Building New Pathways to Peace 9780295802046, 9780295991030

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Building New Pathways to Peace

building new pat hways

to peace edi t ed by

noriko kawamura yoichiro murakami shin chiba

university of washington press | Seattle and London

Support for the publication of Building New Pathways to Peace was provided by the International Christian University, Tokyo, and Washington State University, Pullman.

© 2011 by the University of Washington Press Designed by Pamela Canell Typeset in Sabon Printed in the United States of America 16 15 14 13 12 11 5 4 3 2 1 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. University of Washington Press PO Box 50096, Seattle, WA 98145, USA www.washington.edu/uwpress Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Building new pathways to peace / edited by Noriko Kawamura, Yoichiro Murakami, and Shin Chiba. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. isbn 978-0-295-99103-0 (pbk. : alk. paper) 1.  Peace-building. 2.  Peace. 3.  Security, International.  I. Kawamura, Noriko, 1955 II. Murakami, Yoichiro, 1936‒ III. Chiba, Shin, 1949 jz5588.b85 2011 303.6’6—dc22 2010053507 The paper used in this publication is acid-free and it meets the minimum requirements of American National Standard for Information Sciences— Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, a nsi z39.48–1984.

Contents



Foreword by Johan Galtung vii Acknowledgments xi Introduction 3

1 On Tolerance Yoichiro Murakami 20 2 To Forgive Is Human: A Theological Reflection on the Politics of Reconciliation Anri Morimoto 32 3 On Perspectives on Peace: The Hebraic Idea of Shalom and Prince Shotoku’s Idea of Wa Shin Chiba 48 4 Decency, Equality, and Peace: A Perspective on a Peaceful Multicultural Society Takashi Kibe 65 5 Globalization, Culture, and the Strategic Use of the Arts for Peacebuilding T. V. Reed 81

6 Impediments to Human Security: Social Categories, Privilege, and Violence Martha Cottam 97 7 The Lessons of Peacebuilding for Kyosei Otwin Marenin 112 8 Media Discourses of Peace: An Imperfect but Important Tool of Peace, Security, and Kyosei Susan Dente Ross 126 9 Establishing Credibility under Globalization: The Role of Higher Education in Promoting Peace, Security, and Kyosei Kano Yamamoto 148 10 Can Grand Theories of the State Help Us Envision a Grand Theory of Peace? Gregory Hooks 167 11 “Remembering Is Not an Innocent Act”: Reflections on Postwar German War Memory and Peace Studies Raymond C. Sun 182 12 To Transnationalize War Memory for Peace and Kyosei: Reconciliation of Pearl Harbor and Hiroshima Noriko Kawamura 204

Bibliography 223 Contributors 251 Index 255

Foreword joh a n galt ung

T

he content of Building New Pathways to Peace places this joint Japan–U.S. project firmly at the forefront of contemporary peace research. During the Cold War, research projects mobilized the world’s intellectual strength against both a possible nuclear holocaust and the propaganda that then allocated blame and responsibility to one party only. Transnational and transdisciplinary peace research emerged, very much focused on conflict resolution and on disarmament—and not only nuclear disarmament. During the Cold War period, the focus was mainly on negative peace, which I have defined, in “Toward a Grand Theory of Negative and Positive Peace: Peace, Security, and Conviviality,” as a limited sort of peace, merely an absence of violence (as in a cease-fire, which does little to resolve the underlying grievances of the parties involved). In negative peace, the two parties may not be fighting with each other, but neither do they have a harmonious relationship. At best, the two parties in a negative peace are indifferent to each other. It was this type of peace that interested the Cold War peace researchers, and they concentrated especially on two aspects of negative peace: how to prevent unresolved conflict from causing war, and how to control, monitor, reduce, and eliminate the instruments of war. Although this type of research was limited in scope, the work nevertheless was more focused on issues of mutual concern than were the egocentric and sometimes paranoid “security studies” of that period. vii

But the authors of Building New Pathways to Peace go further than these Cold War researchers, well into an area I have called positive peace. This type of peace is marked not only by an absence of violence but also by harmony between parties (a harmony that may or may not be intended!). The borderline between positive peace and negative peace is not clear, nor does it have to be: it depends on the focus of new peace research that, like all research, tries to explore new intellectual territory (in contrast to the field of peace studies, which covers only old issues). If our focus is violence avoidance or prevention—and this applies not only to direct violence but also to structural violence (in which the social order directly or indirectly causes human suffering and death) and to cultural violence (in which aspects of culture can be used to legitimate either direct violence or structural violence)—then negative peace is the right term for what we seek. However, if our focus is to realize ever higher levels of violence-avoiding togetherness (beyond the bleak words of mere tolerance), and if we are interested in cooperating on joint projects that carry all parties to higher levels of human existence—all the way into the spiritual and the transcendental, with no fear of treading precisely where the angels tread—then we need to seek positive peace. For example, take collective memories—either traumatic memories or (equally peace-threatening) glorious collective memories—and look at efforts toward conciliation (I do not say reconciliation as there may be no actual event in the past to conciliate). In this case, we should look at the question, Conciliation for what? To prevent future violence? To create harmonious togetherness at a higher level? Or both? (Negative peace and positive peace do not exclude each other.) As another example, take interreligious relations. A division into four stages may be useful here: intolerance, tolerance, dialogue, mutuality. Intolerance is loaded with violence, from prejudice toward and discrimination against another religious group, to expulsion, killing, and genocide. But tolerance of other religious groups is a negative peace—in this case, there is parallel but passive coexistence on both sides. But this state of affairs is far from sufficient. Much better is a dialogue, based on mutual respect for and curiosity about the Other. This kind of dialogue explores the possibility of positive peace. But the dialogue operates only through mutuality: “I take in some of you” and “You take in some of me.” Here we are really in the territory of positive peace. That is, you seem to have a Truth I am missing, and maybe I have some Truth you

viii Foreword

have been looking for and have not known where to find. Could we both, through dialogue together, build on our two Truths? And finally, take direct and structural violence. To stop the former through a monitored cease-fire is good, but this results only in negative peace. And it is a good but negative solution to stop structural violence through mutual decoupling (coupling here means diachronic correlation, or the tendency to trace a trajectory together). In order to really address structural violence, recoupling (that is, a kind of peaceful reengagement) is needed. And to develop this discussion further, direct peace is an exchange for mutual and (as it says in the Buddhist pancha shila) equal benefit. If we can make this a lasting pattern, we get a structural peace based on equity, reciprocity, integration, holism, and inclusion. Then we can infuse the pattern and the process with meaning, with an ethos for striving ever higher. Building New Pathways to Peace reflects a wide range of disciplines, as has been the case for previous peace research and peace studies. The book is interdisciplinary, with each author contributing insights from her or his own field. At the same time, the instructive introduction comes close to a transdisciplinary approach (and thus can serve as a guide for future peace research) when it explores the multiple meanings of words in various languages—particularly when it looks at the concept of kyosei in East Asia and the possible translation of this term as “conviviality” in Western European contexts. Personally, I might also emphasize the “we-ness” of positive peace, the jump, its transcendence to a new level, its sui generis nature. Thus, the European Union is considerably more than cooperation among states with a terrible history of direct warfare and structural imperialism. Similarly, seven other international communities or unions are now gestating or are in the early stages of development: African, South Asian, and Southeast Asian groups are already established, and Latin American, Russian, Islamic (Morocco to Mindanao), and East Asian Communities (perhaps like the Shanghai Cooperation Organization) are on their way. But even if these new organizations should rank high on internal levels of positive peace, they still may tilt externally in at least three different and nonexclusive ways. That is, these organizations may use their high level of internal kyosei for belligerent purposes against other unions and communities; they may find a way of coexisting with other unions and communities; or they may enter into the very difficult process of positive

Foreword ix

peace, that is, a peace not only within their own organizations but also among these international groups and communities. A look at twenty-eight bilateral relations (among the eight international communities and organizations mentioned above) reveals that there will indeed be some very challenging external relations—for example, the relations between the mainly Hindu South Asian Association for Regional Cooperation (SAARC) and the emerging Islamic Community. We obviously also need a “kyosei among the kyoseis,” and a United Nations that assigns veto rights to the major powers can never play that role because there is no equity in such a system. Nor, at least in this context, can we look to Zionism—or to the word of the Lord from Jerusalem, who, it was written, “shall judge between the nations, and rebuke many people; they shall beat their swords into plowshares” (Isaiah 2:3–4). Israel has certainly judged and rebuked its enemies (and more), and this has not worked. But maybe a kyosei of Israel with its neighbors in a new Middle East Community could work? Maybe kyosei only works when there is structural peace? That is, maybe kyosei requires peace with equity, reciprocity, and the like? We could also look at the European Union, which has no provisions for veto or coercive power among its members and which incorporates negative peace and some positive peace within its framework. But how will the European Union act in its external relations with the seven other international groups? And how will it act in a world of residual Anglo-American dominance? Qui vivra verra. Time will tell. And those who have read this book will be better equipped to see farther and deeper. Kyoto, October 2010

x Foreword

Acknowledgments

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he editors of this volume are deeply indebted to many individuals and organizations for their support and encouragement. Our work is one outcome of the five-year research collaboration between International Christian University (ICU) in Tokyo and Washington State University (WSU) in Pullman, which began in 2003. This collaboration was made possible largely through the research grant ICU received from the 21st Century Center of Excellence (COE) Program of the Japanese Ministry of Education and Science under the title “Research and Education for Peace, Security, and Kyosei (Conviviality).” We would like to express our deepest gratitude to President Norihiko Suzuki of ICU, President Elson S. Floyd of WSU, former ICU president Masakichi Kinukawa, and former WSU president V. Lane Rawlins for their strong leadership and commitment to the collaboration between the two universities. We are also grateful for the funding support provided by the Thomas S. Foley Institute for Public Policy and Public Service at WSU, the College of Liberal Arts and International Programs at WSU, and the Graduate School and the College of Liberal Arts at ICU. In addition, we would like to extend our heartfelt thanks to Lorri Hagman and Marilyn Trueblood of the University of Washington Press for their kind advice and encouragement, to Laura Iwasaki, Alice Davenport, Ernst Schwintzer, and Howard Munson for editorial assistance, and to Patricia Thorsten-Mickelson of WSU and Tomoko Nagaoka of ICU. xi

We are very grateful to Dr. Johan Galtung, founder and codirector at TR ANSCEND, Spain, for his guidance and warm support of our research project. He has kindly contributed the foreword for this volume. Last but not least, we would like to express sincere thanks to many faculty members and graduate students at both universities, and the Institute for the Study of Intercommunal Conflict at WSU, who have helped with this research collaboration in one way or another. The collaboration provided participants opportunities for intellectually stimulating and joyous interactions and fellowship across the Pacific: a true realization of kyosei. nor iko k awa mu r a yoic h i ro mu r a k a m i sh i n c h iba October 2010

xii Acknowledgments

Building New Pathways to Peace

Introduction

T

his volume is the outcome of a fruitful, five-year research collaboration between International Christian University (ICU) in Tokyo and Washington State University (WSU) in Pullman. The project, Research and Education for Peace, Security, and Kyosei,1 was sponsored by the Japanese Ministry of Education and Science through its 21st Century Center of Excellence (COE) Program. This volume shares the results of the ICU-WSU collaboration with a wider audience by outlining the findings and reflections (both methodological and substantive) that emerged from a common endeavor to build a multidisciplinary theory of comprehensive peace studies. We hope this introduction will serve as a methodological prolegomenon to our shared task of developing a new grand theory of peace. The title Building New Pathways to Peace captures the spirit in which WSU and ICU approached their joint quest for a grand theory of peace. The first word, building, connotes the dynamic and ongoing orientation and process that characterize our search for a grand theory of peace. The second word, new, conveys the distinct nature of this quest. We are seeking new ways to look at this subject and exploring new ideas and concepts that will help frame contemporary discussions of peace. In this volume, we discuss relatively recent ideas and concepts such as human security, decent peace, credibility, accountability, plurality, and multiculturalism. And in order to find new perspectives for a contemporary grand theory of peace, we have redesigned, reexamined, or reformulated

3

old ideas and concepts such as tolerance, nomos, chaos, forgiveness, reconciliation, justice, shalom, and wa. The term pathways conveys the key idea that our endeavor is a process or development in a quest for peace. This word also suggests directionality, durability, and sustainability. We believe that helping to achieve peace as a consequence of our endeavor is important, but we also maintain that the process of moving toward peace is no less significant. The quest for peace is seldom spectacular or conspicuous: it is the laborious and mundane work of creating and maintaining peace. For us, it has also been important to stress the use of the plural form: pathways. The road to peace is not limited to one way or a few ways—we believe there are multiple roads to peace. In this book, twelve scholars from a range of social and human science disciplines use their varied expertise to explore pathways to peace. Thus, this book aims to share with readers multiple and feasible pathways to peace. The title clearly shows that our ultimate goal is to realize peace. The following chapters demonstrate that the idea of peace is always present, in individual as well as group relationships. They also suggest that elements of peace are almost always buried under, or intermingled with, actual situations in our everyday lives, situations replete with the potential for violence and conflict. In other words, there will be no peace that is pure and absolute, that is not mingled with conflict-laden situations. What one can reasonably expect today is the possibility of either a rare peace or a narrow peace, both of which can barely survive in a world filled with violence, conflict, and antagonism. Each of us can choose merely a few possibilities for walking along this road of scarce peace. But there is no peace essentialism here that specifies our way. Therefore, we contend that we need a two-track approach, one that includes studies of the burden of the past as well as critical analyses of the predicament of the threatening reality that we now face. And if we accept this idea of a two-track approach, we have to take seriously the possibility of seeking a negative peace (that is, the absence of war, conflict, and direct violence) as one step toward the positive peace of social justice, cooperation, and kyosei (conviviality).

Recent Developments in Peace Research and Peace Studies This volume belongs to the interdisciplinary and multidisciplinary studies generally called “peace research” or “peace studies,” and it has pre4 Introduction

supposed some recent developments in this field. In today’s post–Cold War world, as globalization trends grow ever stronger, the issues of peace, violence, and conflict have become enormously complex and multifaceted. If the discipline of peace studies aspires to retain its relevance, it must take these characteristics of the current violent world into consideration as its foundational reality. First, the actors of peace and conflict have become multiple and complex. They now include not only sovereign nation-states in the classical nineteenth- and twentieth-century sense of international politics but also multiple agents—regional groups and groupings, such as the European Union, North America, OPEC (Organization of the Petroleum Exporting Countries), Southeast Asia, and East Asia; various kinds of international and global organizations such as the United Nations (UN), the World Trade Organization (W TO), the International Monetary Fund (IMF), the World Bank, hedge funds, multinational economic organizations, international nongovernmental organizations (NGOs), and even international terrorist and criminal groups; oppressed minority nations and ethnic groups; and global networks of workers for human rights, peace, justice, and the environment. Second, the issues of peace, violence, and conflict are defined more broadly in the present day. Today’s peace researchers consider not only regional and local wars and conflicts (such as the Iraq War, the IsraeliPalestinian conflict, and ethnic conflicts in various regions and countries) but also analyze overt or hidden oppression and the asymmetrical disparities of wealth and power caused by structural violence. They are, for example, the issues sometimes caused by the so-called NorthSouth dichotomy: poverty, hunger, food shortages and malnutrition, religious conflicts, and mass-refugee problems. Today’s world also faces wide-ranging threats that include global warming, environmental degradation, the exhaustion of natural resources, the AIDS and SARS epidemics, drug addiction, gender inequality, the proliferation of nuclear weapons and weapons of mass destruction, and military expansionism in the global context. It has become increasingly apparent today that the problem of safety and security cannot be resolved merely through traditional national security schemes. And it is also increasingly apparent that there is growing recognition around the world of this new human security reality. Significant changes like these present new empirical and normative challenges for the discipline of peace studies. First, the traditional theme Introduction 5

of peace and war, which remained the fundamental focus of peace studies in the earlier stages, had to be replaced by the new theme of peace, violence, and conflict. Thus, today’s peace studies pay increasing attention to the task of elaboration and application of conflict resolutions and peacebuilding, especially in the early twenty-first-century context of Europe and North America. Peace studies developed in the West today are often carried out through interest-based approaches, policy studies, and game theories. Since the appearance of such ideas as peacelessness (introduced in the 1950s by Indian peace researcher Sugata Dasgupta) and the concepts of structural violence and cultural violence (later formulated by Norwegian scholar Johan Galtung), the field of peace research began to pay closer attention to the hidden violence found in poverty, oppression, conflict, and exploitation often caused by historical, cultural, and religious traditions as well as by institutional and structural arrangements and practices. These problems do not necessarily imply an open state of war, but they often suggest covert violations of human rights and latent infringement of justice for oppressed groups and communities. In the development of the critical studies of structural violence and cultural violence, peace studies have further advanced the critical analyses of violence, whether overt or covert, observable in multiple forms in today’s world.2 In post–World War II peace studies of Japan, the aforementioned practical and technical aspects of conflict and conflict resolution studies and peacebuilding studies have been relatively underdeveloped compared with their counterparts in Europe and North America. Nonetheless, what has dominated and come to the fore in current Japanese peace studies are, among others, historical and empirical studies of wars and conflicts, critical studies of the threats of nuclear wars and nuclearism, and normative studies of the right to live in peace in conjunction with the Preamble and Article 9 of the Japanese Constitution. This is understandable when we consider the historical context out of which peace studies emerged in post–World War II Japan: the nation’s atrocious assaults on neighboring Asian and South Pacific countries, the United States, and the European Allies, and the enormous damages and suffering caused by the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki.3 Peace research in recent years has also made important advances in establishing viable methods. One such development is the application of medicine or health science schemes to peace research. Neil Arya, David F.

6 Introduction

Barash, Johan Galtung, and other researchers have recently reformulated the methodologies used in medicine, health science, and health care (that is, prognosis, diagnosis, and treatment) so that these methodologies may also be applied to conflict resolutions and peacebuilding. 4 Moreover, the complex, multifaceted, and interrelated nature of peace and conflict in today’s world has led more peace researchers as well as scholars in the humanities, social sciences, and natural sciences to jointly explore peacebuilding through multidisciplinary collaboration. Due to the particular reality of the issue of peace and conflict, peace and peace studies will bear little fruit unless the issues of peace and conflict are approached from a multidisciplinary perspective. We hope this volume will be a good example of a productive and successful multidisciplinary approach to peace studies.

What Form of Grand Theory Will Be Possible and Relevant Today? An early-twenty-first-century quest for a grand theory must take seriously the skepticism of positivist and postmodernist scholars who have questioned grand narratives for the past several decades. These two intellectual currents suggest a shared recognition of the increasing complexity of human existence in the world. Coupled with this recognition is an understanding that it is impossible for any finite reasoning, knowledge, or theory to fully explain the reality that surrounds us. And an important question can now be raised in this connection: What form of grand theory will be possible and relevant in the world today? It is beyond the scope of this volume to offer a comprehensive and final response to this question, but over the past five years, participants at ICU-WSU conferences and seminars have agreed that the following points represent a minimum basis for overlapping consensus on a grand theory that is both possible and relevant: 1. A caution against a dogmatic grand theory that pretends to know and explain everything about human nature and the nature of society 2. A bottom-up search for a grand theory, which starts with empirical investigation and with local and contingent knowledge

Introduction 7

3. A search for a grand theory that can be applied to concrete policy proposals 4. A search for the notion of peace that starts with negative peace but tries to go beyond, to embody aspects of positive peace such as social justice, cooperation, kyosei, reconciliation, and peacebuilding 5. A notion of peace that is combined with justice 6. A notion of security that goes beyond national security or state security in order to embody some aspects of human security and common security 7. A notion of kyosei that goes beyond the idea of mere concession and compromise, that is, kyosei must also incorporate personal independence and creative tension Furthermore, the following additional postulates, derived from five years of ICU-WSU collaboration, have also emerged: 1. The notion of kyosei should be considered as a constructive vision for the future, that is, kyosei should serve as an end in itself and not only as a means to peace and security. 2. A grand theory of peace is grand in its scope, as it includes not only spiritual-personal dimensions of peace, security (or safety), and kyosei but also sociocultural, political, and cosmic-philosophical dimensions of peace. 3. A grand theory is grand in its vision, as it means to be not only a critical vision (theory) of what is but also an imaginative and architectonic vision (theory) of what should be in a future world. In summary, we believe that a search for a grand theory of peace should not be undertaken in terms of a quest for an omniscient, monocausal, sweeping theory of explanation and advocacy. A healthy skepticism about every kind of “grand narrative” should be maintained. Second, the search should be accompanied by a deep awareness of the power-laden and ideological character of every system of knowledge and theory. To be sure, knowledge and theory have a potential for criticism, creativity, and fertility, but knowledge and theory are, at the same time, imperfect, limited, and fallible. We must always keep this in mind so that knowledge, theory, and reasoning may not be regarded as philosophical trump cards that negate all other considerations. 8 Introduction

Furthermore, the quest for a grand theory of peace should be a response to crises in today’s world—wars, civil wars, violence, the absence of peace and safety, environmental destruction, and structural cleavage between the haves and the have-nots. To us, this search for a grand theory is justified only by the strong demand we see for a new normative theory, which should serve the world by responding critically and constructively to the crises of our age. We are in search of a grand theory of peace as a philosophy of crisis.5 In this way, our current task of building a grand theory will assume the quality of an “epic theory”—“a type of theory,” in Sheldon S. Wolin’s words, that “is inspired by the hope of achieving a great and memorable deed through the medium of thought.”6

The Interrelationship of Three Concepts: Peace, Security, and Kyosei It is important to understand how the three key concepts are related to one another.

Inherent Tensions among Peace, Security, and Kyosei The interrelationship of peace, security, and kyosei is not always harmonious and compatible. Consider, for example, how modern nation-states were formed. It will be evident that, as a rule, the notion of national security led to the establishment of security for more powerful nations or for the chief ethnic groups within a country. But in most cases, this national security was achieved at the cost of increased insecurity for less powerful nations and for minority ethnic groups. Security for one party does not necessarily mean security for all parties; in the worst case, security for one means exclusion and suppression for the other. In this case, there is an inherent tension between peace and security. Overall, peace and security can be elusive concepts in the world of realpolitik. Struggles over power and vested interests are seen on a daily basis, and it is always necessary to ask whose peace and whose security are to be served and actualized. Similarly troubling issues can be observed in interpretations of kyosei. Depending on how kyosei is defined, it can mean either a convivial life with others or a kind of cultural essentialism by which to retain the purity Introduction 9

of one particular culture. This latter tendency exists in seclusion policies that give sanctuary to one culture under the slogan of kyosei. In the first fruit of the joint ICU-WSU grand theory project, Toward a Peaceable Future: Redefining Peace, Security, and Kyosei in the Multidisciplinary Perspective (2005), we saw a possible danger in this self-enclosed notion of kyosei, which was first introduced in Kisho Kurokawa’s popular book Ideas of Kyosei: Lifestyle for the Future (Kyosei no shiso: Mirai eno raifusutairu).7 To secure his version of kyosei, Kurokawa introduced constructs or devices such as mutual nonintervention, disinterest, exclusion, and isolation. Certainly Kurokawa’s book is an important contribution to the development of a theory of kyosei. We named it the “toleration model,” for in it we saw some resemblance to Michael Walzer’s arguments on tolerance. Thus, in our view, Kurokawa’s theory is a toleration model in that its aim is negative peace, or a situation without conflict. In this model, there is no intervention and no interference from others: this allows a space for the absence of conflict and war. We see a more compelling theory of functional tolerance as a meta-theory of peace in chapter 1, by Yoichiro Murakami, in this volume. Murakami’s meta-theoretical formulation of fluctuant equilibrium is grounded in the perspective of the philosophy of science.8 For our ICU-WSU group, his meta-theory of functional tolerance serves as the common basis—the basso ostinato, so to speak—for our task of forming a grand theory of peace. Seen this way, it is clear that our project needs to reformulate and reposition the three concepts: peace, security, and kyosei. We must make clear the meaning and role of each concept in an overall grand theory of peace. Therefore, we would like to define these three concepts and clarify the role and the interrelationship of each (as we would in a work of cartography). Cartography provides a stimulating visual framework for the construction of a grand theory of peace. Seen from this perspective, we can divide the task of constructing a grand theory into four dimensions: conceptual mapping, historical mapping, philosophical mapping, and institutional mapping. According to Edwin J. Lester Ruiz, cartography is “strategic deployment of local knowledge whose goal is to illumine, if not understand, pathways to peace, security, and conviviality.”9 In our view, a grand theory of peace, security, and kyosei cannot remain at the basic analytical level of knowledge, explanation, and analysis. A grand theory must dig down to the ontological and inner levels of understanding, to

10 Introduction

reveal many possible forms of transformative practice. In order to accomplish this multifaceted task, we must first map out the aforementioned four dimensions.

Security-Safety as a Relevant Concept Media reports, government regulations, and the pronouncements of judicial bodies, for example, reveal that today’s world and society are often portrayed as a series of insecure life spaces. Not surprisingly, security and safety have become bywords—and issues of security and safety have become some of the most prominent concerns of societies around the world. One might even argue that such issues are among the gravest concerns of our time. Thus, many thinkers today call for efforts, both theoretical and practical, to address the issue of insecure life spaces. The world is plagued by insecurity and anxiety caused by diverse kinds of direct violence (for example, wars and terrorism), personal troubles such as disease and poor health, climate change, structural violence such as gender injustice and the disparity in wealth and power between North and South, and various kinds of cultural violence. The problems that threaten us all point to an absence of security and safety. Therefore, we argue that “security and safety” (anzen) and “inner peace” (anshin) have become relevant concepts for peace. Today, the absence of security-safety and inner peace has often become the very reason that people around the world concern themselves with the issues of peace, security, and kyosei. In other words, security-safety issues have become an efficient cause (the causa efficiens as Aristotle has defined it), inducing us to reflect on the structure of multilayered threats to peace, security, and kyosei. Therefore, a task of grand theorizing is expected to unlock the riddle of the predicament of the present age. However, the concept of security (in contrast to security-safety and inner peace) has been employed in international politics and international relations chiefly in the sense of “national security” and “military security.” Therefore, before looking at how security relates to peace and kyosei, the idea of security must be liberated from its traditional bondage to state security discourse. One way to accomplish this is to place the issue of security-safety back in its original position—that is, at the level of the everyday lives of ordinary people (Lebenswelt), in the inner worlds

Introduction 11

of individuals, and in the dimensions of civil society—and to redefine, reconsider, and understand it in the context of ordinary people’s lives. In this connection, our group has emphasized such endeavors as the advocacy of “safety studies” (anzengaku), presented by Yoichiro Murakami; the theory of inner safe space advanced by Hidefumi Kotani; and the notion of human security, which is being discussed in various academic fields today. Therefore, one might justifiably claim that security-safety has become one of the most relevant concepts in today’s world. The issue of securitysafety invites, prompts, and challenges us to explore and understand our society and our world in order to bring about a peaceable and convivial life space for everyone. To state this in a different way, we are faced with an urgent need to tackle the problem of security-safety in toto, and this requires serious reflection upon the issue of peacebuilding and kyosei from a multidisciplinary perspective. The issue of security-safety is one of the greatest concern in the world of today, and this propels us to search for a grand theory of peace, security, and kyosei.

Kyosei as a Practical Concept What is the concept of kyosei, and what is its role in building a grand theory of peace? The Japanese word kyosei is very difficult to translate into European languages, and the contributors to this volume have rendered it variously in English as “conviviality,” “living together,” or “symbiosis.” In Toward a Peaceable Future: Redefining Peace, Security, and Kyosei from a Multidisciplinary Perspective, the word is romanized, and there is no English equivalent for the Japanese term. In our view, kyosei has a distinct meaning, and its nuances cannot comfortably be translated into English. Perhaps the word conviviality may be closest to kyosei in the sense that both terms point to the significance of the reciprocity and intersubjectivity of the self and others. Both also imply a joyous acknowledgment of the self and the others/the heterogeneous. Scholars such as Ivan Illich have used the term conviviality since the 1970s in the field of sociology, but somehow it was never solidly established as an academic technical term within the social sciences.10 One reason for this may be the connotations of the English word conviviality, with its overtones of pleasurable eating, drinking, and socializing, that is, of having a party. Native English speakers have often found it dif12 Introduction

ficult to accept conviviality as a technical term in the social sciences. But interestingly, most scholars from Spanish-speaking countries, as well as scholars from Eastern Europe and Asia, have found the term conviviality interesting, relevant, and functional. Spanish-speaking peoples know and commonly use the corresponding term convivencia in daily and professional life, and Asian scholars easily found the equivalent to kyosei in their native languages. In standard Chinese (Mandarin), the term kyosei (共生), written with the same characters as in Japanese, is pronounced gongsheng and is used very often. In the Korean language, the same characters are pronounced kong-saeng, and the term is often interchangeable with sang-saeng (相生). The contributors to this book found these facts and observations fascinating: people from diverse linguistic and cultural traditions have a sympathetic understanding of the meaning of kyosei as a term that expresses a convivial and reciprocal mode of life. Hence, rather than try to translate this word, we use the Japanese word, kyosei, in its romanized form. In this volume, kyosei basically implies both the attitude and the mode of solidarity between the self and the others/the heterogeneous. And this mode of solidarity in kyosei is activated through the joy of encounter and a mutuality of expression. Based on these linguistic connotations of kyosei, how shall we redefine the term today? In Toward a Peaceable Future, we introduced three models of kyosei that have been used in Japanese discussions for the past three decades: the toleration model, the conversation model, and the commonality model. After acknowledging the importance and effectiveness of each model and critically assessing the pros and cons of each, we concluded that the commonality model is the most stimulating and offers the most solid rationale and significance for the future.11 Because of space limitations, we cannot elaborate on all the meanings of the three models of kyosei here. Suffice it to say that for us the significance and charm of kyosei resides in all the gradations of meaning embodied in and expressed by this term. And here it may be useful to rethink the meaning and role of kyosei in the whole scheme of our grand theory. In our understanding, the significance of kyosei lies in the fact that the concept can play a practical and transformative role in an insecure world. The transformative praxis of kyosei is directed toward building a more peaceable society and a safer world characterized by convivial life spaces. Into these life spaces, kyosei, which includes social justice, cooperation, and equity, will spread (“positive peace,” as Galtung defines it). Through praxis, kyosei aims to change the status quo of injustice, Introduction 13

exploitation, oppression, and unfairness in order to create and maintain a life space of commonality and solidarity. In this life space, various groups and communities meet one another and find a common space and a common project. The life space of kyosei stands for the common space of encounters and interactions with other individuals and with heterogeneous groups, whether these parties are different nations, various ethnic groups, diverse religious groups, or different genders. What does kyosei, this convivial attitude of solidarity and commonality, mean in this context? First of all, kyosei includes a mutual acknowledgment of the distinct identity of both self and others as well as a mutual affirmation of the equality of others. Here, kyosei represents respect for distinction and equality. Hannah Arendt confirms this characteristic of distinction coupled with equality in her notion of plurality.12 This Arendtian notion of plurality is the first element of the concept of kyosei. We have already discussed the notion of tolerance. Tolerance is the second element of kyosei that is already implied in the concept of plurality discussed above. Tolerance can mean different things to diverse theorists. Michael Walzer, for instance, defined tolerance rather dispassionately in terms of “coexistence with the heterogeneous.”13 This is a considerably remote sense of tolerance that stems from the Latin word tolero (to bear or to be patient with). The remote, dispassionate, and distanced notion of tolerance is significant, because it provides the life space with the minimum and necessary condition for commonality in a pluralist society. As already mentioned, this distanced notion of tolerance somewhat resembles the concept of negative peace, the absence of conflict and antagonism. Murakami’s meta-theory of functional tolerance belongs to this category of negative peace. The tolerance that kyosei presupposes, however, can be expressed in more positive terms. Kyosei also means a more substantial and positive attitude of commonality, which respects and affirms the distinct identities and difference of others as well as their personalities and characteristics. Tolerance here means an affirmation and respect for commonality with the others/the heterogeneous. Tolerance in this sense matters, especially in the context of kyosei with different nations and ethnic groups or with people of a different gender. Tolerance in this sense does not mean assimilation or annexation or fusion. This type of tolerance embodies respect for the existence and values of others: its premise is the due recognition of the heterogeneity of others. Fairness is the third important element of kyosei. Fairness means due 14 Introduction

recognition of the inherent identity and dignity of others. It incorporates a deep appreciation of the concrete situation in which others are placed and whether these others are individuals or groups. Fairness certainly is derived from the preceding elements of plurality and tolerance. The fact that kyosei embodies fairness within itself means that it harbors the Aristotelian sense of remedial justice. Remedial justice demands the rectification of such imbalances as inequality, differential treatment, and discrimination among parties. Aristotle’s particular definition of remedial justice is that one should compensate and repay the same amount as the damage one has caused. Fairness against a backdrop of remedial justice is especially relevant to the idea of kyosei in relation to the natural environment.14 The fourth element of kyosei is conviviality, for kyosei includes an aspect of joyous recognition of self and of others. The commonality of kyosei is based on the sharing of joyous existence. In its original sense, kyosei always includes joyous solidarity with others. As the term conviviality suggests, kyosei also expresses a convivial attitude and mode of life together, that is, an enjoyment of encounters, fellowship, and interrelationships. If kyosei is viewed basically as a transformative and practical concept, it will be easier to understand its character as the normative principle that directs and propels one’s action and commitment to others. For example, the aforementioned kyosei between humankind and the natural environment poses a normative value judgment such as fairness understood as remedial justice. Furthermore, kyosei in its relationship with peace is both an end and a means. On the one hand, kyosei incorporates the means and conditions for achieving positive peace; on the other, kyosei may also mean the goal of peace, as long as kyosei either remains a significant element of positive peace or embodies in itself the substantial value of peace. Thus, the relationship between kyosei and peace is paradoxical, as these two concepts signify both means and ends for realizing each other.

Peace as a Teleological Concept In this section, the expression teleological concept has nothing to do with the philosophical teleology assumed by Aristotle’s philosophy of nature or by Hegel’s philosophy of history. By teleology, we mean the idea that a Introduction 15

grand theory of peace, security, and kyosei incorporates an end or a goal as its theoretical and practical directionality. And the presupposed end or goal is nothing less than the creation and building of peace. Using Galtung’s terminology, peace means, first of all, a negative peace, as in the absence of direct violence such as conflict or war. But to Galtung, peace also means positive peace in the sense of social cooperation and the realization of social justice. Thus one might say that the teleological concept of peace, like the practical concept of kyosei, is a dynamic concept, not a static one. Peace not only includes a negation of direct violence but also strives to overcome structural violence. According to Galtung, the concept of positive peace must be continuously redefined in light of the concrete historical and theoretical situations of each society. He now believes that, in addition to the goals of social cooperation and social justice he identified in the early 1970s, kyosei, love, dialogue, reciprocity, equity, and equality are legitimate elements of positive peace.15 With this in mind, we might suggest that such concepts as conflict resolution, peacebuilding, solidarity, and the creation of inner safe space may be naturally considered important notions that belong to the category of positive peace today. To be sure, positive peace is still far from, for instance, the “peace of the kingdom of God” (civitas Dei) envisaged by Saint Augustine, yet it nonetheless signifies the highest possible accomplishment of “peace in the kingdom of the earth” (civitas terrena). Thus, as we build a grand theory of peace, security, and kyosei, our effort to understand peace as a teleological concept in the midst of history gives us a means of providing this theory with dynamic historicity, time directionality, and topological practicality.

Organization of the Book This volume is organized roughly into three sections. The four chapters in the first section aim at conceptual mapping from a philosophical, theological, and theoretical orientation. Chapter 1, by Yoichiro Murakami, addresses the concept of tolerance, especially the new idea of functional tolerance as the conceptual foundation of peacebuilding. In chapter 2, Anri Morimoto takes a theological perspective in exploring the fundamental inner human reality of forgiveness as a way toward reconciliation. Shin Chiba searches for new conceptual foundation of peace by reexamining the two classic concepts shalom and wa in chapter 3. In chapter 4, 16 Introduction

Takashi Kibe examines the concepts of decency and equality as possible foundational concepts of peace. The second section, chapters 5 through 9, explores the task of conceptual mapping from the point of view of other disciplines, such as cultural studies, political psychology, policy studies, peace journalism, and liberal arts education. T. V. Reed, a theorist of interdisciplinary cultural studies, explores ways of promoting peacebuilding at the intersection of high and low forms of culture and globalization in chapter 5. In chapter 6, political scientist Martha Cottam examines three impediments to human security and explores possible remedies from the perspective of political psychology. In chapter 7, Otwin Marenin, an expert on criminal justice, draws on the lessons of past peacebuilding experiences and contemplates the linkage between and transition from theories of peacebuilding to actual policies that will realize peace and kyosei. Susan Ross takes a critical look at the media’s role in promoting peace in chapter 8. In chapter 9, Kano Yamamoto offers a new look at the role of higher education in promoting peace in the rapidly globalizing world. The final group, chapters 10 through 12, deals with the historical mapping of peacebuilding. The authors of these chapters investigate the burden of the past through historical case studies of the formation and function of states as well as through war memories of World War II. In chapter 10, Gregory Hooks discusses the problems of states that have been the driving force behind past wars and explores alternatives for the future. Raymond C. Sun, in chapter 11, discusses the meaning of war memory in peace studies through the example of Germany’s memory of World War II. In chapter 12, Noriko Kawamura explores U.S. and Japanese memories of the Pacific War and proposes transcending statedefined war memories in order to attain peace and kyosei.

Notes 1

2

The Japanese word kyosei is difficult to translate into English. It can mean people living together or coexisting peacefully with a positive, convivial feeling toward one another. The meaning of kyosei and its relationship to the issues of peace and security are discussed in more detail in this introduction. Johan Galtung began to argue for the concept of structural violence by Introduction 17





3

4

5

introducing three new terms—influence, actual realizations, and potential realizations—and in the 1970s, he established the following well-known formulation of structural violence: “Violence is present when human beings are being influenced so that their actual somatic and mental realizations are below their potential realizations.” Galtung, Peace Research, Education, Action, 110–11. Here, the idea of structural violence is juxtaposed to the narrow concept of violence, that is, direct violence in the sense of “somatic incapacitation, or deprivation of health alone (with killing as an extreme form),” as Galtung describes it. For Galtung, violence in either manifest or latent form is “the cause of the difference between the potential and the actual, between what could have been and what is.” He explains this as follows: “Violence is that which increases the distance between the potential and the actual, and that which impedes the decrease of this difference. Thus, if a person died from tuberculosis in the eighteenth century, it would be hard to conceive of this as violence, since it might have been quite unavoidable. But if he died from it today, despite all the medical resources in the world, then violence is present according to our definition. . . . A life expectancy of thirty years only, during the Neolithic period, was not an expression of violence. But the same life-expectancy today (whether due to wars, or social injustice, or both) would be seen as violence, according to our definition.” In line with these developments and elaborations of the concept, “violence” can be defined broadly today, for instance, in terms of “any act that is capable of injuring, damaging, or destroying and is done with that intent.” Galtung, Peace Research, Education, Action, 111. In recent years, Galtung has added one more crucial dimension of violence—cultural violence. According to him, cultural violence is understood as the latent forms of violence and infringement on human dignity and human rights historically caused and embedded in the nation’s religious and cultural practices. Galtung, Pax Pacifica, 34–45. The counterpart notion of nonviolence has also been defined in recent years not simply in terms of “absence of violence” but more positively as “initiatives and practices of peacemaking.” Ronald B. Miller, “Violence, Force, and Coercion,” 25; Stassen and Westmoreland-White, “Defining Violence and Nonviolence,” 18–19. Fukase, Senso hoki to heiwateki seizonken; Yamauchi, Heiwa kenpo no riron; Yamauchi, Jinken, shuken, heiwa; Chiba, “A Reflection on the Pacifist Principle”; Chiba and Kobayashi, Heiwa kenpo to kokyo tetsugaku. Galtung, Pax Pacifica, 67–69; Barash, Approaches to Peace, 56–60; Hoshino, Gurobaru syakai no heiwagaku, 4–5, 28–30. From a different angle, Neil Arya has consistently argued for the costliness of war from the standpoint of public health and health care; see Arya, “Peace through Health?” 367–94. Wolin, Politics and Vision, 17–20.

18 Introduction

6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15

Wolin, Hobbes and the Epic Tradition, 4. Murakami, Kawamura, and Chiba, Toward a Peaceable Future, xv; Kurokawa, Kyosei no shiso. Murakami, Bunmei no shi. Ruiz, “A Methodological Reflection,” 2. Illich, Tools for Conviviality. Murakami, Kawamura, and Chiba, Toward a Peaceable Future, xiv–xvii. Arendt, The Human Condition, 182–84, 198–205; Arendt, The Life of the Mind, 19; Chiba, Arendt to gendai, 37–38, 50–52, 60–61. Walzer, On Toleration, 6. Murakami, Kawamura, and Chiba, Toward a Peaceable Future, xiv–xvii. Galtung, “Prolegomena to Grand Theory,” 31.

Introduction 19

1 On Tolerance yoichiro mur a k a mi

T

he goals of peace, security, and kyosei (conviviality) are so deeply entangled with one another that we may easily assume that realizing one goal realizes other goals to some extent at the same time. However, reaching these goals simultaneously is difficult because achieving one goal may produce a trade-off of benefits, even though the parties involved are not necessarily engaged in a zero-sum game. For example, the security of a nation has often been used as a casus belli. When Japan started the Pacific War in 1941, its rationale was that national security was threatened beyond forbearance by the “ABCD line” (the American, British, Chinese, and Dutch alliance). Thus, in an international context, a war among nations (that is, a disruption or destruction of peace) may arise from or result in a country’s first priority being the pursuit of security. Another example of such a trade-off is the one between peace and security. Immanuel Kant’s important work For Eternal World Peace referred appreciatively to Japan’s historical isolationist policy (called sakoku in the Edo era [1603–1867]).1 Although Kant viewed this as a wise and deliberate policy for building world peace, Japan’s isolationism also can be seen as opposing positive kyosei, which differs from a more negative, neutral idea of biological kyosei (kyosei as symbiosis). That is, neighboring populations may live in peaceful coexistence through isolation but may be completely indifferent to one another. Kyosei as a concept for building peace has a much more positive implication than this. 20

Tolerance may be an effective remedy for this kind of dilemma. In this sense, tolerance has no religious implication (unlike the tolerance proposed by John Locke, for example) but is a means to achieve, not the best, but better peace, security, and kyosei (here, meaning coexistence). This functional type of tolerance has been explored by Michael Walzer in On Toleration, in which he identifies five exemplars of tolerant political systems: ancient multiracial empires, modern international societies, associated nations, modern nation-states, and immigrant societies.

Tolerance in Walzer’s Argument Walzer’s explanation of the ancient multiracial empires of Persia, Ptolemaic Egypt, and Rome presupposes that in a tolerant society, it does not matter how the society as a whole deals with foreign components within it. According to Walzer, as long as people were willing to pay taxes and societal peace was maintained, the central governments of the ancient world did not intervene in the lives of individual members of their societies. At the same time, he acknowledges that this manner of governing an entire empire was neither liberal nor democratic. But to call these ancient empires “tolerant” is stretching the truth: for the central governments of these ancient empires often exhibited a bulldozer effect, that is, they used their political, legal, educational, and military power to level conquered local cultures, much like bulldozers level the land. Modern international societies, Walzer’s second example of tolerance, reflect another unusual view. International society as a whole is too huge to be called a “community.” But for international society to function today, we must have a truly tolerant situation. Of course, as Walzer recognizes, the current international situation includes the possibility that only a small misstep may result in a catastrophe, because even when most of the world is at peace, it barely remains peaceful. Nevertheless, this can be seen as a sign that the toleration principle is still narrowly at work in the world community: for in principle, members of international society (that is, states) hesitate to intervene in one another’s internal affairs, whatever the situation. In this narrow sense, then, it can be said that today’s international society has a structure that fosters tolerance. However, there have been many exceptions. A recent example of international society (actually the United States and some supporting countries) intervening in the affairs of another country is the case of Iraq, and On Tolerance 21

there have been other similar military interventions, such as the Vietnamese intervention in Khmer Rouge Cambodia and the Russian intervention in Chechnya. In these cases, international society—or a powerful member of it—denied or ignored another country’s internal situation and tried to force the other country to do what the more powerful member regarded as right or correct. This behavior is often called “humanitarian intervention,” but it can also be seen as an meddling that works against the principle of tolerance. In what situations and under what conditions could such meddling be appropriate, and in what situations is it inappropriate? Or, in other words, is there a universally accepted set of human conditions, and should a people have the right to correct violations of these conditions, even if they have to resort to force? In short, what conditions allow international society to carry out a so-called humanitarian intervention? This is the most difficult question in a world that accepts pluralism as a leading principle. On the subject of humanitarian intervention, we should take one additional factor into consideration, that countries and states are officially equipped with certain societal institutions (penal institutions) meant to correct the behavior of their lawbreakers. In extreme cases, these institutions usually have the right to put individuals to death. As far as one concedes this concept of social justice, everyone but an anarchist accepts the legitimacy of these societal institutions, at least to some extent. If this social justice argument is applied to international society, one is almost automatically forced to accept the concept of humanitarian intervention. Again, the point is when and how. Walzer’s third example of a tolerant political system is an associated nation such as Belgium and Switzerland. Belgium consists of several language areas (Dutch, French, and German) spread over several geographic areas. These areas do not necessarily overlap, and consequently, Belgium has a multilayered social structure in most of its regions. (The city of Brussels is an exception, where the three languages have equal status.) In the Belgian system, people who speak different languages or have different cultural backgrounds usually live together relatively peacefully. Of course, at times Belgians have not been satisfied with the partitioning system, and severe conflicts have emerged. For example, when Belgium partitioned a Dutch-French area in the 1960s, Louvain was to be included in the Dutch district. However, there is a very famous old university in Louvain, and some residents left Louvain to establish a new 22

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university town in a French district. They called the town Louvain-laNeuve and built a new university there. Setting up the university library was one of the greatest problems. When there were many copies of one book, the new university could share these with the old university, but there was usually only one copy or one set of rare books. Thus, as with Aristotle’s Opera Omnia, the universities divided the set in half, and each library took one half. But this was an exceptional case; Belgians usually participate in a language area voluntarily, and the structure of the areas has been gradually improved to the point that they now work well. Today, nobody would deny that in Belgium the principle of toleration has been taken into consideration in forming the polity. The fourth case raised by Walzer is the nation-state, a concept that clearly was born in Europe. It is said that European universities in the Middle Ages first used the Latin word natio, a derivative of nascor (to be born), to designate a group of students who shared the same birthplace. Thus, the word nation bears a kind of parochial or provincial sense in Europe. In contrast, the term state implies “government” and “dominion,” a well-governed organization that has a solid structure and is led by universal principles beyond mere provincial considerations. It is well known that the German sociologist Ferdinand Toennies developed two concepts, Gemeinschaft (community) and Gesellschaft (society).2 According to this categorization, nation may be close to Gemeinschaft and state may be close to Gesellschaft. In short, a nation is something natural, and a state is rather artificial. The concept of nation-state is a product of modern Western culture and is a combination of these two contrasting concepts, but it is interesting to note that several new versions of the nation-state have appeared, particularly in Asia. Indonesia is a good example of this phenomenon. It is a well-established modern nation-state, but unlike such states in the West, its social structure is not as solid and clearly manifested. For instance, nearly 90 percent of Indonesians are Muslim, and Indonesia is the world’s largest Muslim country in terms of population size. At the same time, Indonesia as a nation-state is secular in character and is not an Islamic country. The national legal system of Indonesia is not based on Islamic laws, and the constitution secures basic freedom of religion. Nevertheless, Indonesian society as a whole is clearly Islamic, even though this Islamic character does not appear as a manifest national structure or as the nation’s leading principle. The only exception is the island of Bali, which has a solid cultural structure based on Hinduism. These feaOn Tolerance 23

tures in a nation-state may seem ambiguous and incomprehensible to a European, but the nation-state of Indonesia seems to be a functionally tolerant one. These nation-state features are also reflected in international associations of Asian nations. For instance, the Association of Southeast Asian Nations (ASEAN) is characterized by an ambiguous structure that differs from Western associations of nations. Thus, we see that the style or form of functionally tolerant structures in a nation-state (or a group of nation-states) differs from country to country and from time to time. For Walzer’s final example, immigration societies, France’s experiences are instructive. As early as 1598, Henri IV approved freedom of religion (specifically, freedom for the Protestant faith) when he issued the Edict of Nantes after the Huguenot wars. Louis XIV revoked this freedom in 1685, but later, during the French Revolution, Huguenots recovered equity with Catholics. These complicated historical experiences focused on religious heterogeneity likely have some impact on the country’s ongoing national policies for heterogeneous members of French society. Today, many Muslims, especially those who have moved from former colonies, live in France. The modern-day French government (at both national and local levels) cares only whether these immigrants acknowledge that they are citizens of the country and are ready to execute their obligations and responsibilities as citizens. As long as these new Muslim inhabitants of France satisfy these condition, the French government does not intervene in their credos, ideologies, or behavioral codes. Since immigrant problems often overlap with problems of poverty, French society is now confronting a lack of peace and security. The recent controversy about French Muslim schoolgirls wearing scarves may signal a backlash in French society against the traditional liberal French attitude toward Muslim immigrants—an attitude that has not been widely shared by poor non-Muslim French—but overall, France’s way of dealing with heterogeneous members of French society may be of particular relevance to Japan, which has historically included Koreans as members of Japanese society. In addition, an alarming and rapid decline in the birthrate has forced Japan to accept immigrants as additions to the labor force. Consequently, Japan will become an increasingly heterogeneous society, an immigrant society, which will be a new experience for the country. What can we learn from Walzer’s four examples of tolerant political systems? First, taking Walzer’s international society as an example, we see that the notion of tolerance contains within itself a self-canceling or 24

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self-contradictory factor. It is often said that after World War II there has been no great war. It is true that an international society is often reluctant to intervene in the internal affairs of its member countries, but even with this general reluctance to intervene, nobody can deny that today’s international society is far from peaceful and tolerant. Peace and kyosei based on tolerance are only partially realized ideals, which is why we need to sincerely seek tolerance. In other words, if a society or a community is sufficiently tolerant, nobody tries (or needs) to pursue tolerance, but if a society has a tolerance deficiency, this is where we most need to seek it. It is also true that in an absolutely intolerant society—a monocultural society, a society of absolutism, or whatever it may be called—there is no room for tolerance, and none of that society’s members should claim tolerance. Based on observations and available hypotheses of human nature, however, we could conclude that such a monocultural society cannot remain purely monocultural for long. At the other extreme, a completely tolerant society would be a nonhuman society. (See chapter 2 for a discussion and clarification of these observations and a hypothetical theory of human nature.) One point should be added here, and that is related to the concept of tolerance itself. In this discussion, the concept of tolerance is not understood to be an ethical or moral virtue. Instead, tolerance is defined as “function” and can include ordinary, everyday methods of compromise. This sort of tolerance, however, which is fundamentally based on the nature of human beings themselves, should not be considered trivial.

Structure and Function of Humanity An individual consists of two basic motifs, or driving forces: nomos and chaos. Nomos has the power to mold an individual and is a motif that one accepts from the community, but one is given the motif of chaos inherently as the nucleus of existence. Aristotle would define this chaos as dynamis. Nomos is a regulative agent for chaos, whereas chaos is a blind energy that lets the individual emanate in all directions. Even as a fetus, an individual is ready to learn the nomos of the surrounding community—explicitly or implicitly, voluntarily or involuntarily. A major part of nomos is language. Language equips human beings with a tool for communication and also gives them a way to articulate concepts On Tolerance 25

about their environment—how to behave in this environment, how to be a member of the community, in short, how to be a human being. As the Swiss biologist Adolf Portmann correctly said, a human being is part of a species that is biologically aborted—that is, human beings are normally born prematurely.3 A newborn is in a second womb for a period after his or her birth, a small, protective society that is formed, at a minimum, by the mother or by someone who can play the role of mother. Donald Winnicott, an English psychiatrist, named this intimate community a “two-person society.”4 At this stage, the inherent chaos within a baby serves only as something that can receive nomos from the small society of the second womb or from the broader, surrounding social environment. In other words, the baby’s chaos does not play any positive role on its own. Thus an individual can become a human being only by being molded by the nomos of the community to which he or she belongs. In Aristotelian terms, this process is described as “from dynamis to energeia.” Interestingly, an individual (and his or her chaos) is never completely molded or controlled by this nomos. There is always room for chaos to function within an individual (see fig. 1.1), and it is in this space that the concept of functional tolerance originates. In other words, the chaos within an individual is always greater than the part of an individual molded by nomos. Tolerance is based on the greater part of an individual—that is, on chaos. Thus, we can easily compare this kind of tolerance with the tolerance of technicians or engineers. Technical tolerance (sometimes called “allowance”) is defined as the allowable deviation from a standard (for example, of size, weight, Fig. 1.1. Nomos-chaos relationship in individuals function). An object can deviate up to this standard without causing problems. It is this functional sense of tolerance that we shall propose as necessary both within individual human beings and in broader human society. These two motifs, nomos and chaos, always function antagonistically within an individual (see fig. 1.2). Over time, the balancing point, or equilibrium,

26

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between nomos and chaos fluctuates unceasingly both within an individual and between members of a community. This, then, is a rough sketch of a theory of the structure and function of human beings and their society. Neither an individual as a member of a society nor a society as a collective sum of such individuals can remain the same. There will always be a tendency to change. Thus, there seem to be two changing factors, one endogenous and the other exogenous, for the individual as well as the greater community.

Fig. 1.2. Antagonistic Nomos-Chaos Relations

Fluctuation in an Individual The conflict between nomos and chaos produces an unceasing fluctuation of the balancing point for individuals and for society. The causes of this fluctuation are both endogenous and exogenous. For an individual, the endogenous factor is chaos. At the first stage, namely, in the second womb, chaos does not play a significant role in the fluctuation; the balancing point, the meeting spot of the two, stays very close to nomos, almost at the top. But beginning in the infant stage, and with increasing strength during the adolescent period, the function of chaos becomes clearer, and this lets the person search for an alternative nomos or even create a new nomos. At this point, the balancing point disappears, and the width of the fluctuation becomes ever greater. In the adult stage, the balancing point tends to come close to nomos again and stabilize at that point. For example, culture shock through encounters with a different cultural nomos is an exogenous factor that may lead an individual to find an alternative nomos. This seems to take place more often at a younger stage of life, as people usually return to and reconfirm their original nomos during adulthood. Culture shock seems to occur in a twofold way. The first step is when an individual comes across and recognizes a different way of living, a different culture, different social customs

On Tolerance 27

and conventions, and different worldviews. The next step is when a person encounters a different culture and realizes that his or her way is only the result of a choice among various alternatives. Take the example of a young American anthropologist who specialized in Japan. She had studied the country, culture, and language before she came to Japan and already had a considerable amount of knowledge. She was interviewed by the Asahi Journal, and when asked whether she had experienced culture shock in Japan, her answer was quite significant. She responded, “Yes, it was when I was reading Kojiki and recognized that in Japan the gender of the sun is not masculine but feminine.”5 Her answer seems peculiar for two reasons. First, because as far as gender is concerned, there are logically at least two alternatives, feminine and masculine, and, second, because, as an anthropologist, she should have rationally understood that the sun’s gender varies between the two alternatives from culture to culture. In other words, she should not have been struck by the fact that in Japan the gender of the sun is feminine. Why was she surprised? Only one interpretation is possible: that she became aware that her own concept of the sun’s gender, namely, her assumption that the sun is masculine, is only the result of choice. This episode shows us that members of a society grow up receiving nomos from that society. What they learn from it often becomes so familiar and so natural that they are unaware that their nomos is the result of choices and that there are a number of possibilities. When these individuals become aware of the potential for choice (by noticing the existence of other possibilities), they experience culture shock. In that sense, the idea of nomos as used in this discussion may be very close to the concept of the famous Kuhnian paradigm or a conceptual apparatus in general (particularly in its epistemological implication). 6 These concepts easily lead us to epistemological pluralism. Consequently, in an epistemological context, tolerance theory might be interpreted as pluralism or as a pluralistic view of the world.

Fluctuation in Society In a society, the relationship of nomos and chaos is not so different from the balance within an individual. In a stabilized society, the distribution of individual members (who have various balancing points) will draw a 28

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Fig. 1.3. The Center and Subcenters in Society

Fig. 1.4. The Center in an Intolerant Society

nearly normal Gaussian curve. Individuals with balancing points close to the regulatory nomos of the community and who collectively form the majority are in the center, and individuals whose balancing points are farther from the nomos of the community (that is, those individuals who are usually called alienators) are scattered on the periphery. In a more detailed model, there may be some small subcenters in the peripheral areas (see fig. 1.3). These subcenters will consist of some individuals who are influenced and regulated by nomos that are slightly different from the majority group nomos. Such a society assures sufficient space for the alienators. In other words, it is a tolerant society. In an intolerant society, the distribution curve is quite steep at the center (see fig. 1.4). Consequently, there are no individuals in the peripheral areas, and the model does not allow for the existence of alienators. It is a more or less totalitarian society. If the curve is completely flat, however, it shows that the society is completely tolerant and rather anarchistic. Such a society does not offer any nomos to its members and could not be called a human society. The shape of the curve tends to change if a society undergoes stressful experiences, as seen, for example, in American society just after the September 11 attacks, when the curve suddenly converged at the center. In an intolerant society, the chaotic energy among its members accumulates, and sooner or later, the chaos becomes self-destructive power. In short, revolution will take place, as in the cases of Eastern European countries that had been governed by the Soviet Union and had been part of a repressive, totalitarian governmental system. In Romania, the revolution took a bloody form, whereas in Czechoslovakia, a milder so-called Velvet Revolution took place. But even in a tolerant society, the balance between nomos and chaos does not exist for long because of endogenous and exogenous factors. On Tolerance 29

Sometimes one of the subcenters may collect a majority of society’s members and form a new center. When that happens, the change in the nomos of a society is not revolutionary. One charismatic person—like Moses, for example—may play a significant role as an endogenous factor. When Moses decided to liberate his people from the Egyptian yoke, most of them were satisfied with their more or less stable and peaceful situation. They did not want to search for an alternative. Only Moses’s personal power could change the situation. Jesus is an even more remarkable case, which shows that such a revolutionarily powerful person usually appears not in the center of a society but in its peripheral areas. In other words, the peripheral areas produce alienators who move in various directions, but among these alienators, only a very few will be charismatic figures. In the meantime, society often contains a societal institution that absorbs chaotic energy in order to prevent revolutionary change. That is, when a seemingly charismatic person with potential energy for change appears in a peripheral area, the society has provided some institutional space for him or her. This is again a sign of tolerance. In Jesus’s case, the Jewish society of those days did not provide room for his activities and finally executed him. In modern society, the fine arts offer room for such charismatic figures. The concept of fine arts and the concept of artist as a social role were invented in nineteenth-century Europe. Artists are those who express solely their own aesthetic ideas in their works. Basically, they do not have any clients except themselves. The phrase l’art pour l’art (art for art’s sake) most clearly symbolizes this idea of fine arts. The social role of artist fences alienators into the realm of fine arts and allows society to tolerate those who act outside a common nomos. In the name of fine arts, a modern society may permit subject matter that is usually considered obscene. Thus, on the one hand, in a modern society, fine arts represent asylum for the alienators of that society and, on the other hand, serve as an absorber of or reservoir for the alienators’ energy. This contributes stability to the society. There are various exogenous factors for change in a society: wars, invasions, natural disasters, plagues, terrorism, and so forth. These are threats to the safety, security, and peace of a society. Sometimes these threats work as a strong motive for a society to converge its nomos, as in post–September 11 American society. The influence of the outside world often functions as a factor for change, especially when there is some 30

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explicit or implicit counterpart to the exogenous factor within the society. In postwar Japanese society, for example, the nomos that governed prewar Japanese society was uprooted and replaced by new, imported nomos during the Allied occupation period. It must be added, however, that the imported nomos was not new for Japanese society. There had been some embryonic possibilities of a new nomos inherent in the old society, and the replacement of nomos could take place only in conjunction with them. In the end, we cannot expect that any society, tolerant or intolerant, will enjoy eternal peaceful stability. This may explain why none of the major civilizations of the past have persisted, and why all cultures experience change and alteration. This is why, in order to survive, a society must learn, and must continue to learn, to be pluralistic. According to the Bible, after the fall of the Tower of Babel, human language diverged widely, and today we pay an incalculable price for this divergence. Seen from the point of view outlined above, however, this multilingual situation might be favorable for the survival of the human community on this planet, because a multiplicity of languages will always show the existence of an alternative nomos and the possibility of self-reconstructing our own. Awareness of these possibilities is known as functional tolerance. The principle of tolerance is an indispensable condition for a pluralistic society. Walzer’s analysis demonstrates the efforts made by people in the past to be tolerant and describes the results of these efforts. Based on these examples, we are well advised to continue our search and find our own way of demonstrating tolerance in various contexts. In this way, we will be able to apply tolerance to the range of tensions and conflicts among the three key concepts of this study: peace, security, and kyosei.

Notes 1 2 3 4

Kant, Zum ewigen Frieden. Tönnies, Gemeinschaft und Gesellschaft. Portmann, Essays in Philosophical Zoology. Winnicott, Mother and Child.

5

6

Kojiki (The records of ancient matters), a collection of cosmogonic tales, is the oldest literature in Japan. Kuhn, The Structure of Scientific Revolutions.

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2 To Forgive Is Human A Theological Reflection on the Politics of Reconciliation

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he contributors to this book share the conviction that a coherent and sustainable notion of peace must include the concepts of security and kyosei. In this view, peace does not mean merely the absence of war or a condition of precarious truce until another conflict breaks out. Peace is something that must be enjoyed by all concerned, and in order for all to enjoy it, it must be sustained by social justice and cooperation, those elements that constitute Johan Galtung’s concept of positive peace and which are explained in the introduction to this book. The notion of positive peace, however, must extend beyond the social and political to the personal and spiritual dimensions in order for peace to be truly convivial (in the sense of kyosei). At the same time, we admit that such a blissful amalgamation of peace, security, and kyosei is not within our immediate reach. One of the insights gained from reading a study of these issues, Toward a Peaceable Future, is that conflict, insecurity, and antagonism are ubiquitous in human society.1 Despite the goodwill of citizens and the effectiveness of institutional mechanisms, enmity and antipathy permeate human relationships. No doubt there will continue to be sustained efforts to establish peace, but such efforts must be based on a realistic understanding of human nature. When people meet, there will be conflicts. When nations meet, interests are likely to collide. Thus, peace, security, and kyosei are often first recognized through their absence: Their case begins in absen32

tia. Our efforts, then, should be focused on how to restore peace, recover security, and redeem kyosei. If there is any semblance of a grand theory at all, it is the recognition that since no human society is immune from conflict and antagonism, measures for the recovery and restoration of peace, security, and kyosei are of primary importance. Religious traditions have called this effort “forgiveness” and “reconciliation.”

A Theological Reflection on Conflict It is sobering to read in Christian scripture that human history began with a murder. The biblical Garden of Eden is the place where the essence of humanity is posited. By default, it is a place of beatitude and plenitude: hence, there is no time, evolution, or dynamism in the Garden. In contrast to this immobile completeness of essence, human existence outside the Garden is characterized by birth, growth, and death. Adam and Eve, the pristine ageless couple, were expelled from the Garden, and it was only then that they produced two sons, Cain and Abel. The family began to expand, and so did the tension and discord within it. This led to fratricide, the first of the countless many to follow. By Greek etymology, the term existence means “standing outside” (ex-histemi). We literally stand outside the Garden. Once expelled from the idyllic peace of the heavenly Garden, human beings began to exist in history. Our existence is thus estranged from our essence. We “exist” in concrete history, and history is the realm of movements, vicissitudes, and fluctuations. Our individual existence in history is from the very beginning destined to intersect, and at times collide, with others. Conflict is a constant in the human situation. John Paul Lederach, a leading figure in the field of international conflict resolution and transformation, paraphrases the first sentence of the Gospel of John in describing the way he sees the troubled world: “in the beginning was conflict.”2 Conflict itself, as Lederach notes, is not sin. It is a natural part of human relationships. The Creation story tells us that human beings are made to be unique so that they constitute a dynamic diversity on the planet. Each person is endowed with a free will of his or her own. Considering this uniqueness and diversity of human individuals, one can see that the world is constituted in such a way that eventual conflict is inevitable. “And if you do not do well, sin is lurking at the door; its desire is for The Politics of Reconciliation 33

you, but you must master it” (Genesis 4:7). These were God’s words of warning to Cain, who was about to commit the crime of fratricide, and, by implication, to all of Cain’s posterity. There is no escape from lurking sin: it ambushes us at the door. Once we step out of the Garden and into history, conflict is unavoidable in the human situation. The best we can do is to “master it” with our given capacities—to acknowledge, negotiate, contain, and control conflict in order to minimize damage and maximize welfare. This is the mandate of politics. The theological understanding of human history therefore requires politics for humanity on earth.

To Forgive Is Human So we can begin to explore the realm of politics with the theological mandate for reconciliation and forgiveness in mind. However, any such attempt to incorporate these concepts into the discourse of politics faces a number of difficult questions regarding the practicality and the wider implications of this course of action. Some might object to mingling political and religious ideas; others might suspect the genuine motives of those who offer reconciliation or forgiveness in a political scene full of special interests. Still others would deny the possibility of forgiveness altogether, in reverent memory of wronged victims who perished. French philosopher Vladimir Jankélévitch argued that since only the victims have the right to forgive, “pardoning died in death camps.”3 Clearly, one pressing concern for the politics of reconciliation is justice. A lasting framework for peace must be underpinned by a reasonable measure of justice among those concerned. At the same time, a thorny question surfaces during the process of reconciliation: To what extent should justice be fulfilled before those concerned agree on reconciliation? On the one hand, if one insists that the original condition be completely restored, forgiveness will become impossible in most cases. On the other hand, if one requires less, there is always the danger of making forgiveness cheap and unworthy of its name. This question may also be rephrased and repeated with regard to repentance and apology: Would forgiveness be possible only upon full, unreserved, wholehearted repentance and apology followed by gestures of recompense and reparation? What if the culprit does not repent, or repents only half-heartedly, or repents but does not follow up with acts of reparation? Jacques Derrida, in response to Jankélévitch’s remark, contended that 34

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forgiveness can be granted only to the unrepentant, to those who do not repent or ask for it. 4 Forgiveness is always “unconditional, gracious, infinite, uneconomic,” for it is an “impossible possibility” that cannot and should not be on the ordinary level of politics and law. Derrida argued that forgiving those who have repented (and who have hence changed completely) does not deserve to be called “forgiveness.” However paradoxical it may sound, the nature of forgiveness dictates that the unforgivable are the only ones that need to be forgiven. Questions about repentance and forgiveness that have emerged on the contemporary political scene have a long history in theological discussions, for “forgiveness of undeserving sinners” has been a prime theme for Christian theologians. The history of Church tradition has also demonstrated how ecclesiastical administration of forgiveness could easily degenerate into “cheap grace.” By analogical imagination, theology has much to offer to the contemporary discussion of forgiveness.

Forgiveness as a Human Capacity Christianity has been accused of transposing the horizontal relationship of perpetrators and victims into the vertical relationship of sinners and God. Derrida criticizes the Catholic Church in France for asking forgiveness from God, not from the victims, for the Church’s past involvement in anti-Semitism.5 The transposition reduces the politics of reconciliation to a camouflaged excuse for a guilty action that should have been addressed properly on social terms. Conventional wisdom concerning forgiveness also seems to reinforce the image of vertical transposition. A dictum by the eighteenth-century poet Alexander Pope (1688–1744), “to err is human, to forgive divine,” captures this conventional understanding of forgiveness. The dictum is fine as long as it portrays God as a merciful forgiver, but it invariably places humans on the forgiven side and diverts our attention from the human capacity for forgiveness. The image of vertical transaction, for all its seeming plausibility, does not exactly reflect the teachings of Jesus in the New Testament. It is true that some biblical passages do refer to forgiveness as God’s act, 6 but the words of Jesus as recorded in the Gospel narratives state that forgiveness really belongs with the horizontal relationships between humans. Jesus declared, against all the misconceptions of his contemporaries and of The Politics of Reconciliation 35

later generations, that the power and obligation to forgive resides primarily in human beings. Beginning from the passage in the Lord’s Prayer, “forgive us our debts, as we also have forgiven our debtors” (Matthew 6:12), his words assume that it is human beings, not God, who initiate the act of forgiveness. The theologically minded might be disturbed by the implication that divine forgiveness is dependent upon human forgiveness, but, as if he had foreseen such a complaint, Jesus picks up that particular passage from the Lord’s Prayer and reiterates it with indisputable clarity: “If you forgive others their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you; but if you do not forgive others, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses” (6:14–15). Here, Jesus is revolutionizing the common perception that God is the initiator of forgiveness. In this sense, Hannah Arendt is correct to call Jesus of Nazareth “the discoverer of the role of forgiveness in the realm of human affairs.”7 Indeed, Arendt herself was the discoverer of a Jesus who had placed prime importance on human forgiveness among all the distortions and misconceptions in later Christian tradition. In contrast to Pope’s dictum, one must now say that “to err is human, to forgive also human.” Theological tradition actually gives ample support to this claim of human forgiveness. Some theologians even insist that God does not forgive. This may sound puzzling or even outrageous to some, but the aim here is to show that the politics of reconciliation are not about religiously exonerating the culprit. Transposing the horizontal to the vertical is the wrong move. The theological mandate for politics is that they remain politics, not that politics shift to theology, since forgiveness is an act that is preeminently human, even from the theological perspective. In the first place, it is not that God does not forgive because he is a merciless punisher. Mystical theologians claim that human beings are so closely united with God that there is no room between them for offense and, hence, no room for forgiveness. Julian of Norwich (1342–1416), a late-medieval theologian, reasons that since God is the sum of all good, it is against his nature to be wrathful. When the human soul is fully united with God, “there can be neither anger nor forgiveness” between God and humanity.8 If it is impossible for God to be wrathful, then it is also impossible for him to forgive.9 For most of us who are in constant conflict with others, Julian’s idea of a perfect union with such an impervious God may sound a little too remote, but at least we learn that, contrary to Pope’s dictum, forgiveness is not always divine even to theologians.

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About a century before Julian of Norwich, Thomas Aquinas (1224– 1274) advanced another thesis that contrasts divine forgiveness with human forgiveness to such an extent that it almost renders the concept of divine forgiveness superfluous. Thomas says that God does not forgive as humans do. Human forgiveness may be offered in the absence of repentance, but divine forgiveness cannot be so offered. The difference lies in the effect of forgiveness: while “human forgiving may or may not induce repentance, divine forgiveness necessarily does so.”10 In other words, God’s forgiveness brings about a real change. It is not a mere blotting out, not a putative declaration of innocence irrespective of the person forgiven. This is quite consistent with the standard Catholic teaching of justification. While the Protestant understanding is forensic in the sense that justification does not require real change in the person in order to be justified by God, Catholic theology, based on Thomas’s teaching, claims that the grace of God effects a real change.11 “It is possible for a man to pardon an offense . . . without any change in the latter’s will; but it is impossible that God pardon a man for an offence, without his will being changed.”12 Much like the process of divine creation, the word of God realizes what it commands: God said, “Let there be light,” and there was light. Likewise, God says, “Let there be repentance,” and there is repentance. In Thomas’s understanding, it is the sacrament of penance that mediates this “actual change of the will.”13 One wonders, however, with Derrida, whether forgiveness as defined by Thomas is really worth the name when the person to be forgiven is an entirely new person already. Therefore, much as Julian of Norwich concluded, God cannot forgive, as there would be nothing to forgive. The idea of impossible forgiveness echoes in the thought of a modern student of theology, Friedrich Nietzsche. In contrast to slave morality, he writes, a noble man like Mirabeau “could not forgive, simply because he—forgot.”14 With one shrug, Mirabeau would shake off many worms of resentment that would have burrowed into another man. Nietzsche’s “noble man,” much like Julian’s or Thomas’s God, cannot forgive, as there would be nothing to forgive. For Nietzsche, only a superman like Mirabeau, who harbors no resentment whatsoever, can follow the biblical command to “love your neighbor.” But for those of us who are entangled in clinging resentments, either through forgiving or not forgiving, there should be another role model. And with that in mind, we go back to the sacrament of penance—not to the sacrament per se, but to what it

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embodies, namely, a system of exchanging apology and forgiveness as a pathway to restore peace in interhuman relationships.

A System of Exchange The sacrament of penance is a system whereby priests give absolution to those who express contrition. The system’s by-product was the mechanism of indulgence, the eventual corruption of which gave rise to the Protestant Reformation, yet Protestants did not fare any better in this regard. The Protestant system only spiritualized the system of ecclesiastical administration into individual soul-searching and, by doing so, broke down the integral structure of contrition, confession, and satisfaction— the three essential components of penance.15 Tainted though it may have been in its historical practice, the sacrament of penance (or rather, the general structure it embodies) still offers a model for reconsidering forgiveness among humans, since forgiveness, if it is genuine, does require the three conditions required by penance. First, the sinner should be entirely separated from the sin and should feel sorry for having committed this sin; second, the sinner should confess in public the wrong that has been done; and third, the sinner should compensate for the injury he or she has caused, thus bringing the damaged relationship back to a state of equity. These are also necessary components in the pardoning of one human being by another. If the sinner performs these three actions, then the priest grants forgiveness in exchange. And when Protestant Christianity lost the sacrament of penance, a large segment of modern society lost a model for restoring broken interpersonal relationships. However, today the sacrament of penance could be reevaluated as a model of horizontal exchange for both the perpetrator and the victim: one party expresses sorrow with the intention of making reparation for the damage, and the other party gives forgiveness when seeing the sincere repentance of the first. Thomas Aquinas also made it clear that the justice required for the remission of sins should aim not only “at removing the inequality already existing” but also “at safeguarding equality for the future.”16 Modern history provides constant reminders that unless there is a safeguard against future repetition of a wrong, mere restitution for the past wrongs will not result in sorely needed satisfaction for the victims of the injustice. Proper satisfaction must offer both compensation for the past wrong and preservation from further injury. 38

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Forgiveness beyond Justice Even more significant in Thomas’s argument is his clear recognition of the impossibility of achieving complete satisfaction. This recognition constitutes a fundamental premise for his discussion of the sacrament of penance, as satisfaction (compensation) is one of the three essential components of the sacrament. Thomas’s argument takes the following line: An offense is measured by the person against whom it is committed, and an offense against God is infinite. Therefore, no one is able to compensate God in full measure for a transgression. It is only by the infinite mercy of God that whatever the human offender, quickened by grace, is able to repay becomes acceptable to God.17 Here, Thomas makes a distinction between aequivalens satisfactio (equivalent satisfaction), which no mortal can make, and sufficiens satisfactio (sufficient satisfaction). Insufficient human repayment is rendered as sufficient by God when God receives it. Note here that there is also a distinction between sin and guilt. In Thomas’s theology, sin remains after the guilt of the sin has been forgiven. That is why one still needs to compensate the guilt with temporal punishment. Translated into the context of terrestrial politics, this means that one should accept the fact that satisfaction—that is, acts of reparation—may not always satisfy the demands of justice in full measure. Reparation may remain utterly inadequate and, in most cases, disproportionate to the damage inflicted—yet that does not mean forgiveness is impossible. Contrary to the French philosophers quoted above, forgiveness is indeed possible, because those who have been damaged are the ones who determine whether the reparation is sufficient or not. Surely justice must be served, but it does not have to be served with the “equivalent satisfaction” of Thomas’s terminology. Victims of injustice often voice a similar sentiment. They do not necessarily demand full reparation, because they know with absolute certainty that full reparation is impossible. There is no way whatsoever to strike a correct balance. When Adolf Eichmann, “the architect of the Holocaust,” was tried in the Jerusalem court of justice, the public sentiment was that “Eichmann’s deeds defied the possibility of human punishment, that it was pointless to impose the death sentence for crimes of such magnitude.”18 A journalist whose daughter had been abducted and murdered was asked “What would satisfy justice for you?” The journalist replied: “If the offender were executed, he would be dying for something he had The Politics of Reconciliation 39

done and deserved. Candace died in the prime of her youth for no fault of her own. I groped for some kind of equality.”19 There is no complete satisfaction of justice—whether theological or political, monetary or psychological. Nonetheless, this does not lead to the conclusion that Jankélévitch and Derrida drew. No, pardon is not forever lost, and it is not an impossible possibility. There is a chance, through initiative and willingness on the victim’s side, to deem satisfactory whatever is offered as reparation. And there are cases in which victims willingly offer forgiveness on the basis of infinitely small gestures of reparation. The chance is slim and cannot be taken for granted. It is a moment of grace in the proper sense of the word gratis, that is, “without recompense.” Like divine grace, human grace is grace only insofar as there is also a possibility—a very real possibility—that such grace will be denied. A person can give forgiveness only when that same person can refuse to give it. Forced forgiveness is but a grotesque oxymoron. Precisely because forgiveness is an unearned possibility, it is grace and can happen as grace. Perhaps it was in this sense that Arendt wrote, “men are unable to forgive what they cannot punish and . . . are unable to punish what has turned out to be unforgivable.”20 In this possibility of forgiveness—that is, forgiveness on the basis of (and in spite of) an utterly inadequate repayment in justice—lies a distinctively human ability. Forgiveness breaks out of the mere equation of justice. The Croatian theologian Miroslav Volf (who now teaches at Yale) says that if justice were fully carried out, there would be no need for forgiveness. Forgiveness is necessary because “strict justice is not done, and strictly speaking cannot be done.”21 The nature of forgiveness as a gift is evidenced by this: even when justice is fully served, one cannot demand forgiveness. It is and remains a gift that may or may not be given and that only the wronged can give.22 It depends solely on the will of the giver. The giver is at liberty to withhold it, even upon the completion of strict measures of justice. Forgiveness must indeed be supported by justice, but it does not build itself on justice. It is not an “analytic judgment” but a “synthetic judgment,” to use Kantian terminology. And it is here that human ability appears at its most radiant. Unlike Aristotle’s concept of justice as a corrective rule of “arithmetical proportion” that simply adds and subtracts,23 human beings are endowed with the power to move beyond mere equation. Fairness must accompany peace, it is true, but demanding it to its full measure may result only in victims remaining captive to past injuries and enmities. Deeming sufficient that which is insufficient is a 40

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distinctively human ability that transcends Aristotle’s “remedial justice.” This ability assures human beings that they are capable of transcending the past and building new pathways to peace. Indeed, to forgive is preeminently human.24 Strictly speaking, forgiveness is a violation of justice. One should keep in mind that forgiveness was not at all a commendable practice in the classical period of Greece and Rome.25 It was considered a violation of the established legal order and was associated more or less with a despot’s sovereign whim. Only with the advent of Christianity and in its later development did forgiveness begin to be viewed as a virtue.

Contribution of Asian Theology Thomas argued that divine forgiveness cannot be offered without a real change in the person to be forgiven: “the grace of God causes goodness in the man who is graced, because the good-will of God is the cause of all created good.”26 Here, repentance is a necessary concomitant of divine forgiveness rather than its precondition. But in the case of human forgiveness, Thomas says, it is possible that forgiveness does not produce such results. In other words, the human ability to forgive may be exercised regardless of its outcome. This is actually consistent with Jesus’s command to forgive “seventy times seven” (Matthew 18:22) and to “love your enemies, do good, and lend, expecting nothing in return” (Luke 6:35). If these words sound troubling, puzzling, or even annoying to us, it is because we put ourselves in the position to forgive. And that means we see ourselves as having been wronged by others. One cannot fail to notice that these scriptural precepts are given to those who feel they have been hurt in one way or another. Those who have suffered a wrong are the only ones who are in the position to forgive. Forgiveness is “giving again,” or giving by those who have already given up something dear to them. Forgiving is a giving in the extreme. John Milbank interprets the prefix “for” of the word forgive as an intensifier.27 It is a hyperbolic giving, because the wronged ones are the ones who give. Arendt rediscovered this importance of human forgiveness in Jesus’s teaching, but she does not stand alone. Theologians from Asia join her and attest to the fact that the Western tradition of theology must be complemented by voices from the non-Western regions where two-thirds of The Politics of Reconciliation 41

the world’s Christian population reside today. Andrew Park’s concept of han, a Korean word for a deep-seated feeling of resentment, is a case in point. Park contends that traditional Christian theology has focused exclusively on sin and sinners—the perpetrator’s side. In contrast, han expresses the painful sentiment that dwells in the victims. Park tries to capture the essential meaning of this indigenous concept as “the critical wound of the heart generated by unjust psychosomatic repression, as well as by social, political, economic, and cultural oppression.”28 Han is the anger and sadness that are turned inward and suppressed for a long time. It cannot be expressed outwardly, because the oppressor is either unidentified, has departed, or is too overwhelming. Once woven into the context of contemporary theology, the concept of han proves to be a powerful tool for the hermeneutics of conflict. For example, to many, the September 11 terrorist attacks in the United States clearly reflected an entrenched rancor against America and the country’s economic triumphalism and military superiority, an explosion of longharbored and deeply suppressed resentment in parts of the world. Unless we squarely face this han, no political, economic, or diplomatic (let alone military) measure will secure a lasting peace. Christian theology has hitherto paid undue attention to how a sinner should be forgiven by God. What is equally necessary in this divided world is the wisdom and art to forgive in human terms, because any person or community can become a victim of oppression, in reality or in perception. The han that accumulates and hardens may become kindling for further violence. In order to better understand such troubled relationships, the traditional concept of sin must be coupled with the concept of han and complemented by the victims’ viewpoint. In keeping with this attention on the victims, Park also analyzes the traditional concept of forgiveness and finds it to be unduly focused on those who receive forgiveness. He contrasts the “forgiven-ness” of the receiving side with the “forgiving-ness” of the giving side. Pope’s “to err is human, to forgive divine” places human beings only on the “forgiven-ness” side. A more balanced view would result if one also sought the “forgiving-ness” of victims. The framework of peace, security, and kyosei will prove more effective and meaningful if we underscore that “to forgive” is primarily human and, hence, is universally applicable, regardless of religious tradition.29 To be in the position to forgive means that the person who forgives has been hurt. This paradigm starts from the recognition that we are hurt and broken and are in need of restoration and healing. 42

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The writings of Japanese theologian Kazoh Kitamori are another example of the Asian contribution to Christian theology. His Theology of the Pain of God shows the genuine originality of Japanese theology and describes the essence of divine love as “forgiving what cannot be forgiven,” or “accepting what cannot be accepted.”30 For Kitamori, unlike Derrida, who describes forgiveness as an impossible possibility, forgiveness is a very real possibility in human life. Kitamori’s theology is a cultural reference to a Japanese Kabuki drama that enacts this “forgiving the unforgivable” in a communal form.

Against the Purist Interpretation of Forgiveness If forgiveness is a human ability as the preceding sections suggest, then it cannot be infinite in scope, nor can it be pure in quality. Derrida and Jankélévitch are, despite their differences, united in this regard—that is, they are both purists. Both would admit only the purest forgiveness as forgiveness. Theologian Milbank is yet another purist who, after repudiating the possibility of divine forgiveness, goes on to list five reasons why human forgiveness is also impossible.31 Along with the concept of forgiveness, the idea of reconciliation is also depreciated by Derrida’s “puritanism.” According to Edgar Morin, Derrida has fallen into a vicious circle: one can pardon only the unpardonable, but the unpardonable by definition cannot be pardoned.32 This is a classic example of deconstruction, trying to uncover and reappropriate the hidden meaning long buried in the conventional usage of the word. Derrida knows well that the unconditional purity of forgiveness is “inseparable” from more mundane forms of forgiveness shackled by the legal and political baggage of conditions, but he remains utterly unappreciative of any attempt to broker a politics-laden reconciliation and hitches his hope to apocalyptic transcendence instead.33 Theologically speaking, a person does not know the weight of sin while he or she is in the state of sin. The classic expression is given by Saint Anselm (1033–1109), who said, “You have not yet considered the gravity of sin” (Nondum considerasti quantum ponderis sit peccatum).34 If one does not know the weight of sin, one cannot repent. A natural corollary of this recognition is that repentance comes only after we are forgiven. Divine forgiveness would surely produce repentance, but, as Thomas admits, human forgiveness may not, and often does not, proThe Politics of Reconciliation 43

duce repentance. The Truth and Reconciliation Commission in South Africa is reported to have faced this problem when its efforts did not prompt white South Africans to acknowledge their past involvement in the apartheid system.35 Should forgiveness still be offered to these unrepentant, despite the apparent unproductiveness of such measures? Derrida would definitely stay away from all these debates. The idea of deliberating the “productivity” of forgiveness would be simply abominable to his “aneconomic” thinking. Any thought of political implications and consequences defiles his discussion of forgiveness. However, if forgiveness is a human ability, then it can never be pure or infinite, nor can forgiveness be without consequences. There may be implications and ramifications in the process, and with them come calculation and exchange, even bargaining and manipulation. Yet forgiveness can still be a practical, though not perfect, means for our modus vivendi, a way for us to live together without bloodshed. By forgiveness, we manage to coexist, and forgiveness mitigates the conflicts that are unavoidable in human society. Being human means being limited. “To forgive,” again contrary to Pope’s dictum, is very human—this time, human meaning “imperfect.” Yes, there may be impurity and half-heartedness in human forgiving, but Derrida’s purist warning notwithstanding, forgiveness and reconciliation in human terms are indeed possible, desirable, and worth seeking. Workers who labor for the reconciliation of divided people in troubled regions of the world may agree with this conclusion. Many workers in this field, called “conflict transformation,” are from the Mennonite tradition, and absolute pacifism is their unwavering conviction. In their labors in conflict areas, which are often life-threatening and self-sacrificing, their absolute pacifism translates into very practical (and sometimes even compromising) terms. But these conflict transformation workers are in no way deterred by or ashamed of such terms, for they know that this is the only chance peace has. An unyielding belief can in fact yield very realistic fruit.36 The Mennonite tradition has a small but visible presence on a more domestic and personal level, too. Restorative justice is a recent trend that tries to offer an alternative to criminal justice.37 It seeks to reclaim the administration of justice from the state and return it to the community. The state court system implements criminal law for retributive punishment, but the primary purpose of community law is to restore a damaged relationship and to heal the wounds of the people involved. In the modern legal system, the state court has too often been paralyzed by 44

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procedures and counterclaims, unable to do justice to both victims and offenders. The “justice” sought by restorative justice is not synonymous with exact legality or full compensation, yet it is very effective in restoring the human relationship to wholeness. These and other examples reveal that forgiveness and reconciliation are not an “impossible possibility.” A theological understanding of creation teaches that our existence outside the Garden is estranged from our essence and therefore is laden with conflicts from the outset. The blessings of world diversity and human autonomy come with a price. We therefore start by recognizing that we all are hurt in one way or another in the course of our historical existence. Our mandate is to come to terms with this reality. Instead of linking our hopes to an apocalyptic transcendence, we should focus our efforts on what is realizable here with what is available to us. Rather than being immobilized by the impasse of pure pardon, we should work out realistic pathways to restoring peace, security, and kyosei. As Donald J. Shriver states, “Perhaps the wounds will never completely heal; but, as in other realms of politics, imperfect justice is better than none.”38 And the art of negotiating that imperfect justice on earth is called, in the prime sense of the word, politics.39

Notes 1

2 3

Mary M. Meares, in her essay “Understanding Peace, Security, and Kyosei: An Intercultural Communication Perspective,” looks into the Ehime Maru accident and discusses how difficult it is to offer apologies and restore trust when damage is done across different cultural backgrounds (161–63). Noriko Kawamura’s essay “War Memory and Peace: A Historian’s Case Study of the Myths of Japan’s Surrender” questions the way Japanese look back on their involvement in the devastation of World War II and argues that Japan could have taken a more responsible way to restore the justice it had violated (225). My essay “Understanding the People of Other Faiths: Conviviality among Religions” argues that giving due recognition to the incommensurability of religions, rather than assuming the Enlightenment paradigm of the harmony of religions, prepares a platform on which to initiate genuine dialogue (180). All in Murakami, Kawamura, and Chiba, eds., Toward a Peaceable Future. Lederach, The Journey Toward Reconciliation, 110–17. Jankélévitch, “Should We Pardon Them?” 567. The Politics of Reconciliation 45

4 5 6 7

8 9

10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24

25 26

27 28 29

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Derrida, On Cosmopolitanism and Forgiveness, 34, 39. Ibid., 38. See, among others, Psalms 79:9, 99:8; Isaiah 59:7; Micah 7:18; Ephesians 4:32; Colossians 2:13; and I John 1:9. Arendt, The Human Condition, 239. Donald Shriver, in An Ethic for Enemies, writes, “Even if Jesus was not the ‘discoverer’ of forgiveness in human affairs, it came into new prominence in his teachings, and it acquired very practical, prudential connotations” (35). Norwich, Revelations of Divine Love, 108, 112. John Milbank quotes Julian as saying “God does not forgive, since he cannot be offended” but does not give its full citation. Milbank, Being Reconciled, 60. Ibid., 45. Morimoto, Jonathan Edwards; see chapter 5 for discussion. Aquinas, Summa Theologica, III, 86, 2. Ibid., III, 86, 2, ad 1. Nietzsche, On the Genealogy of Morality, 24. Aquinas, Summa Theologica, III, 90, 1. Ibid., Suppl. 12, 3. Ibid., Suppl. 13, 1. Arendt, Eichmann in Jerusalem, 228, 231. Zehr, “Restoring Justice,” 155. Arendt, The Human Condition, 241. Volf, “Forgiveness, Reconciliation, and Justice,” 46. Ibid., 41. Aristotle, The Nicomachean Ethics, book 5, chapter 4. In fact, this could be the meaning Pope himself had in mind (I am grateful to T. V. Reed of Washington State University for this suggestion). The adjective divine, according to the Oxford English Dictionary, has a “weaker sense” to denote “more than human, excellent in a superhuman degree.” A person like Socrates or Shakespeare may be called “divine” for being “pre-eminently gifted”: a thing may be called “divine” for its quality “of surpassing beauty, perfection, excellence, extraordinarily good or great.” Oxford English Dictionary, www.oed.com (accessed 2007). If we apply this sense to Pope’s dictum, it would mean that “to err is human, to forgive excellently human,” which corresponds to my interpretation and might be more consonant with Pope’s witty literary style. See Milbank, Being Reconciled, 48–49. Aquinas, Summa Theologica, III, 86, 2. This is quite in line with his theology of ontological justification. The grace of God is “the efficient cause of justification.” See Morimoto, Jonathan Edwards, chapter 4, for details. Milbank, Being Reconciled, 44. Park, The Wounded Heart of God, 10, 15–20. For a discussion of forgiveness in the Buddhist tradition, see Morimoto, “Toward a Theology of Reconciliation.” a n r i mor i moto

30 Morimoto, “Foreword,” 1–4. The book in which the foreword appears, Theology of the Pain of God, by Kazoh Kitamori, has been translated into English (1965), German (1972), Spanish (1975), Italian (1975), and Korean (1987). 31 Milbank, Being Reconciled, 61. Milbank’s intention is to assert in the next step that only God-man, “the sovereign victim,” is in the position to forgive. 32 Morin, “Pardonner.” 33 Derrida, On Cosmopolitanism and Forgiveness, 44, 53. 34 Anselm of Canterbury, Cur Deus Homo, chapter 21. 35 Chapman, “Truth Commissions,” 273–74. Their sentiment that apartheid was “merely a ‘mistake’ for which no-one was responsible, that somehow the system propelled itself impersonally” resembles the partial apology of Japanese officials to Koreans and Chinese after World War II. 36 See Sampson and Lederach, From the Ground Up, for examples of Mennonite contributions around the world. 37 Zehr, Changing Lenses, 97–125. Zehr praises the Japanese judicial system as nonpunitive and restorative (217–20), but in my view his estimate is much overinflated. 38 Shriver, “Forgiveness,” 165. 39 For further discussion of peace in interpersonal relations, see Morimoto, “Forgiving is Fore-giving,” Japanese Journal of American Studies 19 (2009).

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3 On Perspectives on Peace The Hebraic Idea of Shalom and Prince Shotoku’s Idea of Wa

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wo historical ideas on peace are useful in formulating peace theory today. One is the ancient Hebraic idea of shalom, and the other is the ancient Japanese idea of wa, particularly as promulgated by Prince Shotoku. Shalom, which originated in the Old Testament, is still alive today in Israel and the Islamic world. The idea of shalom is useful to consider as we attempt to construct a theory of peace in the world after the terrorist attacks of September 11. Shalom represents an idea of peace that is inherent not only in the Judeo-Christian tradition but also in the Islamic tradition. In recent years, tension and conflict both between Israel and the Arab countries and between the Christian West and the Islamic world have increased. Shalom is a pivotal concept with a rich potential to lessen (if not eliminate) these tensions. The idea of shalom embodies an inner and necessary combination of peace and social justice. In this regard, shalom may be understood as a kind of positive peace that holds constructive implications for today’s world. The idea of wa has its historical and theoretical origins in the Confucian and Buddhist religious and philosophical heritage of East Asia. The Japanese word for peace is heiwa (平和), which came from the Chinese word wahei (heping) (和平). Thus, both terms are derived from the Chinese word wa (和), a Confucian term that was later influenced by

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Buddhism.1 Wa serves as an umbrella term for “peace” in East Asia, the only region in the world where the Cold War power structure remains nearly intact. The idea of wa has special practical relevance for East Asia and can be an inclusive theoretical construct for the region. Today, we are searching for a concept of peace that can fully incorporate the multiple forms of peace—such as inner peace, peace with nature (ecological peace), and forgiving and reconciling with old foes. This chapter examines the idea of wa as a special East Asian mode of kyosei and, in doing so, aims to contribute both to the development of peace studies as an intellectual discipline and to the actual realization of peace in this region.

The Etymological Meaning of Shalom In the Old Testament, shalom is a theological concept and is regarded as a gift or grace bestowed upon humanity by God. To be sure, this theological or theistic basis for the concept of shalom might appear to discourage a philosophical inquiry into its meaning. But the theological and theistic origin of shalom neither negates the term’s conceptual significance nor prevents us from reflecting on the concept from the perspective of intellectual history. The verb stem contained in the term shalom means basically “to make something complete or whole.” This basic meaning is extended to denote a number of diverse ideas, and the fertile layers of meaning found in shalom are genuinely remarkable to observe. The term shalom is used in the Old Testament 210 times. Depending on the context, its layers of meaning can include peace and reconciliation with God, inner peace and calmness, physical health, peace with one’s self, peace with others, peace among groups, social justice, the welfare and well-being of society, harmony with nature, economic prosperity, peace within a nation, international peace, and the order of the universe. The word can also mean wholeness, health, welfare, well-being, calmness, safety, happiness, justice, prosperity, affluence, harmony, unity, and the solidarity that a people, a community, or an individual achieves and strives to obtain.2 The important point is that the Old Testament idea of shalom had its own historical limitations. Shalom was generally supposed to be bestowed upon the Jewish nation alone and was not conferred upon neighboring

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nations that were considered enemies of Israel. Thus, Yahweh was unmistakably regarded as the protector god of the Jewish nation, a protector who led the nation into holy wars against enemy nations. It is correct to say, however, that the idea of a universal religion emerged in the messages and thoughts of the prophets of Israel in the eighth century bc and thereafter. These prophets include Amos, Micah, Hosea, Jeremiah, Ezekiel, Isaiah, Isaiah II, and so on. Their messages show the theoretical move away from the narrowly nationalistic to a more universalistic idea of divine salvation and judgment. But the Old Testament also contains references to holy war and militaristic fanaticism, which clearly shows the historical limitations of the Old Testament idea of shalom. The Jewish idea of peace did not become a universalistic kind of peace until the teachings of Jesus on eirene (peace) in the New Testament. One of the important premises contained in the Old Testament concept of shalom, however, which was inherited by the New Testament concept of eirene, is the thought that peace, not conflict, constitutes “the proper state of human being” and “the norm of being human.”3 It is true that the Scriptures possess highly realistic understandings of the cruel reality of human sin and evil throughout history. They have a clear, deep, and perceptive recognition of harsh reality in their depictions of ceaseless and bitter conflicts, struggles over power, and the selfish interests of human beings. But these conditions do not necessarily constitute the normal state of being human. According to a British theologian, John Macquarrie, peace, wholeness, and harmonious order—not war and conflict—unmistakably signify what is inherently human and what is the norm of being human in the Old Testament. 4 To state this differently, the original justice (justitia originalis) of human beings implies that they experience peace with God and a peaceable relationship with one another. The Old Testament idea of original justice presupposes a peaceable human nature. One can observe the inner and necessary connection between peace and justice in the biblical image of human existence. In the Scriptures, it is understood that peace combined with justice should be regarded not only as the original justice of human beings but also as the ultimate end of human society. But this chapter is not the place for a full exploration of these broad themes, so we will explore next the noteworthy prevalence of the word shalom in the Jewish, Christian, and Islamic worlds. Although originating in the Old Testament, shalom is still used and cherished (both as a theological concept and as a daily greeting) in all these worlds. The 50 sh i n c h iba

word Islam literally means in part “the teaching of peace,” and the word salam, which appears often in the Koran, means exactly the same as shalom (peace). The Arabic word salam (peace, health, prosperity) is still used as a form of greeting that gives blessings to others. The same is true of the Hebrew word shalom, which is also both a greeting and a blessing. And in European languages, an expression of peace is often used as a greeting even today.5 The media sometimes depict political conflict in the Middle East essentially as religious strife among diverse religions. This depiction is sometimes erroneous and misleading, but it is clear that fundamentalist forms of religions often aggravate the multifaceted conflicts of the Middle East. Against this troubled background, the idea of shalom or salam can play an important role as a critical warning to the absolutist claims and praxis of fundamentalism found at times in each religion. It follows then, that the use of shalom or salam as a daily greeting could help advance peace and reconciliation by nurturing the culture of peace in the region, because these words convey a blessing and a wish for the well-being of others. Thus, the use of these words as greetings has a transformative potential for creating and maintaining the culture of peace.6 The charm of shalom and salam as a form of greeting reminds us of the world citizen’s “right to visit” and “right to enjoy hospitality,” which Immanuel Kant discussed in Perpetual Peace (Zum ewigen Frieden) (1795). Kant justified these rights on the basis of a cosmopolitan law that exists side by side with national (state) law and international law.7 There can be no better way to build world peace than for people to visit other lands as individuals and as world citizens. Such travelers meet and share goodwill and fellowship with the people of the lands they are visiting. The travelers develop a peaceable friendship that surmounts differences of nationality, religion, and culture. It would be even better if visitors could greet the peoples of other lands with a blessing of peace (and vice versa). The ideas of shalom and salam are important not only for people within the Judeo-Christian world but also for people in the Islamic world. But throughout history, the institutionalized religions of Judaism, Christianity, and Islam (not to mention the fundamentalist forms of these religions) have often betrayed the idea that they are religions of peace. One has to take this fact seriously. When religion becomes historicized and institutionalized, thereby becoming entangled with the structure of power, it often ceases to be a religion of peace. On Perspectives on Peace 51

Peace and Justice Combined It is significant that within the comprehensive idea of shalom lie the notions of peace and justice. This theme (that peace and justice are parts of shalom) was especially apparent from the eighth century bc onward, manifested in the Hebrew prophets’ harsh criticism of their rulers and their society as well as in the prophets’ demands for social justice. The prophets’ idea of shalom was the ancient concept of peace that basically belonged in the category of positive peace as Johan Galtung defines it, which includes social justice, cooperation, and equity. Peace research thus far has paid due attention to negative peace, or peace as the absence of conflict and war, but one urgent task for peace researchers today is to find the way to turn negative peace into positive peace, to overcome an oppressive world order often marked by structural violence, that is, by injustice, exploitation, oppression, or exclusion. In this sense, peace research is concerned with this vital question: How can the concepts of peace and justice (meaning social justice) be brought together and realized? 8 Beyond doubt, Kant’s aforementioned Perpetual Peace remains a classic discussion of the peace that is the highest good of politics. It still has many important and relevant messages for us today. But even such a classic has some weak points and several major omissions due partly to the historical limitations of Kant’s time. For example, in the book, Kant discusses the conditions for world peace mainly in legal terms. Thus, his notion of justice is defined primarily in terms of legal and procedural justice, and the problem of social justice is not fully addressed. Kant dealt superbly with the problematic of “peace without liberty” in light of his postulate of a “republican polity,” but he did not show a way to change or transform the social and political reality of peace without social justice. He did not reflect deeply on the possibility that people could actualize peace on the basis of social justice. This was partly because conditions at the end of the eighteenth century were not sufficiently ripe for the realization of peace with social justice. Old Testament texts that include concrete discussions of the combination of peace with justice are relevant to this discussion of the inherent meanings of shalom. In the Old Testament, shalom (peace) is often considered in conjunction with mishpat (justice). The reasoning seems to be as follows: since shalom originates with Yahweh (who is considered the God of love and righteousness), God’s shalom is bound to contain the 52 sh i n c h iba

demand for mishpat, that is, for righteousness or social justice. Therefore, shalom does not mean merely negative peace, or the absence of conflict and strife. Shalom also extends to positive peace, that is, shalom accompanied by mishpat. A number of passages in the Old Testament link the message of shalom with the idea of mishpat. For example, Psalms 85:11 reads: “Steadfast love and faithfulness will meet; righteousness [mishpat] and peace [shalom] will kiss one another.” Furthermore, it is important to note that mishpat means, among other things, caring for the poor and the socially vulnerable and protecting their position and rights.9 We should keep in mind that shalom is neither an illusory utopia nor an abstract peace. Shalom means a peace that is sought even in situations that include many impediments to achieving peace. Peacebuilding must always contend with threats, conflicts, antagonisms, persecution, and indifference. The search for shalom means, first and foremost, to seek peace and justice in the midst of and despite adverse, conflicting, and antagonistic situations. Beginning in the eighth century bc , Old Testament prophets sought shalom in the midst of an adverse situation. Amos, Hosea, Jeremiah, Isaiah, and others steadily criticized the unjust and oppressive use of power by the political and religious rulers of their time and demanded social justice. In their way of thinking, the absence of shalom became manifest as social disorder, economic inequality, juridical distortion, political coercion and exclusion, and the oppression of the socially vulnerable. The Old Testament prophets considered these unjust acts and conditions a threat to community life. Therefore, they denounced these acts and conditions, not only as a violation of the ethical norms of communal life, but also as a violation of Yahweh’s will for salvation and shalom. They demanded righteousness, justice, and fairness in society. To the prophets, while the historical present was characterized by the absence of shalom, the future was conceived as a horizon where God’s shalom was to be actualized on earth. One may discern here a kind of theology of salvation—or a theology of hope—at work in the prophetic tradition of shalom.10 These concepts are seen in the well-known words of the prophet Isaiah, describing his vision of eschatological peace: “and they shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more” (Isaiah 2:4). In this prophetic tradition “cheap shalom,” or peace without justice, On Perspectives on Peace 53

was the target of fierce criticism. Prophets railed against it as a superficial and artificial peace, a false and insubstantial peace. One typical example is Jeremiah 6:13–14: “For from the least to the greatest of them, everyone is greedy for unjust gain; and from prophet to priest, everyone deals falsely. They have healed the wound of my people lightly, saying, ‘Peace, peace,’ when there is no peace.” This passage should be read together with Ezekiel 13:10 and Amos 6:1–7, which contain similarly harsh prophetic statements. They also indict the complacency and evildoing of the false prophets and the people of Israel.11 The eighth-century bc prophetic tradition of Amos, Hosea, Isaiah, Jeremiah, and Ezekiel was in sharp opposition to the royal theology of peace and security that centered around the kingly court of Jerusalem. This court-centered, Zion-focused theology had become a self-satisfied theology without a sense of social justice and was itself a theology of shalom. But this idea of shalom was completely different from the prophetic theology of shalom. In the courtly theological tradition, the rulers, priests, prophets, and ordinary people all thank God for the blessings, grace, and security that they enjoy, but the faithful often fall into habits of complacency and ease. An Old Testament scholar, Walter Brueggemann, speaks of the theological tradition of shalom as diverging into two strands. On the one hand, we have the type of shalom for people who face adverse situations such as suffering, enslavement, deportation, and poverty. On the other hand, there is another type of shalom for people who experience security and prosperity. Brueggemann sees these two interpretations of shalom as conflicting with each other.12 To be sure, there is a sharp contrast between these two theological and political orientations. But this contrast may also be interpreted as evidence of two divergent aspects of shalom. The people of the Old Testament, whether they were in good or adverse circumstances, were confronted with these two different aspects of shalom. This demonstrates that the people of Israel found themselves in a highly existential situation, in which appropriate religious, ethical judgment and astute political judgment were simultaneously required lest they go astray. From the prophetic viewpoint, the genuine blessing of God’s shalom could turn into a divine curse and judgment—unless a person’s life was accompanied by a humble and sincere search for justice and peace. This prophetic message of self-critical reflection was always focused on the danger that security and prosperity could bring, the possibility that the faithful would slip into complacency and idleness. Thus, in their messages, the prophets 54 sh i n c h iba

often warned of the danger of losing one’s sincerity, sense of responsibility, and thankfulness for God’s gift of shalom.

Shalom as Inner Peace and Peace with Nature A valuable lesson of the prophetic strand of shalom lies in its core premise that the ideas of peace and justice are always combined. Its further significance resides in the deep inner dimension of shalom. The idea of shalom, as its religious origin suggests, is oriented toward the concept of peace in an inner dimension of spirituality. Shalom comprises many dimensions: inner peace, spiritual peace, peace within oneself, and peace with God. And diverse religious traditions—including major world religions such as Buddhism, Hinduism, Judaism, Islam, and Christianity—all share this high respect for a concept of peace that is accompanied by an inner, deep dimension of calmness, serenity, and clear conscience. This inner dimension of peace is something to which all these religions assign the highest value and respect. For instance, the inner dimension of shalom overlaps with the Sanskrit term shanti (inner calmness), which is part of the religious tradition of Hinduism. The word shanti is often used as a mantra and a prayer, and the concept overlaps with Buddhist ideas such as enlightenment, calm, Nirvana, and tranquility. In the New Testament, where the Christian idea of peace (eirene) is formulated and elaborated, this same peace of the heart (inner peace) is regarded as the most important aspect of peace. Shalom as peace of the heart also resounds in the well-known words of the Constitution of the United Nations Educational, Scientific, and Cultural Organization (U NESCO): “Since wars begin in the minds of men, it is in the minds of men that the defenses of peace must be constructed.” Thus, shalom should be called a holistic concept, as it incorporates many meanings (peace of the heart, bodily health, peace of the community, and so forth). Shalom touches every aspect of an individual human being and of community life. Seen this way, it makes sense that the etymological meaning of shalom is nothing other than the wholeness and integrity of a human being and his or her community. Which is to say, shalom is achieved only when the inner life (heart and mind) and the external life (attitude and behavior) of human existence are filled with peace and wholeness. Moreover, the holistic nature of shalom also demands the fulfillment of a peaceful inner life (one’s relationship with On Perspectives on Peace 55

oneself) and a peaceful external life (outward relationships) in order to produce a community of harmony and justice. The term shalom in the Old Testament also covers humanity’s harmonious and restored relationship with nature. In the Old Testament, this natural dimension of peace is as important as its spiritual, intellectual, bodily, and communal dimensions. This aspect of shalom may legitimately be considered an ecological dimension. The following messianic prophecy expresses this dimension of shalom: The wolf shall dwell with the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the kid, and the calf and the lion and the fatling together, and a little child shall lead them. The cow and the bear shall feed; their young shall lie down together: and the lion shall eat straw like the ox. The sucking child shall play over the hole of the asp, and the weaned child shall put his hand on the adder’s den. They shall not hurt or destroy all my holy mountain; for the earth shall be full of the knowledge of the Lord as the waters cover the sea. (Isaiah 11:6–9)

Thus, shalom is an idea that looks to a harmonious restoration of the relationship of humankind with nature. In this sense, shalom has both cosmological and ecological dimensions. In this sense as well, there is much contemporary significance to the concept of shalom.

The Theoretical Background of the Seventeen-Article Constitution and the Idea of Wa When we attempt to trace the origins of the concepts of peace in East Asia and Japan, we come up with the idea of wa, meaning peace and harmony. But in Japan the idea of wa has been often identified with do (sameness), and the term has been associated with a traditional and selfenclosed type of mura (village) community. In this type of community, differences, heterogeneity, and disagreement were often suppressed. At the same time, the concept of wa was often understood to be the conceptual pillar of daiwa-shugi (literally “big-peace-ism”) that was the dominant ideology of what is usually termed the emperor-system state of the Fifteen Year War (1931–45). The historical basis for this interpretation lies in the life of Prince Umayado (574–622) (later called Prince Shotoku). The prince’s advocacy of wa in the beginning of the seventh century coin-

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cided with the birth of the emperor-centered state as the ritsuryo kokka, a state with a system of laws and regulations.13 There are clear historical limitations and problems associated with the concept of wa. This chapter nonetheless proposes to reformulate Prince Shotoku’s idea of wa and to underscore its significance for Japan, East Asia, and the world today. To accomplish this, let us try to summarize and understand the core idea in his concept of wa. Prince Shotoku’s idea of wa respected differences and may be understood as very similar to the notion of kyosei (as a relationship with the heterogeneous). This understanding of wa places our argument in sharp contrast with some traditional approaches. Traditionalists consider wa to be an ideology that either identifies with do (sameness) or that is linked with the development of the emperor-system state and its dominant ideology, daiwashugi, which was manifest particularly from the Meiji era (1868–1912) onward. This chapter presents another way of looking at wa: that Prince Shotoku’s idea of wa formed a theoretical backdrop that created a political space for peace. This idea of wa was grounded in the unity of Shintoism, Buddhism, and Confucianism, on the one hand, and in cooperation among the emperor, the subject, and ordinary people, on the other. Since the nineteenth century, there have been various serious attempts by biblical scholars and historians to search for the historical Jesus behind the many traditions. Similarly, there have been some endeavors to search for the historical Socrates, a search that originated in Plato’s and Xenophon’s divergent images of Socrates. The quest for the historical Prince Shotoku has been even more difficult for two main reasons: the lack of historical evidence and materials and the vast mythology surrounding his life and sayings.14 Prince Shotoku was a man of unusual vision who rose to prominence in the kingdom of Yamato in the late sixth century. His great achievements include the establishment of the Twelve Official Ranks (in 603), the promulgation of the Seventeen-Article Constitution (in 604), the dispatch of messengers and scholars to China’s Sui dynasty rulers (in 608–9), the erection of some important temples (including Shitennoji and Horyuji), and the publication of the famous book Sangyogisho. The Seventeen-Article Constitution has been singled out as the prince’s greatest achievement. In it, he developed his concept of wa and related ideas. This was not, however, a constitution in the modern sense, that is, fundamental law based on modern constitutionalism. Rather, the Sev-

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enteen-Article Constitution was concerned with a basic system of moral norms regarding public life, norms that regulated both the state and the general community. This constitution was to serve as a guide for rulers as well as for their subjects. The central and fundamental principle of the constitution is the idea of wa (as specified in Article 1), which was grounded in Buddhism and Confucianism. This spirit of wa was to be institutionalized through organizational devices like the Twelve Official Ranks (specified in Articles 7 and 11) and through the politics of sages (discussed in Article 7). The idea of wa was also institutionalized in regulations for officials (Articles 8 and 13), in regulations for the procurement of labor (Article 16), and in proposals for a politics of discussion and council system (Articles 1 and 17). The Seventeen-Article Constitution originated in the unity of three religions (Shintoism, Confucianism, and Buddhism) as well as in broad Chinese ethical traditions. In Japan, these ethical traditions include the concepts and chronicles of legal and ethical thinkers such as the Hundred Schools of Thought (Shoshihyakka) and the School of Legalism (Houka) in particular. The ethical ideas of the Seventeen-Article Constitution are found in Buddhist manuscripts as well as in Confucian writings. The latter includes the Four Books and Five Teachings and other writings such as The Analects of Confucius (Rongo), Book of Rites (Raiki), Commentary of Zuo (Saden), Classic of Filial Piety (Koukyou), and Zhuangzi (Soushi). Other Confucian sources for these ethical ideas include Mozi (Bokushi), Mencius (Moshi), Han Feizi (Kanpishi), Guanzi (Kanshi), and Records of the Grand Historian (Shiki).15 The constitution’s Article 1, which begins “Let peace be respected among you” (Wa o motte totoshi to nasu), sets the leitmotif and constitutes the core value of the Seventeen-Article Constitution. It is important to note, however, that this advocacy of wa was made not in a time of peace but in the midst of unceasing warfare and conflict. During this period, political disturbances followed one after the other. Disputes centered on imperial succession and foreign policy toward states on the Korean Peninsula (Paekche, Sitta, and Koguryo). In addition, a longstanding struggle in Japan between the Soga clan and the Mononobe clan led to the assassination of Prince Ananobe, the fall of the Mononobe clan, and the murder of Emperor Sushun. While fully considering the cruel realities of human life, society, and politics, the Seventeen-Article Constitution boldly and perceptively presents the fundamental ethical norms of a peaceable society. 58 sh i n c h iba

For example, Articles 6, 10, and 14 reveal a realistic understanding of life and humanity. Article 6 begins with the statement: “Punish the evil and reward the good. This was the excellent rule of antiquity.” This article also teaches that the appearance of “flatterers and deceivers” is a source of great disturbances. From this, it follows that a healthy foundation for a good society and a progressive government comes through the commendation of good, the correction of evil, the abolition of falsehood and lies, and the guarantee of truthfulness, responsibility, and transparency in all human relationships. Article 10 starts with a warning against the danger of reacting with resentment to a difference of opinion. The first half of this article reads: “Let us control ourselves and not be resentful when others disagree with us, for all men have hearts and each heart has its own leanings. The right of others is our wrong, and our right is their wrong. We are not unquestionably sages, nor are they unquestionably fools. Both of us are simply ordinary men.” In this, there is a warning that one should not be carried away by anger arising out of a disagreement with others. Uncontrolled anger will destroy one and one’s relationship with others. Article 10 teaches that one needs to be aware of one’s limitations and faults and ought to be concerned for the good of others and respectful of their sound opinions. It is possible to see here a profound understanding of the ugliness, evil, and conflicts within one person. Article 1 expresses the same realism in the following words: “Everyone has his biases, and few men are farsighted. Therefore some disobey their lords and fathers and keep up feuds with their neighbors.” A human being is an “ordinary person” imprisoned by worldly desires and loss of enlightenment and provoked by selfish desires and covetousness. As there will always be differences of opinion among people, it is not reasonable to desire full accord and unity, but when self-reflection and humility exist within a person’s heart, that person will easily acknowledge his or her differences with others and will be able to see mutual limitations. Then people begin to share the judgment of good and evil and respect others’ opinions, so that they may cooperate and act together. Article 14 begins with the statement: “Do not be envious! For if we envy others, then they in turn will envy us. The evils of envy know no limit.” In other words, the problem of anger and envy cannot be treated merely as personal matters but also as public matters. People must be made fully aware that these sentiments can easily carry them in disastrous directions. The kingdom must be governed by sages who are On Perspectives on Peace 59

enlightened enough to overcome these sentiments whenever they occur. The article is reminiscent of Plato’s teachings on the “philosopher-king” and of Thomas Hobbes’s astute analysis of the psychological mechanism of “vainglory” in the state of nature.

The Idea of Wa and Kyosei with the Heterogeneous There is no space in this chapter for detailed reflection on the theoretical structure of wa in Prince Shotoku’s thought.16 Perhaps the vaguest aspect of wa in the prince’s thought is his understanding of the relationship between the self, or individual, and the public sphere. In this connection, the first section of Article 15 states: “To subordinate private interests to the public good—that is the path of a vassal.” But this instruction applies to the attitude of the vassal who was also the ruler and was entrusted with ruling over people. How should one interpret this sentence? In this case, “private interests” can be interpreted to mean selfish or egotistic desires that do not take into account the community or the state.17 Is the private person supposed here to be the same as the self or the individual which modern society has discovered and taken seriously? During the pre–World War II and mid-war periods in Japan, the above stipulation was often understood as a teaching that demanded the dedication of the Japanese people to the militaristic state. After the war, this instruction was also used to promote the ideology of messhi hoko, or “killing private interests, serving the public.” Today the majority opinion holds the same or a similar interpretation. But is this the intent of the stipulation in Article 15? Some respect for and acknowledgment of the existence, thought, and advocacy of individuals were assumed in Prince Shotoku’s idea of wa. To be sure, this respect for individuality was different from the modern idea of the dignity of the individual and individualism. Rather, the prince’s idea of wa included the notion that an individual would have independence of thought. Some passages in the Seventeen-Article Constitution suggest that the idea that wa could be used to oppress, suffocate, or destroy a person’s individuality was alien to the author. For example, Article 17, in a discussion of what one might today call a politics of discussion or a deliberative democracy, states: “Decisions on important matters should not be made by one person alone. They should be discussed with many people. . . . One should consult with others, so as 60 sh i n c h iba

to arrive at the right conclusion.” This stipulation presupposes the possibility of public reasoning brought about through shared knowledge and discussions. As already indicated, Article 1 contains a similar idea. These ideas are echoed in the well-known declaration of the Meiji Emperor’s basic policy in the Five Charter Oaths of 1868: “Deliberative assemblies shall be established and measures of government shall be decided by public opinion.” The idea of a politics of discussion at the popular level cannot make sense without a shared respect for an individual’s independence, for independent thinking, and for independent advocacy. As mentioned earlier, the idea of wa is expressed in typical language in Article 1: “Let peace be respected among you.” This concept was grounded in the Buddhist idea of jihi (mercy) and the Confucian idea of jin (benevolence), and it was set forth as the basic tenet of public life. This concept of wa should be understood as inseparable from another teaching in The Analects of Confucius: “Let us have peace but not become the same” (Wa shite do sezu). Prince Shotoku repeated these words in Article 1. And if we understand the prince’s thought in this way, then the idea of wa may be interpreted to mean a kind of positive peace. What deserves mention here is that wa also means an attitude of reconciliation, in which each individual and each group mutually relate to one another with hearts full of peace, mercy, and forgiveness. Furthermore, this attitude is understood to extend to one’s enemy. For the prince, wa is not only a peaceable attitude that overcomes group egoism and self-centeredness but also an attitude of forgiveness that extends to one’s enemy. Unfortunately, Prince Shotoku’s notion of wa has sometimes been misunderstood and misrepresented in Japan. For the prince, the word wa did not mean do (sameness); on the contrary, it was his idea of kyosei. That is, wa basically means an attitude of seeking commonality through an affirmation of others’ difference and the heterogeneity of groups. This is something similar to Ivan Illich’s notion of conviviality, which was outlined earlier in this book.

Epilogue: Human Nature and Peace and War In reading other works on peacemaking and peace praxis, and in reflecting on the various historical ideas on peace that have emerged in the West and the East, one striking issue is the close-knit relationship between a On Perspectives on Peace 61

society’s views of human nature and its ideas about peace. This issue is worth pursuing. Are peace and harmony natural and normative for human society? Or, on the contrary, are war and conflict the usual state of affairs and hence considered the normal state of being human and the norm for human society? These questions are of great importance when one reflects on ideas about peace. Certainly, these questions are not exactly the same as the question of whether human beings are fundamentally good or bad by nature. Perhaps one should not consider the nature of a person to be fixed from the beginning but should look at human nature as a dynamic, evolving, and changeable entity.18 For example, Thomas Hobbes understood the state of nature to be nothing less than a state of war. Hobbes was a representative philosopher who regarded struggle and conflict as the primary reality of human existence. And he was not alone. In ancient Eastern traditions of thought, Guanzi and Han Feizi discussed the problem of human nature and society from a similar philosophical standpoint. Some thinkers in the modern world who share a similar anthropological premise are Carl von Clausewitz, Karl Marx, Friedrich Nietzsche, Sigmund Freud, Carl Schmitt, and Konrad Lorenz. One might call their premise a conflict-based theory of human nature. At the same time, there has also been a diametrically opposed way of thinking about human nature in regard to peace and war. Some thinkers and practitioners of peace have held the view that human nature harbors a certain aspiration for, and tendency toward, peace. Certainly, these thinkers acknowledge that there have always been unpleasant and unavoidable conflicts, and they know that there are many situations laden with violence and antagonism. These thinkers have recognized these tendencies and the potential for conflict in the actual human condition, but they also regarded the potential for peace and safety as the primary reality of human life. As discussed in this chapter, this fundamental premise may be found in the idea of shalom and in Prince Shotoku’s idea of wa. In addition, similar premises are also contained in the works of other great thinkers and practitioners who have wrestled with the issue of peace and war in theory or in practice. The Western tradition can claim John Locke, Immanuel Kant, Martin Luther King, Jr., and Johan Galtung, while the Asian and Russian traditions include Mencius, Mohandas Gandhi, Thich Nhat Hanh, and Lev Tolstoi. And Jinsai Itoh, Shoeki Ando, Shonan Yokoi, and Kanzo Uchimura represent the Japanese tra-

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dition. One might call this a peace-based theory of human nature. Our ideas on peace and war, as well as our ideas on peace praxis, will differ significantly, depending on which theory of human nature we consider correct and which theory we commit to. .

Notes 1

East Asian Confucianism and Buddhism have a strong shared tradition of religious and philosophical ideas that date back 2,700 years. 2 Good, “Peace in the Old Testament,” 704–5; Elsbernd, A Theology of Peacemaking, 28–30; Yoder, “Introductory Essay,” 1–13. 3 Macquarrie, The Concept of Peace, 18. 4 Ibid., 14, 17–18. 5 Yoder, “Introductory Essay,” 6–7; Kremer, “Peace—God’s Gift,” 22; Westermann “Peace (Shalom) in the Old Testament,” 47–53. 6 Macquarrie, The Concept of Peace, ix–xii, 1–17; Henry O. Thompson, World Religions in War and Peace, 14, 55–56; Tawaragi, Philosophy for Peace, 2–4, 9. 7 Kant, Zum ewigen Frieden, 20–21, Yoder, “Introductory Essay,” 7–9; Westermann, “Peace (Shalom) in the Old Testament,” 48–57. 8 Ishida, Heiwa to henkakuno ronri, iii, 47–48. 9 The concrete actions demanded by mishpat are described in, for example, Isaiah 1:16–17: “Cease to do evil, learn to do good; seek justice [mishpat], correct oppression; defend the fatherless, plead for the widow.” It is understood here that upholding justice and fairness in this sense should be regarded as necessary conditions for building a community of peace or a peaceable society. Similarly, Isaiah 32:16–18 maintains: “Then justice [mishpat] will dwell in the wilderness, and righteousness [mishpat] abide in the fruitful field. And the effect of righteousness [mishpat] will be peace [shalom], and the result of righteousness [mishpat], quietness and trust for ever. My people will abide in a peaceful habitation, in secure dwellings, and in quiet resting places.” 10 Brueggemann, Peace, 4–5, 16–23. Macquarrie, The Concept of Peace, 20–21. The prophetic demand for justice is in Isaiah 1:16–17: “Wash yourselves; make yourselves clean; remove the evil of your doings from before my eyes; cease to do evil, learn to do good; seek justice, correct oppression; defend the fatherless, plead for the widow.” An echo of this demand is in Malachi 2:5–6, written a few centuries after the peak of the prophetic pronouncement in the eighth century bc : “My covenant with him [Levi] was a covenant of life and peace, and I gave them to him, that he might fear;

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11 12 13 14

15 16 17 18

and he feared me, he stood in awe of my name. True instruction was in his mouth, and no wrong was found on his lips. He walked with me in peace and uprightness, and he returned many from iniquity.” See also Ezekiel 13:10: “Because, yea, they have misled my people, saying ‘Peace’ when there is no peace.” Brueggemann, Peace, 33–35. The author has made a similar remark in his “For Realizing Wa and Kyosei,” 185. Yoshimura, Shotoku taishi, i–x; Umehara, Shotoku taishi II, 22–43. In recent years, however, there have been more reliable works about Prince Shotoku, and these scholarly works have served to revitalize academic interest in him. Umehara, Shotoku taishi II, 325–32, 344–95. Chiba, “Heiwa no shiso nitsuite,” 62–67; Chiba, “For Realizing Wa and Kyosei.” Hanayama, Shotoku taishi to kenpo, 59. Macquarrie, The Concept of Peace, 26.

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4 Decency, Equality, and Peace A Perspective on a Peaceful Multicultural Society

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n his book On Toleration, Michael Walzer states that “peaceful coexistence among groups of people with different histories, cultures, and identities” is “a good thing.”1 This claim is all the more convincing when we look at increasingly intense, sometimes violent, sometimes bloody conflicts based on ethnocultural differences, such as the civil war in the former Yugoslavia, the riots in the banlieu areas of France, and the Muhammad cartoon scandal, which originated in Denmark but spread to many other countries. While recognizing the urgent importance of peaceful coexistence, however, we should also ask the practical question: What are the conditions for a peaceful social order in the context of cultural pluralism? This presents a serious problem for political theory, and Bhikhu Parekh, a leading British political theorist of multiculturalism, clearly recognizes the important and difficult nature of this issue. He says, “Peace is the first desideratum in every society, particularly the multicultural whose tendency to provoke acute conflicts is further compounded by its inability to rely on a shared body of values to moderate and regulate them.”2 Parekh’s statement points to the theoretical and practical difficulty of a peaceful kyosei in the face of multicultural challenges. This chapter explores the idea of decent peace as a moral and political value that addresses the issue of peace on the domestic and international levels. The basic idea is simple. Decency, in the sense of non-humiliation, 65

is a necessary condition for durable peace, and decency can moderate and resolve serious conflicts with ethnocultural differences. The idea of decency, so understood, is an egalitarian, political morality of peace. On the one hand, egalitarian morality should aim at realizing decency, which means treating people equally, in a non-humiliating manner. On the other hand, it means that a full-fledged peace should incorporate decency into its necessary conditions. Putting together all these points, decency turns out to be a mediating concept linking equality and peace. It appropriately responds to multicultural challenges. In its sensitivity to a variety of socioeconomic and cultural instances that humiliate minority groups, decency also offers a perspective on equality and peace in the multicultural context. To form a theory of decent peace, we will draw mainly from two thinkers: Israeli philosopher Avishai Margalit and Johan Galtung. Margalit developed the concept of decency as a social, domestic value in the form of what he calls a “decent society”3 and later applied it to the international level, a concept he called “decent peace.”4 Discussing Margalit’s idea of decency and Galtung’s well-known concept of positive peace, it becomes clear that the concept of decency can be connected with the concept of peace. Furthermore, there is a complementary relationship between Margalit and Galtung: Galtung’s positive peace corrects the institutionally oriented bias inherent in Margalit’s concept of decency, and the latter helps modify the distributive bias of the former.

Decency and Egalitarianism Let us begin with a simple question: What is decency? Decency normally denotes conformity with social norms concerning behavior and propriety, as the Oxford English Dictionary makes clear. Margalit, however, defines a decent society in an unorthodox way, as “one whose institutions do not humiliate people.”5 Decency is thus defined as nonhumiliation. What, then, is humiliation? In Margalit’s view, humiliation denotes a state of affairs that damages one’s self-respect. Accordingly, decency is defined as a non-humiliating situation in which one’s self-respect is not injured. The next question, then, is this: Why is decency (so understood) relevant to egalitarian political morality? The answer turns on the importance of the self-respect that underlies the definition of decency. According to Rawls, self-respect has two 66

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aspects: “a person’s sense of his own value,” that is, “his secure conviction that his concept of his good, his plan of life, is worth carrying out”; and “a confidence in one’s ability, so far as it is within one’s power, to fulfill one’s intentions.” Rawls suggests that self-respect is “perhaps the most important primary good,” so important that “without it nothing may seem worth doing, or if some things have value for us, we lack the will to strive for them.”6 In contrast with Rawls, Margalit relies on the idea of common humanity, in other words, that our common humanity is the basis of our selfrespect and the respect of others for us. Unlike self-esteem (an evaluative and ranking concept based on our achievements), self-respect is closely related to our being human, belonging to “the commonwealth of mankind.”7 Humiliation damaging to our self-respect occurs when we are rejected by this commonwealth, 8 that is, when we humans are treated as if we were not human.9 The attitude of others is hence an inevitable component of what defines our membership in the human commonwealth: my belonging to a common humanity depends on how others treat me, that is, on recognition by other members of the community of human beings. Although Margalit and Rawls both discuss self-respect, Margalit’s position is more useful to us in this discussion because Margalit takes a broader view based on common humanity, because Margalit’s theory has wider application to what we call “non-distributive cases,” and because Margalit’s is a negative approach to self-respect.

Humanity-Based Scope Margalit’s notion of self-respect is wider in scope than that of Rawls.10 With Margalit, the norm of respect applies to the whole of the human commonwealth. In contrast, Rawls’s notion of self-respect is primarily “the self-respect of citizens as equal persons.”11 Thus, in Rawls’s concept, recognition that supports self-respect is directed toward fellow citizens but not toward human beings in general.12 In other words, a Rawlsian decent society would be the one in which citizens are not humiliated in a manner that treats them as noncitizens, whereas Margalit’s decent society is characterized by the non-humiliating treatment of noncitizens as well as citizens. According to Margalit, this notion of self-respect, based not on traits or achievements but on belonging, is “an egalitarian concept.”13 Decency, Equality, and Peace 67

This point is of practical importance, since, as Margalit points out (and as shown in news reports about asylum seekers and those termed illegal immigrants), the most severe cases of humiliation in the modern world involve people who are categorized as nonmembers of a society, even though they depend on the basic institutions of that society.14 One might object that since Rawls’s theory leaves unanswered the question of who is a citizen, we can expand the category of citizen so that it is virtually coextensive with that of human beings, which would make Margalit’s alleged advantage disappear.15 However, this line of thought is implausible. First, it is not clear whether Rawls would support this expansive interpretation, considering that his later works, such as Political Liberalism, explicitly deal not only with a humanity-based concept of justice but also with a political concept of justice based on the idea of the person as citizen. Furthermore, Margalit’s humanity-based approach immediately responds to the issues of the humiliation of nonmembers. Due to its broad conceptualization, his theory of decency is more egalitarian in spirit than that of Rawls and more clearly expresses the idea of basic equality that is common to humankind.

Non-Distributive Factors of Egalitarian Justice Rawls’s theory of justice focuses on distributive issues, aimed at “providing in the first instance a standard whereby the distributive aspects of the basic structure of society are to be assessed.”16 His theory thus concerns a just distribution of goods and resources, rights and duties—what he calls “social primary goods.” One problem with the distributive paradigm underlying Rawlsian principles of justice is that some social injustices are not distributive in character and even distributive justice contains nondistributive aspects. First, there are important qualities that are essentially not distributable. As mentioned above, Rawls refers to self-respect as “perhaps the most important primary good.”17 Yet, logically, a society cannot distribute an intangible quality or state that involves a person’s relationship with himself or herself and also involves the attitude of others toward that person. To be sure, Rawls’s later work recognizes this problem and speaks of “the social bases of self-respect” among the basic list of primary goods.18 But as Iris Young rightly points out, the core of the problem is that the distributive paradigm of justice cannot deal appropriately 68

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with nonmaterial factors—above all, self-respect—that are inherently embedded in social relations.19 In addition, it is noteworthy that self-respect is a by-product, a state that cannot be acquired directly and intentionally through activity in the sense of, for example, learning French.20 In this type of analysis, a person’s self-respect depends on the respect of others toward that person. Yet, as Michael Walzer aptly claims, people “do not win respect by insisting that they are not respected enough.”21 Unlike the distributive difficulty with self-respect, Margalit’s approach directly addresses humiliating acts and situations that injure the self-respect of people. By focusing on humiliation that is a matter not of distribution but of social relations, Margalit’s idea remains free of the distributive paradigm. Second, the distributive paradigm contains a non-distributive aspect. It is related not only to the question of who gets what but also to the question of how they get it. This aspect is easily ignored from the perspective of social justice, which often has a single-minded focus on the distributive patterns of society. Margalit presents a telling example: people distributed food to those suffering from famine in Ethiopia by throwing the food from the truck, “as if the recipients were dogs.”22 This is a clear instance of humiliation, even if the practice accords with a just and efficient distributive pattern. Such a problem of just, yet humiliating, distribution is adequately addressed by Margalit’s non-humiliation approach.23 Yet, if one holds a view that Margalit’s concept of a decent society has no bearing on distributive issues at all, this is a mistake. Of course, a decent society does not seek only to be a just society that realizes distributive justice, but this idea has distributive implications, since distributive patterns of goods and services may be instances of humiliation as well. Indeed, Margalit discusses common issues of distributive justice, such as poverty, the welfare system, and unemployment.23 Thus, it is safe to say that distributive justice is not a necessary condition for a decent society, while a decent society has implications for distributive justice.

Negative Approach Margalit’s idea of a decent society is a negative concept. It is defined negatively as the absence of humiliation that injures people’s self-respect, and his basic approach does not rely on a positive characterization of Decency, Equality, and Peace 69

an ideal society in which everyone’s self-respect is maximized. Such a negative approach gives a significant methodological advantage to his idea of decency for four reasons: moral, logical, cognitive, and practical. (Margalit pointed out the first three reasons; the last is introduced here.) For the moral reason, Margalit stresses “a weighty asymmetry between eradicating evil and promoting good.”24 Since humiliation is an evil that injures one’s self-respect, he claims, moral priority should be given to preventing humiliation rather than to helping self-respect develop to a higher level. This distinction, though seemingly academic, has practical significance. Suppose that there are two cases involving underdeveloped levels of self-respect: one is caused by humiliation, say, through racial discrimination, whereas the other is due to other factors, such as personal traits. According to Margalit’s distinction, the first case is morally weightier than the second. The second reason is based on logic. Margalit claims that self-respect can be thought of only as a by-product.25 Like spontaneity, dreams, and sleep, self-respect is a side effect. In contrast, there are behaviors that directly humiliate people, such as spitting in someone’s face or making racist remarks to members of racial minorities.26 This issue is discussed above. The third reason is a cognitive one: it is easier to identify humiliation than respect. In this argument, Margalit relies on the analogy of the relationship between illness and health.27 The upshot is that people become very conscious of the desirable original state when it is damaged or lost. This means that the damaged state is easier to detect than the original state. Axel Honneth makes a similar observation, noting that “it is so difficult, in the case of self-respect, to demonstrate the reality of the phenomenon” because “it acquires a perceptible mass only in a negative form—specifically, only when subjects visibly suffer from a lack of it.”28 The fourth reason concerns the practical impossibility of accurately and comprehensively depicting an ideal state. Indeed, it is difficult to concretely describe what an ideal situation looks like—that is, a situation in which everyone’s self-respect is fulfilled without any conflict. In contrast, an ideal state is more easily approached in a negative way, one that defines an ideal state as absence of humiliation (like theologia negativa [apophatic theology], which seeks to define the divinity by what it is not). Related to this is the unpredictability of future events, when these events present obstacles to a positive approach toward an ideal point. In other words, a basic condition for moral thinking would be not a perspective of 70

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sub specie aeternitatis that describes a final point of perfection but rather a perspective of sub specie temporis, which does not wholly transcend a historical horizon that is full of contingencies and changes. All of these points support the practicality of Margalit’s negative approach toward a decent society. One may argue that his approach is similar to a strategy that would improve the worst possible situation only as far as possible: Margalit’s concept of decency as a social ideal is, therefore, a minimalist moral position. This characterization is warranted. A decent society, far from being a just society, realizes distributive justice only to the extent that the basic principle of non-humiliation requires some distributive measures.29

Decency and Peace The idea of decent peace integrates the basic ideas of both Margalit and Galtung. To begin with, it is clear that Galtung shares a basic approach with Margalit. Like Margalit’s decent society, Galtung’s negative peace is defined negatively as the “absence of violence.”30 According to Galtung, “violence is present when human beings are being influenced so that their actual somatic and mental realizations are below their potential realizations.”31 Decency as non-humiliation fits, mutatis mutandis, into the above framework as follows: Humiliation is present when human beings are being influenced so that their actual somatic and mental realizations are below their potential realizations and when this state affects their self-respect. This suggests that Galtung and Margalit share a similarly structured approach to their theories in focusing on obstacles to human flourishing. Moreover, there is another similarity between Galtung and Margalit— and this one presents a substantive aspect of these theories. In the previous section, we saw that Margalit’s decent society indirectly concerns the matter of distributive justice, in that specific distributive patterns, such as poverty and unemployment, may be instances of humiliation. This concern with the issue of distribution is also characteristic of Galtung’s concept of positive peace. Indeed, Galtung understands positive peace as a matter of social justice.32 While defining negative peace as the absence of personal violence (that is, as a direct kind of violence in which we identify the actor committing it), Galtung conceives of positive peace as the absence of structural violence, a distinct form of violence that “is Decency, Equality, and Peace 71

built into structure and shows up as unequal power and consequently as unequal life changes.”33 Structural violence centers around the issue of “egalitarian distribution of power and resources.”34 Even though Margalit’s concern with distributive justice is indirect, and hence minimalist in nature, it is clear that he shares this concern with Galtung. Yet, despite the methodological and substantive overlap of the two authors, Galtung and Margalit differ substantively in two ways. First, Galtung’s positive peace does not include the non-distributive aspect that Margalit particularly emphasizes; second, Margalit neglects the interpersonal dimension of humiliation, to which negative peace (defined as the absence of personal violence) belongs. Concerning the first difference, it is evident that Galtung’s positive peace is based on the distributive paradigm, since he equates positive peace with a system in which egalitarian justice distributes power and resources. Margalit’s example of the humiliating way in which food was distributed to famine victims would require Galtung to take nondistributive aspects into account, because “it is not enough for goods to be distributed justly and efficiently—the style of their distribution must also be taken into account.”35 Therefore, Margalit’s idea of decency requires correcting the distributive bias of positive peace. Yet, examined carefully, it turns out that Galtung’s framework of peace easily accommodates this demand. In defining violence, Galtung refers to “somatic and mental realizations” without structural violence as a benchmark for detecting unjust influences on people. If a humiliating style of distribution—for instance, throwing food out of truck to the needy—creates a situation in which people are unable to live with a sense of human dignity, the realization of mental, and possibly physical, capabilities are below an acceptable benchmark. Despite the distributive bias, Galtung’s framework can thus be reinterpreted to adequately respond to the non-distributive demand posed by Margalit. In doing so, we can fully appreciate Galtung’s insight. Turning to the second difference, it is problematic that Margalit’s idea of a decent society concerns primarily the institutional dimension of humiliation and thereby leaves the interpersonal dimension untouched. He distinguishes between a decent society, in which institutions do not humiliate people, and a civilized society, in which members do not humiliate one another.36 Margalit concentrates his discussion on the former type of society. In Margalit’s view, the two categories of society are analytically distinct: he suggests the possibility of a society that is not 72

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decent but is nevertheless civilized and of a society that is uncivilized but decent. Roughly speaking, a civilized society corresponds to the sphere of negative peace and personal violence, whereas a decent society corresponds to that of positive peace and structural violence. Accordingly, Margalit’s decent society does not consider the interpersonal dimension of humiliation and violence. From Galtung’s perspective, however, such a dichotomous way of thinking is highly suspect. In his eyes, there is no a priori distinction (logical or evaluative) between the two dimensions. “Social justice is not seen as an adornment to peace as absence of personal violence, nor is absence of personal violence seen as an adornment to peace as social justice.”37 Indeed, Galtung claims that peace research can make a significant contribution by aiming for both types of peace.38 This is even truer with issues of multiculturalism, which may itself create problems through institutional as well as interpersonal humiliation of ethnocultural minorities. Leaving intact the interpersonal settings in which minority groups encounter humiliation in everyday life, Margalit’s focus on institutional dimensions would run the risk not only of ignoring interactions between the two dimensions but also of indirectly reinforcing the status quo. In other words, a decent society, when doing nothing to prevent humiliating acts on an interpersonal level, is responsible for institutionally supporting these humiliating acts by the very omission of action. A good example is the Otaru Onsen case, in which some bathhouses in Otaru, a city in northern Japan, displayed “ja pa n ese only ” signs intended to exclude all who appeared to be “foreign,” which included naturalized Japanese citizens who were identified at first sight as “nonJapanese.” This case should be understood not merely as a matter of interpersonal humiliation but also as an instance of institutional humiliation. More important, the former was reinforced by the latter: Local and central governments were responsible for worsening the situation because of their reluctance to enact legislation against racial discrimination.39 This case clearly points to a need for an integrated perspective on the institutional and interpersonal dimensions of humiliation and violence. All of this suggests that we should look at how a decent society and a civilized society are connected with each other in our concept of a decent and peaceful society based on egalitarian political morality. 40 Combining Margalit’s idea of a decent society with Galtung’s idea of positive peace overcomes the distributive bias of the former and the institutional bias of the latter. As a result, we can envisage an egalitarDecency, Equality, and Peace 73

ian, decent—and hence peaceful—society. It is peaceful because decency as non-humiliation contributes to the realization of both positive and negative peace. In other words, this is a decent peace. Importantly, the notion of decent peace (at the core of which lies non-humiliation) sets a limit on what can be regarded as a justifiable peace: for example, not every peace agreement yields a decent peace. Margalit rightly claims that “peace is justified if it is not based on a rotten compromise,” that is, not based on the kind of “agreement that establishes or maintains a political order based on systematic cruelty and humiliation as its permanent features.”41 Thus, if any framework of peace contains elements that are cruel and humiliating, it is a rotten agreement and does not qualify as a decent peace.

Decent Multicultural Society If we accept the idea of a decent peace, how can this idea appropriately address problems arising from multiculturalism? We need to understand that behind multicultural demands for fairness and equity lie the major institutions and practices of society. Institutions and practices often overwhelmingly reflect the cultural biases of majority groups, present disadvantageous terms of coexistence for minority groups, and thereby make these minority groups feel marginalized, disrespected, and stigmatized— a paradigm of humiliation. Charles Taylor claims that nonrecognition, or mistaken recognition, of cultural difference and identity based on these differences “can inflict harm, can be a form of oppression, imprisoning someone in a false, distorted, and reduced mode of being.”42 Similarly, Honneth also claims that the experience of “being socially denigrated or humiliated endangers the identity of human beings, just as infection with a disease endangers their physical life.”43 Yet, there has been criticism of the theory that makes psychic injuries a constitutive feature of social injustice. 44 This objection, however, does not apply to Margalit. His concept of humiliation is not a psychological concept, since it is defined as “any sort of behavior or condition that constitutes a sound reason for a person to consider his or her self-respect injured.”45 To Margalit, humiliation is not so much a psychological concept as a moral concept—one that examines the reasons for feeling humiliated. Put differently, we need to contextualize instances of humiliation in social settings in order to clarify their normative implications. With 74

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this in mind, we can define misrecognition as follows: misrecognition is a case of humiliation, whereby individuals and groups are rejected from the commonwealth of humankind and thereby denied full membership in social life. 46 The focus here is not on distorted or injured identity but rather on those social relations that cause such injuries to one’s identity. Psychic injuries, as such, are best understood to possess heuristic and evidential value but are not to be used as a foundational value for egalitarian political morality. By being sensitive to humiliating situations, the concept of decent peace thus makes sense of and appropriately responds to multicultural demands. One may wonder whether the concept of decent peace translates exclusively into a narrow version of the politics of recognition, which traces all the issues involving minority groups to a matter of recognition and misrecognition. As noted above, however, decent peace is conceived of here as part of egalitarian political morality, which includes not only non-distributive but also distributive aspects. This point relates to one of the major questions in political theory: redistribution or recognition?47 In this regard, the idea of decent peace regards redistribution and recognition as two important issues, since decent peace includes the idea of decent social conditions for all people within a society. At this juncture, it is crucial to note that issues of redistribution and recognition are closely related. Recognition may be promoted by redistribution; misrecognition may aggravate maldistribution. An integrated perspective is necessary for acquiring insights into such interactive relationships. At the same time, however, it is equally important to make sure that the two issues are not reducible to each other. The concept of decent peace deploys neither economism, which reduces all other phenomena to an economic basis, nor culturalism, which explains all causes of injustice minority groups experience as culturally determined. 48 Interrelated yet irreducible issues of redistribution and recognition require a sensitive approach, which is inherent in the concept of decent peace.

The Case of Nikkeijin The violent incident between Brazilian Nikkeijin, a Japanese-Brazilian minority group in Japan, and native Japanese residents of the city of Toyota, in Aichi prefecture, illustrates the applicability of decent peace in a real-world situation. Many Nikkeijin, who are descendants of JapaDecency, Equality, and Peace 75

nese emigrants to Brazil and Peru, have come to Japan primarily to work as unskilled laborers. These Nikkeijin work mostly in labor-intensive industries such as construction, manufacturing, and services, in jobs that are generally known as “3K”—kitsui (demanding), kitanai (dirty), and kiken (dangerous). 49 In a community in Toyota densely populated by Brazilian Nikkeijin, a serious conflict arose between the Nikkeijin on the one hand and Japanese residents and gangsters on the other—a conflict that escalated to violence and physical injury.50 Interestingly, a Japanese researcher who was deeply involved in this case blamed Brazilian Nikkeijin for indiscreetly importing their lifestyle into the community and not complying with existing community rules concerning garbage disposal, car parking, and so on.51 In the face of accusations that culturally stigmatize Brazilian Nikkeijin as both culturally heterogeneous and intractable, one may think it appropriate to publicly recognize the cultural differences and different identities of Brazilian Nikkeijin, as distinct from native Japanese citizens. The concept of decent peace surely supports this demand. However, decent peace requires more: a careful examination of the social relations and social structures behind the conflict. Indeed, Japanese-Brazilian workers are used as a flexible labor force, employed mainly by temporary agencies.52 The Brazilian Nikkeijin experience unstable employment conditions and find it difficult to engage in ordinary community life because they often work night shifts. They work hard, under unfavorable conditions, and become invisible (and unintelligible) to native citizens—a situation of double humiliation. In this context, it is clear that a purely cultural approach would distort reality far more than explain it. The concept of decent peace requires that every problem concerning minority groups not be reduced to a matter of culture; decent peace also requires careful attention to socioeconomic structural factors, which make it difficult for minority groups to fully participate in social life. Sensitivity to cultural and socioeconomic factors that cause humiliation offers an integrative perspective on redistribution and recognition.

Toward the Politics of Decent Peace This chapter has sketched the concept of decency as a relevant component of egalitarian political morality, which combines important insights 76

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from Galtung and Margalit. And we have seen that this concept contributes to multicultural issues by offering an integrative perspective for the two paradigms of redistribution and recognition. At the beginning of this chapter, we posed the question: What are the conditions for a peaceful social order in the context of cultural pluralism? Now we see that the concept of decent peace can help us examine these conditions. Equality and decency are necessary conditions for bringing about positive and negative peace and for dealing with the issues of multiculturalism. If one asks whether the concept of decent peace immediately contributes to realizing a full-fledged peace, the answer is not straightforward. Rather, decent peace must be accompanied by a sense of paradox. This paradox of peace is that the concept of decent peace is sensitive to cultural difference and hence is hospitable to contestations and struggles for recognition. This is why the politics of recognition is sometimes associated with serious social conflicts involving violence. Any effort to implement decent peace includes a politics of contention that affects existing institutions and practices, which are intertwined with vested interests and attachments. As Walzer asserts, permanent settlements are rare in political life, mainly because it is impossible to reach a verdict or final agreement on contested issues.53 Accordingly, the politics of recognition is likely to be “a permanent struggle.”54 In this respect, a politics of decent peace seems detrimental to the very goal of peace. There is, however, another, deeper paradox of peace. A perfectly peaceful society without conflict and violence must be as quiet as the grave, which would be a nightmare. Similarly, a society that aims to become a perfectly crimeless society by relying heavily on very strong criminal powers and criminalizing powers would be undesirable. A deadening tranquility is not a desirable goal. We need to conceptualize peace in terms of a dynamic process, understanding it not as a dead peace but as a lively peace open to conflict. In effect, such a paradox points to a dialectical relationship between conflict and peace: only through the former is the latter disturbed or attained. The concept of decent peace is ultimately based on this dialectic, thereby opening up possibilities of dynamic peace through equality and decency.

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Notes 1 2 3 4

16 17 18 19 20 21

Walzer, On Toleration, 2. Parekh, Rethinking Multiculturalism, 207. Margalit, The Decent Society. In his essay on the concept of decent peace, Margalit does not explain the concept of decency in a systematic way. In this chapter, I attempt to combine decency and peace in an explicit and coherent way. Margalit, “Decent Peace.” Margalit, The Decent Society, 1. Rawls, A Theory of Justice, 440. Margalit, The Decent Society, 123. Ibid., 105. Ibid., 108. In Margalit’s view, humiliation as rejection from the human commonwealth leads to another aspect of humiliation, which is “a severe diminution of human freedom and control.” This is because treating human beings—the beings essentially capable of freedom—as nonhuman is tantamount to severely injuring their control over themselves. Margalit, The Decent Society, 119. Rawls makes this statement in his 1996 work Political Liberalism. In contrast, he claims in his 1971 work A Theory of Justice that in a wellordered society, “self-respect is secured by the public affirmation of the status of equal citizenship for all” (545). It seems implausible that the word all denotes all human beings, since the theory he discusses in A Theory of Justice focuses on “a closed system isolated from other societies” (8). Rawls, Political Liberalism, 319. Rawls claims that “not only are they [citizens] normal and fully cooperating members of society, but they further want to be, and to be recognized as, such members. This supports their self-respect as citizens” (ibid., 81–82). Margalit, The Decent Society, 48. Ibid., 274. Another way to solve the problem of the narrow scope of citizenship is to conceive of citizenship as differentiated. I have discussed this issue with respect to ethnocultural groups in Japan. See Kibe, “Differentiated Citizenship and Ethnocultural Groups,” 413–30. Rawls, A Theory of Justice, 9. Ibid., 440. Rawls, Political Liberalism, 181; Rawls, Justice as Fairness, 60. Young, Justice and the Politics of Difference, 26–27. Elster, Sour Grapes, 4–5. Walzer, Politics and Passion, 37.

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5 6 7 8 9

10

11 12

13 14 15

22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29

30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40

41 42 43 44 45 46

47

Margalit, The Decent Society, 280. Ibid., chs. 14, 15. Ibid., 4. Ibid., 4–5. Ibid., 5. Ibid. Honneth, The Struggle for Recognition, 120. Margalit is very cautious in discussing the relationship between a decent society and a just society. He is not explicit concerning the questions of whether a decent society is one step on the way to a just society and whether a just society is necessarily a decent one. At best, he suggests that decency seems to be one of the conditions of a just society (The Decent Society, 281–82). Therefore, it is safe to say that it is in a qualified sense that a just society should be a decent one (ibid., 272). Galtung, “Violence, Peace and Peace Research,” 167. Ibid., 168. Ibid., 183. Ibid., 183, 172. Ibid., 183. Margalit, The Decent Society, 281. Ibid., 1. Galtung, “Violence, Peace and Peace Research,” 185. Ibid., 186. Arudou, Japanese Only. This is the very core question around which the recent “monist versus dualist” debate on basic structure revolves: dualists stress the special moral significance of the institutional framework, whereas monists warn against the dualist preoccupation with public institutions, which, they argue, loses sight of the moral and practical relevance of the actions of individuals and associations. On this topic, see Julius, “Basic Structure,” 321–55. My position is the middle ground, which views the two dimensions as distinct yet related. Margalit, “Indecent Compromise,” 194, 204. Taylor, “The Politics of Recognition,” 25. Honneth, The Struggle for Recognition, 135. Markell, Bound by Recognition, 18. Margalit, The Decent Society, 9. Here I draw on—and slightly modify—Nancy Frazer’s definition: “some individuals and groups are denied the status of full partners in social interaction simply as a consequence of institutionalized patterns of cultural value.” Frazer, “Social Justice,” 29. Frazer sharply contrasted the politics of redistribution with the politics of recognition, thereby shifting the focus from redistribution to recognition, and political theorists since then have tackled the question of whether

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48 49

50 51 52

53 54

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redistribution or recognition appropriately addresses the issues of social justice—particularly the problems that emerge when people of different cultural backgrounds live together. Frazer, Justice Interruptus, chapter 1; also I. M. Young, “Unruly Categories,” 147–60; Frazer and Honneth, Redistribution or Recognition? Parekh, “Redistribution or Recognition?” 211–12, Frazer, “Social Justice.” According to a rough estimate based on statistics from the Ministry of Justice, there are at least 240,000 Nikkeijin from Brazil living in Japan. Another category of Nikkeijin, the Peruvian Nikkeijin, constitute about 50,000 residents in Japan. Ministry of Justice, “Heiseijyugonenban Shutsunyukokukanri.” Enari, “Teijyuka to Kyosei omeguru Kadai,” 147–48. Tsuzuki, “Gaikokujinshujyutoshi no genjitu kara,” 44–50. Kajita, Tanno, and Higuchi point out that a culturalist denunciation fails to identify the influence of structural factors and particularly the influence of a labor market that is being deregulated. Kajita, Tanno, and Higuchi, Kaono mienai teijyuka, 295–96. Walzer, Politics and Passion, 103. Honneth, The Struggle for Recognition, 127; Tully, “Struggles over Recognition and Distribution,” 469–82.

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5 Globalization, Culture, and the Strategic Use of the Arts for Peacebuilding t. v. r eed

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oday, interdisciplinary cultural studies play an increasingly vital role in peace and conflict scholarship, primarily because of more sophisticated and expansive notions of the concept of “culture,” especially in the context of a new, globalized electronic and mass-mediated culture. Although many earlier discussions of globalizing culture were celebrations or denigrations of the spread of Western (especially U.S.) popular culture around the globe, more recent scholarship stresses the fact that the global mediascape now entails multiple flows of cultural production to and from many different cultural spaces in the world—the North, South, East, and West.1 At the same time that critiques of Western cultural imperialism in other regions of the world, and of Japanese cultural imperialism in the rest of Asia, have continued, the concept of cultural imperialism has itself been criticized for exaggerating cultural homogenization and for underplaying the importance of cultural counterflows among cultures in the global South, and cultural flows from the putatively underdeveloped South to the overdeveloped global North. In recent years, additional national cultural production sites have emerged—in Latin America, Asia, and elsewhere in the developing world—and increasingly in differentiated subnational, ethnic, and other forms of cultural production within and across regional and national configurations. This growth in the amount, variety, and significance of mass-mediated

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culture as a multidirectional flow has, in turn, been a central issue in debates about the larger forces and processes that are labeled “globalization.” This term has become the key word around which much grand theorizing about the current state of the world has swirled. The literature on this topic is enormous, constantly proliferating, riddled with contradictions, and lacking consensus. Part of the difficulty is that the term globalization is being used too broadly. For example, it can describe several different sectoral processes—economic, political, social, and cultural— and be deployed in the debates of many disciplines and interdisciplines, each with differing discursive assumptions and histories. However, in academic (as opposed to popular) treatments of this theme, there has been increasing skepticism about some of the more extreme claims about the newness, uniqueness, and extent of the globalization the world is currently experiencing. There is also growing agreement among theorists that neatly separating economic, political, social, and cultural dimensions of globalization (or any other societal phenomenon) is problematic at best.2 General debates about globalization have revealed widely diverging views about the importance of culture, ranging from claims that culture is all-important, to assertions that culture is utterly marginal to other processes, especially political and economic processes. The truth lies somewhere between these extremes. In the context of peace and conflict studies, the balance has tended toward the anti-culture end, and issues such as diplomacy, politics, state and non-state institutions, and trade have received far more attention than cultural issues. This is a problematic situation, but little is to be gained by simply reversing this bias and arguing for the greater importance of culture. Rather, good scholarship on this topic should assume the following: that the culture concept is one (among many) vital lenses through which to look as we seek a comprehensive interdisciplinary analysis and a multilevel strategy for peace, and that, in the end, culture cannot be neatly separated from other important systemic forces, especially from political economy. In other words, no minor, let alone grand, theory of peace, security, and kyosei would be complete without serious consideration of the cultural component of these concerns. That culture has become more important in the current global formation (as some have argued) is certainly debatable. But it is certain that now, as throughout history, cultural differences have been one crucial source of violence, war, and other forms of conflict.

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According to Raymond Williams, the word culture is the most complicated word in the English language. This is equally true of many other languages.3 With the rise of cultural studies, definitions of this key term have undergone further proliferation since Williams’s studies of the 1970s. Rather than discussing the many definitions of culture in detail, this chapter will use its limited space to explore the nuances of the term as part of its main argument. In general, the first part of the discussion will use the word culture to mean a whole way of life (as in Japanese culture, or Mexican American culture), while the second part will use the term in the more restricted sense, to mean so-called high and popular forms of the arts and mass media. Although these two meanings are separated for the sake of analytic clarity, one goal of this chapter is to show that the two meanings are ultimately inseparable. A theoretical understanding of the complex definitions of the term culture is essential in order to make strategically useful interventions through the arts and other expressive forms in the furtherance of security, peace, and kyosei. This chapter takes a cultural materialist stance, which assumes that political economy and cultural production are always interrelated, mutually constitutive processes. It rejects positions on globalization (from the political right and the left) that exaggerate the structural determination of market forces. Both neoliberals (in celebratory analyses) and determinist strands of Marxism (in condemnatory ones) credit economic forces with having achieved a very high degree of homogenization in the current world system. But this assertion remains largely unproved. Certainly in a world where everything is for sale—from babies and human body parts to the latest in high-fashion faux ethnicities—there can be no debate that commodification has been greatly extended and intensified. But although market forces have penetrated more sectors of the world’s economies than ever before, we still must speak of the world’s economies in the plural— both because there are significant sectors that remain largely outside the capitalist market and because there is considerable variation in the degree and nature of integration into the current international regime of flexible accumulation among differing national, transnational, and subnational markets. As David Lloyd and Lisa Lowe have ably shown, resistance to centralizing regimes of capital is present among groups in numerous places and spaces in the global South, from the Zapatistas of Chiapas, to the Revolutionary Women of Afghanistan, to the massive World Social Forum of the movement for global justice. 4 In addition, the increasingly

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complex interventions into the world’s economy by the two most populous nations, China and India, belie any attempt to speak of a seamless system dominated by multinational corporations of the United States, Japan, and Europe. Moreover, the increasingly independent role of the European Union (EU) complicates monolithic notions of the West, as do the differing and internally contested political-cultural-economic systems dominant in the United States and Japan. Far from being a flat world, as Thomas Friedman famously claimed, the current politicalcultural-economic system is riddled with topological variations and seismic shifts whose ultimate formation is far from determined. A similarly complex relationship between political and economic factors can be seen in the interrelated concepts of level of culture and cultural production. Early claims that globalization was completely homogenizing the cultures of the world have lost credibility in the face of rich empirical studies (by anthropologists and other social and cultural scientists) that demonstrate that the flows of culture(s) are far more complex and multidirectional than was previously thought by those concerned about monolithic cultural imperialist processes.5 For example, using terms set out by the anthropologist Arjun Appadurai, the global cultural system, to the extent that one can speak of it in the singular, is made up of complex cultural flows that constitute themselves via “disjunction and difference,” which check, redirect, subvert, and qualify other forces that undeniably do constitute greater homogeneity. 6 Appadurai identifies and names five main “scapes” that, he argues, provide a useful alternative way of mapping the main dimensions of current cultural flows and “contra-flows”: ethnoscapes, technoscapes, financescapes, mediascapes, and ideoscapes. Apparudarai’s neologisms are designed in part to free our thinking from overreliance on older categories that too easily separate the social, the political, the economic, and the cultural. And whether one embraces these particular concepts or not, Appadurai convincingly shows that these overlapping but never fully merged dimensions are as often in contradiction as in concert. Contemporary China is an apt example. China’s ideoscapes and mediascapes continue to be dominated by Maoist ideology, while the financescape is deeply entangled in capitalist markets, and the ethnoscapes of “Chineseness” are deeply in doubt in the complex contemporary social scene, not only for non-Han minorities but for the dominant Han group itself. Another key factor in the conceptualization of globalization and cul-

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ture concerns the changing nature of the nation-state. Again, most critics now reject notions that the nation-state is no longer a key player on the global field (having allegedly lost out to globalizing transnational corporations), but these critics also note that significant changes are indeed taking place. Key among these changes is an increasing dissociation of the nation (as a single people, usually defined ethnically) and the state (as a geopolitical entity). More than 250 million people currently live in and work outside their nation of origin.7 In this process, longestablished multiethnic states like the United States are finding themselves less the exception and more the rule. The massive transnational migration (driven mostly by economics) of the last several decades has made virtually all states in the world less mono-ethnic, if not openly multiethnic, and often therefore less coherently “national.” Depending upon the particular context, this trend has led sometimes to greater tolerance and sometimes to greater intolerance (as in the tragic cases of the former Yugoslavia, Rwanda, and Darfur). And as the state continues to play a major role in the economic dynamics of the world, a sense of nationalism has reemerged. This global ethnic re-formation has immensely important implications for conceptions of culture.8 One key impact of the decreasing isomorphism between place and identity is the rise of the translocal as a site of cultural production and consumption. Greatly facilitated by modern communication technologies and transportation mechanisms that often develop alongside a revitalized emphasis on ethnicity, in many ways translocal connections have become ever more intense and bi-local identities ever more common. Evidence abounds, for example, that Mexican immigrants in the United States (documented and undocumented) often identify as neither U.S. nor Mexican citizens but as translocal citizens of Detroit-Oaxaca or L.A.-Zacatecas.9 This complicated terrain means that nothing remotely resembling agreement exists today among major theorists of culture and globalization. However, the literature does offer some caveats and lessons that can be useful to peacebuilding, arts-based and otherwise. Those seeking to understand the role of culture in building peace and security and creating serious kyosei would do well to address (and sometimes contest) the following theoretical principles: 1. Cultural representations are always partly constitutive—never merely reflective of, or responsive to, social, political, and economic

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realities. This means that culture needs to be seen as an agent of change, not simply as a side effect of more fundamental shifts in economics or politics. 2. Culture—in the sense of meanings, beliefs, ways of life—is in considerable measure constructed by cultural texts (including, but not limited to, the arts and mass culture) as mediated through social institutions and culture industries. This is a principle of interdisciplinary cultural studies that links the two broad definitions of culture in this chapter. All activity—social, economic, and political—is mediated through the cultural and therefore through the textual (with “text” understood as any form of written, visual, or aural representation). And, to tie the discussion to principle 1, all material activity (such as an upswing or downswing in a national economy) is significantly affected, in turn, by the way these political-economic data are interpreted through texts—whether the texts be debates in economics journals, speeches of politicians, comments of TV pundits, or jokes of comedians. 3. Cultures are never neatly segregated and bound entities but rather are best conceived as partially overlapping, mutually constitutive, internally contradictory, and nested entities with boundaries that are far from distinct or unchanging. This emerging truism grows especially out of the critical ethnography movement of the last two decades.10 Culture essentialism—the conceptualization of individual cultures as internally consistent, neatly bordered entities—has given way to more nuanced conceptualizations. These new ways of looking at culture recognize the role observers play in partly “inventing” cultures, as is perhaps most obvious in the earlier creation of “primitive cultures” by so-called Western anthroapologists. But the new ways of looking at culture also recognize the highly selective nature of any presentation of the culture of a particular demographically constituted group. The corollary of this new approach is that any culture (or subculture) is an internally contested formation. This is an extremely important point whenever one seeks to generalize about a given population defined as a culture. Whose culture is it? Who owns the culture or the right to speak in its name? Who contests those claiming to speak for the culture? 4. Cultures exist not as natural facts but as true fictions that are constituted by the systems or regimes of representation invoked 86 t. v. r e e d

5.

6.

7.

8.

in everyday life and in scientific investigation. All representations, whether by a cultural insider (emic) or cultural outsider (etic), are true fictions in the sense that these representations, however empirically grounded, are limited in scope and occur within a particular, limited sight line. As a follow-up to principle 3, to say that cultures are contested does not mean that their definitions are simply up for grabs to anyone who comes along. Definitions of culture have dominant and subordinate forms, constituted largely by more and less privileged access to the means of representation and more and less hegemonic regimes of representation. On the contemporary scene, the means and therefore the regimes are largely dominated by the mainstream, corporate mass media, despite the variety noted above. Cultural flows are not just one way, from the center to the periphery, or from the North to the South; rather, flows are multidirectional. Again, this fact does not deny the unequal nature of these flows, especially the power of wealthier, mostly Northern countries to dominate the means of cultural transmission. But ignoring what communication scholars call “contra-flows”—that is, cultural productions from the periphery—and the ways in which nondominant cultural sites of reception resist and transform dominant flows of cultural information inadvertently furthers the process of underrepresenting subaltern and alternative cultures. Cultures are highly fluid and changeable, but not infinitely malleable. This is a call to take traditions seriously and to pay close attention to the variety of local contexts for both the reception and the generation of ideas about peace, security, and kyosei, even as we acknowledge that few locales are untouched by transnational forces. Again, the effort here is to balance between an exaggerated sense that a single, global culture is emerging and the equally untenable notion that any culture anywhere is wholly untouched by the global economic and geopolitical forces that exploit, transform, and, to a degree, homogenize through commodification the diversity of cultural traditions, forms, and representations. Remember that all cultural analysis is partial (both in the sense of “incomplete” and in the sense of “partisan, limited ideologically”). And cultural analysis is always done from a particular, limited social position, so that the intervention of the observer to some degree transforms the object of study. Therefore, given the complexity of cultures, there is no place in The Strategic Use of the Arts for Peacebuilding 87

peace studies for efforts that, intentionally or otherwise, tend to impose definitions of peace, security, and kyosei that focus on the developed world. 9. From principles 1 through 8, we can draw the key conclusion that what multiple models of peace, security, and kyosei have in common is that their success depends on the extent to which these models can be articulated (in the sense of both “made clear” and “linked”) to particular cultural sites. This is not a call to avoid all universal claims but rather a reminder that even the most universal of claims must be translated into specific contexts. It requires a dialogical analysis of the interplay of the local and the global (what some have called, inelegantly, the “glocal”), an approach that respects the particular relation of place to cultural production, even as it examines the ways in which all local conditions open out upon the global or universal (as redefined below). 10. A key corollary of principle 9 is that agreement on cultural norms across cultures is not always necessary for us to succeed in the joint project of applied interdisciplinary peace studies. Indeed, to a certain extent, inevitable mutual untranslatability between and among cultures may make for creative friction that furthers our efforts. The next section will elaborate on this idea, perhaps the most obscure or controversial of the principles.

Particular Universals One common thread running through most of these ten principles, and emphasized most fully in principles 9 and 10, could be summarized as follows: avoid overuse of universal normative claims. However, this does not mean giving up such claims entirely. Indeed, it is impossible to do so since the underlying assumption of this book is that peace, security, and kysoei are to be valued over their opposites—war, insecurity, and mutual hostility. This may seem like quite a minimalist assertion of norms, but interpreted through the lenses of the world’s extremely diverse and complex cultures, even these basic goals would not easily achieve even an abstract worldwide consensus, particularly as they are articulated from the privileged position of the global North, the position shared by the members of our joint project. So if universal normative claims are at once unavoidable and yet 88 t. v. r e e d

impossible to sustain, how do we proceed? Or, as anthropologist Anna Tsing aptly puts it, “So how does one study the global?” Tsing’s answer, summed up in principles 9 and 10 above, is that the global and the local are caught up in a constant dance of “particular universals” that can be deployed strategically. Tsing writes that “global connection [comes] to life in ‘friction,’ the grip of worldly encounter. Capitalism, science, politics all depend upon global connections. Each spreads through aspirations to fulfill universal dreams and schemes. Yet this is a particular kind of universality. It can only be charged and enacted in the sticky materiality of practical encounters.”11 To paraphrase Tsing, all universals are particular; all gestures toward the universal are socially located geographically, economically, politically, and culturally. If we keep this paradox in mind, we can avoid at least some of the pitfalls of grand theorizing. More positively, Tsing’s notions of “friction” and “particular universals” suggest that it is not necessary to view solely as impediments those inevitable misunderstandings caused by attempts to translate across lines of cultural, political, and economic difference. Indeed, based on her own rigorous anthropological work on transnational-local environmentalisms in Indonesia, Tsing offers the convincing claim that much positive action can occur not only in spite of but also because of mutual cultural misunderstanding. She uses the metaphor of a car tire hitting the road to express the kind of friction she validates. Without friction between rubber and asphalt (or dirt), no progress is possible (though, of course, such friction also inevitably entails wear on both the tire and the road). In Tsing’s experience, contact points between cultures are never smooth, but the points of connection allow forward movement based upon partially understood, and partially misunderstood, components. Friction is vital in fending off false consensus and facilitating the difficult task of coalitions built upon difference, not sameness. This notion of friction can be vital to all our efforts, as it undercuts notions of peace, security, and kyosei based upon utopian, and ultimately undesirable, images of easy commonality that border on homogeneity and stasis. In other words, peace researchers and peacebuilding professionals are more likely to see their work flourish if they expand their notion of peace, security, and kyosei to a concept of peaces, securities, and kyoseis, and if such scholars recognize that the kind of work they are advocating will be carried out in multiple ways that need not be mutually translatable into a common understanding of the terms. The Strategic Use of the Arts for Peacebuilding 89

Strategies for Peacebuilding through the Arts and Media The rest of the chapter explores what this theoretical context might mean for the practical application of cultural forms in the service of peacebuilding—here, broadly understood to include security concerns and the deeper goal of kyosei. (In this context, “symbiosis” is perhaps the most useful mistranslation of kyosei, because it stresses mutual benefit over more idealistic components.) As we have seen, cultural forms (the arts, media, and so forth) vary immensely within and across cultures. At the same time, all cultural forms have the ability to work simultaneously on more than one level of human consciousness: on the levels of reason as well as emotion and the conscious as well as the subconscious. This accounts for much of their power. While many cultural forms are deeply tied to language, and therefore present certain cross-cultural translation difficulties, many other cultural forms that take audio or visual forms are frequently well suited to cross boundaries of cultural differences—an important fact given that studies suggest between 65 percent and 90 percent of human communication is nonverbal.12 Even when a cultural form has a strong linguistic component, certain components, such as theater, may still negotiate cultural difference. Three general principles, consonant with the theoretical guidelines above, are especially useful in thinking about the practical role of cultural forms in the peacebuilding process: 1. Cultural workers who promote peacebuilding by means of cultural forms need to be clear about the audience(s) they seek, from the most local audience to the most global. Such workers should understand that effective forms must be as deeply rooted in specific cultural milieus as possible and that, to the extent to which they seek to make universal claims, these cultural workers should do so based as closely as possible on the particular situation of local knowledge and traditions. As Tsing observes, this does not mean that gestures toward the universal (as in universal human rights) cannot or should not be made, but these gestures must be made with the understanding that universal gestures will make sense only in particular terms. 2. Likewise, cultural efforts at peacebuilding need to be sensitive to particular political contexts or stages of evolution toward peace,

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security, and kyosei that exist in the community toward which they direct their cultural work. That is to say, cultural interventions need to deal as concretely as possible with the most immediately practicable level of peacebuilding. 3. The whole panoply of cultural forms (from folk to pop to elite) can prove useful, for each has strengths and weakness vis-à-vis particular moments in the peacebuilding process in a given cultural context. Similarly, peacebuilding needs to proceed on multiple levels in relation to media: by seeking exposure in the dominant media to counter pervasive images that dramatize and glorify war and also by building alternative media networks that allow room for more elaborated counter-visions. As a caveat to principle 1, however, peacebuilding through cultural forms that speak as particularly as possible to very local contexts does not preclude the possibility of transcultural, transnational, and even global interventions. I have argued in another context, for example, that the global movement against South African apartheid was at points remarkably successful in creating transnational mega-events, primarily music concerts, which played a significant role in the downfall of the apartheid regime.13 Principles 2 and 3 can be understood better in the context of the diagram in figure 5.1. Whether or not one finds this particular diagram accurate or fully adequate, it does make clear that different stages of the peacebuilding process do and should use different political strategies and methods. Similarly, cultural interventionists also need to keep in mind the existing stage of conflict as well as the particular cultural site or audience. Cultural forms can intervene directly as nonviolent modes of conflict resolution (as singing was used to calm the mood and deflect violence during civil rights marches in the United States). They can help build intra- or cross-cultural understandings that become part of the capacity to prevent future wars (as plays have done effectively in war-torn Northern Ireland). Cultural forms are also useful in therapeutic contexts, to bring about healing of trauma that could give rise to or has resulted from violent conflict. For example, various kinds of arts-based therapies are contributing around the world toward overcoming the trauma of rape and abuse, post-traumatic stress disorder, and similar afflictions. Cultural

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Reducing Direct Violence

Waging Conflict

Legal/Justice Systems Humanitarian Assistance Peacekeeping Military Intervention Ceasefire Agreements Peace Zones Early Warning Programs

Monitoring and Advocacy Direct Action Civilian-Based Defense

PEACEBUILDING Building Capacity

Transforming Relationships

Training and Education Development Military Conversion Research and Evaluation

Trauma Healing Conflict Transformation Restorative Justice Transitional Justice Governance and Policy Making

© Lisa Schirch 2004

Fig. 5.1. Peacebuilding

forms can directly raise issues of justice or lead the way to new public policy—or both, as has been shown especially well by fictional and documentary films on topical subjects. And similar observations may be made for every kind and stage of peacebuilding activity. For much the same reason, every kind or level of cultural representation should be seen as having the potential to contribute strategically to the peacebuilding process. Everything from the crudest and most transient work of agitprop to the most aesthetically sophisticated work of “high art” can be useful in the right strategic context. We need all kinds, and we need the freedom to develop all kinds, unfettered by ideological reductionism. The history of strategically applied aesthetic practices is rife with abuses, most obviously in closed regimes on the right and the left but also in sectors of relatively open societies. Abstract arguments among political artists and artistic politicos about a single politi-

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cally correct form are a waste of energy. A Shakespeare play may be the politically correct intervention at one moment before one audience, and a street-theatrical reading of a manifesto may be politically correct—or more properly and to the point, strategically correct—in another context before the same or a different audience. The most fundamental role the arts can play in peacebuilding is to offer complex, nuanced representations that counter the reductive role of stereotyping. Scholars as distinct as Raymond Williams and Pierre Bourdieu agree that the logic of politics and the logic of aesthetic objects seldom, if ever, coincide perfectly.14 In Bourdieu’s terms, the economies of culture and the economies of politics overlap and interact in a variety of ways but are never simply coextensive. Each “field,” as Bourdieu calls them, is subject to internal rules and regularities that are peculiarly its own. The fields meet in that overarching terrain that he names the “field of power,” but the meeting points in the field of power never exhaust the meaning of the work of art. Similarly, political meanings also always exceed aesthetic meanings on their own terms. Put differently, any aesthetic text can be used for political ends, and all aesthetic texts have political implications—but no aesthetic text is reducible to its political meanings.15 Even the greatest work of art can be turned into an agent of propaganda, and, conversely, one can find cultural nuance in the most reductive forms of agitprop street theater. The trick is to realize that art is not so fragile that it cannot be put to mundane uses without losing its ongoing power while also recognizing that reductive portraits of heroes or villains are not likely in the long run to build peace.

The Types and Function(s) of Culture in Peacebuilding Movements Turning finally to the most pragmatic level, what specific functions should be considered when thinking about strategic uses of the arts for peacebuilding? Each cultural form—from poetry to murals, to songs, to plays, to documentary films, and so on—has specific strengths that can be used as resources for peacebuilding. Strategic use of culture requires careful, contextual thinking about what forms work best in particular contexts, to meet particular goals. In order to use the arts and other cultural forms in building peace, it is

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useful to have a sense of the variety of functions they can play within the peace movement. The following ten primary functions (functions that overlap and interact in various configurations) can help form strategies for the use of culture in peacebuilding. 1. Encourage individuals to feel the strength of the group. There is a vast repertoire of peace songs, ranging from U.S. pop hits like “Give Peace a Chance” to folk songs from almost every culture. When performed publicly, these songs can bring people together, so they will feel part of the legacy and the future of collective peacemaking. 2. Empower an individual to feel his or her own strength. A cultural text can move an individual to feel his or her own particular commitment more deeply, to reach a deeper personal connection to the process of building peace. 3. Harmonize differences among diverse constituencies. Cultural forms sometimes cut across lines of age, class, ethnicity, region, gender, and nation and provide a sense of overarching connection that, at least for a time, subordinates ideological differences in ways that directly foster peace or a broader solidarity for peacebuilding. 4. Inform internally with new values, ideas, tactics, and so forth. Cultural texts provide information in compact, often highly memorable, and emotionally charged ways—both to educate new recruits to peacebuilding and to refocus veterans. 5. Inform externally by communicating peacebuilding values, ideas, and tactics to potential recruits, opponents, and undecided bystanders. Cultural texts are often a more effective and affective means of promoting ideas among people outside the peace movement. This can be directly in the moment of action (through a chant or a song) or may take more indirect form, such as the formation of a traveling movement culture group such as a singing group or theatrical troupe. 6. Enact specific goals through art that intervenes actively and directly to achieve peacebuilding values. Examples include eco-active art that helps restore an ecosystem or a movement mural that improves the appearance of a neighborhood. 7. Historicize peacebuilding by telling and retelling successful peace actions of the past, from Lysistrata, to Denmark’s nonviolent resistance to the Nazis, to the film Gandhi. 8. Transform affect by setting a new emotional tone for an individual 94 t. v. r e e d

(through such procedures as art-based trauma therapies) or by setting a new emotional tone for a group (for example, by using a song to diffuse tension in a demonstration or to redirect the attention of the group). 9. Critique ideologies by directly challenging dominant ideas, values, and tactics. Undercut tendencies toward dogma in war makers or within one’s own group by evoking emotions and meanings not reducible to narrowly ideological terms. Parody and satire are often the best tools for this work. 10. Provide pleasure—simply by offering respite from conflict or from the rigors of peacebuilding work through aesthetic joy.

Future Friction Obviously, such a quick survey of the vast terrain of culture, globalization, and the strategic use of the arts skims over many complexities and nuances and raises more questions than it answers. But in moving rapidly from the most abstract to the most pragmatic level in such a short space, this chapter has offered a sketch that may be of use for a richer mapping of the terrain. An interdisciplinary, cultural studies approach makes clear that cultural theory is practical, and that practical application will give rise to friction that will in turn transform grand theorizing about peace into a specific and useful theory of peacebuilding. In sum, peacebuilders can arrive at universal values or universal goals only by attending to the local and the particular; the global and the local are not poles apart but rather coexist in each particular universal space—the only places from which peace can be built.

Notes 1 2

3

Pieterse, Ethnicities and Global Multiculture. Robertson, Globalization; Hannerz, Transnational Connections; Wallerstein, “The National and the Universal,” King, Culture, Globalization and the World-System; Sassen, Globalization and Its Discontents; Peiterse, Ethnicities and Global Multiculture. Williams, Keywords. The Strategic Use of the Arts for Peacebuilding 95

4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15

Lloyd and Lowe, The Politics of Culture. Hannerz, Transnational Connections; Pieterse, Ethnicities and Global Multiculture. Appadurai, “Disjuncture and Difference.” Lipsitz, American Studies. Pieterse, Ethnicities and Global Multiculture. Gordillo, Engendering Transnational Ties. Clifford and Marcus, Writing Culture. Tsing, Friction, 1. Wood, Spinning the Symbolic Web. Reed, The Art of Protest. Bourdieu, The Field of Cultural Production; Williams, Marxism and Literature. Ibid.

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6 Impediments to Human Security Social Categories, Privilege, and Violence

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fforts to promote peace, security, and kyosei will occur in unavoidable psychological contexts that pose serious obstacles to achieving success. Research in political and cognitive psychology has identified three major factors that affect the way individuals perceive the need and the justification for social change and for finding new pathways to peace: group dynamics, the acceptance of violence, and the lure of social privilege. Unless these factors are taken into account, reform efforts will be stymied or sidetracked into insignificance and failure. A central factor in the realization of peace, security, and kyosei is that people need to feel that they live in a safe and predictable environment. Perceptions and experiences of human security are limited by three impediments: social categorization, the closely related issue of social privilege, and the experience of chronic violence and the attraction violence holds for some. The human propensity to categorize the self and others into social groups creates an automatic tendency to discriminate, at least in the form of in-group favoritism. This process of social categorization is motivated not by any particular bias but by the simple fact that people cannot process all the information available to them in their social environment without using social categories as filters. People rapidly accept information that conforms to their category-based expectations. This information-processing technique easily leads to social ste-

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reotypes, discrimination, and prejudices, all of which make security and kyosei difficult to achieve. Added to this factor is the inclination to use group comparisons to bolster self-image. People compare their groups to other relevant groups and seek a positive comparison. A negative comparison could lead to violence. This process is particularly important in multiethnic, multisectarian, multiracial, and multinational societies. Arguably, these societies will never be able to achieve the degree of kyosei that is possible in more homogeneous societies. Ethnic, religious, national, and racial identities can be very strong and resistant to demonstrations of tolerance for others. When these are associated with negative stereotypes of the out-group, living together is not desired and may be dangerous. A second impediment lies in social hierarchies and privilege. People who have privilege seldom recognize the depth of that privilege. Challenging the privileged is a daunting task when privileged people cannot see how powerful they are. Power not only governs who makes decisions but also sets forth unrecognized assumptions about who decides what is important in a society and what norms that society should follow. Those without privilege will adapt or lose out; these individuals or groups must be empowered in order to challenge the status quo. A third impediment is the experience of, attraction to, and acceptance of violence. War and violence—whether interstate or intercommunal violence, or violence between street gangs—is often so chronic that it is not especially noted and may become glorified, thrilling, and addictive. Moreover, people easily become accustomed to violence, ranging from verbal abuse and violent video games and movies to physical violence and other forms of violent interaction. American culture provides multiple examples in everyday life. It may be that some societies are less inclined to embrace violence, and if so, perhaps the United States can learn from them. Each of these factors is discussed in greater depth below.

Social Categories, Stereotypes, and Group Competition We classify both ourselves and others into groups. Groups we belong to are called “in-groups”; those we do not belong to are called “outgroups.” Social identity studies assert four central propositions.1 First, people strive to maintain positive self-images—that is, people want to

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see themselves in a positive light when they are comparing themselves to others. Second, membership in groups contributes to a person’s identity and self-image. Belonging to groups is important because people are social animals. We need groups for survival, security, and companionship. Third, people evaluate their own groups by making comparisons with other groups. Finally, positive individual social identity is contingent upon a positive comparison of one’s own group with other groups. The link between the self and the in-group is quite complex. While a person derives a positive self-image from group membership, he or she also uses positive information about the self to form positive expectancies for the group that person belongs to. People also compare their own group to other groups, but the important comparison here is to other relevant groups. People want to be equal or superior to those relevant groups but will accept inferiority and disadvantage when the comparison group is not seen as similar (that is, when the comparison is not considered relevant). For example, Americans may compare their political system to the British political system but not to that of the Zulus in South Africa because that is not a relevant comparison group. Once groups are formed, members make in-group–out-group distinctions, and there is a strong tendency to see differences between groups. People like to see their groups as quite distinct from, and better than, other groups. Group differences therefore become increasingly marked, and this differentiation can produce ethnocentrism. Although some psychologists argue that social categorization alone is not sufficient to produce ethnocentrism and discrimination, categorization of one’s self and others into in-groups and out-groups is often the starting point for ethnocentrism, discrimination, and racism. This pattern also helps us understand a lot about political relationships, because it explains why people accept inferior status. A group will accept disadvantages relative to other groups, and will consider those inequalities legitimate and acceptable, when there is no direct comparability between the disadvantaged and the advantaged group. That is, they can still feel positive about their group even when other groups are better off merely by not making a comparison. When they make comparisons with other relevant groups, they generally believe their own group deserves more than the other group. If a social comparison is made and is found to be unsatisfactory, people have three choices. First, they can abandon their own group and

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join the one perceived as superior. This is possible in societies in which groups are permeable, meaning a member of that society can move easily from one group to another. Clear examples are found in the United States, where economic classes are permeable groups. In other words, an American can move from being a blue-collar worker to being a wealthy, upper-class CEO of a major corporation. But race, which is also a very important marker of group membership in the United States, is not permeable, and under most circumstances, it is impossible to be considered white when one’s skin is brown. The importance of belonging to a particular group is crucial when deciding to move to another group. When people have a strong emotional investment in a group and perceive the group as a whole to be disadvantaged, they are less likely to abandon their group for another one. A second approach to relative disadvantage involves “social creativity” strategies. People can change the comparative dimensions (for example, by comparing political power instead of wealth: “they may be wealthier than we are, but we hold the power”). Alternatively, they can change the comparison group (members of an immigrant group might compare themselves to other immigrant groups rather than to long-term citizens) or redefine the basis of comparison from negative to positive (racial minorities might place a positive emphasis on their cultural heritage and customs). Social competition is a third approach to unacceptably negative comparisons with another group. This involves questioning and challenging the legitimacy of the way things are. However, a negative group image is not sufficient in itself to produce social competition. Group members must also see an alternative to the existing relationship, otherwise they will engage in the second strategy, social creativity. The perceived illegitimacy and injustice of status differences, as well as the perceived instability of the social pecking order between subordinate and superior groups, all encourage a search for alternative group relationships. The subordinate group has to perceive its situation as unjust and illegitimate before it even tries to change its relationship to the out-group. Often, the in-group identifies and blames a scapegoat for its unsatisfactory situation—and when that scapegoat is dehumanized by the in-group, conditions are ripe for appalling violence in the form of hate crimes, ethnic cleansing, or genocide. When an American right-wing extremist, Timothy McVeigh, blew up the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City in 1995, he described the children killed in the building’s day-care center 100 m a rt h a cot ta m

as “collateral damage,” an example of dehumanization. Similarly, the attacks of September 11 may have followed a dehumanization of Americans and other perceived “infidels” by the terrorists. These kinds of patterns are evident in the submission to and eventual rejection of colonial domination. The peoples of the territories conquered by colonial powers such as Britain, France, and Germany often submitted passively to domination. The conquered peoples perceived the colonial powers in the imperialists’ own image and thus saw the conquerors as superior in culture and capability. In earlier colonial periods, resisting that domination would have brought severe punishment, and the conquered peoples often accepted domination as just and legitimate. But over time, independence movements grew, and political activists in the colonies argued that their subjugation by the colonial power was unfair, unjust, and illegitimate. Once that change in perception occurred, the colonized people began to compare their own situation with that of their colonial masters. Their conclusions were often that the colonizing country was rich and they were poor and that this difference was unacceptable, particularly because the colonial power had seized the colony’s resources and used them to enrich itself. The result was a willingness by the subjugated, colonized people to risk everything, even their lives, for independence. However, the colonized were willing to accept this risk only when they believed independence was a real possibility. In other words, the colonized compared themselves to the other group (the colonial power), found the comparison to be unacceptably negative, identified an alternative, and engaged in social competition (rebellion) to achieve it. Once a group is formed, the question of what holds it together becomes important. Cohesion may be augmented by having a common goal and a common enemy; through specific roles and tasks for members; in the satisfaction of members with group performance; through a hierarchy of group membership to enhance the dissemination of information and establish a decision-making structure; and by external forces that discourage leaving the group. Group cohesion, loyalty, pressure to conform to group norms, and pressure to give primary loyalty to the group are normal. The stronger the group ties, the greater the differentiation members make between the in-group and out-groups. The stronger the in-group bond, the stronger the stereotypes of out-groups will be. The stronger the stereotypes, the more difficult they are to falsify and the more likely they are to be maintained through the use of conspiracy theories, which, in turn, produce further resistance to change. Impediments to Human Security 101

Social categorization in and of itself presents the probability of competition and conflict between cohesive groups. Because such conflict is inevitable and unavoidable, social categorization and resultant group competition are an impediment to peace, security, and kyosei. Walter G. Stephan and Cookie W. Stephan present an integrated threat model in which they argue that groups threaten each other in conflicts over resources (“realistic threats”) or values and symbols, and sometimes both.2 Two other types of intergroup threats are anxiety (caused by the anticipation of negative outcomes during group interactions) and negative stereotypes. The result of these perceived threats is prejudice toward out-groups. Recent research has added to our understanding of the complexity and likelihood of such intergroup competition by providing further insight into the interactions between high status and low status groups, which can be considered the effects of privilege.

Privilege Social categorization may be an inevitable and essential part of managing the social environment, but some scholars have argued that in addition to social categorization, groups are also organized hierarchically. Social Dominance Theory maintains that social-group hierarchies are cross-cultural and based upon gender, age, and race.3 They further argue that groups at the top of the hierarchy will struggle to maintain their positions of power and privilege. Much of this may be nonconscious, that is, people who belong to a high status group simply do not recognize the extent to which their group sets standards, makes decisions, and determines the futures of people in lower status groups. Members of high status groups are so accustomed to their privilege that they no longer understand, empathize with, or even recognize the extent to which people in lower status groups must adjust to and act in accordance with the standards set by higher status groups. A recent example is the horror expressed by many Americans when they learned about the shocking living conditions of wounded Iraq War veterans who were living at Walter Reed Hospital. Certainly these veterans at Walter Reed should not have to live in the midst of mold and cockroaches, but why hasn’t the outcry extended to other veterans, who may or may not have been physically wounded, and who may or may not be suffering from post-traumatic stress, but who have nevertheless 102 m a rt h a cot ta m

returned to ordinary civilian lives marked by living conditions as bad as (or worse than) those at Walter Reed? These conditions are simply unnoticed—they are so unremarkable and ordinary that the same individuals who denounce conditions at Walter Reed (that is, people from higher status groups) do not even comment on these conditions. Social Dominance Theory argues that social hierarchies exist crossculturally and are usually based upon gender (men are higher), age (elders are higher), and race (white is higher). 4 Sidanius and Prato also maintain that lower status groups are threatening to those higher in the hierarchy, and numerous studies from a variety of cultures lend credence to this argument.5 T. Devos, L. A. Silver, D. M. Mackie, and E. R. Smith ran a series of experiments exploring how high status in-groups responded to low status out-groups and vice versa. Their findings showed that higher status groups respond to threats from lower status groups with anger, and that higher status groups then engage in offensive actions against lower status groups. In contrast, lower status groups respond with fear to the high status out-group and retreat from it or adopt a defensive strategy. In other words, when low status groups do criticize the status quo, the response of the elite group—whether or not its values include tolerance—is not to make concessions or listen to appeals from the low status group but rather to react harshly and use its power and status to protect that power and status. Sometimes the lower status group facilitates this resistance to change. As noted above, members of the lower status group may believe that their inferior position is just, and because of their poor group image, they may have difficulty identifying with and defending their group.6 As J. T. Jost and R. M. Kramer note, when the status quo is enthusiastically supported, there are counterintuitive behaviors among the disadvantaged such as “the internalization of negative stereotypes about one’s own group . . . attitudinal ambivalence directed at fellow group members who challenge the system . . . opposition to equality among members of disadvantaged groups . . . and tendencies among group members of powerless groups to subjectively enhance the legitimacy of their powerlessness . . . and, in some cases, to show even greater support for the system than do members of powerful groups.”7 Looking at the lower status groups, Kramer and Jost report on a series of studies examining hierarchical trust dilemmas. They find that low power and high dependence groups can easily reach states of “outgroup paranoia” in which they experience great distrust and suspicion Impediments to Human Security 103

of high power groups as well as fear and anxiety when interacting with those with higher status. This, in turn, leads to hypervigilance on the part of lower status groups and to excessive attention to information that supports their suspicions and stereotypes of the high power groups. Lower power and high dependence groups have an overly personalized interpretation of the actions of the high power group, a bias that incorporates a sinister interpretation of the high power group’s actions and an exaggerated perception that the high power group is engaging in conspiracies. Moreover, Kramer and Jost find that structural factors play an important role in this pattern of intergroup perceptions. As they put it, “members of low power/high dependence groups in social hierarchies often confront a vexing . . . dilemma: are ‘they’ really out to get us or are we just being paranoid? Separating truth from error in such situations is a difficult enterprise.”8 This situation occurs in the context of a social, political, and economic system in which high status groups are admired and their position is upheld by their own efforts and by dominant ideological and social norms and in which members of low status groups may be more likely to leave their low status group than to fight for an improvement in its status and well-being. Isolation and exclusion add to the plight of low status groups, who are often kept out of the mainstream of society: isolated in ethnic, sectarian, or racial ghettos, confined to refugee camps or slums, and excluded from interaction with high status groups. This, in turn, leads to anger, aggressive behavior, self-defeat, defensiveness, and poor task performance by marginalized and excluded group members.9 The segregation and isolation of groups in conflict with one another makes it much more difficult to pursue conflict resolution through strategies such as forming an overarching identity or sustaining strategies related to the contact hypothesis.10 To summarize, on the one hand, those with privilege tend not to notice the inequalities that others experience, and when the lower status groups bring these inequalities to their attention, the higher status groups often feel threatened and act angrily to protect their status. Low status groups, on the other hand, often lack the motivation and resources to demand equality and fearfully move away from high status, privileged groups. This is a miserable world for many low status groups: they are excluded, isolated, threatened by those with power, and often have little capacity

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to recognize the minimal power they do have. It is difficult to imagine a world of peace, security, and kyosei developing from this reality.

Violence The quest for peace, security, and kyosei rightly turns our attention to the violence that results from interstate wars, interstate and intrastate mass killings, and genocide. But little attention is then paid to the “ordinary violence” that is culturally tolerated and even approved.11 This sort of violence includes bullying, rape, aggravated assaults, and murder—the type of violence that is a daily and chronic affliction for many people, particularly for low status people. Some of us have called this situation “slow genocide,” that is, a situation in which “the emotional and physical harm done to survivors of violence over time . . . leads to extreme hardship and premature death for many.”12 The emotional and physical harm resulting from witnessing or participating in violence as victim or perpetrator, and the continuing experience of living in unsafe and violent communities, perpetuate violence across communities and generations. Weingarten argues that the cycle of violence occurs not only on an interpersonal level but also on a cultural level, in which violence toward intimates is considered socially acceptable (for example, child corporal punishment).13 The same acceptance of violence is found at a sociopolitical level as well when people live in environments deprived of the most basic requirements and governmental authorities are unwilling or unable to help them satisfy basic needs. Similarly, Eller argues that violence is not simply physical violence and may not be the result of an intent to hurt. Violence and harmful results can be the product of social structures that are not intended to be coercive but that perpetuate inequalities and suffering through power inequities, discrimination based on race, gender, or ethnicity, and other social realities.14 Life is full of trauma when both obvious and hidden structural violence is commonplace, and studies of trauma-induced stress show various patterns of psychological and behavioral reactions. Trauma can produce hypervigilance, chronic anxiety, insomnia or nightmares, and a variety of tension-related physical problems.15 People are both numbed and angered by violence—and both of these reactions, when persistent, may lead to post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD).16 For victims of trauma,

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life is constricted in the sense that daily survival is the focus, and the victims’ sense of the future is restricted to surviving until tomorrow. People who have experienced prolonged imprisonment (political prisoners, kidnap victims, domestic violence victims) also experience a loss of their own past. Isolation and fear make acknowledgment of their past lives intolerably painful, so the prisoners disassociate themselves from their past.17 Chronic trauma also disempowers people, so that they become incapable of planning actions that would change their circumstances, taking advantage of opportunities that exist, or making their own opportunities in order to create an alternative future. In interpersonal violence, this form of helplessness can be a self-protective mechanism, because perpetrators of violence may be on the lookout for changes in behavior that would indicate resistance to their demands. Chronic exposure to violence makes people highly sensitive to any violence and often produces an overreaction to situations reflecting lower levels of violence or conflict. The trauma of experiencing violence can distort memory to the extent that the experiences are remembered “without reference to time and place. Thus, when they are retrieved, it is as if they are happening in the present. They are experienced as a contemporary terror.”18 In addition to producing chronic trauma, the contexts of violent living situations reproduce themselves. That is, the more accustomed people are to resolving conflict with violence, the less likely they are to learn nonviolent responses to conflict, and the more legitimate the use of violence becomes. Moreover, in this context, the use of violence increases in legitimacy when the victim is considered weak, incompetent, the cause of social or personal ills, less than human, and disposable.19 Situations of chronic violence are also situations in which the gradual escalation of violence is less likely to be noticed, particularly by perpetrators and bystanders.20 This is particularly the case when violence periodically and regularly increases: if there are regular pogroms against a particular group, then the pogroms become part of normalcy. Bullying provides an interesting illustration of the impact of chronic violence. Bullying in schools and in the workplace is now recognized as a serious problem, at least by social scientists. Bullying is defined as exposure, “repeatedly and over time, to negative actions on the part of one or more other persons.”21 In his Norway study of school bullying, Dan Olweus found that 9 percent of the students were bullied, and B. Krahé cites additional studies that report a victimization rate of up to 90 percent. Studies of workplace bullying find long-term rates of up to 50 106 m a rt h a cot ta m

percent for individuals victimized by workplace bullying.22 These studies also report similar kinds of consequences for the victims: depression, insomnia, physical ailments, and even post-traumatic stress. Being victimized produces humiliation, whether it is at the interpersonal, intergroup, or international level. Humiliation results in a desire for revenge and a replication of violent cycles.23 Germany was humiliated by the Treaty of Versailles, the Hutu were humiliated by Tutsi rule under colonialism, rape victims are humiliated by rapists, and bullied children are humiliated by their bullies. Another violence-perpetuating factor is the attraction that violence holds for many people, particularly in cultures that prize certain forms of violent behavior. Heroism in war is highly valued in many cultures, including that of the United States.24 Committing acts of violence causes adrenaline to flow and leads to a paradox through which perpetrators experience great excitement during the commission of the act but also, over the long term, experience post-traumatic stress because of the horror of their unacceptable actions.25 The attraction of violence is described in journalistic accounts of combat, soldiers’ memoirs, and studies of child soldiers and gang violence.26 This attraction is partly the result of physiological changes caused by intense adrenaline flow and partly the result of the camaraderie of shared experience among those who perpetrate the violence and survive.

An Illustration: Child Soldiers Children who are forced to engage in warfare provide one of the saddest illustrations of the negative impact of social categorization, privilege, and violence—the three impediments to peace, security, and kyosei discussed in this chapter. Child soldiers are by definition under the age of eighteen. They are currently used in three-fourths of the conflicts being waged in the world today. Although child soldiers appear across the globe, conflicts in Africa have provided the starkest examples of the use, abuse, and neglect of these children. In Angola, 36 percent of children either fought with the armed forces or accompanied those forces into combat. In Liberia twenty thousand children served as soldiers, composing up to 70 percent of some of the combatant groupings. Children have fought with the Lord’s Army Resistance in Uganda, with militias in Somalia, and as genocidaires in Rwanda. These children are often abducted by Impediments to Human Security 107

armed forces—sometimes by government armies and sometimes by rebel groups or militias. They are forced to fight, threatened with death if they defect, fueled with addictive drugs provided by adults, and turned into the most vicious of killing machines. Girls not only are included in the armed forces but also are often turned into sex slaves by adult soldiers. Children are forced to kill family members or fellow villagers, thereby ensuring that they can never return home. In his memoir, Ismael Beah, a child soldier in Sierra Leone, reports that boys, particularly groups of boys, were universally feared by others because it was assumed that they were killers. The violence committed by child soldiers is horrific, and in the long run, these children suffer from terrible post-traumatic stress.27 Child soldiers are an example of a stigmatized and ignored social group. They are often looked upon as monsters, and little attention is paid to their rehabilitation through educational and vocational opportunities, family life, and basic access to food and shelter, which their captors have denied them.

Remedies There are a number of remedies to the impediments to peace, security, and kyosei discussed in this chapter, but there is no panacea. Social categories can be changed by forming superordinate identities among groups and by breaking stereotypes through contact under the appropriate conditions. More specifically, contact between members of groups who hold strong stereotypes about one another will not, in and of itself, end the stereotyping. If members meet one another and interact well, they may simply see those individual members as being exceptions to the stereotype rather than evidence that the stereotype is incorrect. Instead, to break down stereotypes, the groups must be of more or less equal status (or the minority group must move to higher status), and contacts between groups must include tasks that require cooperation, continuous interaction, and institutional support for cooperation.28 The importance of institutions and other social structures that encourage equal treatment of others and explicitly discourage the continuation of social stereotypes should not be understated. People change attitudes through conscious thought processes, but they also change attitudes through behavior.29 In other words, the more they act in a nonprejudicial manner, the less prejudiced they become. Social identity may 108 m a rt h a cot ta m

always lead to differentiation among groups, but it need not always lead to discrimination and conflict between groups: for example, changes in U.S. racial attitudes show that the harm done by stereotypes can be undone over time. In turn, and over time, superordinate identities can be created as people succeed at tasks that require members of different groups to cooperate and work together. This occurs from the micro level of corporate mergers to the national and possibly to the international level. Most countries of the Western Hemisphere are multiethnic nationstates in which national identities have come to form superordinate identities for many different ethnic groups. The European Union serves a similar purpose for some Europeans, and the number of people who see themselves as Europeans rather than simply German, French, or Italian may grow over time. Crucial to the process of developing superordinate identities is the importance of eliminating any threat to these identities. If people are ordered not to identify with an important identity group and told to identify instead with a superordinate group, there will undoubtedly be a strong negative response—a reaction opposite to that desired by those issuing the diktat. Violence, a second impediment to peace, security, and kyosei, can be deterred, unlearned, and addressed through institutions and social norms. More fundamentally, F. E. Lutze argues that when violence is narrowly defined as “physical conflict and peace as physical safety in the public domain, a false civility and a passive peace emerge to veil the potential for war to reemerge. False civility refers to the perception that the minimization of violence in the public space of a community represents a true peace or a willingness to live politely together and ignores the lack of civility in the private spaces of the community such as the home and family.”30 Lutze attributes this pattern to the dominance and nonconscious acceptance of masculinity, or “gendered attributes that are considered to guide appropriate male behavior such as being aggressive, strong, independent, unemotional, competitive, and heterosexual,” in most societies.31 As long as these values dominate the public sphere, peace will still be defined as an absence of violence rather than a situation that also incorporates security and kyosei. Yet other values do exist (such as acceptance, tolerance, emotion), and if they are accepted as integral to the public sphere, then the common understanding of peace could be expanded to include security and kyosei. In the process, the “slow genocide” of chronic violence should fade. Impediments to Human Security 109

Of the three impediments discussed in this chapter, privilege is perhaps the most resistant to change. Addressing the structural and social conditions that produce conditions of chronic violence and suffering among those lower in the social hierarchy requires much more than the recategorization of social groups, the elimination of stereotypes, or public policy measures to reduce violence. Recognition of the needs of weaker groups and empowerment of these groups are also required. Those with privilege must recognize their elite status (which is often difficult) and be willing to share power with those who lack it. Revolutions have occurred because of a failure to fully address the structural and social conditions that produce chronic violence, and it behooves any study that promotes peace, security, and kyosei to develop approaches to this problem. For example, there are lessons to be learned from the anti-globalization movement, which promotes the efforts of local groups to take control of their own situation through the establishment of cooperatives, environmental improvement efforts, and similar organizations. Once such efforts are successful, these local groups can present the powerful and privileged with a fait accompli—that is, the weak will have quietly acquired enough power to peacefully challenge the status quo.

Notes 1

2 3 4 5

6 7 8

Tajfel, “Experiments in Intergroup Discrimination” and “Social Categorization”; Tajfel and Turner, “An Integrative Theory of Intergroup Conflict” and “Social Identity Theory”; Rabbie and Wilkins, “Intergroup Competition”; Allen and Wilder, “Group Categorization”; Brewer, “Ingroup Bias.” Stephan and Stephan, “An Integrated Theory of Prejudice”; Stephan and Renfro, “The Role of Threat.” Sidanius and Pratto, “The Inevitability of Oppression.” Ibid. Pettigrew and Merteens, “Subtle and Blatant Prejudice”; Stephan et al., “Prejudice toward Immigrants”; Stephan and Stephan, “An Integrated Theory of Prejudice.” Devos et al., “Experiencing Intergroup Emotions”; Jost and Kramer, “The System Justification Motive in Intergroup Relations.” Jost and Kramer, “The System Justification Motive,” 229. Ibid., 183–84.

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9 10

11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28

29 30 31

Abrams, Hogg, and Marques, “A Social Psychological Framework”; Twenge and Baumeister, “Social Exclusion.” The contact hypothesis (see Allport, The Nature of Prejudice) states that contact between groups and group members would break down stereotypes. Later research has found that the contact hypothesis works when the status of minority groups is equal or higher than that of the majority group, the groups are given a common task and must work together to achieve desired goals, and cooperation is encouraged institutionally. Cottam, Dietz-Uhler, Mastors, and Preston, Introduction to Political Psychology. Eller, Violence and Culture. Cottam, Huseby, and Lutze, “Slow Genocide,” 2. Weingarten, Common Shock. Eller, Violence and Culture. Herman, Trauma and Recovery; Gilligan, Violence. Weingarten, Common Shock. Herman, Trauma and Recovery. Weingarten, Common Shock, 49. Staub, The Roots of Evil; Grossman, On Killing; Cottam and Cottam, Nationalism and Politics. Staub, The Roots of Evil; Cohen, States of Denial. Olweus, “Bullying at School,” 98. Krahé, The Social Psychology of Aggression. Gilligan, Violence; Weingarten, Common Shock; Lindner, Making Enemies. Hedges, War Is a Force. Grossman, On Killing. Loyd, My War Gone By; Hynes, The Soldiers’ Tale; Shakur, Monster. Beah, A Long Way Gone. Allport, The Nature of Prejudice; Brewer and Brown, “Intergroup Relations”; Brewer and Miller, “Beyond the Contact Hypothesis”; Mackie and Hamilton, Affect, Cognition, and Stereotyping. Bem, Beliefs, Attitudes, and Human Affairs. Lutze, “False Civility and Passive Peace,” 4. Ibid., 3.

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7 The Lessons of Peacebuilding for Kyosei ot w in m a r enin

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ecurity in all its forms is a fundamental aspect of peace and kyosei. Without security, neither peace nor kyosei can be created or maintained. Therefore, establishing security is one important pathway to making peace and kyosei living realities, and we can find practical guidelines for this pathway in the lessons we learn from past international and domestic efforts to promote security. We can look at security sector reforms and policing, as well as peacekeeping policies and programs, for suggestions on what works (and what should be avoided) and for ways to convert a grand theory of peace, security, and kyosei into practicable and achievable goals. Inherently, a grand theory of kyosei has horizontal and vertical dimensions. Horizontally, a grand theory needs to draw on concepts and values from across numerous disciplines; vertically, the theory has to be linked to processes that translate goals and objectives into policies and programs that affect people’s lives. It is necessary and appropriate to discuss peacebuilding and kyosei (and such related concepts as human security, positive peace, or conflict resolution) at philosophical and intellectual levels and from a variety of theoretical and disciplinary perspectives,1 but it is equally important to assess how the goals and visions of kyosei might be transformed into programs that have a practical impact on the societies and peoples.

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This chapter focuses on the practices and lessons learned—within a society and globally—from peacebuilding and reforms of the security sector (commonly understood to include the military, police, intelligence, border control agencies, informal social control mechanisms, and supporting formal and informal processes and agencies). Achieving kyosei requires preliminary steps, including the establishment of formal (government-based) and informal (civil society–based) security systems that can and need to create the foundations for progress toward kyosei (understood here as a practical system, or set of norms and habits, for living well together). Without a minimal threshold level of security, kyosei cannot become a practical reality. Negative peace (that is, the control of violence, conflicts, and tensions) is a precondition for positive peace (the creation of social capital that encourages and enables people and countries to seek peaceful solutions to the inevitable disagreements and conflicts that will arise).2 In the end, kyosei should be not just an idea and a hope but rather a set of rules and norms for living together. Therefore, the basic policy question is this: How can we implement kyosei in the face of resistance and organizational obstacles? How do we encourage individuals, civil society, and the state to accept the idea that kyosei can serve as a norm and a rule for living? Lessons derived from past peacebuilding efforts provide some hints on what should be avoided and what could be done. The United Nations, regional organizations such as the European Union and the Organization for Security and Cooperation in Europe (OSCE), and bilateral donors have all engaged in numerous peacekeeping and peacebuilding interventions in post-conflict societies, failed states, and states undergoing fundamental transitions from authoritarian and violence-prone pasts. The basic goal of these efforts has been to break the cycles of violence and instability and help the countries embark on a path that points toward a more peaceful future. Numerous assessments of the successes and failures of these past interventions and reform efforts are available to the researcher. Reviewing these evaluations and the lessons they suggest can help us better understand the dynamics of peace and kyosei and discern how the two might be approached and attained. This chapter looks for lessons in the emerging literature on peacebuilding, in theoretical discussions of social order and control and of changing forms of the governance of security, and in handbooks or guidelines on promoting and implementing peacebuilding programs.3 There are also

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lessons to be found in assessments of specific domestic and international peacebuilding efforts, but for practical reasons the focus here is mainly on handbooks: the advice given in these handbooks is moving toward a consensus of how best to build the peace. In other words, writing a how-to handbook would be difficult, if not impossible, if there were little consensus on what works and does not work, what issues to consider, and how to deal with problems that arise. Handbooks on peacebuilding (more so than specific case studies) are the repositories of the collective wisdom that has recently emerged on the subject of peacebuilding. In this discussion, we will briefly analyze a few project evaluations and how-to books and look at some of the lessons learned. Such lessons (though derived from societal environments that are almost the polar opposites of stable and functioning societies) are also applicable to strategic and tactical questions about the obstacles faced by reform and peacebuilding programs, the appropriate policies and practices for overcoming these obstacles, and the criteria for assessing progress toward more peaceful, stable, and harmonious societies.

Peacebuilding, Security Sector Reforms, and International Assistance There is now a fairly substantial body of literature about peacebuilding and security sector reforms, which can be divided into three subgroups: discussions of security sector reform, including police reforms; peacebuilding case studies; and more theoretical analyses of the governance of security. The lessons derived from these three types of studies have a practical application and appear in handbooks on how to carry out security reforms and peacebuilding. Security sector reform (SSR) has become a central element in international development and in human security policies, 4 for physical security is seen as a necessary foundation for both. SSR focuses on the separate agencies within the security sector or system (the police, intelligence organizations, military and border control, and supporting agencies), on their interrelations, and on their connections to civil society and informal security providers. The underlying notion is that security is a seamless web with numerous actors and that establishing security cannot be accomplished by reforming or analyzing each agency in isolation. SSR

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is an integrated and holistic approach to security, typically focusing on physical security and social order but ultimately leading to a sense that the routines of life are predictable and protected.5 SSR and peacebuilding case studies place much emphasis on police reform, since police organizations are the state agency most closely in touch with the public and are most directly relevant to basic physical security on a day-to-day basis. Police reform through international assistance, for example, through international peacekeeping interventions or by assisting domestic reform efforts that follow political changes, has not been easy, and there are few success stories. Policing and the security sector in general tend to have strong historical and cultural roots in their societies and cannot be easily changed by domestic reformers or through international advice and assistance. The basic problem is that, in most societies, policing is tightly coupled to the political system and the state and rarely achieves the degree of organizational autonomy necessary to operate without direct intervention and interference by the state or civil society. Democratic policing—the normal goal of security reform—has not been the operational standard for most policing systems and security sectors in countries where reforms are needed and desired. In the literature, specific conceptions and definitions of democratic policing vary, but democratic policing is generally thought to include certain basic principles: external oversight, responsiveness to legitimate public demands and needs, transparency in strategies and operational rules, internal and external accountability, an organizational culture committed to public service, and policing practices attuned to legal and professional norms and the protection of human rights. In addition, the conception of democratic policing usually includes a degree of autonomy (for example, the authority to conduct operations without direct interference from individuals, groups, or state actors) that allows police to adhere to the professional codes of conduct that have become recognized international best practice.6 All authors who write about democratic policing agree that it remains a foundational element in building a stable and sustainable peace.7 Not only does democratic policing provide for threshold levels of security and expand the domain of security to include all groups or populations within a society, but it also serves an even more important symbolic and political function. As Ian Loader remarks, policing has the capacity

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to “generate and communicate powerful social meanings” and thereby “operates as a mediator of collective identity, a social institution through which recognition and misrecognition are relayed.” In this view, policing helps determine who belongs and who does not belong to a community, whose claims to service, rights, and security are to be judged legitimate and whose are not so judged. The democratic state continues to play a fundamental role in ensuring the democratic aspects of policing, for other social institutions cannot do this job.8 Lastly, concepts of good policing, the governance of security, and peacebuilding have been redefined and reargued to take into account the political elements and implications of building security and peace.9 Building the peace cannot be divorced from its societal moorings but must take political and economic contexts into account. In cases in which the state has seemingly lost its monopoly on legitimate force, and other private, corporate, and communitarian security providers have emerged, ideas of policing or security must become theoretically and pragmatically more complex—as the practicalities of providing security and holding providers accountable become more complex. Building the peace requires crossing vertical divisions in society, from civil society to the state, from displaced settler slums to gated retreats, from the marginal and the oppressed to the politically connected and powerful. Peace cannot be built if only a favored few have the capacity to protect themselves or to be protected by state or private actions. Nongovernmental organizations have published a number of handbooks on security and crime control, police reform, and SSR, which seek to capture the basic lessons learned so far from peacebuilding efforts.10 The next part of this chapter discusses some of these lessons as they apply to kyosei.

Lessons for Building Kyosei In general, these how-to handbooks offer useful policy advice on implementing broader goals and wishes in successful strategic and tactical programs. However, we must keep in mind that the goals of peace, security, and kyosei are not self-executing, and that reaching these goals requires a clear and precise set of statements of procedure (what tasks or activities will be done by whom, what processes or mechanisms will be used, and at what time and in what sequence the actions will take place). 116

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Start with the Realities of Insecurity on the Ground The starting point in this process has to be an analysis of the precise patterns of objective and subjective insecurities, a look at their historical trajectories and current dynamics, and a survey of the formal and informal resources available to confront them. These realities cannot be wished away: local patterns of problems, resources, practices, and routines are anchored in societal dynamics that are resilient and will confound any reform effort not informed by local contexts. A common failing of peacebuilding efforts is that they start with goals and work back toward local changes, if they seek local change at all. Peacebuilding goals tend to be set by outsiders and to reflect universal values of human security, rights, and dignity; democratic forms of governance; integrity and accountability; and economic activity oriented toward private, somewhat regulated, free-market interactions. Such goals envision processes of change that have little local resonance or support and that are frequently planned and implemented without the participation of local stakeholders who ultimately will have to sustain reforms—that is, these goals are based on expectations of human behavior that are incongruent with the cultural histories and practices of local communities. Starting with goals and good intentions will not lead to sustainable reforms because the specific trajectories and dimensions of insecurity are not the same in all societies. Hence, reforms must start with a fairly precise understanding of the contours and dynamics of insecurity that afflicts people and communities, and reformers must seek to influence the factors producing the objective and subjective insecure conditions.11 It is true that goals are the ultimately desired outcomes, as they provide the direction for reforms, but the starting points and first steps must begin with realities on the ground. Kyosei, as a general theory of living well together, inherently aspires to global relevance. Yet the world is beset by massive conflicts, extensive violence, multiple and opposing systems of identity and values, and increasing economic divisions between the rich and the poor (both among individuals and among states). The status of security and justice for people, communities, and states varies tremendously as well. These being the given realities, kyosei cannot be a reflection of a particular culture or values system—be it Eastern or Western, traditional or modern, secular or religious—for that would privilege one conception of kyosei over others. The Lessons of Peacebuilding for Kyosei 117

Instead, the search for kyosei must be adaptive and fluid, responsive to local traditions and practices that have sprung up and which embody the principles (but not necessarily the routines) of kyosei found elsewhere. Stated differently, kyosei cannot be defined in specific terms or by specific practices and routines of living well together. Rather, kyosei should be defined by universal principles that appear in many different forms, each of which is developed and supported by communities and networks with different given and interpreted cultural and historical conditions. Peace, security, and kyosei are both general and specific, reflecting the adaptation of basic principles of peaceful social interactions within historically given cultural milieus. This is a difficult balance, itself culturally influenced, but also unavoidable. Practices accepted and legitimate in one setting cannot automatically be exported to other settings. But the principles on which these practices are based and which they embody can be stated, transmitted, and implemented—even if in different ways that are culturally congruent in their contexts. Of course, there are limits to interpretation. Principles cannot be implemented in a way that makes them irrelevant or inoperative, but there are wide outlines of universal acceptability (that is, those practices that are congruent with basic principles and norms), and within those boundaries, local initiatives and cultural values can be taken into account. Notions of kyosei have to be stated as principles for living together well and peacefully, not as specific forms, institutions, or routines of behavior. If stated as specific forms, they will not be implemented or, more important, sustained. Of course, cultural norms and practices are not immutable. An essential aspect of peacebuilding is understanding the interactions among contexts and plans for reforms. From that understanding can come methods for changing the cultural sensitivities and the meanings people assign to specific practices while the reforms are being implemented. These methods may include education, training of reformers and implementers (as is done with peacekeepers and peacebuilders before they are sent on a mission), or general public relations and information campaigns (if done honestly). The case of social order supports the point that contexts matter and must be the starting point for reforms. Different societies have different thresholds for what is considered disorderly, and societies have different conceptions of tolerable disorder, insecurity, and distance from kyosei. Street traffic, a minimal and simple subset of order, provides a simple illustration of this point. In some countries, such as India or Mexico, 118

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people, animals, cars, and other forms of transport navigate roads in a seeming chaos that is tolerable and seems routine to the public and the police of those societies, but individuals from other countries, who are familiar only with their own street scenes, will see it as completely disorderly, unbound by rules, and impossible to navigate safely. What is chaos to some is tolerable chaos to others. But the principles of traffic control are the same: it must ensure safety, prevent accidents, enforce reasonable standards for the operation of equipment, and follow established rules of conduct. That the rules of conduct are informally negotiated in some societies and stated in law and enforced by police in others is merely the practical form of the principle, not a different principle. Crime has similar dynamics in the sense of drawing limits and creating spaces for acceptable differences in societal forms. Conduct that is a crime in some societies is not in others (homosexuality, for instance), and conduct condoned and encouraged in some societies (such as the consumption of alcohol) is condemned as a serious violation of norms in others. Still, basic principles can be stated: for example, killing someone intentionally without a legitimate and legal reason is a violation of a basic human right. Even if killing is condoned by some groups in a society—such as in Greek villages or among Palestinian families when a female member of the family violates sexual taboos—such actions will be condemned by other domestic groups and certainly by the international community. Today, there are limits to the degree to which cultural discretion is acceptable, and the limits to cultural notions of crime are becoming stronger.

No Reforms Will Achieve Complete Success As a basis for establishing kyosei, security building aims to achieve security not as a completely realized social fact but as a level of insecurity (for there will always be some) that is tolerable and legitimated. At the same time, security building also implies that it may be necessary to accept a degree of insecurity. Success has to be measured differently when approached from the standpoint of insecurity rather than security. As with the thresholds of acceptable order and disorder, any change or movement toward universal goals will have to come to grips with what constitutes enough success or enough change. The goal cannot or should not be to achieve near complete order, security, or kyosei, for that is The Lessons of Peacebuilding for Kyosei 119

impossible, but rather to come close enough to make conditions personally, socially, and politically tolerable. How much insecurity can people live with in order to proclaim success, and who will make that determination—those who live with their insecurity or those who promote universal goals? Hence, the goal of reform is not to reach a defined and stated goal, whether in the provision of services or in organizational performance, but to set up a self-correcting, politically feasible process of continually rethinking and re-creating a set of habits that will sustain movement toward stated goals. Goals defined in static terms will degrade unless they are systematically and continuously rebuilt. Living well together does not necessarily mean a state of calm and peace but does entail an environment in which the inevitable conflicts and tensions among individuals, groups, and cultures are dealt with in a calm and peaceful manner. Success in reaching kyosei cannot be measured by harmony or a utopian stasis but by the acceptance of tension as an inevitable and useful aspect of health and well-being in social life and the management of tensions by peaceful means. Tension, the consequence of divergent viewpoints and value priorities, creates and moves process. Tension leads to participation, empowerment, and action—and action, one hopes, will promote sustainable positive peace. Many peacebuilding efforts have failed because planners assumed that a good plan, honest and motivated implementers, and sufficient resources would do the trick. Typically, however, in domestically or internationally generated reform efforts, time frames have tended to be short; resources are limited and uncoordinated; local resources are undervalued, neglected, or shunned; and political, cultural, and economic obstacles are underestimated. But as Max Weber said of politics—that it is the slow boring of hard wood—reforms require consistent, iterative, tough, and honest work to succeed and be sustained. Few reformers have the stamina or inclination. Peacebuilding requires skillful and cooperative political work to achieve changes in goals, policies, conceptions of success, and the routines of societal life, for change will alter the distribution of powers and benefits, rights and privileges, and perceived winners and losers. Resistance has to be overcome (through education, the creation and support of political will, or refashioned calculations of gains and losses), and an

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acceptable balance between top-down and bottom-up participation in planning and decision making must be found. That is not easy.

Building Organizational Frameworks Institutional solutions will not solve the political problem of order and security—that is, the challenge of creating political will and capacity and converting that capacity into effective action. In peacebuilding, fixing the political problem has meant setting up institutional structures and legal mechanisms that mimic those in established democracies. Such legal and institutional changes are necessary but are not sufficient conditions for success. Without changes in the law and the organization of security sector agencies and related informal justice and security processes, reforms cannot succeed. At the same time, unless laws and institutions are viable—that is, unless a culture that values the official norms and goals of institutions becomes part of the occupational world and the culture of the people working in it, at both the managerial and the street level where the institutions touch people’s lives directly—then these institutions will remain empty shells. Such institutions will sound good in rhetoric and in formal mission and goal statements, but they will not work on the ground. Creating institutional arrangements is the easy part; infusing them with an occupational culture is a time-consuming and difficult task, for that requires both the recruitment, training, and continuous retraining of people doing justice and security work and a managerial culture that routinely evaluates, rewards, and reinforces proper work performance. This point holds true for any organizational effort toward building the peace. The goal of peacebuilding should be a sustainable process of change, not a defined and static condition of peace, security, or kyosei. A selfcorrecting and self-reinforcing process for promoting change and peacebuilding requires local stakeholders to be sustained and legitimated; that is, it requires a process of bottom-up local politics, centered on communities that empower people and based on rules and norms for living together that these people accept as legitimate. Legitimacy, in turn, is gained because people perceive and judge their needs and wants as being met and, hence, imbue rules for conduct with a normative and obligatory force that requires voluntary compliance.

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Building Islands of Kyosei Mary Kaldor argues that the process of building the peace needs to focus on creating a “cosmopolitan culture” that is based on the “politics of inclusion” rather than exclusion and stresses the norms of tolerance, multiculturalism, civility, democracy, and local empowerment. Even in situations of great conflict, there are “islands of civility,” social and political spaces in which local communities and groups negotiate peaceful resolutions to conflicts that do not depend on outsider knowledge and advice.12 Such islands must be nurtured and linked into ever larger networks involved in the regulation and provision of security, justice, and civility.13 So it is with kyosei. Islands that embody the ideas and principles of kyosei on the global landscape need to be linked into ever larger networks of communities that practice kyosei in some form. The goal is to grow the islands and the networks until the global landscape is covered.

Shaping the Past through the Future The past is prologue, as the saying goes. But the past is not fixed, although it can be and has been interpreted and invented. People and collectivities remember not a past that really happened and can be discerned and described objectively but one that suggests meanings and directions for current times and the future. This interpreted past has a powerful hold on popular and elite imagination, though one could argue that elites are more selective than the general public in remembering their past. Slights, injuries, conflicts, losses, and gains that have no direct impact on how people live now, whether peacefully or in conflict, assume an importance that these old grievances do not possess intrinsically. In that sense, for purposes of moving toward kyosei, history is misused for nationalistic, communitarian, and personal interests. But it does not have to be that way. If indeed the past is remembered differently and is most commonly seen through the lens of current needs and conflicts, it could also be remembered from the standpoint of a desired future—a future kyosei—in order to stress (or invent) those aspects of the past that are congruent with the practicalities of living together peacefully and can be depicted

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as the laying the foundation for peaceful living. History, however, is not completely malleable and hence cannot be invented wholesale, especially in the face of critiques; rather, history may be interpreted selectively for the purpose of promoting kyosei. History’s meanings are not inherent in the facts that are emphasized but are attributed in order to selectively interpret the past with the aim of promoting future peace rather than conflicts.14 Providing that attribution is the job of peacebuilders.

Notes 1

2

3

4

Though the focus is on vertical connections, lessons from peacebuilding have horizontal implications in pointing to areas of research, literature, and theoretical frameworks that can be useful in thinking about how to conceptualize kyosei. The term social capital refers to the personal and community resources on which people can draw to manage their relations with others in peaceful ways, so that they will be able to work together cooperatively or build a greater capacity for dealing with conflicts, disorder, and changes. Social capital is measured by such indicators as participation in groups and social networks, level of trust and solidarity with others, collective actions and participatory cooperation, access to information and communication capacity, social cohesion and inclusion, and empowerment and political action. Grootaert et al., Measuring Social Capital, 5. Levels of social capital have been shown to be related to a community’s ability to deal with crime, poverty, employment, health, or the promotion of reforms through civic action. Such handbooks have been published by the United Nations and associated agencies; regional institutions such as the European Union and the Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development; think tanks, such as the Geneva Centre for the Democratic Control of Armed Forces in Switzerland, the United States Institute of Peace in Washington, D.C., and the Vera Institute in New York; and nongovernmental organizations such as Amnesty International and the Open Society’s Justice Initiative. The term human security redefines and broadens the meaning of what people need and want in order to be and feel secure. Human “security is increasingly viewed as an all-encompassing condition in which people and communities live in freedom, peace and safety, participate fully in the governance of their countries, enjoy the protection of fundamental rights, have access to resources and the basic necessities of life, and inhabit an environ-

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ment which is not detrimental to their health and wellbeing” Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development, Development Assistance Commission, Security System Reform and Governance, 16. Security focuses on all the subjective and objective conditions that enable individuals and communities to have access to and enjoy the basic rights and resources that lead to a dignified life. Human security, and that is the more controversial aspect, argues that people have a right to material resources such as employment, education, health care, and housing and that states and governments have an obligation to provide those rightful resources that are justifiable. Using human security as a benchmark imposes greater demands on governments than expecting adherence to domestic and international standards of legal and human rights. 5 Bryden and Fluri, Security Sector Reform; Bryden and Hänggi, Reform and Reconstruction; Huang, Securing the Rule of Law; Hurwitz and Peake, Strengthening the Security-Development Nexus; Kaspersen, Eide, and Hansen, International Policing ; Peake, “Evaluating SSR”; Tschirgi, Post-Conflict Peacebuilding Revisited; United Nations Office of Geneva and Geneva Centre for the Democratic Control of Armed Forces, Security Sector Reform; Verstegen, van de Goor, and de Zeeuw, The Stability Assessment Framework. 6 For example, see the United Nations’ Code of Conduct for Law Enforcement Officials (available at www.unhchr.ch/html/menu3/b/h_comp42. htm) and the United Nations’ Basic Principles on the Use of Force and Firearms by Law Enforcement Officials (available at www.unhchr.ch/html/ menu3/b/h_comp43.htm). 7 Bajraktari et al., The PRIME System; Bayley, Changing the Guard; Call, “Conclusion”; Caparini and Marenin, Transforming the Police; Clegg, Hunt, and Whetton, Policy Guidelines; Goldsmith and Sheptycki, Crafting Global Policing; Griffiths, Dandurand, and Chin, “Development Assistance and Police Reform”; Groenewald and Peake, Police Reform through Community-Based Policing; Independent Commission on Policing for Northern Ireland, A New Beginning; Marenin, Restoring Policing Systems in Conflict-Torn Nations; Mobekk, Law-Enforcement; Neild, Sustaining Reform; O’Rawe and Moore, Human Rights on Duty; Peake, Hills, and Scheye, Managing Insecurity; Washington Office on Latin America, Themes and Debates; Ziegler and Neild, From Peace to Governance. 8 Loader, “Policing, Recognition and Belonging,” 211; Loader and Walker, “Necessary Virtues.” 9 Cawthra and Luckham, Governing Insecurity; Hinton, The State in the Streets; Karstedt and LaFree, Democracy, Crime and Justice; Wood and Shearing, Imagining Security. 10 Ball and Fayemi, Security Sector Governance in Africa; Bruce and Neild, The Police We Want; Hansen et al., Handbook; Mobekk, BINUB; Osse, Understanding Policing; Perito, A Guide to Participants in Peace; Rausch, Combating Serious Crime in Postconflict Societies; Vera Institute of Jus124

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11 12 13

14

tice, Measuring Progress toward Safety and Justice. Regional and international organizations and government think tanks have also produced handbooks, for example, Council of Europe, Policing in a Democratic Society; Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development, Development Assistance Commission, OECD DAC Handbook; Organization for Security and Co-operation in Europe, Guidebook on Democratic Policing; Ball, Bouta, and van de Goor, Enhancing Democratic Governance. It should be noted that many of these guidebooks and evaluations of peacebuilding were written by the same group of people, who tend to cite and refer to the same international conventions and academic sources. Peake and Scheye, “To Arrest Insecurity.” Kaldor, New and Old Wars, 114, 120. Slaughter, A New World Order. Slaughter thinks that such networks are already being created, at subnational levels and within functional arenas, by bureaucrats and experts in various fields who communicate with one another within policy arenas, often bypassing the national state. These policy groupings or elites could be conceived as the beginnings of a global civil society. A policing, security sector reform, and peacebuilding international policy elite is already responsible for much of the thinking, planning, assessing, and lessons learned from such efforts. Also see Marenin, “Implementing Police Reforms”; Sugden, “Security Sector Reform.” The methods vary. An interesting example is the educational program developed by a Palestinian Israeli citizen who presents students with two contrasting narratives (in this case, the Israeli and Palestinian versions) of a historical event and then asks students to write their own histories after reading both versions. One goal is for students to at least acknowledge that other versions of the same event exist and matter to people.

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8 Media Discourses of Peace An Imperfect but Important Tool of Peace, Security, and Kyosei

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s the preceding chapters suggest, the progression from theories of peace to a more just and peaceful world is fraught with complexity and difficulty. Scholars disagree on the necessary role of the state in “building a more peaceable society and a safer world characterized by convivial life spaces . . . that include social justice, cooperation, and equity” but recognize that the state and its dependent institutions are deeply implicated in shaping the ideas and actions of “the people,” whose engagement is vital to any rich and long-lasting peace. The differing degrees to which states engage directly in the indoctrination of the people may have important effects upon the people’s orientation toward peace or bellicosity. Nonetheless, and acknowledging the widely disparate structures and autonomy of elite social institutions around the globe, it is clear that institutions such as schools and the media serve a significant intermediary role between the state and the people. These institutions thus are not only participants in but essential to the creation of pro-peace attitudes and practices among the people.1 This chapter explores one of the two elite social institutions most deeply involved in the acculturation of citizens—the media. (Chapter 9 examines schools, the other acculturating institution discussed in this volume.) The inclusion of these topics reflects a profound understanding that any realistic theory of peace must comprehend these powerful institutions and address their influence on the prejudices and predi126

lections of the people. In this chapter, empirical case studies of Western media are offered as terra firma upon which to clear a pathway toward peacebuilding. The necessarily local and contingent knowledge built here suggests that whether peace is crafted from the top down or the bottom up, the media must play a role. Indeed, it is arguable that Western media function as the critical locus of the ongoing, tensionfilled interplay among the major components of peace, security, and kyosei—that is, the goal of global peace, a nationally situated concept of security, and an individual disinclination to seek tolerant kyosei that has been repeatedly instilled through a recurrent U.S. message of competitive capitalism, self-sufficiency, and independence. The prominence of the media in the acculturation of pro-peace citizens derives from the media’s powerful role in the ongoing process of the social construction of reality. That is to say, the media are significant to peace, security, and kyosei because media texts—be they Hollywood films, personal blogs, political cartoons, or mainstream news stories—offer culturally situated depictions of events, peoples, and strategies, which seem both natural and obvious to the audience.2 Given our increasingly mediated experience with and of the world, the Western media play a prominent role in how we view ourselves and the rest of the world, how we define problems, identify causes, and conceive solutions.3 Media texts help construct a taken-for-granted understanding of reality that is socially resonant. The images and information transmitted through the media are neither objectively “true” nor neutral; they are deeply informed by and interconnected with the interests and priorities of media owners and practitioners, who are themselves embedded in their societies’ power hierarchy. The power of the media to shape the commonsense understanding of the world is particularly significant when texts transmit knowledge of events, places, or peoples of which media consumers have little or no direct experience. Thus, international affairs and global security offer a particularly rich environment for media influence in ways that generally align with national policies and nationalist prerogatives. Much theorizing about the freedoms of speech and press assumes that an open marketplace for the unfettered exchange of information is both ideal and essential for fruitful exploration of alternative policy choices and for the functioning of a true democracy (conceived of as a public sphere—a literal or figurative space—in which global citizens with political agency and freedom of voice and association share insights and form Media Discourses of Peace 127

ideas). 4 In such theories, argument (which is viewed as the exchange of reasons intended to achieve understanding and to reach consensus, but ever open to changed conclusions in response to new reasons) is conceptualized as the core activity within the public sphere and the essence of the democratic process.5 The Habermasian public sphere encompasses both the locale in which citizens organize and debate and the process of generating a measurable public response (opinion) to positions and priorities of the governmental elite. 6 Here, argument—or public reason—constitutes a communicative act; it is a force, with “power to undo and remake social consensus” and to hold social elites accountable. The force of public reason arises not only from solidarity among the disenfranchised, but also from the need of elites to obtain public legitimization of their power. For “whatever the prevailing norms, those in power need their rule to be seen as legitimate.”7 Jurgen Habermas suggested that the public sphere can function as this ideal mechanism for public deliberation, nonviolent resolution of conflict, and the creation and expression of public reason only if it is free from the systematic distortions injected by money and power. Accordingly, he envisioned the public sphere as operating outside (and in opposition to) the social foundations of power and money. Subsequent examination of the partial, perpetual, and contested construction of meaning through the media has provided fertile ground in which to cultivate myths of press responsibility and public accountability and to assert the press’s function as this central democratic public sphere. From this perspective, media conglomerates should, and ideally do, function as a virtual forum for the exchange of public opinion on matters of universal importance and interest.8 Media utopians thus argue that the media constitute a global alliance “to encompass the postmodern diversity of cultural concepts and identities” and to serve as the product, platform, and process for democratic reform.9 Such arguments view the media as “spaces” for the meeting and identity maintenance of diasporic communities.10 Journalism scholars also assert that the free press and its constituent actors can and should embrace societal goals other than—and beyond—the enlightened self-interest of capital and power when making decisions and determining content.11 At the same time, a generation of mass communication scholars (some with feet in both camps) has solidly established the role of the press in tying public attention, debate, and opinion to the priorities and interests of gov128 susa n de n t e ross

ernment and economic elites.12 Abundant research demonstrates that the media function only occasionally as a rich resource for the public and often as one of a myriad of tools with which elites direct attention, construct publics, and shape voter attitudes.13 M. Parenti found that media make grass-roots social action difficult through content strategies and practices that marginalize, dismiss, undercount, omit, or unfairly represent those outside the conservative power center. Indeed, two decades of research has found that consistent media attention to “the conservative middle” helps protect the power establishment from external challenge.14 Similarly, J. B. Mannheim suggested that the media serve as a primary site in which political power is performed and that politicians use publicly disseminated language to manage and control both the political and news environments in which they operate.15 Strategic political communicators create and employ media messages to manage public perceptions and expectations as a form of political capital. The domination of media by the public talk of political actors legitimizes the rights and rewards of markets and bureaucracies and “can squeeze out the potential for public reason” from the mediated sphere.16 Visions of a global mediated public sphere have been challenged from diverse positions. O. Negt and A. Kluge critiqued the “packaged” industrialization of consciousness preformed by and through media texts and argued that such a contemporary public sphere dominated by the media would be bourgeois, exclusive, and ruled by class interests.17 T. Liebes and J. Curran noted “the problematic ways in which society and its constituent elements connect to each other through the media,” and J. Mitzen expressed concern that a global public sphere that rests upon “a vast reserve of shared background knowledge,” or a “lifeworld” of the “culturally familiar,” would function as a tool of colonialism.18 However, if the necessity of a common lifeworld poses problems of encroaching cultural imperialism in the public sphere (as Habermas envisioned), the alternative of “rationalized lifeworlds do[es] not form a thick basis” for argument and consensus building, and it raises significant concerns about the potential to achieve public reason among a complex and pluralistic populace in such a public sphere.19 In fact, recent attempts to purposively construct a mediated space for open and egalitarian debate—the Open Broadcast Network established by the United Nations in postwar Bosnia and the Hamburg Institute for Social Research’s touring public display on the crimes of the Wehrmacht— provide concrete examples of the real limits of an intentionally crafted Media Discourses of Peace 129

media public sphere.20 Habermas suggested such initiatives would fail because “the normative infrastructure of the constitutional state is mirrored in terms of channels, filters, and transformers of various communication flows.”21 In the world beyond theory, then, it is far from certain that media can function as a primary or significant organ of civil society or as a platform for social transformation, peace, security, and kyosei. At a more specific level, various studies identify numerous difficulties with the functioning of a mediated public sphere. One UN report on international news found that media coverage systematically distorts reality by overemphasizing irrelevant news, misinterpreting events and ideas, failing to cover significant facets and developments, and assembling disparate and discrete facts into falsely coherent “stories.”22 D. J. Myers and P. E. Oliver observed that the “contentious public sphere” of newspapers systematically excludes the “positive sociability” of true public spaces. They also noted that the media subvert collective movements toward peace by “surreptitiously manipulating sources of information and by tacitly shaping political beliefs and ideologies, systematically distorting communication” among the people.23 Others have found that the force of public reason is undermined and change is made difficult by the invisibility in media discourse of a range of important options—including peace and alternatives to war, existing structures, and prerogatives of power.24 Sharp critiques of “the mainstream North American media”—and even the broader category of capitalist, “Western media”—argue that the news media offer a largely monolithic, undifferentiated, jingoistic, and “classically Orientalist” portrayal of the Middle East. Here, the North American media, both collectively and individually, have been found to perpetuate “reductive and racist notions” about the Middle East through exclusionary, binary, anti-Islamic reporting. Indeed, recent Canadian reportage on Israel and Palestine offers only a slightly weakened echo of the bellicose, anti-Arab discourse of the U.S. superpower.25 Numerous studies of North American news coverage of Israel and Palestine have found that these media provide five relatively recurrent images of Palestine and Israel: 1. Israel is a benevolent nation that seeks to advance democracy and improve the quality of life—particularly for women—in Arab nations throughout the region. 130 susa n de n t e ross

2. Israel and the West (read the United States) provide repeated opportunities for Arabs—especially Palestinians—to pursue peace, cooperation, and prosperity. 3. Palestinians (presented as surrogates for all Arab nations) consistently squander rich opportunities for peace. 4. Palestinians, and Arabs from the larger Arab bloc, are primitive and violent, and they represent both a current and a future threat to Israel and the world. 5. Israeli-Western actions are justified, rational, and measured. These themes appear with little nuance again and again, across study after study, during times of violent conflict and relative peace. Again and again, North American media present Israelis and Palestinians predominantly in dichotomous and oppositional terms. They portray a battle between two sides engaged in a win/lose conflict, with justice, morality and reason on the side of the Israelis and the West. Dominant narratives place blame and responsibility on the Palestinians and indicate that the appropriate (often unilateral) solution to conflict in the region requires Arab nations to adopt the Western position.26 Nonetheless, advocates of peace journalism hold out hope that the news media can transform, or at least raise occasional challenges to, “the global state-corporate system of organized violence” of which they are a part.27 While debate continues to rage around the definition, goals, and practices of peace journalism, here, peace journalism is meant to embrace a human-centered approach to reporting that incorporates a multiplicity of understandings and perspectives from which consumers deduce their own truths. Peace journalism is intentionally a journalism of rapprochement rather than division. It is a journalism that, in the words of Anri Morimoto (in chapter 2 of this volume) presents a series of small discussions on how to heal wounds, bring reconciliation, restore justice, and ease resentments. It is a journalism of forgiveness rather than retribution, acceptance rather than coercion. In this sense, then, peace journalism can be seen to lie in the seams and fissures within and among the media, to germinate in the specific choices and actions of individual reporters and editors, and to bloom in the gradual accumulation of myriad independent decisions and stories that represent alternatives to simplistic portrayals of good versus evil and us versus them. Peace journalism essentially embodies the promise that individual agents can and do affect the world, that the commitment of Media Discourses of Peace 131

a single journalist to increase mutual understanding rather than enmity can help increase global peace, security, and kyosei.

Glimpses of Peace Journalism This study of the contemporary content of North American media, specifically the Canadian and U.S. press, suggests that while the press is engaged in significant political strategy and ideological practices, news stories nevertheless occasionally afford a limited site for civil society debate. For example, news coverage of two events related to Israel demonstrates that the production of news, the norms of practice, the structure of narratives, the nature of discourse, and the specific terminology employed generally magnified the power of government elites and normalized military violence as a political tool. More particularly, Canadian and U.S. press coverage generally reinforced and justified the U.S.-backed Israeli military agenda in the Middle East. Nonetheless, the news discourse also briefly and tentatively challenged the official elite U.S.-Israeli perspective during the Israel-Lebanon War of 2006. These fleeting media critiques of power suggest that opportunities for peace journalism do exist within mainstream Western media.

The Geneva Initiative Only a brief discussion is needed to describe the North American media coverage of the 2003 Geneva Initiative for peace in the Middle East. Although former U.S. president Jimmy Carter and other prominent international mediators had labored for years to create a plan that would establish a fair and workable peace between Israel and Palestine, the unofficial Geneva peace plan received almost no coverage in the U.S. or Canadian media. In the seven years beginning January 1, 2000, the Toronto Sun failed to publish a single story mentioning the Geneva Initiative, and the New York Times published only ten stories (including letters to the editor, commentary, features, and news) that made even passing reference to the initiative. The vast majority of the Times articles appeared in December 2003, coincident with the public signing of the initiative. For example, the penultimate paragraph of an eight-hundred-word

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story is typical of the Times coverage at the time: “Israeli and Palestinian analysts said another source of pressure on Mr. Sharon is the Geneva Initiative, an unofficial peace deal intended as a blueprint for a final settlement that was drawn up by prominent, dovish Israelis and Palestinians. The initiative is scheduled to be signed by its drafters in Geneva on Dec. 1.”28 Here and elsewhere, the New York Times coverage failed to outline the Geneva Initiative in detail or assess its merit.29 In fact, these news stories do not discuss the peace plan itself. Rather, the stories presented and used the Geneva Initiative as a device for examining political maneuvers and strategies. In the article, the peace plan was rhetorically constructed not as an international effort to stop violence in Israel and Palestine but instead as a source of political pressure on and criticism of Israeli prime minister Ariel Sharon. It was the product of “dovish” individuals, a term that suggests squishiness, laxity, and lack of clarity. The term frames the initiative in soft focus, as if the plan were incompletely conceived, the whimsical brainchild of ill-informed and idealistic peaceniks seeking to undermine the work of Sharon. The sparse New York Times coverage recurrently mentioned the involvement of various Palestinians in the Geneva Initiative process while omitting the legitimizing credibility of Carter’s prominent role in the plan. When the term Palestinian is decoded as “terrorist,” as prior research suggests it may be, then the stories may be read to suggest that the private citizens advancing the Geneva Initiative actually are attempting both to undermine the legitimate political authority of Ariel Sharon and to subvert the proper government-directed process toward peace while simultaneously supporting and colluding with terrorists.30 To put the North American coverage in some context, the International Herald Tribune (a product of the New York Times Company) printed nearly twice as many news stories referencing the Geneva Initiative during this same period as did the Times. One representative story, which appeared in October 2003 when the plan was first “unveiled,” focused on the “detailed” plan and distinguished it sharply from the previous “sham” road map and other peace initiatives of the Israeli and U.S. governments.31 The story described the Geneva agreement as the product of “an enormous investment of private time and effort” to continue and complete the peace initiatives begun elsewhere, at Camp David, Wye, Taba, and Oslo, among others. Written with a voice of authority, but with virtually no direct quota-

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tions and no attribution, the article asserted, “The people who drafted the Geneva plan with Swiss support have reached detailed compromise agreements on all of the key obstacles to past agreement.” The article added: “The Geneva initiative offers a way out, a slim chance. . . . European nations should brush aside their historical inhibitions, and American hostility to European interference in the Middle East, and throw their weight behind this plan. It would be the greatest service they could possibly do for Israel and the Palestinians and, incidentally, for the United States.”32 Unlike coverage in the New York Times, International Herald Tribune reportage and commentary presented peace as a viable alternative and the Geneva Initiative as a concrete, significant step toward that objective. Its news accounts invested the Geneva plan with credibility and substance even before the proposal was officially signed and publicly presented. This coverage engaged extra-governmental voices (albeit those of former government officials and executive staffers) in the discussion of how to end violence in the Middle East. These individuals were represented as informed, responsible, and effective. The reports encouraged broad participation in the peace process and official endorsement of this extra-governmental initiative. International Herald Tribune stories focused on the initiative as a courageous step forward rather than a subversion of appropriate political engagement. While the International Herald Tribune seemed to open the door to a mediated public sphere discussion of peace and security in the Middle East, the space provided was limited, and the opportunity was narrow. It also was one-sided. In these press accounts, neither the Israeli nor the U.S. government responded to the Geneva Initiative. Moreover, none of the International Herald Tribune content or perspective was published in its U.S. partner, the New York Times, or in the Toronto Sun. North American media simply ignored a substantive, international effort toward Middle East peace, truncating any possibility of reasoned public debate about its merits and invigorating the power of government voices to advocate militarism and violence.

The Israel-Lebanon War Yet something different, though fleeting, appeared in North American reporting on the Israel-Lebanon War of 2006. In place of the nearly uni134 susa n de n t e ross

form, anti-Arab discourse identified in prior studies, news narratives of this war included more frequent and diverse criticism of Israeli and Western actions. In place of seamless portraits of Arab evil, reports that alternately distinguished and commingled Hezbollah and Lebanon provided a complex mixture of essentialist portraits, nuance, and contradiction. In place of coverage of the Middle East in particularized stories, discrete and disconnected from global events, these news reports emphasized global politics and the strategic expediency of bombing Lebanon in July 2006. U.S.–Israeli acts were depicted as offensive, excessively violent, strategic, and politically motivated. Although coverage of the Israel-Lebanon War between July 1 and September 15, 2006, in the Seattle Times and the Vancouver Sun (two nearly contiguous, midsize daily newspapers in one U.S. and one Canadian city in the Pacific Northwest), was skewed in favor of Western perspectives, it also opened a virtual space for public debate by nongovernmental voices supporting nonviolence as a means toward greater security. News stories presented details of victimization and devastation on both the Israeli and Lebanese sides of the Israel-Lebanon War. In fact—if peace journalism is understood as providing an alternative to the dominant paradigm of reporting that exaggerates, sensationalizes, and escalates violent conflict—the two newspapers briefly adopted some of the basic precepts of peace journalism in their coverage of this war.33 While the reporting failed to highlight nonviolent solutions to conflict, it frequently contextualized the conflict within the strategies of geopolitics, included the views of nongovernment elites, and presented stories of human costs and the structural causes of violence.

War Journalism as Usual Much in the news coverage of the 2006 Israel-Lebanon War exhibited the familiar, almost routine elements of war journalism. The newspapers relied heavily on government officials, military spokespeople, and policy analysts to explain and describe the situation in Lebanon. Frequent use of the passive voice generally obscured the cause of the war throughout the coverage, and neither Israel nor Lebanon was presented consistently as responsible for the violence. Instead, coverage portrayed the war as something that “erupted.” “Intense fighting” and “hostilities” simply occurred, as if inevitable, between “warring parties”; these narratives Media Discourses of Peace 135

failed to provide a site for resistance, a locus of responsibility against which public opinion could form and action could take place.34 Early reporting that placed the war in a geopolitical context but cited no responsible party or precipitating event shifted two weeks after “the hostage-taking” on July 12, to echo Prime Minister Ehud Olmert’s assertion that the Hezbollah capture of soldiers had prompted the LebanonIsrael conflict. After Olmert publicly declared that he was “prepared for a prisoner exchange as a step in the way out of the current crisis,” the newspapers began to consistently and prominently report that “the two soldiers . . . captured in a July 12 Hezbollah raid inside Israel . . . sparked the Israeli invasion and bombing campaign” and “prompted the Israeli onslaught in Lebanon.”35 In line with news patterns identified in previous studies of coverage of the Middle East conflict, subsequent news coverage generally represented Israeli actions as defensive, as a battle in the U.S. global war on terrorism, and as a strike against Hezbollah’s “terrorist rocket-launching infrastructure.” Reports presented the invasion and bombing of Lebanon as necessary, justified by the “Jewish state’s right to exist, and its right to self-defense.” Stories cited the conservative Israeli newspaper Ha’aretz to establish the unintentional and responsive nature of Israel’s involvement, reported that Israel “did not choose this war, but . . . reached a strategic crossroad.”36 News stories discussed “Israel’s invasion” as a “methodical campaign to isolate southern Lebanon.” They described targeted, surgical strikes against identified radicals or on infrastructure apparently far removed from civilians and without human cost. Herein, “Israelis targeted several offices and the house used by Hezbollah members . . . as well as a house belonging to Hamas, the radical Palestinian organization.” And warplanes “struck . . . a bridge . . . in the far northern Akkar region, near the border” and “roads . . . near another section of the frontier.”37 One story explained Israel’s military actions by stating “Hezbollah attacks on Israel . . . touched off the latest conflict.” Another story quoted a Washington State government official in order to highlight the U.S.–Israeli partnership and the United States’ unquestioning loyalty to Israel. According to the official, “Israel is a first friend of the United States and requires our support in her right of self-defense. . . . I have to have faith in the Israelis in judging correctly what serves their defense.”

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At the same time, stories presented the war as a strategic initiative by Israel and the United States that would help the Lebanese government “exercise control and sovereignty over all of Lebanese territory once we have an end to the fighting.”38 Reports in the Seattle Times also presented Israel’s fight in Lebanon as a strategic initiative in global politics and the U.S. war on terror. News accounts sometimes explicitly identified with the United States: “Just as they hate our Israeli allies, they hate us.” From this perspective, an Israeli loss in Lebanon would constitute a blow to the “core of U.S. foreign policy in the region.” In contrast, “defeating Hezbollah in southern Lebanon would be a blow to world terrorism.” Unnamed (but authoritative and legitimized) U.S. government officials were cited, calling the conflict a U.S. “proxy war with Iran” and an event “orchestrated” by Iran “to distract attention from its nuclear program or to demonstrate the consequences of pushing too hard.” These sources reported that “the president hopes the crisis will ultimately help him rally world leaders against Iran’s nuclear program.”39 Another news account quoted a radio address by President George W. Bush, defining the war as “a moment of opportunity for broader change in the region.” It continued: “Bush and his advisers hope the conflict can destroy or at least cripple Hezbollah and in the process strike a blow against the militia’s sponsor, Iran, while forcing the region to move toward final settlement of the decades-old conflict with Israel.”40 According to such reports, the Lebanese had little or no independence or agency. They were the puppets of Iran, the tools of terrorists. Lebanon was overrun by Hezbollah, which was unequivocally and uniformly engaged in terrorism. Reflecting rather typical patterns of coverage, newspaper stories offered nearly daily tallies of the number of bombs falling and the number of wounded and dead in lists subdivided by category. For example, one story in early August reported that “Lebanon’s death toll has surpassed 900. . . . More than 3,000 people have been wounded.” The same story reported that “68 Israelis have been killed, including 41 soldiers and 27 civilians.” Counts of “corpses” separated out civilians, army, and guerrillas. For the most part, early coverage of the war contextualized Arab and European “outrage” over the devastation and the loss of lives in Israel and Lebanon within the prerogatives of U.S. geopolitics. Here, the “problem” with the war was not the human, social, or economic costs

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to the people of Lebanon or Israel but strategic concerns that the “daily drumbeat of suffering in Lebanon . . . will just drive up anti-Americanism to new heights . . . raising the prospect of a backlash resulting in a new Middle East quagmire for the United States.”41

Contradictions and Overt Aggression Yet this narrative did not go unchallenged. In these same stories, analysts warned that “the situation could cement the perception that the United States is so pro-Israel that a new generation of Arab youth will grow up perceiving Americans as enemies.” One former Bush aide was quoted as responding with unveiled sarcasm to Bush’s claim that the war was a “moment of opportunity.” The former aide said, “An opportunity? . . . Lord, spare me. I don’t laugh a lot. That’s the funniest thing I’ve heard in a long time. If this is an opportunity, what’s Iraq? A once-in-a-lifetime chance?”42 Although much reporting rationalized Israeli actions, the same or contemporary accounts also described the situation in Lebanon as a chaotic “wasp’s nest.” When Israeli spokespeople portrayed the military destruction of roads, bridges, and vital infrastructure as an “unfortunate” necessity intended to sever supply lines to Hezbollah, humanitarian sources described the actions as an assault on “Lebanon’s umbilical cord.” Israeli declarations that bombing was a defensive response to Katyusha rockets were balanced by statements such as this one, describing Israel as “waging a ‘war of starvation’ against Lebanese civilians, who are bearing the brunt of the damage in the conflict. It is an aggression that has exceeded Israel’s declared objectives. Israel has now decided to destroy Lebanon.”43 Alongside descriptions of war as a political strategy, newspaper accounts provided portraits of “a lot of bloodshed.” Claims of restraint and concern for innocent lives stood in marked contrast to news depictions of “Israeli artillery fire and helicopters whirring overhead . . . [a] commando unit [swimming] ashore onto a fruit plantation . . . engag[ing] in a gun battle, leaving bloodstains and ammunition shells on the concrete floors and walls”; “waves of airstrikes” dropping bombs that “slammed into” Lebanese villages killing scores of civilians, “almost all of them women and children”; and “scene[s] of carnage.” Accounts of

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successful military maneuvers with minimal human cost conflicted with reports “that any car in the street, whatever the type, at whatever hour, may be annihilated.”44

Shared Victims and Losses In place of the faceless statistics and one-sided human loss typical of war reportage, news stories on the Israel-Lebanon War of 2006 described both Israeli and Lebanese casualties. Many of the victims on both sides were named or identified, such as “a married couple and their daughter,” “a father and his 15-year-old daughter,” “33 agricultural workers in northeast Lebanon,” “a mother and two adult daughters in Arab al Arahsa and a woman who died of a heart attack during a rocket attack in Kiryat Ata,” and the “three Israeli-Arab friends, [who] died when a rocket crashed on a dirt road bordered by olive trees in the Bedouin town of Tarshiha, east of Maalot.” The three friends (Shenati Shenati, twenty; Muhammad Faul, seventeen; and Amir Naim, nineteen), all Muslims, reportedly died instantly when their bodies were “severely hit by shrapnel.” Far from distancing the dead from readers or justifying these deaths as a “necessary” cost of war, the coverage often described the “heartbreaking” loss of civilian lives. 45 Reportage also recounted other human costs of war. One story detailed the untold human suffering that resulted because the hospital in Lebanon “was receiving just six hours of electricity a day and . . . has only a week’s worth of fuel for the backup generator.” The story quoted relief agency workers who reported that “in terms of food and supplies, we only have three or four days left, and we only have three or four days left of fuel.” In a rare description of the conditions on the ground in the attacked territory, another story presented besieged Lebanon as “shrouded by wilting banana plantations and parched citrus groves.” Another quoted an NGO source who reported that the “people will try to return, as they normally do, but in many areas, there will be nothing to return to.”46 Coverage that humanized victims on both sides of the conflict and provided concrete details of the devastation and human costs of war is not typical of war reportage. Descriptions of divisions and differences among the enemy camps and the humanitarian concerns of Hezbollah also diverged from the oft-identified monolithic othering of war reporting.

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Complex Portrayals From the start, newspaper imagery and characterizations of Hezbollah were complex and somewhat contradictory. Assertions of overt connections to radical Islam appeared early and often. On one side, news accounts provided a picture of Hezbollah as the surrogate for all of Lebanon and as the embodiment of essentialist Orientalist extremism. Thus, one Seattle Times story presented “the Red Crescent Society, the Islamic Republic of Iran,” as the source of swarms of radical volunteers and provisions for radical Hezbollah fighters. Hezbollah forces were “shadowy,” “furtive,” “militant.” One analyst portrayed Hezbollah fighters as religiously “indoctrinated” extremists propelled by a competitive desire to see “who is going to be a martyr first.”47 As the war continued and “images of wounded soldiers carried off helicopters raise[d] haunting memories of Israel’s eighteen-year occupation of southern Lebanon,” portrayals of “a wave of Islamic warriors” driven by an irrational “devotion instilled by faith” to fight “a holy war against Israeli forces in Lebanon” competed with depictions of an unexpectedly well-trained, strategic, and “determined resistance.” Anonymous U.S. military experts described Hezbollah as “hardly a typical guerrilla group, equipped only with bravado and AK-47 assault rifles,” and more like a “national military” than “a guerrilla or terrorist group.”48 By mid-August, some news stories abandoned the discursive dichotomy of “true” Lebanese and outsider Hezbollah. Reports that presented Hezbollah as a component of the Lebanese national military failed to provide the seamless antiterrorist rationale for Israeli attacks. One report, for example, described support for Hezbollah fighters from “the Lebanese army . . . [that] fir[ed] anti-aircraft missiles from two positions at Israeli helicopters until the helicopters fired back, killing one Lebanese soldier and injuring another.” When news accounts noted that “the Shiite Muslim population in southern Lebanon” generally supported Hezbollah, the previous construction of Hezbollah as the product of outside agitators and as a threat to the legitimate Lebanese government and the Lebanese people no longer held. 49 As accounts quoted Lebanese citizens and officials describing Hezbollah as legitimate, the established narrative line of Israel and the West allied against the uncivilized forces of the violent, primitive, Arab other frayed or dissolved entirely. Such accounts challenged any portrayal of the Lebanese people as a unitary enemy other.

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This reporting, therefore, did not provide the unambiguous language of war journalism; it did not offer a singular, pro-Western, pro-Israel narrative. Nor was it the type of pro-peace narrative often feared by critics of peace journalism. Rather, it was a journalism of nuance and ambivalence, of complexity and contradiction, of differing positions. It was a fleeting glimpse of a journalism of uncertain truth rather than omniscience, an opening of a space that might empower readers to make their own judgments. Clearly, such reporting did not create peace on the ground; most peace journalism scholars would not seek such a role of overt engagement. Instead, this reporting might be a glimpse of a type of journalism that could better provide readers with the information about themselves and others that would enable enhanced mutual feeling, rapprochement, and, perhaps, kyosei. News that alludes to both one’s own and another’s culpability and victimization highlights both our shared humanity and our inevitable fallibility. Such reporting may offer the opportunity for a greater sense of commonality, which is itself an important foundation for the conversations that lead to forgiveness of self and other as a contributor to reconciliation (see chapter 3, by Shin Chiba, on the relationship of these processes to the contemporary meaning of kyosei).

Discussion This study of newspaper content affords no opportunity for discussion of why the Geneva Initiative was so roundly ignored or why the coverage of the Israel-Lebanon War differed somewhat from the predominant trend of war journalism. It is clear from the data presented above that the bulk of coverage, or absence of coverage, of the Geneva Initiative manifests the traditional patterns of war journalism: underreporting, marginalization, or exclusion of nonelite sources and omission of alternatives to war. In addition, the disparity between the nature and quantity of coverage offered by the New York Times and the Toronto Sun, on the one hand, and the International Herald Tribune, on the other, reinforces findings of earlier research suggesting that geographic proximity is a primary criterion in determining the newsworthiness of nonofficial perspectives on war and peace.50 Thus, the absence of official Canadian and U.S. government participation in the Geneva Initiative was mirrored and amplified by the virtual invisibility of the initiative in the news pages of both coun-

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tries’ leading press organs. Similarly, Swiss involvement in the Genevabased initiative is paralleled by more detailed and frequent coverage in the International Herald Tribune. In contrast to these rather predictable findings, scrutiny of North American press coverage of the Israel-Lebanon War of 2006 documents several noteworthy departures from the dominant patterns of Western reporting on Israel and its enemies identified in earlier studies. Although initial reporting on the war tended to adopt the expected pro-U.S., proIsraeli discourse, subsequent coverage provided details of the real human costs of the violence and opened avenues for nonofficial voices to criticize and challenge representations of the war offered by governmental elites. The reporting uncovered the often hidden grand geopolitical narrative at play in the region and, simultaneously, scoffed at its logic. The reportage created a limited space for public sphere dialogue. While this pattern is brief and falls short of full adoption of the principles of peace journalism, this reporting is a far cry from the dominant mainstream news rallies around government leaders.51 Coverage of this “military action” provides greater rhetorical terrain on which readers might build alternatives to government perspectives. However, the reportage fails to embrace the full range of dissent. None of the newspapers studied reported the Geneva Initiative in the context of sweeping European public opinion that Israel is the greatest threat to world peace. Nor did they give prominence to a contemporaneous Pew Research Center survey that “found that Muslim opinions about the West had worsened drastically” during the Israel-Lebanon War.52 And none reported that another contemporaneous publicly reported poll in Beirut found that 87 percent of Lebanese supported Hezbollah after three weeks of Israeli bombing. It is quite clear that even the more complex and nuanced Western coverage of the Israel-Lebanon War failed to achieve the goal advanced three decades ago, when W. P. Davison urged media to incorporate multiple perspectives on conflicts, alert readers to preconflict conditions before violence erupts, and guide readers and citizens toward peaceful solutions through less dramatic and emotional coverage.53 Despite this brief and partial embrace of some of the tenets of peace journalism, the consistent privilege and prominence given to elite voices in coverage of the IsraelLebanon War undermined any potential for these media to operate as a true public sphere. While the more inclusive Western coverage of the Israel-Lebanon War is laudable, it also makes clear that “While it may be 142 susa n de n t e ross

natural (and we assume it is) for the human species to desire peace, we assume that it is not natural for the species to know how to make peace across diversity, particularly when that diversity is often imposed and inscribed by oppression.”54 The shortcomings of the news coverage discussed above suggest that the media have much to accomplish before they will contribute effectively to enhanced peace, security, and kyosei around the globe. Nonetheless, the elements of a journalism of dialogue that surface occasionally in the sea of war news suggest that some journalists and some media outlets may provide fertile soil in which the tenets of peace journalism may take root.

Cause for Optimism or Despair? One reading of the studies reported here and the failed attempts at a journalism of reconciliation in Bosnia and elsewhere would suggest that the machinery of mainstream media provides little opportunity for effective use of the press as a space for peace, security, and kyosei. Indeed, a critical interpretation might view the brief and partial glimpses of the peace reporting identified above as a necessary component of hegemonic practice; that is, dissent is allowed and even supported as a strategy of co-optation. By giving limited voice to the opposition, those in power retain control of its expression and diffuse its ability to stimulate action. Another, less pessimistic interpretation of these findings might offer tentative encouragement to those espousing new approaches to news coverage as a means of nurturing a strong civil society in which public critiques of power may galvanize individual actors toward social change. Further study is needed to identify the elements that prompted the shifts in reporting on the Israeli war in Lebanon and to assess the critical conditions for the emergence of peace journalism. In the end, this study lends credence to the many voices critiquing the potential of mainstream Western media to serve as a mechanism of peace. It suggests limits to the ability of the capitalist media oligopoly to afford equal play to discourses outside a Western, “universalizing paradigm” or to embrace the “public good” in lieu of elite cooperation, corporate profit, and professional habit.55 The study also supports suggestions that those seeking global peace must abandon the “naïve . . . expect[ation] . . . of a single and universal form of conflict” resolution.56 Media Discourses of Peace 143

Nevertheless, this author finds hope in small spaces and individual agency. In place of sweeping transformation of existing capitalist media industry practices, a more limited and productive initiative might involve the creation and nurturing of multiple, mediated “public sphericules.”57 Here, a wide and varied range of independent media (like those already emerging around the globe) and individual journalists might pursue M. Tehranian’s suggestion of “devolving power to the smallest levels.”58 In this way, a growing spectrum of “decentralized, local initiatives” would collectively provide a broadened range of reasoned, multinational, public debate.59 Through such decentralized and individualized, human-centered news coverage, the media will better honor the richness of human peacemaking and contribute to increased security and kyosei. To move toward this end, it will be helpful for journalists to become more self-critical and more globally oriented, for “It is not only the intrusions of capital into the public sphere that are deleterious to human peacemaking, . . . but [failure] to identify the different ways in which human beings make sense of and navigate a reality that is never fully closed, that is always moving across time and across space.”60 If media are to move into their imagined role as public spheres, their embrace of peace journalism must enable “human beings to talk to each other so that their differences are more than babble.”61

The Media, Peace, Security, and Kyosei A significant and growing body of research and theory points clearly to the central historical role and the transformative potential of mass media in global peace, security, and kyosei. Today’s media—driven by the profit motive and nationalism, mired in values of conflict and confrontation, wedded to the voices and visions of the global elites, and driven by competitive frenzy into escalation and polarization—generally pose a significant obstacle to the achievement of a mediated open public sphere as a foundation for lasting and equitable peace. Rather than helping to mobilize public support and advocacy for peace, media’s stilted and myopic portrait of the world too often engenders distrust, demonization, and violence. A huge array of opportunities exists for media to perform a more positive function. The diversity of those reporting on the world, the style and content of public messages, the voices and ideas provided credible discursive terrain, the images and rhetoric given prominence, the patterns 144 susa n de n t e ross

of exclusion, and the values and professional training that drive contemporary media patterns all can be reconceived to afford avenues through which mainstream mass media can embrace a more constructive role in building civil society and creating a truly open virtual public sphere. Despite some imposing barriers of ownership, such a sphere may arise within existing capitalist media through retraining and values promotions currently under way through peace journalism and related initiatives. An open public sphere may also come into being more organically through dozens of new forms of independent or pirate media, citizen initiatives, and information cooperatives that provide creative alternatives to mainstream media and foster opportunities for critical self-reflexivity and mutual exploration among parties to conflict. The media examined in this chapter suggest that much work remains before mass media contribute to a more peaceful and just world. They illustrate the more broadly observed failures of media to bring relevant issues to public attention, give voice to alternatives to violence, humanize all participants in conflicts, resist forces of oppression, or place human rights and kyosei at the center of policy considerations. Yet, in spite of these significant ongoing humanitarian lapses, even amid hot conflict, in the throes of war and enmity, individual reporters, singular stories, and media generally do, at times, offer glimpses of narratives of transformation, mutual understanding, and healing. Scholars and citizens around the globe have long recognized the central function media perform in galvanizing ordinary people to engage in and advocate either for war or for peace.62 Media can help clear the path for peacebuilding or promote the nationalist rhetoric of exclusion and enmity that is the cornerstone of militarism and violence. Those working for peace would do well to recognize and embrace the power of the media before, during, and after conflicts. In building a grand theory and a global practice of peace, intellectuals and activists need to place media reform at the forefront of their project. Today’s rapidly expanding research, training, and praxis of peace journalism around the globe offer a promising foundation. So far, the contributions of peace journalism have been rather isolated, limited, and fleeting. But its enormous power and largely untapped potential are developing alongside a new global consciousness that the media are a public good that can and should be harnessed to build human capital, civil society, justice, peace, and kyosei.

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Notes 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11

12

13

14

15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25

Paffenholz and Spurk, Civil Society, Civil Engagement and Peacebuilding, 15. Berger and Luckmann, The Social Construction of Reality. Entman, “Framing.” Mill, On Liberty; Milton, Areopagitica; Habermas, The Theory of Communicative Action; Habermas, Between Facts and Norms. Mitzen, “Reading Habermas in Anarchy.” Habermas, The Theory of Communicative Action; Habermas, Between Facts and Norms. Mitzen, “Reading Habermas in Anarchy,” 401, 409. Habermas, The Theory of Communicative Action; Habermas, Between Facts and Norms. Hafez, “International News Coverage”; Mowlana, “Communication.” Dayan, “Particularistic Media and Diasporic Communications.” Lynch and McGoldrick, Peace Journalism; Dennis, Gillmor, and Glasser, Media Freedom and Accountability; Hindman, Rights vs. Responsibilities; Hutchins, Commission on Freedom of the Press; Merrill, The Imperative of Freedom. W. L. Bennett, News; Bennett and Paletz, Taken by Storm; Entman, “Framing”; Entman, “Cascading Activation”; McCombs and Shaw, “The Agenda-Setting Function of the Press.” Bishop et al., “Discourses of Blame and Responsibility”; Hallin and Mancini, Comparing Media Systems; Herman and Chomsky, Manufacturing Consent; Meyer, Media Democracy; Schudson, The Sociology of News. Tichenor, Donohue, and Olien, Community Conflict and the Press; Olien, Donohue, and Tichenor, “Media and Stages of Social Conflict”; Parenti, Inventing Reality. Mannheim, “Strategic Public Diplomacy.” Mitzen, “Reading Habermas in Anarchy.” Negt and Kluge, Public Sphere and Experience. Liebes and Curran, Media, Ritual and Identity, 11; Mitzen, “Reading Habermas in Anarchy.” Mitzen, “Reading Habermas in Anarchy.” Bratic, Kang, and Ross, “Bosnia’s Open Broadcast Network”; Gross, “Habermas.” Habermas, “Concluding Comments.” Sreberny-Mohammadi et al., Foreign News in the Media. Oliver and Meyers, “How Events Enter the Public Sphere.” Entman, “Framing”; Parenti, Inventing Reality. Suleiman, Arabs in America, 26; Karim, The Islamic Peril; Ismael and Measor, The Iraqi Predicament; Said, Orientalism; Said, Power, Politics

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26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52

53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62

and Culture; MacArthur, Second Front; Shaheen, The TV Arab; Shaheen, Arab and Muslim Stereotyping; Bishop et al., “Discourses of Blame and Responsibility”; Ismael and Measor, The Iraqi Predicament, 7–8, 19. Bishop et al., “Discourses of Blame and Responsibility.” Tehranian, “Dialogue of Civilizations for Peace.” Bennett, “Sharon Hints.” Bennett, “Quiet Times in the Mideast.” Ross and Bantimaroudis, “Frame Shifts and Catastrophic Events”; Ross, “Framing of the Palestinian/Israeli Conflict.” Pfaff, “An Unofficial Peace Plan.” Ibid. Emphasis added. Lynch and McGoldrick, Peace Journalism; Galtung, “Peace Journalism—A Challenge.” Seattle Times, August 4, 6, 6b, 2006. Seattle Times, August 2, 3, 6, 8, 2006. Seattle Times, July 27, 28, 2006, and August 7, 9, 10, 2006. Seattle Times, August 5, 10, 2006. Seattle Times, July 28, 31, 2006, and August 4, 2006. Emphasis added. Seattle Times, July 28, 31, 2006. Seattle Times, July 31, 2006. Ibid. Ibid. Seattle Times, August 5, 2006, and August 5, 2006b. Seattle Times, July 31, 2006, and August 3, 5, 6, 10, 2006. Seattle Times, August 2, 3, 5, 2006, and August 6, 2006b. Seattle Times, August 5, 6, 2006b, and August 10, 2006, emphasis added. Seattle Times, August 10, 2006. Seattle Times, July 27, 2006, July 27, 2006b, and August 3, 10, 2006. Seattle Times, August 10, 2006. Liebes, “Inside a News Item.” W. L. Bennett, “An Introduction to Journalism.” Carter, Our Endangered Values. Available online at http://www.americanbuddha.com/911.palestinepeacenot.16.htm, n.p. (accessed February 16, 2010). Both reference Pew Research Center, Pew Global Attitudes Project, June 22, 2006. Davison, Mass Communication and Conflict Resolution. Dervin and Schaefer, “Peopling the Public Sphere.” Cheng and Kurtz, “Third World Voices Redefining Peace.” Hafez, “International News Coverage,” 18. Gitlin, “Public Spheres or Public Sphericules?” 170. Tehranian, “Dialogue of Civilizations for Peace,” 15. Hafez, “International News Coverage,” 18. Dervin and Schaefer, “Peopling the Public Sphere,” 345. Ibid., 346. Tarrow, Power in Movement. Media Discourses of Peace 147

9 Establishing Credibility under Globalization The Role of Higher Education in Promoting Peace, Security, and Kyosei

k a no ya m a moto

G

lobalization is a phenomenon in which information, resources, human expectations, and goods and services cross national borders instantaneously and can affect the decision-making process of people, businesses, governments, and international communities. Today this phenomenon may be understood as the interaction of two streams of globalization: market value globalization and human value globalization. Since the end of the Cold War, both streams have emerged as a result of the economic liberalization of most resources, flows of information, and technological innovations. Market value globalization typically promotes economic efficiency and growth, while human value globalization promotes human rights, justice, and equity. The two often conflict and bring about problems of excessive volatility, maldistribution of resources, personal identity crises, and the dominance of values such as consumerism, secularism, and fundamentalism. Although market and human value globalizations clearly make many positive contributions and the globalization trend is irreversible, overcoming the problems they engender is the key to bringing peace, security, and kyosei into this uncertain and volatile world. This chapter develops a theoretical framework for analyzing globalization and for establishing the sort of credibility under globalization that is needed to establish peace, security, and kyosei in the twenty-first century. The theoretical framework presented here draws on the thinking

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of many reports from a large number of international institutions, which are listed in the Notes section at the end of the book.

Analytical Framework for Globalization The conceptual framework for establishing credibility and trust under globalization is illustrated in figure 9.1.

Two Streams of Globalization As noted above, in order to provide a useful analytical framework for globalization, it is important to understand globalization as two main streams: market value globalization and human value globalization. Market value globalization is what is often meant by the term globalization; that is, it is the economic and financial globalization of all kinds of market transactions that take place around the world. The development

Fig. 9.1. Conceptualization: Establishing Credibility and Trust under Globalization

© Kano Yamamoto

Establishing Credibility under Globalization 149

of market value globalization accelerated in the 1970s, when trends of economic liberalization and deregulation became evident in many parts of the world. Liberalization and deregulation of economic transactions encouraged all such transactions to take place in markets that crossed national boundaries, that is, in international markets. Liberalization has encouraged economic growth in such a way that now only competitive goods or services can succeed in world markets. And market value globalization became possible through technological innovations that enabled simultaneous market transactions to take place around the world. The end of the Cold War also encouraged market value globalization because the formerly segregated and controlled economy of the Soviet bloc had come to follow market mechanisms, like the rest of the world. The second type of globalization is human value globalization. This is a globalization of the way people think and behave throughout the world. It has also become evident with the recent liberalization of information flow and with technological innovations such as the spread of the Internet, mobile phones, and other information technologies. The political liberalization of many people’s lives and increasing personal mobility after the end of the Cold War have all contributed to this trend. The United Nations, the international community, civil society, and world media have promoted human value norms for human rights, human security, environmental protection, sustainable development, gender equity, poverty alleviation, and so forth. In particular, the campaigns initiated by the UN system through summits, conferences, and research projects have been instrumental in setting norms for human values. However, negative aspects of globalization, such as consumerism and fundamentalism, are also quickly transmitted across national borders.

The Relationship between Market Value and Human Value Globalization The globalization of market values promotes economic growth and efficiency. Market value globalization has been promoted by global enterprises, by modern methods of business management, and by mainline theories of business and the economy. The trend toward market value globalization is considered irreversible by many observers, and most current economic policies and most business models assume that growth and effi-

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ciency are the most important driving forces that will solve the economic problems of the world. However, the very nature of globalization often brings with it negative consequences such as market failure, an overshooting of the market, and maldistribution of or inequity in economic wealth. In contrast, human value globalization is the globalization of the values held by people around the world. On the positive side, this process promotes human security and an equal opportunity to share the values of human rights, environmental protection, poverty alleviation, and gender equity. On the negative side, however, the process often accelerates materialism, consumerism, and fundamentalism. The values of market value globalization (growth and efficiency) often contradict those of human value globalization (human security and equality), and there is tension between the two. For example, pursuing global economic growth and efficiency will likely result in increasing disparities in income, which, in turn, are likely to increase tensions between groups and countries. Thus, market value globalization and human value globalization do not necessarily bring about a harmonious world order; they can also accelerate the negative aspects of both types of globalization.

Risks and Problems of Globalization Both market value globalization and human value globalization can lead to major problems. First, both types of globalization bring volatility. Under globalization, there are risks that superficial, simplified values or behavior patterns will form trends, and that these trends will cross national and cultural boundaries to spread rapidly throughout the world. This quickly changing information about new values and behavior affects the expectations of people around the world, and these people act in accordance with their understanding of the information. Market value globalization may result in overshooting targets or in volatility. In many cases, volatility will hamper the development of peace and security because it is often accompanied by unexpected changes to the fundamental conditions of life. The formation of a financial bubble followed by the crash of a financial market illustrates the volatility of market value globalization. For example, at the time of the 1997 Asian financial crisis, the economic liberalization and high-growth performance of Asian economies had stimulated market expectations to a point that was not

Establishing Credibility under Globalization 151

supported by market fundamentals—and the region developed a bubble economy. When the bubble burst, Asian financial and exchange markets collapsed, and the economies of many Asian countries suffered serious damage. These events can be understood as phenomena brought about by the volatility of market value globalization. The more recent experience of the subprime lending crisis can also be regarded as the result of such a trend. Furthermore, market failures, speculative attacks, maldistribution of resources, and inequity in wealth and opportunities are likely to accelerate under market value globalization. In fact, this type of globalization increases discrepancies between the haves and the have-nots. A second problem is that both market value globalization and human value globalization can bring about personal identity crises. Since globalization is defined as a situation in which common economic or human values spread beyond national and cultural borders, traditional values (culture, way of life, and economic system) are forced to change rapidly, and such a change can cause a crisis of identity for the people and the community in question. For example, Japan had to face an identity crisis when the wave of market globalization forced traditional Japanese ways of business, employment, and lifestyle to adjust to the global mechanism of the free market economy. In this case, Japan experienced economic difficulties in the early 1990s after the economic bubble burst, and the whole process of economic readjustment took much longer because Japanese people needed time to cope with the shock. Also, the wave of Western consumerism and lifestyles can create crises in a traditional way of life, as, for example, in Muslim and Hindu societies. Such an identity crisis might be regarded as hindering the development of peace, security, and kyosei. In addition, in today’s globalized world, many people feel uncertainty and believe they are at risk. Thus, loss of trust and credibility could also be critical problems caused by globalization.

Establishing Credibility under Globalization Although there are many positive aspects of globalization, people still feel uncertain and at risk because they are not sure about the overall outcome. In order to reduce the problems and risks of globalization, we need to establish trust and credibility among individuals, private companies, and nonprofit organizations. In other words, it is critically important to

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establish interrelated value norms (such as trust, credibility, ethics, and justice) among people in the global community. In a closed traditional society, such a value system is normally established according to a particular culture and tradition, but in order to establish credibility in a global community, we must identify common values or norms that can be applied to different cultures and nations. We can establish credibility under globalization by returning to basics—that is, to those societal values that can be used to establish trust and credibility—such as keeping promises, being honest, having a sense of justice, being conscious of human security, avoiding discrimination, protecting the environment, and respecting human rights. These values should also include service to the community, social responsibility, and a grasp of costs and efficiency. Clearly maintaining such basic values will contribute to stabilizing the volatile fluctuations of expectations and thus will help increase the credibility of the people or group in question. Keeping those basics in mind, what additional conditions are needed to establish credibility under globalization? 1. It is important to accept globalization as a trend in world history. Although there are many problems with globalization, this phenomenon should be recognized as a historical trend that is part of the Industrial Revolution. In other words, globalization cannot be stopped. 2. It is important to justify one’s own way of thinking and behavior in order to respect the desires of others for peace and security. Establishing a clear mission and accountability (for an individual or a group) is necessary in the era of globalization. 3. It is important to make the case by using simple and universal principles. The use of easily understood explanations or arguments based on universally accepted principles is a key to establishing credibility. 4. It is crucially important to react and respond quickly in interactions with others. Timeliness is vital in influencing the expectations of both markets and people. 5. It is important to be sensitive to both human and market values. Winning the support of people and markets will establish trust and credibility. Failure to get the support of either or neither will very quickly result in loss of trust.

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6. It is important to be able to grasp and judge matters and events with a holistic perspective. In establishing credibility in a globalized world, holistic knowledge will be more important than technical or specialized knowledge.

Basics for Establishing Credibility for Individuals The most basic source of trust is person-to-person relationships. A typical example is a mother’s relationship with her baby, in which a mother loves her child, and the baby unhesitatingly trusts the mother. There is a fundamental love or respect for human dignity between the two. In order to establish trust among individuals, a person needs to be loved and respected as a whole person by others. In our modern world, information about individuals tends to be fragmented, and this hinders a person’s ability to build trust through knowing the whole personality of another individual. For example, Internet communications can provide detailed information to many people about certain aspects of one person, but it is not easy for people to establish personal trust if they do not know each other personally. Once two people meet each other and understand each other better through personal contact, Internet communications will become a powerful means for developing further actions with confidence. What, then, are the basic qualities individuals must have in order to establish credibility? The following questions will help determine if people are credible: 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7.

Are they honest? Do they keep their promises? Do they have sense of justice? Do they have a warm heart? Do they have sense of self and a social identity? Do they have sense of social responsibility? Are they conscious of human security and protecting the natural environment? 8. Are they committed to community? 9. Are they economically and socially capable?

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Basics for Establishing Credibility in the Nonprofit Sector For the purposes of this discussion, the term nonprofit sector includes a wide range of nonprofit organizations, educational institutions, governmental organizations, and multilateral international organizations. Today, the common characteristic of nonprofit sector organizations is that they are working for some public purpose, a purpose that a profitmaking organization may not be able to achieve. Since a nonprofit organization exists for a public purpose, it must have a clear mission to justify its existence. Also, because nonprofit organizations have to depend upon outside financial resources (such as donations, tuition, and national or international tax resources), they must be accountable if they are to establish credibility. And in order to be accountable, they must ensure that the financial and human resources entrusted to them are used for the intended purposes. For this reason, the organization is expected to make its operation transparent, for example, by meeting disclosure requirements. These disclosures or announcements must be presented clearly and must be produced on time, so that financial institutions as well as individuals will be able to appreciate their accountability. Figure 9.2 shows how a central bank, such as the Bank of Japan, establishes credibility in a globalized system. The lower part of the triangle shows the conditions necessary for a central bank to secure accountability, a requirement for achieving credibility. The “Market Values” section explains that any policy carried out by a central bank needs to be supported by a global market characterized by the principles of free transaction and market efficiency. In other words, any move that is not supported by market expectation will produce only volatility or uncertainty. At the same time, the “Human Values” section shows that any policy carried out by a central bank needs to be supported by the people. Any move that threatens human equity or disrupts this grassroots support will not succeed in producing accountability, because the mission goals of a central bank include the well-being of the people. The items listed under “Transparency” represent what a central bank needs to show publicly about its decision-making and implementation processes. These requirements include clear mission goals, such as achieving price stability, economic growth, and financial system security; disclosing information on time; and explaining policy actions simply and clearly.

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Figure 9.2: Establishing Credibility under Globalization Market Values, Human Values, Transparency, Accountability

CREDIBILITY Worldwide Trust

ACCOUNTABILITY Increased Objectives Attained through Accountability

MARKET VALUES Deregulation Market Efficiency Support from Market

TRANSPARENCY

HUMAN VALUES

Clear Mission Goals Disclosure Easy to Understand Timeliness of Policy

Conditions for Accountability

Equity Human Concerns Support from People

KanoYamamoto © Kano Yamamoto

Fig. 9.2. Establishing Credibility under Globalization

All these measures help promote accountability. The cumulative effect of attaining policy objectives through accountability helps establish the credibility of the policy maker, in this case, a central bank. In the past, some central bankers were proud of saying that a central bank acts but never explains. But this is certainly not true now of any central bank under a globalized system. Only after credibility is firmly established will policy actions taken by a central bank have an effective impact on the market and the economy. What basics are needed, then, to establish credibility in the nonprofit sector? The following questions will help determine the credibility of a nonprofit organization: 1. Is the organization trusted? 2. Is the mission clearly defined? 3. Are organizational priorities clearly set out in relation to the mission? 4. Is the organization conscious of both market values and human values? 5. Is the organization conscious of the need for accountability and transparency in its operations? 156 k a no ya m a moto

6. Is the organization cost conscious and efficiently managed? 7. Are the resources entrusted to the organization used for the purpose intended?

Basics for Establishing Credibility for Corporations Profit making has been the major marker for evaluating for-profit organizations, such as corporations, and corporations that earn large profits normally win market credibility. Economics and business management theories have long assumed that profit maximization is the key element of business behavior, but these theories generally neglect the analysis of business ethics or trust. In recent years, however, such factors as ethics, justice, trust, and corporate social responsibility have become recognized as important elements in economics and business theories and in real-life corporate management. John O. Whitney states in The Economics of Trust that “equating trust—a moral, ethical concept—with profit and loss” sounds crass. “But virtue and profits are not mutually exclusive.” He stresses the importance of maintaining trust while realizing corporate profits. Whitney observes that trust is easier to achieve when the enterprise’s sense of purpose is both understood and shared by the organization and its members: “Not all need to be in lock step. Nor does the individual need to be submerged in ‘group-think.’ There is plenty of room for diversity and individual initiative in pursuit of the purpose. But if the sense of purpose is either not understood or if irreconcilable differences about the end (not the means) exist, a trusting environment is difficult to achieve.”1 For example, if an automobile company fails to recall a car with defects, the company will lose the trust of both the market and individual consumers. There have been numerous cases in industries such as food production, construction, banking and finance, and the service sector. Corporate social responsibility has been recognized as an important element in retaining a good company image while making a profit. The concept of the global compact supports the United Nations’ Millennium Development Goals. The human values promoted by the United Nations have become an important component of business for global enterprises. Factors that are considered important for establishing credibility in the nonprofit sector have also become important for profit-making corporations. Establishing Credibility under Globalization 157

What basics are necessary for profit-making companies to establish credibility? The following questions will help identify the key elements: 1. Is the company making a profit? 2. Does the company have a sense of mission and a sense of corporate social responsibility? 3. Is the company serving its stakeholders (such as consumers, suppliers, and employees), not just its stockholders? 4. Is the company conscious of human values, not just market values? 5. Does the company have a culture of business ethics? 6. Does the company support the idea of the global compact?

The Role of Higher Education in Globalization Education, especially higher education, can play a major role in establishing credibility under globalization. All the factors mentioned as basics must be emphasized in school and family education. A liberal arts education combined with an experiential educational system called “service-learning” would strengthen the credibility of the overall educational system. In particular, it is crucially important for college and university students to come to an individual understanding of the world, through their own experiences and through reflections upon their own actions. A liberal arts education aims to educate the whole person, with an emphasis on interdisciplinary, experiential, and human studies. In this system, a liberal arts education emphasizes an interdisciplinary curriculum, an international perspective, face-to-face education involving personal contact with teachers, and learning through service in the community. Service-learning is a powerful means of establishing credibility and leadership for students who will learn about the world’s realities, be motivated to solve problems, learn how to serve others, strengthen their sense of social responsibility, understand the nature of globalization, and become both more trusted by others and more self-confident. Students must be educated about globalization, with an emphasis on value diversity, in order to make the changes necessary for building peace, security, and kyosei.

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Basic Capacity to Establish Credibility and Leadership under Globalization Based on the analytical framework illustrated in figures 9.1 and 9.2, let us consider the fundamental abilities needed to establish credibility under globalization. What factors must educational institutions consider in educating students in today’s international setting? The following basic capacities are needed for establishing credibility and leadership in the era of globalization: 1. We must realize the nature of globalization. Since the two streams of globalization (market value globalization and human value globalization) are world trends, we must understand and appropriately evaluate the two streams. 2. We must respect the dignity of others and accept their separate identities. From the perspective of globalization, we must respect others’ opinions and accept diversity. 3. We must be able to communicate in a clear and transparent way, using universally accepted principles or logic. In the era of globalization, any action must be understood by people around the world. Therefore, transparency and accountability must be maintained in order to win the support of the people and markets. 4. We must be able to act promptly. Under globalization, the world reacts quickly to changes in information and in the environment. Quick policy responses to changes are essential to establishing credibility. 5. We must be sensitive to human values and diversity. Simple and universal values, such as respect for human dignity, love, honesty, and equity, are vital for establishing trust and credibility. 6. We must be sensitive to market values as well. Market efficiency and equity are the criteria for establishing credibility. 7. We must be able to take a holistic view and make holistic judgments. In today’s highly specialized world, knowledge of a special field is required, but since globalization will bring all kinds of changes, the ability to judge and act from a holistic viewpoint is even more important for survival and leadership.

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* “ Service-Learning” can be interpreted as a process of “Redeeming Knowledge” (Richard Wood) through the actual experience of the real world. ** “Service-Learning” can be considered as a process of “Educating the Heart” (Florence E. McCarthy) through actual experience of serving others. © Kano Yamamoto

Fig. 9.3. Concept of Service-Learning

The Role of Service-Learning and Liberal Arts Education Today, in order to foster credibility and leadership through the educational system, both service-learning programs and liberal arts programs should play a major role in higher education. Service-learning is a form of experiential learning based on the student’s genuine interests and initiative but includes appropriate academic preparation and a foundation of general knowledge. Through service-learning, students can learn about the world and acquire real-life knowledge through a reflective learning process (fig. 9.3). Service-learning is often referred to as “educating the heart” because students learn from interpersonal interactions in the real world. This system is also known as the process of redeeming knowledge because, through their real-life experiences, students obtain a knowledge of the world that cannot be taught in classrooms or learned from textbooks. Through service-learning, students develop a better understanding of the reality of the world, are motivated to solve problems, understand and consider what they can do for the community, learn how they can serve others, consider the purpose of their lives, strengthen their sense of responsibility, become more self-confident, become more trusted and 160 k a no ya m a moto

Figure 9.4: Concept of Liberal Arts Education at International Christian University

Curriculum Structure Interdisciplinary

Academic

Liberal Arts Education

Campus Life Person to Person Face to Face

Service-Learning Experience

Excellence Seeking Basic Methodology

International Perspective International Interaction

Serving Community © Kano Yamamoto Kano Yamamoto

Fig. 9.4. Concept of Liberal Arts Education at International Christian University

credible, and combine leadership potential with heart. Service-learning can be applied to any discipline or area of work; however, it is particularly effective when combined with a liberal arts education, which aims to educate the whole person, with an interdisciplinary and human emphasis. Figure 9.4 shows the conceptual framework of the servicelearning and liberal arts education practiced at International Christian University (ICU). The ICU program educates students who can serve God and humankind through a liberal arts education. The major components of this liberal arts (or whole person) education are the following: an interdisciplinary curriculum, which gives a wide perspective; academic excellence, which enables students to pursue in-depth learning within a discipline; international interaction through student exchange programs, language and communication programs, and an international student body and faculty; a campus life characterized by face-to-face interactions; a service-learning program that involves work with the community; and a Christian orientation that is consistent with human values. In short, this program represents a basic framework for an educational system in which the concept of service-learning plays a major role in helping people develop a sense of justice, respect for humanity, and leadership capacity. This will nurture the capabilities of a new generation to work toward a world of peace, security, and kyosei. Establishing Credibility under Globalization 161

Service-Learning Network for Promoting International Understanding International Christian University has emphasized the importance of developing international service-learning opportunities because service in an international setting gives students the opportunity to understand different societies, cultures, and values. The first course for college credit in international service-learning started at ICU in 1996, when, after appropriate preparation and consideration, students were sent to work at international nongovernmental organizations and other service organizations for at least thirty full working days. ICU hosted the first Service-Learning in Asia Conference in summer 2002 with the support of the United Board for Christian Higher Education in Asia and the International Partnership for Service-Learning. This conference resulted in a student exchange network of interested universities in Asia. Under this service-learning exchange program, participating institutions send students to counterpart institutions in various parts of Asia. With appropriate supervision, the students are placed in service agencies and are given opportunities for reflecting on their experiences. In 2005, ICU won a four-year government grant to develop international service-learning networks that would carry out model servicelearning programs in Asia and Africa. Based on this project, ICU conducted a model service-learning program at Silliman University in the Philippines in summer 2006. In addition to program resource staff, participants included students from ICU, from Silliman, and several Asian institutional partners. In 2007, another model program was conducted in Madurai, South India, hosted by Lady Doak College. In summer 2008, ICU conducted a new type of model program in Lilongwe, Malawi, in cooperation with Washington State University (WSU), Total Land Care (TLC)—an NGO for agricultural development—and Bunda College for Agricultural Development, at the University of Malawi. The sixteen student participants consisted of ICU, WSU, Bunda, and Seoul Women’s University students. For six weeks, participants worked with TLC to help assess its rural development activities. Three of the four academic institutions (ICU, WSU, Bunda) and TLC sent advisers or supervisors to the program. The program was remarkably successful in drafting policy recommendations for TLC and other interested organizations in Malawi. More recently, ICU has been promoting service-learning student exchanges in China, particularly with 162 k a no ya m a moto

© Kano Yamamoto

Fig. 9.5. Service-Learning Student Exchange Network, ICU and Partner Institutions, 2003–9

Nanjing-based institutions such as Nanjing University, Nanjing Normal University, and the Amity Foundation. This new initiative is based on the belief that academic partnerships are particularly meaningful in promoting peace and reconciliation between Japan and China, and the NanjingTokyo Academic Partnership held a meeting at ICU in March 2007. Figure 9.5 shows the development of ICU’s international servicelearning student exchange networks over the past several years. Based on feedback from students and teachers, this program has had an enormous personal impact on those who have been involved in promoting international and cross-cultural understanding.

Credibility and Trust as a Basis for Peace, Security, and Kyosei The focus of this chapter has been the importance of establishing credibility and trust under globalization, but we must remember that this credibility and trust form the basic conditions for peace, security, and kyosei. Here, it is helpful to look at the work of the United Nations, an international organization that developed human value concepts as universal principles that are broadly applicable to major cultures and Establishing Credibility under Globalization 163

societies. The Universal Declaration of Human Rights and the Convention on the Rights of the Child both embody these values and are good examples of such universality. The United Nations’ concept of human values assumes that major religions and cultures share a common appreciation of human rights and dignity. Similarly, from a biblical perspective, peace is realized when there is a shared belief that people are loved by God and the people love one another despite their differences. In an era of globalization, when peace needs to be built through the intense interaction of people from different backgrounds, the concept of kyosei, or living together in diversity, becomes particularly important. If we can promote respect for other people’s identities as a common principle of appreciating diversity in human society, then the concept of kyosei will become a powerful means for creating peace and security. The concept might overcome the negative perception of “tolerance” as a means of maintaining peace. But any form of fundamentalism tends to stick to a narrow belief and exclude others, that is, to not respect the rights and dignity of others. Fundamentalism takes various forms: for example, narrow fundamentalism exists among Muslims, Christians, and Hindus. In many cases, these fundamentalist teachings and beliefs have departed from the original spirit of the religion’s teachings and texts. Efforts to establish widely accepted human values must overcome such narrow fundamentalism, which neglects human identity or does not value others’ dignity (beyond a narrow interpretation of the original religious teaching). In this respect, one of the interesting recent developments in the United Nation’s concept of human values is the idea of cultural liberty in today’s diverse world. The United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (U NESCO) Universal Declaration on Cultural Diversity, which was adopted soon after the events of September 11, 2001, by the U NESCO General Conference (thirty-first session), was the first attempt to incorporate recognition of cultural diversity into the concept of universal human values. Koichiro Matsuura, director-general of U NESCO, stated, “It was an opportunity for States to reaffirm their conviction that intercultural dialogue is the best guarantee of peace and to reject outright the theory of the inevitable clash of cultures and civilizations.” Article 1 of this declaration states: “Culture takes diverse forms across time and space. This diversity is embodied in the uniqueness and plurality of the identities of the groups and societies making up human kind. As a source of exchange, innovation, and creativity, cultural diversity is 164 k a no ya m a moto

as necessary for human kind as biodiversity is for nature. In this sense, it is the common heritage of humanity and should be recognized and affirmed for the benefit of present and future generations.” Article 4 states: “The defense of cultural diversity is an ethical imperative, inseparable from respect for human dignity. It implies a commitment to human rights and fundamental freedoms, in particular the rights of persons belonging to minorities and those of indigenous peoples. No one may invoke cultural diversity to infringe upon human rights guaranteed by international law, nor to limit their scope.” Article 5 further states: “Cultural rights are an integral part of human rights, which are universal, indivisible and interdependent. The flourishing of creative diversity requires the full implementation of cultural rights as defined in Article 27 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights and in Articles 13 and 15 of the International Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights. All persons have therefore the right to express themselves and to create and disseminate their work in their language of choice, and particularly in their mother tongue; all persons are entitled to quality education and training that fully respect their cultural identity; and all persons have the right to participate in the cultural life of their choice and conduct their own cultural practices, subject to respect for human rights and fundamental freedoms.” Globalization does have many positive aspects, but at the same time, it brings various risks and problems. Given the fact that globalization is a historical trend, which cannot be reversed, establishing or restoring credibility and trust in a globalized world is a prominent issue. A return to the basic values discussed earlier in this chapter is a key factor in establishing credibility. And higher education, in particular, a liberal arts education, in conjunction with international service-learning will be a powerful method for doing so. Respecting other people’s identities and dignity is an important part of human rights and human security, but this respect is often disturbed by the fundamentalism that has accelerated under globalization. Under such circumstances, mutual appreciation of differences will form the basis for restoring credibility and trust. Credibility and trust, in turn, will form the basic elements needed to create peace, security, and kyosei. In other words, students, as well as the broader community, must be educated about the value of globalization and diversity in order to make changes in building peace, security, and kyosei.

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Notes The author consulted the following sources in writing this chapter: United Nations Development Programme, Human Development Reports (2004 and various issues); United Nations, Universal Declaration of Human Rights; United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization, U NESCO Universal Declaration on Cultural Diversity; Whitney, The Economics of Trust; Yamamoto, Role of Service-Learning; and Yamamoto, Establishing Credibility under Globalization. 1

Whitney, The Economics of Trust, 17.

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10 Can Grand Theories of the State Help Us Envision a Grand Theory of Peace? gr egory hooks

I

n the introduction to this volume, the editors defend and clarify the utility of a grand theory in moving toward peace, security, and kyosei and challenge other peace researchers to make contributions on this front. This conception of a grand theory does not imply an omniscient and rigidly abstract edifice. A grand theory of peace must be intimately tied to the quest for a peaceful world and social justice. The editors propose a grand theory that serves as an overlapping consensus, open to empirical and historical inquiry and concerned with future developments. As they and Johan Galtung make clear, a full realization of peace requires active cooperation across polities, social justice within and among societies (kyosei), and “personal independence and the creative tension.”1 This chapter focuses on the state—the human organization that has displayed an unrivaled capacity to wage war over the past five hundred years. As Charles Tilly observes, “war made the state, and the state made war.”2 There is little doubt that Tilly is correct: the state is, quite literally, defined by its war-making prowess. And in Max Weber’s definition (the default definition of the state), the state is a compulsory political organization that exerts a monopoly over the legitimate use of force in a given territory. Since the sixteenth century, states have emerged as the dominant political organization, and during this period they have been far more successful than other human organizations in waging war. As such, states are the biggest impediment to peace. In the introduction to 167

this volume, the editors call on us to create an “epic theory” of peace, that is, a “theory which is inspired by the hope of achieving a great and memorable deed through the medium of thought.”3 This chapter focuses on the state as an impediment to peace in order to better understand the challenges confronted by peace theorists and to devise steps to overcome these challenges. When striving to construct an “epic theory,” it is important to keep the transformative goal in mind. For this reason, an immanent critique— a focus on the contradictions and failures of current social practices relative to the ideal of positive peace—is the preferred mode of analysis. Jurgen Habermas calls for an “ideal speech community,”4 which has a great deal in common with the ambitious conception of peace advanced by Kawamura, Murakami, Chiba, and Galtung. An ideal speech community not only envisions meaningful material and political equality; it also envisions a society with broad and direct participation in debating and making key social decisions. Habermas recognizes that no extant society has achieved (or even approximates) an ideal speech community. By conceiving of an ideal speech community and using this concept as a benchmark, he can maintain a critical stance when analyzing current processes. The grand theory that the editors develop can likewise serve as a benchmark and guidepost in our effort to conceive of and build a more peaceful society. It is in the spirit of an immanent critique that this chapter reviews grand theories of the state and documents the state’s unmatched role in war making. This stark appraisal of the state’s history and its organizational logic highlights the challenges we confront and points to possible ways of moving forward.

The Pacification of Warlords and the Rise of the State In Europe, the state has been the dominant political organization of the modern era.5 From the decline of Charlemagne’s empire (circa 900) until the rise of proto-states in the fourteenth century, the fiefdom was the dominant political entity in Europe. The hegemony of the aristocracy was based on military power. Each fiefdom was largely autarkic: civilian and military resources were extracted and controlled locally. Alliances of aristocrats did make possible relatively large military campaigns, but lords on the victorious side were rewarded with control over larger land

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holdings, reinforcing centrifugal tendencies.6 From 1000 to 1500, the return of long-distance trade and the increased use of currency tilted the balance of power toward the crown. On the one hand, as titular kings and queens became sovereigns in fact, they were able to extract resources from commercial activities concentrated in cities across their realm. Aristocrats, on the other hand, were constrained by the limited geographic reach of their fiefdoms, and their economic assets were concentrated in land, not in currency. States (controlled by sovereigns) outflanked the aristocracy because states exercised dominion over a much larger area and were able to tap more flexible funding sources than were their aristocratic rivals.7 The rise of the state sets the stage for the “civilizing process”—the transformation of aristocratic mores and the diffusion of these mores throughout European society. With France leading the way, emergent states pacified the warlords of feudal Europe—and aristocrats became “civilized.” In contrast to their autonomous status at the height of the feudal era, warlords became increasingly dependent upon their relationship to the crown and the delegation of royal authority to them. As the pacification of the warlords proceeded, the so-called courtly forms of conduct were introduced; these new forms of conduct eschewed the overt violence and intimidation of an earlier era, replacing this code of conduct with an elaborate set of customs and manners. In turn, courtly manners and sensibilities diffused throughout society, influencing manners of eating, sexuality, household arrangements, and interpersonal interaction. 8 In Power and Civility: The Civilizing Process, sociologist Norbert Elias does not account merely for the rise of the state; he is also concerned with the pacification of the aristocracy. By this, Elias is referring to more than laying down arms and negotiating a negative peace (as later defined by Galtung). He is concerned with the civilizing process. In his account, the central actors of medieval Europe, the warlords and the Church from around 500 to 1500, were not transformed through internal processes. Similarly, this medieval history teaches that it is unlikely contemporary states will achieve pacification by processes specific to them. Just as the Catholic Church was incapable of pacifying the aristocracy, it is unlikely that the United Nations (an organization of which states are members) is capable of pacifying contemporary states. However, with the Elias analysis as a guide and in the spirit of an immanent critique, it is possible to identify organizational forms with the capacity to pacify states.

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The Challenge of Globalization As noted, the rise of states did not usher in a period of peace. Rather, the state became the dominant political entity because of its singular ability to control the means of violence. In Tilly’s words, “Eventually, the personnel of states purveyed violence on a larger scale, more effectively, more efficiently, with wider assent of their subject populations, and with readier collaboration from neighboring authorities than did personnel from other organizations.”9 He further defines war making as efforts by states to eliminate or neutralize rival states “outside the territories in which they have clear and continuous priority as wielders of force.”10 The rise of European states led to a period of conquest and subordination around the globe—the European powers caused death and destruction while imposing their own form of political, economic, and cultural order. Moreover, the scale and lethality of wars grew exponentially over the period. Today’s rapid globalization of economic and cultural processes makes possible the eclipse of the state as the world’s unrivaled political organization. In fact, the extent and the pace of globalization have led a number of scholars to question the state’s centrality and viability.11 For example, many economic transactions are no longer physically located in one place but are instead enmeshed in a global financial and economic network, outside of one state’s control.12 Of course, states have never been able to simply dictate terms to major economic and financial organizations, but the rapid shift toward a global, networked, and information-based economy has diluted their ability to translate their capability to coerce and administer into de facto economic power. Today’s nationstates can no longer contain their own economies, and they are both constrained by and dependent upon a global economy. Although traditional nation-states will survive, states will lose power if they are unable to control political, economic, and cultural processes.13 In Democracy and the Global Order, David Held spells out the dilemmas for polities under these circumstances. Democracy allows the enfranchised to exercise a measure of control over political decisions. However, as globalization spreads, many important issues are beyond the control of any state, for example, environmental problems created beyond a nation-state’s borders and global economic processes.14

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Organized Hypocrisy We often take for granted that political and military powers are controlled by a state and that this power coincides with the nation-state’s frontiers. This assumption of Westphalian sovereignty is often taken for granted, and “[t]he conventional view holds that in the period since 1648 European, and subsequently world, politics can be characterized as an anarchical system comprising the interactions of like units (states), in turn selected and socialized in accordance with Westphalian sovereignty.”15 However, Stephen Krasner demonstrates that the assumptions behind the conventional view are misplaced. There is and has been sharp variation in the sovereignty and autonomy of states. Because the more powerful states establish the contours of the international order and intervene (directly and indirectly) in the domestic affairs of less powerful states, he refers to the pretense of Westphalian sovereignty as “organized hypocrisy.”16 Recognizing the inequality among states and coming to terms with the organized hypocrisy that obscures this inequality are essential steps in clarifying the challenges and envisioning the possibilities for creating a more peaceful world. With an emphasis on the inequality among them, Donnelly identifies three types of states: great powers, semi-sovereign states, and outlaw states.17

Great Powers For a number of centuries, the states commanding the most powerful military force and the greatest economic resources have routinely wielded disproportionate power. These states have set limits on international treaties and have enjoyed the option of violating treaties and conventions imposed on less powerful states. This has certainly been true in the post– World War II era. The victors of World War II established the United Nations. In one respect, the UN Charter is emphatic about the formal equality of member states; however, the funding structure and the special role reserved for the permanent members of the Security Council create both de facto and de jure inequalities among states. Earlier in this chapter, we briefly examined how the states of early

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modern Europe successfully pacified the warlords by outflanking and overpowering them and secured a monopoly on legitimate violence. However, it is hard to envision a comparable process leading to the pacification of the great powers of the twenty-first century. The United States and China will be especially powerful, but the great powers of the early twenty-first century would also include England, France, Germany, India, Japan, and Russia. Individually, these great powers have the economic resources or military prowess (or both) to resist oversight and control by an international organization. Moreover, these states set the rules for international cooperation and debate. Together and individually, they would impede the emergence of an international state capable of outflanking or overpowering them.

Outlaw States “States that violate certain international norms place themselves outside the law, in whole or in part, and become liable to legitimate limitations on the exercise or enjoyment of their sovereign rights.”18 The sovereignty of outlaw states has been circumscribed many times. For example, in the early 1990s, the sovereignty of Iraq was sharply curtailed after its invasion of Kuwait and its defeat on the battlefield. In the post–World War II period, states committing aggression against neighbors and mass crimes against their own citizens have been deemed outlaw states. Their sovereignty has been challenged in international settings, and, on occasion, another state or the United Nations has intervened to constrain outlaw states. In terms of envisioning and building a more peaceful world, recognition of and response to outlaw states are crucial, and, there has, in fact, been an encouraging trend toward widespread condemnation of crimes against humanity. Establishing legal precedents and then building an international organizational capacity for curbing outlaw states are important first steps toward creating a world that promotes kyosei.

Semi-Sovereignty There are a number of instances in which states cede a measure of sovereignty to others, typically in treaties or other agreements between states.

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These semi-sovereign arrangements “involve legally sanctioned differences in rights, liberties and obligations, arising from a transfer of certain sovereign rights from one (almost always weaker) state to another. Although rooted in inequalities of power, they are no more reducible to power than are class and status inequalities within most states. At the very least, they transform the character of the ‘underlying’ inequalities, often dramatically.”19 Often the more powerful nation guarantees military protection, and the less powerful nation cedes autonomy in international and military activities. The variation in semi-sovereignty can range from modest and specific negotiations to a largely coerced and all-encompassing security arrangement (for example, relations between the Soviet Union and the Warsaw Pact nations). Financial dependence and trade relationships may also lead to compromised sovereignty wherein a weaker state cedes a measure of control in exchange for financial support or trade relationships. These agreements can range from negotiations among equals to arrangements based on coercion (like the trade concessions European states imposed on imperial China in the nineteenth century). Thus, semisovereignty is not inherently more peaceful than sovereignty. If our thinking is constrained by Westphalian assumptions, we can envision only a world in which each state retains absolute sovereignty and this sovereignty is at the foundation of the state’s viability. Under these circumstances, it is all but impossible to envision a scenario in which states would collectively sacrifice their sovereignty and viability. As such, states would certainly reject transnational oversight and international conventions that include robust enforcement mechanisms. Given the role of states in human rights violations, the prospects for peace are nil without effective oversight.20 A critical examination of current practices and state structures reveals a number of regional and transnational arrangements that foster peace without requiring complete restructuring of the international order.

A New World Order or a New Regionalism? Assuming a Westphalian international order, in which individual states are assumed to be equally sovereign, the most plausible hope for pacifying states is the emergence of a world government. And this world gov-

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ernment must have the will and strength to compel recalcitrant and bellicose states. If the only actors under consideration are the states and a world government, the prospects for peace are quite dim. Research into human rights treaties reveals that nations signing treaties are no more likely than those who do not sign to respect human rights.21 In fact, there is some evidence that some nations that sign the treaties are even more abusive.22 If international human rights treaties curb the sovereignty of states and these treaties are a first (if admittedly tentative) step toward a global enforcement regime, these are very discouraging outcomes. Given that states are recognized by the United Nations, it is extremely difficult to envision states voluntarily undermining their own sovereignty and autonomy and transferring them to the United Nations. At the same time, without the United Nations, there is no evidence of another global political organization capable of enforcing its will on recalcitrant (and abusive) states. But Westphalian assumptions have been and continue to be violated. It turns out that inequality in the sovereignty, autonomy, and power wielded by states is the norm, not the exception. By examining and coming to terms with the rich variation among states, it is possible to identify multiple pathways toward the pacification of states and the establishment of a more peaceful order. When considering variation among states, one quickly recognizes that a world government is not the only option for a transnational political and institutional structure that will pacify states and enhance peace. Students of the new regionalism (discussed in the next section) have identified the emergence of institutional frameworks that lead to the integration and coordination of states. Typically, these frameworks are organized among states in geographic proximity to one another and can include regional trade agreements, regional human rights regimes, and so forth.23 This type of analysis does not offer a blueprint for a peaceful future, but it does expand horizons and offers some guidance regarding opportunities and pitfalls.

Regional Chaos and Coerced Regional Integration Before discussing more promising regional dynamics, it is important to note that these regional phenomena are not inherently more pacific than state-level dynamics. Great powers have routinely employed coercion to

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impose terms on weaker states within their sphere of influence. During the Cold War era, the Soviet Union penetrated and coerced the states of eastern and central Europe: “the relations among the states of eastern Europe were incomprehensible from the perspective of the Westphalian model. . . . The institutional structures, policies, and personnel of eastern European states were often the result of coercion. . . . The eastern European states were not autonomous.”24 While its interventions were neither as overt nor as extensive as those of the Soviet Union, the United States also played a powerful role in Latin America during the Cold War. The weakest and most compromised states can also precipitate violence and bloodshed on a regional scale. This has implications for our task of building new theories of peace. Kyosei (like Galtung’s notion of positive peace) requires far more than just the absence of war. Domestically, societies must be organized so as to actively advance the physical and social wellbeing of the citizenry. Failed states are not only failures in the sense that they do not provide benefits and protections to citizens; they often prey upon or are allied with others who exploit and murder the most vulnerable. There have been far too many examples of states being implicated in or perpetrating the mass murder of their own citizens.25 The ongoing and widespread slaughter in Darfur is one of many examples. Still, Richard Falk observes, “statism, like democracy, is a normative failure unless it is compared with likely alternatives!” Globalization is “weakening state structures, especially in their capacity to promote global public goods, their traditional function of enhancing the quality of life within the boundaries of the state, and their most recent role of assisting and protesting the vulnerable within their borders. Such trends, in turn, encourage disruptive ethnic and exclusivist identities that subvert modernist secular and territorial commitments to tolerance and moderation.”26 In terms of the pacification of warlords, the story has come full circle. Without a viable state to pacify and enforce compliance, many warlords have carved up nation-states and undermined the workings of ineffective states. “The emergence of seemingly sustainable ‘war economies’ serves to complicate any easy or ready response. . . . [If] anything is learned, it is that conflict is positive and profitable for some even if it is disastrous and debilitating for the majority.”27 In a number of African countries, failed states have collapsed into a system of warlordism, and the resulting chaos, forced migrations, and strife have often spilled into neighboring nations.28

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Movement toward More Peaceful Governance on a Regional Scale Although institutional frameworks on a regional scale are no panacea, the dynamics at work on the regional scale do offer the promise of a solution. States sometimes voluntarily cede a measure of sovereignty. And under certain conditions, a state ceding sovereignty contributes to richer and more peaceful relations with other nation-states and to greater protection for its own citizenry. The members of the Association of Southeast Asian Nations (ASEAN) provide an example of the interaction between domestic democratic reforms and a more peaceful regional context.29 This regional association was very much a product of the Cold War and the heavy-handedness with which the United States dealt with Asian nations.30 In other words, for many years, ASEAN was a stalwart anti-Communist association with an agenda focused on defeating and containing Vietnamese initiatives. During the Cold War, authoritarian regimes gained power across the region. ASEAN adopted a Westphalian view on human rights abuses within participating nations and respected the autonomy and sovereignty of authoritarian regimes. Conversely, the space for civil society was constrained within these authoritarian regimes and across the ASEAN region. As Cold War tensions eased in the 1980s and 1990s, Southeast Asian nations moved toward democracy (the Philippines in 1986, Thailand in 1991–92, Cambodia in 1993, and Indonesia in 1998). Democracy propelled three important changes. First, Thailand’s democratically elected government reestablished trade and diplomatic relations with Vietnam (despite this being a violation of ASEAN agreements). Second, greater domestic transparency and openness facilitated arms reductions across the region. “Democratic reforms in Thailand and Indonesia have allowed greater information on Thai defense spending and exposed the corruption in arms procurement that drove defense expenditures in Indonesia under Suharto. Democratization in the Philippines has led to a defense procurement and spending system which is subject to legislative scrutiny.” Third, democratization induced domestic reforms in the direction of open and rule-based governance, and these same tendencies are evident in new regional accords and governance structures. Until the Cold War ended and democratization movements swept the region, “the engagement of civil society in ASEAN has been minimal. Traditionally, there has been far greater co-operation between ASEAN intelligence agencies than ASEAN social movements.” The greater openness afforded 176 gr eg ory hook s

by democratic regimes allows NGOs to play a much larger role in each country and to coordinate efforts across the region. “NGO campaigns in the area of human rights and sustainable development have increasingly been pursued at a regional level.”31 Notwithstanding this positive movement in Southeast Asia, ASEAN does not provide an effective structure for transnational governance. Indeed, several of its member states (for example, Burma, Vietnam, and Cambodia) continue to be authoritarian. ASEAN remains divided on its governance role and does not intervene with such states to promote democracy or rights reforms. Thus, the ASEAN case highlights an opportunity and the intersection between domestic politics (in this case, democratization) and an expanded space for civil society across the region.32 The European Union and related European governance institutions are an example of regional governance that makes a demonstrable contribution to the pacification of states. The European Union has gone well beyond a collection of agreements that chip away at the sovereignty of member states. By adopting a common currency (the euro), member states are obliged to coordinate monetary and fiscal policies. Lowered barriers for movement across the borders of EU nations has meant that members must also develop compatible employment, social welfare, and other related policies. And the European Court of Justice has the power to choose cases and renders judgments that have force. “The European Commission and European Court of Justice are supranational authority structures. National courts accept the rulings of the European Court, an arrangement that was not part of the 1957 Treaty of Rome that created the European Economic Community.”33 For nation-states seeking entry into the EU, the trade-offs are clear. Some sovereignty must be relinquished for an applicant state to be eligible for membership. Given that recent (and prospective) entrants to the EU tend to be less economically developed, there is a nearly irresistible incentive to cede a measure of sovereignty and autonomy in exchange for access to the European market and related institutions. One result has been a notable pacification of European states. At present, it seems unthinkable that the largest EU member states would ever wage war with one another. But the twentieth century’s bloodiest wars were set in motion by rivalries among Germany, France, Italy, and the United Kingdom. The EU system has helped to lower tensions among Europe’s great powers and has contributed to a shift of resources away from military spending.34 Envisioning a Grand Theory of Peace 177

EU membership criteria “require that the candidate country must have achieved stability of institutions guaranteeing democracy, the rule of law, human rights and respect for and protection of minorities; the existence of a functioning market economy as well as the capacity to cope with competitive pressure and market forces within the Union; the ability to take on the obligations of membership including adherence to the aims of political, economic & monetary union.”35 Nations that have recently joined the EU (for example, the Baltic Republics, Hungary, Poland, Romania, and the Slovak Republic) and those with applications pending (such as Albania, Croatia, Serbia, and Ukraine) all have checkered records on democracy and human rights, so it is notable that they are voluntarily seeking admission. The EU is not invading the states of central and southern Europe with the intention of enforcing democracy and human rights, but its structures can advance the development of democratization movements within these nation-states. This chapter has drawn on lessons from grand theories of the state as a way to envision a more peaceful future. Stated in these terms, the question is whether an effective governance structure that operates at the transnational level can pacify states; that is, the state (as an organizational form) has been and continues to be the most effective human organization for waging war. As Elias detailed, the warlords of early modern Europe were pacified only by states that operated on a larger geographic scale and deployed a far more effective military force.36 As such, by recognizing and learning from widespread violations of Westphalian assumptions, and exploring the emergence of novel (and effective) regional governance structures, we can obtain valuable insights on peace, security, and kyosei. Using this frame of reference, the EU is pacifying European states and also contributing to a wave of democratization on the periphery of Western Europe. The ASEAN dynamic is moving in a similar direction—but effective governance structures comparable to those of the EU have not been put in place in this region of the world. Again, regional transnational governance structures are not inherently peaceful. These structures may be built on coercion and may represent a forced alliance imposed on vulnerable states by a more powerful one. As seen in Africa, transnational dynamics do not necessarily contribute to viable governance structures. Instead, the flow of displaced people and arms—as well as movements of contraband but lucrative commodities such as narcotics, guns, and diamonds—all contribute to the collapse of states and a shift of power to warlords. But in terms of the call for a 178 gr eg ory hook s

grand theory of peace stated in the introduction, regional dynamics and regional governance structures offer unique opportunities for pacifying states and building human societies committed to kyosei, both domestically and internationally.

Seeking Peace, Security, and Kyosei In the tradition of immanent critique, states should be analyzed and understood in terms of the social world we strive to create. Recall that we are not simply referring to a cessation of war, or negative peace, but are seeking an expansive conception of peace. Seen in this light, states (and the Westphalian system of states) are incompatible with peace. Peace, security, and kyosei are possible only if states are prevented from waging war and societies are organized to promote social justice and foster creative independence. Given the centrality of war and war making to the organizational logic and history of states, securing negative peace (let alone the expansive conception of peace proposed by the editors of this volume and by Galtung) would require a profound organizational transformation of the state or the emergence of a supranational organization capable of controlling and containing their bellicosity. This chapter has evaluated grand theories of the state with the goal of contributing to a grand theory of peace. As noted here, grand theories of the state have too often been premised on the Westphalian assumption, that states are equally sovereign and autonomous. Over the past decade, scholars have recognized and emphasized the variation among states. Empirical research into states suggests that uneven and problematic sovereignty is and has been quite common and that a variety of national and transnational governance structures have existed for centuries.37 The variation in sovereignty among states and among transnational governance structures poses challenges and creates opportunities. If we uncritically build our work on Westphalian assumptions, it will be difficult to maintain optimism. States became the dominant political organization on the planet because of their unmatched war-making prowess. And the fact that states have taken on educational, social welfare, and infrastructural responsibilities must not obscure the violent foundation (the monopoly of legitimate violence) upon which state power rests. Westphalian assumptions can cause us to overlook or downplay the importance of regional dynamics and governance structures like the United Envisioning a Grand Theory of Peace 179

Nations and NGOs. The United Nations is made up of states—including those that wage wars in defiance of UN mandates and those that prey upon and violate the human rights of their citizens. The UN has sponsored visible treaties that denounce torture and promote a broad array of human rights, but enforcement mechanisms have been anemic. Even if one assumes a robust global civil society and assertive NGOs that promote human rights goals, it is very difficult to envision a future in which the UN or a successor organization can take on the role of a world government capable of policing and pacifying states. Focusing on the variability of sovereignty and on regional dynamics is consistent with the call for a grand theory of peace. That is, paying more attention to regional dynamics will help peace researchers arrive at a theory that provides an overlapping consensus but also remains open to empirical and historical inquiry. And developing a viable grand theory of peace will be an important analytical tool for helping us find new paths to peace, security, and kyosei. In the spirit of immanent critique, this new type of historical and empirical research should focus on those variations in state sovereignty and autonomy that advance or impede peace. It is true that this chapter has been quite pessimistic about the potential of the United Nations to bring about peace if it acts as the only or central transnational entity. Future study of sovereignty and regional governance structures must also examine the manner in which the United Nations and regional governance structures work synergistically to pacify states and advance peace. Perhaps in the future, the United Nations will live up to the dream of bringing about and sustaining peace—not as a world government that centralizes power but as a catalyst that capitalizes on existing opportunities in the world’s current and future sovereignties, regional governance structures, and civil societies.

Notes 1 2 3

Galtung, “Toward a Grand Theory”; Kawamura, Murakami, and Chiba, “Introduction,” 8, in this volume. Tilly, “Reflections,” 42. Kawamura, Murakami, and Chiba, “Introduction,” 9, in this volume.

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4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32

33 34 35 36 37

Habermas, The Theory of Communicative Action; Antonio, “After Postmodernism.” Giddens, The Nation State and Violence. Elias, Power and Civility, 17. Ibid.; Mann, A History of Power; Tilly, Coercion, Capital and European States. Elias, Power and Civility. Tilly, “War Making and State Making,” 173. Ibid., 181. Dunne and Wheeler, Human Rights in Global Politics; Hirst and Thompson, Globalization in Question; Sassen, Globalization and Its Discontents. Castells, The Power of Identity, 245; Held, Models of Democracy, 343. Castells, The Power of Identity. Held, Models of Democracy; Held, Democracy and the Global Order. Hobson and Sharman, “The Enduring Place of Hierarchy,” 63–64. Krasner, Sovereignty. Donnelly, “Sovereign Inequalities and Hierarchy in Anarchy,” 145–53. Ibid., 146. Ibid., 149. Mann, The Dark Side of Democracy. Cole, “Sovereignty Relinquished?”; Frank, Hironaka, and Schofer, “The Nation-State and the Natural Environment.” Hafner-Burton and Tsutsui, “Human Rights in a Globalizing World.” Hettne and Soderbaum, “Theorising the Rise of Regionness.” Krasner, Sovereignty, 216–17. Mann, The Dark Side of Democracy. Falk, “The Challenge of Genocide,” 181. Timothy Shaw, “New Regionalism in Africa,” 406–7. Timothy Shaw, “New Regionalism in Africa.” Katzenstein, “Regionalism and Asia.” Chalmers Johnson, Blowback. Achary, “Democratisation,” 381–82, 383–84. Grugel, “New Regionalism and Modes of Governance”; Krasner, Sovereignty. A similar dynamic is at work in Latin America. At the regional level, the Organization of American States is demanding respect for human rights and space for civil society. Although there is no supranational regional entity capable of enforcing its will, these regional dynamics enhance the climate for human rights and peaceful relations. Krasner, Sovereignty, 235. Stockholm International Peace Research Institute, “World and Regional Military Expenditure Estimates.” European Commission, “Accession Criteria.” Elias, Power and Civility. Krasner, Sovereignty; Krasner, Problematic Sovereignty.

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11 “Remembering Is Not an Innocent Act” Reflections on Postwar German War Memory and Peace Studies

r aymond c. sun

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n 1981, German journalist Bernt Engelmann visited two old school friends from the 1930s. The first, Bobbi, formerly a comrade of Engelmann’s in the Socialist youth group Red Falcon, had joined the Hitler Youth in 1933, soon after the Nazi seizure of power. Ironically, Engelmann met Bobbi just after Bobbi had given a speech commemorating the victims of the failed plot of July 20, 1944, the generals’ plot against Hitler. His father had been implicated in the assassination attempt and executed. Nearly forty years later, Bobbi, a first lieutenant on the Russian front at the time, was still horrified: “My father—a dedicated National Socialist and a model officer—it was unbelievable. Why would he have gone over to the opposition? We owed the Führer everything!” When Engelmann asked him if the war crimes he had witnessed in the east did not help explain his father’s actions, Bobbi replied, “Well, of course, what they did to the Jews was revolting. But we were told over and over again that it was a necessary evil—and by the way, I’m sure my father knew nothing about it. After all, he was a paper-pusher, and he dealt with entirely different matters. No, I must admit, at the time I had no idea we had fallen into the hands of criminals. I didn’t realize that until much later, after it was all over.”1 However upset he was at the time (“My whole world collapsed”), after the war Bobbi and his family reaped great benefits from his father’s belated opposition to Nazism: He received a scholarship to the univer182

sity, and his brother-in-law’s honorary membership in the Schutzstaffel (SS) was excused, allowing him access to positions in the West German Foreign Office and Federal Chancellery. Bobbi’s law practice flourished through these high-level contacts. Engelmann met his other friend, Marga, in a lovely villa in Düsseldorf that had belonged to the family of a mutual acquaintance, Susanne, a Jewish schoolmate who fled to England before the war. In 1942, Susanne’s parents (the former owners of the villa) committed suicide when they were summoned for deportation to the death camps. Engelmann noted: “When I mentioned the former owners, [Marga] responded, ‘Well, that may be. At any rate, Father got the house at a very good price.’” Marga went on to marry an army officer in Munich, and she fondly recalled their engagement party on November 9, 1938, which is also the date of Kristallnacht (Crystal Night), or Night of Broken Glass, a nationwide assault on Germany’s Jewish community that moved Nazi Jewish policy to the verge of official genocide. In recalling that historic night, Marga exclaimed, “That was the happiest day of my life! My father threw a banquet for us at the Briedenbach Hotel—it was fabulous!” When Engelmann responded incredulously, “How unfortunate you had to pick that day of all days for your engagement party!” Marga, he writes, “looked at me with raised eyebrows.” “I mean,” I said, “that was Kristallnacht. The night of November 9, 1938 was the beginning of Germany’s worst pogrom.” “Oh yes, I remember,” Marga said. “When we left the banquet that night, the streets were littered with broken glass. And of course I had on delicate evening slippers, and a floor-length gown. Father said it was a disgrace that the crews hadn’t cleaned up the streets yet. . . .”2

Later, Marga admitted that the story she had originally told Engelmann about her former husband (that he had been killed at the eastern front) was a lie. In fact, her husband had also been executed for his part in the July 20 plot, as the adjutant of one of the senior conspirators. Engelmann concludes his account with a wry observation: “Marga rattled on. It was amazing to me that she had such an excellent memory for everything that had given her pleasure, and no memory at all for unpleasant matters such as Kristallnacht. And as she talked about her Uncle Hubert, who had predicted at her engagement party that her path would always be strewn with roses, and [chatted about] cousin Jürgen, Reflections on Postwar German Memory and Peace Studies 183

and Aunt Mimi, and so many other friends and relatives, it occurred to me that there was one name she had completely suppressed: that of her husband, executed in July 1944 at Plötzensee Prison in Berlin.”3 Bobbi’s opportunism and Marga’s prattling, with the common pattern of denial, selective recall, and complete lack of critical reflection, confirm through the sheer banality of their stories that “remembering is not an innocent act.” These two people demonstrate how stunningly easy it was for many Germans who came of age during the Third Reich to live in equanimity with a history of total war, genocide, and unfathomable human, material, and moral destruction. Their version of the past was innocuous, often pleasant (“All in all we had a wonderful, carefree youth, didn’t we?”), 4 and, in the cases of Bobbi and Marga, highly profitable. Exploiting or denying a loved one’s death for opposing Hitler and trivializing the Holocaust to a mildly annoying coda to an engagement party: these are the trite but effective means with which two ordinary individuals contained the subversive potential of memory—memory that could force present-day Germans to wrestle, critically and constructively, with a legacy of a collectively perpetrated racial war that is arguably the most infamous genocide of the modern era.

Exploring War Memory in Order to Understand Peace, Security, and Kyosei This chapter explores the contours and patterns of post–World War II, post-Holocaust German collective memory and explains how an understanding of the political and social factors that shape war memory can make an important historical contribution to the broader field of peace studies. The study of war memory helps illustrate the core reasons that given societies embrace or resist critical reflection about their responsibility for war and its consequences. If carried out in a comparative framework, such studies could contribute much to a grand theory of peace, security, and kyosei, a major goal of this volume. As the noted historian of war and remembrance Jay Winter observes, war memory, which draws upon an elemental need to “attend to, to acknowledge the victims of war and the ravages it causes[,] is at the heart of the memory boom in contemporary cultural life.”5 But how does a society honor the victims of war when it was directly responsible for their suffering? And how

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do struggles over the content and lessons of memory contribute toward making “never again” more than a tired cliché? Here is where the potential utility of the German case becomes apparent, for it exposes in dramatic form the conflicting imperatives for denial and acknowledgment, and self-pity and empathy toward others—all of which characterize the process of moving toward a mature and responsible engagement with the demons of a toxic past. The hypothesis of this chapter is that although German postwar memory was characterized by prolonged periods of denying or displacing suffering, and although the process of remembering is still fraught with political and cultural tensions, the cumulative thrust of German collective remembrance provides grounds for cautious optimism. This remembrance can contribute valuable lessons about how to purposefully direct the legacies of war along a historically and morally informed path to personal and collective healing and a more mature, self-reflective, and peaceful stance.

Memory and Remembrance: Constructed, Contested, and Changing “Memory is shaped according to our (changing) needs to place ourselves in the present.”6 This single line by Hanna Schissler, an expert on postwar West German culture, captures the essential dynamic underlying studies of collective memory and remembrance.7 Ever since Maurice Halbwachs’s seminal work in the 1930s, scholars of collective memory have begun from the premise of its socially constructed nature—that collective memory is the product of the experiences, perceptions, values, and needs of social groups.8 Memory must thus be understood not as a fixed, unchanging, homogenous “fact” but as a historically contingent, malleable, and politically charged representation of the past. It follows that the formation of collective memory ought not to be regarded as a simple topdown process, with the state or political and social elites imposing their version of the past upon a passive society. As Winter says: “States do not remember; individuals do, in association with other people.” States, ruling regimes, and elites certainly do employ officially sanctioned memories as a key legitimating device and often enjoy control over the sites and forms of memory production, such as museums, monuments, and rituals of civic culture and religion. But these official narratives are frequently

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challenged by popular counter-narratives, and the production of memory is best understood as a complex process of conflict, cooptation, and cooperation between official and popular memory and among competing constituencies at the level of popular culture.9 It follows that the creation of memory is inextricably connected to the formation of collective identity, and memory making is necessarily a highly political process. Acts of collective remembrance are thus centrally connected to issues of power and normalization and to the creation of legitimacy and leverage for given groups. As John R. Gillis puts it, “Identities and memories are not things we think about, but things we think with. As such they have no existence beyond our politics, our social relations, and our histories.” Collective memory routinely re-presents the past in order to make it usable for political and social purposes, eliminating disturbing or intractable themes that would lend unwanted complexity, dissonance, or contradiction. Ironically, in order to remember, much must be forgotten. Gillis argues succinctly that selective amnesia is the corollary of focused recollection: “New memories [require] concerted forgettings.” Such a reified version of the past “offer[s] a screen on which desires for unity and continuity, that is, identity, [can] be projected.”10

Early-Twentieth-Century German War Memory: The First World War The plasticity and politicization of German war memory was already evident in the symbols and messages of post–World War I commemoration. To find meaning and consolation in their loss of some 2 million war dead, Germans, like the other major European combatants, drew upon a romantic nineteenth-century mythology of war in order to invest the dead with redemptive heroic values. In Germany, the cult of the war dead, as explained by George Mosse in his classic work Fallen Soldiers, relied on the creation of national war cemeteries, set in somber natural settings and emphasizing stark uniformity, that highlighted the erasure of all social distinctions in common sacrifice. A nationalist, militarist ethos marked the design of the Totenburgen (fortresses of the dead), walled enclosures that guarded a mass crypt underneath an altar in the center. The same military ethos marked the Heldenhaine (heroes’ groves), living memorials that did not contain actual graves but used trees (preferably the traditional German oak) to represent the war dead.11 Such symbol186 r ay mon d c . su n

ism functioned to salve the trauma of defeat by asserting the enduring virtues of unity, duty, and sacrifice as sources for national rejuvenation in a context of extreme political and social conflict. Because many conservative Germans had refused to accept military defeat (attributing it to the revolution and treachery of left-wing and democratic elements), the symbolism of commemoration included intensely political content. This nationalist potential found its fullest realization through the reworking of memory by the far right, especially the National Socialists, who appropriated and radicalized the cult of the fallen soldier. It is in Nazi commemoration that the conscious manipulation of memory is particularly seen to constitute a sharp break from the past—this manipulation supported the Nazis’ claims to be a revolutionary movement aimed at nothing less than the racial, cultural, and political rebirth of the German nation. Nazi ideologues proclaimed a mythology of martyrdom, positing the unity of identity and purpose among the war dead, slain Nazi activists, and the living party faithful. In rhetoric, art, processions, monuments, and music, the Nazis asserted that their movement represented the spiritual, cultural, and political resurrection of the German Volk, beginning with the spirits of the martyred soldiers and storm troopers. The latter were ever present, transcending time, space, and mortality itself to function as an eternal army of the dead, providing inspiration, admonition, and the hope of salvation. The Nazi party anthem, the “Horst Wessel Song,” enshrined this claim in its first stanza: “Comrades shot by the Red Front and Reaction / March along in spirit in our ranks.”12 Such playing of memory in a militaristic key proved highly effective. The Nazi cult of the dead was a central component of the movement’s emotive, irrational appeal, which went far to justify and ennoble the raw hatred that drove National Socialist racial and political ideology.

Post–World War II West German Memory in the Cold War: Zero Hour, Victimization, and Selective Amnesia The language of post–World War I memory was unspeakable in May 1945. Germany’s destruction was total. Military casualties have been estimated at between 7 and 8 million (with 3–4 million dead). Up to 2 million civilians had been killed in Allied strategic bombing attacks, during their flight from the Red Army in the winter of 1944–45, and while trapped in the hopeless final battles of the war. Air raids claimed the Reflections on Postwar German Memory and Peace Studies 187

homes of 14 million Germans, and 12 million Germans became refugees, expelled from their former homes in the east. The Nazi regime was dead, its legitimacy destroyed, and notions of militaristic martyrdom lay buried with Germany’s own 6 million dead. However, the very magnitude of German defeat, while precluding the redemptive mythologies of the post–World War I era, invited the creation of new myths, thus creating a framework for versions of a usable past that would allow the citizens of both postwar German states to re-create their identities, without having to confront the ultimate issues of acquiescence, complicity, or active support for the Nazi regime that lay behind their massive suffering. Dominating West German collective memory in the first quarter century following the war was the myth of German victimization, which in turn required forgetting or ignoring the broad domestic support the Nazi regime had enjoyed up to the midpoint of the war and the immense suffering inflicted by Nazi policies of racial war and genocide. Holocaust scholar Omer Bartov summarizes as follows: “The war had made the Wehrmacht into Hitler’s army, the Germans into Hitler’s people. Defeat converted them all into victims. If Austria was Hitler’s first victim, Germany was his last. And victims cannot be called to account.”13 Recent scholarship has made clear that postwar West German memory is a classic example of selective remembrance.14 This idea stands in opposition to older theses that attributed West Germany’s failure to come to terms with its Nazi past to a collective psychological trauma, resulting in an alleged “inability to mourn” former complicity with the regime.15 This implies that West Germans were simply unable to confront their recent past and instead buried themselves in the work of reconstruction: physical, political, and social. The “economic miracle” (Wirtschaftswunder) of the 1950s–60s was the material foundation for the Federal Republic’s emergence as a pro-Western, democratic, and Christian bulwark of the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) alliance. The political, material, and social refashioning of West Germany, and West Germans, assumed that May 1945 had indeed represented a “zero hour” (Stunde Null) and was a decisive break from the Nazi past. This past was understood as an historical aberration (that is, as the hijacking of the German state and people through a unique convergence of extreme crisis, political seduction, and population-wide coercion through a totalitarian police state). How, then, could ordinary Germans be held responsible for the atrocities of a criminal elite? Memories of victimization played upon the searing experiences of 188 r ay mon d c . su n

wartime catastrophe shared by the vast majority of Germans. The iconic symbols of German victimization—expellees, prisoners of war (POWs), rape victims, and the “women of the rubble” (Trümmerfrauen)—received broad and sustained support at both the official and popular levels. Taken as a whole, the symbols of German memory enabled post–World War II Germans to fashion a powerful narrative of suffering, endurance, and redemption. The war turned approximately 12 million Germans into refugees, and two-thirds of them settled in West Germany.16 Their harrowing experiences—perhaps 1 million refugees died while fleeing the Red Army— became a central part of the official memory of the Federal Republic: for example, the Adenauer regime’s Ministry for Expellees, Refugees, and the War-Damaged relied on more than eleven thousand eyewitness accounts as the basis for an eight-volume series, which was edited by leading historians and social scientists and made available for public purchase. Official commemorations and support for the public activities and political demands of the expellees further signaled the importance accorded to expellee demands by the West German state, while at the same time popular novels and films made the expellees familiar figures of 1950s popular culture.17 And indeed, the expellees offered valuable political and emotional capital to postwar West Germans. Their suffering inscribed victimization into West German identity, and the horrors of their experience—expulsion, deprivation, death, and rape on a massive scale—went far to neutralize the stigma of German war crimes by matching the pain of Germany’s wartime victims, both quantitatively and qualitatively. As Robert Moeller suggests, “German suffering became the medium for describing Nazi atrocities and the moral coin for settling accounts, for ‘making good again’ and atoning for the suffering of others. . . . In the memories of Adenauer and most West Germans, the past to be overcome in the 1950s, the past to be incorporated systematically as part of the present, was not the past of German crimes but the past of German suffering.”18 POWs filled a similar function in creating a West German memory of victimization. Here, too, the focus was on suffering at the hands of the Red Army, as some 3 million German soldiers were held captive by the Soviets. Of these, approximately 1 million died, and the last POWs were released only in 1955. Once again, the Adenauer regime took an active role in presenting the POWs as heroes and martyrs by sponsoring annual days of remembrance and exhibits about their plight and making their Reflections on Postwar German Memory and Peace Studies 189

release a high-profile item in Cold War politics. As with the expellees, the government sponsored a twenty-two-volume compilation of testimony by former POWs. Thirteen focused on conditions in Eastern Europe, with eight on the Soviet Union alone.19 The West German public enthusiastically supported these efforts, and the POWs’ cause received intensive coverage in churches, the media, and popular literature and film. And what meanings did the West German state and public alike read into the POW experience? Two differing but complementary themes emerged. Because many POWs returned broken in both body and spirit, they were held up as further evidence of German victimization, proof of the atrocities of Stalinism that built Germans’ moral capital of suffering while deflecting attention from Nazi crimes against humanity. The argument of martyrdom was also applied in an explicitly redemptive fashion. First, the extreme conditions of Soviet captivity had purged the prisoners of any remaining guilt for possible war crimes they might have personally committed. Since the POWs were explicitly linked to the identity of Germany as a whole, this argument implicitly relieved Germans of further responsibility for their Nazi legacy. Furthermore, the POWs were portrayed as having paid for the corporate sins of the Nazi regime with their own lives.20 In other words, the POWs became Christ figures for the German nation, redeeming the latter through their personal suffering, with the survivors returning transformed, inwardly purified, and agents of moral and cultural renewal that would enable West German society to resist the superficial materialism of the capitalist social order. As martyrs, prophets, or messiahs, the POWs thus supplied an essential element in the formation of a West German war memory centered on the tropes of victimization and transcendent suffering.21 The themes of zero hour, victimization, and the newly constituted German democracy also found explosively charged expression through the experiences of German women. Elizabeth Heineman’s research shows how the gender-specific victimization of women, their mass rape by Soviet troops at the end of the war, was transformed into a symbol of the degradation of the German nation and the German people as a whole.22 Heineman notes that although estimates of the total number of rapes vary widely, between tens of thousands and 2 million, the knowledge of and fear of rape were universal.23 As witnessed by its recurring use as a weapon of war and genocide, rape is an extraordinarily powerful symbol of domination and humiliation, the ultimate violation of the wholeness, dignity, and purity of both individuals and collectives. 190 r ay mon d c . su n

Because of the special aura of violated innocence that surrounds rape victims, their suffering also becomes a highly emotive and transferable symbol for collective suffering. Such was the case in postwar West Germany, where the memories of victimization built upon the “appropriation of the female rape experience by the nation.” Heineman explains that Cold War political and cultural discourse was suffused with “allusions to the rape of Germany,” a reference to the past destruction and annexation of East Germany by the Soviet Union and the ever present Soviet threat.24 Rape, the most personal form of suffering, thus became foundational for the Germany-as-victim myth. However, women’s experiences also supplied reasons for hope. Accompanying and to some extent ameliorating the narrative of rape were the heroines of the immediate postwar years, the so-called women of the rubble, whose exploits in clearing the ruins of Germany’s bombed-out cities with their bare hands were extensively publicized. The centrality of these women to Germany’s literal reconstruction from ground zero symbolized women’s endurance and resilience in surviving the worst experiences of total war, maintaining and leading their families in the absence of dead, imprisoned, or broken males, and still finding the strength and will to rebuild their nation from the ruins. Victims thus acquired agency, and powerlessness and humiliation were transformed into purposeful action for the future. Like the rape victims, the women of the rubble—many of whom likely occupied both roles—were appropriated in the formation of postwar memory and identity but, in this instance, in order to provide a metaphor of redemptive suffering that paralleled and complemented the male POW experience.25 The first decades of West German postwar memory were characterized by the mutually reinforcing themes of victimization and redemptive suffering. The Federal Republic truly became, in Robert Moeller’s words, “a nation of victims . . . defined by the experience of loss and displacement . . . German victims were members of the West German imagined community. Victims of the Germans were not.”26 To be sure, the Adenauer regime made a beginning toward official recognition of Germany’s responsibility for Nazi war crimes, through official statements (carefully phrased in the passive voice), a reparations treaty with Israel in 1953, and arrangements for compensation to non-Jewish victims of Nazism. Yet it is difficult to escape the conclusion that these were largely, although not solely, tactical maneuvers, the requisite minimum for West Germany’s international rehabilitation and integration as a full-fledged member of Reflections on Postwar German Memory and Peace Studies 191

the Western political and security community. This minimalist approach met with full, if tacit, support from the Allies—above all from the United States, whose interest in having a strong, rearmed, and politically stable West Germany as a Cold War partner precluded deep and controversial soul-searching regarding the possible roots of National Socialism in German history and society or reflection on aspects of the Nazi past that might pose a threat to the myths of zero hour, victimization, and the newly constituted German democracy.27

German War Memory during the Late Cold War and the 1990s: Complexity, Conflict, and Contingent Consensus Studies of the Nazi past in the Federal Republic became much more sophisticated in method and more critical in content from the late 1960s onward. Reflecting a generational change in politics and culture, younger historians began to challenge the comforting orthodoxy of Nazism as an historical exception that had dominated the field until then. Revisionists revisited the question of historical continuity, placing Nazism squarely within larger patterns of Germany’s late-nineteenth-century political unification and socioeconomic modernization. The so-called Bielefeld School, preeminent in the 1970s, went so far as to argue that National Socialism was the all but inevitable outcome of Germany’s development along a “special path” (Sonderweg), a path that deviated from the norm of Western liberal democracies in several ways: in its failure to achieve political liberalization along with economic development and in the political control exerted by German conservative feudal elites over an ineffective constitutional parliamentary system.28 Although the specialpath thesis has since been highly criticized, its lasting influence in reshaping the basic direction of German historiography remains invaluable. Advances in historical methodology accompanied this sea change in perspective. Social history, in particular, enabled historians to explore the experiences and mentalities of ordinary Germans and to assess the intersection of Nazi ideology, politics, and society. Over the last thirty years, historical research on a massive scale has clearly shown that, contrary to early Western Cold War mythology (of a German society alternatively seduced or controlled by the barrel of a gun), the Nazis enjoyed widespread and genuinely enthusiastic support from virtually every sector of society—for example, from workers, managers, women, 192 r ay mon d c . su n

children, soldiers, and clergy. Although not every German was an enthusiastic Nazi, the great majority found enough in the Nazi regime’s goals, rewards, or symbols to give at least their passive assent. Indeed, studies have shown that the police state could not have functioned without the vast and ongoing self-policing and active collaboration of ordinary Germans, who were well aware of the Nazis’ persecution of targeted political and racial enemies from the beginning to the end of the regime.29 Also in the 1970s, mirroring trends in Western Europe and the United States, Germany saw a resurgence of interest in the Holocaust; this sparked a wave of research, educational efforts, and commemoration from the national to local levels. As Claudia Koonz describes it: The commemoration culture that developed in the 1980s inspired hundreds of cities and towns to commission memorials to Jews, to restore Jewish cemeteries, and to revive synagogues as museums. Inscriptions like “To the memory of our Jewish fellow citizens” replaced vague phrases like “No more war” or “To all victims.” Dozens of cities and towns invited former Jewish residents and their children to return for civic ceremonies. During the 1980s, the fortieth anniversaries began. West German politicians followed the example of Willi Brandt, who in 1970 had knelt at the Warsaw monument to the ghetto uprising. In May 1985 [Federal President Richard] von Weizsäcker commemorated the German surrender in 1945 by admonishing Germans to accept the responsibilities of their past.30

West German war memory had evolved far beyond the simple founding tropes of German victimization and redemptive suffering. It is not surprising that the new self-reflective and self-critical historical approach should spark a reaction, especially in the mid-1980s under the conservative rule of the Christian Democratic chancellor Helmut Kohl. In a well-known series of controversies, Kohl first created a political and historical firestorm when he persuaded U.S. president Ronald Reagan to participate in a wreath-laying ceremony at a German military cemetery at Bitburg during the commemoration of the fortieth anniversary of the end of the Second World War. The problem was that the Bitburg cemetery contained not only the graves of ordinary Wehrmacht soldiers (at the time widely regarded as professional soldiers untainted by Nazi war crimes) but also the graves of SS men, members of the Nazi elite organization that held primary responsibility for executing the Holocaust. At Bitburg, Kohl stated that he simply wished to honor all victims of Reflections on Postwar German Memory and Peace Studies 193

Nazism, a wish endorsed by President Reagan, who described the Bitburg war dead as “victims of Nazism too. . . . They were victims, just as surely as [were] the victims in the concentration camps.”31 But the rhetoric of fairness, of honoring all those who died as a result of the war, failed to hide the crucial significance of Kohl’s strategy. Equating the SS, the perpetrators of the Holocaust, with their victims, the targets of Nazi racial and political ideology, effectively absolved Germany of responsibility for racial war and genocide. Narratives of German victimization had reemerged as an act of official German policy. In 1985 and 1986, the tensions between West Germany’s competing war memories exploded in a remarkable public battle that engaged leading intellectuals, journalists, and most of the German historical profession. Waged in the opinion pages of leading newspapers, this Historians’ Debate (Historikerstreit) (although “Historians’ Brawl” might be a more appropriate translation), centered around conservatives’ attempts to relativize the uniqueness of the Holocaust, in terms of motives, scale, and comparability, and thereby to rid Germany of the historical burden that (conservatives alleged) prevented the formation of a healthy (read proud) national identity. This was thus no mere academic debate; the political consequences of the Historians’ Debate were apparent to all parties, even more so given the clear desires of the Kohl regime to establish a “normal” sense of national identity and memory four decades after the war. Although it was painful and alarming at the time, in retrospect it seems that the conflict was both necessary and beneficial, for it forced Germans to directly confront the core issues at stake in the formation of a self-critical model of collective memory regarding Nazism, war, and the Holocaust.32 Wrenching debates over the nature, content, and purpose of German war memory continued after German reunification in 1990, and this required the integration of two highly contrasting sets of memory as a core element of a refashioned German identity. Two extensively publicized controversies of the late 1990s serve to illustrate not only the difficulties but also the new attitudes and possibilities that characterized German collective memory at the end of the twentieth century. The first of these controversies concerns the fascinated, furious public response to an exhibition first mounted in 1995 by the Hamburg Institute for Social Research, War of Annihilation: The German Army and Genocide. The Wehrmacht Exhibition (Wehrmachtausstellung) challenged a popular article of faith in postwar West Germany, namely that the Weh194 r ay mon d c . su n

rmacht, as a professional military, had fought an honorable, “good war” in contrast to the criminal elements of the Nazi Party and SS, who were blamed for the regime’s war crimes and crimes against humanity. In this concept, because the Wehrmacht was a literal and symbolic representation of German society (18 million men served during the Second World War), it followed that German society as a whole had not been directly responsible for Nazi atrocities. The Wehrmacht’s honorable record thus enabled Germans to regard themselves as heroes fighting on patriotic grounds (that is, as victims, not perpetrators) and allowed them to recall the war in terms of redemptory virtues of duty and sacrifice. In short, the myth of the “good Wehrmacht” was an essential component of the larger framework of collective memory that allowed Germans to construct a usable past out of a legacy of merciless racial warfare. However, the Wehrmacht Exhibition sought to destroy the myth of the good Wehrmacht by using photographs, letters, official documents, and court records to document the army’s complicity and participation in war crimes, primarily in southeastern and eastern Europe.33 Although historians had previously raised the topic of the Wehrmacht’s ideological and operational collaboration with the Nazi regime,34 it took the exhibition to bring these themes before the broad German public. Much of the public reacted with outrage, charging that the exhibition amounted to the slander of an entire generation and army for the crimes of a few. Some cities refused to accept the traveling exhibition, and demonstrations, political attacks, and popular protest accompanied the exhibition, which, in spite of (or because of) the furor, attracted 860,000 visitors in thirty-three German cities between 1995 and 1999.35 After highly publicized allegations concerning the veracity of its documentation, the exhibition was suspended and the evidence reviewed by a blue-ribbon panel of historians. Although the review panel found some minor errors of documentation, it cleared the exhibition of the core charges of falsification of data. A revised version opened in late 2000, eventually drawing 420,000 visitors.36 Although controversy still surrounded the exhibition, the end result was that German war memories had been permanently altered. Thus, the Wehrmacht Exhibition, in conjunction with further scholarly research on the role of the army in Nazi racial policies, was a decisive step in laying to rest the myth of the clean Wehrmacht and, through this, setting aside a core component of the larger postwar narrative of German sacrifice and victimization. A second prolonged public debate, which overlapped in its essential Reflections on Postwar German Memory and Peace Studies 195

phases with the Wehrmacht Exhibition, arose over the tortured process that led to the German Bundestag’s June 1999 decision to build a national Holocaust memorial in the symbolic political and historical heart of the new capital of Berlin. The story of Germany’s Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe, also known as the Holocaust Memorial, has been wonderfully told from an architectural, historical, and political perspective by James E. Young, a foremost expert on Holocaust memorials and commemoration, and eventually a skeptic-turned-judge-and-advocate of the design competition.37 In brief, he observes that the history of the Holocaust Memorial reads as equal parts comedy and tragedy. It is a saga of political controversy, interventions by populist outside activists, and a failed first competition in 1995. In this competition, the winning design, immediately shouted down by political, popular, and scholarly protesters, was a marvel of monumental mixed messages: a “gargantuan, twenty-three-foot thick concrete gravestone, in the shape of a three-hundred foot square” that would be covered with 4.5 million names of murdered Jews and eighteen boulders from Masada (the site of the Jewish last stand against the Romans, in the revolt of 66–73 that ended in collective suicide).38 Four more years of political and aesthetic wrangling ensued, during which the project threatened to collapse under the weight of the expectations and unanswerable questions that dogged any attempt to conceive of a monument that would adequately address the commemorative and historical imperatives of both victims and perpetrators. Failure to select an acceptable design, however, would have been a political and public relations disaster. Under extreme duress, the Germans achieved consensus on a radically challenging design by Peter Eisenman in 1999. This memorial has been an integral part of Berlin’s, and Germany’s, public space since its official opening on May 10, 2005, and consists of a field of three thousand sandstone pillars between 1.5 and 10 feet in height. Young explains the intended effects of this design: Able to see over and around these pillars, visitors will still have to find their way through this field of stones even as they are never actually lost in or overcome by the memorial act. In effect, they will make and choose individual spaces for memory, even as they do so collectively. The implied sense of motion in the gently undulating field also formalizes a kind of memory that is neither frozen in time nor static in space. The sense of such instability will help visitors resist an impulse toward closure in the memorial act and will heighten their own role in anchoring memory in themselves. 196 r ay mon d c . su n

In their multiple and variegated sizes, the pillars are both individuated and collected: the very idea of “collective memory” is broken down and replaced with the collected memories of individuals murdered, the terrible meanings of their deaths now multiplied and not merely unified. The land sways and moves beneath these pillars so that each one is some three degrees off vertical: we are not reassured by such memory, not reconciled to the mass murder of millions but now disoriented by it.39

The Holocaust Memorial is intended to foster a form of collective remembrance radically at odds with the earlier, easier, self-exculpating war memory that relied on narratives of victimization and the erasure of moral distinctions between perpetrators and victims. Obviously, the memorial is intended as a permanent reminder to the German nation of its collective responsibility to reflect upon and act on the legacies of a militaristic and murderous past. But the framing of this reminder is deliberately ambiguous, blurring the divide between the individual and the collective while cultivating a sense of instability, disorientation, and lack of closure with the past. In this, the memorial recognizes the fluid and changeable quality of commemoration and remembrance and attempts to ensure the continued relevance of the past for the unforeseeable contingencies of the future.

Back to the Future: The Retreat to German Suffering At the time of its official approval in the summer of 1999, the studied ambiguity of Germany’s Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe appeared to mark the definitive break in German war memory from earlier tropes of victimization and avoidance, a literal enshrining of Holocaust memory in the very heart of German political, public, and historical space. But even as the thousands of stone pillars were being erected, Germany’s memory climate altered to the point that one might ask if the memorial more fittingly represents the end, rather than the beginning, of an era of complex, open-ended, and self-critical remembrance. The catalyst for this paradigm shift can be found in the publication of three major works that resurrected the theme of German wartime suffering. In 1999, W. G. Sebald’s On the Natural History of Destruction (published in German as Luftkrieg und Literatur) reopened the enormity of German suffering under the Allied bombing campaign and questioned why this topic Reflections on Postwar German Memory and Peace Studies 197

had largely been avoided in both official and popular recollections. And in 2002, Nobel Prize–winning novelist Günter Grass published Crabwalk (Im Krebsgang), which centered on the sinking of a German ship packed with thousands of refugees fleeing the Red Army in 1945. Perhaps most controversial is Jörg Friedrich’s The Fire: The Bombing of Germany 1940–45 (published in German as Der Brand), also appearing in 2002, which asked if Britain and America had deliberately bombed women, children, and refugees. It provoked an emotional response in Germany, reawakening survivors’ memories. While many Allied historians refute Friedrich’s use of the term “massacre,” they acknowledge that there is a question to answer. 40 The publication in quick succession of these three books, and the accompanying spike in war coverage in the popular media, fundamentally changed the direction and nature of German public perceptions of the war. The collective effect has been not only to revive the theme of German suffering but especially to cleanse it of the right-wing stigma that had limited its appeal since the 1970s. To speak of German victimization and to attack the morality of the Allies are again safe, even in vogue, with the full approval of left-wing intellectual and cultural elites. A major possible consequence of this trend would be the displacement of Holocaust memory, and of German collective responsibility, as the core element of German war memory. Instead, Germans may, if they choose, retreat to a familiar and highly usable version of the past that to some extent restores the moral high ground they had ceded as the necessary price for an unflinching encounter with the past.

German War Memories and Their Relevance to the Field of Peace Studies The history of postwar West German memory sharply illuminates the political, socially constructed, and selective qualities of collective remembrance. The search for a usable past initially led Germans to highlight their own victimization at the expense of real engagement with the hard political and moral lessons that arose in the aftermath of German-instigated total war and genocide across the European continent. Narratives of their own traumatic but redemptive suffering enabled Germans to create a realistic but sanitized version of a highly disturbing past that

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for decades enabled the Federal Republic as a society to avoid critical reflection and responsibility. These patterns slowly changed from the 1970s onward, but as the controversies of the 1980s and 1990s show, the transformation from being a nation of victims to a society capable of working through its own collective role in the terrible legacies of Nazism remains challenging, controversial, and open-ended. Indeed, the current fascination with German suffering might well be in part an emotional and psychological response to the cumulative stress of reforming German collective memory to embrace responsibility for a historically and morally devastating past. This history offers daunting challenges to scholars working in the field of peace and reconciliation studies, for it shows just how difficult it is for individuals and collectives to act responsibly, own up to their transgressions, and learn to say “never again” to their particular, historically proven vulnerabilities. These vulnerabilities include everything from the conceptual to the practical: the ideologies of racial, religious, ethnic, or national supremacy; the specious resolution of political, social, or cultural differences through violence and the physical or cultural elimination of targeted enemies; and the strategies of avoidance, deflection, or false comparisons among perpetrators and victims of war and genocide that enable a society to escape its responsibilities to both the past and the future. This history further demonstrates the key role of collective memory and remembrance in shaping the perceptions and policies of states and societies that have experienced war-related damage and dislocation on a major scale. Recognizing these constraints, however, might provide the first step toward prevention or even (dare we use the term?) redemption. The malleable and competitive nature of collective memory invites active participation from all parties in its formation and direction. Historians and scholars of all disciplines can play a significant role in making clear the connection among history, memory, and identity; in exposing myth formation that attempts to conceal responsibility for policies of war and aggression; and in formulating self-reflective modes of remembrance that foster critical interrogation and reassessment of a society’s memories, identities, and self-perceptions. At the practical level, scholars would do well to conduct multidisciplinary research on the linkage between collective memory and state policy. A good example of such work is Mary Hampton’s and Douglas Peifer’s 2007 study “German Memory Sites and Foreign Policy,” in Reflections on Postwar German Memory and Peace Studies 199

which the two authors—a specialist in international relations and a historian—convincingly link the “waxing and waning” of specific German “sites of memory” and the way embedded historical, cultural, and moral imperatives attached to these memory sites were translated into German foreign policy. For example, Hampton and Peifer argue that the centering of Holocaust memory in German popular consciousness provided the symbolism and rhetoric (“Never again Auschwitz”) that justified German participation in NATO’s intervention in Serbia’s campaign of ethnic cleansing in Kosovo in 1999, overcoming competing lessons drawn from the Second World War (“Never again war”). In contrast, the erosion of a “trans-Atlantic memory complex,” in conjunction with the rise of the neo-victimization motif of the early 2000s, provided the essential context and language that enabled the Social Democratic–Green Party coalition of Chancellor Gerhard Schröder to take a leading role in European opposition to U.S. policy in the lead-up to the Iraq War in 2002–3. 41 Further case studies and comparative work would provide a basis for in-depth assessment of the linkages between the perceived imperatives of remembrance and policy formation. Second, it bears repeating that because collective memory is socially constructed, acts of remembrance and the lessons drawn from them are essentially political acts. Scholars of peace and reconciliation, who presumably have some degree of personal and ideological commitment to these ideals, must consider the costs and merits of actively participating in the contest to shape and direct war memories. In other words, scholars need to determine whether they will remain “impartial” observers and analysts of social and political processes that determine which memories are relevant to a given society or will jump in and become advocates of a particular set of memories and interpretations, at the risk of losing their neutral status. If they choose to become actively involved, either through their scholarship or by providing consulting and advocacy services that draw upon their cultural authority as educated elites, they might play a significant role in “activating” or “deactivating” certain memory sites, with possible ramifications for official policy as noted above. 42 And what are the lessons that scholars of war memory should be teaching? While the answers to this rhetorical question are endless, this chapter concludes with one particularly striking insight based on the convoluted history of German war memory. It is, simply, that to achieve a truly honest and mature relationship with the past, a society must resist the easy answers of formulaic, black-and-white paradigms, whether self200 r ay mon d c . su n

exculpatory or self-critical. The either/or nature of the debate on where to center German war memory (around the Holocaust or around German suffering) has obscured a fundamental truth: that Germans were, in fact, both victims and perpetrators. Room must be created for both narratives to be heard, and means must be found to integrate the two sets of experiences and their concomitant moral and political legacies. In this context, the recent revival of German suffering as an interpretive device is not at all a bad thing. Not only does it legitimately refocus attention on a traumatic and significant element of the German wartime experience, but it has the potential to lead to fruitful debate and creative attempts to understand, represent, and act upon a collective past that includes both dimensions. There are signs that this process might be under way: a recent report on the fallout from Friedrich’s The Fire notes that it “provoked a still-raging debate about whether and how Germans may remember the civilian victims of the bombing campaign without forgetting or minimizing the Third Reich’s role as aggressor and first practitioner of city aerial bombing.”43 Thus, accepting, even embracing, the complexity, ambiguity, and lack of easy closure inherent to this strategy (the perspective embodied in the Holocaust Memorial) provides a model that could fruitfully be applied in a wide range of similar cases. Embracing complexity and contradiction might, at the least, lessen the moralizing tone that so often reinforces self-serving national narratives of victimization while simultaneously alienating much of the intended wider (read international) audience at commemorations ranging from Dresden to Pearl Harbor to Hiroshima. Instead, the practice and symbolism of collective remembrance might dare to address the reality of the historical and moral “gray zones” that defy easy answers, but provoke critical assessments of a given society’s relationship with its past, and the uses that have been made of this past for present purposes. 44 If nothing else, the study of German war memory makes clear that only after a society has dropped its accumulated baggage of self-serving myths, shields, and mechanisms of denial can it promote peace and justice, both at home and abroad, with enthusiasm, integrity, and credibility. Further study of collective memory and remembrance is thus a necessary first step in the search for new pathways to peace. New perspectives on collective memory and remembrance—along with new insights into peace, security, and kyosei—will all help create the intellectual, political, and social conditions necessary for a more pacific world. Reflections on Postwar German Memory and Peace Studies 201

Notes Chapter title from Schissler, “Introduction,” 6. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

8 9 10 11 12

13 14

15 16 17 18

Engelmann, In Hitler’s Germany, 115. Ibid., 117. Ibid., 119. Marga’s comment to Engelmann. Ibid., 34. Winter, Remembering War, 1. Schissler, “Introduction,” 6. Winter criticizes the term collective memory as a helpful analytical device, noting that overuse has emptied it of meaning. He prefers to speak of collective remembrance, to emphasize the agency of those groups involved in acts of memory formation and commemoration. Winter’s comment is valid, but in the interest of relating to widespread scholarly usage, this chapter uses both terms. Winter, Remembering War, 3–5, 276–77. Halbwachs, On Collective Memory. Winter, Remembering War, 4–5, 276–77. On official versus popular memory, see Bodnar, Remaking America. Gillis, Commemorations, 5, 7, 9. Mosse, Fallen Soldiers, 84–89. The major work on the Nazi mythology of martyrdom is Baird, To Die for Germany. The original text from the “Horst Wessel Lied” reads: “Kamaraden die Rotfront und Reaktion erschossen / Marschieren im Geist in unsern Reihen mit.” Bartov, Hitler’s Army, 183. This chapter focuses on West German war memory. East German memory, because of its deterministic, top-down ideological nature, is much less complex and less interesting in terms of understanding the processes of memory and identity formation. Briefly, the Communist regime decreed that the Nazi past was a non-issue, since by definition the East German state was direct heir to the Communist resistance in the Third Reich. As an anti-fascist state and society, it was theoretically and politically impossible for the German Democratic Republic to have any connection to the Nazi regime, its ideology, or its actions. East Germany was thus absolved of the burden of memory or historical responsibility, which was instead placed on the Federal Republic, the alleged successor to the Nazi state. The classic statement of this position is Mitscherlich and Mitscherlich, Die Unfähigkeit zu trauern. Moeller, “Remembering the War,” 84. Ibid.; Moeller, War Stories. Moeller, War Stories, 79, 85.

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19 Moeller, “Remembering the War,” 93. 20 Moeller, War Stories, 41. 21 Ibid., 105–22. For a detailed study of the cultural symbolism attached to the POWs, see Biess, “Survivors of Totalitarianism,” chapter 2. His extended argument is now available in Biess, Homecomings. 22 Heineman, “The Hour of the Woman,” 354–95. Her argument reappears in her book What Difference Does a Husband Make? 23 Heineman, “The Hour of the Woman,” 28. 24 Ibid., 30. 25 Ibid., 33–35. 26 Moeller, War Stories, 6–7. 27 Ibid., 22–31. 28 The literature on the special-path thesis is vast. The single most influential work of the Bielefield School is Wehler, Das Deutsche Kaiserreich 1871–1918, published in English as The German Empire 1871–1918. 29 On social self-policing, see Gellately, The Gestapo and German Society; Gellately, Backing Hitler; and Eric Johnson, Nazi Terror. 30 Koonz, “Between Memory and Oblivion,” 268–69. 31 Moeller, War Stories, 187. 32 Good introductions to the Historians’ Debate are Baldwin, Reworking the Past; and Maier, The Unmasterable Past. Moeller, War Stories, 186–94, provides a concise summary of the issues and antagonists. 33 The Hamburg Institute for Social Research edited the exhibition catalogue, The German Army and Genocide: Crimes against War Prisoners, Jews, and Other Civilians, 1939–1944, published in English in 1999. 34 Bartov, Hitler’s Army. 35 Jan-Phillip Reetsma, “Afterword: On the Reception of the Exhibition in Germany and Austria,” in ibid., 209. 36 Hamburg Institute for Social Research, The German Army and Genocide. 37 James E. Young, “Germany’s Holocaust Memorial Problem—and Mine.” 38 Ibid., 189. 39 Ibid., 210–11. 40 This section is based upon Hampton and Peifer, “German Memory Sites and Foreign Policy,” 383–84. 41 Hampton and Peifer, “German Memory Sites and Foreign Policy,” 378–81. 42 The language of “activating” and “deactivating” memory sites is Hampton’s and Peifer’s, in ibid.. 43 Ibid., 384. 44 The term gray zone is taken from the writings of Auschwitz survivor Primo Levi, who used it in describing the moral universe created by the Nazi death camp, one in which the moral and ethical standards of normal existence no longer applied, rendering it impossible to make morally clear-cut choices. Levi, “The Gray Zone,” 36–69.

Reflections on Postwar German Memory and Peace Studies 203

12 To Transnationalize War Memory for Peace and Kyosei Reconciliation of Pearl Harbor and Hiroshima

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ow can a historian contribute to the building of a grand theory of comprehensive peace studies and the search for new pathways to peace? History as a discipline studies the causes and consequences of past events and the contemporary implications of these events. Historians also study history because it explains what we are and suggests what we may become. A historian’s search for a new theoretical framework for peacebuilding, therefore, must start with the premise that no attempt to build a grand theory will be complete without considering the historical burdens human beings have borne. This chapter uses war memory as an analytical framework within which to see that new ways of dealing with war memory may also serve as new pathways to peace, security, and kyosei. As the Japanese historian Daizaburo Yui wrote in a 2006 collaborative study of the Asia-Pacific War: “A struggle to defend peace is a struggle against lapse of memory.”1 This certainly echoes George Santayana’s famous warning, “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.” A cursory glance at the history of the twentieth century reminds us that we should take this warning seriously. The twentieth century was the century of decolonization, modernization, and globalization, but it was also the century of wars. The period witnessed two bloody world wars and a nearly half-century Cold War that created a bipolar world—a world in which people lived in fear of a third world war and the nuclear 204

annihilation of humankind. The century also saw numerous regional wars, civil wars, and genocides. According to one study of megadeaths, by the end of the twentieth century, human decisions had caused the deaths of more than 187 million people.2 At the outset of the twentyfirst century, can we comfortably say that humankind has learned from the tragedies and mistakes of the previous century? The United States, which emerged as the world’s only superpower, and which possesses an empire of military bases (some 725 foreign military bases in thirty-eight countries),3 is now waging a “war on terrorism,” not only in Afghanistan (in pursuit of al-Qaeda), but also in Iraq (where the United States has followed a doctrine of preemption, ostensibly aimed at preventing Iraq from possessing nuclear weapons that the Iraqis had never developed in the first place). It is worth noting that, in the meantime, peaceful nuclear nonproliferation efforts have failed to prevent at least eight countries from possessing more than 28,100 nuclear warheads. 4 Since 2003, ethnic cleansing in Darfur, Sudan, alone has killed more than 300,000 people and displaced over 2 million, and these numbers continue to increase.5 Yet, the United Nations has been powerless to stop the ongoing genocide. Indeed, the twenty-first century began inauspiciously with cycles of wars and violence, driven by fear and hatred, which seemingly have no solutions. How can a historian propose a constructive new way of thinking about peaceful reconciliation and kyosei, using war memory as an analytical concept? This chapter explores the question through a case study: memories of the Pacific War among the people of Japan and the United States. The contrast between the governments’ and the people’s memories of this particular war suggests the serious limitations and problems of a nation-state approach to promoting peace in the trans-Pacific world. No matter how strenuously peace advocates try to evoke “negative” as well as “positive” memories of the war and attempt reconciliation across the Pacific, the fundamental positional differences between Japan and the United States—that is, as victim and perpetrator—have resurfaced whenever the two countries develop even a slight disagreement on an issue. Here, the focus is on the legacies of the two key events in the Pacific War: Japan’s attack on Pearl Harbor and the United States’ use of atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Moreover, although the recent diplomatic controversy between the governments of Japan and the People’s Republic of China over the legacies of Japan’s brutal and aggressive wars on the Asian continent is beyond the scope of this chapter, it is imporTo Transnationalize War Memory for Peace and Kyosei 205

tant to acknowledge its relevance and the grave implications that emerge regarding Japan’s conduct in Asia during the Asia-Pacific War. The ultimate goal of the chapter is to propose a shift in our thinking, so that we can deal with war memory as a new pathway toward peaceful reconciliation. This chapter proposes that if the former enemies of the Pacific War are to achieve lasting peace and kyosei, they must first stop remembering the war exclusively within a nationalistic or statedefined framework and must learn to share their war memories as part of a transnational memory. In a rapidly globalizing world, it is necessary to question what true nationalism and patriotism mean. A healthy sense of nationalism and patriotism must not only embrace the resolution to defend the greatness of one’s own country but also have the courage to criticize that country’s mistakes and the tolerance to allow voices of dissent within it. Although this may sound paradoxical, a true patriot, and even a true nationalist, must embrace a transnational way of thinking about the burdens of the past for the sake of the future well-being of his or her own country. But how and what should we preserve in our memories about war, beyond the state and temporal boundaries of historical narratives, museums, and mnemonic sites?

Memory of the Pacific War in the United States According to The 2006 Image of Japan Study released by the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of Japan, the perception of Japan in the United States as “a dependable ally” remains at a very high level: 91 percent of American opinion leaders and 69 percent of the general public responded that “Japan is a dependable ally.”6 However, the history of U.S.-Japanese relations since 1945 shows that the United States’ perception of Japan as a dependable ally has been created through unequal security agreements between the victor and the vanquished in the Pacific War. After the United States gave Japan the so-called Peace Constitution—which, in Article IX, renounced war as a means of settling international disputes—it dominated Japan’s foreign and defense policies during the Cold War and beyond, by providing a “nuclear umbrella” for Japan and using Japanese islands as U.S. military bases as part of its Asian defense strategy. According to a Pentagon report, as of September 2001, the United States had seventy-three bases in Japan with 40,217 uniformed service personnel and 6,431 civilian employees of the Department of Defense, 206 nor iko k awa m u r a

plus 42,653 dependents. The Japanese government pays the United States some $4 billion per annum to help defray the costs of the U.S. military presence in Japan, yet the United States does not have to consult the Japanese government about the use of U.S. armed forces that are held in reserve in Japan for deployment elsewhere in Asia.7 This unequal partnership—labeled an alliance—is merely one of many contradictions and positional differences between the United States and Japan that are considered outcomes of the Pacific War. The United States and Japan have seemingly irreconcilable differences over their memories of the war. As Emily S. Rosenberg points out, remembering is “a form of forgetting,” and during that process, “memory is produced.” She explains: “What becomes preserved as memory of the past cannot replicate the past but can only select and structure its remains by the simultaneity of remembering and forgetting. Silences are as important as inclusions in historical production.”8 Remembering can take place at various levels—national/official, public/collective, and private/individual. However, an international war such as the Second World War, by its nature, can force an individual to identify his or her fate with that of the nation, and therefore, an individual’s war memory is often bound by the country’s memory. In the United States’ national collective memory, the Pacific War began with Japan’s surprise attack on Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941, “a date which will live in infamy,” in President Franklin D. Roosevelt’s famous words. The slogan “Remember Pearl Harbor” fits into the infamy framework and is reinforced by a national story: a sleeping, innocent nation was awakened by a surprise attack and resolved to wield its righteous might and triumph over a treacherous foe. Pearl Harbor became the central symbol that justified retribution against the perfidious enemy. Japan’s racial and national character was tied to racial ideologies that marked Americans as “white” and “superior” and Japanese as “animalistic,” “cruel,” and “deceitful.” At the heart of propaganda launched by the U.S. War Department was the idea that the United States was fighting a good war. In a series of films directed by the Hollywood director Frank Capra, the United States was portrayed as a nation convinced that two worlds—the free world and the slave world—were engaged in mortal combat. This Pearl Harbor–good war theme was so deeply imprinted in the national memory that when newspapers across the United States ran the headline day of i n fa m y on September 11, 2001, there was no need to explain what they intended to evoke, although many historians To Transnationalize War Memory for Peace and Kyosei 207

complained about the comparison because of the different circumstances surrounding the terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon. Many American historians recognize that the 1970s saw an upsurge in their country’s collective memory of World War II as a “good war.” This upsurge began as part of what some American scholars call a “memory boom” or “heritage phenomenon”: the Vietnam War generation’s effort to rediscover a more glorious, less ambiguous time and to honor and commemorate their parents, who fought the good war to defend freedom and democracy against fascist and militarist powers. The term good war was popularized by Studs Terkel in his 1984 Pulitzer Prize–winning book on World War II (though this usage was not without sarcasm). Scholars who study historical memory suggest that public memory is influenced by psychological and sociological uses for “wistful memories of imagined idealism and heroic sacrifice.” For example, during the Vietnam War, the United States’ war memory boom was propelled by doubt and anxiety about change and a search for validation, heritage, identity, nostalgia, and the like.9 And another U.S. war memory boom marked the closing decade of the twentieth century, starting in 1991 with the fiftieth anniversary of Japan’s attack on Pearl Harbor and reaching a peak in 1995 with the fiftieth-anniversary commemoration of the end of World War II. Most historians of U.S. foreign relations agree that the use of atomic bombs in 1945 was one of the most important turning points in twentieth-century history. The U.S. press seems to share this view. According to a 1999 poll conducted by the Newseum (a museum of the news media in Virginia), a panel of sixty-seven American journalists considered the top one hundred stories of the twentieth century and assigned first place to the dropping of the atomic bombs on Japan. This story was followed by the landing on the moon, the attack on Pearl Harbor, and the first successful flight of the Wright brothers.10 However, beyond the consensus that the use of the atomic bombs changed the course of twentieth-century history, American historians, as well as the U.S. public, have been deeply divided over the legacy of the atomic bombs, especially over the question of why the bombs were used and whether or not the bombs should have been used. On the one hand, orthodox Americans (or traditionalists) and U.S. veterans’ organizations justify the use of the bombs, arguing that such retribution was justified against Japan—the country that started the brutal war at Pearl Harbor—and also that the atomic bombs were neces208 nor iko k awa m u r a

sary to end the war as quickly as possible and save the lives of American soldiers. On the other hand, revisionists seriously question (or flatly denounce) the use of the atomic bombs for a variety of reasons. Some are against nuclear weapons for moral reasons because no one deserves such an inhumane attack, while other revisionist scholars criticize the Truman administration’s decision to use the atomic bombs as a diplomatic tool with which to deter the aggressive behavior of the Soviet Union in Eastern Europe and Asia.11 The acrimonious polarization over this issue is so intense that scholars such as Barton J. Bernstein and J. Samuel Walker, who try to forge a middle ground, are criticized by both traditionalists and revisionists although their studies are both judicious and prudent.12 The Enola Gay controversy at the Smithsonian Institution’s National Air and Space Museum illustrates this point. In 1995, in commemoration of the fiftieth anniversary of the end of World War II, the museum planned to display the Enola Gay, the B-29 aircraft that dropped the uranium atomic bomb (“Little Boy”) on Hiroshima on August 6, 1945. The proposed display produced a heated controversy on Capitol Hill. The original plan was to use the aircraft that dropped the atomic bomb as the exhibition’s central icon—to examine not only “the bomb’s creation under the Manhattan Project, and the decision to use it against Japanese cities” but also “the ground-level effects of atomic weaponry, the bomb’s role in ending the war, and the new era it inaugurated.” More important, the exhibition was supposed to be an occasion to reflect on “the ways in which decades of historical research and debate on these topics had altered and deepened” Americans’ understanding of the issues surrounding nuclear weapons.13 However, the exhibition was abandoned because of emotionally charged protests by military officials, veterans’ lobbying groups, and conservative politicians. These protesters did not want to display artifacts and images from ground zero in Hiroshima and Nagasaki, which could remind visitors that hundreds of thousands of men, women, and children were incinerated and irradiated by the blasts. These groups wanted Americans to remember, more than anything else, that the use of atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki ended the Pacific War and saved hundreds of thousands of lives (Japanese as well as American) that might have been lost if the Allies had invaded Japan to force Japan’s surrender. The atomic bomb, in their view, was a legitimate weapon that had been used for a just cause. Pacific War historian John Dower argues that opponents of the To Transnationalize War Memory for Peace and Kyosei 209

Smithsonian’s original plans shared “a heroic or triumphal narrative, in which the atomic bombs represent the final blow against an aggressive, fanatical and savage foe.” These protesters wanted to believe that the atomic bombs that fell on Hiroshima and Nagasaki were “moral” and “humane” because they ended the “good war” and saved American lives. However, this American triumphal heroic narrative ends when the atomic bombs hit ground zero. The opponents of the exhibition did not want to show objects from ground zero—such as a lunch box containing carbonized rice and peas that had belonged to a seventh-grade schoolgirl whose corpse was never found—because they were afraid that, for viewers, what the Enola Gay symbolizes would be overshadowed by the schoolgirl’s lunch box.14 The casualty estimate turned out to be the ultimate disagreement between Martin Harwit, director of the National Air and Space Museum (who was in charge of the Enola Gay exhibition project), and the opponents of the show: that is, the two parties disagreed on the number of American lives the atomic bombs saved by killing more than 340,000 Japanese. Having examined military documents, especially the sources used in the 1940s by the army’s chief of staff, General George C. Marshall, Harwit was persuaded that if the United States had invaded Japan, U.S. casualties would not have exceeded 63,000. (The historian Barton Bernstein had estimated the number of casualties at an even lower figure, 25,000–46,000.) 15 Harwit, therefore, overruled the veterans’ claim that using the atomic bombs had spared between 500,000 and 1,000,000 American lives. Then, what journalist Philip Nobile called “funny un-Jeffersonian things” happened.16 William M. Detweiler, the national commander of the American Legion, called for the cancellation of the Smithsonian exhibition, and eighty-one members of the U.S. House of Representatives demanded that Harwit be fired. In this tense political atmosphere, the head of the Smithsonian Institution, Secretary I. Michael Heyman, banned the original script for the exhibition and eliminated the images and relics from ground zero. He did so after he secured approval from all three branches of the government and the Smithsonian’s hierarchy—that is, from the president and vice president, the Senate majority leader, the Speaker of the House, the chief justice of the Supreme Court, and the Smithsonian Institution’s Board of Regents. In the end, the Enola Gay was displayed in the museum without context, and without any reminder of what had happened to the Japanese sites where the bombs were dropped. 210 nor iko k awa m u r a

What does the Enola Gay controversy tell us about the United States’ war memory of the atomic bomb? The military veterans and political conservatives accused the Smithsonian managers, curators, and historical advisers of being “anti-American” and “politically correct,” of advocating “countercultural values of the Vietnam era,” and of destroying the key to American unity. These conservatives feared the negative legacy of the atomic bombs—they were afraid that if Americans were reminded of the death and destruction these bombs had brought to Japan, it might challenge Americans’ confidence that the United States was a righteous and innocent nation that fought only good wars. One of the leading opponents of the Enola Gay exhibition, Congressman Peter Blute of Massachusetts, declared, “I don’t want 16-year-olds walking out of [that museum] thinking badly about the U.S.”17 The American Legion’s Herman G. Harrington also testified before the Senate Committee on Rules and Administration: “We believe in passing a sense of America’s unique role in world history, and a sense of its greatness, on to future generations. And we believe that the National Air and Space Museum consciously and intentionally violated every one of those principles by setting out to alter our citizens’ views of themselves.” Harrington accused the museum of ceasing to be “an American museum” and becoming “something else entirely” by telling an “alien” story. Thus, the Enola Gay controversy became the conservatives’ battle to force a public institution to bend history to patriotic nationalism. Historians should remember the following warning from Professor Edward T. Linenthal, who served on the advisory committee of the National Air and Space Museum at the time of the controversy: In the end, we have all lost a great deal. We have lost a chance to offer a commemorative thanks to veterans. We have lost the chance to remind each other that irony, ambiguity, and complexity are part of every human story. And, we have allowed the arrogance and ignorance of members of Congress—acting as if they were commissars in a totalitarian state—to threaten a public institution, in effect, to press for the regulation of public memory. This is a precedent that will come back to haunt the integrity of history and memory in this country for a long time.18

Back in 1985, Paul Boyer quoted the following words of Ralph Lapp, a Manhattan Project physicist who later became a vigorous critic of the nuclear arms race: “If the memory of things is to deter, where is that To Transnationalize War Memory for Peace and Kyosei 211

memory? Hiroshima . . . has been taken out of the American conscience, eviscerated, extirpated.”19 The unsettling legacy of the controversy over the Enola Gay exhibition reminds us of the serious limitations of national memory and the dangerous link between national memory and the contemporary politics of foreign and defense policy. This episode signaled a shift to the right by the U.S. public, and this trend was accelerated by the tragic events of September 11, 2001, and the Bush administration’s subsequent war on terrorism. Moreover, since U.S. national defense depends on a nuclear strategy, government policy makers must insist on the legitimacy of nuclear weapons and must justify a nuclear double standard. On the one hand, the United States and its allies must possess nuclear weapon; on the other, the United States and its allies must enforce nuclear nonproliferation agreements for countries that aspire to join the nuclear club but which the U.S. government does not trust. Nevertheless, this double standard and the United States’ fundamental moral dilemma have not seriously undermined the unity of the country’s collective national memory of the atomic bombs. In July and August 1995, the U.S. broadcasting companies TBS and CBS conducted a telephone poll of 1,209 American adults and 1,802 Japanese adults. According to this poll, 89 percent of Japanese respondents thought that the use of the atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki in 1945 was “morally wrong,” but only 34 percent of the American respondents thought so. Most Japanese (69 percent) answered that the U.S. government should apologize for the atomic bombings, while 76 percent of the Americans responded that their government should not apologize.20 The contrast in views between the American and Japanese respondents clearly demonstrates that the division in moral judgment on the atomic bombs comes from the positional difference between victimizers and victimized. Here, it is important to ask to what extent the great discrepancy between the two nations’ views on the atomic bomb was influenced by divergent historical narratives and interpretations based on each one’s collective national memory of the Pacific War.

Memory of the Pacific War in Japan The Japanese collective memory of the war is very different from that of Americans. The Japanese people’s memory of the war has been heavily 212 nor iko k awa m u r a

influenced by their own circumstances in the war and by collective and individual memories that have created equally ambivalent and problematic legacies in Japan. As the rest of the world points out, the most serious problem with Japan’s memory of the Asia-Pacific War is the failure of the Japanese government, as well as the Japanese people, to accept full responsibility for what their country did during the war. In 1995, on the fiftieth anniversary of the war’s end, Japan’s public broadcasting corporation, Nihon Hoso Kyokai (NHK), surveyed the audience of major television stations around the world to see how these stations treated the fiftieth anniversary of the end of the war. In Japan, 92 percent of the audience responded that they received “negative impressions of the war” from the programs they watched in Japan, while only 67 percent of the U.S. audience had negative impressions from U.S. programs. At the same time, 9.5 percent of the Japanese audience had “positive impressions of the war,” while 54 percent of U.S. viewers received “positive impressions” from the war programs.21 These numbers demonstrate that the majority of Americans viewers remember the Pacific War as a “good war,” while the overwhelming majority of Japanese viewers remember the war as a “wrong war.” To explore this issue further, it is important to understand the full basis for these negative Japanese impressions about the Asia-Pacific War. According to a survey conducted by NHK in 1982, when Japanese talked about the Asia-Pacific War, the topic they discussed most frequently was the misery and hardship they had experienced during the war, followed by the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki.22 Numerous oral histories published in Japan are filled with emotional personal tales of material and psychological sacrifice, starvation, Allied air raids on Japan (which killed more than 400,000 civilians), and, above all, the atomic bombs. However, few Japanese form their negative opinion of the war on the basis of actions taken by the Japanese government and its military machine against the peoples of other Asian countries and against the Allies. Between 1931 and 1945, an estimated 9 to 15 million people lost their lives in China, and about 4 million perished in Vietnam because of Japanese acts of aggression. As many leftist historians in Japan point out, Japan’s 1931 invasion of China is not even part of the Japanese public memory of the war.23 Some of the leading American historians of modern Japanese history share this criticism. For example, as Carol Gluck points out, the issue among “the generations born since the war who now comprise some twoTo Transnationalize War Memory for Peace and Kyosei 213

thirds” of the Japanese population “is not whether the Japanese remember the war, but how they do so, and to what contemporary effect.” The postwar generations have grown up with what critics call “sanitized” history textbooks that overwhelmingly reflect the so-called Tokyo-warcrimes-trial view of history, which blames the military, ultranationalists, and zaibatsu—the industrial and financial conglomerates—for the reckless and aggressive war. These generations have learned the history of the Pacific War as “victims’ history” in the passive voice: in other words, “the China Incident was caused, Pearl Harbor was bombed, the atomic bomb was dropped,” as though natural catastrophes had struck Japan.24 Similarly, in his numerous works, John Dower discusses “victim consciousness” (higaisha ishiki) as a popular sentiment among Japanese people regarding the Pacific War. He suggests that the atomic bombs dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki occupy a central place in this consciousness and states that “the trauma of nuclear devastation and unconditional surrender” reinforced “an abiding sense of Japan’s peculiar vulnerability and victimization.” The problem with this sense of victimization is that Japanese people remember the details of what happened under the mushroom cloud but do not think about why it happened. They do not think about the consequences of Japan’s attack on Pearl Harbor or about the atrocities Japanese soldiers committed against innocent civilians as well as enemy forces on the Asian continent. In Dower’s words, “Hiroshima and Nagasaki became icons of Japanese suffering—perverse national treasures, of a sort, capable of fixating Japanese memory of the war on what had happened to Japan and simultaneously blotting out recollection of the Japanese victimization of others.”25 Thus, on the question of the use of the atomic bombs, while the U.S. national memory of the subject stops when the atomic bombs hit ground zero, the Japanese national memory of the atomic bombs begins when they hit ground zero. The Japanese do not often question why the bombs were dropped and now readily accept the argument that the atomic bombs precipitated the government’s decision to surrender. What the Japanese do question is the morality and legitimacy of the atomic bomb itself. On August 6, 1995, Takashi Hiraoka, the mayor of Hiroshima said, “We cannot and will not deny Japan’s aggression, that Japan did evil. But that does not justify an atomic bomb. It is too cruel. It is inhumane to argue that anything justifies nuclear weapons.”26 However, one wonders whether the day will ever come when the United States government, as well as the U.S. public, will be receptive to historians’ (and peace 214 nor iko k awa m u r a

researchers’) pleas to look at the legacy of the atomic bomb from the other side. Also, one wonders if the government and people of Japan will recover from what their critics call “amnesia” about their country’s conduct during the Asia-Pacific War (from Manchuria to Nanjing to Pearl Harbor and beyond), and if both government and people will fully accept their country’s responsibility for initiating the war. So long as both sides’ memories of the war are shaped as national memories within confined national boundaries, neither the United States’ justification for the use of the atomic bombs nor Japan’s antinuclear movement will be able to persuade the rest of the world. Moreover, Japan’s ambition to serve as a model pacifist state will be seriously undermined by its failure to take responsibility for the aggressive war it waged.

Transnational Sharing of War Memory Is it possible for former enemies to reconcile their opposing memories of the war? Pearl Harbor as Memory (Kioku toshiteno Pa¯ru Ha¯ba¯), a joint study, in Japanese, by eighteen scholars from the United States and Japan, offers some useful answers. Ryo Oshiba suggests that in order for the peoples of Japan, other Asian countries, and the United States to share a common memory of the Asia-Pacific War, historical narratives of the war must be written not as a national history but as a transnational history.27 However, such an undertaking would not be easy. For example, when, for complex internal and external reasons, each country has its own nationalistic interpretation of the history of the war, who is to decide which event is historically significant and on what grounds? Japan, the United States, and China could not even agree as to which memory should be preserved in history. For instance, when U NESCO was considering negative legacies of human history as possible historic sites, the United States and China both opposed registering the dome of the old Hiroshima Chamber of Commerce building. The United States was against the proposal because the U.S. government still defended the use of the atomic bombs, and the Hiroshima dome had become one of the most famous symbols of the antinuclear movement, whereas China opposed the selection because it considered the bombs due punishment for a war of aggression for which Japan refused to take full responsibility.28 This episode demonstrates the different interpretations that divide victims and To Transnationalize War Memory for Peace and Kyosei 215

perpetrators along national boundaries and make it difficult for all parties to consider historical events from an international or transnational perspective. Given such enormous difficulties, how can we transcend our national memories, share positive and negative burdens of the past beyond national boundaries, and embrace them as transnational memory? Is there a way to find common ground and reconcile our opposing national memories as the foundation for a lasting peace? From the Japanese perspective, the biggest challenge seems to be how the Japanese people should deal with the issue of their own responsibility for the Asia-Pacific War. One of the first groups in Japan to realize the serious limitations of an antinuclear movement with a one-sided victims’ perspective was the atomic bomb victims who emerged as leaders of antinuclear movements. The World Conference against Atomic and Hydrogen Bombs, which held its first rally in 1955 and continues to meet on the anniversary of the dropping of the atomic bomb on Hiroshima, started as a politically active organization intended to represent the interests of all humankind, not merely the interests of victims of the bomb. By the early 1970s, intellectual leaders such as Hiroshi Matsumoto began spreading the concept of a dual identity among the younger generations in Hiroshima—that is, the concept of simultaneously being a perpetrator and a victim. Using the hypothetical case of a soldier who participated in a massacre of innocent civilians in China and who later retired in Hiroshima and was killed by the atomic bomb, Matsumoto asked whether this soldier was an atomic bomb victim or a murderer who had received his just punishment. He argued that Hiroshima’s appeal for pacifism and humanitarianism would never become a universal voice unless the people in Hiroshima recognized their dual existence as aggressors and victims.29 In 1990, the cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki publicly accepted this dual view of history, starting with the Nagasaki Peace Declaration of August 9, 1990, in which the mayor of Nagasaki admitted that the AsiaPacific War was a Japanese war of aggression and advocated for Japan’s obligation to compensate foreign victims of the war. A 1990 pamphlet, issued by the Victims of Atomic and Hydrogen Bombs, held that “to prevent Japan from becoming an aggressor again means that we the Japanese people will not become the victims of a war again.”30 Accordingly, during the first half of the 1990s, there was increasing publicity and increasing official recognition of Japanese atrocities committed during the war. This probably reached its peak with Prime 216 nor iko k awa m u r a

Minister Tomiichi Murayama’s speech at a press conference on August 15, 1995. The prime minister acknowledged that Japan had adopted “a wrong national policy” that led to the war “in which the Japanese inflicted a tremendous amount of damage and pain upon the peoples of numerous countries, particularly the peoples of Asian countries, through the pursuit of colonial domination and aggression.” He expressed his “intention to reexamine the past most critically” and offered his “sincere apology” to the victims.31 However, as various publications appeared on Japanese war crimes (such as the Nanjing massacre, biological and chemical weapons experiments on prisoners of war, and the exploitation of the so-called comfort women), there was a backlash from conservatives. This led to a surge of neo-nationalism and revisionism, attempts to rewrite Japanese history textbooks, and criticisms of museums that displayed images of Japanese war crimes, such as the Osaka International Peace Center. Not unlike what occurred with the Enola Gay exhibition in the United States, conservatives in Japan accused leftist historians and peace activists of undermining the patriotism of the younger generation by spreading overly critical accounts of Japanese soldiers’ conduct during the war. The controversy over Prime Minister Junichiro Koizumi’s 2006 visit to Yasukuni Shrine is another example of the growing influence of neoconservatism in Japan. Certainly, this is a disturbing development, but it could also be considered a critical transitional point that may determine the shape of Japanese collective war memory in the future. The conservative nationalist backlash could be interpreted as a reaction to the growing realization among the Japanese of their role as perpetrators, not victims, of the war. In postwar Japan, up to the 1980s, there had been a fragile truce between nationalism and a peculiar, passive pacifism among the Japanese. This passive pacifism was rooted in antiwar sentiments that stemmed from memories of suffering and victimization during the war. The pacifist sentiment, in turn, nurtured a peculiar sense of nationalism from the victims’ perspective. However, revelations of various Japanese wartime atrocities increased awareness that the Japanese people did participate (directly or indirectly) in a war of aggression that was full of atrocities. This realization created a serious rift between pacifism and nationalism, which had been tied together in the Japanese people’s minds with the victims’ perspective.32 In order to overcome this rift, the Japanese need to, first, directly confront their own country’s past and, second, deal with To Transnationalize War Memory for Peace and Kyosei 217

the issue of their country’s own war responsibility. Then, as atomic bomb victims have been advocating, the Japanese need to build a new approach to peace, security, and kyosei—not from the victims’ perspective but from the perspective of a dual identity, as both aggressor and victim. This requires the Japanese to go beyond their country’s national memory of the war and break the yoke of national narratives of the war. Ultimately, in order to pave a new pathway toward an intellectual environment that nurtures the sharing of a transnational memory of the Pacific War, both the United States and Japan will need to revisit the question “What is true nationalism?” Japanese and American conservatives believe that in order to develop a sense of unity, loyalty, pride, and confidence in their own country, they must glorify the country’s past—by emphasizing “positive” legacies and eliminating painful and shameful memories of their country’s actions against others. To such conservatives, self-criticism is unpatriotic and self-defeating. This rhetoric was used in the United States in the 1995 Enola Gay exhibition controversy, but it has been regularly repeated since September 11, 2001, in congressional and public debates over the United States’ war on terrorism. The rise of anti-foreign sentiments and the tightening of national security in the United States certainly make such “nationalism” appear to be an obstacle to international peace. But Anatol Lieven and John Hulsman write that there is an even worse problem: the influential neoconservatives of the George W. Bush administration (who believed in a messianic, national mission to democratize the rest of the world on the U.S. model) suffered from dangerous “fantasies of absolute security, world dominance, and universal democracy.”33 Therefore, we need to explore an alternative vision for nationalism, one that considers freedom of speech and self-criticism to be sources of strength for a true nationalism that is self-reflective, open-minded, and inclusive. Those who can criticize their country’s mistakes and learn from these mistakes can be proud of their country, because these qualities demonstrate their country’s intellectual maturity, its sense of justice and fairness, its courage in exposing and dealing with its own wrongdoing, and its ability to objectively evaluate national behavior from an outsider’s perspective. This sounds paradoxical, but evidence suggests that a healthy nationalism in the twenty-first century must embrace the element of transnationalism that values pluralistic views of the world and understands the perspective of the “other.” In this context, it is important to continue to explore how the concept of kyosei might help cultivate new 218 nor iko k awa m u r a

approaches to the hitherto seemingly dichotomous relationship between nationalism and transnationalism and find ways of acknowledging the two as not mutually exclusive attitudes. This means that the people of the United States may have to do away with narrowly nationalistic myths of the Pacific War as solely a “good war” and discard myths about the justifiable use of atomic bombs to end the war. Instead, Americans will need to look at the war’s memory from Japan’s perspective and understand how the Japanese are dealing with the cause and consequences of the war their country started in Asia and the Pacific. Here, it may again be appropriate to quote Lieven’s and Hulsman’s criticism of the U.S. tendency to believe in the universality of American values: “The problem is that much Democratist thinking is linked to aspects of American culture that make it difficult for many Americans to understand other people’s nationalisms. . . . [T]he tendency to identify America, and U.S. international interests, with righteousness can too easily lead to associating rival nations with unrighteousness.”34 With the Enola Gay exhibition, for instance, the inclusion of images and items from ground zero in Hiroshima and Nagasaki would have been a modest but important first step toward transforming the memory of the atomic bombs from a national to a transnational memory. Similarly, people in Japan will need to understand that war memories are often a double-edged sword in terms of shaping and reshaping the continuous dialogue between past and present regarding positive and negative legacies of war. They need to revisit the long-term and short-term origins of the Asia-Pacific War and understand how and why their country launched the war of aggression that caused so much suffering and damage to Japan’s neighbors, enemy Allied countries, and themselves. Japanese need to have the courage and willingness to look at Japan’s war responsibility critically, from the victims’ perspectives—not only from the perspective of the Japanese themselves as victims but also from the perspective of victims abroad who suffered from the brutal conduct of the Japanese military. In other words, in order to transcend the mutually exclusive and irreconcilable memories of war defined by the nation-state, the people of both countries need to step outside the national boundaries of thought and look back on the war from a transnational perspective. Incorporating a transnational perspective into the narratives of war memory is a worthwhile endeavor that can contribute to the study of the memory of any international war and conflict. A historian could propose the sharing of To Transnationalize War Memory for Peace and Kyosei 219

war memories by former enemies at a transnational level as an important first step toward building a grand theory of peace in the twenty-first century. However, critical reflection on our nationally defined war memories, as well as a consideration of our own sense of “nationalism” or “patriotism,” will not sufficiently answer the question of how to transnationalize war memory—or how to induce people’s perspectives and imaginations, individually and collectively, to go beyond state-defined thought boundaries. If peace is about relations, as Johan Galtung suggests, one may characterize war memory as a constant dialogue among all entities involved in the relations that constitute peace. War memory may be thought of as a constant dialogue between many actors with many historical narratives: for instance, between former enemies divided along state boundaries, between individuals and states, or between victims and perpetrators. Thus, it may be useful to approach war memory on at least two levels (the national and the individual) in order to transnationalize or transcend state-defined memories of war. At the national level, it is necessary to explore the concepts of nationalism and patriotism in the context of globalism and transnationalism. Certainly, unlearning a sense of nationalism is an unrealistic expectation today, in a world dominated by nation-states. However, peace cannot be preserved unless people somehow stop treating the concepts of nationalism and transnationlism as mutually exclusive, dichotomous ideas. Here we can draw on the idea of ethical realism in the tradition of Reinhold Niebuhr, George Kennan, and Hans Morgenthau, which reconsiders the role of “diplomacy” as a philosophical endeavor to treat peace, not as an international theory but as an issue of relations. Using this analytical framework, we may be able to make ethical values such as prudence, humility, and tolerance function as a hinge between nationalism and transnationalism, with the concept of kyosei possibly an important addition. There is no doubt that a memory is more readily transnationalized at the individual level, for individual experiences can expand into a transnational dimension more easily than can state experiences. Personal stories of war victims are so powerful because when we focus our imaginations on the sufferings of individuals, their nationality seems far less important than their plight in the context of a common humanity.35 The accounts of the six Hiroshima atomic bomb victims in John Hersey’s groundbreaking book eloquently demonstrate this point. The lunch box of the school220 nor iko k awa m u r a

girl in Hiroshima, Japanese and Japanese Americans who were sent to internment camps in the United States during World War II, foreigners who were trapped in Japan during the war—such examples are seemingly innumerable. Historians can share these individual war experiences with a broader transnational community. By doing so, we can hope that those still held in the yoke of nationally defined historical narratives and war memories will be able to turn their eyes to the individual lives of the people on the other side of the border. In the end, bringing these personal narratives to the attention of an international audience may be one of the most effective ways for historians to help humankind move toward peace, security, and kyosei.

Notes 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11

12 13 14 15

Yui, Ajia-taiheiyo senso, 8:vii. This volume is part of an ambitious, eightvolume collaborative study of the Asia-Pacific War. Hobsbawm, The Age of Extremes, 12. Chalmers Johnson, The Sorrows of Empire, 154. “Nuclear Weapon Status 2004.” Prunier, Darfur, 148–55. Ministry of Foreign Affairs of Japan, The 2006 Image of Japan Study Chalmers Johnson, The Sorrows of Empire, 158, 202. Rosenberg, A Date Which Will Live, 4. Emphases in original. Chalmers Johnson, The Sorrows of Empire, 117. Washington Post, February 25, 1999. Scholars such as Paul Boyer and Robert Jay Lifton have published numerous works criticizing the use of the atomic bomb by the United States. See Boyer, By the Bomb’s Early Light and Fallout; Lifton and Mitchell, Hiroshima in America. Leading revisionist scholars who emphasize the U.S. intention to use the atomic bombs as a diplomatic tool to control the Soviet Union are Gar Alperovitz (Decision to Use the Atomic Bomb) and Martin J. Sherwin (A World Destroyed). Walker, “Recent Literature,” 311–34. Linenthal and Engelhardt, “Introduction,” 2. Dower, “Three Narratives of Our Humanity,” 72, 87–90. Bernstein, “The Atomic Bombings Reconsidered,” 149. The military historian John Ray Skates estimates 31,000 American deaths based on the calculations of General Douglas MacArthur’s staff in his The Invasion of Japan, 79.

To Transnationalize War Memory for Peace and Kyosei 221

16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23

24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35

Nobile, Judgment at the Smithsonian, xiii. Linenthal, “Anatomy of a Controversy,” 61. Nobile, Judgment at the Smithsonian, xliv. Boyer, Fallout, 10. Japan Times, August 6, 1995. Yoshida, “Senso sekinin no genzai,” 93. Yoshida, Nihonjin no sensokan, 198. Numerous Japanese historians treat Japan’s military aggression in Asia and the Pacific as the so-called Fifteen Year War (for example, Akira Fujiwara, Saburo Ienaga, Yutaka Yoshida, and Akira Yamada). Gluck, “Idea of Showa,” 11–13. Dower, “The Bombed,” 280–81. Washington Post, August 6, 1995. Oshiba, “Nashonaru hisutorii kara toransunashonaru hisutorii he.” Ibid., 406. Matsumoto, Hiroshima toiu shiso, 57–59. Yoshida, Nihonjin no sensokan, 215. Asahi shinbun, August 16, 1995. Yoshida, “Senso sekinin no genzai,” 105. Lieven and Hulsman, Ethical Realism, 81. Ibid., 103. Hein and Takenaka, “Exhibiting World War II,” 92.

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Contributors

sh i n c h iba is professor of the History of Western Political Thought and Political Theory at International Christian University and chair of the Department of Politics and International Relations. He is the author or coauthor of several books, including Gendai purotesutantizumu no seiji shiso (The Political Thought of Contemporary Protestantism), Arendt to gendai (Arendt and the Present Age), and Mikan no kakumei toshiteno heiwa kenpo (The Peace Constitution as an Unfinished Revolution) as well as Christian Ethics in Ecumenical Context and Peace Movements and Pacifism after September 11. m a rt h a cot ta m is professor of Political Science at Washington State University (WSU) and director of the WSU Institute for the Study of Intercommunal Conflict. She is the author or coauthor of several books on U.S. foreign policy, nationalism, and political psychology, such as Images and Intervention: U.S. Policy in Latin America, Nationalism and Politics: The Political Behavior of Nation States, and Introduction to Political Psychology (2004), among others. gr eg ory hook s is professor of Sociology at Washington State University. His research focuses on various aspects of U.S. militarism. Representative publications are Forging the Military Industrial Complex: World War II’s Battle of the Potomac, “The Weakness of Strong Theories: The 251

U.S. State’s Dominance of the World War II Investment Process,” in American Sociological Review, and “Warmaking and the Accommodation of Leading Firms,” in Political Power and Social Theory. nor iko k awa mu r a is associate professor and director of Graduate Studies in the Department of History at Washington State University, where she teaches American Diplomatic History and Modern Japan. She has written Turbulence in the Pacific: U.S.-Japanese Relations during World War I and “Emperor Hirohito and Japan’s Decision to Go to War with the United States,” published in Diplomatic History, among others. ta k a sh i k ibe is professor of Political Theory at International Christian University. His current research interests are egalitarianism, multiculturalism, and citizenship. He is the author of Frieden und Erziehung in Martin Luthers Drei-Stände-Lehre (Peace and Education in Martin Luther’s Doctrine of Three Standings), “Differentiated Citizenship and Ethnocultural Groups: A Japanese Case,” in Citizenship Studies, “Byodoshugiteki seigi heno kankeironteki apurouchi” (A Relational Approach to Egalitarian Justice), in Shiso (Thought), among others. ot w i n m a r e n i n is professor of Criminal Justice in the Department of Political Science/Criminal Justice at Washington State University. His recent research and publications focus on transnational police assistance programs, international and bilateral peacekeeping and peacebuilding programs, and integrated border management. He coedited Managing Borders in a Globalised World, Transforming Police in Central and Eastern Europe, and Challenges of Policing Democracies. a n r i mor i moto is professor of Philosophy and Religion at International Christian University (ICU) and director of the ICU Institute for the Study of Christianity and Culture. His representative publication is Jonathan Edwards and the Catholic Vision of Salvation. Morimoto’s English-language articles have appeared in International Journal for Philosophy of Religion, Edinburgh Studies in World Christianity, The Princeton Seminary Bulletin, and The Japanese Journal of American Studies. Japanese publications include Ajia shingaku kougi (Lectures on Asian Theology) and Amerika kirisutokyo-shi (A History of Christianity in America).

252 Contributors

yoic h i ro p. mu r a k a m i is currently president of Toyo Eiwa Women’s University in Tokyo and former director of the Graduate School of Science Education, Tokyo University of Science. He is professor emeritus of both the University of Tokyo and International Christian University. Murakami authored, edited, and coedited numerous books and articles on the history of science, the philosophy of science, the sociology of science, and safety management in both Japanese and English. His recent publications include Bunmei no shi/bunka no saisei (The Death of Civilization/The Rebirth of Culture), Kindaika to kanyo (Modernization and Tolerance), and A Grand Design for Peace and Reconciliation. t. v. r e ed is Buchanan Distinguished Professor of English and American Studies at Washington State University. His areas of research and teaching expertise include interdisciplinary cultural theory, popular culture, digital diversity, environmental justice cultural studies, and the role of the arts in social movements. His 2005 book, The Art of Protest: Culture and Activism from the Civil Rights Movement to the Streets of Seattle was nominated for the John Hope Franklin Publication Prize. He is also the author of Fifteen Jugglers, Five Believers: Literary Politics and the Poetics of Social Movements. susa n de n t e ross is professor of English at Washington State University, coordinator of the Peace Journalism Group of the Toda Institute for Global Peace and Policy Research, and director of Paxim, a peace communication research group. She has been a Fulbright Fellow in Ecuador, Greece, and Israel and a faculty fellow in Peace Studies in Canada and Cyprus. The author and editor of several books and special journal issues, she has published more than two dozen articles and scores of chapters critiquing the conventional media’s contribution to nationalism, conflict, enmity, and global injustice. r ay mon d su n is associate professor and chair of the Department of History at Washington State University. He teaches on the world wars, comparative genocide, and Nazi Germany. His research in German religious history resulted in Before the Enemy Is Within Our Walls: A Social, Cultural, and Political History of Catholic Workers in Cologne, 1885– 1912. Currently he is engaged in a research project on German Catholic memory of the Second World War as viewed through the destruction and reconstruction of churches. Contributors 253

k a no ya m a moto is currently managing trustee and alternate chairman of the Board of Trustees of International Christian University. He was professor of International Finance and Economy and chair of the International Studies Division at International Christian University. He has worked for the Bank of Japan, the International Monetary Fund, and U NICEF for many years. He initiated the development of service-learning programs at International Christian University, built service-learning networks among Asian colleges and universities, and has recently been engaged in developing international service-learning programs. Yamamoto also served as the trustee of UBCHEA (United Board for Christian Higher Education in Asia) for many years, enhancing the quality of higher education of Christian colleges and universities in Asia.

254 Contributors

Index

Accountability, 3, 117, 153, 155, 156,

Boyer, Paul, 211–12

159; internal and external, 115;

Brueggemann, Walter, 54

public, 128

Buddhism, 49, 55, 57–58

Acculturation, 126–27

Bush, George W., 137, 218

Adenauer, Konrad, 191 Afghanistan, 83, 205

Capra, Frank, 207

Anselm, Saint, 43

Carter, Jimmy, 132–33

Appadurai, Arjun, 84

Cartography, 10

Arendt, Hannah, 14, 36, 40, 41

Chaos, 25–28

Aristotle, 25, 40–41

Chiba, Shin, 16, 141, 168

Arya, Neil, 6–7, 18n4

Child soldiers, 107–8

Associated nations, 21, 22

China, 57, 84, 162–63, 172–73, 205,

Association of Southeast Asian Nations (ASEAN), 24, 176–78 Atomic bomb, 6, 205–20 passim Augustine, Saint, 16

213–16 Christianity, 35, 38, 41, 42, 48, 51, 55; Catholic Church, 35, 169; sin and sinners, 34–43 passim, 50 Chronic trauma, 105–6

Barash, David F., 7 Bartov, Omer, 188 Belgium, 22–23 Bernstein, Barton J., 209–10 Bitburg, 193 Bourdieu, Pierre, 93

Citizens, 24, 32, 51, 67–68, 76, 126– 28, 133, 142, 145, 175, 188 Coexistence, 21, 74; heterogeneous, 14; passive, viii; peaceful, 20, 65 Cold War, vii–viii, 49, 148–50, 175– 76, 187, 190–92, 204, 206

255

Commonwealth, 67, 75, 78n9 Conflict(s), 4–7, 22–34 passim, 44–62

Democracy, 60, 122, 127, 130, 170, 175–78, 208, 218; and

passim, 66, 76–77, 92, 95, 102–9,

democratic policing, 115–16,

114–21, 123n2, 131–45 passim,

124n10; and democratic process,

175, 186, 194; absence of, 10,

128; and reforms, 128, 176;

14, 52, 70; resolution, vii, 6–7,

German, 190, 192

16, 91, 104, 106, 112, 122, 128,

Derrida, Jacques, 34–44 passim

131, 143; nonviolent modes of,

Devos, T., 103

91; nonviolent resolutions to, 128,

Diplomacy, 82, 220

135; peace and conflict studies,

Dower, John, 209–10, 214

81, 82; political and social, 51, 77, 187; post-, 113

Education, 21, 92, 108, 118,

Confucianism (Confucius), 57, 58, 61

120, 123n4, 125n14, 155–60,

Conviviality, ix, xi, 4, 10–20, 45, 61.

179, 193; and International

See also Kyosei

Service-Learning Network,

Corporate social responsibility, 157–58

162–63; liberal arts, 17, 149,

Cottam, Martha, 17

161, 165; service-learning,

Credibility, 3, 84, 133–34, 148–51,

160–61, 165

58–65; for corporations, 157;

Egalitarianism, 66

and globalization, 152–54,

Eichmann, Adolf, 39

155, 158; for individuals, 154;

Eirene (New Testament: peace), 50, 55

and leadership, 160; of profit-

Elias, Norbert, 169, 178

making companies, 158; and

Eller, D. E., 105

transparency, 155–56, 159; and

Engelmann, Bernt, 182

trust, 163, 165

Enola Gay (exhibition, National Air

Cultural pluralism, 65, 77 Cultural representations, 85–87 Culture, viii, 10, 17, 21–31 passim, 51, 65, 76, 81–82, 87–90, 95, 98, 101, 107, 115–21, 152–53, 162, 164, 186–93 passim, 219;

and Space Museum, Smithsonian Institution), 209–19 passim European Union (EU), ix–x, 5, 84, 109, 113, 123n3, 177–78 Existence, 15, 25–31 passim, 33, 45, 60, 155, 186, 216

defined by Raymond Williams, 83; essentialism and, 86; in peacebuilding movements, 93–94; shock, 27–28

Fairness, 14–15, 40, 53, 63n9, 74, 194, 218 Falk, Richard, 175 Fine arts, 30

Daiwa-shugi (big-peace-ism), 56–57

Five Charter Oaths of 1868, 61

Darfur, 205

Forgiveness, 4, 16, 33–45, 61, 131,

Dasgupta, Sugata, 6

141

Davison, W. P., 142

Frazer, Nancy, 79n46, 79n47

Decency, 17, 65–77 passim, 78n4,

Friedman, Thomas, 84

79n19 256 Index

Friedrich, Jörg, 198, 201

Galtung, Johan, 6–8, 13, 16,

out-groups, 97–101, 103; low- and

17–18n2, 32, 52, 66, 71–73, 77,

high-power dependence, 103–4;

167–69, 175, 179, 220

out-group paranoia, 103–4; social

Garden of Eden, 33 Geneva Agreement, 133–34

creativity and competition in, 100 Guanzi (Kanshi), 58, 62

Geneva Initiative, 132–34, 141–42 Genocide, viii, 100, 105, 183–99 passim, 205. See also Holocaust Germany, 17, 101, 107, 177; and

Ha’aretz, 136 Habermas, Jurgen, 128, 130, 168; and Habermasian public sphere, 128

East German war memory,

Halbwachs, Maurice, 185

202n14; collective war memory in,

Hamas, 136

184–202 passim; and Kristallnacht

Hamburg Institute for Social

(Crystal Night), 183; and POWs

Research, 194

(prisoners of war), 189–90;

Hampton, Mary, 199–200

rape victims, 105, 107, 189–91;

Han, 42

Sonderweg (special path), 192;

Han Feizi (Kanpishi), 58, 62

Wehrmacht, 194–95; World War

Harwit, Martin, 210

II, 17, 189, 208; zero hour, 187,

Heineman, Elizabeth, 190

188, 190

Held, David, 170

Gillis, John R., 186

Heldenhaine, 186

Globalism, 220

Hersey, John, 220

Globalization, 5, 17, 82–84, 148,

Hezbollah, 135–40, 142

160–65, 170; credibility and

Hiroshima, 6, 205, 209–16, 219–21

leadership, 159; human value,

Hitler, Adolf, 188

149–51, 155–59; market value,

Hobbes, Thomas, 60, 62

149–51, 155–59; role of higher

Holocaust, 39, 184–201 passim;

education, 158; weakening state

memory, 198, 200. See also

structures, 175

Genocide

Gluck, Carol, 213

Holocaust Memorial, 196–97, 201

Grand theory, 7–13, 33, 167–68,

Honneth, Axel, 70, 74

179, 204; and epic theory, 168;

Hooks, Gregory, 17

of kyosei, 10, 12–13, 16, 82, 112,

Hulsman, John, 218–19

184; of peace, 3, 8–18 passim, 82,

Human existence, viii, 7, 33, 50, 55,

112, 145, 167, 179–80, 184, 220

61–62 Humanitarian intervention, 22, 92

Grass, Günter, 198

Human nature, 7, 25, 32, 50, 61–63

Group(s), viii, 5, 9, 14, 61, 73–76,

Human rights, 5–6, 115, 124n4, 145,

97–104 passim, 108–10, 122,

148, 153, 164–65, 173–80

140, 209; disadvantaged and

Human value, 150–64 passim

advantaged, 99–100, 103;

Humiliation, 65–75 passim, 78n9,

cohesion, 101, 110; high and low status, 103–4, 110; in-groups and

107, 190–91 Humility, 59, 220 Index 257

Illich, Ivan, 12

50, 52–53, 63n9, 68, 78n10,

Indonesia, 23–24, 89, 163, 176

92, 121, 131, 148–49, 153,

Injustice, 11, 13, 18, 38, 74–75, 100;

157; distributive, 69, 71–72;

social, 17n2, 68 International Christian University

egalitarian, 68–69, 72; imperfect, 45; original (justitia originalis),

(ICU), 161–162; ICU-WSU

50; remedial, 15, 41; restorative,

connection, xi, 3, 7–8, 10

44–45, 92; social, 8–16 passim,

International Herald Tribune, 133– 34, 141–42

22, 32, 48–54, 69–74, 79n47, 126, 167, 179. See also Injustice

International Service-Learning Network, 162–63

Kabuki, 43

Iran, 137

Kaldor, Mary, 121

Iraq, 205

Kant, Immanuel, 20, 51–52

Isaiah, 53

Kawamura, Noriko, 17, 45n1

Islam, 48, 51

Kennan, George F., 220

Israel (Israelis), x, 48, 50, 54, 130–42

Kibe, Takashi, 17

passim, 191

Kitamori, Kazoh, 43

Israel-Lebanon War, 132, 134–43

Kluge, A., 129

Israel-Palestinian conflict, 5, 125n14,

Kohl, Helmut, 193

130–34

Koizumi, Junichiro, 217 Kojiki, 28, 31n5

Jankélévitch, Vladimir, 34, 43

Koonz, Claudia, 193

Japan, 24, 28, 56, 58, 73, 84, 152,

Korea, 42

163, 205, 208, 210–11, 216, 219;

Kosovo, 200

antinuclear movement in, 215;

Krahe, B., 106–7

Article IX Preamble, 6; Brazilian

Kramer, R. M., 103–4

Nikkeijin, 75–76, 80n49; cultural

Krasner, Stephen, 171

imperialism, 81; memory of World

Kurokawa, Kisho, 10

War II (1982 NHK Survey), 212–

Kyosei, ix–x, 8–10, 12–17, 20–21,

14; Ministry of Foreign Affairs,

31–33, 45n1, 49, 57, 61, 85,

206; nationalism in, 217–18;

89–90, 98, 109, 113, 117–23,

neoconservatism in, 217; pacifism

123n1, 141, 145, 164, 167, 172,

in, 215, 217; Peace Constitution

175, 179, 205–6, 220; concession

of, 206; prewar and postwar

and compromise, 8; cultural

society, 31; racial and national

component, 82; gongsheng

character, 207; and World War II

(Chinese), 13; horizontal and

(Pacific War), 17, 20, 60, 205–21

vertical dimensions of, 112; kong-

passim

saeng (sang-saeng, Korean), 13;

Jeremiah, 50, 53–54

peaceful (coexistence), 20–21,

Jesus, 30, 35–36, 41, 46n7, 50, 57

65; personal independence, 8,

Jost, J. T., 103–4

167; positive and negative, 20;

Justice, 4, 6, 8, 34, 38–40, 44, 45n1,

solidarity and, 13–15, 16, 49, 94,

258 Index

123n2, 128; tolerant, 25, 127. See also Conviviality; Living together; Symbiosis

Murakami, Yoichiro, 10, 12, 14, 16, 168 Murayama, Tomiichi, 217 Myers, D. J., 130

Lebanon, 135–40, 143 Lebanon-Israeli conflict, 136

Nagasaki, 6, 205, 209–19 passim

Lederach, John Paul, 33

Nationalism, 85, 144, 206, 211,

Legitimacy, 100, 106, 121, 186, 188 Lieven, Anatol, 218–19 Linenthal, Edward T., 211 Living together, 12, 17, 98, 113, 117– 22, 123n2, 164. See also Kyosei

217–20 Nazism (Nazi Party), 182, 187, 191–94, 199 Negt, O., 129 Neo-nationalism, 217

Lloyd, David, 83

New Testament, 35, 50, 55

Loader, Ian, 115–16

New York Times, 132–34, 141

Louvain, 22–23

Niebuhr, Reinhold, 220

Lowe, Lisa, 83

Nietzsche, Friedrich, 37 Nihon Hoso Kyokai (NHK), 213

Mackie, D. M., 103

1997 Asian financial crisis, 151–52

Macquarrie, John, 50

Nobile, Philip, 210

Mannheim, J. B., 129

Nomos, 25–31

Maoist ideology, 84

Nonprofit sector, 155–57

Marenin, Otwin, 17

North Atlantic Treaty Organization

Margalit, Avishai, 66–76, 78n4, 78n9, 79n29

(NATO), 188 Nuclear wars, 6

Materialist stance, cultural, 83

Nuclear nonproliferation, 205

Matsumoto, Hiroshi, 216

Nuclear weapons and warheads, 205

Matsuura, Koichiro, 164–65 Meares, Mary M., 45n129

Old Testament, 48–53, 56

Media utopians, 128

Oliver, P. E., 130

Mennonite, 44

Olmert, Ehud (Prime Minister), 136

Middle East, x, 51, 130–38 passim

Olweus, Dan, 106

Milbank, John, 41, 43

Organization for Security and

Mirabeau, Honoré Gabriel Victor Riqueti, 37

Cooperation in Europe (OSCE), 113

Mishpat, 52–53, 63n9

Osaka International Peace Center, 217

Moeller, Robert, 189, 191

Oshiba, Ryo, 216

Morgenthau, Hans, 220 Morin, Edgar, 43

Pacific War, 17, 20, 60, 205–21 passim

Moses, 30

Palestine, 130–33. See also Israel

Mosse, George, 186

Parekh, Bhikhu, 65

Multiculturalism, 65–66, 73–74

Parenti, M., 129

Multiracial empire, ancient, 21

Parks, Andrew, 42 Index 259

Particular universals, 88–89

Pearl Harbor, 205–8, 215

Patriotism, 206, 217, 220. See also

Peifer, Douglas, 199–200

Nationalism Peace, 4–8, 16, 21, 32–38, 40–58

Perpetrators and victims, 34–38, 52, 195–201, 220

passim, 62, 63n10, 64n11, 65,

Plato, 60

81, 88–89, 94, 110, 116, 122–23,

Pluralism, 22, 28; cultural, 65, 77

123n4, 126–27, 130–34, 141, 143,

Political and cognitive psychology,

153, 163–68, 173–74, 180, 184,

97–98

205, 216, 220; cultural component

Pope, Alexander, 35

of, 82; decent, 65–66, 71, 74–77,

Portmann, Adolf, 26

78n4; direct, ix; ecological, 49;

Post-traumatic stress disorder

epic theory of, 168; grand theory of, 3, 9–10, 12, 16, 82, 167, 179–80, 184, 220; inner (anshin),

(PTSD), 105–6 Prince Shotoku (Prince Umayado), 56–57, 60, 61

11, 49; meta-theory of, 10, 14 (see also Murakami, Yoichiro); passive,

Rawls, J., 66–68, 78n10, 78n12

109; peace and conflict studies,

Reagan, Ronald, 193–94

ix, 6–7, 49, 52, 82, 88, 204; and

Recognition (and misrecognition),

reconciliation, 49, 51, 163; and reconciliation studies, 199–200; journalism, 17, 131–32, 135,

74–77, 79n47, 116 Reconciliation, viii, 3–36 passim, 43–45, 131, 141, 206

141–45; positive and negative,

Red Army, 187, 189, 198

vii–x, 4–16, 32, 48, 52–53, 61, 66,

Redistribution, 75–76

71–74, 113, 120, 168–69, 175,

Reparation, 34, 38–40

179; relationship with security and

Ritsuryo kokka, 57

kyosei, vii, 8–16, 20–25, 31–33,

Roosevelt, Franklin D., 207

45, 87–88, 97, 102–9, 112, 116,

Rosenberg, Emily S., 207

130, 143–44, 148, 151–52, 161–

Ross, Susan, 17

65, 175, 178, 206, 218; structural,

Ruiz, Edwin J. Lester, 10

ix–x; teleological concept, 15–16; wa (heiwa, heping), 48–49, 56–57,

Sacrament of penance, 37–39

60, 61

Safety, 5–12, 30, 49, 62, 109, 123n4,

Peacebuilding, 7–8, 12, 16, 53, 85, 90–95, 113–18, 120–21, 123n1, 124n10, 125n13, 127, 145, 204;

124n10 Safety studies, 12. See also Murakami, Yoichiro

conflict resolution and, vii, 6–7,

Sakoku, 20

16, 33, 104, 112, 122, 128, 143;

Salam (Arabic, Koran: peace), 51

creation of inner safe space, 11,

Santayana, George, 204

16; movements, 93–94; perpetual,

Satisfaction, 38–40

51–52; sustainable, 120; and

Schissler, Hanna, 185

theology, 32–35; values, 94

Schröder, Gerhard, 200

Peacemaking, 17n2, 94, 144 260 Index

Schutzstaffel (SS), 193–94

Seattle Times, 135, 137

Socrates, 57

Sebald, W. G., 197

South Africa (apartheid), 44, 91, 99

Security, 8–9, 20, 32–33, 54, 85,

Soviet Union, 29, 173, 175, 190–91,

88, 90, 99, 109, 112–22 passim, 123n4, 125n13, 127, 135, 144,

209, 221n11 State, 17, 22–23, 44, 85, 113–17,

151, 173; common, 8; cultural

123n4, 126, 130, 164, 167–79

component of, 82; human, 3, 5,

passim, 185, 206, 220; civilizing

8, 12, 17, 97, 112–17, 123n4,

process, 168; and emperor-system,

149–65 passim; and insecurity, 11,

56–57; ideal, 70; impediment to

32, 117–20; military, 11; national,

peace, 168; and nation-state(s),

8–9, 11, 20, 218; physical, 114–

5, 9, 21–24, 85, 170–78, 205,

15; and safety (anzen), 5, 11–12;

219–20; outlaw, 171–72; rise of,

state, 8

168–70; semi-sovereign, 172–73;

Security sector reforms (SSR), 112, 114–16, 125n13

waging war (legitimate violence), 167, 171–72

September 11 terrorist attack, 42

Stephan, Cookie W., 102

Service-Learning in Asia Conference

Stephan, Walter G., 102

(2002), 162 Seventeenth-Article Constitution, 56, 57–60

Sun, Raymond C., 17 Superordinate identities, 108–9 Symbiosis, 12, 20, 90. See also Kyosei

Shalom (Hebrew, Old Testament: peace), 4, 16, 48–56 passim, 62

Taylor, Charles, 74

Shintoism, 58

Tehranian, M., 144

Shriver, Donald J., 45, 46n

Terkel, Studs, 208

Silver, L. A., 103

Thomas Aquinas, Saint, 37–39,

Smith, E. R., 103

41, 44

Social capital, 113, 123n2

Tilly, Charles, 167, 170

Social Dominance Theory, 102–3

Tolerance (and intolerance), viii, 4,

Society, 26–31, 68, 199; civil, 12, 113–16, 130, 132, 143, 145, 176–77, 181n32; crimeless, 77;

10, 14–16, 21–31 passim, 85, 98, 103, 109, 122, 164, 175, 220; functional, 26, 31; technical, 26

decent, 66–73, 79n29; global

Toronto Sun, 141

civil, 125n13, 180; heterogeneous

Totenburgen, 186

(immigrant society), 24;

Transnationalism, 206, 218–20

human, 26–33, 44, 50, 62, 164;

Truth and Reconciliation

international, 21–25; intolerant, 25, 29; just, 69, 71, 79n29;

Commission, 44 Tsing, Anna, 89, 90

monocultural, 25; passive, 185; peaceable, 12–13, 58, 63n9, 126;

United Nations, x, 5, 113, 124n6,

peaceful, 74, 77, 168; pluralistic,

129, 150, 157, 163–64, 169–74,

14; tolerant, 21, 29; totalitarian,

180, 205; charter, 171; Convention

29; two-person, 26

on the Rights of the Child, Index 261

United Nations, continued

War crimes, 217



164; International Covenant on

War journalism, 135

Economic, Social and Cultural

War memory, 17, 45n1, 182–221

Rights, 165; international human

passim; advocacy, 200; amnesia,

rights treaties, 174; and Universal

186; collective memory, 185,

Declaration of Human Rights,

202n7; good war, 195, 208,

164; and Universal Declaration on

219; gray zone in, 201, 203n44;

Cultural Diversity, 164–65

lessons, 200; Pacific War and Asia-Pacific War, 204–6, 213,

United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization

215–21; perpetrators, 201,

(UNESCO), 55, 164, 205

216–18; post-Holocaust, 184–201;

United Nations Security Council, 171

rape, 190–91; redemption, 199;

United States, 42, 84–85, 91, 98, 100,

remembrance, 185–86; victims, 187–201 passim, 214–19;

136–38, 172–76, 192, 205–21

transnational perspectives, 215–21

passim; military bases, 206–7; and West Germany, 192; and

War responsibility, 199, 215

World War II, 205–21 passim;

Weber, Max, 120, 167

and war on terrorism, 218; and

Weingarten, 105

universalism, 219

Westphalian sovereignty (or international order), 171–79

Vancouver Sun, 135

Whitney, John O., 157

Vietnam War, 208

Williams, Raymond, 83, 93

Violence, viii, 4–6, 9, 17n2, 42, 62,

Winnicott, Donald, 26

71–77, 82, 98, 100–109 passim,

Winter, Jay, 184, 185, 202n7

113, 117, 131–35, 142, 145,

Wolin, Sheldon S., 9

169–79 passim, 199; absence of,

World Conference against Atomic and Hydrogen Bombs, 216

vii, 71–72, 109; acceptance of, 97, 105; alternatives to, 145; chronic,

World Trade Center, 208

97, 106, 110; cultural, 6, 11; cycle

World War I, 186, 187

of, 105; direct, 11, 16; hidden, 6;

World War II, 60, 172, 209; post–

interpersonal, 106, 179; legitimate,

(Germany), 184, 187; post–

171–172, 179; ordinary, 105;

(Japan), 6; post– (United States),

perpetuating factors of, 107;

221; pre– (Japan), 60. See also Germany; Japan; United States

personal, 72–73; reducing direct, 92; structural, ix, 5–6, 11, 16,



17n2, 52, 71–73, 105, 135

Yamamoto, Kano, 17

Volf, Miroslav, 40

Yasukuni Shrine, 217 Young, Iris, 68

Walker, Samuel J., 209

Young, James E., 196

Walter Reed Hospital, 102–3

Yui, Daizaburo, 204

Walzer, Michael, 14, 21–24, 31, 65, 69, 77 262 Index