explanation for this – put forward by Vaclav Havel – is that the division of Europe during the Cold War was not a European creation but one imposed on a weakened Europe by the US and Soviet Union. The Cold War therefore represented an ‘interregnum’ in European politics, in which two imposed ideologies masked the extent to which ‘Western’ Europe’s common values and identities were shared by ‘Central’ or ‘Eastern’ Europeans. According to Havel, the two superpowers were bound together in ‘a kind of alliance between the last citadels of the modern era making a common cause against the ravages of time and change…the two self-proclaimed superpowers propped each other up against the storm blowing from the abyss of a world dissolved’.30 On this question again we see the fuzziness of the European security community’s boundaries. If we understand the security community as comprising NATO, Eastern Europe during the Cold War was the enemy. As Dan Smith put it, ‘the institutions, policies and philosophies of confrontation [were] deeply entrenched in North Atlantic politics’.31 From this perspective, the challenge for a post-Cold War security politics was to overcome these entrenched antagonisms. This task was made much simpler by two factors. On the one hand, the process of transition from communism meant the reconstitution of Central and Eastern European states themselves and wholesale changes in the governing elite and the identity, interests and values of the state. On the other hand, seen from a European (rather than North Atlantic) perspective, the East-West divide itself does not appear so secure and unproblematic. From the 1970s onwards communication and trade across the Iron Curtain increased. Willy Brandt’s West Germany fostered the idea of Ostpolitik and states like West Germany, Austria and France developed significant trading relations with Warsaw Pact members, most notably Poland, Czechoslovakia and Hungary. Moreover, by the 1980s the ideological confrontation in Europe was abating somewhat. In 1987 Casper Weinberger (US Defence Secretary) spoke of ‘a more aggressive

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Soviet Union under Gorbachev’ and two years later his successor, Dick Cheney argued that the Soviet Union was a growing rather than diminishing threat.32 In Europe itself, however, the Cold War battlelines were becoming blurred. German, Italian and British tourists flocked en masse to communist Yugoslavia and Bulgaria. Moreover, East-West trade towards the end of the Cold War was heavily European. In 1985, 6 percent of West Germany’s total trade was conducted with Eastern European states. Of the total amount of trade that crossed the ideological divide, 82 percent was intra-European trade.33 Whereas the US tended to view East-West trade as disproportionately beneficial to the communist bloc, many Western European states viewed such trade as both economically and politically desirable.34 Seen this way, the rapid transition from communism to capitalism, from animosity towards the Western European security community to membership of that security community, does not seem so surprising because there were common identities, interests and values powerful enough to traverse one of history’s most rigid boundaries. Nowhere was this European alternative to Cold War animosity more evident than in Ostpolitik. In 1969, the new West German government under Willy Brandt espoused a new all-European approach to integration. Brandt argued that the best way to address the ‘German problem’ (the continued division of Germany) was by building links with East European states such as Poland, Czechoslovakia and the Soviet Union. German unification was best achieved, Brandt argued, by building links between the two Germanys. Moreover, Brandt believed that through cooperation and détente the West German government could change the behaviour of the East German government, which was one of the most repressive regimes in Eastern Europe.35 In 1989, these links provided an important source of support for the pro-democracy movements in East Germany, Poland, Hungary and Czechoslovakia.36 The idea that Europeans shared basic ideas and values was expressed by both ‘easterners’ and ‘westerners’. Most famously, Gorbachev’s concept of a ‘common European home’ held that, ‘Europe is indeed a common home where geography and history have closely interwoven the destinies of dozens of countries and nations…it is only together, collectively, and by following the sensible norms of coexistence that the Europeans can save their home’.37 Gorbachev’s idea focused on Europe’s common cultural and historical heritage rather than shared political values, though by even talking about a common European home he implicitly bound the Soviet Union into accepting the basic principles of human rights that he signed up to in the CSCE’s Helsinki

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Final Act (see below). The point, as Noel Malcolm suggested, was not to develop a concept of Europe that excluded the US (after all, the US was a key member of the CSCE process), but rather a concept of Europe that included the Soviet Union.38 The idea that there is a common European identity and that this identity produces common interests was one that preceded the end of the Cold War. The rapid transition to democracy that accompanied the collapse of communism can therefore be partly explained by reference to the existence of basic common identities and interests. Such identities and interests even manifested themselves in the construction of common values and norms of behaviour during the Cold War, in the form of the CSCE process.39 The CSCE was established in August 1975 with the signing of the Helsinki Final Act. The 35 original participants included all the states of Europe except Albania, as well as the US and Canada. This inclusiveness had a profound effect on the development of the CSCE process and its role in constructing common values and norms. The CSCE/OSCE remains the only institution to encompass the entire European region. Today, it has 55 members. The Helsinki Final Act was not a legally binding treaty but rather a politically binding agreement dependent on the good faith of its signatories. As Vojtech Mastny put it, the CSCE ‘made adherence to stated intentions a test of political credibility rather than an invitation to search for legal loopholes’.40 The Act contained three broad ‘baskets’ of agreement. Basket I focused on cooperative security, disarmament and military confidence-building measures. Basket II created a framework for cooperation in the economic, scientific, and environmental fields. Perhaps most significantly, Basket III addressed the so-called ‘human dimension’ outlining the basic human rights that all participants should confer upon their citizens and calling for cooperation in humanitarian affairs. Basket III had been a late addition to the Final Act at the behest of Western states, and securing a Soviet signature was widely regarded as a major diplomatic coup. Although the ‘human dimension’ was unenforceable, its inclusion had two important repercussions. First, it elevated human rights to the same level of importance as the ‘high politics’ of military affairs. Second, by doing so in the context of a genuinely pan-European institution, it created a powerful set of common norms and values that helped to shape state behaviour. The existence of such norms and values helps to explain why so many communist dictatorships relinquished power without a fight and why – after communism – so many states voluntarily adopted a ‘Westernising’ path.

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The CSCE/OSCE accomplished this not only by providing a mechanism for the construction of common norms and values by states but also by creating a space for the creation of an East-West civil society that facilitated the transition to democracy. As Adler argued, ‘the OSCE’s notion that the manner in which a state treats its own citizens is a legitimate concern of the entire regional community had revolutionary effects on millions of Soviet and East European citizens, who, with the active help of Helsinki Committees, such as Czechoslovakia’s Charter 77, organized transnationally to secure their rights’.41 Has the existence of common values and norms overcome the dangers of (re)creating a fortress Europe and (re)producing realist logic at the regional level? Amidst post-communist Russia’s opposition to NATO enlargement it has been possible to discern an eagerness to support the OSCE and to develop a ‘strategic partnership’ with the Western European security community, though the OSCE and EU are Russia’s institutions of choice.42 I will deal with the issue of NATO/EU enlargement in more detail later but it is worth pointing out here that despite evidence of common European values, norms and identities, many Russian and East European politicians continue to perceive NATO as a hegemonic bloc pursuing global dominance through realist means. Moreover, there remain powerful material incentives for former communist states to incorporate Western ideas. This implies that the development of common norms, values and identities may not be as strong as the preceding discussion implies. Whilst the Western European security community has sought to enlarge its community of values it has also become more aware of protecting its own boundaries. The creation of a single European employment market raised fears of mass migration from Eastern to Western Europe, fuelled by the prospect of free movement within the West. Although the feared flood of migrants has not materialised, aspiring EU members have to prove that they are capable of maintaining and policing their boundaries with non-EU members. EU states have actively exported their border control technologies to the new frontier states – particularly Poland and Hungary. Although existing members of the EU were allowed to opt out of the community’s migration and asylum policies (an opportunity taken up by the UK, Denmark and Ireland), new applicants are not afforded such a luxury. The EU therefore aims to create common (highly restrictive) laws on migration into the Union, a common institutional framework and common capacities. Its aim is to create an ‘area of freedom, security and justice’ within the Union and to protect this by keeping ‘undesirables’ out. By doing so,

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however, it is contributing to the physical construction of new boundaries in Europe that call the idea of common interests, identities, values and norms into question. For instance, PHARE programme aid from the EU to Poland has been used to add 15 new border posts, increase the number of border guards, and purchase new equipment for reading passports. New visa and passport regulations have had a profoundly damaging effect on Poland’s relations with its eastern neighbours. This highlights the relationship between ideas and material factors. As I argued in Chapter 1, ideas give meaning to material factors and shape actors’ interests. European states do not have pre-political or ahistorical interests. Instead, interests are constructed by the ideas and identities that give meaning to material objects. For instance, two Bulgarian analysts have demonstrated that NATO membership would enhance Bulgaria’s international credit rating thereby creating material, non-military advantages that outweigh the military and political costs of achieving interoperability with NATO and participating in humanitarian and peacekeeping operations.43 On the one hand, therefore, it is clear that many aspects of the ‘European idea’ are shared by states and societies that were not part of the European security community during the Cold War. This helps to explain why so many societies adopted a particular path so swiftly in the 1990s and why the logic of division that appeared to order European politics for fifty years after the Second World War was so swiftly dismantled and replaced with a complex integrationist logic. However, whilst a new politics of sovereignty has been constructed it is not at all clear whether a politics of identity predicated on the identification of an ‘other’ and the logic of boundary creation and maintenance have indeed been superseded.

Europe’s web of institutions and relationships One of the unique features of the Western European security community is that it is bound together by a web of institutions and relationships that includes states, supranational bodies and non-state actors. Taken together, these institutions and organisations award the security community a high degree of agency in international society.44 They also provide a vehicle through which values, interests and identities are constructed and transmitted. The institutional composition of Europe has often been described as ‘neo-medieval’.45 It is characterised by overlapping levels of authority, loyalty and governance. Whilst borders between states continue to

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exist, their normative quality changes over time. The various institutions produced by European integration and the relations that cross boundaries constitute a fragmented and overlapping system of governance. Within this system of governance we can identify different trends. Within Wæver’s triangle of institutions (NATO, EU, OSCE) which are responsible respectively for military questions, the politicoeconomic order and drawing up rules and supervising their implementation,46 we can discern different simultaneous trends. The deepening EU is pulling towards supra-statehood and the eradication of internal boundaries whilst the OSCE is actively strengthening stateto-state cooperation based on the principle of sovereign inviolability.47 This web of institutions and relationships offers a more ‘fluid and flexible’ set of capabilities, interests and values and points to the idea that security is no longer provided by states alone but instead by a variety of organisations, institutions and private actors.48 Contrary to what some critics suggest,49 the plurality of security agents does not undermine the theory of security communities. Rather, it draws our attention to the agency that a tightly-coupled security community can wield and the notion that such communities are embedded in wider epistemic and transversal communities. The EU itself is an enormous web of bureaucratic institutions, elected bodies, laws, norms, judicial bodies, educational agencies and more besides. The EU is a ‘multi actor, multi level and multi process’ organisation in which formal mechanisms – often originally conceived by member states – have been ‘colonised’ by non-state actors. Its reach extends from foreign and security policy to coordination and harmonisation between domestic judiciaries. It has policies on open borders within, a single market, a single currency, tax and spending harmonisation, and a common agricultural policy to name just a few.50 According to Helen Wallace, the EU is comprised of five distinctive patterns of decision-making and authority which taken together give an excellent indication of both the nature and scope of the EU. They are: 1. Supra-national and inter-governmental partnership of the pluralistic type identified at the beginning of the chapter. 2. Market integration and policy harmonisation through mutual recognition of shared interests, values and norms rather than direct intervention. 3. Redistributive justice within the EU in areas such as agricultural and structural funding to less well off European regions (not states).

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4. The production of common standards and technical norms through benchmarking led by epistemic communities. 5. Intensive inter-governmental cooperation and dialogue in every area of domestic and foreign policy making that has become a matter of habit.51 The EU operates at a number of levels and in a number of ways but – importantly, and perhaps surprisingly for an international institution that is so well developed and bureaucratised – it is predicated on the voluntary harmonisation of activities on the part of its members which in turn are predicated on common understandings of the European idea. As Roger Morgan put it, European integration ‘does not rely primarily on a somewhat arbitrary institutional superstructure, as some of the earlier models of the European Union presumed. Rather, it operates through a rich substructure: a corpus of values, laws, rules, norms and procedures which all EU countries must respect’.52 NATO is the organisation most usually identified with European security. Its core purpose is found in a ‘common commitment to mutual cooperation among sovereign states based on the indivisibility of the security of its members’.53 As such, NATO is concerned with fostering military cooperation to better protect members from outside threats. That said, since the end of the Cold War the alliance has become increasingly involved in the defence policy making of individual states. Through programmes such as PfP, NATO sets standards on everything from the minimum levels of defence spending expected of member states (2 percent of GDP), to appropriate levels of democratic control over the armed forces, to standards of professionalisation, training, and interoperability within the armed forces.54 As well as providing collective defence, therefore, NATO has also been responsible for creating powerful norms of civil-military relations and in doing so reshaping the interests of individual states both within the alliance and on its periphery. For instance, the Baltic states identified participation in UN or NATO peacekeeping operations as one of their primary defence interests. Observers in both Latvia and Lithuania noted that participation in multilateral peacekeeping operations facilitated the creation of liberal-democratic norms within the domestic security sector and also fulfilled the states’ wider interests.55 The use of scarce defence resources on activities that realists would identify as ‘nonessential’ would be inexplicable were it not for the normative context constructed by NATO.

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The third key institution in the Western European security community is the OSCE. I covered the basic role of the OSCE earlier, but it is worth briefly indicating that whilst the OSCE is a consent-based organisation with nothing approaching the institutional capacity of the EU or NATO, it does serve to reinforce the basic organising principles of the security community. As Trevor Taylor put it: To-date, the essential elements in the CSCE process have been that governments discussed and agreed on how they ought to behave with regard both to other governments and to their own citizens, reviewed regularly how well they had lived up to their past commitments, and discussed how existing agreements could be strengthened and extended.56 Since the end of the Cold War, there has been a considerable amount of debate about whether the transatlantic elements of this institutional web are being weakened. Philip Gordon, for instance, noted a ‘permanent loosening’ of transatlantic links whilst others point to the declining ability of the US to shape European security affairs as signs of a splintering of the security community.57 From our discussion above, it seems clear that the security community is not bound together by any particular institution or decision-making framework but rather through a set of relationships. That those relationships are changing is indisputable. To argue that it means the end of the North Atlantic aspect of the security community is both premature and reflects a mistaken equation between the security community and a particular institutional configuration. As I noted above, the Western European security community is not based on ‘pillars’ but on overlapping networks of relationships and ideas. The existence and role of these overlapping networks is best captured in the idea that epistemic communities play an important role in terms of being both a physical manifestation of the security community and a key site for the construction and reproduction of common values, interests and identities across a number of functional areas. The importance of epistemic communities to the project of European unification has long been identified. Ernst Haas noted that ‘European unity can be achieved only through the medium of a mass movement built along class lines, designed to save the stagnant European economy from the irremediable doldrums of capitalism’.58 The creation of epistemic communities was also a conscious aim for the European Coal and Steel Community (ECSC), the forerunner to the EEC and EU.

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Much of the discussion in the ECSC was concerned with technical matters and helped to build an epistemic community of stakeholders that created its own interests and norms. As Haas again observed, ‘the members [of the ECSC] have grown to know one another well; negotiations tend to become less and less formal; increasingly a process is initiated of seeking the best compromise in terms of a common technical solution to a given economic problem’.59 Since the 1950s, of course, these epistemic communities have proliferated and flourished to the extent that ‘European level “international” politics has become so thoroughly integrated with “domestic” politics that it is increasingly difficult to make a clear distinction between the two’.60 It is no longer possible for Western European governments to play a two-tiered game of domestic and foreign policy because the production of technical knowledge itself is so heavily transnational. For instance, Emanuel Adler points towards the ‘seminar diplomacy’ sponsored by the OSCE, PfP and Euro-Atlantic Partnership Council which assists processes of social learning and norm creation through the sharing of technical expertise.61 In one such series of seminars, Western states ‘teach’ Central European bureaucrats how to construct a defence budget promoting both technical expertise and a common methodology for defence budgeting which helps to reinforce common values and norms as well as reproducing common identities. Such activities create a European class of defence budget writers who follow similar methodologies, helping to harmonise the way that ‘defence’ is constructed, pursued, managed and funded. Such socialisation occurs across the full panoply of EU, NATO and OSCE activities. Epistemic communities are embedded in wider transversal relations. Europe is unique in that the extent of these relations are so great that we can speak about a European civil society. This civil society is fostered by the principle of the free movement of people and goods within the EU. Approximately 70 percent of the entire foreign trade conducted by EU member states is conducted with other EU members.62 The EU also has a common transport policy expressly aimed at facilitating travel within the Union and between member states. Newspapers, TV networks, and other sources of information are offered on a Union-wide basis. Individuals within the Union share citizenship rights that transcend the boundaries of individual states. Such communities also extend beyond the EU, as we will see in the following section and are embedded in trade and business relations, tourism and travel, professional and leisure interaction, and familial and national ties that extend across state borders.

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The Western European security community is embedded within a complex and fragmented web of institutions, organisations (both governmental and non-governmental), epistemic communities and transversal relations that thrive in an environment of open borders. Just as the idea of Europe is blurred at the edges so is its institutional and physical constitution, which is better characterised as a series of overlapping networks than as a group of discrete pillars. How, though, does this fuzziness effect relations between insiders and outsiders?

Institutions and outsiders We are confronted once again by the fuzziness of the Western European security community when we try to identify and understand material relationships between insiders and outsiders. On the one hand we are confronted by the problem of identifying who insiders and outsiders actually are. On the other hand we need to recognise that what goes on within the Western Europe security community also has an important impact on relations between outsiders. The ideas, institutions and logics of appropriateness espoused by the security community are so powerful and complex in this case that they shape the way that outsiders behave even in their relations with other outsiders. Much of the debate about the evolution of inside-outside relations after the Cold War has revolved around the question of enlarging institutions such as NATO and the EU to incorporate former communist states. It is something of a truism to point out that during the Cold War, the Western European security community was responsible to a large extent for drawing an Iron Curtain across Europe, though as I pointed out earlier, ideas, goods and people traversed the boundaries throughout the Cold War period. In the post-Cold War era, many academics and politicians alike have argued that the enlargement of Western European institutions threatens to reproduce this realist logic by threatening key states like Russia and drawing rigid boundaries between insiders and outsiders. The central arguments against enlargement therefore included: • Enlargement would marginalise Russia, inhibit democratisation there, and provoke a more aggressive Russian foreign policy. • Enlargement would not spread democracy to post-communist states or persuade them to abide by Western European norms. • Enlargement would weaken NATO’s ability to provide for the collective defence of its members.

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• Enlargement would reinforce the boundaries between insiders and outsiders, redrawing an Iron Curtain further to the east.63 There is little doubting that the impetus behind both EU and NATO enlargement was partly provided by the need for relegitimisation after the Cold War. With the disintegration of the old enemy (the Warsaw Pact) and the removal of the perceived threat to European security, it was very difficult to ascertain what NATO was actually for. Under the leadership of Manfred Wörner, the alliance gave itself a wider remit (including humanitarian and peacekeeping roles) and a more flexible strategy (outlined in the new strategic concepts of 1992 and 1996). Enlargement was at the heart of both of these new functions.64 Similarly, writers on the EU have argued that continual enlargement is vital for the continuing deepening and integration of the Union.65 Given the internal origins of enlargement, it is hardly surprising that many critics see it as an attempt to reinforce the security community by redrawing and relegitimising its boundaries. Some writers, for instance, have pointed out that the so-called ‘Europe agreements’ concluded by the EU and individual members were more concerned with protecting key industries within the Union from competition than with encouraging integration.66 The problem with this way of understanding the motivation and impact of enlargement is that it assumes that the Western European security community is functionally like a state and that its logics of appropriateness, sense of identity and interests, and the nature of its actorness are reminiscent of a state’s. This ontology is deeply problematic for a number of reasons. First, it assumes that all actors in international society either are – or act like – states. However, as Jorgensen and Rosamond put it, ‘if our initial presumption that the criterion for significance as an actor is bound up with those authoritative features traditionally associated with the nation-state, then we are in danger of falling into the trap of thinking that the states system can only be replaced or undermined by a system populated with entities that are institutionally substitutable for the state’.67 Second, it employs a static (realist) conception of sovereignty, identity and interests that the European project convincingly undermines. Post-Maastricht Europe has changed the fundamentals of sovereignty by regulating the most basic rights of sovereign states such as deciding what goods, ideas and people may cross its borders, what its economic policies might be, and how its national currency may be produced.68 Finally, the idea that enlargement recreates and reinforces realist politics in Europe

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overlooks the blurring of the distinction between insiders and outsiders that the proliferation of institutional ties, epistemic communities and transversal relations have produced and also ignores the common identities and ideas that were discussed in the first two parts of this chapter. The blurring of boundaries means that, for instance, that it is not at all clear where the perceived threat to NATO comes from or what parts of the world the EU’s Common Foreign and Security Policy relates to.69 After the Cold War, institutional relations between the security community and its neighbours were shaped by the proliferation of institutional arrangements that traverse the inside-outside boundary, blurring the boundary itself. This proliferation began almost immediately after the end of the Cold War with the creation of the North Atlantic Cooperation Council (NACC) in 1991. The NACC attempted to provide a formal mechanism for dialogue between NATO members and states in the former Eastern bloc. From its inception, the NACC grew and developed into an effective arrangement for discussion and confidence-building measures. The NACC’s 38 members cooperated on a number of issues from civil emergency planning to arms control. The process was further institutionalised in 1997 when the NACC was replaced by the Euro-Atlantic Partnership Council (EAPC). The most important institutional arrangement that crosses the boundary between members and non-members is NATO’s Partnership for Peace (PfP) programme. PfP was launched in 1994 and aimed to accomplish four primary goals, all of which represented a conscious attempt to blur the insider-outside distinction. First, PfP aimed to establish a process that would facilitate NATO enlargement. Second, PfP would allow NATO’s neighbours to establish their own relationship with the Alliance within an institutional framework that permitted different degrees of integration and cooperation. Third, it reflected the Alliance’s desire to export its common values through programmes encouraging democratic and transparent defence management.70 Fourth, PfP aimed to promote cooperation between Central and Eastern European states by encouraging such states to lead PfP projects and exercises. At the same time, it gave non-NATO members access to NATO’s military and political bodies, offering a degree of consultation that went far beyond the dialogue offered by the NACC. Once in place, PfP helped to blur boundaries and promote integration in a number of ways. Participation in the programme itself was contingent on each state fulfilling a number of conditions. At the very least, participating states would have market economies, be functioning liberal democracies, and be aspiring or actual members of other

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European institutions. This conditionality helped to reconfigure the meaning of sovereignty outside the security community and to reproduce a Western European understanding of sovereignty. According to this vision of sovereignty, states do not have an unlimited right to decide on economic policy, must adhere to basic principles of democracy and human rights, and must recognise that their neighbours have both a right and a responsibility to play a role in their domestic affairs. PfP also helped to create a European epistemic community in defence. Through individual partnership goals concluded by NATO and individual PfP members, joint action plans were developed which included reform of defence budgeting, training, and education programmes all of which brought groups of defence professionals together in the pursuit of common goals. Moreover, PfP members are permanently represented at NATO headquarters and many alliance members are permanently, or semi-permanently, represented in the defence and foreign ministries of PfP members. The setting of individual and common goals through initiatives such as the Planning and Review Process and the Partnership and Work Programme has not only contributed to the construction of significant epistemic communities, it has also promoted the homogenisation of defence sectors throughout Europe. Although the EU has not created the sort of institutional arrangements fashioned by NATO, it too has created a number of mechanisms for blurring the borders between insiders and outsiders. However, throughout the 1990s the EU was itself experiencing a series of major transformations which resulted in a much more ad hoc approach to relations with its neighbours. The nub of the EU’s engagement with former communist states was the series of ‘Europe Agreements’. The first wave of these agreements came at the end of the 1980s and involved modest trade accords. At the turn of the decade these links were enhanced through the launch of the PHARE programme and the European Bank of Reconstruction and Development (EBRD), both of which aimed to promote economic reconstruction in Central and Eastern Europe. By the mid-1990s, the Europe Agreements had been expanded. Ten states signed the new agreements with the EU which provided for improved political and bureaucratic dialogue (helping to create epistemic communities of officials in areas such as immigration and transport), economic reform, legal convergence and cultural integration.71 One of the major differences between these EU initiatives and the NATO initiatives discussed above is that PfP and

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EAPC allow the active participation of non-NATO members in NATO’s decision-making and core activities (several non-NATO states were involved in Operation Allied Force and several PfP states have contributed troops to NATO operations in Bosnia and Kosovo). The focus of the EU, however, has been on Central and Eastern European states as objects of EU policy rather than participants in the policy-making process. Many of the key institutions embedded in the Western European security community have self-consciously promoted and facilitated the creation of epistemic and transversal communities that help to transcend the boundaries between insider and outsider. NATO, EU, and OSCE conditionality are all predicated on the European ideas discussed in the first part of the chapter and call upon states to converge not only around particular international norms of coexistence but also – crucially – around technical and domestic norms as well. Technical norms refer to those technical and instrumental standards that European states are expected accomplish. They include norms spanning scientific, sanitation, transport, trade, budgeting and accounting, taxation, agricultural, environmental, social, educational and defence sectors and much more besides. In each of these sectors, epistemic and transversal communities have developed which create their own technical norms and standards. The development of domestic norms refers to the ‘disciplining effects’ of European norms on domestic polities.72 Not only do these epistemic and transversal communities create technical and normative norms, their very presence acts as an important mode of surveillance and enforcement. ‘Technical assistance’ in areas as diverse as road building and defence budgeting contributes to integration and homogenisation through the production of common operating procedures. How do these developments impact upon the construction of security and boundaries in Europe? The most significant issue has been the security community’s post-Cold War relationship with Russia. As early as 1993, Boris Yeltsin indicated that Russia would be opposed to any enlargement of NATO though Russian policy makers have been much more ambivalent on the question of EU enlargement.73 Nevertheless, there was early recognition in Russia that it would not be able to prevent enlargement. It is also interesting to note that contrary to the realist harbingers of doom in the West, NATO enlargement was ranked only the seventh or eighth most significant security issue by the Russian policy making elite, a long way behind relations with China,

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creating a partnership with Europe, dealing with problems in the Near Abroad and managing the negative consequences of globalisation.74 Interestingly, elite opposition to NATO enlargement was generic rather than particular. Polls suggested that the much vaunted opposition to the Baltic states’ accession to NATO was only three percent higher than opposition to any enlargement. Successive Russian governments have reflected this ambivalence and shown a great propensity for distinguishing between NATO and Western Europe in general. This ambivalence operates in a number of ways. Although Yeltsin and Putin have both gone on record as opposing enlargement, neither of them have espoused policies to prevent enlargement and both have actively encouraged European-Russian cooperation. Thus, for instance, although the Russian government condemned NATO’s intervention in Kosovo and broke off its diplomatic relations with the Alliance, it assisted NATO in the search for a resolution to the conflict, agreed to authorise and participate in a NATO-led peacekeeping operation in Kosovo, and restored diplomatic ties within 12 months.75 It is clear that the Western European security community has endeavoured to cooperate with Russia wherever possible. For instance, at the early stages of Poland’s accession talks with NATO and subsequently with the EU, the question of the potential impact on relations with Russia dominated proceedings.76 Similarly, when NATO concluded a partnership agreement with Ukraine it moved quickly to increase Russian participation in European security affairs.77 Nevertheless, significant elements of the Russian elite, including – from time to time – former President Yeltsin, saw NATO/EU enlargement in terms of the Cold War logic of realist power politics. NATO, many in Russia believed, was simply exploiting Russia’s weakness to its own advantage and pushing the Iron Curtain eastwards. Regardless of whether or not the Western European security community is deliberately reproducing a realist politics, the boundaries between inside and outside will be reified and ‘others’ created if those on the outside continue to hold onto realist logic. This points us towards the important role played by socialisation and social learning. The incorporation of Russia into PfP, the concluding of agreements between the EU and Russia and the enlargement of the role and institutional capacity of the OSCE enhances the extent to which Russians themselves participate in Europe’s epistemic and transversal communities, prompting changes in the way that Russian elites perceive their Western neighbours and socialising both the security community and Russia into logics of appropriate behaviour. This can already be seen in the principle of

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consultation whereby key NATO or EU decisions are only taken after prior consultation with the Russian government.

Conclusion: towards a fortress Europe or a Eurasian security community? The Western European security community can be unambiguously identified as a security community. However, that is about the only thing that is unambiguous about it. The security community itself is constituted not by particular institutions or rules but by a commonly shared European identity built on a common past. This makes it difficult to discern who is inside and who is outside the security community. This blurring is exacerbated by the epistemic and transversal relations that have proliferated throughout the continent since the end of the Cold War, though as I pointed out earlier those relations persisted during the Cold War as well. These blurred boundaries have allowed the continuation of integration and both the widening and deepening of the security community. The deepening of the community to take on more of the functions of states has not been accompanied with a solidification of the boundary between inside and outside. The primary reason for this is that the security community itself has a great deal of agency in international society. The Western European security community is itself characterised by different levels of authority which overlap with each other. It is also characterised by the proliferation of governmental and nongovernmental transactions across borders. This led to the creation of European identities that do not sit within an ‘either-or’ relationship with national identities and state loyalties. To be a good British citizen is also to be a good European citizen because the laws, values and interests of the two are so closely interlinked. To be French is also to be European and, though that is not to say that being French and German is the same thing. The European experience reminds us of the need to escape the logic of consequences and the ‘either-or’ rationality of realist political theory (see Chapter 1). Taken separately, we might understand European institutions – particularly NATO and the EU – as reproducing realist logic at the regional level. The EU’s association agreements have been accused of setting the bar too high for Central and Eastern European states to participate fully and NATO has been accused of simply moving the Iron Curtain eastwards. This, however, is to overlook the idea that security communities are more than particular institutions and that their identities and

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interests are qualitatively different to those of states. European institutions themselves operate beyond their Western European core. The OSCE promotes common values, identities and interests across the entire region and both the EU and NATO (PfP) have self-consciously created and facilitated the creation of epistemic and transversal communities. The Western European security community evidently has fulfilled (and is continuing to fulfil) many of the normative claims made by proponents of security communities. It has avoided the reproduction of realist logic by building a complex web of overlapping institutions and by creating a space for the development of epistemic and transversal communities. This was possible because of a convergence around the European idea. Even during the Cold War, intellectual elites, religious communities and other non-state actors in communist and noncommunist Europe actively espoused the idea of common values, interests and identities. That the security community has not overtly replicated the atavistic politics of realism in this case is evidenced by the fact that it is impossible to identify precisely who its members are.

5 Building Community from Confrontation: the Southeast Asian Experience

When comparing Southeast Asia and Western Europe, the similarities are far outweighed by the differences. Perhaps the major similarity is that, like Europe, the impetus for creating a security community in Southeast Asia lay in the region’s own recent history, characterised by struggles against colonisation, territorial disputes and the battle for security and recognition on the part of the new states in the region.1 The second major similarity is that, as in Europe, the security community building process has eliminated war between member states. Unlike the European experience, however, ASEAN has not accomplished this by constructing a complex web of institutions but rather by building a loosely-coupled community of values, interests and norms between elites in member states.2 It is here, though, that the similarities end and there are six key points of difference between Western Europe and Southeast Asia. First, whereas Western Europe is a tightly-coupled security community, the Southeast Asian security community is loosely-coupled at best. Although there have been no armed conflicts between ASEAN members and there is evidence of dependable expectations of peaceful change, there is also evidence that Southeast Asian states continue to prepare for war amongst themselves and there are a number of lingering territorial disputes. Second, although it is not novel to describe ASEAN as a ‘community’ 3, it is a very different type of community to the one that exists in Western Europe. As Nischalke pointed out, ‘ASEAN has constituted a rule-based community rather than a community based on the existence of a collective identity’. 4 Rather than being framed by a common stock of pre-existing ideas (such as the ‘European’ idea) or identities that crosses the borders of member states, ASEAN is 88

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founded on a set of common norms that are designed to manage relations between states. The third key difference is that ASEAN comprises developing states rather than advanced industrial states (though since its formation some of its members, especially Singapore and Malaysia have developed rapidly). The norms at the heart of ASEAN were created to enable states to concentrate on internal economic development, the consolidation of the state against communist and secessionist challenges, the external legitimisation of state leaders, and the global independence of the region as a whole.5 I will argue later that this primary concern with state consolidation and legitimisation led ASEAN members to develop norms that are almost identical to the norms that underpin pluralist international society: sovereign equality, non-use of force, and noninterference in the domestic affairs of other states. The fourth key difference is that, with the recent exceptions of Thailand and The Philippines, the members of ASEAN are not liberal democracies. As we noted in the introduction, several writers have linked the security community idea to the democratic peace thesis, holding that in order to qualify as a security community member states must uphold liberal democratic principles. However, as Acharya points out, limiting the security communities concept in this way would give it limited utility in regions other than Europe and North America.6 In the case of ASEAN, the communities’ values and norms are designed to protect authoritarian regimes from outside interference and hence manage their sense of insecurity.7 The fifth key difference is that the states and societies of Southeast Asia share little in the way of common histories and identities. Some ASEAN members (most notably Vietnam) endured protracted violence on their way to independence; others had a more benign transition (Malaysia, Singapore and The Philippines) and enjoy continuing close relations with their former colonial overlords, whilst others (especially Indonesia) continue to confront problems left unresolved from the colonial period (in Aceh and East Timor for instance); still others were able to preserve their independence (at least nominally) throughout the colonial era (Thailand). This has two important effects on the ASEAN community and the relationship between insiders and outsiders. On one hand, it means that the shared identities and interests at the heart of the community do not derive from shared historical experiences but from a much more recent shared experience of modern statehood. On the other hand, this lack of shared history means that there has been little consensus about what the outside threats to

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ASEAN states might be. Although ASEAN rallied behind Thailand after Vietnam’s invasion of Cambodia, a number of members (Indonesia in particular) continued to believe that Vietnam did not constitute a threat to the region. Whilst much of the realist literature and many ASEAN leaders have been preoccupied with the so-called ‘China threat’ this was not a universal perception.8 Following Vietnam’s invasion of Cambodia in 1979, for instance, Thailand formed an informal alliance with China which supplied arms to the Monarchist and Khmer Rouge guerrillas who continued to oppose the new Cambodian regime. The final key difference between the ASEAN and European experiences is that the ASEAN community has not been constructed through institutionalisation. Instead, as John Ravenhill pointed out, the region can be characterised as ‘underinstitutionalised’.9 Such analysis misses the point somewhat because it is based on Western expectations about the role and relevance of international institutions. Southeast Asia does in fact contain networks of overlapping relationships and organisations though they are not formalised to the extent that they are in Europe. On the other, the absence of institutions is a consequence of deliberate policy choices and a community-building model that is different to that of Europe and North America. These six key points of difference shape the relationship between members of ASEAN and their neighbours. The similarity of ASEAN norms and the norms of pluralist international society means that there is considerable normative overlap, though the appropriation of these norms into an ‘ASEAN way’ (see below) also acts as an important source of differentiation. Moreover, the particular type of institutionalisation seen in the ASEAN region has lent itself to the construction of informal relationships between state elites both within and outside the community. ASEAN is therefore not ‘underinstitutionalised’ because there are no criteria that are available outside the norms, values, interests and identities of a community for judging what an appropriate level or type of institutionalisation might be. It should not be surprising, however, that the literature is awash with such judgments about ASEAN, as Southeast Asian security studies has been, and remains, dominated by realism.10 With a few notable exceptions,11 writers on Southeast Asian security have failed to grasp the central tenets of the constructivism, viewing it as an adjunct to neo-liberal institutionalism. This chapter begins with a brief overview of the historical context that accompanied the birth of ASEAN and the challenges that confronted the new states of the region. It is then divided into the four parts of the framework identified in Chapter 3. The first two parts

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investigate the so-called ‘ASEAN way’ and the extent to which its values, identities and interests are shared with outsiders. The final two parts assess the institutional, epistemic and transveral ties that bind Southeast Asian states and societies and investigates the extent to which these relationships extend beyond ASEAN’s borders.

From confrontation to community ASEAN is underpinned by a set of norms that collectively comprise the ‘ASEAN way’. These norms fulfil all three of the functions of norms identified in Chapter 1: they constrain not only the actions but also often the rhetoric of ASEAN leaders, they enable the individual or collective pursuit of common goals (such as internal security12), and they provide a framework for meaningful communication both within ASEAN itself and between ASEAN members and outsiders. The immediate context to the creation of ASEAN was the Indonesian policy of challenging the legitimacy of the new Malaysian federation (the so-called konfrontasi policy), Malaysia’s fractious relationship with Singapore and The Philippines and two earlier failed attempts to promote regional cooperation. Although Indonesia initially recognised Malaya when the latter gained independence in 1957, divisions soon appeared between the two states. Between 1959 and 1964, two issues in particular divided the Malayan Tunku and Indonesia’s President Sukarno. First, they disagreed about the most appropriate type of relationship to maintain with former colonial powers. Sukarno wanted to expunge all vestiges of colonialism from the region. This idea was expressed as ‘national resilience’ by Sukarno’s successor, Suharto.13 The Tunku, however, had no intention of severing links with the UK. He was more concerned with expunging Malayan communist guerrillas who posed a threat to his regime and for that he needed the help of the UK, a relationship formalised in the ‘Five Powers Agreement’. The second disagreement concerned the creation of a Malaysian federation, which involved a union between Malaya and Singapore, Sabah and Sarawak.14 Sukarno was concerned about the territorial implications of this union, feared that it would be used to prolong and expand the British military presence in the region, and was annoyed at the fact that he was not consulted before the plans were announced and pushed through.15 Sukarno responded to the developments in Malaysia with the policy of konfrontasi – a policy centred on denying the legitimacy of the Malaysian state through both diplomatic means (severing diplomatic

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links and denying diplomatic prerogatives to Malaysian officials) and armed confrontation, which included direct armed incursions into Malaysia and the indirect supply of arms to opponents of the Tunku.16 The policy of confrontation was brought to end in 1966 by a combination on internal and external factors. An attempted coup in Indonesia in October 1965 demonstrated that the focus on Malaysia had drawn resources away from state-building and consolidation. At the same time, it was becoming clear that konfrontasi was having a negative impact on Indonesia’s economic development, was discouraging Western investment and aid, and was having little effect on the international legitimacy of the Malaysian state.17 The end of konfrontasi was closely related to the birth of ASEAN. Several other territorial disputes contributed to the backdrop of conflict and confrontation that accompanied the creation of ASEAN. The union between Malaysia and Singapore proved short-lived and an acrimonious de-merger took place in August 1965. Malaysia and The Philippines clashed over possession of Sabah, which was included in the Malaysian federation but had been formally claimed by The Philippines. For the first ten years of ASEAN’s existence, this contest was widely considered to be the most likely cause of war in the region. In 1968–9 (immediately after the creation of ASEAN), relations between the two states worsened when the media in Manila reported (in March 1968) that a secret army was being trained to attack Sabah by Filipino armed forces on the island of Corregidor. The so-called ‘Corregidor affair’ threatened the very existence of ASEAN barely six months into its existence.18 The first failed attempt to build a regional organisation in the region was the Association of Southeast Asia (ASA), which was formed in Bangkok in 1961 and included Malaya, Thailand and The Philippines. ASA was significant because the ideas and goals that underpinned it provided a forerunner for the norms that came to underpin the ‘ASEAN way’. However, ASA was unable to withstand the conflict between the new Malaysian federation (established in 1963) and The Philippines over Sabah, was undermined by the fact that it did not include Indonesia, and was widely perceived (both inside and outside) as a solely ‘anticommunist’ organisation that threatened to deepen already significant ideological divisions in the region.19 Another short-lived attempt at regional cooperation was an association known as MAPHILINDO, which included Malaysia, The Philippines and Indonesia. Its primary aim was to establish a diplomatic framework that would facilitate the peaceful resolution of disputes about Malaysia’s border. Unsurprisingly, this new

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association was unable to survive the politics of konfrontasi and the dispute over Sabah.20 ASEAN was therefore formed against a background of ongoing dispute about borders and legitimacy and failed attempts to create regional associations. There were broadly two types of issues that influenced the creation of ASEAN and shaped the goals it was given and norms it fostered. The first, and perhaps paramount concern was with the consolidation, legitimisation and security of the region’s states and its ruling elites. The common perception of threat that brought the leaders together in 1967 was not fear of an expansionist China or Vietnam but of the continuation of communist and ethnic insurgency movements that threatened regimes from within.21 The common glue that brought the state leaders together lay not in shared history or culture but in their shared experiences of trying to govern fragile states. The leaders of the new ASEAN members recognised that regional peace and security depended on stability and security within states. Thus, at the first ASEAN summit at the heads of government level (Bali 1976), the closing declaration maintained that, ‘the stability of each member state and of the ASEAN region is an essential contribution to international peace and security. Each member state resolves to eliminate threats posed by subversion to its stability, thus strengthening national and ASEAN resilience’.22 ASEAN’s primary goal was therefore the promotion of regional peace and security through the collective legitimisation of states and limited cooperation to secure the region’s regimes from internal challenges. The second (and secondary) set of issues that brought the leaders together were external factors. Even here, though, there is little evidence to suggest that ASEAN’s founding members were influenced by a common perception of external military threats. Indeed, ASEAN members have consistently rejected suggestions that the association be turned into a defence organisation or a military alliance along the lines of SEATO. The principal external factor appears to have been a desire to foster economic conditions that would facilitate rapid economic development. Unlike Europe, the primary concern was the creation of a regional context conducive to state-led development programmes and trade.23 As Michael Leifer put it, ‘regional co-operation was not intended to serve the interest of common security through the projection of common power but through the mitigation and management of conflict and attendant economic development’.24 ASEAN’s norms and its relationship with outsiders have to be seen in the context of its fractious birth. Unlike the European experience, there

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was little or no stock of common ideas and identities upon which to build a new regionalism and neither is there much evidence to suggest, as some do,25 that the association was created in response to commonly perceived threats. Instead, ASEAN was intended to enhance the legitimisation of its member states, create a regional context conducive to state-led economic development, and establish a degree of regional autonomy from former colonial powers and the two Cold War superpowers.

The ‘ASEAN way’ The ASEAN security community’s abstract frames are embedded in the so-called ‘ASEAN way’. To accomplish the goals identified above, a body of norms were developed primarily in the 1970s. According to Michael Haas, the norms that form the core of the ‘ASEAN way’ are based on a common cultural perspective on international relations that emphasises the importance of Asian forms of knowledge, consensus based decision-making, incrementalism and the primacy of politics over institutions.26 However, one of the striking things about the norms that constitute the ‘ASEAN way’ is that there is very little that is distinctively ‘Asian’ about them and a large degree of similarity between the ‘ASEAN way’ and the constitutive norms of pluralist international society.27 The ‘ASEAN way’ does not only provide a set of norms to guide behaviour, it also provides the abstract frames that identify the community itself. These norms and frames developed over a number of years from a concern to ease diplomatic tensions and permit member states to concentrate on state consolidation and economic development. There have been several attempts to identify and isolate the key norms that constitute the ‘ASEAN way’. Acharya has identified three key norms whilst Haacke has identified six. I argue that there are three clusters of norms. However, these norms were established and are perpetuated through an important procedural norm that reflects the objectives of state leaders identified in the first part of the chapter. This procedural norm is informality and an aversion to institutionalism. ASEAN diplomacy makes use of informal, non-official and bilateral relationships more than it uses grand summitry and formal meetings. In a very practical sense, this has helped create regional policy networks comprised of officials and experts who seal their relationships on the golf course. The three clusters of norms at the heart of the ‘ASEAN way’ and therefore at the centre of the communities’ abstract frames

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are: non-interference in the domestic affairs of other states, a consensus based style of decision-making, and the non-use of force to settle disputes. Non-interference. The principle of non-interference in the domestic affairs of other states is the cornerstone of the ‘ASEAN way’. This principle was restated in virtually every significant ASEAN document. The founding Bangkok declaration of 1967 gave the association the job of promoting co-operation in the spirit of sovereign equality laid down in the UN Charter. In a classic restatement of the pluralist conception of international society, the subsequent Zone of Peace, Freedom and Neutrality (ZOPFAN) Declaration recognised the right of all states ‘to lead its national existence free from outside interference’.28 Paramount amongst the principles identified in the Treaty of Amity and Cooperation in 1976 were mutual respect for sovereign independence, territorial integrity, sovereign equality, national identity, and the freedom of every state to lead its own national existence.29 The centrality of the principle of non-interference is unsurprising given that ASEAN’s primary goals were state consolidation and legitimisation. As well as fulfilling the community’s internal purposes, the non-interference principle also contributed to the development of regional autonomy. The norm of non-interference helped to differentiate the region from both its neighbours and the Cold War superpowers. This differentiation contributed to the external legitimisation of the region’s states (because it contributed to establishing an image of independence) and made it more difficult for outside powers to interfere in the region’s states, whilst leaving open the possibility that ASEAN members might conduct bilateral security relationships with outside states.30 Decision-making. The ASEAN style of decision-making focuses on building consensus through extensive consultation. These norms were built on the traditional Javanese village practices of musyawarah (consultation) and muafakat (consensus). The best interpretation of the musyawarah technique is that it is the practice of consultation ‘on the basis of equality, tolerance and understanding with overtones of kinship and common interests’.31 Such consultations ought to take place away from the gaze of the media and in a non-hostile setting. Thus, as it has evolved, ASEAN’s decision-making structure has allowed ASEAN bureaucrats and officials from the member states to conduct extensive meetings and prolonged negotiations. This has had two

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important effects. First, the prolonged nature of negotiations has allowed officials from different states to get to know each other personally, creating a form of epistemic community between bureaucrats. Second, where musyawarah is practised, states proposing particular initiatives are able to be almost completely certain about what the reaction of other state leaders will be because of the extensive consultation and negotiation that precedes its development.32 Muafakat involves taking decisions on the basis of consensus through a process of musyawarah. This consensus is arrived at through debate and deliberation wherein negotiators do not try to coerce others into consent but rather seek to find a compromise that all can agree on. As Acharya points out, ASEAN’s proclivity to decision-making by consensus was not the product of abstract idealism but a reaction to the practical problems confronting the region at the time of ASEAN’s formation. Muafakat therefore flows directly from the fact that the association was meant to legitimise the member states and create conditions conducive to state-led economic development. Viewed this way, consensus ought not to be confused with the principle of unanimity that underpins organisations such as the OSCE (see Chapter 4). Rather than allowing one state to pursue its narrow self-interests at the expense of all others, muafakat demands that all participants in a debate search for common ground as the basis of agreement.33 Non-use of force. The third set of norms that underpin the ‘ASEAN way’ is the non-use or threat of force to settle international disputes – though the use of force to settle internal disputes has sometimes been encouraged. This principle, which like the principle of noninterference is reaffirmed in all the association’s key declarations, was an important component in asserting the independence and sovereignty of ASEAN’s smallest members (particularly Singapore and Brunei), provided an important source of collective legitimisation by freezing the region’s borders, and allowed state leaders to concentrate on internal state consolidation. Along with the other key norms, the principle has meant that territorial disputes over Sabah and in the South China Sea have been ‘shelved’. Moreover, the rejection of the use or threat of force extended to an explicit rejection, frequently reaffirmed, of the idea that the association should become a collective defence organisation or should fulfil defence roles. The non-use of force, for instance, means that The Philippines is permitted to maintain its constitutional claim to Sabah but is not permitted to violate Malaysia’s territorial integrity. Moreover, the non-interference princi-

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ple insists that The Philippines must also act against any indigenous groups seeking to violate Malaysia’s territorial integrity. As I pointed out in Chapter 1, norms do not determine behaviour and ‘norm-breaking’ does not indicate their absence or irrelevance. Norms are frequently contested and ‘norm entrepreneurs’ try to persuade others to change norms or the predominant understanding of existing norms. Other than sporadic instances where norms are broken but are justified either in terms of ‘exceptional circumstances’ or the facts of the particular case,34 the most significant challenge to ASEAN’s norms came in the 1990s with a Malaysian proposal to rethink the non-interference norm and create a norm of ‘constructive intervention’. This idea was first presented in 1997 by Malaysia’s Deputy Prime Minister, Anwar Ibrahim. Constructive engagement would have meant that ASEAN members should invite other members to assist them improve the human security of their inhabitants through education, human rights promotion and economic initiatives.35 This challenge to ASEAN’s norms was supported by the newly democratising Philippines, whose Secretary of Foreign Affairs had described the non-interference policy as a ‘policy of benign neglect’.36 During the process of consultation and consensus building, Thailand’s foreign minister proposed a compromise position referred to as ‘flexible engagement’. Although the principle of flexible engagement eschewed explicit references to human rights, it contributed two significant changes to the noninterference norm: first, flexible engagement allowed states to criticise other states in public; second, it permitted them to do so under the umbrella of ASEAN.37 Despite these revisions, after much deliberation the concept was rejected by other ASEAN members because many leaders believed that it was conceptually ‘hazy’, risked opening a Pandora’s box by not delimiting which issues could be discussed in public, and concerns about its potential impact on ASEAN’s collective legitimisation function. Unlike the Western European security community, the Southeast Asian community is not predicated on shared identities that permeate national societies or a concept of common citizenship. Instead, it is a community based on shared norms and direct relations between bureaucratic elites. As a result, there is much less need for political entrepreneurs to ‘sell’ the ‘ASEAN way’ to their citizens because the identities constructed by norm governed behaviour are restricted to these elites. The norms of the ‘ASEAN way’ are used by elites to initiate new members and to legitimise the independence and importance of the state and its foreign policy elite.38 Thus, ASEAN has always

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functioned at a strictly inter-governmental level and the ties that bind it together ought to be thought of as horizontal inter-subjective norms and shared identities between government officials and foreign policy elites.39 There is little in the way of ‘upward’ movement towards supranational norms or institutions and neither is there much ‘downward’ movement towards a regional identity within national identities. This is a consequence of the primary function of ASEAN: collective legitimisation. The pursuit of state consolidation implied the consolidation of the position of particular elites within the polity. The pursuit of collective legitimisation therefore equates to the legitimisation of a particular social strata. As a consequence of the horizontal, inter-elite focus of the collective norms and identities that shape the ‘ASEAN way’, ASEAN has been ‘hardly able to build little more than a shallow collective identity vulnerable to crises and based on the smallest common denominator’.40 According to Jurgen Ruland, the absence of embedded identities demonstrates that so-called ‘institutionalist constructivists’ exaggerate ‘processes of collective identity-building and underestimate divisive factors’.41 This, Ruland suggests, demonstrates that realism continues to have explanatory value. However, Ruland’s argument neglects the aims and objectives of ASEAN leaders and applies an objectivist template onto Southeast Asia. Whilst neo-liberal institutionalists would no doubt agree with Ruland, constructivist epistemology suggests that collective identities are socially constructed. Thus, as I noted earlier, the lack of downwards movement of a ‘thick’ collective identity does not disprove the security communities thesis. Instead, it is indicative of the particular type of community that ASEAN leaders have constructed. This common identity, restricted to bureaucratic elites, was created by the norms identified earlier. As Acharya succinctly put it, ‘it was not so much that [common] culture created norms’ but that ‘norms also created culture’.42 According to Acharya, the existence of embedded shared identities within bureaucratic elites, what Jurgen Haacke described as a common ‘diplomatic and security culture’, is demonstrated by three indicators. First, a consistent commitment to multilateralism and persistent dialogue. Second, the development of security cooperation in response to internal threats to the state. Third, the clear invocation of the existence of a bounded Southeast Asian community encompassing the ten member states. We can add to these indicators, the persistent use and invocation of ASEAN’s norms in foreign policy discourse. Foreign policy makers consistently justify their actions with

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reference to these norms and use norms to evaluate the actions of others. ASEAN’s practical rules – to the extent that it has practical rules – overlap with its constitutive norms. At the simplest level, all ASEAN members are expected to adhere to the norms of non-interference, consensus and consultation in decision-making and the non-use or threat of force. Adherence to these norms and geographical location within Southeast Asia constituted the limit of ASEAN’s membership rules and permitted its enlargement in the 1990s. ‘ASEAN way’ norms frame the duties that all member states are expected to fulfil. Members thus have a duty to respect the norms and provide support for other member states. For example, Malaysia and Thailand’s decision to participate in the Australian-led INTERFET operation in East Timor was prompted more by a concern to be seen to be supporting Indonesia and restricting Australia’s freedom of action than by humanitarian concerns about the suffering of the East Timorese people.43 To what extent do these shared practical rules, norms and identities constitute a purposive community? It should be borne in mind at this point that ASEAN was not constructed to achieve communal goals. It was designed to permit the diverse states of Southeast Asia to pursue their own interests and goals free from external interference. What is important here is not the extent to which ASEAN itself can be considered an ‘actor’ but the degree to which its norms and the identities they produce facilitate common action based upon shared structures of meaning.44 Such ‘common action’ includes the creation and maintenance of a ZOPFAN and the accompanying ‘nuclear weapons free zone’ (SEANWFZ) idea, and ASEAN’s collective action against Vietnam following its invasion of Cambodia, despite the sharp differences within the alliance about the salience of the so-called ‘Vietnam threat’. The ZOPFAN called for states to work towards a region ‘free from any form or manner of interference by outside powers’.45 The ZOPFAN therefore constituted a purposive aspiration for the community to pursue rather than a binding rule. Indeed, some writers have argued that it has become ASEAN’s ‘leitmotiv of security’.46 It allowed members to continue to enjoy bilateral defence relations whilst encouraging them to develop a separate regional identity. The single most important case in which ASEAN was asked to act as a purposive community was in response to the Vietnamese invasion of Cambodia in 1979 and the perceived need to support the new ‘frontline’ state: Thailand.47 Indeed, according to Shaun Narine,

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ASEAN’s response to the invasion was ‘beneficial’ to both its internal unity and international standing.48 ASEAN reacted to the invasion by uniting behind Thailand and generating global opposition to the Vietnamese regime through the United Nations. In particular, ASEAN members acted in unison to ensure that the regime installed in Cambodia by the Vietnamese did not win international recognition. Its campaign was effective in terms of cutting off financial aid to Vietnam and challenging its legitimacy. There were three principle reasons for this united response. First, Thailand believed that its territorial integrity was directly threatened by Vietnam and other ASEAN states felt compelled to offer political support to uphold the principle of non-interference. Second, several member states believed that Vietnam’s actions constituted a major threat to regional peace and security and that this might create internal instability by encouraging communist rebellions. Third, events in Cambodia demonstrated to some states that the use of military power still played an important role outside the region.49 ASEAN enjoyed a considerable degree of success in its efforts to contain and delegitimise the Vietnamese-backed regime in Cambodia. The UN General Assembly consistently refused to recognise the regime’s credentials and the occupation became unbearably expensive for the Vietnamese government thanks to its economic isolation. However, there were significant disagreements about the most appropriate course of action. In 1980, Indonesia and Malaysia – two states that did not believe that Vietnam constituted a threat to regional peace and security – put forward the so-called Kuantan Doctrine. This doctrine offered Vietnam recognition of its security concerns in Indochina in return for severing its military ties with the Soviet Union. Not only did Vietnam reject the formula, so too did the Thai and Singaporean governments, who believed that the doctrine provided legitimacy to the continuing Vietnamese occupation of Cambodia. Whilst maintaining ASEAN’s public unity, Malaysia and Indonesia continued to search for a non-confrontational avenue to conflict resolution. In 1985, Malaysia proposed ‘proximity talks’ between ASEAN and Vietnam, which was again rejected by Thailand and Singapore. After this setback, Indonesia then proposed a round of ‘cocktail diplomacy’ which included ASEAN, Vietnam, China and the Soviet Union. Although the association also formally rejected this proposal, the Indonesian government went on to play a key role in bringing the parties together at the Paris peace summit that produced a political settlement to the conflict.

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Although ASEAN’s public show of unity in the face of Vietnam’s invasion of Cambodia was an important reflection of the community’s nascent purposive qualities, it has to be recognised that this unity was not produced by a shared perception about the need to ‘balance’ Vietnamese power. Rather, ASEAN’s purposive activities were facilitated by a shared commitment to uphold the ‘ASEAN way’. On the one hand, Vietnam was deemed to have breached the nonuse of force rule. On the other, even those member states that did not share Thailand’s perception of threat recognised that the ‘ASEAN way’ obliged them to lend political support to Thailand, at least rhetorically.

The ‘ASEAN way’ and its neighbours To the extent that ASEAN was predicated on common identities and interests, it was predicated on a shared anti-communism. The dominant images of Cold War ASEAN were anti-communism and ardent pro-capitalism.50 As we noted earlier, ASEAN’s primary objective was the legitimisation and consolidation of the state and the principal threat to those twin objectives was communist insurgency. This stance provided common ground for ASEAN’s relations with other non-communist regimes but it hardened the boundaries between communist Indochina and the rest of Southeast Asia. During the Cold War, ASEAN’s communist neighbours perceived the association as a capitalist bastion tied to the US. Thus, Vietnam and Laos reacted with hostility to the ZOPFAN idea, because they believed that the withdrawal of Soviet influence from the region would lead the way to US hegemony. Moreover, both states tried to ensure that ASEAN’s ideas and norms would not have any salience outside the organisation. As Leifer put it: ‘in effect, Vietnam and Laos had set out to deny recognition to ASEAN as an appropriate vehicle for managing regional security beyond its intra-mural scope’. 51 During the Cold War, then, the boundaries between ASEAN and Indochina were reinforced from both sides. Even if not seen as a direct threat by some states, the communist states of Indochina were perceived as the communist ‘Other’. For its part, although Vietnam espoused many of the same norms as ASEAN states, it perceived the association as a front for the aggressive expansion of capitalism and sought to offer alternatives to it. For example, although it rejected ZOPFAN outright, Vietnam proposed its own ‘zone of peace and friendly cooperation’ based on the principles of non-interference and non-use of force.

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Unsurprisingly, ASEAN members did not give these proposals much thought, despite the similarity to their own. The end of the Cold War and Vietnam’s withdrawal from Cambodia radically altered this relationship. First, the closure of the Soviet naval base at Cam Ranh Bay reduced the perceived threat emanating from Vietnam. Second, the withdrawal from Cambodia removed the rationale for continued animosity. Third, the end of the Cold War significantly diminished the ideological threat posed by communism. Fourth, the end of the Cold War brought about further US military withdrawals from the region. These four factors reduced the level of mistrust between Indochina and ASEAN and changed the nature of the borders between them. The Thai Prime Minister spoke of turning ‘battlefields into marketplaces’ and new relationships were forged based on the demise of anti-communism as the association’s primary common identity and its replacement with a desire to quicken the pace of economic development. The emergence of these common interests paved the way for Vietnam to become a member of ASEAN in 1995. The effect of anti-communism on ASEAN’s relationship with China was more pronounced. After China’s ‘cultural revolution’, the people’s republic actively encouraged and supported communist insurgents throughout Southeast Asia. China also pursued a policy of active interference in the domestic affairs of ASEAN members on behalf of the sizable ethnic Chinese communities that exist throughout the region. China also has significant territorial disputes with several ASEAN members over the ownership of the islands and reefs in the South China Sea. It is also, of course, a major military power with an armed capability much greater than that of all the ASEAN members together. As such, China has challenged some of ASEAN’s core norms to the extent that some commentators and state leaders have identified the need to ‘balance’ the so-called ‘China threat’ as the key rationale for ASEAN’s continued existence.52 However, there is another side to this relationship which has meant that, like the relationship with Vietnam, ASEAN’s post-Cold War relationship with China has witnessed an increase in cross-boundary cooperation and identification. The seeds for rapprochement were sown after Vietnam’s invasion of Cambodia gave China a common cause with ASEAN members, particularly Thailand. In 1979, China began downgrading its support for communist groups in Southeast Asia, disbanding the clandestine communist radio station in Thailand and doing likewise in Malaysia in 1983.53 This reduction of mutual suspicion resulted in a growing appreciation that – as was also the case

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vis-à-vis Vietnam – ASEAN members and China were in agreement about the core norms that should guide international society. As a permanent member of the Security Council, China has won a reputation for defending the principles of non-interference and non-use of force in international relations.54 In the 1990s, therefore, China and ASEAN developed a relationship on the basis of ‘partnership’ which has seen the People’s Republic take on key roles in initiatives such as the ASEAN Regional Forum (ARF) and the ‘ASEAN Plus Three’ initiative. Once again, as with the case of Vietnam, this new approach was spawned by changes on both sides of the boundary. The end of the Cold War, the demise of communist insurgency, and the growing consolidation (and even in some cases democratisation) of ASEAN member states has seen their unifying identity move away from anti-communism towards one shaped by the ‘ASEAN way’. This identity sits comfortably with the Chinese government’s own worldview and helps to break down the ‘self-other’ logic spawned by anti-communism. Has this shared identity based on mutual experiences of statehood and a shared commitment to pluralist international society led to the construction of common interests, as constructivists suggest? It is important to bear in mind again that this common identity is not fully purposive. That is, the ASEAN community does not pursue a purpose that is distinct from the purposes of its member states. It is a practical community designed to enable each member state to pursue its own conception of the good. To that extent, since its downgrading of support to communist insurgents, the development of the ‘two systems, one country’ idea to accommodate Hong Kong, and its ostensible rejection of the idea of global communism in favour of a Chinese variety of ‘socialism in one country’, the Chinese government shares key international interests with ASEAN members: state legitimisation and consolidation, state-led economic development, and the defence of a pluralist international society. These shared interests have produced instances of collaboration between China and ASEAN, outside the auspices of the ARF and ASEAN Plus Three mechanisms discussed below. Their shared interest in preserving a pluralist international society has produced cooperation against secessionist movements, and China and ASEAN have also cooperated to combat other non-state threats such as piracy in the South China Sea and organised crime.55 In 1997, ASEAN and China created a ‘Joint Cooperation Committee’ to identify common interests and propose joint projects to address them. Sub-committees work on maintaining links between senior

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officials, economic and trade cooperation, and science and technology.56 The normalisation of relations between ASEAN and China has had a profound effect on trade. In 1975, the total volume of SinoASEAN trade was around US$523 million. By 1997, that figure had increased to US$19 billion. This made China ASEAN’s fourth largest trading partner after Japan, the US and Hong Kong but ahead of Taiwan and South Korea. This increased again to almost US$27 billion in 1999, not including Hong Kong.57 This economic integration and agreement about basic norms was reinforced by China’s membership of the World Trade Organisation (WTO) in 2001, which binds China into the same economic rules that apply to ASEAN and is likely to facilitate further increases in ASEAN investment in China. Despite evidence of growing economic interdependence, common adherence to norms and shared interests, many analysts argue that the ASEAN-China relationship is overshadowed by the continuing dispute between China and several ASEAN members over the South China Sea. The dispute concerns ownership of a group (230 in total) of small islands and reefs (the Spratly Islands). Uninhabited, their significance has greatly increased since the discovery of potentially significant oil deposits and because they offer access to large fishing grounds. The islands are claimed by China, Vietnam, The Philippines, Brunei and even Laos. Although violent confrontations have generally been avoided, the Malaysian navy fired on Chinese fishing ships in 1995 (the ‘Mischief Reef’ incident) and the Filipino navy has sporadically done likewise. The Chinese army has set up observation posts on a number of islands, as have both The Philippines and Vietnam. For many writers, these activities and China’s forceful diplomatic claims to the islands constitute a ‘creeping expansionism’ that demonstrates China’s true colours as a belligerent regional hegemon in need of ‘balancing’.58 However, whilst China has declared that its sovereignty over the whole South China Sea is ‘indisputable’, it has also committed itself to resolving the dispute through the UN Law of the Sea (UNCLOS).59 At an ARF meeting in 1992, the Chinese delegate told ASEAN representatives that China would resolve the dispute through the UNCLOS mechanism.60 Whilst the Spratly Islands issue remains a militarised problem, all parties have shown a degree of restraint. The Spratly’s problem has been ‘shelved’ rather than resolved and, with a few notable exceptions, the interested states have respected the norm prohibiting the use of force to settle international disputes. The process of finding common interests with ASEAN’s neighbours was made easier by the fact that from the outset, the association

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employed a broad conception of security. As noted earlier, rather than identifying security as the protection of the state from external threats, the prime threat to state consolidation and legitimisation was perceived as emerging from internal challenges. Thus, unlike some institutional elements of the European security community (NATO and the WEU), ASEAN was not built upon a realist security discourse of self and other. Indeed, ASEAN leaders explicitly rejected the balance of power logic of the defence alliance. For most state leaders, the ‘Others’ were either communist insurgents, ethnic secessionists, or (in the case of Malaysia in particular) they were other members of the developing security community. Thus, the primary security goals were internal state consolidation and the removal of the use of force from regional politics. To accomplish these goals, a comprehensive concept of security has developed wherein economic and societal security are viewed as paramount. Since its perceived inability to deal with the ‘haze’ problem in 1997, when Indonesian fires covered the region in smog, ASEAN has also begun fostering cooperation in environmental security as well.61 The key point here is that the conception of ‘security’ that underpins ASEAN does not lend itself to the ready identification of threat and the construction of realist ‘self-other’ security relationships at the association’s borders. This helps to explain ASEAN’s animosity to the idea of becoming a military alliance and the relative ease with which it has found accommodation with its still communist neighbours after the Cold War. Finally, we come to the question of ASEAN’s boundaries. There are two, perhaps contradictory, factors that shape the nature of ASEAN’s borders. First, like most formerly colonised regions, Southeast Asia has placed the emphasis on rigidly protecting the state’s borders. As Alagappa points out, the specific political units that exist in the region today are a legacy of colonial rule.62 Because all the region’s boundaries were contested at the time of decolonisation, the principle of uti posseditis was applied. This principle held that once boundaries were set they could not be changed except with the consent of all the parties concerned. This idea is embedded in the norms of noninterference and non-use of force. Thus, the principal boundaries in Southeast Asia were not those between ASEAN and its neighbours but the international borders between all states. Second, although the quality of political boundaries between insiders and outsiders are not different, Southeast Asia has been defined as a clearly demarcated region. From the outset, the term ‘Southeast Asia’ – which originated in the early 1940s63 – was exclusively applied to the

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ten states that today comprise ASEAN. This prompted an exclusionary approach to the question of ASEAN enlargement. The association dismissed Sri Lanka’s efforts to join and has consistently rejected the idea of expanding beyond the ten current members.64 This point needs to be tempered, however, by the fact that except Sri Lanka, no other state has expressed a serious desire to join ASEAN and that, as we will see in the following section, there are several other organisations and arrangements – some sponsored by ASEAN – that do extend beyond its boundaries. Moreover, many ASEAN members maintain close bilateral ties with ‘outsiders’. For instance, Malaysia with the UK through the ‘Five Powers Agreement’, The Philippines and Singapore with the US, and Vietnam with Russia. As a result, ASEAN’s boundaries with outsiders are no more significant than the boundaries between member states. This is partly because the conceptions of identity and security ascribed to by the association are not predicated on a logic of ‘self and other’ and a clear identification of threat. It is also due to the fact that because the ASEAN community lacks a deep purposive content, its key norms, interests and goals are shared to a great extent with its neighbours.

Southeast Asian regional organisations Although ASEAN has been described as ‘underinstitutionalised’, there are a significant number of organisations, informal diplomatic processes and agencies that span the region. Nevertheless, it is correct to say that it is ASEAN’s norms rather than its institutions that lie at the heart of its regional identity. The association established a central secretariat in Jakarta in 1976. Since then, whilst remaining modest compared to European institutions, the secretariat’s functional activities have expanded significantly. At the centre of the organisation is the Committee of Senior Officials, which is responsible for the day-today running of the association and its key policy decisions. There are also eight committees designed to promote functional cooperation on economic and technical issues and these are supported by a network of sub-committees. Since the 1980s, the secretariat has also developed a significant ‘external affairs’ component, with committees responsible for the oversight of the ARF and bilateral relations with neighbouring states, the US and Europe.65 The level of bureaucratisation increased further following the financial crisis of 1997 and ASEAN’s apparent inability to redress the problem. In 1999, it created the ASEAN Surveillance Process (ASP) which aimed to provide a forum for con-

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stantly monitoring the regional economy and taking early preventive measures when necessary. Later that year, the association introduced the so-called ‘Retreat’, which aimed to offer foreign ministers an opportunity to meet and discuss policy initiatives away from media attention. Finally, in 2000, ASEAN endorsed the idea of an ‘ASEAN troika’ which will attempt to ‘enable ASEAN to address in a timely manner urgent and important regional political and security issues and situations of common concern likely to disturb regional peace and harmony’.66 The most significant institutional change within ASEAN – and another product of the financial crisis – was the ASEAN Free Trade Area (AFTA). The AFTA idea was first lodged in 1993 as an attempt to improve the region’s standing in the global economy. However, whilst member states agreed that AFTA was a good idea in principle, there remained a general reluctance to forgo the income from import tariffs and the level of intra-regional trade – already relatively small – actually declined.67 During this period, the rationale behind the AFTA changed significantly. By the mid 1990s, the AFTA was not primarily about promoting trade within ASEAN. Instead, it was about improving Southeast Asia’s competitiveness in the global chase for investment capital. The policy remained unimplemented until the 1997 financial crisis demonstrated that the lack of regional economic cooperation was having a major negative impact on domestic economies. Thus, in 2002 the original six members of ASEAN implemented the AFTA, though actual trade liberalisation remains slow.68 Whilst the AFTA has the potential to act as a significant source of differentiation between insiders and outsiders, raising the spectre of a ‘fortress Southeast Asia’, this is unlikely for three key reasons. First, AFTA is qualitatively different to Western Europe’s single market. It is a set of common aspirations towards trade liberalisation, not the basis for a distinct Southeast Asian economy cordoned off from its neighbours. Second, AFTA members have already begun to talk about extending the area beyond ASEAN. Chinese premier, Zhu Rongji proposed the creation of an ASEAN-Chinese free trade area in 2001, an idea that was endorsed by ASEAN members. Moreover, the ASEAN Plus Three mechanism has been used to float the idea of extending the free trade area to Japan and South Korea.69 Finally, although AFTA is an ASEAN initiative, only the original six members of the association have joined. Thus, at present the free trade demarcation lines do not correspond with ASEAN’s borders. This suggests that although the implementation of the AFTA is significant, it is unlikely to create and reify

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rigid boundaries between Southeast Asia’s security community and its neighbours. Epistemic communities play an important part in ASEAN’s activities and its relations with non-members. Most significantly, the extensive processes of consultation and consensus-building identified earlier have helped construct policy networks comprising government officials in each of the ASEAN countries. These networks are rulegoverned communities of officials who construct their own rules and forms of knowledge, advise governments, and construct an ASEAN approach to a variety of issues. ASEAN is also characterised by a high degree of informal or ‘Track-Two’ consultations. Each ASEAN state has an ASEAN-Institute of International and Strategic Studies (ASEAN-ISIS) staffed by academics, functional experts and government officials working in a non-official capacity. The ASEAN-ISIS have been important sources of new ideas (the ARF for instance) and much of the association’s preliminary consultations take place within and between these institutes. Finally, there are epistemic communities related to the economy. Like the ASEAN-ISIS, these include governmental, nongovernmental and semi-governmental individuals bound together by a common goal of economic development and a common interest in improving the global position of Southeast Asia vis-à-vis other regions.70 Because there is no conception of a common Southeast Asian citizenship, a relatively small amount of intramural trade and no single market, the region does not enjoy transversal relations that are more intense than global transversal relations. A relatively small transversal business community has evolved, but this is not limited to ASEAN and reflects global rather than regional changes. There has been a small proliferation of non-governmental agencies interested in human rights. At the 31st meeting of ASEAN ministers in Manila, for example, human rights groups from Indonesia, Thailand and Indonesia called for the ‘opening-up’ of ASEAN. Such groups were vocal supporters of the ‘flexible engagement’ idea discussed earlier.71 The 1990s has also witnessed the mobilisation of transnational human rights advocacy groups such as the Human Rights Committee of the Law Association of Asia, which persuaded ASEAN members to establish a human rights working group in 1996 and four members to establish their own human rights commissions.72 Although less numerous and active than epistemic and transversal communities in Western Europe, these relationships play two important roles in Southeast Asia. First, they translate abstract political

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ideas into personal relationships which, because of ASEAN’s decisionmaking style, are forged and maintained over a number of years. This is reinforced by the general preference for informal diplomacy rather than grand summitry, which has produced regional policy networks. Second, these communities are important sources of ideas. The norm of non-interference, for example, achieves salience and meaning through habitual use by epistemic communities and policy networks.73 Southeast Asia’s institutions provide a framework for interaction between members of policy networks and epistemic communities rather than housing the community itself. This returns us to the vision of ASEAN as a horizontal network predicated on (and facilitated by) shared norms and identities rather than a vertical complex of institutions that sit above and below the state. One of the most striking features about this network is that many of its elements extend beyond ASEAN’s borders.

Cross-border institutions and relationships According to Jose Almonte, the greatest single problem confronting East Asia is how to incorporate China into its regional arrangements.74 ASEAN members confront a similar problem with regards to Japan and South Korea: how to bind these states into the ASEAN region without allowing them to set the agenda.75 Further afield, ASEAN has had to confront the fact of a being a distinctive regional group with a global presence with the requisite need to foster relations with the US and Europe. ASEAN members have tried to address these challenges by fostering or supporting a range of initiatives and organisations including the ARF, ASEAN Plus Three, APEC, ASEM and CSCAP. The ASEAN Regional Forum (ARF). The ARF has been variously described as the basis for a broader Asian security community, a model for Northeast Asian politics and a failing entity ‘built on sand’.76 Each of these interpretations is premature. The ARF to date is best conceptualised as a mechanism for consultation between ASEAN, its neighbours and other significant states aimed at identifying common interests. The ARF comprises 21 foreign ministers who meet after ASEAN’s ministerial conferences. The idea was first mooted by ASEAN-ISIS, which proposed that the existing post-ministerial conference be extended. The ASEAN-ISIS concept paper proposed that the ARF would focus on the gradual evolution of confidence-building measures, beginning with preventive diplomacy. It created working groups to consider

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confidence-building measures, nuclear non-proliferation, peacekeeping cooperation, exchanges of non-classified military information, maritime cooperation, and preventive diplomacy.77 The ARF has played a significant role in fostering closer relations between ASEAN and nonASEAN members. The Chinese government, for example, chose to participate in the process because it offered it a key voice in regional politics, promoted the idea of multipolarity and provided a way of tying major powers such as the US and Japan into a rule-governed community in the region.78 Although it has been successful in a number of areas, such as in the creation of a database of confidence-building measures experts and publications, other proposals such as the creation of a regional arms register have made little ground.79 Whilst the ARF has admittedly not made much substantive progress, it has had three significant effects on regional security politics. First, it is predicated on ASEAN’s norms including its style of decision-making. As a result, the ARF has been an important vehicle for spreading those norms beyond ASEAN’s borders. Second, the ARF is the world’s only such regional gathering that includes Europe, the US and China. Therefore, it has contributed to the further legitimisation and consolidation of Southeast Asian states and has provided ASEAN and its neighbours with diplomatic tools to peacefully manage change in the region. Third, although the ARF is centred on ASEAN, it has allowed non-ASEAN states to contribute to the association’s political agenda. This has been particularly noticeable in areas such as confidence-building measures, preventive diplomacy, and economic cooperation. ASEAN Plus Three. The ASEAN Plus Three process involves ASEAN and China, Japan and South Korea. The impetus for such a process came from outside the association, with South Korea’s 1970 call for an Asian common market and Japan’s proposal, in 1988, for an ‘Asian Network’.80 The process began as an informal gathering of heads of government in 1997. Subsequent meetings of the ASEAN Plus Three heads of government have taken place after each ASEAN summit. As well as a diplomatic process, the initiative has established a ‘Young Leaders Group’, a group of Labour Ministers, an Internet working group, a patent office organisation, and a joint committee on science and technology. Each of the group’s meetings has furthered economic cooperation. For instance, the ASEANChina free trade zone idea was first mooted through the ASEAN Plus Three process. Participants have also discussed the establishment of a permanent secretariat. Whilst there has been little movement to date on

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some of these proposals, this is unsurprising because ASEAN Plus Three adheres to ASEAN’s exhaustive decision-making style. ASEAN Plus Three therefore holds out the possibility of heightened political and economic cooperation between ASEAN and its neighbours. Asia-Pacific Economic Cooperation (APEC). Unlike the ARF and ASEAN Plus Three, APEC is not an ASEAN-centred organisation though most ASEAN members are also members of APEC. The idea for a region wide economic forum was first put forward by Australian Prime Minister, Bob Hawke, in 1989. The push to turn the idea into a functioning organisation came primarily from the US, Canada, Australia and New Zealand. For these states, APEC had two principal aims: to offer an alternative to ASEAN, which excluded the ‘Western’ members of the Asia-Pacific region and to promote trade liberalisation. As we noted earlier, many ASEAN members and their neighbours have been reluctant to pursue a wholesale policy of trade liberalisation, which meant that rather than imposing liberalisation from above, APEC has focused on what became known as ‘concerted unilateralism’. That is, APEC encourages states to liberalise but does not compel them to do so.81 APEC does have its own secretariat but it is small and weak. Rather than following the OECD model of a strong centralised bureaucracy – the initial vision of the ‘Western’ states – APEC has bureaucratised along ASEAN lines. This returns us again to the idea that ASEAN’s norms permeate states throughout Asia. By themselves, the ASEAN members are not able to dictate the pace of APEC’s development. However, in unison with the ‘Plus Three’ partners, ASEAN has been able to ensure that APEC did not create a significant bureaucracy, a strategy that stands in sharp contrast to the institutionalist thinking of the ‘Western’ states. What we see with APEC, then, is that although there is considerable overlap of norms and identities between ASEAN and its Asian neighbours, there is a significant degree of differentiation when it comes to ASEAN’s non-Asian neighbours. In part this may be cultural, but by far the most significant explanation is that unlike China, South Korea and Japan, the ‘Western’ states do not adhere to the norms of the ‘ASEAN way’. For example, in place of non-interference and pluralist international society, ‘Western’ states advocate notions of ‘sovereignty as responsibility’ and many types of interventionism: military (humanitarian intervention), economic (the robust interventionism of the World Bank and IMF in domestic economies) and political (through

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the public condemnation of human rights abuse for example). In place of informal consensus based decision-making, ‘Western’ states prefer grand summitry, much shorter decision-making cycles and institutionalisation. It is this lack of shared meaning that produces the differentiation between ASEAN’s direct Asian neighbours and its neighbours further afield. It is unlikely, however, that this differentiation has been created or exacerbated by the security community because as we noted earlier these norms guide relations between ASEAN members as much as they guide relations between insiders and outsiders. In all likelihood, therefore, this differentiation would exist even in the absence of ASEAN. Asia-Europe Meeting (ASEM). ASEM is a dialogue process which comprises the 19 members of the EU, seven members of ASEAN (Myanmar, Laos and Cambodia do not participate), plus ASEAN’s three primary partners (China, Japan and South Korea). It was established in 1996 and given the job of reinforcing both Europe and Asia’s weakest link in their foreign affairs: their relationship with each other. ASEAN members moved rapidly to get the idea off the ground, after it was first suggested by Singapore’s Prime Minister, Goh Chok Tong in 1994. Two principal reasons for this alacrity were mutual fears in Europe and Asia that the other would become a fortress impenetrable to outside trade, and a desire to counter US dominance in trade, something exacerbated by the lack of links between Asia and Europe.82 Unsurprisingly, the ASEM process focused on identifying and exploring common economic interests. At the very first meeting, in Bangkok, participants agreed to plan a series of further meetings, establish a joint working group to prepare an investment promotion action plan, create a ‘AsiaEurope Foundation to promote cultural exchanges, establish an academic exchange programme and to create a joint technology centre.83 Although ASEM has established links between the two continents and has begun to identify common interests, particularly in the economics, technology and cultural fields, its critics insist that it is a flawed process because it has not produced concrete results. This criticism is misplaced, however, because ASEM was never intended to be a decision-making organisation. Moreover, critics overlook the fact that the process is still very much in its infancy and that participants are still identifying common interests. For instance, ASEM has been used as a forum for discussing issues that will be taken to the WTO and developing common understandings. Most importantly, by fostering links between two of the most significant security communities in the

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world and encouraging them to identify common interests, ASEM constitutes an important brake on the potential for these communities to become regional fortresses. ASEAN enlargement. Many of the issues and dilemmas related to ASEAN’s relationship with outsiders were apparent in the association’s enlargement in the 1990s. ASEAN enlargement was much less problematic than Western European enlargement because there was very little regional opposition. The enlargement of ASEAN to include Vietnam and Laos caused barely a ripple and was the outcome of a number of years work towards convergence that began in earnest after the Paris Peace Settlement.84 The subsequent enlargement to Cambodia and Myanmar caused more problems for ASEAN members than it did for most outsiders. ASEAN members, caught up in the debate about ‘flexible engagement’, disagreed about whether internal conditions in those countries ought to bar them from membership. When Cambodia’s Hun Sen ousted Norodom Ranariddh in a violent coup in 1997, ASEAN members reacted swiftly to postpone membership. In the case of Myanmar, many analysts suggest that the diplomatic intervention of Western states, who argued that ASEAN should not allow Myanmar to join until it improved its human rights record, actually encouraged ASEAN members to put aside their differences and admit Myanmar.85 This incident demonstrates the continuing significance of state consolidation and legitimisation and the principle of mutual support. It also shows the continuing relevance of ASEAN’s push for recognition as an independent region. However, it had much less of an impact on relations with ASEAN’s nearest neighbours. The association’s newest members have proven to be the staunchest advocates of the non-interference principle and China, which provided military and economic aid to the Myanmar regime, supported its efforts to join ASEAN. Thus, unlike the European case, ASEAN enlargement has had little discernable impact on relations with its direct neighbours. There are three principal reasons for this. First, unlike Russia, the Chinese government can confidently predict where enlargement will end because ASEAN members have consistently defined Southeast Asia as the ten present member-states and have indicated that ASEAN membership should be limited to states in the region (the only additional member is likely to be East Timor). Second, the overlap between ASEAN norms and those held dear by its neighbours, and the fact that the ASEAN community lacks purposive content means that the boundaries

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between insiders and outsiders are not highly significant differentiators, as they are in Europe. Finally, ASEAN’s regional neighbours have developed forums that will enable them to pursue trade liberalisation and other agendas within the wider region. Epistemic Communities. As we noted earlier, ASEAN comprises a series of policy networks that involve officials, officials working in non-official capacities, and technical experts. These networks extend beyond ASEAN’s borders through the ARF, ASEAN Plus Three, APEC and ASEM processes. The wider region is also host to an epistemic community of security experts based on national Councils for Security Cooperation in the Asia-Pacific (CSCAPs). The CSCAPs are voluntary organisations that operate in the private sector and are self-funding. Virtually every state in the Asia-Pacific region has a CSCAP and each submits an annual report to the CSCAP in Kuala Lumpur. In addition to working individually on security measures, the CSCAP has created five working groups to consider issues of mutual concern. They are: confidence and security building measures, comprehensive security (including economic security), maritime security, North-Pacific security, and transnational crime. Although non-ASEAN CSCAPs outnumber their ASEAN counterparts, ASEAN members hold the chair for four of the five working groups.86 As a result of its consensus based decision-making style, CSCAP has been less than successful in persuading members to establish arms registers though it has been more successful in areas such as the reaffirmation of a pluralist position on humanitarian intervention. Nevertheless, Sheldon Simon concludes that CSCAP working groups have ‘produced innovative and useful studies which have found their way into the academic literature’ and onto the ARF agenda.87 However, Simon lists amongst its limitations its inability to deal with internal security issues or military issues. This is unsurprising given our discussion about the centrality of the principle of non-interference for ASEAN and its Asian neighbours. CSCAP has created an epistemic community of specialists on Asia-Pacific security, which has facilitated the spread of ideas such as comprehensive security and consensus-based decision-making. Moreover, CSCAP, like the ARF and ASEAN Plus Three, is a region-wide process that had its origins within ASEAN but extends well beyond the association, making the distinction between insider and outsider less important in security matters. This picture of complex relations between insiders and outsiders is further complicated by a web of bilateral relations between members of

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ASEAN and non-members. The US has bilateral military relationships with Malaysia, Singapore, Thailand and The Philippines. These include the trade in arms, the provision of base facilities for US personnel, transit rights and ‘forward deployment’ agreements’.88 Malaysia and Singapore also enjoy a security relationship with the UK, Australia and New Zealand through the ‘Five Power Defence Arrangement’.89 Indonesia has a bilateral security agreement with Australia, and China has bilateral arrangements with virtually every ASEAN member.90 How do these factors impact upon the nature of security and boundaries in the Southeast Asian region? It is clear that there is as much institutional and informal interaction between ASEAN members and their neighbours as there is within ASEAN itself. It is also clear that ASEAN’s neighbours have had little problem accommodating ASEAN’s norms and decision-making style into their own modus operandi. This has been more difficult for ASEAN’s ‘Western’ neighbours than for its Asian neighbours, as the APEC example demonstrates. The norms of non-interference and protracted consultation are considerably at odds with norms developing in the West and this has been the source of important schisms between ASEAN and its non-Asian partners – particularly over the issue of Myanmar’s membership of the association. ASEAN’s tendency towards a comprehensive view of security lent itself toward cooperation with its neighbours on a variety of issues. This was made possible first, because comprehensive security is not predicated on the clear identification of threat and the construction of ‘others’ and, second, because the focus has been on horizontal relations between states rather than vertical institutionalisation. The question is whether this was the result of socialisation or whether it merely built on pre-existing shared values and norms? If one looks at China’s arguments in the UN Security Council since it took up its seat in 1971 there has been a consistent leaning towards the principles of noninterference, non-use of force and the importance of consensus that reflect the ‘ASEAN way’ very closely. The same can be said of India’s position on such matters. What ASEAN and its Asian neighbours share is a common colonial history and relatively recent statehood. Given that sovereignty came late to the region and often at a heavy price, and that in many parts of the region the state is still not fully consolidated, it is unsurprising that leaders should find common ground in the defence of pluralist international society. It is not, therefore, the case that ASEAN ‘socialised’ its neighbours. Instead, both insiders and outsiders went through simultaneous processes of socialisation into international society. Once

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ASEAN leaders discarded their anti-communist identities, once the communist threat had subsided, the extent of common ground that existed by the association and its Asian neighbours became more apparent. This permitted the inclusion of still-communist Vietnam and Laos into the association and a significant improvement in relations with China. ‘Western’ states did not share this colonial heritage or this struggle for statehood. They articulate different notions of sovereignty and Western styles of decision-making. This has led to an important differentiation between Asian and non-Asian neighbours. However, this differentiation is tempered by their common membership in the global economy which creates its own common interests (witnessed in both APEC and ASEM), historical legacies that have led to the maintenance of cross-boundary ties, and the continuation of functional military relationships that began during the Cold War.

Conclusion: Regional differentiation and international norms The relationship between the Southeast Asian security community and its neighbours is therefore shaped by four principal factors. First, the security community is a community constructed by norms rather than shared histories, cultures or identities. To the extent that there are common identities within ASEAN, these identities are constructed through interaction based on the ‘ASEAN way’. This stands in sharp contrast to the European case, where many of the norms and values (particularly the purposive norms) were constructed with reference to pre-existing ideas about identity. Whereas processes of institutionbased socialisation contributed to the blurring of boundaries in Europe, in Southeast Asia that blurring has come about because the norms that constitute the ‘ASEAN way’ significantly resemble the norms of pluralist international society that ASEAN’s Asian neighbours have an established track record of espousing. Second, the Southeast Asian security community has avoided developing purposive goals and identities that could act as significant differentiators between insiders and outsiders. The principal purpose of ASEAN was to create a regional environment that would support state consolidation and legitimisation, state-led economic development, and the pursuit of each state’s national identity. The security community therefore focused solely on international issues. Its only concern for internal matters was to provide support for members confronting in-

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stability and rebellion. Once again, many of the security communities’ neighbours had a similar preoccupation with internal consolidation. Third, ASEAN is a horizontal community between elites. Although there is overlap with non-governmental bodies (such as the CSCAPs), the physical manifestation of the ASEAN community remains tightly limited. There has been little attempt to manufacture a common ASEAN identity within states and little attempt to create an institutional architecture that transcends the state. This contributes, on the one hand, to a lack of differentiation between insiders and outsiders and, on the other, to the creation of a community that is based much more on direct face-to-face relations. The ASEAN community is much less of an ‘abstract community’ than Western Europe because most of its members do, in fact, know each other. The identities that this produces are therefore more closely related to the functional role and social standing of individuals. Because of the functional similarity of states and the globalisation of business and state elite practices (golf and cocktail parties for instance), there is not much differentiation between insiders and outsiders and this differentiation erodes considerably when ‘outsiders’ become engaged in common diplomatic endeavours with ‘insiders’. All that said, however, geography remains an important source of differentiation and means that although the border between insiders and outsiders may not be more solid than borders between insiders, that border is unlikely to change. Southeast Asian states have a clear idea about what Southeast Asia is and further enlargement is unlikely. However, as noted above, the main barrier to further cooperation between ASEAN and the West is not cultural or racial difference but disagreement about the norms that should govern interaction.

6 Stalled Integration and Perpetual War: The Gulf Cooperation Council

According to many observers, the Middle East is a region of realist thinking par excellence where collective political structures have tended to take the form of regional hegemonism.1 Within this sea of realism, the GCC (Bahrain, Kuwait, Saudi Arabia, United Arab Emirates, Qatar, Oman) stands out as an attempt to construct regional security politics on non-realist foundations. According to a communiqué issued by the GCC’s six members at the time of the Council’s establishment in 1981, the new organisation was founded on four decidedly neo-liberal, assumptions: that cooperation between the six is ‘natural’ and historically grounded; that the interests of each member could be better fulfilled by working together; that Gulf security is best ensured by the region’s states working collaboratively; and that regional security is dependent on the successful and just resolution of the Palestine conflict.2 The contradiction between the realist-minded ‘lifeworld’ of the Middle East and the integrationist objectives of the GCC has created a significant tension within the region that makes the Council an important case in ascertaining the impact that the development of a security community may have on regional and global security politics. Just as in the previous chapter, this chapter proceeds in five parts. After a brief introduction to the context and history of the GCC, parts one and two investigate, respectively, the ideational pillars of the GCC and the extent to which those pillars are shared with those on the outside of the community. Then, parts three and four explore the GCC region’s shared institutional, epistemic and transversal relations and the extent to which they are shared with outsiders. Studying the way that the GCC has shaped relations between states raises six important issues. First, unlike both Western Europe and Southeast Asia, the GCC can be understood as a case of ‘stalled integra118

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tion’. According to Barnett and Gregory Gause III, the GCC integrated rapidly in its early years but much of this progress unravelled in the 1990s.3 However, towards the end of the 1990s, there was evidence of renewed efforts towards integration. In its early years, GCC states attempted to foster economic and defence cooperation, with more success in the latter field, but these processes stalled and were even reversed in the aftermath of the 1990–1 Gulf War. The GCC cannot, therefore, be said to have been a security community for all its existence since there is much to suggest that the leaders of member states have not always exhibited dependable expectations peaceful change. Paul Aarts, for instance, argued that, ‘the GCC’s efficacy depends on the fear of (internal and external) threats. In times of tranquillity, tensions among the member states grow; in times of turmoil they disappear’.4 This interpretation is not wholly borne out because the retreat from integrationism in the early 1990s was a direct consequence of differing interpretations of the turmoil caused by the Gulf War, whilst the more recent integrationist efforts began in a period of relative calm. Second, the GCC is marked by a level of societal homogeneity much greater than either Western Europe or Southeast Asia. These similarities are extensive: ‘there is the common language – Arabic, a common religion – Islam, closely comparable social structures, roughly the same standards of economic development, very similar systems of government, a collective culture and a shared geography’.5 Although many of these facets are common to many Middle Eastern states (common language and religion) others serve to mark out the organisation’s members from outsiders. For example, the ruling elite in all six states embrace Sunni Islam though a majority of people in states such as Kuwait and Bahrain are Shiite Muslims. Moreover, despite significant differences, the leaderships in all six states subscribe to teachings similar to that of Saudi Wahabism. Of the eight ruling monarchies in the Arab world, six are members of the GCC and practice a similar style of rule, though there have been noteworthy reforms in Kuwait. Also, individuals and leaders in GCC states continue to wear traditional national dress, a tradition that has been superseded in virtually all other Arab states.6 These differences prompted Peter Mansfield to describe Gulf inhabitants as ‘Arabians’ rather than ‘Arabs’.7 The third important issue is the impact of almost constant war within and around the GCC’s borders. The Iran-Iraq war shook the region between 1981–8; throughout the 1980s civil war in Yemen threatened to spill over into Saudi Arabia and Oman; in 1990 Iraq invaded Kuwait and was ejected the following year by a massive US-led

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coalition; throughout the 1990s, the US and UK maintained ‘no-fly zones’ in northern and southern Iraq; in 2003 a much smaller US-led coalition invaded Iraq to effect ‘regime change’; for thirty years, after 1973, Arab international politics has been conducted against the backdrop of the on-going Palestinian conflict. Rapid economic development has not brought peace to the Gulf.8 The GCC has had little respite and its members have themselves been targets for attack. Intuitively, one would expect this experience to reinforce perceptions that beyond the GCC’s borders lay a condition of Hobbesian anarchy and perpetual war that produce external security strategies predicated on the construction and defence of the Council’s boundaries. Fourth, as with ASEAN, there is a clear link between the security community and the legitimisation of its member states.9 There is little, if any, separation between the regime and the state. In many Gulf states, monarchical rule is actually quite recent and was a legacy of centralisation processes inspired by the British Empire. Thus, state-building and monarchical institutionalisation go hand-in-hand.10 For members of the GCC, therefore, regional security is directly linked to the preservation of the ruling regimes.11 One of the primary functions of the Gulf security community, to the extent that one exists, is the preservation of a particular type of regime rather than the state per se. In an environment where monarchism and traditionalism confront a bewildering array of challenges (pan-Arabism, Baathist socialism, Western inspired liberalism, and Islamic radicalism) this created an expectation that the security community would be a vehicle through which realist security practices could be more efficiently practised at the regional level. Finally, many observers and state leaders in the Gulf have been at pains to point out that the birth of the GCC merely reflected the institutionalisation of pre-existing patterns of cooperation. As Erik Peterson argued, ‘the inception of the GCC, then, did not reflect a sudden decision by the member states to promote cooperation between them but rather indicated a commitment to institutionalise and formalise the already substantial interaction that had developed’.12 This suggests a functionalist understanding of the GCC’s birth whereby the Council was a ‘natural’ or ‘organic’ product of state cooperation.13 According to Ramazani, this fact had two important consequences for the development and self-identity of the GCC. First, prior to the GCC’s formation, the Gulf six interacted more with each other than they did with their Arab and non-Arab neighbours – Iraq and Iran in particular. Second, the level of cooperation between the six that preceded the GCC demonstrates the extent of their common identity and security inter-

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ests.14 Although the level and depth of this cooperation can be questioned, the prevalent idea that the GCC was the result rather than cause of Gulf state cooperation again points towards the expectation that the security community would act as an important differentiator of ‘insider’ and ‘outsider’, with the reproduction of realist security politics at the community’s boundaries. There are therefore significant reasons to expect that the GCC would follow a path towards a mature tightly-coupled security community based on security cooperation and the construction and defence of rigid boundaries between insiders and outsiders. Common societal identities that are much more homogenous than in the other cases studied here, pre-existing patterns of cooperation, similar regime types and the link between state and regime, common perceptions of ‘otherness’ (Iran, Iraq, Yemen), and the threats and vulnerabilities sparked by the almost persistent wars on its borders all intuitively point towards the ‘regional fortress’ model. However, as I noted at the very beginning, the GCC is a case of stalled integration, which complicates the study.

Background: Challenges to Gulf States Decolonisation, the rise of Islamic radicalism, and protracted interstate war provided a context of troubled sovereignty for the birth of the GCC. The society of states came late to the Gulf region. It was not until the complete withdrawal of Britain and the unification of the Trucial monarchies into the United Arab Emirates (UAE) in 1971 that the region came to comprise fully sovereign states. Since then, sovereignty itself has been consistently challenged as the key organising principle, as have the particular sovereignties of the region’s states.15 Prior to 1971, the small sheikdoms of the region were protected from outsiders by the British though they confronted the powerful transnational ideologies of pan-Arabism and pan-Islamicism that since 1948 had appeared to provide the best source of security from Zionism.16 The existence of transnational ideologies in the region, and the relatively recent arrival of international society, means that unlike Southeast Asia the constitutive norms of international society have not become embedded in the Gulf. Referring to the Middle East more broadly, Gregory Gause III has pointed out that the effect of this has been that ‘the sovereign norm of non-interference in the domestic affairs of other states was flouted with stunning and unapologetic regularity’.17 As a result, despite the relative homogeneity of societies in

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the Gulf, the new Gulf Arab states confronted a bewildering number of challenges to their legitimacy. The GCC should be understood therefore as a source of collective legitimisation for the traditional monarchies of the Gulf. The monarchies confronted four central ideological challenges: radical Islam, socialism and Baathism, anti-monarchism, and Nasserism. The first, and arguably most salient, challenge comes from radical Islam. In 1979, Islamic revolutionaries led by Khomenei overthrew the Shah of Iran. The Ayatollah created an Islamic republic and purged the country of its monarch and former ruling elite. Although many of the Gulf Arab states had been uneasy with the Shah’s pretensions to regional hegemony, they were horrified at the new Islamic regime. As early as 1980, Khomeini launched an ideological attack on the Gulf monarchies and began to provide support for anti-regime Islamic groups across the region. In particular, the Islamic republic tried to agitate the Shiites in all the Gulf Arab states and provided them with financial and military support.18 This posed a particular problem for the Gulf monarchies because whilst Sunnis rule all the region’s states, all have a significant Shiite minority – and even a considerable majority in Bahrain. The success of the Iranian revolution represented a rare victory for Islam in the modern world and became a rallying call for Islamists in the region who called for the overthrow of traditional monarchies and their replacement with Islamic republics. Moreover, the religious leadership in Iran made little secret of its desire to export the revolution throughout the Gulf.19 The second principal challenge to the states of the Gulf region was socialism and Baathism. The Baath Party governed Iraq until 2003. Baathism since 1986, and Baathism is also the ruling ideology in Syria. It is based on a combination of Arab nationalism, secularism and socialism and therefore constitutes a major ideological challenge to the deeply conservative Gulf Arab monarchies.20 In the 1980s, the Baathist states garnered significant Arab support for their strident opposition to Israel and the Iraqi regime achieved a degree of international support for its campaign against the Islamic Republic in Iran, which at that time was generally seen to be a much more prescient threat to regional security. This clash of ideologies led to Iraq’s exclusion from the GCC process. During the Cold War, the socialist challenge to the Gulf monarchies was supported by the Soviet Union. The Soviets provided support for the communist regimes in Yemen and insurgents in Oman and were widely perceived as posing a direct threat after the invasion of

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Afghanistan in 1979. Unlike radical Islam, the salience of the Baathist and socialist challenge to the Gulf monarchies has been considerably eroded in recent years. The demise of the Soviet Union, the unification of Yemen, and Iraq’s invasion of Kuwait in 1990 and its international isolation since significantly reduced both the physical potency of this challenge and its perceived legitimacy in Gulf Arab societies. The third challenge to confront the Gulf Arab monarchies was the panArabism sponsored by Egyptian leader, Nasser. Nasser’s Arabism was used to call the legitimacy of existing regimes into question and as a front for expanding Egyptian hegemony. In particular, Nasser railed against the continuation of political and military links between the Gulf Arab states and their former colonial overlord and called for regional independence. Nasserism also challenged the legitimacy of monarchy and called for the establishment of Arab republics throughout the region.21 This rhetoric was supported by political action. In 1962, Egypt deployed 70,000 troops to assist the rebellion against the Yemeni monarchy. Like the challenges from Baathism and socialism, however, the Gulf monarchies were able to outlast the Nasserist challenge. In 1967 and 1973, Egypt suffered disastrous defeats at the hands of Israel and was forced to sign a peace treaty recognising the Jewish state. Not only did the military reverses prevent Egypt from forcibly exporting its brand of republicanism, the peace with Israel angered the Arab community and led to Egypt’s temporary banishment from the Arab League. The final ideological challenge to the Gulf Arab monarchies comes from liberally minded anti-monarchism. A number of factors have led to the increase of demands for liberal political reform from the merchant and middle classes of these Gulf states. First, rapid development in the region has created a distinguishable middle class that remains largely excluded from the political process. Second, following the economic downturn caused by the decline of oil prices in the mid-1990s, many states in the region have tried to boost their economies by promoting the development of the still weak indigenous private sector. This has led to the creation of epistemic business communities, evidenced by the growth in number and size of Chambers of Commerce. These communities have spearheaded demands for greater transparency in government, which they believe is needed to encourage foreign investment. States in the region are therefore increasingly unable to completely dictate patterns of economic activity. Finally, the 1990–1 Gulf War increased expectations of political reform, particularly in Kuwait where civil society organised resistance to Iraqi rule whilst the government and armed forces fled to Saudi Arabia.

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The origins of the GCC therefore lay in the struggle to preserve the legitimacy of conservative monarchies in the face of concerted ideological challenges. Although many writers have rightly pointed to the threat posed by the Iran-Iraq war, it is important to bear in mind that discussions about establishing some type of political union began a few years earlier. The Iran-Iraq war did not ‘cause’ the formation of the GCC. The threat that it posed did however help to create consensus about the type of association that should be established. Ideas about Gulf cooperation were not novel. In 1974, the Shah of Iran called for the formation of a Gulf security organisation that would be Iranian led and would exclude Iraq. Iraq and the eventual GCC members rejected these proposals. Three years later, Saudi Arabia attempted to counter Iranian hegemony by proposing the creation of an ‘Arab’ security network in the Gulf (thus excluding the ‘Persian’ Iranians). King Khalid failed to persuade the other Gulf Arab monarchies but the Saudis did conclude a series of bilateral security agreements with Kuwait, Oman, Bahrain, Qatar and the UAE.22 In 1979, Iraq also proposed the creation of an ‘Arab Gulf Security Force’ as a response to the Egyptian decision to sign the Camp David Accords with Israel. These plans were also rejected, because the Gulf Arab monarchies feared Iraqi hegemony as much as they feared Iranian dominance. The immediate prelude to the formation of the GCC saw two competing plans put forward. In 1978, the Kuwaiti Emir, al-Sabah, proposed the formation of a Gulf union that would ‘preserve the region’s security and stability in the face of political, economic and security challenges’.23 Kuwait, the only state to maintain diplomatic relations with the Soviet Union, suggested that the Gulf adopt an approach similar to ASEAN’s ZOPFAN (see Chapter 5) and establish a neutral region that was self-reliant in the field of security.24 Sultan Qabus put forward an Omani proposal that envisaged the creation of a strategic military relationship with the US that would include joint maritime patrols of the Strait of Hormuz. The Omani plan also envisaged encouraging the major oil-consuming countries of the West to provide technical and financial assistance. Oman had itself concluded bilateral agreements that allowed US to make use of its runway and port facilities. The Iraqi government derided Oman’s plan as ‘a new imperialist alliance’, a view that was not too distant to that held by neutral Kuwait.25 In 1980, Saudi Arabia presented its own plan, which reflected a compromise between the Kuwaiti neutrality idea and Oman’s plan for a

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strategic alliance with the West. The Saudi plan was full of ambiguity. It did not rule out foreign assistance, but neither did it overtly accept it. According to Ramazani, it differed from the other proposals in two fundamental ways: it was confined to cooperation between member states, avoided grandiose talk of political integration or wider alliances, and it focused on internal stability and regime security.26 The emerging common perception of threat and vulnerability and the degree of flexibility built into the Saudi plan persuaded the other Gulf Arab monarchies to begin serious work towards consensus in 1981. Although the public face of these discussions tended to focus on social and economic issues, most commentators argued that the driving force behind the march towards consensus were common concerns about internal and external security issues.27 By the time of the first GCC summit in May 1981 compromise had been reached and the Charter of the GCC endorsed by all its member states. The origins of the GCC therefore need to be seen in the context of persistent challenges to conservative monarchism and protracted discussions about the most appropriate form of cooperation between states in the region. The GCC’s form and even its membership were not pre-determined and states that came to be ‘outsiders’, such as Iran and Iraq, laid claim to leadership of regional cooperation. The result of this process of compromise based on fear, however, was that unlike Western Europe there were no unifying ideas beyond the societal and political commonalities discussed earlier and, unlike Southeast Asia, there was no robust articulation of norms that could constitute a ‘GCC way’. This created a significant paradox that helps explain the ambiguous insider-outsider relationships described below. On the one hand, the GCC was founded on common identities and perceptions of both internal and external threats. On the other hand, however, significant aspects of that identity (common language and religion) were shared with outsiders and there was little agreement about the most appropriate way to address shared perceptions of vulnerability.

The GCC community Although there is no ‘GCC way’, the GCC is underpinned by common ideological ideas. Interestingly, these ideas do not directly pertain to relations between states but instead reflect the political commonalities and identities that existed within the six monarchies before they became members of the GCC. Four ideas in particular provide the

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‘abstract frames’ for the GCC: tribalism, conservative Islamism, monarchism and the rentier state. Tribalism. One of the primary explanations for the continued existence of monarchies in the Gulf is that they adopted a model of statehood that managed to break the atavistic autonomy of tribes without marginalising them to such an extent that they rebel against the state. Interestingly, this model was largely a product of techniques developed by the British colonisers. Traditionally, autonomous tribal forces were resistant to the centralisation of state power and keeping them in check had been a constant battle. Since 1970, Saudi Arabia, Oman and Bahrain have all been subjected to rebellions led by disgruntled tribes. However, these states have not only succeeded in suppressing the rebellions, over the years they have also deterred and prevented them by placing tribalism at the heart of their common identities. Rather than perpetually resisting these tribal forces, GCC states have utilised and incorporated them in a number of ways that have been greatly facilitated by oil wealth. The rentier state model (discussed below), adopted by all six GCC states, distributed state-held wealth to tribal elites and made them economically dependent on the state. As a result, it is estimated that less than ten percent of Saudis continue to live the nomadic tribal lifestyle that predominated less than a century ago.28 GCC states have also centralised the security sector by channelling tribal militia into the armed forces and rewarding them economically. They have also permitted the private sector to continue to be dominated and shaped by extended-families and tribes.29 As Gregory Gause III pointed out, therefore, ‘all the Peninsula monarchies have encouraged the maintenance of tribalism as an important personal identity marker. They have provided financial support and an honoured social place to tribal sheikhs. They celebrate tribalism in official representations of national culture. But they have also successfully accomplished what their predecessors had failed to do: deny the tribes any autonomous political and military role in their societies’.30 Islamism. Islamic radicalism is a major problem for GCC states because it challenges the brand of conservative Islam that unifies all the members. The legal systems of all six GCC members are based on Islamic Shari’a law, the interpretation of which is loosely based on the teachings of Wahabism that is predominant in Saudi Arabia. These legal and theological systems promote a conservative brand of Islam

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that permits the continuation of monarchy and the subjugation of women. Each of the radical variants of political Islam discussed above insist that a legitimate Islamic state would be republican, whilst the variant proposed by the Iranian Ayatollah insists that the state should be run by the religious elite. Adherence to a common type of Islamic law therefore provides an important source of identification for the GCC, which distinguishes its members from other Islamic states. Monarchism. The rulers of GCC states are also united by their common desire to preserve monarchism in the region. None of the GCC monarchs can claim a long historical tradition of independent rule. In the face of the four challenges discussed earlier, therefore, there is a joint need to legitimise monarchism internally, regionally and globally. The GCC has played an important in this collective legitimisation, pointing for instance to the idea that conservative monarchism is a product of a legitimate and widely accepted regional political culture rather than the result of local despotism.31 Rentier states. GCC states are united in all being rentier states. Rentier states use economic ‘rent’ acquired by the sale of natural products (oil) to ‘bribe’ their populations and hence maintain the standing of the regime.32 All six GCC states provide a comprehensive cradle-to-grave welfare system yet do not tax their citizens to raise revenue. This rentier system provides the basis for the continuation and legitimisation of the ruling monarchies. In order to sustain the system, these states must keep the supply of oil open, manage production levels and prices, and diversify their economies in order to meet the future challenge of dwindling oil supplies.33 The leaders of GCC states themselves recognise that this is not only a matter of enhancing national wealth, it is also crucial for preservation of monarchical rule. How have these four ideas shaped the way that the GCC has developed? The GCC is founded on a common concern to preserve particular types of regimes and societies in a region where sovereignty norms are not well entrenched and have been subject to almost constant challenge and where there is little agreement about how to respond to these challenges. The Council has therefore not been a vehicle for the articulation of strong practical or constitutive norms and neither has it developed much in the way of purposive norms. Instead, the GCC has been shaped by political pragmatism based on the social and political commonalities described earlier. As Prince Abdullah al-Saud put it in 2001, ‘real unity does not stand on formalities, but on joint economic

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projects, on unified school curricula that breed a generation of young people able to deal with new variables, and on Arab and Muslim channels that address our own problems’.34 The twin ideas of regime security and pragmatism were reflected in the GCC’s objectives. The overarching objective was undeniably regime security – though the ideational and physical threats they confronted were much broader than simply the Iranian revolution or the danger that the Iran-Iraq war would spread. The GCC’s pragmatism meant that although security was the overriding concern, military issues were not overtly cited in the GCC Charter or in its early meetings. What the Charter and the Council’s other initiatives did emphasise was the importance of political cooperation based on consensus and the need to maximise wealth (seen as key to the preservation of regime legitimacy) through economic integration. The GCC’s Charter, promulgated at its first summit in 1981, gave expression to these twin ideas. Its opening articles point to the members’ similar political systems as the basis for delineating members and non-members.35 Article 4 of the Charter identified four specific objectives: the promotion of cooperation amongst member states; the promotion of cooperation amongst the societies of the member states; the establishment of common systems in areas such as the economy, education and culture; and the stimulation of technical cooperation. Five technical committees were created to fulfil these objectives and all decisions of substance were to be taken on the basis of unanimity. The Charter also provided for the creation of a central secretariat based in Riyadh. Unlike the security communities discussed in previous chapters, the GCC did not at the outset explain precisely what types of cooperation it would facilitate or even what basic principles it would uphold. In November 1981, the GCC made some progress towards identifying the scope of its cooperation by adopting the United Economic Agreement (UEA). The agreement called for free trade in all agricultural, industrial and natural products that originated within the GCC and a common external tariff system. The UEA aimed to maximise regional wealth through the creation of a larger regional market that could promote much needed economic diversification and encourage efficiency through competition.36 The agreement envisaged the creation of a single market in which citizens of all GCC states would be able to move freely to conduct their business. The GCC’s inability to turn these political aspirations into reality is discussed later. What is significant about the UEA is the paradox at its heart. The UEA con-

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tained a series of ambitious aspirations which suggested that the GCC states had identified common economic interests based on shared identities. However, the agreement does not spell out how the aspirations are to be achieved, leaving the decision whether or not to act on them with the member states. The GCC’s pragmatic approach to cooperation means it has not been a vehicle for the articulation of constitutive and procedural norms of behaviour. Instead, the Council’s leaders have tended to focus on the preservation and legitimisation of their regimes rather than the impersonal state. In doing this, they have fostered common positions as a basis for cooperation but these have not amounted to the articulation of particular standards of behaviour within and beyond the security community. This helps to explain why it is that although GCC states share much in terms of common identities and vulnerabilities that mark them out from their neighbours, the security community has not ‘matured’ in a path dependent fashion.

Practical rules and purposive norms The GCC’s focus on pragmatism and the very loose terms of its charter means that it is difficult to discern the Council’s practical rules and purposive norms, and much more difficult to demonstrate the effect of these on state behaviour. Like ASEAN, the GCC’s primary focus is regime security and legitimisation. Unlike ASEAN, however, it has not approached this problem by articulating and reifying practical rules of association. The GCC’s norms are not comprehensive and do not compel member states to act in particular ways. As noted earlier, the GCC takes decisions on the basis of unanimity but unlike ASEAN has no informal process of consultation and deliberation. Although the GCC was intended to be the principal forum for collective diplomacy on many key issues related to it, in practice it has not been. For instance, the US government and the Security Council provided the principal forums for deciding how to deal with Iraq in 1990 and 2003. Indeed, the GCC was barely consulted. Nevertheless, pragmatism has allowed member states to collectively press their claims, as they did when they asserted sovereignty over Gulf oil.37 Although the GCC has not developed a complex system of practical rules that shape relations between its members, one of its core rules based on the societal and political commonalities discussed earlier has had a significant impact on insider-outsider relations. As I noted earlier, the GCC’s Charter explicitly names its member states and does

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not suggest that membership may be open to others. This was a deliberate policy aimed at justifying the exclusion of states such as Iraq, Iran and, perhaps most significantly, Yemen. Prior to the formation of the GCC, both North and South Yemen had indicated their desire to join the Council. On the face of it, both states had a good case for membership and there certainly seems to have been scope for the GCC to have left the door open for future membership. In 1980, Saudi officials had mooted the idea of including Yemen in the GCC in their discussions with Yemeni officials. However, the Charter expressly ruled out this possibility for a number of reasons. First, Oman insisted that South Yemen posed a significant threat and had provided material assistance to the Dhofar rebellion in Oman.38 Second, both Yemeni states were republics, which ruled them out because the GCC was primarily concerned with the preservation of monarchism. Finally, not only were the Yemeni states republics they also subscribed to Marxism and enjoyed significant diplomatic relations with the Soviet Union. This too presented a major ideological challenge to the GCC. The GCC’s practical rules can therefore be reduced to three core ideas: first, membership is only open to Gulf Arab monarchies that subscribe to traditional Islamic law. Second, recognising the moral equality of each monarch, decisions are to be unanimous. Finally, recognising the sovereignty of each monarch and the lack of common interests, cooperation is to be pragmatic and functional, not tied to a pre-determined path of integration. Given these practical rules, it is unsurprising that the GCC has managed little in the way of purposive community building. The Council has tended to express the veneer of moral unity or wholeness only in response to particular political issues such as Palestine, the Gulf War, and territorial threats and disputes that emanate from outside the GCC. Throughout the GCC’s existence, the Israeli occupation of Palestine has consistently united the organisation. The Council’s inaugural summit identified a strong interdependence between Gulf security and the resolution of the Palestinian conflict. From 1981 onwards, the GCC states have put forward peace proposals and supported those put forward by fellow members (particularly the numerous initiatives launched by Saudi Arabia) and have been resolute in their political support and financial backing to the PLO. GCC states have also been united by their hostility to Israel and have consistently applied the Arab trade embargo. The Palestine question is perhaps the only issue that has united the GCC states since 1981 and it continues to provide an important rallying point.

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The GCC has also found common cause on other issues. Since Israel’s development of nuclear weapons capabilities, it has been perceived as a direct threat to the Gulf region. Evidence suggests that the rapid build-up of arms by GCC state – particularly Saudi Arabia – can be attributed as much to the threat posed by Israel as to that posed by Iraq. Expenditure on the region’s air forces and defences in particular (a key feature of GCC defence spending) can be largely attributed to the perceived threat from Israel.39 During the Iran-Iraq war, the GCC practised a policy of ‘tilted neutrality’. On the one hand the GCC pressed for an immediate end to hostilities on the international stage and its members attempted to protect themselves from the consequences of escalation. For example, in response to Iranian and Iraqi attacks of oil tankers in the Gulf, GCC states concluded a ‘re-flagging’ agreement with the US that permitted the US Navy to use force in the Gulf to protect the supply of oil. On the other hand, GCC states provided financial and other support to Iraq. The consensus on Iraq proved harder to maintain throughout the 1990s but in 2003 the GCC united behind a UAE call for Saddam Hussein to abdicate power in order to avert war.40 Once the US-led coalition invaded Iraq, however, all GCC states except Kuwait supported an Arab League resolution demanding an immediate cessation of hostilities and the withdrawal of the invading forces.41 This somewhat contradictory stance on the Iraq question reflects broader contradictions within the GCC’s approach to sovereignty and territorial integrity. In their relations with non-members, GCC states unite around an insistence that the sovereignty of the region’s states and the integrity of its internationally recognised boundaries be treated as sacrosanct. The GCC supported Kuwait against Iraqi aggression and UAE and Bahraini claims to sovereignty over Gulf islands claimed by Iran.42 However, such practices are not prevalent within the GCC itself, where states have repeatedly made territorial claims against their neighbours. Indeed, GCC members seem to have a higher inclination towards territorial disputes with other GCC members than with the organisation’s neighbours. For example, Qatar has clashed with both Saudi Arabia and Bahrain over competing territorial claims. In 1986, Qatari forces stormed an island claimed by Bahrain in response to what it claimed were Bahraini attempts to establish a military post there. In the event, it turned out that the installation being erected on the island was a GCC project. Bahrain claimed that the Qatari attack constituted the use force against ‘Bahraini territory’ and insisted that it was ‘a departure from the principles of good-neighbourliness on which the

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GCC is based’.43 Qatar’s disputes with Saudi Arabia have been both territorial and ideological. Although their territorial disputes have not involved the use of force both sides do prepare for such contingencies and in the second half of the 1990s the reformist Qatari government had also fostered closer ties with the US, which Saudi Arabia believes threatens its leadership role in the region and consensus in the GCC.44 The GCC has not developed a comprehensive network of practical rules and purposive norms. Although there is a considerable degree of interaction between ruling elites this has not always been positive in terms of fostering cooperation. The GCC system proffers few guidelines about how member states should conduct their relationships. The GCC’s pragmatism means that cooperation is ad hoc. Although the Council was created to protect and legitimise monarchism it has not been proactive in the creation of purposive norms designed to achieve this. Instead, indications of moral unity tend to be expressed in response to external events such as the Israeli occupation of Palestine and the Iran-Iraq war, or external challenges to GCC states such as the Iraqi invasion of Kuwait and the border disputes with Iran. This suggests that although the GCC was founded to preserve particular types of regimes, its members have found it easier to respond to threats that are seen to have external origins than those that originate locally. The weakness of the sovereignty norm in the Gulf region and the existence of powerful alternatives such as Pan-Arabism has mitigated against the articulation of the types of practical rules that shape the ‘ASEAN way’ (see Chapter 5). In the absence of such rules, GCC states have identified the key threats and challenges that they confront as originating beyond the Council’s borders.

Norms, identities, interests and the GCC’s neighbours As noted earlier, the GCC states share a significant degree of common identity with their neighbours. Although state consolidation means that the resonance of these ideas is much less pronounced today than they were 20 years ago they remain significant transnational forces that help to shape the relationships between GCC members and their neighbours. It should be remembered that these transnational identities are not merely the product of recent expansionist ideologies. Less than a hundred years ago much of the Arab world was part of a single political entity – the Ottoman Empire – and had been for some centuries. Whilst pan-Arabism and pan-Islamism ought to facilitate cooperative politics between GCC members and their members, they

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have also exacerbated divisions. For instance, the GCC was perceived by states such as Egypt as an attempt to drive a wedge between rich and poor Arab states. Pan-Arabism evolved in the latter half of the nineteenth century. Its immediate causes were the decline of the Ottoman Empire and the centre’s loss of authority over the periphery; the penetration of European culture, ideas and empires in the region and the so-called ‘Arab renaissance’, a cultural awakening reminiscent of European nationalism that promoted the Arab language. Ironically, this ‘renaissance’ was partly inspired by European missionaries and intellectuals who spread Arabic ideas throughout the region through the print media.45 The central tenet of Pan-Arabism is that the Arab people are a single nation bound together by ties of language, religion, culture and history. During decolonisation many regional theories assumed that the spread of state sovereignty would be superseded by both political and economic integration. Several ambitious programmes were launched to achieve these goals. Egypt and Syria attempted to give practical expression to Nasserist and Baathist ideologies in 1958 when they established the United Arab Republic (UAR). They insisted that the uniting of these two socialist Islamic republics marked ‘a first step towards the realization of complete Arab unity’.46 Later that year, Iraq and Jordan responded by creating their own political union. This union was shortlived, ending when the Baath Party overthrew the Iraqi monarchy. The UAR suffered a similar fate, falling apart in the 1960s. In 1971, Egypt, Libya and Syria attempted to revive pan-Arabism by forming the Federation of Arab Republics but this proved similarly short-lived. Other initiatives included the creation of the pan-Arab Monetary Fund (AMF) in 1976, which aimed to provide an economic basis for Arab political union.47 The failure of these efforts prompted Fouad Ajami to famously proclaim the ‘end of Pan-Arabism’ in 1979.48 As Ian Lustick put it, ‘Middle Eastern history is riddled with parochial hostilities, meaningless schemes for mergers and federations and a raft of regimes strong enough to suppress dissidents but too weak and insecure to risk intimate forms of cooperation with their neighbours’.49 In many ways, although the GCC’s rhetoric has been couched in terms of its contribution to wider Arab unity, its formation was a reflection of the end of pan-Arabism though it is important to note that none of the GCC’s members were party to these broader schemes. This was primarily because decolonisation came late to many of the GCC’s smaller

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members and because the brand of Islamic republicanism that provided the unifying principle constituted a major ideological challenge to Gulf monarchism. As we noted earlier, the formation of the GCC was used to exclude states such as Iraq, Syria, Yemen and Egypt from Gulf politics. It also provided a vehicle that allowed the oil rich states of the Gulf to avoid Arab-wide economic processes. Rather than viewing the distribution of oil wealth throughout the Arab world as a duty, the GCC has allowed its member states to describe the distribution of wealth to other states as acts of beneficence and altruism and to demand political returns such as respect for state borders, acknowledgement of the legitimacy of monarchy and tacit admission of the Gulf states’ sovereignty over ‘their’ oil. The GCC has permitted its members to be identified as a separate sub-region by academic literature and global policy-makers and has therefore allowed its members to forge their own relations with states such as the US. The close relationship between states such as Saudi Arabia, Oman and (after 1991) Kuwait with the US has been a significant source of discord in the Arab world. Saudi Arabia has been frequently criticised for permitting troops from the ‘infidel’ US to be stationed in the ‘holy land’. The key point here is that the GCC allowed its members to identify with a transnational political community that they see as prior to the Arab community. This has allowed the GCC states to pursue policies widely seen as contrary to ‘Arab interests’ and to legitimise them with reference to the GCC. This led to what Sayigh has described as the GCC’s ‘seclusion’ from broader Arab politics.50 It also helped to expose the sharp differences between the types of identities, religious practices and political systems espoused by Arab unifiers such as Nasser and those protected by the GCC. These differences are crystallised in the GCC and given political salience in the boundaries between the Council and its neighbours. Although GCC and non-GCC Arabs share much in the way of common identity, the Council’s primary function is to legitimise the differences. This is not simply the ‘fault’ of the GCC states, however. Instead, it was a response to the articulation of expansionist and particularist visions of Arab identity that masqueraded as common pan-Arabism. Moreover, powerful states in the West supported the creation of boundaries within the Arab world, particularly when they cordoned off the oil rich Gulf from the rest. After the Second World War, US geographers identified ‘Southwest Asia’ as a region that encompassed the Gulf and Pakistan but not the rest of the Arab world. Likewise, in

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1958, John Foster Dulles warned that ‘if the policy on the supply of oil from the Arab states to Western Europe were made uniform as a result of the unification of the Arab states the threat to the vital oil supply of Western Europe from the near East would become critical’.51 Western states therefore treated the Gulf monarchies differently to other Arab states, providing a context in which monarchy could continue, by supplying arms and permitting a form of ‘oil politics’ that often shut out Western corporations through the assertion of sovereignty over oil. Significantly, both the US and UK maintained a tacit ‘over the horizon’ security guarantee in the Gulf. This changed somewhat after the 1990–1 Gulf War with the semi-permanent deployment of US forces in Kuwait and Saudi Arabia, though both deployments were at the request of the host governments. This allowed the Gulf monarchies to insulate themselves from many of the worst aspects of Cold War politics and adopt independent positions on post-Gulf War political issues. The GCC’s norms and ideologies therefore constitute and reify differences in identity between insiders and outsiders. These differences are products of both the ideologies that underpin the Gulf Arab monarchies and a broader global context that allowed them to flourish. As a result, GCC states and their neighbours often have different worldviews and competing interests. This can be seen in the adoption of strikingly different approaches to the questions of Palestine and Iraq. As noted earlier, the Palestine question provides an, albeit limited, purposive content to the GCC. However, GCC states have often taken different positions to those adopted by other Arab states. Prior to 1991, the GCC’s position on the question was more pragmatic than ideological: all GCC states had significant Palestinian communities and the monarchies feared that the continuing conflict in Palestine would fuel extremism at home. Since the early 1980s, Saudi Arabia has put forward a number of peace plans. King Fahd’s plans in the early 1980s were rent asunder by internecine strife within Palestine and the outbreak of civil war in Lebanon, which was partially caused by Syria’s support for more radical organisations such as Hamas and Hizbollah. Similarly in 2001–2, a Saudi peace plan failed to receive widespread support from either other Arab states or the broader international society.52 Finally, whereas most Arab states have identified the close relationship between Israel and the US as a key facet of the conflict, GCC states have allowed US troops to be stationed on their soil and have purchased significant amounts of arms from Israel’s most significant ally.

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It is perhaps unsurprising that the GCC and the wider Arab world have adopted different positions on the Iraq question. Not only did Baathism constitute an ideological challenge to monarchism, but Saddam Hussein’s regime invaded and annexed Kuwait in 1990 and threatened to attack the other Gulf Arab monarchies. The GCC was not alone in the region in supporting the 1991 Gulf War coalition. Syria and Egypt, amongst others, also participated. However, the GCC continued to support the sanctions regime in the 1990s and allowed the dwindling coalition to use its air bases and air space to conduct attacks on Iraq in 1993 and 1998 and patrol the no-fly zone. They did so in the face of mounting Arab criticism. The two principal reasons for their support were continuing fears of Iraqi attack and a persistent belief that the ease with which Iraq seized Kuwait in 1990 was indicative of the GCC’s vulnerability and the need to maintain security ties with the US.53 The GCC’s relationship with the US is both a reflection and source of competing interests between the GCC and other Arab states. The relationship is based on a significant number of shared interests such as oil, trade and arms. The US economy is dependent on the secure supply of reasonably priced oil from the Gulf. GCC economies and states are dependent on markets for their oil products and access to US weapons and security systems. The GCC’s perception that the US rather than their Arab neighbours could be relied upon was greatly enhanced by the US’ response to the Iraqi invasion of Kuwait in 1991.54 This relationship provides an important source of differentiation and discord between the GCC and its Arab neighbours. The relationship between the GCC and US is itself troubled, however. The US’ new emphasis on human rights and democratisation is problematic because the GCC states are not democratic and do not subscribe to Western conceptions of human rights. In 2003, many GCC states were reluctant to support ‘regime change’ in Iraq for fear of the precedent it would set for them. Moreover, although the GCC adopts a more moderate approach to Palestine than other Arab states, continuing US support for Israel is a major bone of contention. In the post-September 11 world the US has been perceived as increasingly ‘anti-Islamic’, exacerbating the stark identity differences between the US and the GCC. Thus, although the GCC-US relationship is one of the key factors in carving out a border between the GCC and its immediate neighbours, this is a shaky relationship based on contingent pragmatism and economic interdependence rather than shared identities.

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It is not surprising that the GCC has adopted a realist view of security whereby threats to regimes and the GCC way of life primarily emanate from outside the security community. There are ideological clashes with outsiders, identities that differ in important respects, and competing interests. Moreover, these ideational threats have produced physical threats in the form of Yemeni support for the Dhofar rebellion in Oman, the Iraqi invasion of Kuwait and threat to Saudi Arabia, and Iranian support for Islamic revolutionaries throughout the region. Although these concerns predominate, the GCC has not tried to insulate itself from realist security politics on the inside. As we observed in the previous section, the Council has not articulated a strong set of constitutive norms and neither have its members completely rejected realist security politics in their relations with each other. The GCC has legitimised the externalisation of threat and has permitted collective action to address those threats whilst at the same time failing to deal with challenges that emerge from within the group. Rather than taking on agency itself, the GCC has helped to open a space for members to conduct their own international politics and has built a wall between them and other Arab states that enables them to do so in the context of problematic sovereignty discussed earlier.55

GCC institutions and communities Although the GCC has not matured as much as the Southeast Asian security community, it started life with ambitious plans for regional institutionalisation. The GCC’s ruling body is the Supreme Council, composed of the heads of state of all six members. Each member has a single vote and substantive decisions are taken on the basis of unanimity. In cases of disputes between the members, the Supreme Council may constitute a ‘Disputes Settlement Board’ with the intention of mediating between the disputants. This mechanism has only been used rarely. Below the Supreme Council is the Ministerial Council, which is the primary policy-making organ of the GCC. Those policies are implemented by the GCC’s secretariat, which is based in the Council’s large headquarters in Riyadh. The GCC secretariat initiates its own studies and reviews, formulates policies, and establishes and hosts committees that investigate practical options for integration.56 The GCC’s Secretary-General heads the secretariat. The secretariat has over 300 staff (the headquarters has facilities for many more) divided into a number of technical divisions.57

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The institutional capacity of the GCC far exceeds the actual level of institutionalisation. In practice, the security community has not developed into a tightly-coupled community built on heightened levels of cooperation and the central institutions have not moved much beyond their state in the early 1980s. Rather than following the paths laid down by the GCC’s committee system, cooperation between member states has tended to create its own institutional arrangements on an ad hoc basis. This, of course, causes problems of transparency and accountability witnessed by Qatar’s assault on buildings that were part of the GCC project that Qatar should have known about. This ad hoc cooperation has focused on two areas in particular: military cooperation and economic integration. Military cooperation. Although defence matters were not explicitly referred to when the GCC was founded, most analysts agree that it was the GCC’s common military vulnerabilities that provided the catalyst for cooperation. From the early 1980s, GCC members cooperated to construct a Rapid Deployment Force (RDF) that could enhance the security of the region as a whole.58 These efforts began as the ink was still drying on the GCC Charter. In 1982, GCC leaders agreed to launch two joint military projects: the construction of a large air base in Bahrain and providing a grant to Bahrain to enable it to purchase fighter aircraft.59 A year later, GCC leaders began intensive negotiations about the possibility of building a common defence industry that would create a regional manufacturing capability and encourage member states to procure interoperable armaments. These negotiations foundered, however, because members could not agree on the ownership and production of such an industry or the most appropriate defence posture. The most significant aspect of defence cooperation was the creation of a joint force. In 1983, the GCC six cooperated in joint military exercises labelled ‘Peninsula Shield’, which encompassed air, sea, and land forces.60 The exercises spawned a number of subsequent bilateral agreements and exercises. For instance, in the mid-1980s, Saudi Arabia and Oman conducted joint patrols of the Strait of Hormuz. Defence cooperation moved forward still further with the creation of a combined force with a unified command. To demonstrate their resolve, the GCC launched a second Peninsula Shield exercise (Peninsula Shield II) in 1984. These exercises were much larger than their predecessor, comprising some 10,000 troops. A year later, the RDF moved into its new base in Hafr al-Batin and GCC states began discussions about expanding defence cooperation to incorporate air defence.

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This proved to be the highpoint of defence cooperation. Progress towards interoperability was stalled as member states purchased arms from many states. Whilst Saudi Arabia bought arms from the US and UK (not necessarily interoperable themselves), Kuwait purchased Soviet arms. During Peninsula Shield II, some contingents refused to take orders from superior officers from other states. GCC states committed very few troops to the RDF. Saudi Arabia jealously guarded its air defence capabilities and refused to share its assets or information with others. These weaknesses were ruthlessly exposed by the Iraqi invasion of Kuwait. Not only were the Kuwaiti armed forces incapable of offering even token resistance, the RDF was not even deployed to defend it. Although the force did participate in the subsequent US-led liberation, it was not a particularly significant contribution. The vast bulk of the overall Saudi Arabian contribution to the coalition was marshalled directly through the US-led coalition, not through the GCC. In the 1990s, the GCC witnessed a volte face on defence cooperation. States such as Kuwait and Oman fostered closer ties with the US. The RDF was reduced to a symbolic shell force, with a mere 200 or so nonSaudis based at Hafr al-Batin. At the beginning of the 21st century, however, there were signs of renewed security cooperation and an increasing reluctance to rely on the US. The election of George W. Bush in 2000 caused significant pause for thought in the GCC. Bush offered almost unconditional support to Israel and responded to the September 11 terrorist attack by launching an armed campaign against the ‘axis of evil’, starting with Iraq. The Bush administration also adopted a decidedly anti-Islamic tone. In response, GCC states began to move away from partnership towards renewed integration. In May 2001, senior GCC leaders agreed to renew their efforts to build a ‘fully integrated GCC defence structure’ which would have the express aim of eliminating the region’s reliance on the West.61 Economic integration. Whilst defence may have been the hidden subtext behind the formation of the GCC, economic integration was the primary publicly expressed goal. GCC states had established loose networks of economic cooperation prior to the Council’s establishment but such cooperation was (and is) inhibited by the dependency on oil. Oil economies are based on the exportation of oil and oil products to the West. The revenue that this produces is then used to purchase goods from the West. The GCC states therefore have little basis for economic integration. They do not have strong manufacturing industries and less than 15 percent of their overall trade is conducted within the

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GCC.62 The GCC’s economic integration plans were based on recognition that oil was not a permanent resource and that in order to maintain sustainable growth in the long term, all the region’s economies would have to diversify. Economic integration, it was hoped, would provide the basis for such diversification. Immediately after the signing of the GCC Charter, the members promulgated the UEA. Comprehensive as the UEA was, it did not contain a timetable for implementation. As a result, throughout the 1980s and 1990s individual states continued to give preference to nationally produced products either through the maintenance of differential tariffs or through state subsidies. Differential tariffs were tolerated in the case of Oman, because it does not have oil wealth as vast as the other members and its economy is more dependent on the export of agricultural products.63 The GCC was also unable to reach consensus on oil production and pricing. Both Kuwait and Saudi Arabia have deliberately overproduced to increase their market share but this has suppressed the price of oil, impacting significantly on members that are not so well endowed. As with military cooperation, therefore, economic integration is a stalled process in which words have not been matched by deeds. There has also been a recent resurgence in the idea of economic integration. In 2001, Crown Prince Abdullah of Saudi Arabia admitted that ‘we are not ashamed to say that we have not been able to achieve the objectives we sought when we set up the GCC twenty years ago…we have not reached a common market…our too great attachment to the traditional concept of sovereignty is the biggest stumbling block hindering unification efforts’.64 Taking heed of the Prince’s words, the GCC agreed to create a timetable for the establishment of a customs union by 2003 and the adoption of a common currency by 2010. They also agreed to peg their currencies to the US dollar by 2005 as a prelude to a single currency. Both principal spheres of cooperation have therefore followed a similar trajectory. Immediately after the GCC’s creation there were significant moves towards integrated defence systems and economies. Ambitious plans were made but never fully acted upon, as individual states reacted differently to the crises that confronted them. However, at the beginning of the 21st century, the US alliance option began to look increasingly problematic as the Bush administration combined military action with anti-Islamic rhetoric. Such rhetoric increased the domestic costs of allying with the US and prompted a renewed interest in furthering GCC integration.

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Epistemic and transversal communities. The failure of economic integration and defence cooperation has stymied the development of regional epistemic communities. Epistemic communities do exist but they tend to extend beyond the Gulf Arab region and are not necessarily inclusive of all GCC members. For instance, the failure of the RDF means that although there are transnational epistemic communities in defence these tend to be ad hoc and bilateral rather than communitywide. Although there are groups of experts who work on common oil issues through organisations such as OPEC and OAPEC (Organisation of Arabic Petroleum Exporting Countries) these also stop short of being region-wide because Kuwait, for instance, is not a member of these organisations and does not recognise externally imposed restrictions on its oil pricing and production. To the extent that they exist, therefore, the region’s epistemic communities tend to be embedded within the transversal communities of the region’s civil societies. Unlike Southeast Asia, the Gulf Arab monarchies have not formed tight knit communities of elites. One such group is a network of intellectuals known as Nadwat alTanmiya li Duwal al-Jazira al-Arabiyya al-Muntija li al-Naft (Development Panel for the Oil Producing States of the Arab Peninsula). Nadwat alTanmiya is a network of intellectuals dedicated to the creation of an intellectual and scientific environment conducive to cooperation and development.65 Through a series of annual meetings, regular workshops and functional activities, Nadwat al-Tanmiya has been responsible for the identification of common problems and interests and the articulation of potential common approaches to questions such as security, development and education. Throughout the 1990s, when the GCC integration programme was in sharp decline, Nadwat al-Tanmiya and similar groups such as al-Multaqa al-watani al-khaliji (Gulf National Forum) were responsible for keeping the ideas alive and on the political agenda. The Gulf region’s transversal communities are predicated on the traditional merchant class. Before the establishment of the states system, trade between merchants criss-crossed the region. Although the centrality of the merchant class to Gulf economies has declined considerably since the oil boom, the merchant class has been joined by a burgeoning middle class, almost exclusively employed by the state.66 The merchant class has been responsible for the creation of clubs, professional associations, volunteer organisations and women’s groups throughout the region, many of which identify with the GCC as a whole.67 As Barnett and Gregory Gause III pointed out, it was these

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new middle class groups, united by common language, religion, economic status and political system that maintained the idea of Gulf integration during the 1990s when their leaders moved away from such ideas.68 The impact of such groups and ideas can be understood in terms of the ‘two caravans’ analogy suggested by Barnett and Gregory Gause III. In the 1990s, the state level caravan was moving away from regionalism towards unilateralist and bilateralism. However, the societal commonalities described earlier created a second caravan that emerged from the increasingly significant middle classes in the region. This caravan maintained ideas about regional cooperation and integration and a common Gulf identity. Such ideas provided the basis for renewed integrationism at the start of the 21st century.

Institutions, communities and outsiders What effect has this process of stalled integration had on the relationship between GCC members and their neighbours? Intuitively, one would expect that during the initial period of integration, ideational and physical boundaries were created between insiders and outsiders. During the retreat from integration in the 1990s, one would similarly expect to have seen the salience of these boundaries decline, only to be renewed at the beginning of the new decade with the revival of interest in integration. At the outset, Bahrain’s foreign minister insisted that the GCC ‘is not an alliance against any party’ but, rather, was interested in promoting the ‘Gulfanization’ of regional security.69 It is certainly true that the GCC represented an attempt to isolate the Gulf from the bifurcated global politics of the Cold War, brought to the region by US ideas such as the CENTO alliance and Soviet actions such as the invasion of Afghanistan.70 GCC states have maintained important linkages across these boundaries through participation in OPEC, the Arab League and the Organisation of Islamic Conference (OIC). However, as recent debates about Iraq and earlier debates about the distribution of oil wealth indicate, GCC states tend to place their common interests above those of the wider region. They have, for instance, steadfastly refused to contemplate the creation of regional economic structures for the distribution of oil wealth, preferring instead to distribute wealth bilaterally in return for political favours. More recently, GCC states have clashed with their Arab League neighbours over the twin issues of US military deployments and the invasion of Iraq. In 2003, the Libyan leader,

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Gaddafi, infamously described the Kuwaitis and Saudis as ‘monkeys’ because of their support for the US.71 Although the GCC has not been used to present common positions to the Arab League and OIC, and GCC members often take different positions in these forums, the Council’s collective legitimisation and identification functions help to mark out the GCC states from other Arab states. In wider regional organisations, Gulf Arab monarchies tend to identify with each other more than they identify with the Arab world more generally. There have been brief glimpses of alternative approaches. Soon after its formation, the GCC levelled the idea of a ‘GCC + 2’ security relationship whereby Egypt and Syria would permanently station forces in GCC countries to defend them and deter aggression by states such as Iraq and Iran. The plan envisaged the deployment of some 20,000 troops which would be funded by the GCC. However, the plan never got off the ground largely because of Saudi and Omani disputes with Egypt over Yemen, and Kuwait’s insistence on the idea of regional independence and neutrality. At their 2001 summit, GCC members took the unprecedented step of agreeing in principle to include Yemen in the Council, something that had been expressly ruled out when the GCC was established.72 Whilst Yemeni membership remains some way off, the fact these moves came in tandem with initiatives to establish a common currency and reinvigorate economic cooperation suggests that if the GCC were to move away from a preoccupation with regime security, narrowly defined, the logic of economic integration may weaken the political veracity of boundaries between insiders and outsiders, making the GCC more of an ‘integrator’ than ‘regional fortress’. Where the GCC has acted as a collective unit to foster relations with outsiders, it has tended to focus on relations with global powers and economic partners such as the US, Western Europe and Russia rather than regional neighbours. Relations between the GCC and Western Europe first took the form of a loose programme of dialogue, initiated by the European Parliament in 1981.73 The EEC included Gulf states in its Third World development programmes, which raised eyebrows both in Europe and the Gulf. For its part, the GCC proposed an agreement to allow its industries free entry into European markets, a request rejected by the Europeans. The GCC-Europe dialogue produced its first results in 1988 with an agreement that did not include trade, but did include a commitment by the EEC to assist GCC states with the diversification of their economies. In the early 1990s, subsequent agreements insisted that a prerequisite to further trade and economic

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cooperation was the full implementation of the UEA, including the creation of a customs union. Just as GCC integration stalled after the Gulf War, so too did GCC-EU relations. In 1998, relations were reestablished in the form of a GCC/EU joint ministerial council, through which GCC states again pressed for access to European markets. Once again, however, the EU insisted that the establishment of common trade practices within the GCC itself was a vital precondition to any EU-GCC trade agreement.74 Interestingly, therefore, a key impetus for renewed efforts to establish an integrated GCC area has emerged from outsider expectations, and the EU’s insistence that it will only deal with regions that have common trade barriers and internal markets. If the GCC’s single currency plan does come to fruition, it may place further distance between its members and their immediate neighbours but may also bring them closer to more powerful members of the global neighbourhood like the EU. The GCC’s relations with the US and Russia have developed down a rather different path. Its establishment was sharply attacked by the Soviet Union, which believed it to be a US-inspired initiative to exert its hegemony over the region. However, since the end of the Cold War, Russia has been the recipient of considerable quantities of bilateral aid from GCC states. For its part, the US was also wary about the new organisation because it did not want the GCC establishing common positions that might contradict US interests in the region and because it believed that if the GCC matured it could constitute a major threat to the web of bilateral agreements it had concluded with the six states.75 However, because the ambitious plans for GCC integration did not come to fruition, this threat to US interests has not been realised. The US therefore bases its relations in the region on a series of bilateral ties, though it has participated in common trade talks with the GCC. As with the GCC’s relations with the EU, the central focus of the talks has been the opening up of US markets and the creation of US investment opportunities for Gulf capital. There has been little progress on the former and considerable progress on the latter, opening the way to around $200 billion worth of Gulf investment in the US. The GCC as an institution has therefore had two quite different effects on relations between insiders and outsiders. Within the regional politics of the Arab world, it has created an important source of differentiation between the Gulf region and the wider region. GCC members identify more with each other than with the Arab world and, as we saw earlier, many of the most prescient threats and challenges to the GCC are perceived to come from other Arab and Islamic states. The GCC’s

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relations with Europe and the US have been quite different, however. The EU has indicated that closer relations between the two is actually dependent on the fostering of closer ties within the Council and the full implementation of the UEA. On the other hand, the Council has not to date replaced or even seriously threatened the US’ web of bilateral relations in the region, though that might change in the aftermath of the US-led invasion of Iraq. Transversal relations. At the institutional level, the GCC helps to reify boundaries whilst encouraging cooperative relations with more distant states and organisations. At the level of transversal relations, however, this picture is almost completely reversed. There are a number of society-to-society relations that extend beyond the boundaries of the GCC. Amongst the most significant are the merchant classes described earlier. Merchant groups and the proliferating network of Chambers of Commerce extend beyond the GCC’s borders through Jordan, Syria and Egypt in particular. These Chambers have cooperated to put pressure on their respective governments to ease trade restrictions and have worked together on common projects, such as the reconstruction of Kuwait after 1991.76 A second important aspect of transversal relations between the GCC and its neighbours is pan-Islam and the annual pilgrimage to Mecca in Saudi Arabia. Many Islamic teachers insist that all Muslims must make at least one pilgrimage to Mecca – Islam’s holiest place – in their lifetime. Every year, hundreds of thousands of pilgrims make the trip. This places Saudi Arabia at the very centre of Islamic life and helps to foster direct relations between Saudis and others. However, the increased interactions caused by the Mecca pilgrimage have not always improved relations, as the Iranian takeover of the central mosque in 1979 demonstrates. In this case, heightened interaction between proponents of very different types of Islam only served to exacerbate animosity. A third source of transversal relations between insiders and outsiders lies in the GCC states’ extensive use of foreign workers. The most extreme example of this is Kuwait. At the time of the Iraqi invasion in 1990, around 80 percent of the population in Kuwait were noncitizens. In total, around four million non-GCC Arabs, mostly from Yemen, Egypt, Jordan and Palestine lived and worked in GCC states. As Gregory Gause II argued, ‘the economic and social consequences of the migration phenomenon of the 1970s and 1980s were enormous. Workers’ remittances played a major role in boosting their home economies, and the migration outlet helped mitigate serious problems

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of unemployment and underemployment…the level of interdependence among the Arab states reflected in labour migration rose dramatically in the period after 1970’.77 Although this new level of interdependence assisted both the GCC states, by filling significant gaps in their workforce, and the workers’ state of origin, it did not lead to more harmonious politics and if anything increased divisions between insiders and outsiders. Migrant workers were poorly paid (by GCC standards) and had no employment, immigration or citizenship rights. When Iraq invaded Kuwait, many Yemeni and Palestinian migrant workers welcomed the invasion. After the liberation, almost a million such workers paid the price and were expelled from GCC states. Communities of migrant workers have also provided fertile ground for the types of Islamic radicalism that the Gulf Arab monarchies most fear. To respond to this challenge, in the 1990s all GCC states have developed policies designed to significantly reduce their dependence on migrant Arab workers. Although migrant workers form a significant transversal community, it appears that the more that GCC and non-GCC Arabs have got to know each other, the more they have grown to dislike and mistrust each other. Importantly, none of these three sources of transversal community are intimately linked to the specifics of GCC integration. As a result, the stalling of the integration process in the 1990s did not noticeably impact upon the effects that these communities had on the construction and maintenance of boundaries and shared identities. Bilateral relations. The most significant relationships between GCC states and their neighbours remain bilateral. As noted earlier, when GCC states take common positions in forums such as the Arab League they do not do so in the name of the GCC or even because they have discussed the issue in caucus. Rather, the GCC is best understood as a manifestation of differences between Gulf Arab monarchies and their neighbours and a source of legitimisation. Many of these bilateral relations have already been discussed. They include bilateral security relationships with the US and UK: all GCC members have such agreements with either or both of these states. Bilateral relations with other Arab states are shaped by the donation of aid in return for political favours. Such favours usually involve not speaking out against monarchism, not openly endorsing centralised Arab systems for the distribution of wealth, and not supporting radical Islamic groups.78 By and large, therefore bilateral relations are framed by realist security politics. In relation to the US, GCC states ally with a global superpower in recogni-

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tion of its military superiority and essentially offer access to reasonably priced oil in return for military security guarantees. In relation to other Arab states, GCC states effectively ‘buy’ security and the veneer of legitimacy through foreign aid donations. Both strategies reinforce the distinction between insiders and outsiders. Importantly, because these are essentially bilateral not collective activities, the distinctions and identities that they reinforced did not noticeably erode during the GCC’s retreat from integration. Security and boundaries. Security at the GCC’s boundaries is purchased through the use of realist techniques. This suggests that GCC states clearly believe that beyond the Council’s borders lay an international anarchy guided only by the principle of self-help. There is plenty of evidence to support such a worldview, not least the Iran-Iraq war, Iraq’s invasion of Kuwait, the US-led invasion of Iraq and the continuing Palestine conflict. However, the GCC has not been able to create a solid internal community predicated on economic and military integration. This creates an important paradox whereby the GCC states clearly hold common identities and common identification and this has not evolved into the creation of a community that displays ‘dependable expectations of reasonable change’. Somewhat counterintuitively, therefore, the stalling of the integration process in the 1990s did not weaken the political significance of insider-outsider distinctions. GCC monarchies continued to believe that ‘outsiders’ threatened their legitimacy and physical security and looked to alternative solutions – such as alliance with the US. Nevertheless, throughout this period, in Arab-wide forums GCC states continued to identify more with each other than with the Pan-Arabic ideas. As the US alternative becomes more unattractive and with the EU continuing to encourage regional integration, it is quite possible that the GCC community may begin maturing or may develop into a tightly-coupled security community. Given the preponderance of ‘insider-outsider’ identities, it is possible that such maturation could turn the GCC into a ‘regional fortress’.

Conclusion: Identities, ideologies and the durability of boundaries The GCC provides a unique case of a security community in decline. In the 1990s, it retreated from its earlier commitment to economic and military integration. At the end of the decade, however, integration

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was given renewed emphasis. The GCC’s experience can therefore tell us important things about the evolution of insider-outsider relations. These insights are also shaped by the fact that the GCC has not developed a system of norms and rules to guide relations between its members – due to the context of ‘problematic sovereignty’ discussed earlier – and neither has it afforded an important role to the bureaucratic infrastructure it created at the beginning of the 1990s. The first important insight is that the retreat from integration did not noticeably loosen the identity bonds between GCC members and decrease the political significance of the boundary between insiders and outsiders. Although there were a number of significant disputes between member states, in wider regional forums the GCC states continued to differentiate themselves, and be differentiated by others, from the wider Middle Eastern region. Throughout the 1990s, GCC states placed their own perceived interests ahead of collective interests, but also placed GCC interests ahead of wider Arab interests. One of the most likely explanations for this is that since the GCC’s creation, the world beyond its borders has closely resembled the types of anarchy predicted by realists. Outsiders such as Iran, Iraq, Syria and Egypt have all fostered ideologies that challenge the legitimacy of conservative monarchism in important ways. As a result, no amount of discord between the monarchies was likely to break the common identities and ideologies that lay at the heart of their regimes. The republican, Islamic and socialist regimes on the other side of the GCC’s borders are so different to the GCC ideal that the shared identities gathered around it proved resilient. Moreover, this anarchy also produced almost constant armed conflict in the GCC’s neighbourhood. Second, the importance and resilience of identities point once again to the key distinction between security communities and particular institutions. It is likely that the common identities and ideational boundaries would have created similar outcomes in terms of identification, pan-Arabism, and security politics had the GCC not been formed. As with ASEAN, therefore, the key factor in shaping insider-outsider relations was not the veracity or effectiveness of institutions but the compatibility of insider norms and identities and the norms and identities held dear by outsiders. In the ASEAN case, the norms of pluralist international society were compatible with ideas held dear by its neighbours. In the GCC case, there was an important disjuncture between the monarchist and conservative Islamic norms adhered to by the GCC states and the republican and more radical Islamic ideas held by its neighbours. The significance of the GCC lay in

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the provision of collective legitimisation and a corporate identity for the monarchies. These twin functions alongside the perception of perpetual anarchy outside the GCC and the perceived utility of realist security politics that flows from this, helps to explain why it is that a loosely-coupled security community that has failed to accomplish much in the way of common action and whose members have, from time to time, considered using force against other members has nevertheless created and maintained an important boundary between ‘insiders’ and ‘outsiders’. The creation of the boundary was itself difficult because of the existence of powerful alternatives to monarchism and state sovereignty. Once created through the acknowledgement of societal, political and economic commonalities, the identities and interests on which this boundary was founded proved to be resilient. Counter-intuitively, the security community whose status as a security community is most questionable has served to create powerful boundaries between insiders and outsiders and although it has not completely replaced realist security politics within, it has certainly reproduced and magnified realism at its boundaries. In the European case, the existence of institutions that crossed the boundaries between members of one organisation and members of another meant that after the Cold War realist security politics were not reproduced at the community’s boundaries, largely because it proved difficult where those boundaries lay. In the Southeast Asian case, the fact that the norms of the ‘ASEAN way’ sat easily with the norms of pluralist international society eased insider-outsider relations. In the case of the GCC, there are neither strong institutions nor common norms that extend beyond its boundaries.

7 Asymmetry, Security and Trade: The North American Security Community

Elements of the North American security community provide the earliest examples of states forging ‘dependable expectations of peaceful change’ in their relations with others. Two of the three members of this community, the US and Canada, have shared the world’s longest undefended border since the 1870s.1 In the same period, however, USMexican relations were characterised by repeated military interventions and the militarisation of the border region. These different experiences inhibited the institutionalisation of political relations in the region until the 1994 NAFTA agreement ushered in a new era of economic integration. Because of these antecedent trends however, the North American security community cannot be attributed to the formalisation of trade arrangements through NAFTA, though the political processes associated with reaching and implementing the free trade agreement have contributed to the maturation of the security community. Because the formalisation of relations between the three states of North America (US, Canada, Mexico) took the form of a free trade agreement, its critics have been quick to insist that it represents a ‘regional fortress’. Realist analysts, for example, argue that the development of NAFTA was a response to the regionalisation of other parts of the world (most notably Europe and Southeast Asia) and the perceived need to compete with regional blocs.2 Liberal writers have tended to agree with this analysis, arguing that free trade agreements such as the NAFTA are inherently discriminatory to third states. Importantly, such writers argue that non-discriminatory options are possible through global institutions such as the UN or WTO. Viewed from this perspective, regionalisation and discrimination against non-member states is a product of particular political choices, not a functional response to the forces of globalisation.3 150

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These issues were brought into sharp relief by NAFTA because of the US’ dominant position in the global economy and the wider consequences that flowed from it choosing a regionalist rather than global path. Moreover, NAFTA marks a recent and rapid turn away from globalism towards regionalism by the state that provided the foundations for the Bretton Woods economic system until the 1970s and the new monetarist order that followed it. The question of whether the North American security community is, or will become, a ‘regional fortress’ or ‘global integrator’ is therefore a vital one, particularly in a post-September 11 era where the US is increasingly willing to act alone in pursuit of its perceived interests. This chapter follows the same pattern as the previous three. It begins with a brief overview of the evolution of the North American community before following the four stages of the framework outlined in Chapter 3. The North American security community is also an important case to study for our purposes for four additional reasons. First, the community is marked by stark asymmetries of power. In the late 19th and early 20th centuries, US hegemony over the wider American continent was underwritten by the Monroe Doctrine which effectively granted an exclusive right for the US to interfere in the domestic affairs of all the continent’s states. Such a doctrine was made possible by the material might of the US but, interestingly, was also underwritten by Canada.4 Today, US hegemony over its two neighbours provides one of the central characteristics of the North American security community. Importantly, both Canada and Mexico pursued NAFTA as a way of constraining the US. Second, unlike the security communities discussed in previous chapters, NAFTA is founded on three distinctly different bilateral relationships. As noted earlier, the US and Canada have one of the world’s most entrenched security communities, they share many cultural identities and interests, and common ideas about economics, politics and foreign policy. Most tellingly, they concluded a free trade agreement three years prior to the NAFTA.5 Within the context of the NAFTA negotiations, the US-Canadian relationship prompted almost no discussion in media or intellectual circles. In the economic sphere this was probably because the US and Canada already had integrated economies (Canada is the US’ largest trading partner). The absence of discussion in the security realm can be explained by the early formation of a security community between the two states and the fact that both are embedded in the North Atlantic relationship with Europe through NATO. Similarly, Canadian-Mexican relations have

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not proven problematic or controversial. Prior to 1994, Mexico ranked very low on the list of Canadian foreign policy objectives, with Canada preferring global (UN) or wider regional (OAS) initiatives to bilateral ties. On its part, Mexican foreign policy has often failed to distinguish between the US and Canada. US-Mexican relations are a different case altogether, however. Until recently, the US and Mexico differed on questions such as the relationship between intervention and sovereignty, the role of the state in the economy, and the importance of liberal democracy. Mexico has often been the only state to stand alongside Cuba in opposing US policy initiatives. At the same time, the US has perceived Mexico as an important source of societal threat. For instance, the border with Mexico is by far the largest port of entry for narcotics and illegal immigrants into the US. Thirdly, the North American security community comprises developed industrialised states with high levels of state capacity and a developing state that exhibits serious weaknesses in its capacity to perform particular functions. The Mexican government has been largely unable to stem the flood of narcotics and people across the border into the US, not through lack of will (though the movement of people does ease the welfare burden in Mexico) but primarily through lack of capacity. Drug dealers are able to pay large sums of money to persuade poorly paid state officials and security personnel to collaborate with smuggling operations. Finally, despite these stark differences it is important to note that there has been a marked convergence of interests and values in both North America and the wider American continent since the end of the Cold War. Between 1978 and 1991, 15 or 16 (depending on how you count) of the 20 countries in the region either returned to, or established, democratic and civilian governments.6 This rapid democratisation was accompanied by the spread of the so-called ‘Washington consensus’ on the importance of free trade, open markets and neoliberal economics throughout the region.7 However, it is important to note that many writers have suggested that the former development is largely a rhetorical shift and that the latter was forced upon the region’s states by their dependence on US loans.8 Moreover, in both of these areas Mexico has trailed a long way behind other states in the region such as Chile and Brazil. On the one hand, therefore, there is concern that NAFTA will produce a regional fortress by discriminating against non-members whilst on the other hand NAFTA’s neighbours are increasingly sharing the norms and ideas propounded by two of its members (US and Canada) whilst the third member (Mexico) is, in

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some important respects, not as ‘convergent’ as some non-members. The key question in ascertaining NAFTA’s relationship with its neighbours is whether its members prioritise the free trade agreement to such an extent that increasing convergence around the association’s professed liberal norms will fail to reshape the boundaries between insiders and outsiders. The answer to this question will also help to shed light on the wider global implications of NAFTA, which are also shaped by the extent to which its members pursue a regional path at odds with global structures of economic governance.

The North American community Although there is no North American equivalent to the ‘European idea’ or ‘ASEAN way’, principally because of the stark differences between the US and Canada on the one hand, and Mexico on the other, it is possible to discern the development of common interests that help to bind these states together. Not least, the NAFTA itself was only possible because of a convergence in the domestic politics and strategies adopted by each of the states. Prior to the establishment of NAFTA each state underwent a ‘North American reorientation’. As Stephen Randall put it, ‘a combination of national security and commercial interest have served since the 19th century to push Mexico, Canada and the US towards a higher degree of economic integration’.9 These common interests were either manufactured by the US to suit its own security and economic interests, or by the two other states to manage their relations with their superpower neighbour. In 1992, for instance, Robert Zoellick – former US under-secretary of state for economic affairs – insisted that: ‘NAFTA is a rare strategic opportunity to secure, strengthen, and develop our continental base, economically and politically, in a way that will promote America’s foreign policy agenda, our economic strength and leadership, and global influence’.10 There is little doubt that significant impetus was given to the American continental free trade agenda in Washington by integrationist moves in Europe and Asia. On their part, Canadian and Mexican foreign policies are primarily driven by their relations with the US. The material power of the US makes it difficult for these states to reject Washington’s ideas. That does not mean that they always have to accept them. For much of the Cold War period, Mexico attempted to foster closer ties with other Latin American states and maintained a somewhat ‘frosty’ relationship with the US. Whilst it is important to recognise the centrality of US hegemony in manufacturing convergence in North America, material power alone

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cannot explain it. On the one hand, explanations based on material power can tell us very little about the relationship between the US and Canada because their relative military capabilities have been an irrelevance for over a century. On the other hand, such explanations overlook the extent to which North American interests are forged by the direct social relationships that transcend the region’s boundaries and the relatively high degree of population intermingling (i.e. large numbers of Canadians live or work in the US, large numbers of Americans live or work in Canada and an even larger number of Mexicans live or work in the US). Although majority opinion in all three states suggests that people do not believe that the North American community will develop into something akin to the European security community, largely because the NAFTA is a commercial rather than social agreement,11 there is also evidence that the high degree of interaction between citizens of the three states has helped to forge common interests and identities. For example, in the NAFTA negotiations the issues of environmental protection and labour rights prompted groups in all three states to work together to lobby for the addition of ‘social’ clauses. There are, however, some important limits to the development of common identities and interests. Perhaps the most significant impediments are North American perceptions of their neighbours – particularly their Mexican neighbours – and determination to protect particular cultural values whilst dismissing the cultural values of others. Such perceptions are, by and large, products of the preponderance of US power. Studies of American perceptions of Mexico have found that NAFTA has had little effect on dominant perceptions of Mexico as a ‘low wage, socially troubled, environmentally polluted country that exports illegal aliens to the United States’.12 Although NAFTA has certainly challenged such images, it has also remained hostage to them. For example, the idea that Latin Americans are ‘dependent’ on handouts from the US and pose a significant threat to American society through drugs production, trafficking and illegal migration enabled Congress to block NAFTA accession talks with Chile despite the fact that both George Bush and Bill Clinton had publicly identified Chile as the next NAFTA member. The US has also attempted to defend its dominant cultural values through the courts. In the last decade the number of ‘Hispanics’ or ‘Latinos’ in the US, most of them immigrants from Mexico, has grown exponentially. This group will soon account for 10 percent of the US population, a figure that is predicted to continue increasing. The key

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difference between Hispanics and other national groups in the US is their persistent use of the Spanish language. Although US courts ruled that it was illegal for employers to prohibit the use of non-English language in the workplace, they added that exceptions could be made in the name of ‘business necessity’. In 1993, a California court went one step further in suggesting that the law did not demand the protection of cultural identity in the workplace and that language restrictions were permissible.13 Thus, in the US ‘certain cultural identities and norms are privileged over others’ and ‘NAFTA is not likely to alter this reality even as the exchange of products and services across the borders of Mexico, Canada and the United States increases’.14 The abstract frames for a North American security community and the purposive ideas that bind them together are guided by a single set of ideas: the imperatives of neo-liberal economics. Indeed, one analyst has gone as far as to suggest that NAFTA’s purpose is to spread and instil neo-liberal economics and in particular to ‘consolidate and institutionalise the neoliberal economic reform agenda in Mexico’.15 In 1991, the US Ambassador to Mexico, John Negroponte, declared that Mexico was ‘dramatically’ changing its attitude towards Washington and was beginning to share American views about the importance of neo-liberal economics and democratisation.16 This Mexican transition away from a Latin American outlook framed by ideas about the developmental state and the protection of sovereignty, towards a decidedly North American outlook framed by Washington was aided by Mexico’s 1995 financial crisis and its reliance on an assistance package put together by the Clinton administration. In the words of one commentator, the collapse of the Peso in 1995 strengthened US ‘leverage’ over Mexico. More important than the cooperation that the US secured with its efforts to stem the flow of narcotics and illegal immigrants northwards, however, was the fact that Mexico’s reliance on neo-liberal financial institutions for a recovery package prompted the Salinas and Zedillo governments to recognise Mexico’s economic interdependence with the US and seek to exploit it. This meant adopting the mantra of neo-liberal economics, the retreat of the state, and the lowering of tariffs. The significance of the about-turn performed by the Salinas and Zedillo presidencies should not be underestimated. For almost a century before, successive Mexican governments had pursued a statebased path to development, fostering centralisation and promoting differing degrees of socialism. The turn to neo-liberalism which began in the early 1990s represented the rejection of a ‘Mexican way’ or

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‘Latin American way’ to development in favour of support for the Washington consensus. The effects of this shift have gone far beyond economic policy. In many respects, the conclusion of the NAFTA was a consequence rather than cause of this convergence. Although it is a weighty document, numbering over 1,000 pages, it is light on institutional mechanisms and relies on the member states for implementation. Although the NAFTA purports to be a comprehensive free trade agreement, it actually liberalises trade in some areas such as the service sector whilst increasing regional and domestic protection in others, most notably the motor and textile industries.17 Thus, although over 50 percent of US exports to Mexico became ‘duty free’ almost overnight when the NAFTA came into effect, the agreement’s rules were framed in such a way as to offer protection to particular US industries. Here we see the role of asymmetry at work, because NAFTA’s constitutive rules had very little to say about Mexican concerns or issues relating to large-scale migration. From the treaty’s thousand or so pages, Peter Smith has identified three key characteristics. First, the agreement contained explicit references to wider regional economic integration. According to Smith, despite its title the NAFTA was not primarily concerned with ‘free trade’ – a claim supported by the fact that the US and Canada already had a comprehensive free trade agreement and that tariff levels between the US and Mexico, and Canada and Mexico were already relatively low. Instead, Smith argued, the NAFTA was concerned with investment, that is, making Mexico (primarily) more attractive to American, Japanese and European investors by conferring a US backed ‘seal of approval’ on the Mexican economy.18 The US’ motivations in doing this were not wholly altruistic. Through the free trade elements of the agreement, US business secured access to cheap labour and an important emerging market. Whilst this perspective helps to explain why a comprehensive ‘free trade agreement’ such as NAFTA did not create a complete free trade system within the North American region, remained vague on the issue of interpreting specific rules, and did not create institutions to oversee implementation, it also points towards an important contradiction in understanding the impact of NAFTA’s rules on its member states’ relations with non-members. On the one hand, there is a clear suggestion that NAFTA was designed to enable its members to compete more effectively against other regions in the global economy. On the other hand, however, NAFTA was selfconsciously constructed with one eye on future enlargement and the

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attraction of non-American investment capital to the region, increasing global interdependence. The second key characteristic is that it is an intergovernmental agreement and does not contain provisions for either supranational governance or subnational interaction. The NAFTA was negotiated in a traditional inter-state setting and does not call for any sharing or pooling of sovereignty.19 As with ASEAN and the GCC, the NAFTA makes demands on states and does not confer rights on individuals. Moreover, member states retain the right to decide whether or not to implement aspects of the accord and are not answerable to regional bodies. Finally, Smith argues that although the NAFTA had nothing to say about political integration it nevertheless contained an implied political dimension and rationale, informed by the ‘Democratic Peace thesis’.20 The assumption follows that a neo-liberal economy requires a liberal democratic political system in order to function properly, because only this type of political system permits the levels of transparency and information dissemination that are necessary for markets to function properly. According to the democratic peace thesis, democratic states do not wage war with each other.21 It follows therefore, that by persuading states to organise their economies along neo-liberal lines, NAFTA will help to embed liberal democracy and thus contribute to regional security. The North American security community is therefore predicated upon the asymmetric relations of its three members, a tradition of not using force in the bilateral relations of two of those members (US and Canada), and a comprehensive free trade agreement that does not provide institutional oversight but does, nevertheless, suggest an ever increasing level of economic integration. Indeed, it is worth pointing out that the largest trading partner that each member has is another member of the NAFTA – Canada and Mexico are the US’ largest trading partners and the US is the largest partner of both Canada and Mexico. The community has few explicit rules that shape their coexistence and does not contain decision-making structures that permit the community itself to take on purposive roles. The central question, then, in ascertaining the wider implications of the community’s development revolves around the impact that it has on its member states. The state that has undoubtedly been most affected by NAFTA is Mexico.22 Consecutive Mexican presidents espoused NAFTA’s neoliberal economics in the 1990s and NAFTA has contributed to the conditioning of Mexican interests by laying down rules and a system of

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informal incentives and punishments. This transformed the relationship between state and society in Mexico. This is not to say that Salinas would not have pursued a domestic agenda of neo-liberal reform had the NAFTA not been negotiated. However, commentators have argued that the reforms would not have been physically feasible without foreign assistance and, just as importantly given the historical role of the Mexican state as the bastion of nationhood and central authority, Salinas’ ideological commitment to neo-liberalism would have been politically untenable without vocal external support.23 There was therefore an important level of interdependence between Salinas’ reform agenda and the US-inspired neo-liberal agenda that underwrote NAFTA. Whilst the US required a reformist regime in Mexico in order to pursue its regional trade policy, Salinas required external assistance – both material and ideational. The impact of these neo-liberal reforms on the majority of Mexicans has not been positive. In 1993, real wages were 44.18 percent of those in 1981, just prior to the neo-liberal turn.24 At the same time, the Mexican state dramatically reduced its spending on welfare. Total government spending fell 31.5 percent in the early 1980s, with government spending on both health and education falling. This, in a country where according to the government’s own statistics and benchmarks, 17.5 million people (of a 90 million population) live in conditions characterised as ‘extreme poverty’, and a further 40 million live in ‘poverty’.25 Given these statistics, we can agree with James Rochlin when he concludes that: What is empirically clear is that neoliberalism has meant harsher economic inequity within Mexico, reversing progressive trends achieved in the recent past. Within such a context, a number of new security themes emerged under NAFTA. These include the appearance of revolutionary movements in Chiapas [the Zapatista] and elsewhere, [and] the escalation of narcotrafficking and of general crime rates.26 The costs of inequity, which Rochlin describes, were most starkly underlined by the Zapatista revolt in Chiapas, which was timed to coincide with the signing of the NAFTA. The Zapatistas argued that NAFTA threatened the economic survival of the peasants in Chiapas and demanded that the Mexican government abandon its neo-liberal stance. The revolt coincided with an economic crisis sparked by the virtually overnight collapse of the Peso.27

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The key issues in the foreign policy field have revolved around the US-Mexican border. Three border problems have particular significance. First, the maquiladora industries on the Mexican side of the border. Throughout the 1980s and 1990s, US corporations set up manufacturing and assembly plants just over the border in Mexico. The corporations aim to cut costs through the much lower wages in Mexico, the lack of labour protection rights and the almost complete absence of environmental regulations. Although the maquiladoras have provided an important source of revenue for Mexicans desperate to find work in an ailing economy, the industries have been accused of exploitation and destroying the local environment by the Mexican press and other commentators. For their part, US groups such as labour unions, environmental lobbyists, and human rights monitors have all criticised the maquiladora system. The second key border issue is illegal migration. Almost half of all northbound border crossings are illegal and the US has responded by militarising its side of the border with razor wire, helicopter patrols and other forms of military surveillance. The Mexican government, meanwhile, argues that such illegal migration will be a fact of life for as long as Mexico has such high levels of poverty and unemployment. The third border issue, related to the second, is the prevalence of drugs trafficking across the border. The size of the drug trade is immense, making it very difficult for the Mexican government to curtail. Successive US governments have opted to militarise the issue by launching a ‘war on drugs’ aimed at tackling supply rather than demand.28 NAFTA has contributed to a significant reconfiguring of domestic and foreign politics in Mexico – particularly the relationship between state and society. Mexican ‘national interests’ and its foreign policy have also shifted considerably as a result of the government’s new identity as a key partner of the US and Canada. Although its domestic political reforms have been more reluctant than those of other Latin American states, it has been especially vocal and active in calling for the establishment of a neo-liberal regional trade regime.29 In order to deflect criticism of his foreign policy as too ‘US-centric’, President Salinas made a point of maintaining close relations with a number of Latin American and European states, especially Colombia, Venezuela, France and Spain. As a result of a world tour he conducted in his first two years in office, Mexico signed 25 separate economic agreements with other countries. Importantly, although this foreign policy activism demonstrated Mexico’s independence, all the agreements reflected the very neo-liberal principles espoused by the Washington

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and internalised in Mexico City.30 In the 1990s only the question of relations with Cuba seriously divided Mexico and the US. On specific issues such as migration and drugs trafficking and general issues of economic governance, Mexican foreign policy has – by and large – converged with US and Canadian policy. This marked a considerable shift in thinking in a Mexican foreign policy making establishment traditionally more attuned to defending the rights of sovereignty, criticising US hegemony in the Western Hemisphere, and proposing Latin American alternatives. Although the 1990s witnessed a fundamental realignment of Mexican foreign and economic policy to accommodate the US, three principal problems or differences remained. First, this ‘convergence’ was heavily criticised within Mexico, particularly when kow-towing to the US seemed to take preference over pursuing the perceived interests of Mexican citizens. For instance, when in 1996, videotapes emerged showing that US border patrols beat illegal Mexican immigrants, the Mexican press blamed the Mexican government for failing to provide employment (and thereby forcing Mexicans to seek entry into the US) and failing to pressure the Clinton administration to guarantee the rights of Mexicans.31 Second, since the mid-1990s, Mexico has resolutely opposed the US on one issue: the so-called ‘Helms Burton act’ which seeks to penalise foreign companies that do business with Cuba. Since the act was passed, the Mexican foreign affairs elite has spearheaded a global campaign against it. According to Denise Dresser, the elite has felt able to take a stand on this issue (and notably not any others) because the Helms Burton act has been roundly condemned and opposed by the majority of Latin American states, the EU and the third NAFTA member, Canada. Finally, the Salinas administration continued to defend sovereignty and its attendant principle of nonintervention. Throughout the 1990s, the Mexican government consistently insisted that whilst democratisation and economic liberalisation were ‘good’ in themselves, it should be left to individual states to decide whether or not they would take this path.32 Mexican foreign policy and its relationship with Latin American states in particular, has therefore shifted considerably as a result of NAFTA membership. Whereas during the Cold War, Mexico supported the idea of non-alignment and led other developing states in challenging the International Financial Institutions to reconsider the problem of Third World debt, the NAFTA era saw Mexico adopt a neo-liberal approach to its economic policy. Although the convergence of foreign policy interests between Mexico and the US was not complete, the

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espousal of neo-liberalism marked a significant change in policy and marked Mexico out from many of its neighbours – though by the end of the 1990s virtually every state in Latin America had gone down this path though they have developed a variety of institutions (that Mexico is excluded from because of its NAFTA commitments) to manage these developments. The effect of the NAFTA on US and Canadian politics has been much less pronounced. As we noted earlier, the US and Canada already enjoyed a free trade agreement, so the passage of the NAFTA did very little to alter their relationship. For its part, the US was able to control much of the NAFTA agenda. It was able to open those markets it wanted opening, whilst protecting sensitive areas such as agriculture. Moreover, by insisting that the NAFTA remain an intergovernmental entity (an idea supported by both Canada and Mexico), it has ensured that NAFTA has not curtailed its ability to act unilaterally.33 Indeed, the only discernable trend has been a hardening of the US position on global trade issues and a willingness to confront the world’s other key trading blocs. That said, the NAFTA has not prevented the US from conducting unilateral trade negotiations with Caribbean states, Australia, and others. This suggests that NAFTA has had little impact on US foreign policy. One important caveat to this, however, is that the controversy that accompanied the NAFTA negotiations in the US, the concern to protect American industries and jobs, and the unhappy experiences of post-NAFTA Mexico (the financial crisis, the Chiapas revolt, repeated human rights problems) prompted the US to move away from espousing wider hemispheric integration. This encouraged states such as Brazil, Argentina and Chile to seek alternatives, producing a network of competitive regionalisms in the Americas. Canadian policy in the region has changed even less than US policy as a result of the NAFTA.34 Its government’s principal reason for participating in the trade talks was fear of being excluded from a potential US-Mexican trade agreement that threatened to undermine the agreement that Canada concluded with the US in 1992. Like the US and Mexico, the Canadian government under Mulroney pursued a neoliberal agenda and believed free trade to be key to securing Canada’s long-term economic interests. Interestingly, it was Canada that called for free trade discussions with the US, and evidence suggests that the issue of a US-Canadian pact was seen as far more important by Canadians than it was by Americans.35 Like Mexico, the Canadian government was also keen not to be seen to be adopting a ‘US-centric’ foreign policy and has continued to pursue wider regional and global

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policies through the UN. In particular, the Canadian government was instrumental in articulating the concept of ‘human security’ and proposing global initiatives designed to tackle human insecurity and it has also continued to promote cooperation on peacekeeping. The North American security community therefore rests on one idea manifested in the NAFTA: neo-liberal economics. The three members of the security community publicly adhere to a particular economic model and share an interest in spreading neo-liberalism and managing its impact. In many ways, the development of this unifying idea was made possible by the pre-existence of three ‘security community-like’ relationships: the US and Canada have shared dependable expectations of peaceful change for over a century. These expectations derive from a similar culture and history, a largely common language, and common adherence to principles of self-determination and democracy; the US and Mexico developed such relations much more recently as a result of asymmetries of power and economic interdependence; MexicanCanadian relations were negligible, separated by a superpower it is unsurprising that they exhibited expectations of peaceful change in their relations. The 1990s witnessed a convergence in the interests and identities of these three states around neo-liberal norms. Political leaders such as Bush, Clinton, Salinas, and Mulroney were key in articulating a vision of a regional trade order that would foster interdependence and provide security. Nevertheless, there were significant problems particularly in Mexico and in Mexican-US relations. These included violent rebellion, financial collapse, the proliferation of drugs trafficking, severe environmental degradation, and illegal immigration. In addressing the impact of the NAFTA on North America’s relations with its immediate neighbours, two key questions therefore need addressing: first, to what extent has the neo-liberal agenda been adopted in the rest of the continent; and second, to what extent has the Mexican experience prompted North American states to shun further enlargement. In assessing its wider global impact, we need to ascertain the extent to which NAFTA constitutes a departure from global patterns of economic governance.

The neo-liberal agenda and Latin America During the Cold War, the US – and to a lesser extent Canada – maintained a distinctly ‘us and them’ relationship with the states of Latin America.36 Latin America was seen by Washington as a fertile breeding ground for Soviet and communist influence. As a result, the US built a

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sophisticated and extensive surveillance system in Latin America in order to ‘secure’ Latin American states against communism. This surveillance system was backed up with transfers of military and policing materiel and advice to authoritarian, undemocratic but ostensibly ‘anti-communist’ regimes. Of course, as Robert Holden points out, the principal aim of these policies was to enhance US ‘national security’, which was framed by realist Cold War assumptions, rather than the security of Latin American states or peoples. However, as Holden also points out, these policies ‘diminished not only the security of the inhabitants of the client states (by enhancing those states’ repressive capacity) but also the international security it was seeking’.37 Cold War politics prompted the US to provide material support to repressive and murderous regimes in Chile, Argentina, El Salvador, and Panama, to name just four of the worst, and violent conflict reigned throughout much of Central America. Between 1988 and 1991, the US backed government in El Salvador, which was waging a war against peasant guerrillas, murdered more than 30,000 civilians. In the early 1980s, a concerted peace initiative was launched by the so-called ‘Contadora group’, which included Mexico, Colombia, Panama and Venezuela. The group was backed by a group of states (Argentina, Brazil, Uruguay and Brazil) who organised a ‘support’ network. These efforts were ‘silently resisted’ by the Reagan administration, which put forward its own peace plan and tried to resurrect plans for a regional security alliance. Both ideas failed to win popularity in Latin America.38 The Contadora group persisted in its diplomatic initiatives and by the mid 1980s had secured the backing of the UN, OAS and EC for its peace plan. Still the US objected, insisting that the group’s plan gave too many concessions to the insurgents, and the administration set out to scuttle it. The US stepped up its military assistance to the regime in El Salvador, from $33.5 million in 1983, to $176.8 million in 1984.39 Meanwhile, the Sandanista-Contra wars in Nicaragua were also escalating. Nevertheless, the Contadora group persisted and in 1987 the socalled Esquipulas accords were reached which provided for an end to wars in El Salvador, Nicaragua and Honduras, and the establishment of democratic government. This Cold War experience left two legacies after 1989 that continue to guide relations between the north and the rest of the continent. First, there remains a lingering belief in Washington that extra-hemispheric powers or ideologies could exploit the weakness of the Latin American condition for their own ends.40 Second, for many democrats in the continent’s south looking north, there remains deep-seated suspicion of US

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hegemony and a residual belief that the supposedly ‘universal’ values espoused by the US are merely American interests in disguise. Such suspicions were reinforced by US reactions to the election of Hugo Chavez, a leftist president, in Venezuela (1998). The US warned Chavez not to challenge the emerging neo-liberal order and during a foiled coup in 2002 rushed to recognise the coup as a fait accompli. George W. Bush’s policy on Venezuela harked back directly to Cold War logic and – given the fact that Chavez was democratically elected – contradicted US pretensions about the importance of democratisation. What this episode demonstrates is that the Cold War legacy of suspicion continues to play a role in relations between the security community and its southern neighbours. The end of the Cold War brought about dramatic changes in Latin America. The death of communism also removed the ideological justification for anti-communist authoritarianism. In the 1970s, depending on how one counts, either 14 or 17 of the region’s 20 states were governed either by outright military regimes or by civilian regimes that were closely related to the military and ruled undemocratically. Only Colombia, Venezuela and Costa Rica were ruled by democratically elected civilian governments. The legitimacy of all these regimes (and their US backing) was predicated on the fight against communism. The end of the Cold War eradicated this logic. Today, only one state (Cuba) remains undemocratic. Although on the surface these changes suggest an important convergence in the domestic political systems of the NAFTA states and their neighbours, there are a number of factors that mitigate against such alignments. First, democratisation in Latin America is an incomplete process. Although a majority of the region’s states have created the formal architecture of democracy, it remains unconsolidated. The competitive party structure remains weak, many states lack the institutional capacity to ensure transparent, accountable and effective democratic practices and the military continues to wield a high degree of influence over domestic policy.41 Second, democratisation has not improved the state’s capacity to deliver vital goods and services to its citizens. The patterns of welfare spending cuts that we identified in Mexico have been replicated in the majority of the region’s states. This has created disillusionment not only with particular governments but also with the democratic system and neo-liberal economic order itself. Economic violence in the form of food riots, looting, and organised crime rose considerably in the 1990s in states such as Brazil, Colombia, El Salvador, Mexico, Panama, Venezuela, and the Dominican Republic.42

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Finally, convergence of political systems does not necessarily produce a convergence of interests. Whilst the democratic peace thesis does hold broadly true in Latin America, the US has a track record of conspiring against democratic regimes that it disagrees with. Most famously, during the Cold War, the US assisted the military coup against Chile’s elected president Allende. In more recent years, the US response to the Chavez government in Venezuela was calculated to promote domestic unrest and economic insecurity as a way of forcing the removal of the government by extra-constitutional means if necessary. US policies and the Cold War history described briefly above have meant that although there has been a remarkable degree of convergence in the type of political system adopted by Latin American states, this has not led to the production of common interests and identities. As we will see in the final section of this chapter, states in Latin America have organised themselves into groups that compete with NAFTA. Moreover, whilst there has been a proliferation of neo-liberal trade agreements in the region, there has not been a move amongst Latin American states to push for membership of NAFTA. To what extent has democratisation enabled the spread of neo-liberal trade practices? On the one hand there is no doubt that in the last decade neo-liberalism has come to dominate economic relations on the continent. Indeed, there is no alternative (except in Cuba). Whilst on one level this has contributed to the reduction of war in the continent (though military force is still used as an instrument as the 1994 US intervention in Haiti and Mexico’s military response to the Zapatista rebellion demonstrate), on another level it has actually contributed to increased competition between different blocs. For example, Caribbean states perceived NAFTA to be a direct threat to their economies and have developed their own regional organisation – Caricom – to spearhead trade negotiations with the US and improve their own economies through integration. The Jamaican government argued that the preferential treatment given to Mexico gave it even greater advantages over other states in the region and would lead to the redirection of vital investment capital from the Caribbean to Mexico.43 A number of reports were commissioned to investigate the likely impact of NAFTA and propose methods for dealing with them. An independent West Indian Commission argued that the best way for the region’s states to meet this challenge was to pool their resources and develop ‘(sub)regional strategies’. Although the region’s states recognised this need, they have to date been unable to build a functioning common market or develop much in the way of common action. This is largely

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because their shared colonial history has produced economies based on the production of similar products (bananas for instance) and delivery of similar services (tourism). As a result, Caribbean economies trade very little with each other (only around ten percent of each state’s total trade is conducted with other Caribbean states) and where their economies do overlap they are more in competition than cooperation.44 These problems notwithstanding, however, Caribbean experiences demonstrate that whilst states may agree on the economic rules of the game (neo-liberalism) those rules may sharpen differences and provoke competition rather than cooperation. The key indication of this is that the spread of democratisation and neo-liberalism throughout Latin America has not constrained the US from interfering in the domestic affairs of other states to further its own interests. As a result, NAFTA is perceived by many Latin Americans as ‘fortress building’. In particular, the US has maintained its right to intervene to conduct its ‘war against drugs’. The war has two key components – destroying the supply of drugs and interdicting shipments.45 The former policy led to the US intervention in Panama 1990 and subsequent Special Forces raids in Venezuela and Colombia.46 The latter policy has led to US Navy raids on shipping in international waters. The key issue here is that despite the democratisation and liberalisation processes in Latin America, the US still feels able and willing to use force to further its own interests in the region. This again points to the idea that the convergence of political and economic systems in the region has not produced a similar convergence of identities and interests. What does this mean for the pursuit of ‘security’ and the creation and maintenance of boundaries in the region? The US and to a lesser extent Canada continue to perceive Latin America as a source of societal insecurity. It has responded to societal insecurities by militarising drugs and immigration policies. In many ways, therefore, the Mexican state as a whole has become a ‘boundary’ between North and South America, in which the US now has a wider remit for action to deal with these twin threats. For Latin American states, therefore, NAFTA is perceived as on the one hand an economic threat whilst on the other hand failing to constrain US unilateralism. Indeed, although there has been a marked convergence around democracy and neo-liberalism this has not produced a proliferation of hemisphere-wide organisations and neither has it changed atavistic thinking about sources of insecurity: for the US, Latin America is a source of societal insecurity; for many Latin American states, the US and its values are sources of crippling economic insecurity and state weakness.

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Institutions and relationships within the North American security community NAFTA does not itself contain much of an institutional framework but the process has created a variety of transnational relationships and networks that traverse North America’s state boundaries. In many respects, as Poitras and Robinson have argued, NAFTA exemplifies the use of ‘authoritarian means’ (by which they mean state-led coalitions) to achieve neo-liberal goals.47 The key idea here is that NAFTA relies on the authority of its three states for implementation and therefore its power derives from the ability of its key idea (neo-liberalism) to shape the interests, identities and hence the actions of its members. As we mentioned earlier, the principal aim of all three NAFTA members was to ‘lock in’ the other two members to a system of economic rules and regulations.48 Given this intent, it is unsurprising that the NAFTA has proliferated far fewer institutions than the other security communities described in this book. Before discussing NAFTA’s institutional makeup, it is worth briefly considering the scope of the agreement itself. First, it is important to point out that the NAFTA is a free trade agreement that does not contain social, political or military elements. NAFTA by itself is not a security community but is a manifestation of already existing community-like relations between the three member states. Second, NAFTA’s provisions were not to be implemented immediately but over a 15-year period. Third, the agreement – whilst comprehensive in some areas – does not equate to a European style ‘single market’ and a number of economic sectors remain protected. Fourth, NAFTA suggests that the North American security community as a whole is moving from a nascent to ascendant phase (see the introduction), though it is important to remember that the US-Canadian relations already resembled those of a tightly-coupled security community. As with ASEAN, NAFTA was designed to minimise the level of institutionalisation and indeed NAFTA’s level of institutionalisation is far less than ASEAN’s. Most importantly, NAFTA is not an agent. Unlike the different European organisations, ASEAN or the GCC, NAFTA does not act, does not take decisions and does not even declare its opinion on matters.49 This is not to say that NAFTA has no institutions. The agreement provides for a variety of special commissions, working committees and groups, advisory panels convened on an ad hoc basis and a variety of other technical arrangements. Although there are a plethora of such bodies, many of the committees have ill-defined mandates,

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none have permanent staff attached to them and there are no guidelines about the relationships between different committees.50 The NAFTA structure comprises three cabinet-level commissions charged with supervising implementation of the agreement. Members of the commissions are appointed directly by their governments and remain government employees. It is these commissions that are responsible for establishing the network of committees and ad hoc groups mentioned above. One commission, the Free Trade Commission based in Mexico City, was constituted directly by the NAFTA. The other two, the Environmental Commission (Montreal) and the Labour Commission (Dallas), were created by the two supplemental treaties on the environment and protection of labour rights. The NAFTA also provided for the establishment of a North American Development Bank based in San Antonio. The bank raises its own funds from private markets in order to fund infrastructure projects in the US-Mexico border region.51 Beyond the inter-governmental commissions and the web of technical committees, the NAFTA also provides for the convening of arbitration panels to adjudicate on issues such as ‘dumping’ and ‘countervailing duties’.52 The decisions of the arbitration panels are binding (though there is a right of appeal), though the panel is convened on an ad hoc and intergovernmental basis, meaning that their decisions cannot be read as being somehow indicative of agency beyond the member states. Two areas in which the NAFTA has improved direct cooperation between the member states are defence and the environment. In the early 1990s, the US sponsored a military modernisation and professionalisation programme in Mexico. This cooperation included the supplying of equipment such as surveillance equipment, 48 Blackhawk helicopters, and 23 military aircraft.53 The assistance also included training on areas such as transparent defence budgeting, counterinsurgency operations, and creating a professional ethos within the armed forces. This training has enabled Mexico to create some small elite forces that are highly professional and to some extent interoperable with US forces. US-Mexican relations have also garnered most attention on the question of the environment, though there is an important US-Canadian dimension to this issue in the form of the ‘acid rain’ problem. In many respects, some commentators have argued, the NAFTA is the most environmentally friendly trade pact.54 Although the NAFTA itself contained passages on environmental protection, the key environmental aspects can be found in the North American Agreement on

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Environmental Cooperation – a so-called ‘NAFTA side agreement’. The agreement created the Environment Commission described above and contained an ‘ambitious set of objectives that include the protection and improvement of the environment, the promotion of sustainable development, and enhanced compliance with and enforcement of environmental laws and regulations’.55 The Commission has developed a number of action plans to deal with the rapid environmental decline of the US-Mexico border region caused by the growth of the maquiladora sector. It has also overseen a US-Canadian convention to reduce the extent and impact of acid rain in Canada that is the result of largely US pollution. The North American security community is therefore not predicated on a web of institutions but rather on a loose network of commissions, committees and ad hoc technical groups. Their aim is to resolve problems in implementing the NAFTA and its side agreements rather than to take decisions, form policies or set standards. As a result, although direct cooperation in the military and environmental fields has been enabled, the security community itself has not taken on agency. This is a vital point when trying to understand the extent to which the community has reshaped security politics in the region. Although NAFTA has not proliferated institutions, since its birth there has been a substantial increase in the number of epistemic and transversal communities that have developed across the three states. There are two interesting and unique points about this development: first, the level of informal epistemic and transversal community building in the region has outweighed the level of formal institutionalism; second, whilst epistemic communities have tended to support the socialisation of neo-liberalism, a large number of transversal relations have developed in opposition to the NAFTA. Epistemic communities. The increase in the magnitude and scope of relations between societies in the US, Mexico and Canada has produced a number of cross-border epistemic communities. The past decade saw the establishment of a number of scientific research institutes funded by a combination of US, Canadian and Mexican resources and staffed by nationals of all three. This process began some time before the NAFTA through the establishment of the El Colegio de la Frontera Norte in Tijuana. This college was partly funded by US owned maquiladora industries and partly by the Mexican government and was joined by new universities in other parts of the Mexican border region such as Ciudad Juarez. The establishment of such institutions on the Mexican side of

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the border has increased the level of scientific cooperation between the US and Mexico by enhancing the scope for exchanges of students and researchers. For instance, the University in Cuidad Juarez has established a close relationship with the University of Texas-El Paso. This relationship includes agreements allowing Cuidad Juarez students to pay Mexican level fees to take courses offered in El Paso. Similarly, San Diego State University maintains links with a number of research and teaching institutes in the Mexican half of California (Baja-California) that facilitates cross-campus degrees. In particular, cooperation has focused on the advancement of cross-border scientific knowledge – particularly in relation to environmental science – and (perhaps paradoxically) international business. Community colleges on both sides of the border offer business courses that include modules taken in colleges across the border. Moreover, Southwestern University in the US offers an international joint degree programme in tandem with the Universidad Autonoma de Baja California.56 In 1992, higher education establishments in the three countries launched the Wingspread Initiative on North American Higher Education, a system of exchanges and scholarships, which was specifically designed to broaden trilateral dialogue and communication.57 The development of these epistemic communities has had a profound influence on Mexican politics and society, providing the intellectual context that legitimised the neo-liberal turn identified earlier. The doctrine of economic liberalism was first aired in Mexico in the universities. Although a number of intellectuals continued to cling on to traditional ideas about the role of the state in society, the importance of nationalism and the timeless wisdom of Marxism, the early 1990s witnessed a marked change towards the new orthodoxy of neoliberalism. Institutions came to be divided on the question of free trade, neo-liberalism and NAFTA. For instance, El Colegio de Mexico became known as a bastion of free trade thinking, whilst the Universidad Nacional Autonoma de Mexico, Mexico’s largest university, remained a centre for anti-free trade intellectuals. Intellectuals here such as Jorge Casteneda continued to argue that neo-liberalism damaged the standard of living and threatened Mexico’s sovereignty.58 By 1993, however, although such arguments remained powerful within the traditional intellectual elite they were increasingly unpopular in government and wider civil society circles. Resources and kudos found their way increasingly to the group of ‘new intellectuals’ who espoused neo-liberalism. Thus, ‘by the early 1990s, advocates of free trade and economic liberalisation had become respectable and fashionable; the

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proponents of populism, nationalism and statism had become less influential and somewhat beleaguered’.59 This shift was in no small part due to the socialising effects of the transnational epistemic communities described above. Transversal relations. A number of different types of transversal relations have developed either through the NAFTA process, parallel to it, or in opposition to it. Unsurprisingly, the most prominent transversal group supporting the move to NAFTA were business groups. In particular, multinational and other large businesses in the three states most capable of taking on a regional dimension have been the major beneficiaries of free trade.60 As a result, large businesses in each of the three states lobbied their respective governments and formed strategic alliances to push the free trade agenda. For each of these businesses, free trade meant a larger market to sell their products to and for US and Canadian businesses it increased the potential for cutting costs by using Mexican labour. Importantly, Mexican membership of NAFTA also lowered the social costs of using cheap Mexican labour by giving the practice added legitimacy. Organisations such as Camara Nacional de la Industria de Transformacion and the US based ‘Latin American Trade and Technology Group’ and the National Association of Manufacturers launched joint pro-free trade campaigns and co-sponsored workshops and conferences aimed at bringing their business members together to resolve common problems, identify synergies, overcome stereotypes and national myths, and develop trade relations. Many of the transversal relations that developed in North America in the early 1990s were organised in opposition to NAFTA. Opponents of the NAFTA created transnational networks and alliances aimed at enhancing mobilisation. Because the anti-NAFTA campaign lasted for more than three years, they evolved from loosely-coupled coalitions into semi-autonomous organisations that persisted beyond the conclusion of the treaty.61 Transversal relations that developed in reaction to the NAFTA process were predicated on the articulation of common interests and the setting of simple goals, which helped to build common identities and associations across borders.62 Perhaps the most vocal and active of these groups were environmental groups, mobilised by large multinational organisations such as Greenpeace. Greenpeace was one of the key initiators of the ‘Alliance for Responsible Trade’ that brought together environmentalists from all three states to lobby for a strong environmental regime to accompany the free trade regime. Other groups included the Student

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Environmental Action Coalition that campaigned against the NAFTA in all three states and the Rainforest Action Network that pressured the US and Canadian governments to take action to alleviate the acid rain problem. These and other environmental groups were able to place the environment on the NAFTA agenda and were instrumental in articulating common environmental interests and the transversal nature of the environmental security threat. A second type of transversal opposition group was labour unions. Key coalitions of anti-NAFTA labour groups included the automobile manufacturing unions in Canada and the US. In 1990, the Canadian Auto Workers Union had opposed the free trade agreement with the US on the grounds that Canada would lose automobile jobs. In 1992/3, however, US and Canadian automobile workers unions were united in opposing a free trade deal with Mexico which, they argued, would decimate their automobile industry.63 There were similar patterns in the textile and agricultural sectors as well, with labour unions in the US and Canada establishing informal ties in order to coordinate their lobbying and publicity campaigns. By and large, Mexican labour unions supported the free trade initiative, believing that the influx of US and Canadian investment capital and businesses would increase employment and improve pay and working conditions. However, alliances and relationships were still forged with unions north of the border. For example, whilst the Confederacion Revolucionaria de Oberos y Campesinos, a key group of unions, was generally supportive of the NAFTA, it argued that implementation must be sensitive to the needs of labour. In particular, it joined US and Canadian unions in calling for the southwards spread of labour rights standards, increased wage levels, and training packages.64 Although NAFTA has not led to the proliferation of institutions that may prompt its members to develop common interests and identities, the NAFTA process has been associated with the rapid expansion of epistemic and transversal communities spanning the region. Epistemic communities have proven to be crucial in articulating and legitimising the neo-liberal ideas at the heart of the NAFTA project and in socialising states and societies in the North American region. For their part, transversal communities have tended to evolve around specific issue areas, particularly business, the environment, and labour rights. In each of these areas, although specific alliances have not always supported the NAFTA they have contributed to the construction of common interests and identities within particular groups of Americans, Canadians and Mexicans.

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Institutions, relationships and North America’s neighbours The evolution of NAFTA has coincided with a proliferation of regional organisations on its boundaries that attempt to accomplish similar goals and have mutually exclusive memberships. There are several reasons for this. First, NAFTA was only one of several integrationist processes launched in the early 1990s which were part of what Weintraub described as a hemispheric move towards regionalism.65 Second, the process of negotiating NAFTA, the rise of anti-NAFTA coalitions in North America and the Mexican crises of 1994/5 created a reluctance in the US to pursue hemisphere-wide integration, setting in train a process of parallel regionalisms (North America, Central America, the Southern Cone) with very few institutional crossovers.66 Third, although there was a rhetorical convergence of norms in the region, there remained stark differences in identity and interest. As I discussed earlier, the legacy of US unilateral interventionism continues to cast a long shadow over the continent. On the one hand, North American stereotypes of Latin Americans as a source of societal insecurity have survived the end of the Cold War. On the other hand many Latin American democrats and despots continue to be suspicious of US motives and cherish their newly won sovereignty and political legitimacy. Fourth, regardless of the substance of NAFTA, other states in the region did perceive it as a threat. Andean and Caribbean states in particular believed that Mexican inclusion and their exclusion would have a negative impact on their economies and that exclusion would shut them out of any discussions about the wider role of the US in the region.67 Although prior to 1994, Presidents Bush and Clinton both publicly endorsed the idea of widening NAFTA’s membership and both tried to encourage continental-wide integration – by, for example, hosting a continental summit (including all except Cuba) in Miami (1994) – this process stalled and a number of regional alternatives to NAFTA were rapidly developed. The alternatives included Mercosur, Caricom, the ‘Andean Group’, the Contadora group discussed earlier and the Central American Common Market idea. Compared to this, hemisphere-wide initiatives were few and far between and included the further development of the OAS in taking on roles in support of democratisation, the establishment of an American Development Bank and the Enterprise for the Americas Initiative. Significantly, the evolution of hemispherewide epistemic and transversal communities has also been much less pronounced than the proliferation of sub-regional groups.

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Compared to the NAFTA’s $7.4 trillion economy, Mercosur’s $1 trillion economy is not immense but is nevertheless important and indicative of the regional role played by its largest member, Brazil.68 Indeed, Mercosur is the fourth largest economic entity in the world, after NAFTA, the EU and Japan. It was established in 1991, as the NAFTA negotiation process began, and comprises Brazil, Argentina, Uruguay and Paraguay. It established a free trade area at the beginning of 1995 and its trade agreements were fully implemented by the end of 2000. Rather than seeking enlargement, Mercosur has negotiated treaties with individual states and organisations and its members have been open about the fact that as well as the direct economic benefits that accrue from the common market, Mercosur makes an important contribution to strengthening the global and regional negotiating strength of its members. It has concluded comprehensive agreements with Chile and Bolivia and is spearheading negotiations with the EU, Australia and New Zealand, the South African Development Community (SADC), India, Korea, China and Israel and well as representing its members in the stalled negotiations for an Americas wide free trade agreement.69 NAFTA is conspicuous by its absence from this list. Indeed, although Mercosur does have a secretariat and a degree of agency, the fact that NAFTA does not inhibits the extent to which others can enter into dialogue with it. As a result, Mercosur’s only relationship with NAFTA is indirect and mediated through hemispherewide negotiations. Caribbean states sought to strengthen their own regional integration through Caricom. Prior to the 1990s, Caricom had made little progress towards establishing the common market that its name envisaged. However, the NAFTA negotiation process sparked fear of economic marginalisation, prompting the community to establish its own exclusive customs union. Central American states followed suit by establishing the Central American Common Market (CACM) as did Bolivia, Chile, Peru and Venezuela when they formed the ‘Andean Group’.70 Although there has been a hemisphere-wide convergence around neo-liberalism and rhetorical convergence around democratisation, it has produced a series of competitive regionalisms and sub-regional economic fortresses distinguished from each other by differential tariff rates. This trend towards competitive regionalisms has dwarfed efforts at building a hemisphere-wide community, launched by Clinton at the 1994 Miami summit. By the time of the Santa Cruz summit in 1996 and subsequent Quebec summit in 2001, the ideas of hemisphere-wide integration, NAFTA enlargement, and the construction of overlapping

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economic regimes had been superseded. As a result, the different components of the American continent each conduct separate negotiations with the EU and other large trading blocs. A second product of competitive regionalisms is the weakness of hemisphere-wide epistemic and transversal communities. Beyond the different sub-regional groupings, epistemic communities have tended to develop in a bilateral fashion and have, by and large, been limited to the military and economic sectors of government and business groups. This has produced a system whereby hemisphere-wide relations resemble a network of ‘hub and spoke’ relationships whereby states, epistemic communities and transversal relations in the periphery are linked directly to the core (the US) rather than each other. For example, although the 1990s has witnessed the growth and spread of a regional human rights network throughout the continent, these had tended to have either mainly local/sub-regional significance or to be linked to large US human rights NGOs such as America Watch and Human Rights Watch.71 Significantly, there is now a considerable difference between the volume and scope of epistemic and transversal activity inside the security community to that outside. By this, I mean that it is clear that since 1994 the US and Canada have established closer epistemic and transversal links with Mexico at the expense of links with others in the region.

Conclusion Although the NAFTA was accompanied by a remarkable and unprecedented level of ideational convergence around the twin ideas of democracy and neo-liberalism on the American continent it has played the role of a ‘(sub)regional fortress’ more than that of ‘global integrator’. The continent’s states now play by similar rules, but those rules do not dictate whether relations should be competitive or cooperative. Whilst the North American security community can be assured of change by peaceful means this assurance is predicated on a long standing community-like relationship between the US and Canada, the establishment of common interests between Canada and Mexico and the massive preponderance of US economic and military might over Mexico. In facing North America, the rest of the continent does not share dependable expectations of peaceful change. Against a Cold War backdrop of US interventionism and unilateralism – tenets of policy that withstood the end of the Cold War, as demonstrated in Haiti and the more recent doctrine of ‘pre-emptive self-defence’ – the NAFTA has

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helped to construct physical and ideational boundaries in the region. The US continues to perceive the ‘south’ as posing a societal threat and continues to respond by militarising or ‘securitising’ political issues. Much of the rest of the continent reciprocates this feeling of suspicion. The ‘north’ is perceived as a source of economic marginalisation, a perception that was reinforced by the NAFTA process. States in the ‘south’ also remain wary of US interventionism. As a result, despite Clinton’s half-hearted efforts at the Miami summit in 1994, no hemisphere-wide identities or interests have been widely articulated or disseminated. Instead, the 1990s witnessed the proliferation of subregional identities and interests and the hardening of economic boundaries between insiders and outsiders. What is striking about the process of regionalisation in the Americas, as opposed to Southeast Asia and Europe, is that it has not produced overlapping institutions. In both Southeast Asia and Europe there are a number of multilateral institutions and processes that extend beyond the core of the security community. Such institutions and processes (such as ASEAN Plus Three or the OSCE) include members and non-members of the security community and fulfil two important functions. First, by incorporating ‘others’ into community-like relationships, the distinction between ‘insider’ and ‘outsider’ is blurred. This was most obviously the case in Europe, but is increasingly the case in Southeast Asia as well. Second, by encouraging social and diplomatic relationships, and making them regular and repetitive, such processes and institutions enable the gradual construction of common ideas through discussion and socialisation. The American continent lacks such processes and institutions. As a result, the domination of neoliberalism has formalised conflict rather than cooperation. Moreover, the lack of regular consultation and deliberation based on sovereign equality has meant that common interests have not been established (beyond a common rhetorical interest in democratisation) and identities remain bifurcated. Finally, then, we return to the significance of asymmetry. The overwhelming military and economic power of the US, and its willingness to use that power to fulfil its interests in the region, has proved a major obstacle to the creation of a wider security community. First, Latin American states do not have the luxury of a pluralist international society based on respect for boundaries and the principle of nonintervention that Southeast Asian states have. The world’s only superpower has continued to intervene unilaterally in the affairs of others without much concern for the principles and ideas cherished by its

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continental neighbours. Second, the ideational convergence that has been a recurring theme of this chapter is in many respects a product of US power rather than deep-seated ideational change. Third, the cultural power of the US has meant that cultural interaction and identity debates have tended to be a one-way street: the US exports its ideas and culture whilst protecting its own society from ‘alien’ influences, through the law if necessary. Given the absence of common historical ideas (and the persistence of unilateral interventionism), a context in which atavistic identities are preserved by both sides of the NAFTA boundary, and the proliferation of regional alternatives to the NAFTA, it is fair to say that the NAFTA has either helped to freeze in place Cold War patterns of relations between the ‘north’ and ‘south’ of the continent or that it has actually reinforced those boundaries, by incorporating and socialising Mexico and actively discriminating against non-NAFTA economies and societies in the region.

Conclusion: Reshaping International Relations?

To what extent do security communities fulfil the normative promise ascribed to them by writers such as Deutsch, Adler and Barnett? Do they reshape regional security politics by replacing conflict with cooperation, or merely reproduce realist logic at their borders? Do they suggest a move towards a solidarist society of states or threaten an epoch of civilisational confrontation? In the course of the four case studies, many of our intuitive beliefs have been called into question. In particular the relationship between the type of security community and its effect on relations between members and non-members is counter-intuitive. That is, the greater the maturity and more tightlycoupled the security community, the less likely it is to be a regional fortress. In this conclusion, I will begin by explaining this claim before questioning what this means for the way we think about International Relations. In particular, I argue that relations between a security community and its neighbours are framed by political choices and social relations, and can therefore be constructed in an indefinite number of ways. To borrow an over-used phrase of Alexander Wendt’s, security communities are what their members and neighbours make of them.1

The ‘type’ of security community As discussed in the introduction, Adler and Barnett identified two types of security community and three stages of development. The members of all security communities exhibit a degree of ‘dependable expectation of peaceful change’ but in loosely-coupled security communities, states merely coordinate their activities and establish practical rules of association. In tightly-coupled security communities, institutional, epistemic and transversal networks begin developing, there is an increase in 178

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mutual trust and the formation of common identities. Intuitively, one would expect that just as with the development of the nation-state, as the security community matured and developed its own identities, values and interests, the boundaries between insiders and outsiders would become more pronounced. As a security community becomes tightly-coupled one would expect it to become more like the ‘regional fortresses’ described in the introduction. Thus, for example, debates about the widening and deepening of the European security community have raised the spectre of ‘fortress Europe’. Analysts and policy makers outside Europe have pointed to signs of increased cooperation as indicative of the existence of a regional fortress, and have warned that it could damage the economic and security interests of others.2 Journalists inside Europe meanwhile have described the strengthening of the EU’s immigration laws as ‘pulling up the drawbridge’ on fortress Europe.3 However, evidence drawn from applying the framework of analysis to the four cases suggests that this expectation is not borne out. To take the European example, we noted that it is important to divorce the security community from this or that particular organisation. There are states in Europe that are not members of the EU and/or NATO yet are members of the security community (Norway and Ireland for instance). Similarly, there are states that are members of the OSCE that are not necessarily members of the security community (Tajikistan for example). Once we understand this, the integration of some of Europe’s defence industries and the coordination of some states’ immigration policies (to use the two examples mentioned above) do not equate to the type of fortress building identified in the introduction. For example, the EU’s immigration practices may have a negative impact on the welfare of Croatian citizens, particularly those seeking work in the EU. However, that does not mean that the EU perceives Croatia as posing a threat to its security and values or that Croatia reciprocates this view. As Chapter 4 demonstrated, the proliferation of overlapping institutions produced by the maturing of the security community has actually helped to blur the distinction between insider and outsider because many of those institutions (OSCE, Partnership for Peace, European Council) extend beyond the core of the security community. It may well be the case that if the proliferation of institutions had not crossed boundaries, then the integration of the community would have had the effect we intuitively expected. However, and this will be discussed in more detail later, theorists of security communities

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acknowledge that states will tend to be drawn to powerful states and/or groups of states, particularly if cooperation appears to be improving the security and standard of living of the community’s members. The perceived success of the post-war functionalist experiment in Europe and the prevalence of the ‘European idea’ across the continent coalesced to make the security community appear attractive to its nonmember neighbours. Thus, NATO’s Partnership for Peace was in part a response to demands from non-members. Similarly, calls for EU enlargement are loudest amongst the EU’s neighbours. The point here is that it was not mere chance that the institutionalisation of Europe extended beyond the boundaries of the security community. It was a product of political choice, a common stock of ideas (the ‘European idea’), and perceptions amongst outsiders that the community itself had played a key role in improving the lives of its members’ citizens. Is it the case, then, that a more loosely-coupled community reproduces realist security policies on its borders? This counter-intuitive logic appears to hold good in two cases. First, in the case of the North American security community, there was clearly a militarisation of Mexico’s border region and an identifiably strong view that the main threats to the societal security of the community came from Southern America. Thus, even though NAFTA has not proliferated North American institutions it has nevertheless contributed to the persistence of Cold War-style security politics on the American continent. Second, in the GCC case we found that the key function of the Council was to provide collective legitimisation for a form of governance perceived as anachronistic and un-Islamic by many of its neighbours. The creation of a strong boundary in the Gulf region was made more difficult by important commonalities between members and non-members, such as a shared language and religion. However, once created, such boundaries proved resilient. This was even the case as the Gulf security community began to slide backwards from a potentially tightly-coupled security community to a barely loosely-coupled one. The Southeast Asian experience also seems to bear out the counterintuitive claim that a loosely-coupled security community is more likely to reproduce realist security politics at its borders than a tightlycoupled community. ASEAN states were more concerned about the threat of attack from outside states such as Vietnam and China and the threat of interference by the US in the association’s formative years, than they have been in more recent years. The collapse of communism in Europe cannot completely explain this, as both Vietnam and China remain communist today. Importantly, the security community itself

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has strengthened. Although it has not followed the path identified in Adler and Barnett’s typology – because it has pursued horizontal rather than vertical integration – it is clear that it has strengthened and that its constitutive norms play a vital role in shaping state practice and discourse. Most crucially, ASEAN has succeeded in its primary goals of creating a ‘no war community’ in Southeast Asia and providing a secure space for state-led development. As the ‘ASEAN way’ became a matter of habit for its members, two factors came into play. First, as its neighbours saw ASEAN accomplish its core goals, so the association became more attractive. States once seen as ‘threats’ became members (Vietnam), and others became members of offshoot institutions such as the ARF and ASEAN Plus Three process. Second, the more that the region’s leaders talked to each other in informal consultations, the more they came to realise that they, like the Europeans, shared a common set of ideas. As we noted in Chapter 5, the ‘ASEAN way’ closely reflects the basic rules of pluralist international society, rules that China had repeatedly subscribed to. The Southeast Asian case therefore also suggests that the stronger a security community becomes the less likely it is to reproduce realist security practices and discourses on its borders. However, before investigating why this might be, it is important to bear in mind two important caveats that ought to temper this conclusion. The first caveat is that in the Gulf and North American cases, security relations between would-be members and non-members were already conflictual prior to the establishment of the security community. There would, in all likelihood, have been conflict between individual Gulf monarchies and their Islamist neighbours had the GCC never been formed. This suggests that the GCC has been more like an ‘ambivalent community’ than ‘regional fortress’ (see introduction). Similarly, in the case of North America, the realist security logic that pervades North American perceptions of Latin America predated the establishment of the security community. Read from the opposite angle, in the European and Southeast Asian cases can we say that the integration of the security community was the independent variable that reshaped regional security politics? What of other variables such as the end of the Cold War or the globalisation of neo-liberalism? The second important caveat is that the relationship between a security community and its neighbours are not a ‘one-way street’. The relationship is framed not only by the community’s perception of its neighbours, but also by its neighbour’s perceptions and actions towards it. How, for example, could Gulf monarchies forge a ‘no war

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community’ with states such as Islamic Iran and Baathist Iraq that both denounced monarchical rule and supported groups seeking to overthrow the Gulf monarchies? Similarly, a North American security analyst might insist that the US sees Colombia as a societal security threat because Colombian drug barons and organised criminals do threaten the welfare of US citizens. However, although the wider international context clearly does impact upon the nature of a security community’s relations with its neighbours, social relationships are still constructed and can be constructed differently. The wider European community did not suddenly come into being in 1989. The ‘European idea’ predated the Second World War and its contemporary vision was embedded in the CSCE’s Helsinki process, a political process aimed at identifying, articulating and working in tandem to achieve, common interests and values. More tellingly perhaps, the emergence of wider processes centred on ASEAN and its neighbours in Asia was not predicated on the collapse or retreat of communism from the region. Indeed, the end of the Cold War in Southeast Asia brought about both Soviet and US military retreats from the region, leaving the Chinese military in a position of greater strength vis-à-vis its southeastern neighbours than ever before. Thus, although the nature of a security community’s neighbours is undoubtedly important, relations between insiders and outsiders are framed by social and political interaction and can change over time. Bearing these two caveats in mind, how can we explain the correlation between the security community’s level of integration and the type of security politics it produces on its boundaries? There are six key explanations, which are all interrelated. First, in loosely-coupled security communities such as the GCC and early ASEAN, the language and logic of realism remains pervasive in regional security discourse. Although individual members in this type of community are beginning to learn to trust one another they still tend to see security as a zero-sum phenomenon and construct security dilemmas and balances of power. Whilst members of the nascent loosely-coupled community may begin to not fear their co-members they continue to see the wider world through realist lenses. As a security community matures and integrates, realist language becomes less prevalent. As we noted in the European case, not only did realist language become redundant in the theory and practice of relations between the security community’s core states, the language of traditional International Relations changed as well. In mature tightly-coupled security communities, realist ‘commonsense’ no longer shapes the worldview of member states. This opens discursive

Conclusion: Reshaping International Relations? 183

space for the reshaping of security politics and the overcoming of the binary distinctions that inform traditional discourses of security. Second, experiences of successful community building – which are essential to the forging of a mature tightly-coupled security community – socialise states into new forms of commonsense. In post-war Western Europe, centuries of bloody conflict were replaced with functionalist cooperation. States continued to disagree with each other – as the French withdrawal from NATO’s military command and De Gaulle’s rejection of the British application for EEC membership testify – but political conflict was resolved through non-violent means. In Southeast Asia, the ‘ASEAN way’ created a new commonsense that provided benchmarks for mediating conflict between states. In this case, the solution was found in the articulation and strengthening of the constitutive norms of international society rather than through supranationalism, yet the outcome has been broadly similar: the creation of new forms of commonsense. This new commonsense frames the way that members of a security community relate to non-members. In their relations with others, European states tend to focus on functionalist problem-solving, they tend to promote regionalism (as we saw in the GCC case), and prefer multilateral forums. Similarly, the ‘ASEAN way’ is not restricted to relations between ASEAN members, and Southeast Asian states tend to conduct their relations with non-members with similar due regard for the principles of non-interference and consultation. By and large, it was these principles that enabled the rapprochement with Vietnam and China. Nascent loosely-coupled security communities have much less in the way of independent commonsense derived from social interaction, so its members may be more likely to frame their worldview – and hence interests and perceptions of appropriate behaviour – in realist terms. Third, as Adler and Barnett noted (see introduction), security communities are often formed in response to perceived threats. States come together to reduce the transaction costs of meeting that threat. Interestingly, we noted that in both the European and Southeast Asian cases the primary threat that the community was created to meet was internal to that community. That is, the European project as a whole was not principally focused on the defence of Europe from communism but on preventing a recurrence of the types of wars that had scourged the continent twice in the space of 30 years. Those wars were wars primarily between members of the security community. Similarly, the primary purpose of ASEAN was to improve relations between ASEAN members and move beyond the politics of confrontation. In

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the GCC case, security concerns were a subtext but were nevertheless pervasive, and GCC members were primarily concerned with threats emanating from outside. Similarly, the ‘threats’ that NAFTA was responding too – the regionalisation of the global economy and the threats to societal security posed by Latin America – were also ‘external’ in source. Two points flow from these observations. On the one hand, security communities directed against ‘external’ threats are more likely to resemble regional fortresses than those that aim to improve internal relations. On the other hand, as the security community matures and integrates, the original ‘threat’ rationale is replaced by the new forms of commonsense that evolve from cooperation. The four cases studied here suggest that mature tightly-coupled security communities are less likely to be organised in response to common perceptions of threat than nascent loosely-coupled security communities. As a result, they are less likely to reproduce realist security politics on their borders. The fourth explanation focuses on the perceptions of ‘outsiders’. As a security community matures and integrates, two factors coalesce to make the community appear more attractive to outsiders. First, a point raised earlier, the more tightly-coupled security community tends not to use the language of realism in either its internal or external politics. This helps to reshape perceptions of threat amongst non-members. It is very difficult for securitising agents in non-member states to identify a security community as a potential threat if that community is not using the language and practice of militarised realist logic. Specifically, if the security community is not speaking and acting in terms of ‘balances of power’ or ‘security dilemmas’ it becomes much more difficult for securitising agents to persuade others that the community poses a threat. As we saw in our discussion of NATO enlargement, although many Russians may not like the idea – because of the Cold War overtones associated with the alliance – they nevertheless do not perceive NATO as an important source of threat to the Russian way of life. Securitising agents that call for increased defence spending at the expense of spending on domestic law and order, jobs, education and health find that their arguments do not persuade many others. Second, the very fact that a security community is maturing and integrating implies that it is fulfilling (and reshaping) the interests of its members. This is certainly the case in both Europe and Southeast Asia. As a result – and as a consequence of the reductions of threat perception identified in the previous point – the security community begins to look more attractive to its non-member neighbours. A mature tightly-

Conclusion: Reshaping International Relations? 185

coupled security community’s neighbours therefore become more interested in either joining the community outright or at least developing informal and/or formal mechanisms for dialogue and cooperation with the security community. Thus, in the ASEAN case the desire for dialogue was able to overcome the still deep ideological schisms between communist China and capitalist ASEAN. This brings us to the fifth explanation: the role of socialisation. As we noted in Chapter 1, states learn to behave in particular ways. As a security community matures and integrates, changes its discourse by replacing the language of realism and military confrontation, demonstrates the extent to which conflict can be resolved peacefully, and exhibits how rules and norms can be constructed to allow individual members to fulfil their interests, a twin process of socialisation takes place. On the one hand, members of the security community learn to cope with each other more peaceably and effectively. On the other hand, the security community’s neighbours learn new norms and discourses and are socialised into them. The power of socialisation is linked to the power of the security community and this, in turn, is linked to the community’s type and stage of development. A nascent loosely-coupled security community has difficulty socialising its own members, let alone non-members. A mature tightly-coupled security community, however, socialises others into accepting and acting in accordance with its norms and ideas. In all four case studies, it was possible to identify ideas, values, identities and interests that crossed the boundary between insider and outsider. Nevertheless, in two cases of loosely-coupled security communities – the GCC and NAFTA – those commonalities did not translate into new, non-realist theories and practices of security. In Europe and Southeast Asia on the other hand, we were able to identify processes of socialisation that built upon preexisting commonalities, be they historical and cultural in the European case or commonalities in beliefs about how world politics should be ordered as in Southeast Asia. The sixth explanation relates to institutions. Although security communities cannot be reduced to this or that particular institution, institutions, agencies and informal processes are nevertheless important. As the security community matures and integrates, dense networks of institutions and informal processes, transversal relations and epistemic communities are fostered that incorporate both governments and civil societies. These networks traverse the boundaries within the security community with increasing regularity, once again socialising agents into accepting transnational relations and

186 Security Communities and their Neighbours

cooperation as ‘normal’. These networks almost inevitably spill over to include groups in non-member states. This may be the result of either political design or functional necessity but it is nevertheless clear that a maturing security community proliferates transnational networks, institutions and agencies of all varieties and that these do spill across the security community’s boundaries. From a bottom-up perspective, an epistemic community interested in the development of defence cooperation for peacekeeping that evolves within a security community is likely to include experts from non-members who also have an interest in, and experience of, peacekeeping. From a topdown perspective, an inter-governmental agency created within a mature tightly-coupled security community to tackle the problems of global climate change is likely to soon recognise that both the regional impact and causes of climate change transcend the borders of the security community, necessitating cooperation with its neighbours. Such relations need not necessarily take the form of formal institutions but may instead involve the proliferation of informal networks and processes, as in Southeast Asia. These six points help to explain why tightly-coupled security communities are less likely to become ‘regional fortresses’ than looselycoupled communities. The key idea that unites all six points is that ideas shape practices in international society. The construction of new ways of ordering security politics within a security community necessarily reshapes the worldview of the community’s members. This in turn changes the language they use to articulate their interests and their security politics. Perhaps most importantly, members of a tightlycoupled security community learn to articulate their interests in nonzero sum ways. Members of a security community do not purchase security at the expense of other members and come to question whether security can be accomplished in this manner at all. These new practices and discourses are observed by non-members, making the security community appear less threatening and more appealing. As the security community strengthens, so non-members become socialised into the language and practices of security that frame the community. Accompanying this process of socialisation is a simultaneous proliferation of formal and/or informal networks, agencies and institutions that increase contact between insiders and outsiders and accelerates processes of social learning. The security community and its neighbours increasingly learn not to feel threatened by each other. It becomes harder for securitising agents on both sides of the boundary to identify the ‘other’ as a source of threat.

Conclusion: Reshaping International Relations? 187

Mature security communities and perpetual peace Is it the case, then, that security communities do indeed present International Relations scholars and practitioners with a path to perpetual peace between states, as many of its advocates have suggested? What is quite clear from the case studies and the analysis above is that the proliferation and integration of security communities do not represent the beginning of a Hutingtonian nightmare of a world of civilisational blocs in perpetual conflict with each other. Indeed, from the present argument we could deduce that the more security communities there are and the more tightly-coupled they become, the more blurred will be the boundaries between insiders and outsiders. It follows from this that Adler and Barnett are quite right to assert that security communities may mitigate and even eliminate violent conflict between states. Moreover, it follows from the present analysis that this process of elimination does not have geographical limits. Security communities, like all discourses, regimes, and practices in International Relations are constructed through social interaction. They can be crafted as either regional fortresses or global integrators, though as we saw above the trends associated with the maturation of a security community make it more difficult for that community and its neighbours to maintain adherence to realist canon. In the four cases studied in this book, a variety of paths to integration were adopted. Most significantly, perhaps, there was no correlation between type of integration, the domestic nature of the actors, and the effect of the security community on insider-outsider relations. The Western European security community comprises democratic states pursuing a supranationalist approach to integration. The Southeast Asian security community comprises mostly non-democratic states pursuing what was described as a ‘horizontal’ approach to integration; that is, the informal integration of political elites. Nevertheless, the development of both security communities has had broadly similar effects on insider-outsider relations, though obviously to differing degrees. On the other side of the coin, the GCC is comprised of monarchies that initially pursued institutionalised integration – rhetorically at least – whilst NAFTA comprises democracies pursuing informal integration, but in both cases the security community has contributed to the creation of exclusionary regional politics. This suggests that there is not one path to integration but many and integration need not imply institutionalisation, supranationalism or even collective action. Moreover, it suggests that security communities need not be founded

188 Security Communities and their Neighbours

on liberal democracy.4 Indeed, what the present study suggests is that the Democratic Peace thesis may not be the only path to perpetual peace in world politics. A world of mature, overlapping security communities may also provide perpetual peace between (though not necessarily within) states without requiring them to adopt a particular, liberal democratic form of governance. Relations between insiders and outsiders are not a one-way street and historical and contextual factors play an important role in shaping and constraining relations. Nevertheless, a theme that has emerged throughout this book is that relations can be reshaped if there is the political will to do so. France and Germany, Malaysia and Indonesia, the US and Mexico are all examples of states reshaping conflictual relations by identifying common interests, establishing common norms and upholding them in practice. Tightly-coupled security communities do not tend to purchase security at the expense of others. Instead, they help to reshape International Relations by replacing the Hobbesian ‘commonsense’ of perpetual war, which has dominated the theory of International Relations (though as the four cases here testify, not its practice) since 1945 with a new commonsense that stresses the interdependence of security and the importance of dialogue. As such, Deutsch’s vision should be brought squarely back into the mainstream of practical and normative thinking about world politics.

Notes Introduction 1. Thomas Hobbes, Leviathan, ed. R. Tuck (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991). 2. On the concept of the security dilemma see Ken Booth and Nicholas J. Wheeler, The Security Dilemma, forthcoming. 3. The communitarian justification for states is discussed by Chris Brown, International Relations Theory: New Normative Approaches (New York: Columbia University Press, 1992), pp. 52–81 and throughout David Rasmussen (ed.), Universalism vs. Communitarianism: Contemporary Debates in Ethics (Cambridge Mass: MIT Press, 1990). 4. Robert Gilpin, War and Change in World Politics (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1981), pp. 227–8. 5. The idea that the pursuit of morality and justice is limited to the state is the cornerstone of communitarianism. The idea of ‘bounded justice’ is put forward by John Rawls, A Theory of Justice (Cambridge Mass: Harvard University Press, 1971). For an overview of the construction of nationhood see Alex J. Bellamy, The Formation of Croatian National Identity in the 1990s: A Centuries-old Dream? (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2003). 6. This is the core assumption underpinning Kenneth Waltz’s, Theory of International Politics (Reading Mass: Addison-Wesley, 1979). 7. Hans J. Morgenthau, Politics Among Nations: The Struggle for Power and Peace (New York: Knopf, 1979). 8. Nicholas J. Wheeler and Ken Booth, ‘The Security Dilemma’, in J. Baylis and N. J. Rengger (eds), Dilemmas of World Politics: International Issues in a Changing World (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1992), p. 30. 9. For excellent overviews of the development of the state and state systems see Barry Buzan and Richard Little, International Systems in World History: Remaking the Study of International Relations (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000) and Stephen Hobden and John Hobson (eds), Historical Sociology of International Relations (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002). 10. Anthony Giddens, The Nation-State and Violence (London: University of California Press, 1987). 11. For example, between 1450 and 1777 the Iroquois nations managed conflict between them through a league that enabled them to eliminate war between them entirely. See Neta C. Crawford, ‘A Security Regime Among Democracies: Cooperation Among Iroquois Nations’, International Organization, 48 (3), 1994. 12. See Catherine Bracewell, C., The Uskoks of Senj: Piracy, Banditry and Holy War in the Sixteenth-Century Adriatic (London: Cornell University Press, 1992) and Francis Carter, Dubrovnik (Ragusa): A Classic City-State (London: Seminar Press, 1972). 189

190 Notes 13. See Ward Thomas, The Ethics of Destruction: Norms and Force in International Relations (London: Cornell University Press, 2001). 14. Karl Deutsch et al, Political Community and the North Atlantic Area: International Organizations in the Light of Historical Experiences (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1957) and Emmanuel Adler and Michael Barnett (eds), Security Communities (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000). 15. I am very grateful to Sara Davies for the following points. 16. See Craig Snyder, ‘Regional Security Structures’, in Craig Snyder (ed.), Contemporary Security and Strategy (Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1997). 17. Ole Holsti, Unity and Disintegration in International Alliances: Comparative Studies (London: Wiley, 1976), p. 341. 18. The ‘relative gains’ issue was first put forward by Joseph Grieco, ‘Anarchy and the Limits of Cooperation: A Realist Critique of the Newest Liberal Institutionalism’, International Organization, 42 (3), 1988. 19. William Tow, Asia-Pacific Strategic Relations: Seeking Convergent Security (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002). 20. For a more detailed discussion of balance of power politics see Martin Wight, ‘The Balance of Power’ in Herbert Butterfield and Martin Wight (eds), Diplomatic Investigations, Kenneth Waltz, Theory of International Politics (Reading MA: Addison-Wesley, 1979) and Steven Walt, The Origins of Alliances (Ithaca NY: Cornell University Press, 1987). 21. G. John Ikenberry and Jitsuo Tsuchiyama, ‘Between Balance of Power and Community: The Future of Multilateral Security Co-operation in the AsiaPacific’, International Relations of the Asia-Pacific, 2 (1), 2002, p. 72. 22. See William Wohlforth, ‘The Stability of a Unipolar World’, International Security, 24 (1), 1999 and Kenneth Waltz, ‘The Emerging Structure of International Politics’, International Security, 18 (2), 1993. For one of many convincing explanations of the persistence of NATO see Robert B. McCalla, ‘NATO’s Persistence after the Cold War’, International Organization, 50 (3), 1996. 23. Robert Kaplan, The Coming Anarchy: Shattering the Dreams of the Post Cold War (London: Vintage, 2001). 24. See Colin McInnes, ‘Spectator Sport Warfare’, in Stuart Croft and Terry Terriff (eds), Critical Reflections on Security and Change (London: Frank Cass, 2000). 25. See Alex J. Bellamy, Kosovo and International Society (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2002). 26. Mark Beeson and Alex J. Bellamy, ‘Globalization, Security and International Order after September 11’, Australian Journal of Politics and History, 2003 forthcoming. 27. Jan Hallenberg, ‘The Extension of the European Security Community to the Periphery: France in the Mediterranean and Finland and Sweden in the Baltic Countries’, NATO Fellowship Final Report, 2000, p. 1. 28. Karl Deutsch et al, The North Atlantic Political Community, p. 5. 29. Deutsch et al, The North Atlantic Political Community, p. 6. 30. Deutsch et al, The North Atlantic Political Community, p. 6. 31. Ole Wæver, ‘Insecurity, Security and Asecurity in the West European Non-War Community’, in Adler and Barnett (eds), Security Communities, pp. 69–118. The idea of a ‘non-war community’ was first raised by Karl Deutsch to describe community whose members choose not to fight each other but which has not developed a common sense of identity. This is in

Notes 191

32. 33.

34. 35. 36. 37.

38. 39. 40. 41. 42. 43. 44.

45. 46.

47.

48. 49. 50. 51. 52. 53. 54.

many ways similar to the idea of a ‘nascent’ security community developed later by Adler and Barnett. Deutsch et al, The North Atlantic Political Community, p. 6 Emmanuel Adler and Michael Barnett, ‘Security Communities in Theoretical Perspective’, in Emmanuel Adler and Michael Barnett (eds), Security Communities (Cambridge: CUP, 1998), p. 7 Hedley Bull, The Anarchical Society: A Study of Order in World Politics (London: Macmillan, 1977). Joseph Legro, ‘Which Norms Matter? Revisiting the “Failure” of Internationalism’, International Organization, 51 (1), 1997, p. 33. Ward Thomas, The Ethics of Destruction, p. 17. This links in with the Michael Billig’s ideas about ‘banal nationalism’. Banal nationalism is nationalism so deeply entrenched that it is invoked subconsciously when people do not have to be reminded of their nationality and what it means. Similarly membership of a security community is an embedded norm that actors do not have to be reminded of. See Michael Billig, Banal Nationalism (London: Sage, 1995). Karl Deutsch, The Analysis of International Relations, 2nd Edition (Englewood Cliffs: Prentice Hall, 1978), pp. 19–22. Deutsch, Analysis of International Relations, p. 19. Adler and Barnett, ‘Security Communities in Theoretical Perspective’, p. 17. Emmanuel Adler and Michael Barnett, ‘A Framework for the Study of Security Communities’ in Adler and Barnett (eds), Security Communities, p. 53. The idea of ‘transversal relationships’ is expanded in Chapter 2. Adler and Barnett, ‘A Framework’, p. 55. See Michael Barnett and Martha Finnemore, ‘The Politics, Power and Pathologies of International Organizations’, International Organization, 53 (4), 1999, p. 698. On mutual constitution see Alexander Wendt, Social Theory of International Politics (Cambridge: CUP, 1999) On the importance of legitimation in global politics see Inis Claude, Swords into Plowshares: The Problems and Progress of International Organization (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1964). Christian Reus-Smit, The Moral Purpose of the State: Culture, Social Identity and Institutional Rationality in International Relations (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1999). Sean Kay, NATO and the Future of European Security (London: Rowman and Littlefield, 1998), pp. 9–10. Emmanuel Adler, ‘The Seeds of Peaceful Change: The OSCE’s Security Community Building Model’, in Adler and Barnett, Security Communities, p. 119. Samuel Huntington, The Clash of Civilizations and the Remaking of World Order (New York: Touchstone Books, 1998). Deutsch, Analysis of International Relations, p. 239. Adler and Barnett, ‘A Framework for the Study of Security Communities’, p. 59. Bruce Russett, Grasping the Democratic Peace: Principles for a Post Cold War World (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1994). Tarak Barkawi and Mark Laffey (eds), Democracy, Liberalism and War: Rethinking the Democratic Peace Debate (London: Lynne Rienner, 2001).

192 Notes 55. Emanuel Adler, Thomas Risse-Kappen and John Vasquez have all emphasised the idea that security communities are predicated on the notion of ‘democratic peace’. Thus, security communities may only exist between democratic states. However, following Acharya’s lead, I argue that the common values, norms and identities that underpin a security community need not necessarily be liberal or democratic, a point borne out by the cases of ASEAN and the GCC discussed in Chapters 5 and 6. See Emanuel Adler, ‘The Seeds of Peaceful Change’, John M. Vasquez (ed.), Classics of International Relations (Upper Saddle River NJ: Prentice Hall, 1986), Thomas Risse-Kappen, Cooperation Among Democracies: The European Influence on US Foreign Policy (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1995), and Amitav Acharya, Constructing a Security Community in Southeast Asia: ASEAN and the Problem of Regional Order (London: Routledge, 2001), p. 32. 56. Adler and Barnett, ‘A Framework’, p. 59. 57. See Matthias Albert, David Jacobsen and Josef Lapid (eds), Identities, Borders, Orders: Rethinking International Relations Theory (London: University of Minnesota Press, 2001) and John Macmillan and Andrew Linklater (eds), Boundaries in Question; New Directions in International Relations (London: Pinter, 1995). 58. Whether all four are actually security communities is highly debatable.

Chapter 1 1. Yosef Lapid, ‘The Third Debate: On the Prospects of International Theory in a Post-Positivist Era’, International Studies Quarterly 33 (3), 1989. 2. Hedley Bull, The Anarchical Society: A Study of Order in World Politics (London: Macmillan, 1977), p. 13. 3. See for instance Hans J. Morgenthau, Politics Among Nations: The Struggle for Power and Peace, 6th edition (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1985) and Kenneth Waltz, Theory of International Politics (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1979). 4. On human security see Caroline Thomas and Peter Wilkin (eds), Globalization, Human Security and the African Experience (Boulder: Lynne Rienner, 1999). 5. See the chapters by Barry Buzan, Paul Williams, Roland Bleiker and Jacqui True Bellamy (ed.), International Society and its Critics (Oxford: Oxford University Press, forthcoming) 6. Hedley Bull and Adam Watson (eds), The Expansion of International Society (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1986). 7. See for instance, Thomas Risse and Kathryn Sikkink, ‘The Socialization of International Human Rights Norms into Domestic Practices: Introduction’ in Thomas Risse, Stephen C. Ropp and Kathryn Sikkink (eds), The Power of Human Rights: International Norms and Domestic Change (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999) and Margaret Keck and Kathryn Sikkink, Activists Beyond Borders: Advocacy Networks in International Politics (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1998). 8. The idea of practical and purposive societies is Terry Nardin’s. See Terry Nardin, Law, Morality and the Relations of States (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1983).

Notes 193 9. These labels were first articulated by Hedley Bull, ‘The Grotian Conception of International Society’, in Herbert Butterfield and Martin Wight (eds), Diplomatic Investigations (London: Allen & Unwin, 1966). 10. Bull, ‘The Grotian Conception’, p. 52. Bull developed this idea further in The Anarchical Society. Here, Bull’s own position was that order depended on consensus between states about basic moral and political questions. Acts and norms of humanitarian intervention, for instance, could be justified – but only on the basis of the consensus of the overwhelming majority of states. Bull, The Anarchical Society, p. 157. 11. See Stanley Hoffman, ‘An American Social Science: International Relations’, Daedalus: Journal of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences, 106 (3), 1977. 12. Bull, ‘The Grotian Conception’, p. 52. 13. Alexander Wendt, Social Theory of International Politics (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999). 14. See Emanuel Adler, ‘Seizing the Middle Ground: Constructivism in International Relations’, European Journal of International Relations, 3 (3), 1997, Richard Price and Christian Reus-Smit, ‘Dangerous Liaisons? Critical International Theory and Constructivism’, European Journal of International Relations, 4 (3), 1998, and Ted Hopf, ‘The Promise of Constructivism in International Relations Theory’, International Security, 23 (1), 1998. 15. Reus-Smit, ‘Constructivism’, p. 216. 16. Martha Finnemore, National Interests in International Society (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1996), p. 2. 17. Whilst norms do reconstitute interests the process by which identities and interests are constructed is a complex one whereby the ‘frames’ provided by international norms are interpreted and internalised by individual actors. See Audie Klotz, ‘Norms Reconstituting Interests: Global Racial Equality and US Sanctions Against South Africa’, International Organization, 49 (3), 1995 and Matthew Evangelista, ‘The Paradox of State Strength: Transnational Relations, Domestic Structures and Security Policy in Russia and Soviet Union’, International Organisation, 49 (1), 1995. 18. Reus-Smit, ‘Constructivism’, p. 217. 19. Alexander Wendt, ‘Anarchy is what States Make of it: The Social Construction of Power Politics’, International Organisation, 46 (2), 1992, p. 398. 20. Wendt, Social Theory of International Relations, pp. 169–70. 21. See John Gerard Ruggie, ‘Continuity and Transformation in the World Polity: Toward a Neorealist Synthesis’, World Politics, 35 (2), 1983. 22. See Jackson, Quasi States. 23. Rogers Brubaker, Nationalism Reframed: Nationhood and the National Question in the New Europe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996). 24. These three points are drawn from Reus-Smit, ‘Constructivism’, pp. 218–9. 25. Friedreich V. Kratochwil, Rules, Norms and Decisions: On the Conditions of Practical and Legal Reasoning in International Relations and Domestic Affairs (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989), p. 11. 26. Reus-Smit, ‘Constructivism’, p. 219. 27. Wendt, Social Theory of International Relations, p. 170. 28. Reus-Smit, ‘Constructivism’, p. 218. 29. Chris Brown, ‘ “Turtles All the Way Down”: Anti-Foundationalism, Critical Theory and International Relations’, Millennium: Journal of International

194 Notes

30.

31. 32. 33. 34. 35.

36. 37. 38. 39. 40. 41. 42.

43. 44. 45. 46. 47. 48.

Studies, 23 (2), 1994. For a critical overview of structuration theory see John B. Thompson, ‘The Theory of Structuration’, in David Held and John B. Thompson (eds), Anthony Giddens and his Critics (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989). The ontological struggle between agent-centred and structural positions is known as the ‘agent-structure debate’. See Alexander Wendt, ‘The AgentStructure Problem in International Relations’, International Organization, 41 (2), 1987 and David Dessler, ‘What’s at Stake in the Agent-Structure Debate?’, International Organization, 43 (2), 1989. Reus-Smit, ‘Constructivism’, p. 218. Legro, ‘Which Norms Matter?’. Bull, The Anarchical Society, p. 45. These functions mirror the role of ideational structures identified by Reus-Smit. See Jackson, Quasi-States and Max Weber, ‘Basic Categories of Social Organisation’, in W. G. Runciman (ed.), Weber: Selections in Translation (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1978), p. 41–3. Michael Barnett, ‘The United Nations and Global Security: The Norm is Mightier than the Sword’, Ethics and International Affairs, 9 (2), 1995, p. 50. Kratochwil, Rules, Norms and Decisions, p. 6. See Stephen Krasner, Sovereignty: Organized Hypocrisy (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1999). Christine Gray, International Law and the Use of Force (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000). See Wheeler, Saving Strangers. Thomas, Ethics of Destruction, p. 34. See Thomas Risse and Kathrin Sikkink, ‘The Power of Principles: The Socialisation of Human Rights Norms into Domestic Practice’, in Thomas Risse, Stephen Ropp, and Kathrin Sikkink (eds), The Power of Principles: International Human Rights Norms and Domestic Change (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999). Jack S. Levy, ‘Learning and Foreign Policy: Sweeping a Conceptual Minefield’, International Organization, 48 (2), 1994. Levy, ‘Learning and Foreign Policy’, p. 282. See James G. March and Johan Ohlsen, Rediscovering Institutions: The Organizational Basis of Politics (New York: Free Press, 1989). James March and Johan Ohlsen, ‘The Institutional Dynamics of International Political Orders’, International Organization, 52 (4), 1998, p. 951. Thomas Risse, ‘ “Let’s Argue!”: Communicative Action in World Politics’, International Organization, 54 (1), 2000, p. 4. See Michael Barnett, ‘Culture, Strategy and Foreign Policy Change: The Road to Oslo’, European Journal of International Relations, 5 (1), 1999.

Chapter 2 1. The term ‘anarchic communities’ is drawn from Michael Taylor. Michael Taylor, Community, Anarchy and Liberty (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982).

Notes 195 2. Paul James, Nation Formation Towards a Theory of Abstract Community (London: Sage, 1992). 3. Peter Haas, ‘Introduction: Epistemic Communities and International Policy Coordination’, International Organization, 46 (1), 1992. 4. David Campbell, ‘Political Prosaics, Transversal Politics, and the Anarchical World’, in Michael J. Shapiro and Hayward R. Alker (eds), Challenging Boundaries: Global Flows, Territorial Identities (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1996). 5. Barry Buzan, Ole Wæver and Jaap de Wilde, Security: A New Framework for Analysis (London: Lynne Rienner, 1997). 6. David Campbell, Writing Security (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1992). 7. The failure to appreciate the contingent and contested nature of community identity was a major and convincing charge levelled against the securitisation idea by Bill McSweeney. See Bill McSweeney, ‘Identity and Security: Buzan and the Copenhagen School’, Review of International Studies, 24 (1), 1998. 8. Emanuel Adler and Michael Barnett, ‘A Framework for the Study of Security Communities’, in Emanuel Adler and Michael Barnett (eds), Security Communities (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), p. 31. The following section draws on Alder and Barnett’s approach. Adler and Barnett’s approach to community is largely cognisant with much sociological scholarship on the subject. See for example, Raymond Plant, Community and Ideology: An Essay in Applied Social Philosophy (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1974), Colin Bell and Howard Newby (eds), The Sociology of Community: A Selection of Readings (London: Frank Cass, 1974), Irwin T. Sanders, The Community: An Introduction to a Social System (New York: The Ronald Press Company, 1966), Jacqueline Scherer, Contemporary Community: Sociological Illusion or Reality? (London: Tavistock, 1972). 9. Adler and Barnett, ‘A Framework’, p. 31. 10. Taylor, Community, Anarchy and Liberty, p. 28. 11. Ira J. Cohen, ‘Structuration Theory and Social Praxis’, in Anthony Giddens and Jonathan Turner (eds), Social Theory Today (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1987), p. 297. 12. See for example Barry Wellman, Peter Carrington and Alan Hall, ‘Networks as Personal Communities’, in Barry Wellman and S. D. Berkowitz (eds), Social Structures: A Network Approach (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998). 13. Benedict Anderson, Imagined Communities (London: Verso, revised edn, 1983), p. 4. 14. Anderson, Imagined Communities, p. 6. 15. Adler and Barnett, ‘A Framework’, p. 32. 16. Terry Nardin, Law, Morality and the Relations of States (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1983). 17. Paul James, Nation Formation: Towards a Theory of Abstract Community (London: Sage, 1997) p. 185. Emphasis is James’. 18. James, Nation Formation, p. 185. Emphasis is James’. 19. James, Nation Formation, p. 191. 20. James, Nation Formation, p. 192.

196 Notes 21. James, Nation Formation, p. 184. 22. James, Nation Formation, p. 184. 23. Andrew Linklater, ‘What is a Good International Citizen?’, in Paul Keal (ed.), Ethics and Foreign Policy (Sydney: Allen and Unwin, 1992). 24. This argument is powerfully conveyed by A. C. Arend and R. J. Beck, International Law and the Use of Force: Beyond the UN Charter Paradigm (London: Routledge, 1993) and Fernando Teson, Humanitarian Intervention: An Enquiry into Law and Morality (Dobbs Ferry: Transnation, 1988). 25. See for instance Robert Jackson, The Global Covenant: Human Conduct in a World of States (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000). 26. See Andrew Linklater, ‘Citizenship and Sovereignty in the Post-Westphalian Sovereign State’ and Richard Bellamy and Dario Castiglione, ‘Between Cosmopolis and Community: Three Models of Rights and Democracy Within the European Union’, both in Danielle Archibugi, David Held and Martin Köhler (eds), Re-Imagining Political Community: Studies in Cosmopolitan Democracy (Oxford: Polity Press, 1998). 27. Michael Taylor, Community, Anarchy, and Liberty, p. 35. 28. Dennis E. Poplin, Communities: A Survey of Theories and Methods of Research (New York: Macmillan, 1972), p. 6. 29. Poplin, Community, p. 6. 30. Poplin, Community, p. 6. 31. Ole Wæver, ‘The EU as a Security Actor: Reflections from a Pessimistic Constructivist on Post-Sovereign Security Orders’, in Morten Kelstrup and Michael C. Williams (eds), International Relations Theory and the Politics of European Integration: Power, Security and Community (London: Routledge, 2000), p. 268. 32. Michael Barnett for instance has shown that discourses of Arab politics are predicated on an ‘either/or’ logic of either pan-Arabism ‘or’ patriotism to the state. Michael Barnett, ‘Sovereignty, Nationalism and Regional Order in the Arab States System’, International Organization, 49 (3), 1995. 33. Wæver, ‘The EU as a Security Actor’, p. 268. 34. I have considered how national identity is constructed in more depth in Alex J. Bellamy, The Formation of Croatian National Identity: A Centuries-Old Dream? (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2003). 35. This term is Richard Rorty’s. See Richard Rorty, ‘Human Rights, Rationality and Sentimentality’, in Stephen Shute and Susan Hurley (eds), On Human Rights: The Oxford Amnesty Lectures (New York: Basic Books, 1993). 36. Frank Schimmelfennig, ‘The Community Trap: Liberal Norms, Rhetorical Action, and the Eastern Enlargement of the European Union’, International Organization, 55 (1), 2001. 37. This definition comes from Peter Haas, ‘Introduction: Epistemic Communities’, p. 3. The idea of ‘epistemic communities’ is influenced by works on ‘policy networks’ and share many conclusions with this line of thinking. See David Knoke, Political Networks: The Structural Perspective (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990). 38. Haas, ‘Introduction: Epistemic Communities’, p. 15. 39. See E. E. Schattenschneider, The Semisovereign People (Hinsdale: Dryden Press, 1975), pp. 66–70. 40. Michel Foucault, The Order of Things (New York: Random House, 1970).

Notes 197 41. Michel Foucault, ‘Truth and Power’, in Michel Foucault, Power/Knowledge: Selected Interviews and Other Writings 1972–1977 (edited by Colin Gordon) (New York: Pantheon, 1980), p. 131. 42. See John Gerrard Ruggie, Constructing the World Polity: Essays on International Organization (London: Routledge, 1998), p. 55. 43. Samuel Huntington, The Soldier and the State: The Theory and Politics of CivilMilitary Relations (New York: Belknap, 1981) and S. E. Finer, The Man on Horseback: The Role of the Military in Politics (New York: Viking Press, 1976). 44. For a critical evaluation of the role of ‘supranational entrepreneurship’ see Andrew Moravcsik, ‘A New Statecraft? Supranational Entrepreneurs and International Cooperation’, International Organization, 53 (2), 1999. 45. Roland Bleiker, Popular Dissent, Human Agency and Global Politics (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), p. 2. 46. David Campbell, ‘Political Prosaics’, p. 9. 47. Nicholas J. Rengger, ‘European Communities in a Neo-Medieval Global Polity: The Dilemmas of Fairyland?’, in Morten Kelstrup and Michael C. Williams (eds), International Relations Theory and the Politics of European Integration, p. 61. 48. Martin Heidegger, Poetry, Language, Thought (New York: Harper and Row, 1971), pp. 165–6; Manuel Castells, The Informational City: Information, Technology, Economic Restructuring, and the Urban-Regional Process (Oxford: Blackwell, 1989), p. 348, and John Gerrard Ruggie, ‘Territoriality and Beyond: Problematizing Modernity in International Relations’, International Organization, 47 (4), 1993, p. 172. 49. This view is presented throughout the essays in Martin Shaw (ed.), Politics and Globalization: Knowledge, Ethics and Agency (London: Routledge, 1999). 50. Martin Shaw, Global Society and International Relations (Oxford: Polity Press, 1994). 51. Michael Barnett, ‘Culture, Strategy and Foreign Policy Change: Israel’s Road to Oslo’, European Journal of International Relations, 5 (1), 1999, p. 9. 52. David Campbell, Writing Security: United States Foreign Policy and the Politics of Security (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1992), p. 8. 53. See for instance Richard Muir, Modern Political Geography (New York: John Wiley and Sons, 1975), Nurit Kliot and Stanley Waterman (eds), Pluralism and Political Geography (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1983) and J. R. V. Prescott, Boundaries and Frontiers (London: Croom Helm, 1978), 54. See N. J. G. Pounds, Political Geography (New York: McGraw Hill, 1963), pp. 93–4. 55. L. D. Kristof, ‘The Nature of Frontiers and Boundaries’, Annals, Association of American Geographers, 49 (2) 1967, pp. 269–82. 56. Quoted by Philip Charrier, ‘ASEAN’s Inheritance: The Regionalization of Southeast Asia, 1941–61’, The Pacific Review, 14 (3), 2001, p. 315. 57. Peter J. Taylor, Political Geography: World-Economy, Nation-State and Locality (London: Longman, 1985), p. 105. 58. See Judith Lichtenberg, ‘National Boundaries and Moral Boundaries: A Cosmopolitan View’, in Peter G. Brown and Henry Shue (eds), Boundaries: National Autonomy and its Limits (Totowa: Rowman and Littlefield, 1981), pp. 90–1. 59. Thomas Wilson and Hastings Donnan, ‘Nation, State and Identity at International Borders’, in Thomas Wilson and Hastings Donnan (eds),

198 Notes

60. 61. 62.

63.

64.

65.

66.

67. 68. 69. 70.

71. 72. 73. 74.

75.

Border Identities: Nation and State at International Frontiers (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988), p. 9. See Kim Richard Nossal, The Patterns of World Politics (Scarborough: Prentice Hall, 1998), pp. 181–225. Wilson and Doonan, ‘Nation, State and Identity’, p. 9. Michael Waller and Andrew Linklater, ‘Introduction: Loyalty and the PostNational State’, in Michael Waller and Andrew Linklater (eds), Political Loyalty and the Nation-State (London: Routledge, 2003), p. 1. Also see John MacMillan and Andrew Linklater (eds), Boundaries in Question: New Directions in International Relations (London: Pinter, 1995). This may extend to the creation of transnational citizenship. See Andrew Linklater, ‘Citizenship and Sovereignty in the Post-Westphalian State’, European Journal of International Relations, 2 (1), 1996. See for instance, R. B. J. Walker, ‘The Subject of Security’, in Keith Krause and Michael C. Williams (eds), Critical Security Studies: Concepts and Cases (London: UCL Press, 1997). On the individual as the referent of security see Ken Booth, ‘Security and Emancipation’, Review of International Studies, 17 (2), 1991 and Steve Smith, ‘Mature Anarchy, Strong States and Security’, Arms Control, 12 (2), 1991. Shaw argues that civil society should be the primary referent of security. See Martin Shaw, ‘ “There is No Such Thing as Society”: Beyond Individualism and Statism in International Security Studies’, Review of International Studies, 19 (2), 1993 and Martin Shaw, ‘Civil Society and Global Politics: Beyond a Social Movements Approach’, Millennium: Journal of International Studies, 23 (3), 1994. Michael C. Williams, ‘Identity and the Politics of Security’, European Journal of International Relations, 4 (2), 1998. For a broad overview see Terry Terriff, Stuart Croft, Lucy James and Patrick M. Morgan, Security Studies Today (Oxford: Polity, 1999). See Jef Huysmans, ‘Defining Social Constructivism in Security Studies: The Normative Dilemma of Writing Security’, Alternatives, 27 (1), 2002. Brian L. Job, ‘The Insecurity Dilemma: National, Regime, and State Securities in the Third World’, in Brian L. Job (ed.), The Insecurity Dilemma: National Security of Third World States (Boulder: Lynne Rienner, 1992), p. 15. There is a lot of consensus on this. See Jackson, The Global Covenant, Frost, Ethics in International Relations and Walzer, Spheres of Justice. See Anthony Burke, In Fear of Security: Australia’s Invasion Anxiety (Annadale: Pluto Australia, 2001). See Gary Smith and St. John Kettle, Threats Without Enemies: Rethinking Australia’s Security (Leichhardt: Pluto Australia, 1992). Christian Reus-Smit, ‘Realist and Resistance Utopias: Community, Security and Political Action in the New Europe’, Millennium: Journal of International Studies, 21 (1), p. 17. See Buzan, Wæver and de Wilde, Security: A New Framework.

Chapter 3 1. Nicholas J. Wheeler and Alex J. Bellamy, ‘Humanitarian Intervention in World Politics’, in John Baylis and Steve Smith (eds), The Globalization of World Politics, 2nd edition (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000).

Notes 199 2. This idea is put forward by Alexander George. See Alexander George (ed.), Bridging the Gap: Theory and Practice in Foreign Policy (Washington DC: US Institute of Peace, 1997). 3. Michael Barnett, ‘Culture, Strategy and Foreign Policy Change: Israel’s Road to Oslo’, European Journal of International Relations, 5 (1), 1999, p. 17. 4. See Nicholas J. Wheeler, ‘Humanitarian Vigilantes or Legal Entrepreneurs: Enforcing Human Rights in International Society’, Critical Review of International Social and Political Philosophy, 3 (1), 2000. 5. Hideaki Shinoda, ‘The Politics of Legitimacy in International Relations: A Critical Examination of NATO’s Intervention in Kosovo’, Alternatives, 25 (4), 2000. 6. This argument was put forward most vigorously by the Italian and Greek governments. See Alex J. Bellamy, Kosovo and International Society (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2002). 7. For more detail on how abstract claims to identity are embedded in societies or individuals see Michael Billig, Banal Nationalism (London: Sage, 1995) and Sarah Radcliffe and Sally Westwood, Remaking the Nation: Place, Identity and Politics in Latin America (London: Routledge, 1996). 8. Radcliffe and Westwood, Remaking the Nation, p. 14.

Chapter 4 1. Michael Curtis, Western European Integration (New York: Harper & Row, 1965), pp. 4–5. 2. See Charles Pentland, International Theory and European Integration (London: Faber and Faber, 1973), p. 29. 3. Ernst B. Haas, The Uniting of Europe: Political, Social and Economic Forces 1950–1957 (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1958), p. 14. 4. Emanuel Adler, ‘Europe’s New Security Order: A Pluralistic Security Community’ in Beverly Crawford (ed.), The Future of European Security (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1994), p. 298. 5. As Monnet put it, ‘the boundaries of the Six were not drawn up by the Six themselves, but by those who were not yet willing to join them’. Cited by William Wallace, The Transformation of Western Europe (London: Pinter for the Royal Institute of International Affairs, 1990), p. 111. 6. See Kevin Wilson and Jan van der Dussen (eds), The History of the Idea of Europe (London: Routledge, 1995), Andrew Dawson, A Geography of European Integration: A Common European Home (Dartmouth: Ashgate, 1993). According to Mikhail Gorbachev, ‘Europe is indeed a common home where geography and history have closely interwoven the destinies of dozens of countries and nations…it is only together, collectively, and by following the sensible norms of coexistence that the Europeans can save their home’. Mikhail Gorbachev, Perestroika: New Thinking for Our Country and the World (London: Fontana, 1987), p. 195. 7. Carsten Tams, ‘The Function of a European Security and Defence Identity and its Institutional Form’, in Helga Haftendorn, Robert Keohane and Celeste Wallander (eds), Imperfect Unions: Security Institutions over Time and Space (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999), p. 87. This view is reflected throughout this book.

200 Notes 8. John J. Mearsheimer, ‘Why We Will Soon Miss the Cold War’, The Atlantic Monthly, 266 (2), 1990 and John J. Mearsheimer, ‘Back to the Future: Instability in Europe after the Cold War’, International Security, 15 (2), 1990. 9. See Christopher Layne, ‘The Unipolar Illusion: Why New Great Powers Will Arise’, International Security, 17 (4), 1993. 10. See Francis Heller and John Gillingham (eds), NATO: The Founding of the Atlantic Alliance and the Integration of Europe (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 1992). 11. M. Margaret Ball, NATO and the European Union Movement (London: Stevens and Sons, 1959), p. 1. 12. Jean Monnet cited by Ernest Wistrich, After 1992: The United States of Europe (London: Routledge, 1991), p. 24. 13. Ole Wæver, ‘Insecurity, Security and Asecurity in the West European NonWar Community’, in Emanuel Adler and Michael Barnett (eds), Security Communities (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), p. 90. 14. Wæver, ‘Insecurity, Security and Asecurity’, p. 90. 15. Cited by R. C. Mowat, Creating the European Community (New York: Barnes and Noble, 1973), p. 59. 16. Jean Monnet cited by Mowat, Creating the European Community, p. 60. 17. Monnet cited by Mowat, Creating the European Community, p. 154. 18. Jurgen Habermas, ‘Citizenship and National Identity: Some Reflections on the Future of Europe’, Praxis International, 12 (1), 1991. 19. See Brian Jenkins and Nigel Copsey, ‘Nation, Nationalism and National Identity in France’ and Gerd Knischewski, ‘Post-War National Identity in Germany’ both in Brian Jenkins and Spyros A. Sofos (eds), Nation and Identity in Contemporary Europe (London: Routledge, 1996). 20. Wæver, ‘Insecurity, Security and Asecurity’, p. 94. 21. Hugh Seton-Watson, ‘What is Europe, Where is Europe?’, Encounter, 115 (2), 1985. 22. Adler, ‘Europe’s New Security Order’, p. 302. 23. See Cris Shore, ‘inventing Homo Europaeus: The Cultural Politics of European Integration’, in Peter Niedermuller and Bjarne Stoklund (eds), Europe: Cultural Construction and Reality (Copenhagen: University of Copenhagen Press, 2001). 24. For an excellent and indicative overview of Euro-scepticism in the UK see Anthony Forster, Euroscepticism in Contemporary British Politics (London: Routledge, 2002). 25. See Ernest Wistrich, The United States of Europe (London: Routledge, 1994). 26. See Alex J. Bellamy, Kosovo and International Society (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2002). 27. See Martin Holmes, European Integration: Scope and Limits (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2001). 28. Gordon Smith, ‘Can Liberal Democracy Span the European Divide?’, in Hugh Miall (ed.), Redefining Europe: New Patterns of Conflict and Cooperation (London: Pinter for the Royal Institute of International Affairs, 1994), p. 113. 29. George Schopflin, ‘The Rise of Anti-Democratic Movements in PostCommunist Societies’, in Miall (ed.), Redefining Europe. 30. Cited in Jim George, ‘Understanding International Relations After the Cold War: Probing Beyond the Realist Legacy’, in Michael Shapiro and Hayward

Notes 201

31. 32. 33. 34. 35. 36. 37. 38. 39.

40. 41. 42. 43.

44.

45.

46. 47. 48. 49. 50.

51.

52. 53.

Alker (eds), Challenging Boundaries (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1996), p. 37. Dan Smith, ‘New Europe: New Security’, in Mary Kaldor (ed.), Europe From Below: An East-West Dialogue (London: Verso, 1991), p. 152. Both cited by Smith, ‘New Europe: New Security’, p. 154. Alpo M. Rusi, After the Cold War: Europe’s New Political Architecture (New York: Macmillan, 1991), p. 60. Rusi, After the Cold War, p. 60. See Ole Wæver, ‘Europe Since 1945: Crisis to Renewal’, in Wilson and van der Dussen (eds), The History of the Idea of Europe, p. 169. See Jacques Levesque, The Enigma of 1989: The USSR and the Liberation of Eastern Europe (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1997). Gorbachev, Perestroika, p. 195. Noel Malcolm, ‘The Common European Home and Soviet European Policy’, International Affairs, 65 (4), 1989. The following brief discussion draws upon Alex J. Bellamy and Stuart Griffin, ‘OSCE Peacekeeping: Lessons from the Kosovo Verification Mission’, European Security, 11 (1), 2002. Vojtech Mastny, The Helsinki Process and the Reintegration of Europe 1986–1991 (New York: New York University Press, 1993), p. 2. Emanuel Adler, ‘Seeds of Peaceful Change: The OSCE’s Security CommunityBuilding Model’, in Adler and Barnett (eds), Security Communities, p. 127. Habil Stadtmuller, ‘The Issue of NATO Enlargement in Polish–Russian Relations’, final report for NATO fellowship 2000–2001, p. 17. Irena Mladenova and Elitsa Markova, ‘NATO’s Enlargement and the Costs for Bulgaria to Join NATO’, final report EAPC–NATO individual fellowship, 1999–2001, p. 38. Helene Sjursen, ‘Enlargement and the Common Foreign and Security Policy: Transforming the EU’s External Policy?’, ARENA Working Papers, WP98/28, 1998, p. 5. Nicholas J. Rengger, ‘European Communities in a Neo-Medieval Global Polity’, in Morten Kelstrup and Michael C. Williams (eds), International Relations Theory and the Politics of European Integration: Power, Security and Community (London: Routledge, 2000). Ole Wæver, ‘The European Security Triangle’, Working Papers, 8, 1994. Wæver, ‘Europe Since 1945’ p. 193. Morten Bøas, ‘Security Communities: Whose Security?’, Cooperation and Conflict, 35 (3), 2000. Bøas, ‘Security Communities: Whose Security? The above discussion draws on Knud Erik Jorgensen and Ben Rosamend, ‘Europe: Regional Laboratory for a Global Polity?’, in Morten Ougaard and Richard Higgott (eds), Towards a Global Polity (London: Routledge, 2002), p. 191. Helen Wallace, ‘The Institutional Setting: Five Variations on a Theme’ in Helen Wallace and William Wallace (eds), Policy Making in the European Union (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000) pp. 28–35 Roger Morgan, ‘A European “Society of States” – but only States of Mind?’, International Affairs, 76 (3), 2000. NATO Handbook 2002, p. 23.

202 Notes 54. See for instance the references to the role of NATO throughout Andrew Cottey, Timothy Edmunds and Anthony Forster (eds), Democratic Control of the Military in Postcommunist Europe: Guarding the Guards (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2002). 55. See Ilmars Viksne, ‘Democratic Control of Armed Forces in Latvia’ and Vaidotas Urbelis and Tomas Urbonas, ‘The Challenge of Civil-Military Relations and Democratic Control of Armed Forces: the Case of Lithuania’, both in Cottey, Edmunds and Forster (eds), Democratic Control of the Military. 56. Trevor Taylor, ‘Security for Europe’, in Miall (ed.), Redefining Europe, p. 175. 57. Philip H. Gordon, ‘Recasting the Atlantic Alliance’, in Philip H. Gordon (ed.), NATO’s Transformation: The Changing Shape of the Atlantic Alliance (New York: Rowman & Littlefield, 1997), p. 12 and David Yost, ‘Transatlantic Relations and Peace in Europe’, International Affairs, 78 (2), 2002. 58. Haas, The Uniting of Europe, p. 25. 59. Haas, The Uniting of Europe, p. 491. 60. Georg Sorensen, ‘The Global Polity and Changes in Statehood’, in Ougaard and Higgott (eds), Towards a Global Polity, p. 48. 61. Adler, ‘The OSCE’s Security Community-Building Model’, p. 138. 62. EU, The Single Market in Action, Brussels, 2002. 63. See Michael E. Brown, ‘The Flawed Logic of NATO Enlargement’, in Gordon (ed.), NATO’s Transformation and Dan Reiter, ‘Why NATO Enlargement Does Not Spread Democracy’, International Security, 25 (4), 2001. 64. Helene Sjursen, ‘The Common Foreign and Security Policy: An emerging New Voice in International Politics?’, ARENA Working Papers, WP99/34, 1999, p. 4. 65. Karen Smith, The Making of EU Foreign Policy: The Case of Eastern Europe 1988–1995 (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 1998). 66. This argument is made throughout Smith, The Making of EU Foreign Policy. 67. Jorgensen and Rosamond, ‘Europe: Laboratory for a Global Polity?’, p. 199. 68. See Barry Eichengreen, ‘Economic Integration and European Security’, in Crawford (ed.), The Future of European Security, p. 80. 69. Helen Wallace, ‘The EC and Western Europe after Maastricht’, in Miall (ed.), Redefining Europe, p. 26. 70. These first three aims are drawn from Corneliu Bjola, ‘NATO as a Factor in Security Community Building: Enlargement and Democratization in Central and Eastern Europe’, NATO–EAPC Individual Fellowship Final Report 1999–2001, p. 17. 71. See Clare McManus, ‘Poland and the Europe Agreements: The EU as a Regional Actor’, in Petersen and Sjursen (eds), A Common Foreign Policy for Europe?, pp. 116–121. 72. Hans Mouritzen, ‘Security Communities in the Baltic Sea Region: Real and Imagined’, Security Dialogue, 32 (3), 2001, p. 305. 73. Stadtmuller, ‘The Issue of NATO Enlargement’, p. 7. 74. Leonid Kosals, ‘Russia’s Elite Attitudes to the NATO Enlargement: Sociological Analysis’, NATO–EAPC Research Fellowship Final Report, Moscow 2001, p. 11. 75. Bellamy, Kosovo and International Society, p. 73. 76. Stadtmuller, ‘The Issue of NATO Enlargement’, p. 8. 77. Stadtmuller, ‘The Issue of NATO Enlargement’, p. 8.

Notes 203

Chapter 5 1. This struggle for security and recognition is a persistent theme of Jurgen Haacke, ASEAN’s Diplomatic and Security Culture: Origins, Development and Prospects (London: RoutledgeCurzon, 2003). 2. See Amitav Acharya, ‘Culture, Security, Multilateralism: The “ASEAN Way” and Regional Order’, in Keith B. Krause (ed.), Culture and Security: Multilateralism, Arms Control and Security Building (London: Frank Cass, 1999). 3. See for instance Nikolas Busse, ‘Constructivism and Southeast Asian Security’, The Pacific Review, 12 (1), 1999 and Yeun Foong Khong, ‘ASEAN and the Southeast Asian Security Complex’, in David Lake and Patrick Morgan (eds), Regional Orders (University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press). 4. Tobias Nischalke, ‘Does ASEAN Measure Up? Post-Cold War Diplomacy and the Idea of Regional Community’, The Pacific Review, 15 (1), 2002. 5. See Amitav Acharya, ‘Collective Identity and Conflict Management in Southeast Asia’, in Emmanuel Adler and Michael Barnett (eds), Security Communities (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998). 6. Acharya, ‘Collective Identity’, p. 199. 7. This is reminiscent of the ‘Westphalian’ conception of peacekeeping identified in Alex J. Bellamy, Paul Williams and Stuart Griffin, Understanding Peacekeeping (Cambridge: Polity, 2004). 8. On the importance of threat perception see, Chandran Jeshurun, ‘Threat Perception and Defence Spending in Southeast Asia: An Assessment’, Chin Kin Wah (ed.), Defence Spending in Southeast Asia (Singapore: ISEAS, 1987). 9. John Ravenhill, ‘A Three Bloc World? The New East Asian Regionalism’, International Relations of the Asia-Pacific, 2 (91), 2002, p. 167. 10. Sorpong Peou, ‘Realism and Constructivism in Southeast Asian Security Studies Today: A Review Essay’, The Pacific Review, 15 (1), 2002, p. 121. 11. In particular Amitav Acharya and Jurgen Haacke. 12. See Benjamin Reilly, ‘Internal Conflict and Regional Security in Asia and the Pacific’, Pacifica Review, 14 (1), 2002. 13. For a more detailed discussion of the ‘national resilience’ idea see Michael Leifer, ASEAN and the Security of South-East Asia (London: Routledge, 1989), p. 4. 14. It is important to bear in mind that both Sabah and Sarawak border Indonesia. 15. Haacke, ASEAN’s Diplomatic and Security Culture, p. 38. 16. Haacke, ASEAN’s Diplomatic and Security Culture, p. 37. 17. Haacke, ASEAN’s Diplomatic and Security Culture, p. 41. 18. Amitav Acharya, Constructing a Security Community in Southeast Asia: ASEAN and the Problem of Regional Order (London: Routledge, 2001), p. 49. 19. Mely Caballero-Anthony, ‘Mechanisms of Dispute Settlement: The ASEAN Experience’, Contemporary Southeast Asia, 20 (1), 1998, p. 42. 20. See Michael Antolik, ASEAN and the Diplomacy of Accommodation (New York: M. E. Sharpe, 1990), p. 14 and J. A. C. Mackie, Konfrontasi: The IndonesianMalaysian Dispute 1963–1966 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1974).

204 Notes 21. N. Ganesan, ‘ASEAN’s Relations with Major External Powers’, Contemporary Southeast Asia, 22 (2), 2000, p. 260. 22. Cited by Leifer, ASEAN and the Security of Southeast Asia, p. 66. 23. See Acharya, ‘Collective Identity and Conflict Management’, p. 204. 24. Leifer, ASEAN and the Security of Southeast Asia, p. 6. 25. See M. L. R. Smith and David Martin Jones, ‘ASEAN, Asian Values and Southeast Asian Security in the New World Order’, Contemporary Security Policy, 18 (3), 1997. 26. Michael Haas, The Asian Way to Peace: A Study of Regional Cooperation (New York: Praeger, 1989), pp. 2–5. 27. See Chapter 2 for a discussion of the pluralist international society approach to security. According to Gerald Segal, ‘there is little that is “Asian” about Asian security…the fate of Asian security is in Asian hands not in their genes’, Gerald Segal, ‘What is Asian about Asian Security?’, in Jim Rolfe (ed.), Unresolved Futures, Comprehensive Security in the Asia-Pacific (Wellington: Centre for Strategic Studies, 1995), p. 107. Whilst I agree with Segal that the ‘ASEAN way’ is not necessarily ‘Asian’ that does not mean, as Segal implies, that there are universal ‘realities’ of national security that transcend culture and history. Instead, I argue that it is no coincidence the ASEAN way reflect because pluralist norms of international society seeks to create a society of states that allows diverse societies to pursue their own political, economic and social ends in a way that does not harm other states. This directly reflects the primary concerns of ASEAN leaders in the latter half of the 1960s, as the opening section of this chapter demonstrated. 28. Cited in Robin Ramcharan, ‘ASEAN and Non-Interference: A Principle Maintained’, Contemporary Southeast Asia, 22 (1), 2000, p. 65. 29. Ramcharan, ‘ASEAN and Non-Interference’, p. 65. 30. See Acharya, Constructing a Security Community, pp. 51–65. 31. Cited in Acharya, Constructing a Security Community, p. 68. 32. Caballero-Anthony, ‘Mechanisms of Dispute Management’, p. 11. 33. Acharya, Constructing a Security Community, p. 69 and Caballero-Anthony, ‘Mechanisms of Dispute Management’, p. 11. 34. The exchange of fire across the Thailand-Myanmar border is a good example. Both sides downplayed the significance of the exchange, maintaining that it was caused by misunderstandings along way down the chain of command, both also claimed ‘exceptional circumstances’ (Myanmar referred to the principle of non-interference in order to claim a right of hot pursuit and to accuse Thailand of supporting rebels, Thailand claimed to be acting in self-defence), but ultimately agreement was reached and the exchanges terminated. Importantly, both states made use of ASEAN norms to justify their actions throughout. 35. Despite the label, this was very far from articulating a new concept of sovereignty as some have suggested. See Samuel M. Makinda, ‘Security and Sovereignty in the Asia-Pacific’, Contemporary Southeast Asia, 23 (3), 2001 and Baogang He, ‘Cosmopolitan Democracy and the National Identity Question in Europe and East Asia’, International Relations of the Asia-Pacific, 2 (1), 2002. 36. Cited by Haacke, ASEAN’s Diplomatic and Security Culture, p. 167.

Notes 205 37. Haacke, ASEAN’s Diplomatic and Security Culture, p. 169. 38. Stephen Philip Cohen, ‘Leadership and the Management of National Security: An Overview’, in Mohammed Ayoob and Chai-Anan Samudavanija (eds), Leadership Perceptions and National Security (Singapore: ISEAS, 1989), pp. 33–5. 39. Michael Leifer, ‘The Role and Paradox of ASEAN’, in Michael Leifer (ed.), The Balance of Power in East Asia (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1986). 40. Jurgen Ruland, ‘ASEAN and the Asian Crisis: Theoretical Implications and Practical Consequences for Southeast Asian Regionalism’, The Pacific Review, 13 (3), 2000, p. 438. 41. Ruland, ‘ASEAN and the Asian Crisis’, p. 438. 42. Amitav Acharya, The Quest for Identity: International Relations of Southeast Asia (Singapore: Oxford University Press, 2000), p. 72. 43. See Haacke, ASEAN’s Diplomatic and Security Culture, pp. 199–201. 44. Nischalke, ‘Does ASEAN Measure Up?’, p. 107. 45. Cited by Shaun Narine, ‘ASEAN and the Management of Regional Security’, 71 (2), 1998, p. 199. 46. Bilveer Singh, ZOPFAN and the New Security Order in the Asia-Pacific Region (Selangor: Pelanduk Publications, 1992), p. 11 and John Gorafano, ‘Power, Institutions and the ASEAN Regional Forum: A Security Community for Asia?’, Asian Survey, 42 (3), 2002, p. 514. 47. For a sympathetic account of the humanitarian value of the invasion see Nicholas J. Wheeler, Saving Strangers: Humanitarian Intervention in International Society (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000). 48. Narine, ‘ASEAN and Regional Security’, p. 205. 49. This discussion draws on Haacke, ASEAN’s Diplomatic and Security Culture, pp. 83–88. 50. Acharya, ‘Collective Identity and Conflict Management’, p. 207. 51. Leifer, ASEAN and the Security of Southeast Asia, p. 9. 52. See David Shambaugh, ‘Containment or Engagement of China? Calculating Beijing’s Response’, International Security, 21 (2), 1996. 53. N. Ganesan, ‘ASEAN’s Relations with Major External Powers’, Contemporary Southeast Asia, 22 (2), 2000. 54. See Bates Gill and James Reilly, ‘Sovereignty, Intervention and Peacekeeping: The View from Beijing’, Survival, 42 (3), 2001. 55. Leszek Buszynski, ‘Post-Cold War Security in the ASEAN Region’, in Gary Klintworth (ed.), Asia-Pacific Security: Less Uncertainty, New Opportunities? (Melbourne: Longman, 1996). 56. Lee Lai To, ‘China’s Relations With ASEAN: Partners in the 21st Century?’, Pacifica Review, 13 (1), 2001, p. 66. 57. Lee Lai To, ‘China’s Relations With ASEAN’, p. 67. 58. See Shambaugh, ‘Containment or Engagement of China?’. 59. Lee Lai To, China and the South China Sea Dialogues (Westport: Praeger, 1999), pp. 9–15. 60. Acharya, Constructing a Security Community in Southeast Asia, p. 136. 61. It is a little unfair to say, as some writers do, that ASEAN ‘failed’ to address the haze problem – as until that point the pursuit of environmental goals was not one of its areas of responsibility. See John Funston, ‘Challenges Facing ASEAN in a More Complex Age’, Contemporary Southeast Asia, 21 (2), 1999; Anthony Smith, ‘Indonesia’s Role in ASEAN: The End of Leadership?’,

206 Notes

62.

63. 64. 65. 66. 67. 68. 69. 70. 71. 72.

73. 74. 75.

76.

77. 78. 79. 80.

81. 82. 83.

Contemporary Southeast Asia, 21 (2), 1999; and Karin Dokken, ‘Environment, Security and Regionalism in the Asia-Pacific: is Environmental Security a Useful Concept?’, The Pacific Review, 14 (4), 2001. Muthiah Alagappa, ‘International Politics in Asia’, in Muthiah Alagappa (ed.), Asian Security Practice: Material and Ideational Influences (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1998), p. 86. Philip Charrier, ‘ASEAN’s Inheritance: the Regionalization of Southeast, 1941–61’, The Pacific Review, 14 (3), 2001. Acharya, ‘Collective Identity and Conflict Management’, p. 216. Ganesan, ‘ASEAN’s Relations with Major External Powers’, p. 263 and Leifer, ASEAN and the Security of South-East Asia, p. 27. Haacke, ASEAN’s Diplomatic and Security Culture, pp. 192–3. Paul Bowles, ‘ASEAN, AFTA and the “New Regionalism”’, Pacific Affairs, 70 (2), 1997, pp. 221–2. John Ravenhill, ‘A Three Bloc World? The New East Asian Regionalism’, International Relations of the Asia-Pacific, 2 (2), 2002, p. 181. Ravenhill, ‘A Three Bloc World?’, p. 182. See James L. Richardson, ‘The Asia-Pacific: Geopolitical Cauldron or Regional Committee?’, in Gary Klintworth (ed.), Asia-Pacific Security. Herman Joseph S. Kraft, ‘ASEAN and Intra-ASEAN Relations: Weathering the Storm?’, The Pacific Review, 13 (3), 2000, p. 465. Maznah Mohammed, ‘Towards a Human Rights Regime in Southeast Asia: Charting the Course of State Commitment’, Contemporary Southeast Asia, 24 (2), 2002, pp. 236–7. See Khoo How San, ‘ASEAN as a “Neighbourhood Watch Group”’, Contemporary Southeast Asia, 22 (2), 2000. Jose T. Almonte, ‘Ensuring Security the “ASEAN Way”’, Survival, 39 (4), 1997, p. 83. See Nobuo Okawara and Peter J. Katzenstein, ‘Japan and Asian-Pacific Security: Regionalization, Entrenched Bilateralism and Incipient Multilateralism’, The Pacific Review, 14 (2), 2001. John Garofano, ‘Power, Institutions and the ASEAN Regional Forum: A Security Community for Asia?’, Asian Survey 42 (3), 2000; Lau Teik Soon, ‘ASEAN Regional Forum as a Model for North-East Asian Security?’, in Takashi Inoguchi and Grant B. Stillman (eds), North-East Asian Regional Security: The Role of International Institutions (Tokyo: United Nations University Press, 1997); and Robyn Lim, ‘The ASEAN Regional Forum: Building on Sand’, Contemporary Southeast Asia, 20 (2), 1998. Lau Teik Soon, ‘ASEAN Regional Forum’, p. 37. Haacke, ASEAN’s Diplomatic and Security Culture, p. 116. Acharya, ‘Constructing a Security Community in Southeast Asia, p. 176. Richard Stubbs, ‘ASEAN Plus Three: Emerging East Asian Regionalism?’, Asian Survey, 42 (3), 2002, p. 441. The following discussion draws on Stubbs’ analysis. John Ravenhill, ‘APEC Adrift: Implications for Economic Regionalism in Asia and the Pacific’, The Pacific Review, 13 (2), 2000, p. 321. Yeo Lay Hwee, ‘ASEM: Looking Back, Looking Forward’, Contemporary Southeast Asia, 22 (1), 2000, p. 114. Yeo Lay Hwee, ‘ASEM’, p. 116.

Notes 207 84. See Nguyen Vu Tung, ‘Vietnam-ASEAN Co-operation after the Cold War and the Continued Search for a Theoretical Framework’, Contemporary Southeast Asia, 24 (1), 2002. 85. Kay Moller, ‘Cambodia and Burma: The ASEAN Way Ends Here’, Asian Survey, 38 (12), p. 1091. 86. Sheldon W. Simon, ‘Evaluating Track II Approaches to Security Diplomacy in the Asia-Pacific: The CSCAP Experience’, The Pacific Review, 15 (2), 2002, p. 175. 87. Simon, ‘Evaluating Track II Approaches to Security Diplomacy’, p. 194. 88. Renato Cruz De Castro, ‘Managing “Strategic Unipolarity”: The ASEAN States’ Responses to the Post Cold War Regional Environment’, in Derek da Cunha (ed.), Southeast Asian Perspectives on Security (Singapore: ISEAS, 2000), p. 64. 89. See Philip Methven, The Five Power Defence Arrangements and Military Cooperation Among the ASEAN States: Incompatible Models for Security in Southeast Asia? (Canberra: Strategic and Defence Studies Centre, 1992) and Robert Ayson, ‘New Zealand and Asia-Pacific Security: New Rationales for Engagement?’, Contemporary Southeast Asia, 22 (2), 2000. 90. See Derek McDougal, ‘Australia and Asia-Pacific Security Regionalism: From Hawke and Keating to Howard’, Contemporary Southeast Asia, 23 (1), 2001 and Joseph Y. S. Cheng, ‘Sino-ASEAN Relations in the Early Twenty-First Century’, Contemporary Southeast Asia, 23 (3), 2001.

Chapter 6 1. Paul Aarts, ‘The Middle East: A Region Without Regionalism or the end of Exceptionalism?’, Third World Quarterly, 20 (5), 199, p. 911. 2. See Emile A. Nakhleh, The Gulf Cooperation Council: Policies, Problems and Prospects (New York: Praeger, 1986), p. 1. 3. Michael Barnett and F. Gregory Gause III, ‘Caravans in Opposite Directions: Society, State and the Development of a Community in the Gulf Cooperation Council’, in Adler and Barnett (eds), Security Communities. 4. Aarts, ‘The Middle East’, p. 913. 5. John Christie, ‘History and Development of the Gulf Cooperation Council: A Brief Overview’, in John A. Sandwick (ed.), The Gulf Cooperation Council: Moderation and Stability in an Interdependent World (Boulder: Westview, 1987), p. 7. 6. Ralph Braibanti, ‘The Gulf Cooperation Council: A Comparative Note’, in Sandwick (ed.), The Gulf Cooperation Council, p. 206 7. Peter Mansfield, New Arabians (New York: Halty Ferguson, 1982). 8. F. Gregory Gause III, ‘Sovereignty, Statecraft and Stability in the Middle East’, Journal of International Affairs, 45 (2) 1992, p. 464. 9. See Roger Owen, States, Power and Politics in the Making of the Middle East, 2nd edition (London: Routledge, 1992), p. 58. 10. Joseph Kostiner and Joshua Teitelbaum, ‘State-Formation and the Saudi Monarchy’, in Joseph Kostiner (ed.), Middle East Monarchies: The Challenge of Modernity (London: Lynne Rienner, 2000), p. 132. 11. Nakhleh, The Gulf Cooperation Council, p. 44. Though this does not rule out the possibility of palace coups being seen as legitimate sources of succession because such coups are inspired by other members of the ruling elite.

208 Notes 12. Erik R. Peterson, The Gulf Cooperation Council: Search for Unity in a Dynamic Region (Boulder: Westview Press, 1988), p. 121. 13. R. K. Ramazani, The Gulf Cooperation Council: Record and Analysis (Charlottesville: University Press of Virginia, 1988), p. 1. 14. Ramazani, Gulf Cooperation Council, p. 4. 15. Gregory Gause III, ‘Sovereignty, Statecraft and Stability’, p. 441. 16. Gregory Gause III, ‘Sovereignty, Statecraft and Stability’, p. 444. 17. Gregory Gause III, ‘Sovereignty, Statecraft and Stability’, p. 448. 18. Peterson, The Gulf Cooperation Council, p. 78. 19. James A. Bill, ‘Resurgent Islam in the Persian Gulf’, Foreign Affairs, 63 (1) 1984, p. 118. 20. Gulshan Dietl, Through Two Wars and Beyond: A Study of the Gulf Cooperation Council (New Delhi: Lancers Books, 1991), p. 55. 21. Gregory Gause III, ‘Sovereignty, Statecraft and Stability’, p. 448. 22. Dietl, Through Two Wars and Beyond, p. 5. 23. Al-Sabah cited by Dietl, Through Two Wars and Beyond, p. 5. 24. Ramazani, The Gulf Cooperation Council, p. 5. 25. Ramazani, The Gulf Cooperation Council, p. 5. 26. Ramazani, The Gulf Cooperation Council, p. 5. 27. Christie, ‘History and Development of the Gulf Cooperation Council’, p. 9. 28. F. Gregory Gause III, ‘The Persistence of Monarchy in the Arabian Peninsula: A Comparative Analysis’, in Joseph Kostiner (ed.), Middle East Monarchies: The Challenge of Modernity (Boulder: Lynne Rienner, 2000), p. 174. 29. Andrew C. Hess, ‘Peace and Political Reform in the Gulf: The Private Sector’, Journal of International Affairs, 49 (1) 1995, p. 106. 30. Gregory Gause III, ‘The Persistence of Monarchy’, p. 175. 31. Dietl, Through Two Wars and Beyond, p. 25. 32. Yezid Sayigh, ‘The Gulf Crisis’, p. 499. 33. See Pete W. Moore, ‘Rentier Fiscal Crisis and Regime Stability: Business-State Relations in the Gulf’, Studies in Comparative International Development, 37 (1) 2002. 34. Abdullah bin Abdulaziz Al Saud, ‘Address to the Gulf Cooperation Council’, 30 December 2001. 35. Articles 1, 2 and 3 of the GCC Charter. 36. Humayon A. Dar and Jophn R. Presley, ‘The Gulf Co-operation Council: A Slow Path to Integration?’, The World Economy, 24 (4) 2001, pp. 1161–2 and M. A. Sager, ‘Regional Trade Agreements: Their Role and the Economic Impact of Trade Tiers’, The World Economy, 20 (2), 1997. 37. Peterson, The Gulf Cooperation Council, p. 38. 38. Mansfield, The Arabs, p. 358. 39. See Sami G. Haijar, ‘Regional Perspectives on the Causes of Proliferation of Weapons of Mass Destruction in the Middle East’, Comparative Strategy, 56 (3) 2000, pp. 35–8. 40. ‘Gulf countries endorse UAE call for Saddam’s exile’, Xinhua, 3 March 2003. 41. The Australian, 23 May 2003. 42. Michael Puttre, ‘Iran Rejects GCC Statement on UAE Dispute’, The Journal of Electronic Defense, January 2002, p. 24. 43. Cited in Ramazani, The Gulf Cooperation Council, p. 127.

Notes 209 44. Adel Darwish, ‘GCC: Lives to Fight Another Day’, The Middle East, February 2003, pp. 17–19. 45. Haifaa A. Jawad, ‘Pan-Islamism and Pan-Arabism: Solution or Obstacle to Political Reconstruction in the Middle East?’, in Haifaa A. Jawad (ed.), The Middle East in the New World Order, 2nd edition (London: Macmillan, 1997), p. 132. 46. Cited in Peterson, The Gulf Cooperation Council, p. 91. 47. Peterson, The Gulf Cooperation Council, p. 93. 48. Cited in Roger Owen, State, Power and Politics in the Making of the Modern Middle East, 2nd edition (London: Routledge, 1992), p. 71 49. Ian S. Lustick, ‘The Absence of Middle Eastern Great Powers: Political “Backwardness” in Historical Perspective’, International Organization, 51 (4), 1997, p. 654. 50. Sayigh, ‘The Gulf Crisis’, p. 504. 51. Cited by Lustick, ‘The Absence of Middle Eastern Great Powers’, p. 670. 52. See ‘Arab Reactions to Saudi Peace Plans’, The Middle East Media Research Institute, 4 March 2002. 53. See Adam Tarock, ‘Iran’s Foreign Policy Since the Gulf War’, Australian Journal of International Affairs, 48 (2) 1994. 54. Al Mazidi, The Future of the Gulf, p. 12. 55. Christie, ‘History and Development of the Gulf Cooperation Council’, p. 14. 56. Christie, ‘History and Development of the Gulf Cooperation Council’, p. 13. 57. Dietl, Through Two Wars and Beyond, p. 13. 58. Brigid Starkey, ‘Post-Cold War Security in the GCC Region: Continuity and Change in the 1990s’, in M. E. Ahari (ed.), Change and Continuity in the Middle East: Conflict Resolution and Prospects for Peace (London: Macmillan, 1996), p. 146. 59. Peterson, The Gulf Cooperation Council, p. 203. 60. The following discussion draws from Peterson, The Gulf Cooperation Council, pp. 203–6. 61. Ed Blanche, ‘GCC Security: New Alliances in the Making?’, The Middle East, May 2001, pp. 6–7. 62. In 1999, intra-GCC trade accounted for 10.6 percent of Bahrain’s trade, 3 percent of Kuwait’s, 16.1 percent of Oman’s, 5 percent of Qatar’s, 3.1 percent of Saudi Arabia’s and 7.9 percent of the UAE’s. Dar and Presley, ‘The Gulf Cooperation Council’, p. 1166. 63. See http://www.yusuf-abufara.net/business_and_economy_in_oman.htm 64. Cited by Robert E. Looney, ‘The Gulf Cooperation Council’s Cautious Approach to Economic Integration’, Middle East Insight, July/August 2002, pp. 2–3. 65. Dietl, Through Two Wars and Beyond, p. 60. 66. J. E. Peterson, The Gulf Arab States: Steps Towards Political Participation (New York: Praeger, 1988). 67. See Tareq Y. Ismael, Middle East Politics Today: Government and Civil Society (Gainesville: University Press of Florida, 2001), p. 341. 68. Barnett and Gregory Gause III, ‘Society, State and Community’, p. 188. 69. Nakhleh, The Gulf Cooperation Council, p. 52.

210 Notes 70. See Chat Goktepe, ‘The “Forgotten Alliance”? Anglo-Turkish Relations and CENTO, 1959–65’, Middle Eastern Studies, 35 (4) 1999. 71. Washington Post, 14 March 2003. 72. Looney, ‘The Gulf Cooperation Council’s Cautious Approach to Economic Integration’, p. 4. 73. Dietl, Through Two Wars and Beyond, p. 235. 74. ‘EU and Gulf Council set 1998 free trade deadline’, European Chemical News, 24 February 1997, p. 4 and Nnamdi Anyadike, ‘EU/GCC Joint Council Urges Progress on Import Tariff’, Aluminium Today, 10 (7) 1998. 75. Joseph Wright Twinam, ‘Reflections on Gulf Cooperation With Focus on Bahrain, Qatar and Oman’, in Sandwick (ed.), The Gulf Cooperation Council, p. 42. 76. Peter Moore, ‘Rentier Fiscal Crisis and Regime Stability: Business-State Relations in the Gulf’, Studies in Comparative International Development, 37 (1) 2002, pp. 46–9. 77. Gregory Gause III, ‘Sovereignty, Statecraft and Stability’, pp. 463–4. 78. Mazidi, The Gulf Cooperation Council, pp. 20–1.

Chapter 7 1. See Sean M. Shore, ‘No Fences Make Good Neighbours: the Development of the US-Canadian Security Community, 1871–1940’, in Adler and Barnett (eds), Security Communities. 2. See James F. Rochlin, Redefining Mexican ‘Security’: State, Society and Region under NAFTA (London: Lynne Rienner, 1997), p. 7, see especially note 27. 3. Christian Deblock and Michele Rioux, ‘NAFTA: The Trump Card of the United States?’, Studies in Political Economy, 41 (2), 1993, p. 7. 4. William T. R. Fox, A Continent Apart: The United States and Canada in World Politics (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1985), p. 15. 5. Sidney Weintraub, ‘US-Mexico Free Trade: Implications for the United States’, Journal of Interamerican Studies and World Affairs, 34 (2), 1992, p. 29. 6. Tom Farer, ‘Collectively Defending Democracy in the Western Hemisphere: Introduction and Overview’ in Tom Farer (ed.), Beyond Sovereignty: Collectively Defending Democracy in the Americas (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1996), p. 2. 7. Peter H. Smith, Talons of the Eagle: Dynamics of US-Latin American Relations, 2nd edition (New York: Oxford University Press, 2000), p. 257. 8. See Larry Diamond, ‘Democracy in Latin America: Degrees, Illusions, and Directions for Consolidation’, in Farer (ed.), Beyond Sovereignty. 9. Stephen Randall, ‘Managing Trilateralism: The United States, Mexico and Canada in the Post-NAFTA Era’, in Stephen Randall and Herman W. Konrad (eds), NAFTA in Transition (Calgary: University of Calgary Press, 1995), p. 38. 10. Cited by Randall, ‘Managing Trilateralism’, p. 40. 11. Ann E. Kingsolver, NAFTA Stories: Fears and Hopes in Mexico and the United States (Boulder: Lynne Rienner, 2001), p. 204 12. Amy Skonieczny, ‘Constructing NAFTA: Myth, Representation and the Discursive Construction of US Foreign Policy’, International Studies Quarterly, 45 (3), pp. 433–4.

Notes 211 13. Jill Norgren and Serena Nanda, ‘Cultural Identity in the United States: Will NAFTA Change America?’, in Dorinda G. Dallmeyer (ed.), Joining Together, Standing Apart: National Identities after NAFTA (The Hague: Kluwer Law International, 1997), pp. 92–3. 14. Norgren and Nanda ‘Cultural Identity in the United States’, p. 92 15. Timothy J. Dunn, The Militarization of the US-Mexico Border: Low-Intensity Conflict Doctrine Comes Home (Austin, Texas: CMAS Books, 1996), p. 164. 16. Cited by Denise Dresser, ‘Post-NAFTA Politics in Mexico’, in Carol Wise (ed.), The Post-NAFTA Political Economy: Mexico and the Western Hemisphere (University Park, Pennsylvania: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2000), p. 245. 17. Louis L. Ortmayer, ‘NAFTA and Economic Integration: Three Perspectives’, in Dallmeyer (ed.), Joining Together, Standing Apart, p. 10. 18. Smith, Talons of the Eagle, pp. 258–9. 19. Smith, Talons of the Eagle, p. 259. 20. Smith himself does not explicitly refer to the democratic peace thesis. Smith, Talons of the Eagle, p. 259. 21. See the opening chapter of Alex J. Bellamy, Paul Williams and Stuart Griffin, Understanding Peacekeeping (Cambridge: Polity, 2004). 22. See Strom C. Thacker, ‘NAFTA Coalitions and the Political Viability of Neoliberalism in Mexico’, Journal of Interamerican Studies and World Affairs, 41 (2), 1999 and Peter H. Smith, ‘The Political Impact of Free Trade on Mexico’, Journal of Interamerican Studies and World Affairs, 34 (1), 1992. 23. Guy Poitras and Raymond Robinson, ‘The Politics of NAFTA in Mexico’, Journal of Interamerican Studies and World Affairs, 36 (1), 1994, p. 9. 24. Rochlin, Redefining Mexican ‘Security’, p. 5. 25. Cited by Rochlin, Redefining Mexican ‘Security’ , p. 25. 26. Rochlin, Redefining Mexican ‘Security’ , p. 50. 27. See Ngaire Woods, ‘International Financial Institutions and the Mexican Crisis’, in Wise (ed.), The Post-NAFTA Political Economy, p. 149. 28. For a more detailed discussion of border issues see Kathleen Staudt, Free Trade? Informal Economies at the US-Mexico Border (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1998). 29. Jaime Ros, ‘Free Trade Area or Common Capital Market? Notes on MexicoUS Economic Integration and Current NAFTA Negotiations’, Journal of Interamerican Studies and World Affairs, 34 (2), 1992, p. 62. 30. See Jorge Chabat, ‘Mexico’s Foreign Policy in 1990: Electoral Sovereignty and Integration with the United States’, Journal of Interamerican Studies and World Affairs, 33 (4), 1991, p. 15. 31. Dresser, ‘Post-NAFTA Politics in Mexico’, p. 249. 32. Chabat, ‘Mexico’s Foreign Policy’, p. 14. 33. Though the NAFTA did have an impact on domestic politics in the US. See Sidney Weintraub, ‘US-Mexico Free Trade: Implications for the US’, Journal of Interamerican Studies and World Affairs, 34 (2), 1992. 34. See J. L. Granatstein and Norman Hillmer, For Better or for Worse: Canada and the United States to the 1990s (Toronto: Copp Clark Pitman, 1991), Charles F. Doran, Forgotten Partnership: US-Canada Relations Today (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1984) and Edelgard Mahant and Graeme

212 Notes

35. 36. 37.

38. 39. 40.

41.

42. 43. 44. 45. 46.

47. 48.

49. 50.

51. 52. 53. 54. 55. 56.

57.

S. Mount, Invisible and Inaudible in Washington: American Policies Toward Canada (Vancouver: UBC Press, 1999). See Chapter 7 of Robert Bothwell, Canada and the United States: The Politics of Partnership (New York: Twayne Publishers, 1992). See Heraldo Munoz and Joseph Tulchin (eds), Latin American Nations in World Politics (Boulder: Westview Press, 1984). Robert H. Holden, ‘Securing Central America Against Communism: The United States and the Modernization of Surveillance in the Cold War’, Journal of Interamerican Studies and World Affairs, 41 (1) 1999, p. 3. Smith, Talons of the Eagle, p. 213. Smith, Talons of the Eagle, p. 215. For an introduction to realist accounts of security politics in Latin America see Michael C. Desch, ‘Latin America and US National Security’, Journal of Interamerican Studies and World Affairs, 31 (4), 1989. Howard J. Wiarda, ‘Consensus Found, Consensus Lost: Disjunctures in US Policy Toward Latin America at the Turn of the Century’, Journal of Interamerican Studies and World Affairs, 39 (1), 1997, pp. 13–15. Wiarda, ‘Consensus Found, Consensus Lost’, p. 17. Don D. Marshall, Caribbean Political Economy at the Crossroads: NAFTA and Regional Developmentalism (London: Macmillan, 1998), p. 156. Marshall, Caribbean Political Economy, p. 187. Smith, Talons of the Eagle, pp. 286–7. See Robert A Pastor, ‘The Bush Administration and Latin America: The Pragmatic Style and the Regionalist Option’, Journal of Interamerican Studies and World Affairs, 33 (3), 1991, pp. 15–18. For a detailed account of the Panama intervention see Thomas M. Leonard, Panama, the Canal and the United States: A Guide to Issues and References (Claremont: Regina Books, 1993). Poitras and Robinson, ‘The Politics of NAFTA in Mexico’, p. 6. David Robertson, ‘NAFTA, the EC Single Market and the World Trading System’, in Robert G. Cushing et al (eds), The Challenge of NAFTA: North America, Australia, New Zealand and the World Trade Regime (New York: Lyndon B. Johnson School of Public Affairs, 1993), p. 63. Sidney Weintraub, NAFTA: What Comes Next? (Westport: Praeger, 1994), p. 64. Leonard Waverman, ‘Post-NAFTA: Can the United States, Canada and Mexico Deepen their Economic Relationship?’, in Jean Daudelin and Edgar J. Dosman (eds), Beyond Mexico: Changing Americas (Ottawa: Carleton University Press, 1995), p. 72. Weintraub, NAFTA: What Comes Next?, p. 65. Weintraub, NAFTA: What Comes Next?, p. 65. James F. Rochlin, Redefining Mexican ‘Security’: Society, State and Region Under NAFTA (Boulder: Lynne Rienner, 2000). Gary Clyde Hufbauer et al, NAFTA and the Environment: Seven Years Later (Washington DC: Institute for International Economics, 2000), p. 5. Hufbauer et al, NAFTA and the Environment, p. 18. Paul Ganster, ‘The United States-Mexico Border Region and Growing Transborder Interdependence’, in Randall and Konrad (eds), NAFTA in Transition, p. 163. Edgar J. Dosman, ‘Managing Canadian-Mexican Relations in the PostNAFTA Era’, in Daudelin and Dosman (eds), Beyond Mexico, p. 89.

Notes 213 58. Poitras and Robinson, ‘The Politics of NAFTA in Mexico’, p. 25. 59. Poitras and Robinson, ‘The Politics of NAFTA in Mexico’, p. 26. 60. Michael E. Conroy and Amy K. Glasmeier, ‘Unprecedented Disparities, Unparalleled Adjustment Needs: Winners and Losers on the NAFTA “Fast Track”’, Journal of Interamerican Studies and World Affairs, 34 (4), 1992–3, pp. 15–18. 61. Michael Dreiling, Solidarity and Contention: The Politics of Security and Sustainability in the NAFTA Conflict (New York: Garland Publishing, 2001), p. 12. 62. A type of group not discussed here were feminist groups which developed in opposition to the NAFTA. See Christina Gabriel and Laura Macdonald, ‘NAFTA, Women and Organising in Canada and Mexico: Forging a “Feminist Internationality”’, Millennium: Journal of International Studies, 23 (3) 1998. 63. John Herd Thompson and Stephen J. Randall, Canada and the United States: Ambivalent Allies (Atlanta: University of Georgia Press, 1994), p. 194. 64. Poitras and Robinson, ‘The Politics of NAFTA in Mexico’, p. 23. 65. Sidney Weintraub, ‘The New US Economic Initiative Towards Latin America’, Journal of Interamerican Studies and World Affairs, 33 (1) 1991, p. 2. 66. Sidney Weintraub, ‘US-Latin American Economic Relations’, Journal of Interamerican Studies and World Affairs, 39 (1) 1997, p. 60. 67. Gladstone A. Hutchinson and Ute Schumacher, ‘NAFTA’s Threat to Central American and Caribbean Basin Exports: A Revealed Comparative Advantage Approach’, Journal of Interamerican Studies and World Affairs, 36 (1) 1994, p. 128 and Andres Serbin, ‘Towards an Association of Caribbean States: Raising Some Awkward Questions’, Journal of Interamerican Studies and World Affairs, 36 (4) 1994, p. 62. 68. Carol Wise, ‘The Trade Scenario for Other Latin Reformers in the NAFTA Era’, in Wise (ed.), The Post-NAFTA Political Economy, p. 298. 69. http://www.mercosul.gov.br/textos/default.asp?Key=127 70. Smith, Talons of the Eagle, p. 321, Stephen Hoggard, ‘The Political Economy of Regionalism in the Western Hemisphere’, in Wise (ed.), The Post NAFTA Political Economy, pp. 295–323. 71. Kathryn A. Sikkink, ‘Nongovernmental Organizations, Democracy and Human Rights in Latin America’, in Farer (ed.), Beyond Sovereignty, p. 155.

Conclusion 1. Alexander Wendt, ‘Anarchy is what States Make of it: The Social Construction of Power Politics’, International Organisation, 6 (2) 1992. 2. For example, see Dov S. Zakheim, ‘Towards Fortress Europe?’, Centre for Strategic and International Studies Report, Washington DC, November 2002. 3. ‘Fortress Europe Raises the Barricades’, Le Monde Diplomatique, March 1999; ‘Fortress Europe Raises the Drawbridge’, BBC News, 18 June 2002. 4. If we assume that security communities provide for peace between the units that comprise the community. The four cases considered in this book have all been ‘pluralistic’ security communities between states and therefore the lack of war, or preparation for war, between these units provides our guide as

214 Notes to whether a particular group of states are a security community or not. Of course, in the Southeast Asian case in particular, the creation of a security community between states has not undermined the use of violence within states. What this suggests is a need to recover Deutsch’s ideas about amalgamated security communities and further study on the relationship between democracy and security in this context. I am grateful to Nick Wheeler and Bryn Hughes for bringing these points to my attention.

Index Aarst, Paul 119 Aceh 89 Acharya, Amitav 89, 94, 96, 98 Adler, Emmanuel 3, 74, 178 And Michael Barnett see Security Communities On European security community 64, 79 Afghanistan 123, 142 Ajami, Fouad 133 Alagappa, Muthiah 105 Albania 73 Almonte, Jose 109 Al-Saud, Prince Abdullah 127, 140 Al-Sabah, Emir 124 Ambivalent community 11, 12 America Watch 175 American Development Bank 173 Andean Group 173–174 Anderson, Benedict Imagined communities 31–32, 34, 43 ANZUS 5 Arab League 123, 131, 142–143, 146 Arab Monetary Fund 133 Argentina 161, 163, 174 ASEAN 5, 13, 57, 59, 88–117, 124, 129, 148, 157, 167, 180, 185 ‘ASEAN way’ 53, 89, 91–92, 94–106, 111, 115, 132, 149, 181 Bali summit, 1976 93 Bangkok declaration 95 Committee of senior officials 106 Decision-making see Muafakat and Musyaiwarah Enlargement 113–114, 179–181 Flexible engagement 113 Institutes of International and Strategic Studies 108, 109 Relations with China 103–104 ‘Troika’ 107 ZOPFAN 95, 99, 101, 123 ASEAN Free Trade Area 107–108

ASEAN Plus Three 103, 107, 109, 110–111, 176, 181 ASEAN Regional Forum 103–104, 106, 108, 109–110, 114, 181 ASEAN Surveillance Process 106–107 Asia-Europe Meetings 109, 112–113, 116 Asia-Europe Foundation 112 Asia-Pacific Economic Cooperation 109, 111–112, 115–116 Association of Southeast Asia 92 Australia 3, 111, 115, 161, 174 Austria 10, 64, 71 Bahrain 119, 124–126, 131 And GCC 142 And Qatar 132 Balance of power 4, 18, 65 Ball, Margaret 66 Barnett, Michael 3, 21, 53, 118, 141–142, 178 And Emmanuel Adler see Security Communities Belarus 71 Bolivia 174 Booth, Ken 2 Bosnia 84 Operation Deliberate Force 5 Boundaries 43–45 Brandt, Willy 66, 71–72 Brazil 152, 161, 163–164, 174 Bretton Woods 151 Brunei 96, 104 Bulgaria 72, 75 Bull, Hedley 7, 14–17, 21 Bush, George 154, 162, 173 Bush, George W. 139–140, 164 Cambodia 90, 100 Khmer Rouge 90 Membership of ASEAN 113 Vietnamese intervention 99, 100–102

215

216 Index Camp David Accords 124 Canada 25–26, 64, 73, 111, 152–177 And the US 151 Castells, Manuel 41 Casteneda, Jorge 170 Caricom 165, 173 CENTO 142 Central American Common Market 174 Chavez, Hugo 164 Cheney, Dick 72 Chile 152, 161, 163, 174 China 84, 90, 100, 102–103, 113, 180, 182–183, 185 ‘China threat’ 90, 93, 102 Relations with ASEAN 102–104, 109, 110–113, 115–116 Clinton, William 154, 155, 160, 162, 173 Cold War 4, 12, 25, 46, 56, 58, 61, 65–66, 70–71, 77–78, 80, 82, 86, 95, 101–102, 122, 142, 149, 153, 160, 162–163, 165, 173, 181 Defence spending 3 End of 66 Colombia 159, 163–164, 182 Community And security 46 Rules of practical association 35 Theories of 30, 31–39 Constructivism 14, 17–26 Identity 18–19 Poststructural 17 Socialisation 14, 17–20 Contadora Group 163 Costa Rica 164 Council of Europe 60 Councils for Security and Cooperation in the Asia-Pacific 109, 114–115 Croatia 71, 179 Critical theory 17 CSCE 6, 72–74, 78, 182 Helsinki Final Act 72–73 Cuba 152, 160, 164–165, 173 Czechoslovakia 66, 71–72, 74 De Gaulle, Charles 63, 183 Democratic peace thesis 10, 89, 188

Denmark 74 Deutsch, Karl 3, 6, 19, 44, 178, 188 see Security Communities Theory of politics 8, 14 Dominican Republic 164 Doyle, Michael 10 Dresser, Denise 160 Dubrovnik 2 Dulles, John Foster 135 East Timor 89, 113 Egypt 123–124, 133 And GCC 134, 143, 145, 148 El Salvador 163–164 English School 14–15, 22 Epistemic communities 12, 30, 32, 39–41, 45–46, 58, 76–79, 83–84, 87, 91, 96, 108, 109, 114–116, 141, 169–170, 178, 186 Euro-Atlantic Partnership Council see NATO Europe 14–15, 17, 48, 54, 59–60 Common identity 38, 67–68, 70 Differences with Southeast Asia 88–90, 93–94 Formation of community 66 ‘Gaullist’ conception 63 ‘Integrationist’ conception 64, 68 Relations with Gulf region 143–145 Relations with Southeast Asia 106 Security community in 13, 16, 38, 42, 53, 63–87 European Bank of Reconstruction and Development 83 European Coal and Steel Community 78–79 European Council 179 European Court of Justice 68–69 European Economic Community 12 ‘European idea’ 63, 65–68, 70, 75, 88, 97, 180 European Union 7, 64–65, 68, 70, 74, 76–77, 79, 86–87, 147, 160, 175, 179–180 Common Foreign and Security Policy 82 Education schemes 68 Enlargement 74, 80–86

Index 217 Maastricht 81 Membership rules 68–69 Migration 74–75 Febvre, Lucian 43 Federation of Arab Republics Finland 64 Finnemore, Martha 17 France 71, 159, 188 Foucault, Michel 40

133

Gause, Gregory III 118, 121, 126, 141–142, 145 Germany 3, 188 Bundeswehr 60 East Germany 66 German national identity 37–38 Ostpolitik 62, 66, 71–72 Position on European integration 64 Trade with East 72 Giddens, Anthony 31 Gilpin, Robert 2 Global integrators 151 Goh Chok Tong 112 Gorbachev, Mikhail 65, 72 Gordon, Philip 78 Greece 9, 61–62, 70 Communist insurgents 66 Greenpeace 171 Gulf Cooperation Council 5, 13, 57, 59, 61, 118–149, 157, 167, 180–182, 184–185, 187 And other Arab states 133 And Europe 143–145 And Russia 144 And US 136, 144 Charter 125, 128–130, 138, 140 Common ideas 125–132 Economic integration 139–140 GCC + 2 143 Islamism 126–127, 130, 145 also see Islam Formation of 119–125 Military cooperation 138–139 Ministerial Council 137 Monarchism 127, 130 ‘Peninsula Shield’ 138–139 Rentier state model 126–129

Secretariat 137–138 Supreme Council 137 Tribalism 126 United Economic Agreement 128–129, 140, 143, 145 Gulf War 119, 123, 130, 136–137, 146 Haacke, Jurgen 94, 98 Haas, Ernst 64, 68, 78–79 Haas, Michael 94 Haas, Peter 40 Habermas, Jurgen 67 Habsburg Empire 2, 3 Hamas 135 Havel, Vaclav 71 Hawke, Bob 111 Heidegger, Martin 41 Helms Burton act 160 Hizbollah 135 Hobbes, Thomas 1, 2, 11 Hobbesian analogy 2, 6, 188 Holden, Robert 163 Honduras 163 Hong Kong 103–104 Human Rights Watch 175 Hun Sen 113 Huntington, Samuel 10, 41, 187 Hungary 17, 66, 71–72 Hussein, Saddam 131, 136 Ibrahim, Anwar 97 Iceland 64 Ideational power 25 Ideational structures 17, 19–20 Indonesia 89, 92, 100, 105, 108, 188 And Malaysia 91–94 India 174 Integrationist community 11, 12–13, 119 International Law 16–17 International society 6, 7, 20, 24–25, 27, 30, 35–38, 41, 51, 75 Approach to security 15–16, 25 Constitutive rules 44, 121 Pluralism 16–17, 36, 51, 89, 94–95, 103, 115, 148 Solidarism 16–18, 36, 51, 178

218 Index IMF 111 Iran 120–122, 124, 131, 137, 143 And GCC 125, 130, 148 Iran–Iraq war 119, 124, 131 Iraq 18, 119–124, 131, 143, 145 And GCC 125, 130, 134, 136, 148 And Gulf Wars 129, 135–137, 142, 146–147 Baath Party 133, 136 Union with Jordan 133 Ireland 64, 74, 179 Islam 119–122, 126–127, 148 Pan-Islamism 132 Israel 123–124, 130–132, 135, 174 Jamaica 165 James, Paul 54 Abstract communities 32–35, 53–57 Japan 104, 107, 109, 110–112, 174 Jordan 133, 136, 145 Kay, Sean 10 Khalid, King 124 Khomenei, Ayatollah 122, 127 Konfrontasi 91–93 Kosovo 85 NATO intervention 5, 53–54, 84 Kratochwil, Friedreich 19 Kuwait 18, 119, 123–124, 131, 136–137, 139, 145–146 And US 134–135 And GCC 140 Oil production 141 Laos 101 Membership of ASEAN 113, 116 Latvia 77 Lebanon 135 Legro, Jeffrey 21 Leifer, Michael 93 Levy, Jack 25 Liberalism 17–18, 26 Libya 133, 142–143 Linklater, Andrew 35, 55 Lithuania 42, 77 Logic of appropriateness 21, 26–27, 40, 49, 52, 57

Logic of consequentialism Lustick, Ian 133

26

Malaysia 89, 91–92, 96–97, 99–100, 102, 105, 108, 115, 188 And Indonesia 91–93 Constructive intervention 97 Malcolm, Noel 73 Mansfield, Peter 119 MAPHILINDO 92 Mastny, Vojtech 73 Marxism 20 Material Power 25 Structures 17–18 Mercosur 173–174 Mexico 151–177, 188 Chiapas revolt 161 Economy 158 Maquiladora 169 Middle East 25 Comparison with ASEAN 120–121 Pan-Arabism 132–133 Security community 118–149 Monnet, Jean 65–67 Morgan, Roger 77 Muafakat 95–96 Musyawarah 95–96 Myanmar 113 NAFTA 5, 13, 151–177, 180, 184–185, 187 Environmental Commission 168–169 Free Trade Commission 168 Institutions 167–172 Labour Commission 168 Neo-liberal economics 157 Napoleon 3 Nardin, Terry 32 Narine, Shaun 99 Nasser, General 123, 134 Nationalism 2 NATO 9, 10, 12, 14, 24, 42, 53, 56–57, 59, 70–71, 74–84, 86, 105, 183–184 And European security community 64–65, 68

Index 219 Enlargement 74, 80–86 Euro-Atlantic Partnership Council 5, 46, 60, 79, 82, 84 Intervention in Kosovo 53–54 Membership rules 69 NATO-Russia Council 5 North Atlantic Cooperation Council 82 North Atlantic Council 24, 36 Operation Allied Force 84 Partnership for Peace (PfP) 5, 59–60, 77, 79, 82–85, 87, 179–180 Peacekeeping 77, 85 Predicted collapse 4–5 Negroponte, John 155 New Zealand 111, 115, 174 Nicaragua 163 Nischalke, Tobias 88 Norms 29 Norway 179 Norodom Ranariddh 113 North American Security community 53, 151–177 Core ideas 153–162 Norway 25, 179 Norms 22–23, 52 And security communities 7, 21–24 Convention dependent 23–24 Embedded and internalised 7, 19, 21, 23–26 International 19, 21–22 OAPEC 141 OECD 111 Oman 42, 119, 122, 138, 143 And GCC 124–126, 130, 140 And US 134, 139 Dhofar rebellion 130, 137 OPEC 141 Operation Deliberate Force see Bosnia Organisation of Islamic Conferences 142–143 Organisation for American States 152, 163, 173 OSCE 46, 60, 64, 68, 70, 74, 76, 78–79, 84, 87, 96, 176, 179 Membership rules 69

Oslo accords 25 Ottoman Empire 2, 3, 132–133 Pakistan 134 Palestine 145–146 Conflict in 118, 120, 130, 132, 135–136 Palestine Liberation Organisation 130 Panama 163–164 Partnership for Peace see NATO Peru 174 Peterson, Erik 120 PHARE 75, 83 Philippines, the 89, 91–92, 96–97, 104, 115 ‘Corregidor affair’ 92 Poland 61, 71–72, 75, 85 Political geography 43 Poplin, Dennis 37 Portugal 70 Putin, Vladimir 85 Qabus, Sultan 124 Qatar 124, 131, 138 Territorial disputes 131–132 Randall, Stephen 153 Ravenhill, John 90 Realism 1–4, 11, 14, 17–18, 20, 26, 30, 47, 57, 118, 120, 180, 182 Alliance theory 4, 6 And Southeast Asian security 90 Security politics 4, 121, 137, 149 View of international system 15 Regional fortress 11, 12–13, 47, 51, 57, 151, 179, 186 Reus-Smit, Christian 17, 19 Rousseau, Jean-Jacques 1 Rochlin, James 158 Ruggie, John 41 Ruland, Jurgen 98 Russett, Bruce 10 Russia 84–85, 113 And Gulf region 144 And NATO enlargement 74, 80 Sabah, conflict over 91–92, 96 Salinas, Jose 155–158, 160, 162

220 Index Saudi Arabia 119, 130–131, 138–139, 143, 145 And GCC 123–126, 130, 140 And Qatar 132 And US 134–135 Wahabism 126 Scientific realism 17 SEATO 93 Securitization 30, 46–47 Security Theories of 46–48 Security communities Adler and Barnett’s theory of 7–11, 31, 55, 178–188 Amalgamated 6 Deutsch’s theory 6, 7, 9–10 Definitions of 6, 8 Framework of analysis 51–62 Loosely-coupled 8, 17, 37, 45, 52, 55, 57, 178–188 Pluralistic 6, 63 Practical rules 35–36, 38, 45, 55 Purposive community 37, 45, 55 Relations with neighbours 10–12, 14, 29, 31, 45, 52, 179–188 Socialisation of 18–20 Stages of development 8–9, 16, 118 Tightly-coupled 8, 37, 41, 45, 52–53, 55–56, 76, 121, 178–188 Theory of 3, 6–7, 12–13 Security dilemma 3, 5, 6, 7, 11, 18 Definition 2 Personal 1, 2 Serbia 61, 71 Seton-Watson, Hugh 67 Simon, Sheldon 114 Singapore 89, 91–92, 96, 100, 112, 115 Slovakia 71 Smith, Dan 71 Smith, Peter 156 Snyder, Craig 4 South African Development Community 174 Social learning 7–8, 21, 24–26, 39, 67 South China Sea 96, 102–104 South Korea 107, 109, 110–112

Southeast Asia Differences with Europe 88–90, 93–94 Security community 88–117 Core ideas see ASEAN way Soviet Union 71–72, 100, 123–124, 142 Relation with Gulf 130, 139 Threat to Gulf 122 Threat to Europe 66 Spain 70, 159 Spratly Islands 104 Sri Lanka 106 Suharto, President 91 Sukarno, President 91 Syria 133–134, 136, 148 And GCC 143, 145 Tajikistan 179 Taylor, Michael 31 Taylor, Trevor 78 Thailand 89–90, 92, 97, 99–102, 108, 115 ‘Flexible engagement’ 97 Thomas, Ward 23 Thucydides 2, 15 Track Two diplomacy 108 Transversal communities 12, 41–43, 45–46, 59, 76, 87, 91, 108, 141–142, 145–146, 169, 171–172, 178 Turkey 9, 19 Ukraine 85 United Arab Emirates (UAE) 121, 124, 131 United Arab Republic 133 United Kingdom 3, 42, 74 And Gulf region 135, 139, 146 And Southeast Asia 91, 115 United Nations 100, 163 Charter 95 General Assembly 36, 100 Law of the sea 104 Peacekeeping 25, 77 Security Council 115 United States 3, 8, 17, 19, 25, 59, 124, 151–177, 188 And Canada 151

Index 221 And Gulf region 129, 132, 134–137, 139–140, 142, 144, 146–147 And Latin America 151, 176 And Mexico 151, 154–155 Monroe Doctrine 151 Pluralistic security community 6 Role in Europe 5, 64–65, 71–73 Southeast Asia 101, 106, 110–112, 115, 182 War on drugs 166 Uruguay 163 Venezuela 159, 164, 174 Vienna convention 22, 24 Vietnam 89, 100–101, 104, 180, 183 Intervention in Cambodia 90, 99–102 Membership of ASEAN 113, 116 Relations with ASEAN 101, 103 Wallace, Helen 76 Waltz, Kenneth 4 Warsaw Pact 56, 71 Iron Curtain 56

Wæver, Ole 6, 38 Europe 66–67, 76 Security communities 6 Wegenen, Richard van 6 Weinberger, Casper 71 Weintraub, Sidney 173 Wendt, Alexander 17–19, 178 Western European Union 105 Wheeler, Nicholas J. 2, 22 Wight, Martin 14–15 Williams, Michael 46 Wohlforth, William 4 World Bank 111 World Trade Organisation 104, 112 Worner, Manfred 81 Yeltsin, Boris 84–85 Yemen 119, 121–123, 146 And GCC 130, 134, 143, 145 And Oman 137 Yugoslavia 21, 69, 72 Zhu Rongji 107 Zoellick, Robert 153