Global Activism And Humanitarian Disarmament 3030276104, 9783030276102, 9783030276119

Table of contents :
Foreword......Page 5
Contents......Page 8
Notes on Contributors......Page 10
List of Figures......Page 13
List of Tables......Page 14
1 The Humanitarian Disarmament Movement: An Assessment and Review......Page 15
Changing Disarmament Norms......Page 16
Conceptualizing Humanitarian Disarmament......Page 20
The Historical Development of Humanitarian Disarmament......Page 21
Overview of the Book......Page 29
References......Page 35
Part I Emergence of Norms......Page 39
2 When Scientists Become Activists: The International Committee for Robot Arms Control and the Politics of Killer Robots......Page 40
Engaging Critically with the Epistemic Communities Literature......Page 43
ICRAC as a Scientific and Political Actor......Page 48
ICRAC and the Campaign to Stop Killer Robots......Page 53
The “Gentrification” of ICRAC?......Page 55
Conclusion......Page 62
Bibliography......Page 64
3 The Agency of International Humanitarian Disarmament Law: The Case of Advocacy for Positive Obligations in the Treaty on the Prohibition of Nuclear Weapons......Page 72
The Development of Positive Obligations in Humanitarian Disarmament Treaties......Page 75
Theories of International Humanitarian Disarmament Lawmaking......Page 78
Case Study of the ICAN Positive Obligations Team During the TPNW Negotiations......Page 84
Reflecting on the Agency of Law in Shaping the Success of Proposed TPNW Provisions......Page 98
Conclusion......Page 104
Bibliography......Page 105
4 Religious Advocacy and Activism for the Treaty on the Prohibition of Nuclear Weapons......Page 115
The Role of Religion in International Peace and Security Policy......Page 118
Religious Objections to Nuclear Weapons......Page 120
Outright Rejection of Violence......Page 121
Nuclear Weapons as Inherently Evil and/or Idolatry......Page 122
Violation of Ethic of Care......Page 124
Diversion of Resources......Page 125
Incorporating Concerns into Devotional Practice......Page 126
Bearing Witness......Page 127
Engagement with Nuclear Diplomacy......Page 129
Nonviolent Direct Action and Civil Disobedience......Page 131
Bearing Humanitarian Witness......Page 132
Devotions and Protest Outside the UN......Page 136
Bearing Religious Witness to the Conference......Page 137
The Role of the Holy See......Page 139
Impact on the Treaty Text......Page 140
The Work Continues......Page 142
Conclusion......Page 144
Bibliography......Page 145
Part II Challenges in Diffusing and Implementing Norms......Page 151
5 US Arms Control Dynamics in the Era of Humanitarian Disarmament: A Case Study of the Convention on Cluster Munitions......Page 152
Conventional Arms Control Explanations......Page 154
Theoretical Framework......Page 157
Background......Page 162
Legitimate Weapons with Clear Military Utility......Page 164
Prohibition Causes Humanitarian Harm......Page 166
Rigorous Application of Existing IHL?......Page 168
Rhetorical Adjustment......Page 171
Conclusion......Page 174
References......Page 175
6 The Politics of Non-recognition: Re-evaluating the Apolitical Presentation of the UN Humanitarian Mine Action Programs in Somaliland......Page 180
Contextualizing Somaliland......Page 183
History of Explosive Remnants of War Contamination and Impact......Page 184
Background on Mine Clearance Efforts......Page 185
The Role of the UN in Mine Action......Page 187
Implications of Non-recognition......Page 191
Coordination......Page 192
Bunkerization and Implications for Programme Management......Page 195
Conclusion......Page 198
Bibliography......Page 201
Part III The Wider Context......Page 207
7 The Relationship Between Humanitarian Disarmament and General and Complete Disarmament......Page 208
Pre-WWI Context......Page 210
Interwar Period......Page 211
Post-WWII and Cold War......Page 218
1945–1990......Page 219
Post-Cold War Context......Page 226
Considering the Utility of GCD in the  Twenty-First Century......Page 227
Bibliography......Page 231
8 Addressing the Political Impact of Inclusion and Exclusion in Multilateral Disarmament Forums......Page 234
Methodology......Page 236
What the Data Showed: The Marginalization of Lower Income Countries and of Particular Regions......Page 239
Factors Influencing Variations in States’ Participation......Page 241
Gender and Marginalization: Data on the Underrepresentation of Women......Page 244
Understanding and Addressing Patterns of Underrepresentation from a Policy Perspective......Page 248
The Dynamics of Participation and Policy: Developing Countries, the Humanitarian Initiative and the TPNW......Page 251
Conclusion......Page 256
Bibliography......Page 257
Epilogue: Whither Humanitarian Disarmament?......Page 261
New Directions for the Humanitarian Disarmament Community......Page 262
Further Study of Global Activism and Humanitarian Disarmament......Page 264
Conclusion......Page 266
Index......Page 268

Citation preview

Global Activism and Humanitarian Disarmament Edited by Matthew Breay Bolton · Sarah Njeri · Taylor Benjamin-Britton

Global Activism and Humanitarian Disarmament

Matthew Breay Bolton · Sarah Njeri · Taylor Benjamin-Britton Editors

Global Activism and Humanitarian Disarmament

Editors Matthew Breay Bolton Department of Political Science Pace University New York, NY, USA

Sarah Njeri Africa Leadership Centre King’s College London London, UK

Taylor Benjamin-Britton Lehigh University Bethlehem, PA, USA

ISBN 978-3-030-27610-2 ISBN 978-3-030-27611-9  (eBook) https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-27611-9 © The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s) 2020 This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed. The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use. The publisher, the authors and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations. Cover image: © kenkuza/shutterstock.com This Palgrave Macmillan imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature Switzerland AG The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland

Foreword

The Emergence of Humanitarian Disarmament and Its Impact on Weapons and Violence When we built the International Campaign to Ban Landmines (ICBL) in the early 1990s, we were responding to a humanitarian crisis resulting from the use of antipersonnel landmines in the regions of the world where the two superpowers had fought proxy wars during the Cold War. It was primarily civilians who were maimed or killed by those indiscriminate weapons of mass destruction in slow motion, as we came to call them in the ICBL. Once these wars ended, the landmines remained where they had been sown and all casualties were civilian. Not surprisingly, landmine survivors became some of the ICBL’s most powerful advocates for a treaty banning landmines. The ICBL was broad, deep, and creative and we partnered with a core group of proban governments and the International Committee of the Red Cross to bypass the ineffective efforts to deal with landmines within the UN and negotiate a ban treaty in a stand-alone process. The work of the ICBL demonstrated that mass mobilization of survivors and nongovernmental organizations around the world could be a powerful engine for change. In 1997, our joint efforts resulted in the Mine Ban Treaty. The treaty created a framework to mitigate the humanitarian impact of landmines through risk education, victim assistance, and landmine clearance. Later that year, the ICBL and I were jointly awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for our work. In their announcement of the 1997 v

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Peace Prize, the Nobel Committee also said, “As a model for similar processes in the future, it could prove of decisive importance to the international effort for disarmament and peace.” Our success was not a fluke, nor was it the result of some special, innate capacity to which we alone had access. Since the Mine Ban Treaty, campaigns making up the emergent “humanitarian disarmament” community have achieved three major new treaties: the 2008 Convention on Cluster Munitions, 2013 Arms Trade Treaty, and 2017 Treaty on the Prohibition of Nuclear Weapons (TPNW). The International Campaign to Abolish Nuclear Weapons was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 2017 for the TPNW. The movement against indiscriminate weapons has also shown that it can have a normative impact beyond supportive states. The landmine ban treaty has demonstrably changed the behavior of major military powers—as they have adopted export moratoria, destroyed stockpiles and avoided using antipersonnel mines in conflict. Several non-state armed groups have also signed commitments to abide by its norms. We have also seen the cluster munition ban have similar effects. The humanitarian disarmament community has been consistently underestimated by academia, particularly those wedded to traditional, realist understandings of security, arms control, and disarmament. Their dismissal of our work is often framed in gendered terms, casting us as “emotional” and “naïve.” But in editing this volume, Taylor BenjaminBritton, Sarah Njeri, and Matthew Bolton are helping to redress this lacuna. This book shows how activists, advocates, and practitioners have been able to constrain weapons and inhumane violence. Rather than critiquing from the sidelines, their work, as well as that of the other authors, is rooted in a commitment to making the world a safer place for us all. At a time of rising nationalist sentiment, used to justify all manner of atrocities, we need more thinking campaigners working in solidarity across boundaries to strip away the academic, political and military discourses that prop up violent people. The humanitarian disarmament community is one among many networks that show it is possible to resist militarism. This book tells our story. In reading it, I hope you are

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inspired to join our struggle, learn from our mistakes, and apply our lessons to your own efforts to build sustainable peace with justice and equality. Jody Williams Chair, Nobel Women’s Initiative 1997 Nobel Peace Prize co-Laureate with the International Campaign to Ban Landmines Westminster West, VT, USA Jody Williams received the Nobel Peace Prize in 1997 for her work to ban landmines through the International Campaign to Ban Landmines, which shared the Peace Prize with her that year. At that time, she became the 10th woman— and third American woman—in its almost 100-year history to receive the Prize. Since her protests of the Vietnam War, she has been a lifelong advocate of freedom, self-determination, and human and civil rights. Like others who have seen the ravages of war, she is an outspoken peace activist who struggles to reclaim the real meaning of peace—a concept which goes far beyond the absence of armed conflict and is defined by human security, not national security. Since January of 2006, Jody Williams has worked toward those ends through the Nobel Women’s Initiative, which she chairs. Her memoir on life as a grassroots activist, My Name is Jody Williams: A Vermont Girl’s Winding Path to the Nobel Peace Prize was released by the University of California Press in early 2013.

Contents

1 The Humanitarian Disarmament Movement: An Assessment and Review 1 Taylor Benjamin-Britton, Matthew Breay Bolton and Sarah Njeri Part I  Emergence of Norms 2 When Scientists Become Activists: The International Committee for Robot Arms Control and the Politics of Killer Robots 27 Matthew Breay Bolton and Cayman C. Mitchell 3 The Agency of International Humanitarian Disarmament Law: The Case of Advocacy for Positive Obligations in the Treaty on the Prohibition of Nuclear Weapons 59 Matthew Breay Bolton and Elizabeth Minor 4 Religious Advocacy and Activism for the Treaty on the Prohibition of Nuclear Weapons 103 Emily Welty with Gabrielle Chalk

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Part II  Challenges in Diffusing and Implementing Norms 5 US Arms Control Dynamics in the Era of Humanitarian Disarmament: A Case Study of the Convention on Cluster Munitions 141 Taylor Benjamin-Britton 6 The Politics of Non-recognition: Re-evaluating the Apolitical Presentation of the UN Humanitarian Mine Action Programs in Somaliland 169 Sarah Njeri Part III  The Wider Context 7 The Relationship Between Humanitarian Disarmament and General and Complete Disarmament 199 Dan Plesch and Kevin Miletic 8 Addressing the Political Impact of Inclusion and Exclusion in Multilateral Disarmament Forums 225 Elizabeth Minor Epilogue: Whither Humanitarian Disarmament? 253 Sarah Njeri, Matthew Breay Bolton and Taylor Benjamin-Britton Index 261

Notes

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Contributors

Dr. Taylor Benjamin-Britton defended her Ph.D. in political science at Temple University in August 2016. She has taught courses in international relations and international organization in the Department of Political Science at Temple University as well as the Department of International Relations at Lehigh University. She is currently transitioning to self-employment. Matthew Breay Bolton is Director of the International Disarmament Institute and Associate Professor of political science at Pace University in New York City. He is an expert on global peace and security policy, focusing on multilateral disarmament and arms control policymaking processes. He has a Ph.D. in Government and Master’s in Development Studies from the London School of Economics. Since 2014, Bolton has worked on the UN advocacy of the International Campaign to Abolish Nuclear Weapons (ICAN), recipient of the 2017 Nobel Peace Prize. Bolton has published four other books, including Foreign Aid and Landmine Clearance (I.B. Tauris) and Imagining Disarmament, Enchanting International Relations (Palgrave Pivot). Gabrielle Chalk is Donor Relations and Data Associate at Equality Now. She is an M.A. in International Affairs and Global Justice student at Brooklyn College and has a B.A. majoring in Political Science and Peace and Justice Studies from Pace University.

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Mr. Kevin Miletic   is a Ph.D. candidate at the Centre for International Studies & Diplomacy at SOAS University of London. Previously, he worked on the SCRAP project at the Centre for International Studies & Diplomacy at SOAS University of London, the Geneva Centre for the Democratic Control of Armed Forces in Geneva and Ramallah, and for the Swiss embassy in Tunisia. Elizabeth Minor is an Advisor at Article 36, a UK-based NonGovernmental Organisation that works for greater public scrutiny over weapons and stronger international standards to protect civilians through research, policy development, and advocacy work. She was part of the International Campaign to Abolish Nuclear Weapons (ICAN) team that won the Nobel Peace Prize for its work in 2017. Elizabeth sits on the board of the NGO Airwars, and was previously a researcher at Every Casualty and Oxford Research Group, focusing on civilian casualty recording. Cayman C. Mitchell is an Associate Attorney at Jenner & Block LLP with a primary focus in copyright and trademark law. He received his J.D. from Harvard Law School in 2018, earning the Dean’s Scholar Award in Copyright Law, and received his B.A. in Computer Science from Pace University, summa cum laude, in 2014. He is particularly concentrated on litigation at the intersection of copyright and computer science—i.e., software—as well as the arts, including music and theater. Mr. Mitchell is also engaged in both trial and appellate pro bono litigation, including regarding the FOIA and criminal defense. Dr. Sarah Njeri is a Research Associate at the African Leadership Centre, working on an Engineering and Physical Science Research Council (EPSRC)—Global Research Challenges Fund project:  A Clear Road Ahead- Developing a Combined Technological and SocioEconomic Approach to Freeing Affected Communities from Anti-Vehicle Landmines (2017–2019). Previously she was at Leeds Trinity University as a Research Officer and at the John and Elnora Ferguson Centre for African Studies (JEFCAS) at the University of Bradford’s Peace Studies Department. Sarah has a Ph.D. from the Peace Studies Department at the University of Bradford where she also studied for a masters in Conflict Resolution. Her Ph.D. thesis, completed in May 2015, was titled, “A minefield of possibilities; the viability of liberal peace in Somaliland with particular reference to mine action.” Sarah has had a

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long engagement with humanitarian disarmament, as a landmine campaigner and a researcher for the Landmine Monitor. Her research is informed by her experience as a humanitarian aid practitioner, an activist and an academic researcher. Sarah’s academic research is therefore at the intersection of academia and the worlds of policy and practice. Her research interests includes African politics (especially the Horn of Africa and specifically Somaliland), mine action, humanitarian disarmament, and critical liberal peacebuilding. Sarah’s twitter handle is @sndeall. Dr. Dan Plesch is the author of Human Rights After Hitler, America, Hitler and the UN and The Beauty Queen’s Guide to World Peace. He leads the Strategic Concept for the Removal of Arms and Proliferation project and has been engaged in global coalitions that led to the nuclear test ban and the agreements on the weapons trade. He is currently Director and Reader at the Centre for International Studies and Diplomacy, SOAS University of London. Dr. Emily Welty  is an academic, activist, and artist living and working in New York City. She is the Director of Peace and Justice Studies at Pace University where she teaches classes focusing on nonviolence, humanitarianism and reconciliation, and transitional justice. She has a B.A. from the College of Wooster, an M.A. from American University and a Ph.D. from the University of London. Her research focuses on the religious dimensions of peacebuilding with an emphasis on humanitarianism and nuclear disarmament as well as nonviolent social movements. She is the Vice Moderator of the World Council of Churches Commission on International Affairs and is the chair of the Nuclear Disarmament Working Group. Emily is part of the 2017 Nobel Peace Prize winning International Campaign to Abolish Nuclear Weapons (ICAN) where she works on faith-based engagement in nuclear disarmament. She has been awarded a Jefferson Bronze Medal for Public Service, Humanitarian Award 2018 from the city of Independence, Missouri and an honorary doctorate in humane letters from Graceland University. She is the co-author and editor of Peace and Justice Studies: Critical Pedagogy (Routledge, 2019), Unity in Diversity: Interfaith Dialogue in the Middle East (United States Institute of Peace, 2007) and Occupying Political Science (Palgrave, 2012).

List of Figures

Fig. 5.1 The range of humanitarian disarmament behavior Fig. 6.1 Stages/Evolution of Mine Action Programme (Taken from [GICHD 2014] Guide to Mine Action http://www.gichd. org/fileadmin/GICHD-resources/info-documents/guideto-mine-action-2014/GICHD-guide-to-mine-action-2014chapter-2-Life-cycle-of-mine-action-programmes.pdf, p. 37) Fig. 8.1 Participation of countries in 13 disarmament/weapons forums: averages within income groups for all processes and meetings Fig. 8.2 Average variation in attendance of states between income categories (standard deviation from the mean) Fig. 8.3 State participation in different types of treaty meetings Fig. 8.4 Participation of women in multilateral disarmament meetings on behalf of states and civil society: average rates across 13 forums, 2010–2014 Fig. 8.5 Participation of women in multilateral disarmament forums on behalf of states: average rates across 13 forums by income group, 2010–2014 Fig. 8.6 States’ participation in nuclear weapons free zones and nuclear alliances

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179 231 232 234 236 238 244

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List of Tables

Table 2.1 ICRAC’s website activity, 2011–2018 Table 3.1 Relative success of proposed TPNW provisions

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CHAPTER 1

The Humanitarian Disarmament Movement: An Assessment and Review Taylor Benjamin-Britton, Matthew Breay Bolton and Sarah Njeri

Disarmament has long been a dirty word in the international relations (IR) lexicon. Across political systems and time, people have chosen—for reasons of security, honor, ethics, or humanitarianism—to prohibit or limit certain categories of violent technology. However, the dominant IR discourse has focused more on processes of armament and militarization than on their reversal. In the last two decades, the “humanitarian disarmament movement”—a loose coalition of small and medium-sized states, humanitarian agencies, and advocacy groups—have successfully achieved global

T. Benjamin-Britton (B) Lehigh University, Bethlehem, PA, USA e-mail: [email protected] M. B. Bolton Department of Political Science, Pace University, New York, NY, USA e-mail: [email protected] S. Njeri Africa Leadership Centre, King’s College London, London, UK © The Author(s) 2020 M. B. Bolton et al. (eds.), Global Activism and Humanitarian Disarmament, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-27611-9_1

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bans on blinding lasers, landmines and cluster munitions, and the Arms Trade Treaty. They have also renewed investment in programs of landmine clearance, stockpile destruction of small arms and demobilization of combatants in conflict zones. These “New Disarmers” most recently achieved the 2017 Treaty on the Prohibition of Nuclear Weapons and have now set their sights on banning autonomous weapons systems. Within the policy and advocacy community, there is a vigorous debate about humanitarian disarmament that could inform the limited discussion of this issue in IR. Some see humanitarian disarmament as a way to breathe new life into a moribund policy arena. Others worry that this approach is piecemeal and depoliticizing, banning the “easier” cases of particularly odious weapons rather than pursuing earlier diplomatic commitments to “general and complete disarmament.” This book showcases new interdisciplinary research by scholars seeking to understand the dynamics and impact of the humanitarian disarmament movement. This chapter introduces and defines the concept of humanitarian disarmament. From there, it proceeds to review the history of humanitarian disarmament from its roots in the 1899 Hague Conventions; through the landmine and cluster munitions bans; protocols on guns, explosive remnants of war, and the Arms Trade Treaty; to the current campaigns on killer robots, explosive weapons, and nuclear weapons. It will show the emergence of a transnational advocacy network and community of practice that spans the various campaigns, having established common values, language, and infrastructure. The chapter then concludes with the plan for the volume.

Changing Disarmament Norms Disarmament means, in general parlance, the reduction or destruction of some of a state’s weapons or the withdrawal of armed forces. The UN specifically defines it as the “collection, documentation, control and disposal of small arms, ammunition, explosives and light and heavy weapons of combatants and often also of the civilian populations” (United Nations Secretary-General, May 2005). In international weapons law, it refers to treaties or initiatives that prohibit or restrict the production, stockpiling, and/or transfer of weapons (Weapons Law Encyclopedia 2013). It thus overlaps with arms control, a notion that encompasses efforts between different states to build confidence that force will not be used between them

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by limiting or reducing certain arms or military forces. In general, disarmament is about the extent to which states are willing to submit themselves to legal restraints on their means of making war. Therefore, negotiation of such instruments has historically been the purview of states. As a result, disarmament as an approach has not been pursued throughout most of history. Most recently, during the Cold War, arms control remained exclusively in the realm of superpower politics. Most arms control agreements involved quantitative disarmament (reductions in numbers of a kind of weapon) rather than qualitative disarmament (removing or limiting specific kinds of weapons in an arsenal). With the exception of the Biological and Toxin Weapons Convention (BTWC) of 1972 and, more recently, the Chemical Weapons Convention (CWC) of 1993, no agreements were negotiated that categorically and globally prohibited specific weapons. Weapons that are perceived as inhumane often generate a public outcry. For example, when the Luftwaffe dropped cluster munitions on the port of Grimsby, UK, public response reacted in horror at the harm to civilians that persisted after the raid, as initially unexploded ordnance continued to claim new victims (Borrie and Randin 2006). However, the context of World War II was not ripe for the emergence of a disarmament movement. Indeed, while the war did inspire the development of the Geneva Conventions, during WWII and the Cold War it was difficult for voices of public conscience to exercise power over states’ arsenals. Humanitarian concerns were subordinated to matters of state security. The end of the Cold War created space for new thinking in arms control. This period saw a significant increase in internal conflicts that targeted civilians, but also a reduction in conflict between states. The growing number and strength of international civil society networks amplified the humanitarian motivations for addressing the impact of conventional weapons used in these internal conflicts. These challenges to the prevailing, state-centric discourse on weapons ultimately converged into a humanitarian disarmament movement led by transnational civil society. Practitioners of humanitarian disarmament consider weapons, weapons systems, and general practices of war from the primary consideration of whether or not particular weapons or actions cause unacceptable humanitarian harm. As an approach, humanitarian disarmament seeks to prevent and remediate arms-inflicted human suffering and environmental harm through the establishment of norms (Humanitarian Disarmament) which would devalue and ultimately delegitimize particular weapons of war, within the broader context of unacceptable conduct in warfare. This

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includes, but goes beyond, questions of legality to include moral and political assessments of the effects of certain weapons on both civilians and combatants, and whether the use of such weapons can withstand this scrutiny by responsible states and military commanders (Florini 2000). The notion of unacceptable humanitarian harm is drawn in contrast with historic justifications by military and political leaders about “acceptable losses,” with regard to the ability and—more importantly—the willingness of states to suffer particular costs in order to secure their defined military objectives within the context of war. Notable historic examples include the carpet-bombing of major cities during World War II and the American use of landmines and cluster munitions during the Vietnam War. The calculus of acceptable loss, and particularly loss in the form of civilian casualties, has been repeatedly refined over the past century to now consider virtually no instance of civilian harm “acceptable.” Acceptable loss is no longer an appropriate justification for the consequences of states’ conduct in war. This is remarkable given that, during this same period of time, states advancing ever-deadlier weapons research increased by orders of magnitude their capacity to cause human harm; but it is not surprising given civil society contestation of the appropriateness of this type of calculation by states. Humanitarian disarmers in transnational civil society have, in the decades since, driven this redefinition of wartime practices by repeatedly calling into question the justifications made by states after their actions resulted in disproportionate and indiscriminate harm to civilians. While not initially effective, it has increasingly resulted in rhetorical back-bending in the rationalizations of states that continue to deploy harmful practices and indiscriminate weapons, as well as efforts by some other states to categorize weapons and tactics of warfare into those that are acceptable and those that are not. While intending to design legal protections for states and their arsenals, states have found themselves “rhetorically entrapped” by their own justifications (Checkel 2001). For instance, having recognized harm caused by some cluster munitions, states were later forced to reconcile this position with harms caused by any cluster munitions (Petrova 2008, 2010). The authors in this volume broadly take the position that humanitarian disarmament as an approach has had an impact on international outcomes, including the creation and form of new international legal instruments and norms, and that humanitarian disarmament norms and ideas have real agency in shaping the behavior of individual actors and states. Civil society actors drive the processes and outcomes of disarmament in a variety of

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ways: they have at their disposal particular issue or process expertise (Price 1998, 2003; Keck and Sikkink 1998), networked organizational capacity to mobilize and spread information (Cortell and Davis 2000; Carpenter 2007; Schrad 2010), and special moral authority (Price 1998; Tannenwald 1999; Checkel 2005) which has the potential to shape state perceptions about their own arms control behavior or at least increase the urgency of states’ responses to disarmament. Based on a long history of grafting longstanding norms (Price 1998) to new concepts of disarmament, humanitarian disarmament advocates are especially effective in shaping the interpretation of new norms (Garcia 2006) and in linking states’ understanding of new norms to widely accepted standards of international society as a means of reinforcing new norms’ influence (Risse et al. 1999; Garcia 2006, 2015). In order to generate a sense or interpretation of responsibility, disarmament groups can employ all of these tools to construct a causal story of harm, neither natural or accidental, but also set the agenda in proposing appropriate solutions and means to avoid such harm (Keck and Sikkink 1998). In short, civil society has a significant measure of soft power to generate disarmament norms and legal instruments, and set at least in part the disarmament agenda, as well as corral state governments toward support, or at least recognition, of new humanitarian disarmament norms and agreements. There are, of course, also debates about the extent to which humanitarian disarmament is useful as a framework for practice (or research), and the extent to which it might distract from larger arguments about general and complete disarmament as an approach to peace. A conventional international explanation for disarmament from a materialist perspective would reject the importance of disarmament out of hand, arguing that states simply abandon old weapons because they no longer have sufficient utility (May 1993), because they have relatively decreasing security value (Cooper 2011), states believe they can advance their other interests in so doing (Abbott 1993), or the act of disarmament represents a relatively low (or no) cost for states that are already acting in conformity with disarmament regimes (Von Stein 2005; Simmons 2009). Others argue that signing humanitarian agreements, including humanitarian disarmament, simply relieves a measure of international pressure to improve behavior (Hafner-Burton and Tsutsui 2007) and creates hierarchies of weapon legitimacy that exclude some weapons, while elevating others (Cooper 2011). A more traditional peace approach goes even further, claiming that the focus on disarming states of particular weapons distracts from the greater

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goal of general peace and disarmament (see the Plesch and Miletic chapter in this volume). Humanitarian disarmament has also been criticized by post-colonial thinkers, who point out the persistence of colonial “standard of civilization” discourses in the campaigns against landmines and cluster munitions. They note that framing certain kinds of violence as inhumane can suggest that people associated with that violence are themselves less human (Latham 2000; Mathur 2011; Stavrianakis 2011). Setting up the context for this discussion, as will be continued in the research of this volume, the chapter turns next to the definition and the decades-long historical discursive and legal development of humanitarian disarmament.

Conceptualizing Humanitarian Disarmament Humanitarian disarmament, as a subfield of international law, draws upon and intersects with both international humanitarian law and international weapons law. According to Docherty (2010), humanitarian disarmament legal instruments “seek to eliminate the civilian harm caused by problematic weapons” (2010, p. 7). Problematic, in this context, refers to weapons that are fundamentally indiscriminate or inhumane in their design; as well as weapons that, through particular uses, have indiscriminate, inhumane, or lingering effects (Humanitarian Disarmament). The focus of such agreements is on human security rather than the security of states, in both preventing future harm and mitigating past harms to human wellbeing. This definition contrasts sharply with that of most international law on weapons, which has been framed primarily as a set of measures for state security or stability, such as the Treaty on the Non-proliferation of Nuclear Weapons (NPT), superpower nuclear arms reduction agreements, and UN Security Council resolutions regarding weapons of mass destruction (WMD). Docherty defines humanitarian disarmament narrowly as a set of practices, focusing on instruments that “establish absolute bans on … specific weapons” (2010, p. 7), like the 1997 Mine Ban Treaty (MBT), the 2008 Convention on Cluster Munitions (CCM), and the 2017 Treaty on the Prohibition of Nuclear Weapons (TPNW). However, others (e.g. Mathur 2011; Garcia 2011) use the term more broadly to refer to all international weapons regulations and commitments that are explicitly framed as humanitarian, and that claim to mitigate and address the human suffering caused by weapons. These might include, but are not limited to, the 1890 Brussels Acts limiting sale of firearms to slave trading regions in Africa;

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1899 and 1907 Hague Conventions bans on dumdum bullets, asphyxiating gases, and balloon-dropped bombs; the 1925 Geneva Protocol on poison gas; the Convention on Conventional Weapons (CCW) and its additional protocols, such as on fragmentation weapons, incendiaries, blinding lasers, and explosive remnants of war (ERW); the 2001 UN Programme of Action on Small Arms and Light Weapons, including the Firearms Protocol and International Tracing Instrument; and the 2013 Arms Trade Treaty (ATT). Under this wider understanding, the genealogy of humanitarian disarmament agreements can be traced much further back than the explicitly “humanitarian” weapons prohibitions that have been developed since the 1990s. Beyond the legal instruments, Docherty also defines humanitarian disarmament as “a ground-breaking” approach that “makes ending civilian suffering its core objective” (Docherty 2010). That is, humanitarian disarmament also constitutes a political and discursive process through which civil society actors, working cooperatively with like-minded states and international organizations, drive international disarmament efforts— which have historically been dominated by states—away from state security interests and toward greater focus on the humanitarian concerns generated by state arsenals. Within this process, disarmament coalitions can provide field expertise on the scale and intensity of harm caused by the weapon, provide legal expertise in treaty design, make space for and amplify survivor voices in negotiation fora, bring greater authority to the humanitarian position within the discourse, and work to generate political and legal support among states—as well as “name and shame” those that persist in maintaining, transferring, and/or using problematic weapons. In so doing, actors in the civil society coalitions may also generate new norms or strengthen existing ones (Humanitarian Disarmament), at times even to the level of a behavioral taboo (Price 1998; Tannenwald 1999). As such, the humanitarian disarmament approach has the potential to drive treaty and state behavioral outcomes in the “high politics” area of arms control. The movement—which is increasingly deep-rooted in the international governance structure of the United Nations, has continued to gain traction in international social movements, and has become dominant in negotiations around both conventional armaments and weapons of mass destruction—is also likely to continue to grow in its impact. This trajectory of development will be further developed in the next section.

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The Historical Development of Humanitarian Disarmament In establishing the historic roots of the humanitarian disarmament approach, this chapter takes the view, examined previously, that humanitarian disarmament encompasses more than categorical weapons prohibitions. It is, thus, inclusive of all explicitly humanitarian weapons regulations and commitments that claim to mitigate and address the human suffering caused by weapons. This understanding allows the authors to trace the evolution of humanitarian disarmament arguments and outcomes from their direct roots in the Geneva and Hague Conventions, the Geneva Protocols, the humanitarian UN resolutions of the Cold War, the first humanitarian disarmament agreements in the 1990s, through to the movement today. Early in the history of disarmament, states and state interests dominated the discourse on arms control. Over time, however, the humanitarian disarmament approach has gained significant influence and momentum by advancing, solidifying, and upholding new humanitarian norms and international laws; while also building upon and reinforcing the long-established norms and laws of war that aim to reduce human suffering. The contemporary humanitarian disarmament framework is built upon norms developed over a century prior, through national and later international provisions about the necessity of humanitarian support and basic limitations on the causation of unnecessary suffering in times of war. As is still the case today, advocates inspired by their observance of ongoing human suffering in the context of warfare led the social push for the earliest humanitarian protections. Henry Dunant, founder of the International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC), first called for governments to do more to protect victims of war after observing the extended suffering caused by Italian munitions after the 1859 Battle of Solferino (ICRC 1998). In 1863, the ICRC was founded with the mandate of chartering national relief societies and a legal basis through which to establish a set of humanitarian obligations for states (ICRC 2004). The same year, responding at least in part to the massive scale of suffering of the US Civil War, Abraham Lincoln introduced the Lieber codification of the laws of war, including the first explicit prohibitions on “wanton violence” against the peoples of an invaded country (Lieber Code, Art. 44), which can be understood to be civilians. It also designates protections for prisoners of war, violations of which are quite normatively described as “barbaric” (Art. 56). The First (1864) Geneva Convention does not explicitly refer to civilians, but does

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codify protections for prisoners of war (1864 Geneva Convention, Art. 6) as well as for humanitarian actors, including civilians who bring help to the wounded (Art. 1–3, 5, and 7). While the earliest war conventions were primarily focused on soldiers, they established principles through which these protections could eventually be extended via the later Geneva Conventions and other frameworks to include all victims of war—ultimately generating explicit civilian protections. By the early 1860s, some states began to demonstrate discomfort in proceeding without setting basic limitations on the means through which states could make war, but their earliest “humane” practices and frameworks left the definition of “acceptable losses” or casualties up for (broad) interpretation. The limitations set in 1863 and 1864 were advanced at least in part by the advocacy of Dunant and the Red Cross movement to improve humanitarian protections, but these earlier attempts to regulate war were limited, as they remained embedded in the context of an international system which prioritizes sovereignty and privileges power (and Dunant had lost prominence by the late 1860s, even if his organization had not). As such, the states that participated in early international humanitarian agreements tended to focus on those threats to (their own) security they deemed unacceptable, while at the same time legitimating other practices of war that were also likely to have deleterious humanitarian effects. The language of the 1868 St. Petersburg Declaration reflects this approach, declaring that the “use of arms, projectiles, and material of a nature to cause unnecessary suffering is prohibited”—significantly establishing that some degree of harm is beyond the justification of military victory, but leaving the “technical limits at which the necessities of war ought to yield to the requirements of humanity” up to state interpretation (St. Petersburg Declaration 1868). It would be nearly a century before this state-centric approach would be breached by civil society. In an early instance of rhetorical entrapment, however, the self-declared “civilized states” that did sign the Declaration obligated themselves to make “future improvements” to the St. Petersburg framework when the development of new technologies demanded, in order to maintain established humanitarian norms and reconcile the practice of war with the “law of humanity” (St. Petersburg Declaration 1868). This obligation led many of the same states, in 1899 and 1907, to outlaw specific weapons of war—dumdum bullets, asphyxiating gases, and balloondropped explosives, which were deemed to be excessive and, in the case of

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poisons and weapons dropped by balloon, indiscriminate (Hague Convention 1907). The Hague conferences were convened, presided over, and negotiated by the preeminent imperial powers of the day. International law at this time also strictly regulated the behavior of states and actors under the command of states, meaning that international regulations would be limited to willing state actors. As such, the documents they produced continued to reiterate the language familiar to and comfortable for states. The Hague Conventions do enshrine and reinforce key founding humanitarian principles in international law, but most of these—and the rules established in the earlier instruments, would come to be violated extensively in the coming conflicts. The generation of comprehensive, binding humanitarian legal frameworks would require a greater existential threat to the community of states. The language of the Hague Conventions would also later be useful for humanitarian advocates seeking justification and legitimation for their disarmament positions as rooted in well-established principles of international law and customary law. The unprecedented suffering from weaponized gases deployed during World War I, among other harms, generated an unprecedented response from states—but also from early coalitions of civil society actors. The Women’s International League for Peace and Freedom (WILPF) both provided Woodrow Wilson with nine of his famous Fourteen Points, the basis of the peace program used when Germany agreed to armistice in 1918, and denounced aspects of the Treaty of Versailles for creating future conditions for war (History), including the provisions limiting disarmament to only the vanquished powers (Jane Addams). WILPF would continue to make impressive and well-organized efforts in campaigning for general disarmament, including a petition of six million signatures in 1932 (Nuclear Disarmament Throughout the Ages 2015). For their part, states established the 1925 Geneva Protocol, which prohibited the use of chemical and biological weapons “in war.” For reasons that are obvious in hindsight, the designation of wartime as the context for the prohibition meant that such uses “outside war” remained technically legal and, for rising nationalist-fascist regimes in Europe who wished to interpret the legal gap as tacit permission, technically legitimated their use “outside war” in the years leading up to World War II. The Protocol did declare, reflecting the Hague Convention’s language, that such weapons had been “justly condemned by the general opinion of the civilized world” (Geneva Protocol 1925). And in keeping with this, leaders largely eschewed

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the use of the condemned weapons in the context in which the Protocol did apply—against “civilized” combatants in war—during the First and Second World Wars (Johnson 2014). The inadequacy of the existing humanitarian disarmament regime, however, if it could loosely be called such, was rendered painfully visible once the extent and intent of the horrific Nazi Holocaust was fully revealed. While an effort to shore up norms of acceptable and unacceptable conduct in war was made through the Nuremburg and Tokyo tribunals, and in the rhetoric of “civilized” states, there was also clear impetus to do more to prevent future such behavior. Recognizing these serious limitations in the interwar period, public involvement in the form of the 1920s International Conferences of the Red Cross made efforts to establish and recommend supplemental international rules for the protection of civilians in war. Groups such as WILPF called for general disarmament by states. The ICRC submitted a draft set of provisions intended for a diplomatic conference planned for 1940 (ICRC 2004), but this was postponed as WWII increasingly commanded states’ attention. The war further clarified the disastrous consequences of the absence of a convention for the protection of civilians from both intentional and nonintentional harms, after which states again met to address the gap in human protection. In 1946, WILPF held its first “Ban the Bomb” meeting, calling for all major weapons of mass destruction be outlawed (History), although powerful states would not seriously entertain this prospect until at least the 1960s. In 1949, States Parties to the Fourth Geneva Convention established a series of explicit protections for civilians and other non-combatants, in addition to the already codified rules governing and protecting soldiers, “intended to alleviate the sufferings caused by war” (Geneva Convention IV 1949, Art. 13)—these would be extended under the 1977 First Protocol to include the context of wars of “self-determination.” The Fourth Geneva Convention articulates a lengthy list of humanitarian protections related to the dignity and wellbeing of protected (non-combatant) persons in a variety of contexts, but quite problematically still left much of the calculation of humane conduct up to state interpretation with the provision that parties to conflict “may take such measures of control and security in regard to protected persons as may be necessary as a result of the war” (Geneva Convention IV 1949, Art. 27). It is important to note that the Geneva Conventions to date had been negotiated by national diplomats close to the “national interest,” rather than civil society actors (other than ICRC) concerned with human security.

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The aims of the Fourth Geneva Convention were further complicated with the advent of the nuclear arms race in 1949, in which states competed for primacy in development of the most destructive and indiscriminate weapon to date. This—still state-centric—concern was reflected in the first UNGA resolution (1946) to address the problems raised by the discovery of military applications for atomic energy. Fifteen years—and no new humanitarian disarmament conventions—later, UNGA resolution 1653 (1961) declared that the use of nuclear weapons “would exceed even the scope of war and cause indiscriminate suffering and destruction to mankind.” The geopolitical reality of the Cold War context seemed to have ground humanitarian-focused disarmament efforts to a halt, with the primary impetus for international regulation during this time being the establishment of strategic arms limitations between the superpowers. Little political room remained for the establishment of any new civilian protections, particularly in the context of nuclear weapons. This was at least in part shaped by the design of the United Nations, which privileged the position of states and the rights of sovereignty in agenda setting, the establishment of treaty negotiation frameworks, and access to those frameworks—which allowed, for some time, for powerful states like the United States to keep potential, undesirable pressure from civil society out of the room. This did not mean there were no civil society efforts. WILPF successfully pressed for the UN to investigate the effects of nuclear weapons in 1956 and held conferences on biological and chemical weapons in 1969 (History). The Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament was launched in 1958 in the United Kingdom, building on and projecting the power of the several organizations concerned with peace and disarmament (The history of CND). Civil society would, however, still need to overcome the challenge of an international institutional context designed to privilege state sovereignty. States agreed to the Nuclear Non-proliferation Treaty in 1968; In 1972, the international community finally began to fulfill the promise of the Hague Conventions and establish new humanitarian disarmament protections in response to the demands of technological development. The development of the Biological Weapons Convention (BWC) categorically prohibited the use, production, and stockpiling of an entire category of weapons of mass destruction—biological weapons—and required their total elimination (Biological Weapons Convention 1972). The preamble of the BWC returns to the familiar language established in humanitarian disarmament approaches, aiming to make “effective progress towards general and complete disarmament,” by eliminating weapons that in their use

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are “repugnant to the conscience of mankind” indefinitely (BWC 1972). Further to this, the UNGA convened three Special Sessions of the General Assembly on Disarmament in 1978, 1982, and 1988—fulfilling its mandate to address disarmament as established in the UN Charter. But only the first of these special sessions resulted in a final document and it called for “general and complete disarmament” (General Assembly 1978, p. 3). While the text primarily calls for a need to end the threat of nuclear war, it also calls upon states to take further action “to prohibit or restrict for humanitarian reasons the use of specific conventional weapons, including those which may be excessively injurious, cause unnecessary suffering or have indiscriminate effects ” (General Assembly 1978, p. 5—emphasis added). This familiar language demonstrates the context of humanitarianism was not absent during the Cold War, and that the justifications of humanitarian disarmament, rooted in the laws of war, remained important and legitimate among many states. However, those state interests that were reinforced by UN veto power dominated these disarmament frameworks (Prokosch 1995). One outgrowth of disarmament in the Cold War was the development of the framework of the 1980 Convention on Certain Conventional Weapons (CCW), which is instructive regarding the international legal and political structure in which humanitarian disarmament advocates found themselves. The CCW, also known as the “inhumane weapons convention,” is an important development in the process of humanitarian disarmament. It is based on the principle that “the right of the parties to an armed conflict to choose methods or means of warfare is not unlimited” and the principle that certain methods of warfare that cause “superfluous injury or unnecessary suffering” and long term harm to the environment are to be prohibited (1980, Preamble). Again, the CCW also aimed to contribute to “general and complete disarmament,” but another aspect of its design, the goal of having all states join, became a paralyzing one. The CCW structure was—and is—vulnerable to the influence of powerful, arms-producing and -dealing states that could set the agenda and restrict civil society access to negotiations. Traditional UN disarmament forums tend to be paralyzed by blocking tactics wielded by states with large weapons industries (Johnson 2014). In fact, most of the previous agreements were subject to this issue. Thus, while more than a few weapons are banned or regulated within the CCW framework—including non-detectable fragments, mines and booby traps, incendiary weapons, blinding laser weapons, and explosive remnants of war—the focus on bringing the powerful, arms-producing states into

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the agreement in effect allowed those same states to dictate relatively thin obligations for themselves and to slow down the treaty process. This had affected many of the earlier disarmament frameworks and it remained an issue in 1993, when the CWC was adopted without a single reference to the humanitarian disarmament frame of “unnecessary harm” or “unnecessary suffering”—although it does refer to the state-centric goal of “general and complete disarmament” (1993, Preamble). Meanwhile, the general civil society view of state efforts to disarm was reflected in a rally of a million people New York in 1982, the largest anti-war demonstration in history at the time, dedicated to nuclear disarmament (Nuclear Weapons Timeline). The end of the Cold War, however, was a juncture that allowed for much greater space in international legal processes for civil society. The 1997 Antipersonnel Mine Ban Treaty is grounded in prior principles of international humanitarian law, but represents a major shift in disarmament: it is the first explicit humanitarian disarmament agreement that resulted from a humanitarian disarmament approach. Spearheaded by an international coalition of civil society groups, international organizations, and states— the International Campaign to Ban Landmines—the process of the Mine Ban looked far different from its predecessors in that humanitarian concerns had been elevated to the primary focus, prior to concepts of security of greatest interest to states. This is because, after achieving only modest regulation in the state-centric context of the CCW, civil society groups and like-minded states pressed for an independent process that would be more open to the international discourse (Rutherford 2011). While the treaty recognizes “all relevant fora,”—referring to inadequate attempts to govern the weapons in the CCW—the Antipersonnel Mine Ban aims to establish a separate and more open approach to disarmament. The Ban’s preamble begins with the harms of landmines, suffered mainly by civilians—the primary focus of the agreement—but it also recognizes “the role of public conscience,” specifically crediting the ICRC, the International Campaign to Ban Landmines, and other organizations as important drivers of the treaty process. Another important development in the new agreement is the growing recognition that, in a process of norm establishment, the elimination of a weapon usually takes place after it is banned, not the other way around (Johnson 2014). As such, the focus shifted away from trying to corral the stubborn arms-producing states into humanitarian treaty processes, and toward creating international legal frameworks as standards to which to hold those states accountable, whether or not they signed.

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The 1997 Antipersonnel Mine Ban Treaty (MBT) set a new standard for humanitarian disarmament, and the process behind it provided a model for subsequent humanitarian campaigns and ban treaties, in particular the 2008 Convention on Cluster Munitions (CCM), and the 2017 Treaty on the Prohibition of Nuclear Weapons (TPNW), as well the 2013 Arms Trade Treaty (ATT) that aimed to address the proliferation of arms, extending the model to new contexts (Humanitarian Disarmament). The 2008 CCM in particular benefited from adherence to the approach of the International Campaign to Ban Landmines, working with many of the same groups (building from this foundation an even larger coalition), pooling existing resources, and employing already demonstrably effective arguments and tactics in advocating the ban to states (Borrie 2009; Docherty 2010). The CCM also offered a stronger human rights framing than the landmine ban, which was also emulated in the TPNW. These humanitarian disarmament processes share in common not only the particular frame of argument, but also the approach to the international community. In the face of resistance by large arms-dealing states in existing frameworks like the Convention on Certain Conventional Weapons, these processes have generally had to operate outside of the state-centric framework of UN fora. That is, this framework has tended as a rule to generate new, independent treaty processes that allow for the increased and amplified participation of civil society and survivors in treaty design. However, it is important that, in spite of the non-participation of some of these actors—notably the United States—most states outside the framework find themselves still constrained by the new humanitarian norms that govern the behavior of many other actors, as well as the pain of exclusion from the development of these new norms and rules. As such, it is critical that the process of strengthening disarmament norms and frameworks continue: current humanitarian disarmament campaigns aim to develop political commitments from states on the use of explosive weapons with wide area effects in populated areas, a preemptive ban on fully autonomous weapons, and greater protections for humans and the environment from toxic remnants of war (Humanitarian Disarmament). This discussion has given just a short overview of the roots of the humanitarian disarmament approach to arms control. In particular, the discussion of modern disarmament processes and agreements is underdeveloped, as these cases will be discussed in greater detail in this volume’s later chapters.

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Overview of the Book This volume is organized into three sections that highlight different aspects of civil society’s role in advancing the approach of humanitarian disarmament: the generation of norms, the challenges of spreading new norms, and assessing humanitarian disarmament in a broader normative context. The first section assesses the role of different civil society actors in generating and shaping norms in different humanitarian disarmament processes. In “When Scientists Become Activists: The International Committee for Robot Arms Control and the Politics of Killer Robots,” the authors Matthew Bolton and Cayman Mitchell trace how the campaign of The International Committee for Robot Arms Control (ICRAC) and the politics of killer robots have evolved. Led by a group of intellectuals, ICRAC—advocating for multilateral regulation of military robotics—have moved quickly from academic obscurity to the centre of a global advocacy campaign aiming to prohibit autonomous weapons systems (AWS or “killer robots”). ICRAC’s success in pushing the disarmament system to start discussions of AWS in the Convention on Certain Conventional Weapons offers an opportunity to explore the interaction between academia and the global policymaking arena. Bolton and Mitchell demonstrate how contrary to binary oppositions between Science and Politics—ICRAC’s work shows that the academic and political processes on AWS have co-constituted each other in complex and intermingled ways. They offer these insights from poststructural and constructivist perspectives. The chapter highlights how the political and scientific efforts of ICRAC’s scholar-activists persuaded the diplomatic apparatus to address their concerns and in doing so contributed to ICRACs “gentrification” transitioning from a process-oriented scholarly collective to a more hierarchical, recognizable, and conventional civil society organization. Continuing the theme of civil society’s norm-generating role in disarmament processes, in “The Agency of International Humanitarian Disarmament Law: The Case of Advocacy for Positive Obligations in the Treaty on the Prohibition of Nuclear Weapons ,” Matthew Bolton and Elizabeth Minor draw on their insider positionality to provide insight into the civil society work pressing for the nuclear ban during the course of its negotiation process. Both were involved in the International Campaign to Abolish Nuclear Weapons” (ICAN) advocacy for several years, particularly at the United Nations, and participated intensively during the 2017 TPNW negotiations. They reflect on the role of the “PosObs team,” which sought to persuade

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skeptics to include positive obligations for States in the final treaty text. PosObs drew from the tradition of humanitarian disarmament law obligating states to assist victims, clear contaminated land, provide risk reduction education, promote the norms of the treaty, and engage in international cooperation and assistance. After states began to waver on including such provisions in the TPNW, a small group of academics and civil society advocates who had collaborated on other humanitarian disarmament campaigns worked intensively to reintroduce “positive obligations” into the discourse of treaty proponents and ultimately the treaty itself. This case study of an advocacy campaign within an advocacy campaign, explores the “portability” and salience of existing social networks in collective action. It shows how humanitarian disarmament law and its community of practice is able to exercise influence over multilateral security policy, even without a mass movement backing its ideas. The final chapter in this section uncovers the role of religious groups in shaping the contours of humanitarian disarmament norms and processes. Emily Welty and Gabrielle Chalk’s chapter on the role of religious groups in the advocacy and activism for the Treaty on the Prohibition of Nuclear Weapons (TPNW) highlights how religious leaders have the power to act as norm-builders in the realm of humanitarian law due to their prominence in civil society and their access to social capital. As holders and maintainers of often ancient and revered codes of conduct enshrined in sacred texts, religious leaders are already well versed in the idea of upholding normative values, which the authors argue may be compatible with the advancement of new humanitarian disarmament norms. This role, as the authors highlight, is reflected in the preamble to the TPNW, which is unique in its acknowledgment of the role of religion and faith-based communities for their role in the treaty’s establishment as a new instrument of international humanitarian disarmament. The authors thus focus on the role of groups that have participated as member organizations of ICAN since its inception and were important actors in supporting and shaping the TPNW process. The second section of the volume includes studies focusing on the difficulties which civil society actors working to advance humanitarian disarmament norms face in their efforts to spread and implement new norms. First, Taylor Benjamin-Britton’s chapter, “US Arms Control Dynamics in the Era of Humanitarian Disarmament,” focuses on the case study of the 2008 Cluster Munitions Convention. The author examines how the United

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States, the world’s leading weapons user and producer, which is often perceived as an unchanging obstacle to the prohibition of weapons that generate particularly negative humanitarian impact, may act with greater conformity to the spirit of humanitarian disarmament than its rhetoric and public behavior suggests. American participation in negotiating humanitarian disarmament agreements has included defending the utility of US weapons, pressuring US allies to water down treaties, and designing international disarmament law that requires little actual disarmament effort. A focus on the literature on ratification of and compliance with agreements, however, problematically obfuscates the behavioral and policy changes that even arms dealing states make in moving toward the practices if not adoption of humanitarian disarmament law. In this chapter, US arms control behavior is analyzed through process tracing with a view to a broader range of behavioral response, using the case of the cluster munitions ban. While the United States remains an opponent of humanitarian disarmament through its role as global arms user and dealer, this analysis reveals that American arms control behavior is gradually becoming constrained by increasingly strengthened humanitarian principles of disarmament. Next, the chapter by Sarah Njeri focuses on the issues that the UN, as an apolitical entity, faces in trying to engage Somaliland, a non-recognised state, in its adherence to the spirit of the MBT. In “The Politics Of Non-Recognition: Re-Evaluating The Apolitical Presentation Of The UN Humanitarian Mine Action Programmes In Somaliland,” Njeri demonstrates the challenges of implementing Mine Action as a humanitarian activity within the broader expectations of the dominant, liberal peacebuilding paradigm in which disarmament is embedded. The article argues that Somaliland mine action is caught within a specific kind of trap shaped by its lacking international legal status. To treat Somaliland as a state would be seen as a political and thus non-neutral act. However, resolving the status of Somaliland would also require a political, non-neutral process. Similarly, mine action is and has been understood as part of the Disarmament, Demobilization, and Reintegration (DDR) policy framework, which places a focus more on the security rather than sustainable development or humanitarian dimensions of mine action. By framing mine action narrowly as demining only, the UN has conceptualized it in a limiting way, as a disarmament or arms management program. This means that the mine action program is not evaluated holistically, even within the UN’s liberal peacebuilding assumptions. Issues that the UN itself aspires to address (e.g. building local capacity and creating local ownership) are neglected.

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This is because a more holistic approach collides with Somaliland’s nonrecognised status: building local capacity would be interpreted as the political act of increasing Somaliland’s sovereignty. Therefore, the “neutral” and “non-political” stance of the UN in effect is a political stand against Somaliland’s sovereignty. As the author demonstrates, this conundrum limits the UN’s peacebuilding gains in Somaliland. The final section of the volume locates advocates of humanitarian disarmament and the impact of new humanitarian disarmament norms in the broader context of advancing peace, disarmament, and human rights. Setting up this perspective, the chapter by Dan Plesch and Kevin Miletic takes a broader view of the body of humanitarian disarmament efforts. In “Relationship between Humanitarian Disarmament and General and Complete Disarmament,” the authors delve into the historical context for humanitarian disarmament’s modern manifestations to uncover earlier and possibly more comprehensive approaches to disarmament. While the current interpretation of humanitarian disarmament focuses only on the prohibition of certain types of weapons that are indiscriminate in their effects or cause unacceptable harm, this chapter argues that the notion of humanitarian disarmament has not always been understood in such restrictive manner. Contributing to a better understanding of the connection between humanitarian disarmament and general and complete disarmament, the authors analyze the humanitarian motives behind the campaigns for general disarmament arising from the indiscriminate slaughter of WWI and WWII, caused by the use of conventional weapons; the ill-fated League of Nations Disarmament Conference (1932–1943); and the more recent CELAC initiative to establish a Zone of Peace in South America and the Caribbean through disarmament. The authors argue that understanding humanitarian disarmament in the broader and historical context of general and complete disarmament will allow for considering how “general and complete disarmament” (GCD) can develop synergies with existing humanitarian disarmament campaigns. The aim of the chapter is to highlight the complementary nature of humanitarian disarmament and GCD as two concepts that are mutually reinforcing, if operating in the same framework. The chapter concludes with a reflection on the contribution GCD can make toward the “Human Right to Peace.” In “Assessing the Political Impact of Inclusion and Exclusion in Multilateral Disarmament Forums,” Elizabeth Minor explores who is represented in multilateral processes of change with respect to disarmament and

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weapons issues, uncovering key and unaddressed issues to which humanitarian advocates should be attentive in the future. Drawing on five years of quantitative data concerning meetings of thirteen international forums that address the threats and harm caused by weapons of mass destruction and conventional weapons, the chapter examines the marginalisation of developing countries, certain regions, civil society, and women. Minor uncovers the reasons behind patterns of underrepresentation, how these patterns may impact on international processes (e.g. given the overrepresentation of major arms-producing states), and how they might be addressed toward more equitable processes of change in this sphere in the future—including through reframing key issues in disarmament to address a wider range of interests using a humanitarian perspective. Focusing on patterns in attendance and speaking at recent meetings on nuclear disarmament, including the UN General Assembly’s Open Ended Working Group on nuclear disarmament, the chapter also shows how different policy positions may be overrepresented through the profile of states attending and making contributions, how policy positions upholding the status quo may be overrepresented, and how humanitarian perspectives pushing current processes for change may be underrepresented—despite their diverse, widespread support. Finally, in the concluding chapter, the authors speak to ongoing and future issues for the approach and the goals of humanitarian disarmament. The authors highlight that disarmament advocates continue to face perennial challenges, including the issue of banning handguns and regulating the small arms trade, as well as new challenges posed by the advancement of states’ technological capability, including “killer robots” and drones. In so doing, they also demonstrate—as each chapter in the volume does— that the influence of individuals and groups with relatively little power in the context of international relations is not only important but even, at times, formative in new disarmament process. As such, the role of civil society should be a focal point in new humanitarian disarmament research. The authors conclude with recommendations for further study of transnational civil society activism and humanitarian disarmament, and challenge future scholars to uncover the “unexpected agency” of individual civil society actors conventionally understudied in the transnational normative and legal processes conventionally dominated by states. It is to these substantive chapters that the volume now turns.

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Florini, A. (2000). The Third Force: The Rise of Transnational Civil Society. Washington, DC: Carnegie Endowment for International Peace. Garcia, D. (2006). Small Arms and Security: New Emerging International Norms. New York: Routledge. Garcia, D. (2011). Disarmament Diplomacy and Human Security: Regimes, Norms, and Moral Progress in International Relations. New York: Routledge. Garcia, D. (2015). Humanitarian Security Regimes. International Affairs, 91(1), 55–75. Hafner-Burton, E., & Tsutsui, K. (2007). Justice Lost! The Failure of International Human Rights Law to Matter Where Needed Most. The Journal of Peace Research, 44(4), 407–425. History. Women’s International League for Peace and Freedom. Retrieved from https://wilpf.org/wilpf/history/. The History of CND. Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament. Retrieved from https://cnduk.org/who/the-history-of-cnd/. “Humanitarian Disarmament.” Armed Conflict & Civilian Protection Initiative, International Human Rights Clinic. Retrieved from https:// humanitariandisarmament.org/about/. International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC). (1949, August 12). Geneva Convention Relative to the Protection of Civilian Persons in Time of War (Fourth Geneva Convention). 75 UNTS 287. Retrieved from https://ihl-databases.icrc.org/applic/ihl/ihl.nsf/Treaty.xsp?documentId= AE2D398352C5B028C12563CD002D6B5C&action=openDocument. The International Committee of the Red Cross. (2004, December 29). The ICRC and the Geneva Convention. Retrieved from https://www.icrc.org/en/doc/ resources/documents/misc/57jnvt.htm. Jane Addams: Chicago’s Pacifist. Digital Chicago. Retrieved from http:// digitalchicagohistory.org/exhibits/show/jane-addams/1919-zurichconference. Johnson, R. (2014, August 4). An Alternative History of Peace Making: A Century of Disarmament Efforts. Open Democracy. Retrieved from https://www. opendemocracy.net/en/5050/alternative-history-of-peacemaking-century-ofdisarmament-efforts/. Keck, M., & Sikkink, K. (1998). Activists Beyond Borders: Advocacy Networks in International Politics. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Latham, A. (2000). Global Cultural Change and the Transnational Campaign to Ban Antipersonnel Landmines: A Research Agenda (YCISS Occasional Paper No. 62) [online]. Retrieved from http://yorkspace.library.yorku.ca/xmlui/ handle/10315/1385. Mathur, R. (2011). Humanitarian Practices of Arms Control and Disarmament. Contemporary Security Policy, 32(1), 176–192.

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May, M. (1993). The Proliferation of Chemical Weapons and the Military Utility of Chemical Warfare: A Case Study of the Iran-Iraq War (PhD thesis). Syracuse University. Retrieved from https://surface.syr.edu/psc_etd/73/. Nuclear Disarmament Throughout the Ages. (2015). Women’s International League for Peace and Freedom. Retrieved from https://wilpf.org/wp-content/ uploads/2015/05/Conf_Nuclear_timeline16.04.2015.pdf. Nuclear Weapons Timeline. International Campaign to Abolish Nuclear Weapons. Retrieved from https://www.icanw.org/the-facts/the-nuclear-age/. Petrova, M. H. (2008). Curbing the Use of Indiscriminate Weapons: NGO Advocacy in Militant Democracies. In M. Evangelista, H. Müller, & N. Schörnig (Eds.), Democracy and Security: Preferences, Norms and Policy-Making (pp. 72–101). Abingdon, NY: Routledge. Petrova, M. H. (2010). Banning Obsolete Weapons or Reshaping Perceptions of Military Utility: Discursive Dynamics in Weapons Prohibitions (IBEI Working Paper No. 2010/31). Retrieved from https://www.ibei.org/en/banning-obsoleteweapons-or-reshaping-perceptions-of-military-utility-discursive-dynamics-inweapons-prohibitions_20637. Price, R. (1998). Reversing the Gun Sights: Transnational Civil Society Targets Landmines. International Organization, 52(3), 613–644. Price, R. M. (2003). Transnational Civil Society and Advocacy in World Politics. World Politics, 55(4), 579–606. Prokosch, E. (1995). The Technology of Killing: A Military and Political History of Antipersonnel Weapons. London: Zed Books. Protocol for the Prohibition of the Use in War of Asphyxiating, Poisonous or Other Gases, and of Bacteriological Methods of Warfare (Geneva Protocol). (1925, June 17). Geneva, Switzerland. Risse, T., Ropp, S. C., & Sikkink, K. (1999). The Power of Human Rights: International Norms and Domestic Change. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Rutherford, K. (2011). Disarming States: The International Movement to Ban Landmines. Oxford: Praeger Security International. Schrad, M. L. (2010). The Political Power of Bad Ideas: Networks, Institutions, and the Global Prohibition Wave. New York: Oxford University Press. Simmons, B. A. (2009). Mobilizing for Human Rights: International Law in Domestic Politics. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Stavrianakis, A. (2011). Small Arms Control and the Reproduction of Imperial Relations. Contemporary Security Policy, 32(1), 193–214. Tannenwald, N. (1999). The Nuclear Taboo: The United States and the Normative Basis of Nuclear Non-use. International Organization, 53(3), 433–468. United Nations. (1946, January 24). General Assembly Resolution 1 (I): Establishment of a Commission to Deal with the Problems Raised by the Discovery of Atomic Energy. A/RES/1/1. Retrieved from https://documents-dds-ny.un.org/doc/ RESOLUTION/GEN/NR0/032/52/IMG/NR003252.pdf.

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United Nations. (1961, November 24). General Assembly Resolution 1653 (XVI): Declaration on the Prohibition of Use of Nuclear and Thermonuclear Weapons. A/RES/1653/XVI. Retrieved from http://nwp.ilpi.org/wp-content/ uploads/2011/12/UNGA-Declaration-on-the-Prohibition-of-Use.pdf. United Nations. (1978, June 30). Final Document of the Tenth Special Session of the General Assembly. A/S-10/2. Retrieved from https://s3.amazonaws.com/ unoda-web/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/A-S10-4.pdf. United Nations. (1980). Convention on Prohibitions or Restrictions on the Use of Certain Conventional Weapons Which May Be Deemed to Be Excessively Injurious or to Have Indiscriminate Effects (Convention on Certain Conventional Weapons). 1342 UNTS 137. Retrieved from https://www.icrc.org/en/doc/assets/files/ other/icrc_002_0811.pdf. United Nations. (1993). Convention on the Prohibition of the Development, Production, Stockpiling and Use of Chemical Weapons and on Their Destruction (Chemical Weapons Convention). 1974 UNTS 45. Retrieved from http://www.opcw. org/chemical-weapons-convention/. United Nations. (1997, September 18). Convention on the Prohibition of the Use, Stockpiling, Production and Transfer of Anti-Personnel Mines and on their Destruction (Antipersonnel Mine Ban Convention). Retrieved from http:// legal.un.org/avl/ha/cpusptam/cpusptam.html. United Nations Secretary-General. (May 2005). Note to the General Assembly. A/C.5/59/31. United States. (1863, April 24). Instructions for the Government of Armies of the United States in the Field (Lieber Code). Retrieved from https://ihl-databases. icrc.org/ihl/INTRO/110. Von Stein, J. (2005). Do Treaties Constrain or Screen? Selection Bias and Treaty Compliance. The American Political Science Review, 99(4), 611–622.

PART I

Emergence of Norms

CHAPTER 2

When Scientists Become Activists: The International Committee for Robot Arms Control and the Politics of Killer Robots Matthew Breay Bolton and Cayman C. Mitchell

The true scientist, according to Max Weber (1946), should “abstain” from political rhetoric and focus on research and teaching. However, in the international debate on Autonomous Weapons Systems (AWS), the boundary between Science and Politics has been more fluid. Roboticists, political scientists, philosophers, and legal experts have played a pivotal role in publicizing the potential humanitarian, human rights and proliferation threats posed by these “killer robots.” AWS are an emerging class of robotic weapons capable of detecting, selecting and engaging targets independent of direct human involvement. While current unmanned aerial vehicles (UAVs), like the US Predator drone, have many autonomous features (such as take-off and landing), they

M. B. Bolton (B) Department of Political Science, Pace University, New York City, NY, USA e-mail: [email protected] C. C. Mitchell Jenner & Block LLP, New York, NY, USA e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2020 M. B. Bolton et al. (eds.), Global Activism and Humanitarian Disarmament, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-27611-9_2

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are not fully-autonomous weapons, as human pilots remain “in-the-loop” on decisions to kill. However, the research programs by several military powers (particularly the USA, Russia and China) foresee rapid development of weaponized robots with humans completely “out-of-the loop” (Singer 2009; Human Rights Watch and the Harvard Law School International Human Rights Clinic 2012, 2014; Heyns 2013). The accelerating development of autonomy in weapons is linked to broader socio-political transformation in military structures (particularly in the United States) (Sauer and Schornig 2012; Niva 2013), but academics have raised concerns about the moral, ethical, and security risks of the increasing integration of information technology into weapons since the 1980s (e.g. De Landa 1991). Some scholars close to the military have argued that AWS could be constrained to operate within existing laws of war (Arkin and Moshkina 2007; Arkin 2009; Anderson and Waxman 2012). However, academics associated with the International Committee for Robot Arms Control (ICRAC) argue that the idea AWS could be programmed with an “ethical governor” (Arkin 2009) is a fantasy. They assert that killer robots are inherently inhumane—incapable of distinguishing civilian and military targets—and should be prohibited through an international treaty (e.g. Altmann and Gubrud 2002; Sparrow 2007; Sharkey 2007b, 2008, 2012; Asaro 2008, 2012; Sharkey and Suchman 2013; Bolton and Mitchell 2014). Initially marginalized from the policy arena, ICRAC became politically influential. In 2013 ICRAC became a founding member of the Campaign to Stop Killer Robots, a coalition of 97 NGOs from 25 countries that have—using a humanitarian disarmament framing—succeeded in pressuring states to discuss AWS in multilateral policymaking forums. In 2015, the AWS debate gained new prominence when ICRAC members joined (and helped draft) a high-profile statement signed by more than 1000 prominent scientists and technologists—including Stephen Hawking, Elon Musk, and Steve Wozniak—calling for a ban on “offensive autonomous weapons” (Future of Life Institute 2015). Perhaps as an indication of their growing prominence, ICRAC’s work was noted—disapprovingly—by the right-wing Heritage Foundation (Groves 2015). However, as the AWS policy debate and transnational Campaign developed, ICRAC has struggled to maintain relevance as humanitarian disarmament activists and policymakers control more of the conversation. This paper attempts to understand the role of academia in multilateral politics by examining ICRAC’s pivotal role in the killer robots debate. As a group of 32 experts (mostly academics employed by universities), ICRAC has not only produced much of the knowledge base for states’ deliberations,

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but has also played a constitutive role in the political process. Founded in 2009, it predates the civil society Campaign (which it co-founded), and its members’ research has provided much of the evidence base for the debate. Academics constructed AWS as a threat, framed the debate and directly engaged in political mobilization. Through ICRAC, “pure” scientists turned into political and diplomatic operators; they became scholaractivists. We thus see the primary contribution of this article as an in-depth empirical case study of the role of a group of scientists in a global policymaking process. We aim not for generalizable findings, but rather for exploration of the dynamics and dilemmas in ICRAC that further research can examine for parallels in other arenas. The study used a variety of qualitative methods. We conducted archival research of ICRAC documents, articles, and statements (available at icrac.net), an anonymous open-ended online survey of ICRAC members and key informant interviews with ICRAC’s founders and early members. One of the authors is a member of ICRAC and has thus been a participant-observer in ICRAC’s email discussions and in-person meetings, and has engaged in advocacy on ICRAC’s behalf at the October 2013 and October 2016 UN General Assembly First Committee meetings in New York as well as the November 2013 and May 2014 CCW meetings in Geneva. Our study’s proposal was approved by our university’s Institutional Review Board for human subject research, as well as ICRAC’s leadership. Our paper intends to show the boundaries between Science and Politics shifting and ever-fluctuating. We thus do not here intend to essentialize either field, but nonetheless offer the following working definitions. We use the term “Science” to refer to the methods of knowledge production that rely on empirical observation, experimentation, and logical reasoning to test hypotheses, but also the institutions and personnel of professional knowledge production, associated with universities, laboratories, and other research institutes. By “Politics” we mean the exercise of power to navigate conflicts over resources, values, and authority; it includes, but is not limited to, “policymaking,” the formal process of developing new international laws, regulations, rules, policies, and procedures. We are not offering these definitions as hardened ideal types—we capitalize Science and Politics to draw attention to them as ideas. Rather, we aim to show that these realms overlap, mingle, and conflict. In studying the interaction between science and politics, we recognize that we ourselves are situated in positions that blur the line between research and advocacy. Due to our expressed and unapologetic commitment to complete prohibition, we use the term AWS

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interchangeably with the more charged term “killer robots.” However, we have attempted to mitigate some of the drawbacks of our positionality by reviewing literature that is critical of ICRAC and the Campaign as well as interviewing informants with a range of views on ICRAC’s role. In the next section we review the epistemic communities literature, which provides a useful foundation for understanding the interactions between science and policy. This literature asks both empirical questions (what is the role of scientists in politics?) and normative ones (where should scientists’ loyalties lie?). However, we draw on sympathetic critics of the epistemic communities concept who call attention to its state-centric assumptions and have complicated its neat division between “truth” and “power.” We argue that the process of becoming a recognizable epistemic community is itself a political process influenced by the engagement of the scientist with the policy arena. We then provide a historical analysis of ICRAC’s beginnings as a hybrid scientific and political actor and trace the growth of its influence in the humanitarian disarmament NGO community, culminating in the establishment of the Campaign to Stop Killer Robots. This is followed by an exploration of how interaction with the policy arena reshaped, “socialized,” and perhaps “gentrified” ICRAC into a more disciplined and coherent organization that has emphasized its scientific credentials while de-emphasizing its earlier links to more radical social movements. We reflect briefly on whether this may have sapped some of the organization’s earlier energy as it aims to maintain relevance in the policy debate.

Engaging Critically with the Epistemic Communities Literature The dominant notion of science has kept it pristinely separate from politics. “Science,” said Max Weber, “must remain free from suppositions” (1946, p. 143). Similarly, Popper (1963) and Lakatos (1973) believed politicization risked distorting academic work into pseudo-scientific ideology like Lysenkoism (Soyfer 1994). While Weber acknowledged Scientists could analyze political systems, help people understand them and provide the evidence base for political debate (1946, pp. 137–138), in all these public forays, he asserted that the Scientist should remain the neutral and objective educator. However, this opposition of Science to Politics neglects the increasing influence of scientists, experts, and academics in politics.

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In studying the growing transnationalization and privatization of policymaking—as well as the challenges of governing large, complex, interdependent societies—international relations (IR) scholars have noticed the increasing role of scientists, experts, and other “information brokers” in debates about global regulations, treaties, and norms (Cross 2013). The Transnational Advocacy Network literature has theorized the influence of such experts by framing them as participants in social movements and civil society. For instance, Keck and Sikkink (1998, pp. 18–22) and Ron et al. (2005) have shown how non-state actors can mobilize “information politics” to hold policymaking processes accountable. By producing higher quality information than states, “global” researchers can dominate and reframe policy debates on a diverse range of issues including landmines (Price 1998), the hole in the Ozone Layer (Haas 1992a) and HIV/AIDS (Epstein 1995). However, the Transnational Advocacy Network literature tends to focus more on agency of global civil society, and its use of information politics, rather than on the agency of scientists and experts themselves. By contrast, the work of Peter Haas has drawn on social studies of science (e.g. Kuhn 1962; Holzner 1972; Ruggie 1975) to explore the particular role and influence of “epistemic communities” on policymaking (Haas 1989). Haas defined epistemic communities as networks of authoritative “knowledge-based experts” with a “shared set of normative and principled beliefs” as well as a shared understanding of the causes of problems facing the policy arena (1992b, pp. 2–3). Contributing to the emerging constructivist paradigm of IR theory (e.g. Wendt 1987), Haas argued that “control over knowledge and information is an important dimension of power” and that epistemic communities influence international policymaking by “articulating the cause-and-effect relationships of complex problems, helping states identify their interests, framing the issues for collective debate, proposing specific policies and identifying salient points for negotiation” (Haas 1992b, p. 2). The early work of Haas ( 1992a, b) and his colleagues (e.g. Adler 1992; Peterson 1992; Hopkins 1992; Drake and Nicolaïdis 1992; Kapstein 1992; Ikenberry 1992) was followed by a “second wave” of research on epistemic communities (Cross 2013, p. 144). In-depth case studies that applied the concept to a variety of cases (e.g. Verdun 1999; Zito 2001; Gough and Shackley 2001; Epstein 1995; Youde 2005) and critical scrutiny (Toke 1999; Krebs 2001; Zito 2001; Haas 2004; Cross 2013; Dunlop 2015) found that epistemic communities have salience when there is a high degree of uncertainty about a particular problem, whether the result of crisis or

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a lack of public understanding. They benefit from critical junctures when policymakers are displeased with the status quo and are looking for policy alternatives. They tend to be consulted more often in the initial stages of a policy debate than in the final bargaining and, unsurprisingly, have more influence when they have close connections to people in authority or work in coalitions with other groups that do. States are more likely to listen when the solutions they suggest fit with existing norms and do not come with high costs, whether political or material. (See also: Hall 1993; Raustiala 1997; Sabatier 1998; Peterson and Bomberg 1999; Radaelli 1999.) Internal factors matter too. Epistemic communities that project an impression of professionalism, represent the “hard sciences” and rely on quantitative data tend to succeed more than those with less-developed professional norms or qualitative approaches. They have also more impact when they are well-organized and have a more coherent message than their opposition. (See also: Peterson 1995; Sabatier and Jenkins-Smith 1999.) While there has been a declining interest in the epistemic communities concept among IR scholars since the early 2000s (Cross 2013), it remains a topic of interest among those studying disarmament and arms control policy, building on Adler’s (1992) examination of arms control theorists’ role in the establishment of the 1972 Anti-Ballistic Missile Treaty to explain the role of experts in global humanitarian disarmament processes on landmines, small arms and light weapons, cluster munitions, and the arms trade (e.g. Price 1998; Krause 2001, pp. 14–18; Garcia 2004, pp. 6–17, 33–35; Borrie 2012). However, whether in the specific application to policy processes on weapons or in other settings, “there is a surprising tendency amongst scholars to hold closely to Haas’s original definition and even interpret it very narrowly” (Cross 2013, p. 147). We find two key theoretical problems emerge in recent critiques of the epistemic communities literature. First, as in much IR scholarship, there are implicit state-centric assumptions in the epistemic communities literature. Cross observes, “much of the literature assumes that” epistemic communities “only direct their efforts at states” (2013, p. 139), with little examination attempts to influence intermediary groups like NGOs, the media or “other non-state actors with decision-making power” (Cross 2013, p. 138–139). More recent studies engaging with the epistemic communities literature (e.g. Epstein 2005; Meijerink 2005) have tried to address this problem by placing it in dialogue with the literature on transnational advocacy and activist networks (e.g. Klotz 2002). They have shown how scientists’ influence is often aided by their coalitions with other actors such as activists and humanitarians

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(Ron, et al. 2005; Dunlop 2015, pp. 234–235). Many applications of the epistemic communities concept to the field of disarmament and arms control have taken this approach, detailing the relationships between academic and think tank arms experts with global coalition campaigns (e.g. Garcia 2004; Borrie 2012; Carpenter 2014). Second, much of the epistemic community literature reproduces a discursive binary between Science and Politics. For example, in a 2004 paper titled “When Does Power Listen to Truth?” Haas maintains “Truth” and “Power” as distinct entities. Cross suggests that this assumption could derive from the literature’s tendency to focus on assessing the influence of the “hard” sciences and quantitative disciplines—which tend to define themselves as more cloistered than hermeneutic disciplines (2013, p. 145). To elucidate this theoretical weakness in more depth, Epstein (2005) and Lidskog and Sundqvist (2015) put the epistemic communities literature in conversation with Science and Technology Studies (STS), “an interdisciplinary field that is creating an integrative understanding of the origins, dynamics and consequences of science and technology” (Hackett et al. 2007). STS scholars have been particularly insightful into the “microlevel…interplay” between science and social, cultural, economic, and political processes (Lidskog and Sundqvist 2015, p. 2. See also: Dickson 1984; Latour 1987; Woolgar 1988; Jasanoff 2004; Sismondo 2009). Nevertheless, the conversation between STS and IR has been surprisingly limited, even in the analysis of security and weapons (Bourne 2012; Walters 2014). Most epistemic community studies are set up as causal arguments, aiming to show how a group of experts did or did not influence political actors, and what factors led to their success or failure. However, few go into much depth about the constitution of the epistemic community as an agent capable of intervening in a political process. How did an epistemic community come into being? As Cross writes, “epistemic communities do not simply exist or not exist as has been the assumption in the literature” (2013, p. 148). They are created, not begotten. While the epistemic communities literature has overwhelmingly focused on the impact of scientists on policy, it rarely examines the impact engaging with policymaking has on scientists—“the [epistemic] community itself is rarely the centre of analytical attention” (Dunlop 2015, p. 233). As Cross put it, “we must pay more attention to the internal dynamics within an epistemic community” (2013, p. 138, emphasis in original). The STS literature helps one to trace some of these processes by exploring the social, economic, political and cultural processes within Science itself (Jasanoff 2004). Scientific practice requires

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the intensive organization of people and things into networks, all of which requires the exercise of power. Political systems and power relations thus play a major role in defining the contours of scientific knowledge and vice versa (Haraway 1989; Hess 1995; Fausto-Sterling 2000). As Jasanoff puts it, the process of “ordering knowledge” is tied up with “ordering society” and thus Science and Politics are “mutually constitutive,” forming hybrid networks of “heterogeneous constituents” (2004, pp. 14, 21–22). Haas argues that for science to remain “influential,” its “expertise and claims” must be “developed behind a politically insulated wall” (2004, pp. 573–574). However, as Epstein puts it, “knowledge is never disinterested, purely ‘objective’ or ‘neutral’” (2005, p. 49; see also: Lidskog and Sundqvist 2015). In fact, the STS literature shows us that this impression of autonomy and objectivity is politically constituted (Lidskog and Sundqvist 2015, pp. 6–10; Bourne 2012). Lidskog, and Sundqvist—drawing on Hilgartner (2000)—use the metaphor of “stage management,” in which the “messy, impure and political” production of scientific knowledge “backstage” is presented to the public “front-stage” as “distinct and pure.” Understanding the interplay thus requires attention to Science and Politics as “coproduced hybrids” that are the product both of the “uncertain, controversial and risky” backstage, as well as a public presentation of Science as “certain and independent of political considerations” (Lidskog and Sundqvist 2015, pp. 1, 6–8). The communication of scientific knowledge is thus a performance. Scientists’ ability to tell a compelling story creates differential access to public attention (Terrall 2011). Political savvy determines which side in a contested scientific debate backstage is able to set itself up as the legitimate voice of Science on the front-stage. Gieryn (1983) calls attention to the constantly fluid process of “boundarywork” in science, in which scientists—particularly as they interact with the public sphere—contest the demarcation of Science from non-science. As a result, in interacting with the Other of the electorate, policymaker, or politician, the Scientist is also reshaped into a political figure, learning what elements of their knowledge gains the most purchase in the public sphere. Dunlop (2000) suggests that as epistemic communities engage with the political process they become more like other activist or lobby groups. But this hypothesis remains under-examined since the literature has focused on the external, rather than internal, impact of epistemic communities’ public engagement (Cross 2013). There is little research on how the pursuit of access may transform the epistemic community itself.

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This means that the “credibility of science in contemporary political life” should not be “taken for granted” but rather seen as a “phenomenon to be explained”—asking “how knowledge comes to be perceived as reliable in political settings” (Lidskog and Sundqvist 2015, p. 7). Dunlop thus recommends paying particular attention to the “early stages” or “back story” of epistemic community formation and to “illuminate what happens” to them “over time, as they interact with…other actors in the policy process” (2015, p. 235). This article will thus use the case study of ICRAC to illustrate some of the complexities outlined above that are often glossed over or “black boxed” in the epistemic communities literature (Bourne 2012, pp. 158–160; Walters 2014): to “make visible the connections that coproduction renders invisible” the intersections between Science and Politics (Jasanoff 2004, p. 22). To do this, we actually follow Haas’ 1992 suggestion that empirical studies of epistemic communities follow an intensive ethnographic and qualitative process-tracing methodology, to draw out their development and impact (1992b, pp. 34–35). In doing so, we build on the fine work of Carpenter (2014), whose case study of ICRAC argued that its success in shaping the policy debate lay in its ability to persuade other NGOs (not state officials) to start the Campaign to Stop Killer Robots. Carpenter analyzed ICRAC through the lens of competing interest groups achieving access to policymaking—framing ICRAC as a kind of nascent civil society organization. She argued that certain NGOs that had credibility in the humanitarian disarmament field played the role of “brokers,” repackaging and smoothing ICRAC’s message, making it more palatable for the broader community to get involved. In doing so, they also “socialized” ICRAC in the norms of civil society campaigns and the policymaking arena. Our analysis adds to Carpenter’s by looking at ICRAC not just as a civil society organization, but as a group of scientists and intellectuals, as an epistemic community. We thus examine the transformation of ICRAC not only in terms of its shift from a radical, counter-cultural collective into a registered NGO speaking at the UN, but also in terms of how they conceived of themselves and their relation to Science and Politics. In doing so, we show how ICRAC’s “gentrification” came not only from interacting with humanitarian disarmament civil society “gatekeepers,” but with the policy process as a whole. Our argument thus refines Carpenter’s analysis, adding insights from the epistemic communities and STS literature, rather than challenging or confirming it.

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ICRAC as a Scientific and Political Actor Journalists and academics have raised concerns about the moral, ethical, and security risks of the increasing integration of information technology into weapons since the 1980s (Rogers 1984, p. 51; Lemmons 1985, p. 6). The use of cruise missiles in the 1991 Gulf War brought attention to the impact of high-tech weapons, so-called “smart” weapons, spurring further scholarly reflection on the growing automation and autonomy of weapons (e.g. De Landa 1991). However, the critical debate began in earnest in the 2000s, perhaps catalyzed by the growing use of military robots in the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq, and extrajudicial killings by the United States in Pakistan, Yemen and Somalia. Scholars who eventually founded ICRAC in 2009 were among the first to raise alarm about AWS and called for a “Prohibition of autonomous ‘killer robots’” (Altmann and Gubrud 2002, p. 147. See also: Sparrow 2007; Sharkey 2007b, 2008; Asaro 2008). However, interest in the policymaking, NGO and advocacy arenas remained low— killer robots were “virtually ignored” (Carpenter 2014, p. 1)—with more attention paid to the issue of drones than the specific threat of AWS. The academic debate began to attract media attention following a 2007 editorial in The Guardian by Professor of artificial intelligence Dr. Noel Sharkey (2007a) and a profile of him and other concerned roboticists in New Scientist (Simonite 2008). Noah Shachtman of WIRED’s Danger Room blog also began regular and detailed reporting on military robotics in early 2007 (e.g. Shachtman 2007). Wider public attention came in 2009, when Brookings Institution researcher Peter W. Singer published Wired for War: The Robotics Revolution and Conflict in the 21st Century with Penguin Books (2009). While light on specific recommendations, Singer’s book called on policymakers and the public to pay more attention to the implications of military robotics. He also garnered significant publicity for the issue through a TED Talk, appearances on television programs like The Daily Show and winning The Financial Times ’ Non-Fiction Book of the Year. During the campaign to ban cluster munitions, Richard Moyes— then policy director at Landmine Action, later co-founder of Article 36 and member of ICRAC—began researching sensor-fuzed submunitions which could seek out and engage targets (Carpenter 2014, p. 101; Moyes 2007). This led him to the academic and media debate on AWS and in a 2008 interview with New Scientist, he called for a prohibition of “autonomous robots capable of killing people,” comparing them to landmines and cluster munitions (Marks 2008).

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ICRAC was founded in September 2009 by scholars who had succeeded in spurring these media and academic conversations about the ethical and legal challenges of robotic weapons but were frustrated by the lack of progress toward policy change. Noel Sharkey, physicist Dr. Juergen Altmann and technology ethicist Dr. Robert Sparrow gathered at Sharkey’s house to explore ways to raise awareness of the potential implications of military robotics. They also included Dr. Peter Asaro, a philosopher of technology, over the phone. By the end of the meeting, they decided to establish the International Committee for Robot Arms Control. Their mission statement noted with alarm the “the rapid pace of development of military robotics and the pressing dangers that these pose to peace and international security.” It called “upon the international community to urgently commence a discussion about an arms control regime to reduce the threat posed by these systems.” In particular, the statement proposed “that this discussion should consider” banning AWS and establishing limitations on remotely-operated robotic weapons such as drones (ICRAC 2009). The name and mission statement embodied ICRAC’s complexities and ambiguities, as well as its position between Science and Politics. By explicitly labeling itself “International,” ICRAC placed itself in the tradition of scientific associations that transcend national boundaries. According to Mazower, for many scientists, internationalism has long “offered…the possibility of carving out a politics-free zone” (2012, pp. 95–96). Reflecting this view, one ICRAC member told us, “Scientists should provide expertise first and foremost…. However, scientists are not – and should not become – activists.” In internal discussions observed before the launch of the Campaign to Stop Killer Robots, members primarily saw their task as conducting research and authoring articles in peer-reviewed academic publications. “In the beginning,” said one member, “we believed that if we got a bunch of scientists together and said this is foolish then the politicians would step up.” As a result, ICRAC’s mission statement did little to describe its activities other than to “call upon the international community” to “commence a discussion.” This left the political agency with “the international community”—presumably the multi-lateral arena of states—rather than with ICRAC and scientists more generally. ICRAC members also positioned themselves in opposition to scholars like Arkin who are funded by national military structures, casting doubts on such scholars’ scientific credibility (Sharkey 2013). These statements suggest ICRAC presented its activities as apolitical and neutral, largely focused on producing the information base for the “discussion” they called for. Indeed, none of ICRAC’s members are

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employed directly by the state; 26 of the 32 members are employed by universities, the rest by NGOs or the private sector. ICRAC has received very little external funding and no money directly from any states (though some members have received government funding individually). In representing themselves as uncontaminated by links to the government, ICRAC members have engaged in subtle “boundary-work” (cf. Gieryn 1983), portraying pro-AWS academics as less credible scientists. However, the second half of ICRAC’s name, “for Robot Arms Control,” suggests a political stance—implying a desire for a structure of policy and discipline that could exert such “control.” While distancing itself rhetorically, ICRAC’s mission statement called for a series of prohibitions and regulations that imply governing authority. ICRAC sets itself in opposition to those unwilling to discuss potential global policy instruments. The mobilization of science to combat their political opponents’ claims is reflected in ICRAC’s 2012 “Scientists’ Call to Ban Autonomous Lethal Robots,” signed by more than 270 signatures from “Computer Scientists, Engineers, Artificial Intelligence experts, Roboticists and professionals from related disciplines” (ICRAC 2012; Sharkey 2013). Several of its members appear regularly in the news media—Noel Sharkey and Peter Asaro most frequently—raising awareness of the potential threats posed by government military robotics programs and calling for a ban on AWS. One member told us, “my interests were always political—we were leveraging our research for its political effects.” Justifying such a stance, another said, “Science is not an apolitical practice, it is always embedded in politics.” ICRAC members tend to see research on robotics as already political (claiming, for instance, that “most of the academy is hell bent on developing these weapons”), they are just opposing, rather than colluding with, the military-academic-industrial complex. One member told us: Many modern weapon systems at the R&D level, do not work, are extremely hazardous to certain groups…. But the PR is glossy and immaculate…. The key role of the scientific method is to deconstruct and test assertions in the face of aggressive hype … often by asking searching questions.

The tension between convening a scientific dialogue versus advocating for specific political outcomes surfaced in ICRAC’s first major activity. In 2010, ICRAC’s founders organized an “Expert Workshop” on the implications of robotic weapons in Berlin, inviting scholars, activists, campaigners, and

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military personnel. Some of the participants were eager to compose a “manifesto,” and drafted the “Berlin Statement,” which expanded the demands of ICRAC’s mission statement (ICRAC 2010). Twenty-one workshop participants signed the document and five joined ICRAC, but many did not, reluctant to endorse a ban on AWS (Carpenter 2014, p. 95). From the Berlin Workshop onwards, as one member put it, “It [became] clear that advocacy [was] one of ICRAC’s activities, too, with the line between ‘scientist’ and ‘activist’ becoming a bit blurrier.” ICRAC members continued to present at academic conferences and publish scholarly articles about robotic weapons (e.g. Asaro 2012; Sharkey 2012; Sauer and Schornig 2012; Altmann 2013; Sharkey and Suchman 2013; Garcia 2014; Sauer 2014; Bolton and Mitchell 2014). Yet ICRAC members were not simply raising “objective” findings; ICRAC members framed AWS discursively, producing a specific humanitarian and human rights narrative. As one ICRAC member told us, “A lot of our arguments come down to moral, rather than scientific ones.” ICRAC members organized the world of robotics, classifying it into “good” (usually civilian) and “bad” (usually military) developments, and singled out AWS as particularly pathological. ICRAC’s success, a member told us, is due to the combination of “impressive academic muscle” with “formidable networking and successful showmanship.” In ICRAC members’ communication with the public beyond the academy, their presentations have combined elements of science, performance, and advocacy. ICRAC members began writing journalistic articles and informal blogs, tweeting, giving public speeches, and appearing in online films. One member told us, “Before, I used to only publish in academic journals but now I’ve moved into writing more magazinetype publications and being interviewed by journalists.” Sharkey is a particularly charismatic speaker and his presentations mix video clips, jokes about being “unmanned” and extracts from a comic book he read as a child, combined with theoretical insights into artificial intelligence and computer science. His sartorial choices (all black), long hair and beard convey a scientific persona that seems both strategic and ironic. These choices point to the way in which ICRAC is both a group of scientists and a troupe performing under the sign of Science to access legitimacy. One campaigner (not an ICRAC member) remarked to us that Sharkey looked like “the high priest of robotics,” an indication of the mystique of Science (and the authority it affords Scientists such as Sharkey, as diviner of this mystery). “Unlike climate scientists, we’re not building models,” said one member,

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“It’s more important in persuading the public to present ourselves as scientists than actually do science.” Haas has noted, an epistemic community’s “professional training, prestige, and reputation for expertise…accord them access to the political system and legitimize…their activities” (1992b, p. 17). Numerous ICRAC members mentioned to us Haas’ concept of the epistemic community (1992a, b, 2004) as inspiration for their work.

ICRAC and the Campaign to Stop Killer Robots Initially, interest in AWS in the policymaking, NGO and advocacy arenas remained low and scholars’ concerns about killer robots were “virtually ignored” (Carpenter 2014, p. 1). However, in a key turning point, Jody Williams, who won the Nobel Peace Prize for coordinating the International Campaign to Ban Landmines, read Noel Sharkey’s work while doing research for an article on drones for the International Journal of Intelligence Ethics (2011). Williams played a significant role in persuading the humanitarian disarmament advocacy community—particularly her spouse Steve Goose, head of the Arms Division at Human Rights Watch—to pay attention to the threat of AWS (Carpenter 2014, pp. 118–120). Her article was followed by a report by IKV Pax Christi (Oudes and Zwijnenburg 2011) and a statement by the International Committee of the Red Cross (Kellenberger 2011) on the humanitarian implications of new weapons technologies. Informal discussions about a global advocacy campaign began in the humanitarian disarmament NGO community, though there was disagreement about what exactly should be called for (a control regime, regulation or a ban?), the scope of the campaign (should it also include remotely-piloted drones?) and how the problem would be defined (was this primarily a human rights, humanitarian or security issue?). (See Carpenter 2014 and Bolton and Mitchell 2014 for a detailed review of the emergence of the killer robots issue in the NGO community.) During this period, ICRAC’s primary activities were not focused on persuading representatives of states—as many in the epistemic community literature would predict (e.g. Adler 1992)—but rather on outreach to the news media and lobbying other non-governmental actors. In late 2012, a core group of seven NGOs—including ICRAC—met in New York to finalize plans for a global civil society coalition seeking “a comprehensive prohibition on the development, production, and use of fully autonomous weapons,” led by Human Rights Watch (HRW). Preparing the ground, HRW and the Harvard Law School’s International

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Human Rights Clinic released a landmark policy report: Losing Humanity: The Case Against Killer Robots (HRW 2012, pp. 46–47). A couple days after the report’s release, the US Defense Department issued the first ever government policy on fully autonomous weapons, Directive 3000.09. The directive required robotic weapons systems to be “designed to allow commanders and operators to exercise appropriate levels of human judgment over the use of force” (Section 4(a)). However, among its many loopholes, it green-lights ongoing research and allows fully autonomous weapons “to apply non-lethal, non-kinetic force” or attack nonhuman targets. The Directive is not law and will expire in 2022. (See Gubrud [2012] for critical analysis.) The Campaign to Stop Killer Robots launched officially in London on April 2013. The new coalition, coordinated by HRW’s Mary Wareham, eventually had a steering board of 11 NGOs including ICRAC, and 86 other NGO members, mostly drawn from the humanitarian disarmament community (as of December 2018). Within the Campaign, ICRAC members played the expected educational role often assigned to academics, providing technical information about AWS to activists and advocates. However, they also engaged in more directly political activities. ICRAC members have employed classic lobbying tactics with state policymakers both at the national and international level, including meeting with officials, critiquing policy drafts and suggesting language for officials’ speeches. Over the following year, the Campaign was remarkably successful in getting the killer robots issue onto the global policymaking agenda. Just over a month after the Campaign’s Launch, UN Special Rapporteur on ExtraJudicial Killings Christof Heyns—himself an academic—presented a report before the UN Human Rights Council in Geneva, calling for a moratorium on lethal autonomous robots and the commencement of international deliberations on potential regulation (Heyns 2013). In the ensuing official exchange of views on AWS, the first ever in a diplomatic forum, 20 states made statements (Campaign to Stop Killer Robots 2013, pp. 10–28). AWS finally made it onto the official global policymaking agenda in November 2013. Meeting at the UN in Geneva, the states parties to the CCW agreed to mandate a May 2014 “informal meeting of experts” (UN Office in Geneva 2014). Eighty-seven countries participated in the debate and heard 18 expert presentations from military, legal, UN and NGO backgrounds, as well as statements from civil society organizations. This was followed by further expert meetings every year since. As in indication of its increasing profile, the delegate of China directly addressed a question to

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ICRAC on the floor of the CCW, asking about the implications of AWS for nuclear weapons. Much of the epistemic communities literature assumes that scientists tend to influence their national government positions rather than transnational policymaking itself. However, ICRAC and the Campaign had succeeded in leapfrogging the formulation of national policies and fomenting the start of diplomatic talks. ICRAC’s success in achieving public attention to the threat of AWS also shows the value of Lidskog and Sundqvist’s critique of the claim in the epistemic communities literature that science gains its influence by setting itself apart from politics. Rather, as STS scholars have observed, scientists become “influential by building networks with other actors” and engaging in “a broad social process based on negotiations and compromises” (Lidskog and Sundqvist 2015, p. 9).

The “Gentrification” of ICRAC? ICRAC was initially founded as a relatively flat, horizontal organization. It remained legally unincorporated until 14 January 2013, just before the beginning of the Campaign. Individual members were encouraged to pursue their own research agendas and speak for themselves (there was no standard “message”). Decisions were made by consensus rather than vote. One member told us, “I was pretty adamant in the beginning that we couldn’t be an NGO. Rather we should be a loose coalition of like-minded intellectuals, a distributed model, leaderless.” Several of ICRAC’s members also had a counter-cultural edge and desired, as a member told us, “to find a way to connect [their] research with anti-militarist/anti-war activism.” Before becoming an academic, Sharkey had been a member of a jazz band and credited his decision to study artificial intelligence with a particularly mind-expanding LSD trip (Williams 2005). Others have participated in anti-war, anti-militarist, and anarchist movements. Several ICRAC members participated in Occupy Wall Street and ICRAC’s former Membership Secretary co-edited a book on the movement (Welty et al. 2013). One member told us they see the line between science and advocacy as “a false wall.” As Haas has observed, the “solidarity of epistemic community members” derives in part from shared commitments not only to a method of knowledge production, but also to “cosmopolitan beliefs of promoting collective betterment” (1992b, p. 20). These “non-scientific” values provide the social motivation to share their scientific findings with policymakers. According to Carpenter, “insider” advocacy, NGOs, and policymakers viewed ICRAC’s associations with the peace movement and radical

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left wing with suspicion, initially finding ICRAC too political. Similarly, Haas has observed that political structures do not accept scientific input simply on the basis of its scientific credibility; it must also “be provided through a medium that is politically palatable” (2004, p. 575). Professional NGO advocates in the Campaign also worried that ICRAC members were unaware of diplomatic sensitivities (Carpenter 2014, p. 105). We saw an ICRAC member in meeting with a representative of a Latin American UN mission refer to the diplomat’s country as “Puerto Rico.” Other campaigners have criticized ICRAC’s lack of cohesion and “message discipline.” The outsider status of ICRAC was confirmed even as it got a literal seat at the international policymaking table. As Matthew Bolton prepared to deliver ICRAC’s first official statement in a diplomatic forum at the November 2013 CCW meeting of states parties, the chair stumbled several times over ICRAC’s name, initially mixing it up with the International Committee of the Red Cross and then struggling through the long full name. As ICRAC began to interact more with social systems, they recruited new members whose expertise would enable them to navigate the new political and legal complexities. Over time, the proportion of the membership whose expertise is in social sciences, law, and advocacy grew relative to the “harder” sciences of physics, computer science, and robotics. When it was founded in 2009, two of the four members were hard scientists. By 2013, this proportion had dropped to below a third of the members, while the number of members who were NGO professionals had increased from one in 2010 to five. One member told us, “We realized that there was a community of NGO policymakers we could address directly that knew what they were doing.” Carpenter (2014, pp. 114–117) argues that ICRAC’s success in persuading other NGOs to start the Campaign was “brokered” by Article 36, whose directors joined ICRAC in 2011. Article 36 lent ICRAC credibility in the humanitarian disarmament NGO sector and persuaded them to register officially as an NGO so ICRAC could join the Campaign’s steering board. They worked with ICRAC’s members to guide them in developing advocacy strategy and producing public statements. Carpenter has described these changes as a process of “socialization,” in which ICRAC was trained into an organization that could interact effectively with global policymaking and advocacy (2014, pp. 115–116). One ICRAC member said that this has “validated the organization. The attention from governments has enabled people to take the issue seriously—that it isn’t a crackpot issue.” Another stated that while there had been “a learning curve” in working with NGOs,

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“ICRAC has become more savvy.” Indeed, one of the authors, as a political scientist who joined ICRAC in 2012, found that he and other social scientists in ICRAC increasingly found themselves in a bridging role. We had had more interaction with the civil society and policy arenas (through studying them or engaging with them as public intellectuals) than some of colleagues in the hard sciences. This placed us in the position of being internal brokers, seeking to explain the norms of academia to our NGO partners and vice versa. This was at times uncomfortable when we would be drawn into conflicts between the norms of these two different professional realms. In the run-up to the launch of the Campaign, other NGOs worried about ICRAC’s ability to speak with a single voice. Internal conflict within ICRAC and the lack of clear leadership made it difficult to negotiate with. In an effort to make ICRAC a more disciplined and coherent organization, ICRAC adopted—after acrimonious debate—a more hierarchical structure, with an elected Chair (Noel Sharkey), two Vice-Chairs (Peter Asaro, and Juergen Altmann; a third, Denise Garcia, was later added), a Membership Secretary (initially Matthew Bolton, now Amanda Sharkey), and IT Secretary (Frank Sauer). Noel Sharkey was authorized to represent ICRAC in Campaign Steering Board meetings, though all major policy decisions continued to be made by a consensus of the entire group. The website was redesigned. Frustrated by what they saw as a lack of productive debate on the internal email listserve, in February 2013 the leadership successfully shepherded the adoption of a Code of Conduct for online discussions and reorganized the system so that announcements were sent through one system and discussion through another. This has reduced the incidence of outright conflict on the ICRAC listserves, but also reduced the number of emails (authors’ count of internal emails). ICRAC’s “gentrification” has not occurred without internal resistance. One member, connected to a military college, left the organization when it joined the Campaign, concerned that ICRAC’s politicization would impact his work. An attempt by the leadership to change ICRAC’s name—to avoid being mixed up with the ICRC and to avoid the connotation with crack cocaine—failed to reach consensus. A proposal by the leadership to establish gender quotas in leadership positions to conform with normative expectations in the humanitarian disarmament community also initially failed (though an effort to include women in leadership positions later moved forward). However, at least at the time of writing, the general trend has strengthened ICRAC’s leadership and quieted internal dissension.

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As ICRAC has engaged more explicitly with the political arena, it has simultaneously emphasized its scientific credentials while de-emphasizing links to peace movements. This dual action makes ICRAC look less political even as it engages more deeply with the political system. Recognition that new members in 2011 and 2012 had been disproportionately from the social sciences led ICRAC to recruit more “genuine robotics experts” in 2013 to maintain its scientific legitimacy (internal email exchange). In its first ever official statement in a diplomatic forum, ICRAC noted that its members were “experts in robotic technology, artificial intelligence, computer science, international security and arms control, ethics and international law” and that “over 80% … have doctoral or Juris Doctor degrees.” The statement continued by offering ICRAC’s “technical expertise” to the CCW states party (Bolton 2013). “We realized,” one member told us, “we could capture the ground of expertise and use the legitimacy of science.” This recalls Lidskog and Sundqvist’s observation that epistemic communities “act strategically in relation to the boundaries of science and policy; by staging their activities as independent from policy, they attempt to achieve credibility among actors outside the scientific community” (2015, p. 8). This effort to maintain legitimacy has impacted what ICRAC members say and write in public. As ICRAC members engaged in advocacy at UN meetings they also found themselves in conflict with humanitarian disarmament campaigners over the discursive framing of killer robots. Learning from the successes of the campaigns to ban landmines and cluster munitions, humanitarian disarmament advocates wanted to maintain a tight focus on the potential humanitarian and human rights implications of AWS, as these would build the case for a strong prohibition instrument under international humanitarian law. By contrast, ICRAC members used a wide range of frames to argue against AWS, including potential fears of proliferation, threats to peace and security, the potential dangers of unchecked artificial intelligence, and the risks of nuclear weapons becoming autonomous. This, Carpenter reports, made other NGOs fear that its “all-over-the-map-ness” (2014, p. 105) would enable states to obfuscate and claim a need to study thoroughly every possible angle of AWS. For example, ICRAC published a working paper on potential verification measures for a possible AWS convention. The authors argued that by showing verification of compliance was possible, they would undermine arguments that a killer robots ban was unrealistic. However, veteran humanitarian disarmament campaigners were worried that focusing on verification would

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frame AWS as a traditional arms control, with potentially drawn-out arguments over how much verification would intrude on state sovereignty. They preferred the “cooperative compliance” model used by the landmine and cluster munition conventions, which use normative pressure and stigmatization rather than intrusive surveillance or coercive measures to achieve compliance. ICRAC has since removed the working paper from its website. As one member put it, “we have to be careful about writing papers because they can be used against us. The expert impulse is to be definitive and comprehensive, but in policy debates you don’t always want terms over-defined.” Most ICRAC members seem content with the trade-offs ICRAC made to achieve policy success, and believe it was beneficial: “some of the issues that matter to me won’t be addressed directly by ICRAC,” one member told us, but “that’s a price worth paying to maximize the effectiveness of this group.” Indeed, some believed that this was beneficial for ICRAC, enabling it to become “more outward-facing,” preventing it from “becoming too insular and wasting time arguing over how many AI [artificial intelligence] angels can fit on the top of a pin.” However, some members are concerned that ICRAC’s “normalization” has made it less radical and less independent. Several ICRAC members felt that it was irresponsible to choose only one framing (humanitarianism), when there was no guarantee that the CCW would produce a ban. One member worried that there was a “risk” that ICRAC was “becoming just one of many NGOs” and would “lose its original character as a scholarly network.” Another reflected, “I struggle with a kind of politics that is purely rhetorical,” instead of direct action, such as demonstrations, strikes, and pickets. Some members have complained that engagement with the Campaign has privileged those members who are more media savvy and connected in diplomatic circles—“rule by the most willing to fire off Twitter posts,” as one member put it. Other members contest these claims, though Carpenter also observed that “When Sharkey became the point person…in the campaign, it aroused some jealousy within the group” (2014, p. 199, n. 119). There are similarities here with Alex Jeffrey’s observations that interaction with state structures—through legal registration, funding proposals, petitioning, and lobbying—often “gentrifies” civil society organizations, making them less threatening, even as they may succeed in winning policy changes (Jeffrey 2013, pp. 107–131; Bolton and Jeffrey 2008). For example, ICRAC’s mission statement calls for international discussions on restricting remote-controlled robotic weapons in addition to AWS.

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However, following ICRAC members’ attendance at CODEPINK’s 2012 Drone Summit in Washington, DC, the organization failed to reach consensus on a more detailed policy statement on drones. Since then, particularly after the launch of the Campaign, ICRAC has focused primarily on the issue of AWS, rather than on the broader impact of military robotics. Some ICRAC members believe this is more likely to generate a policy “win” for the organization. However, other members worry that the Campaign has made ICRAC focus on its most politically palatable goal to the detriment of others. Indeed, they have selected a focus on killer robots, while de-emphasizing the broader context of increasing robotic, remote, clandestine, and extrajudicial killing (see Niva 2013, p. 199). One member told us: I think the group has shaped its activities to the more rewarding goal. Drones have fallen off the agenda of ICRAC. It’s telling. That’s where nation-states have key interests. There is already a pragmatic negotiation about what we are going to say about existing weapons. But thousands of people have been killed by these existing weapons. I wonder whether the political space available is in the media-friendly nature of the demand [to ban killer robots]. It fits into science fiction tropes and not an enormous amount is at stake for governments to oppose it.

Another internal debate occurred over the Pentagon’s 2012 directive on AWS. Though they had misgivings, the more established advocacy NGOs planning the Campaign opted to welcome the US government’s initiative to establish a national policy. These NGOs focused more on its more positive elements in an attempt to draw the United States into the global discussion of AWS. They did not want to alienate the United States before the Campaign had even started. ICRAC’s leadership advised ICRAC’s members to follow suit, at least in public statements. However, this did not sit well with some of ICRAC’s members who were disturbed by the directive’s loopholes and felt it was their responsibility as public intellectuals to point them out. One member reflected, “Scientific understanding strongly complements advocacy by creating credibility of statements. Where the tension lies is keeping quiet about statements that other campaigners make that you don’t feel have adequate scientific support. But it would be wrong to argue publicly. It is best to have quiet words afterwards.” ICRAC’s internal debates over choice of framing, drones, and the Pentagon’s directive illustrate the complex impact of its interaction with the

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political arena. ICRAC members have faced choices over whether they are independent scientists loyal to their own findings or advocates seeking a political goal, whether they will be oppositional or engage directly with policymaking. But the dilemma is never a stark binary one. It is embedded and configured in multiple ways in everyday decision-making, debate, and action. ICRAC has simultaneously become more engaged in the political arena while presenting itself in a more “apolitical” and “normal” manner (de-emphasizing more contentious advocacy positions, highlighting its scientific credentials). This contradiction has been resolved through internal controls—a more hierarchical leadership structure and stricter message discipline—that resemble the very institutions ICRAC sought to change. Science and Politics thus “always influence one another, even in those cases where they are presented as separate activities and are organized into different camps” (Lidskog and Sundqvist 2015, p. 9). In 2017 and 2018, the CCW upgraded the discussions on AWS to a formal Group of Governmental Experts process, following a couple of years of diplomatic impasse (Campaign to Stop Killer Robots 2017). Moreover, the Campaign has had further success in engaging with the news media and private sector (Topol 2016). The Future of Life Institute, funded by Elon Musk, has emerged as a major contributor to the scientific element of the conversation—using its deeper pockets and better connections in the technology sector to circulate petitions and bring big-name technologists into the debate (e.g. Future of Life Institute 2015). However, ICRAC has struggled in recent years to maintain its relevance in the policy debate. An attempt to develop an ICRAC Youth chapter for undergraduate and graduate students (which one of the authors was deeply involved in) struggled to get off the ground. Organizers told us that they felt they did not receive sufficient support from ICRAC proper, which, as a network of academics with no staff found it difficult to provide. Email traffic on the ICRAC listserve has lessened over the last few years and, as the Table 2.1 shows, ICRAC has reduced the number of posts on its website. It seems to have been so transformed by the policy process that it regenerates as its members gather at diplomatic forums; energy dissipates at other times. Certain ICRAC members have, as a result of their work with the Campaign, gained recognition in humanitarian disarmament circles, but we have noticed an increasing tendency by these people to identify themselves with reference to other organizations. For example, ICRAC members were deeply involved in production of a landmark 2017 policy report on the Humanitarian Impact of Drones, but ICRAC is never mentioned, even in their author bios

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Table 2.1 ICRAC’s website activity, 2011–2018

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Year 2011 2012 2013 2014 2015 2016 2017 2018

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Articles posted on icrac.net 13 16 34 18 24 8 4 8

(Acheson et al. 2017). As a result, at the moment of its greatest success— ICRAC has succeeded in its primary goal of prompting an international discussion on AWS—ICRAC found itself so transformed by its engagement with the political arena that it struggled to maintain its earlier dynamism. In 2018, in recognition of the need to play a more active role in the Campaign and in the CCW process, ICRAC’s leaders have engaged in an effort to revitalize the organization. It has recruited new members and participated actively in the CCW meetings. It is possible that ICRAC’s quieter period may be changing as the diplomatic conversation about killer robots itself also transforms into a more active debate.

Conclusion ICRAC’s involvement in the killer robots debate demonstrates the ways Science and Politics are more entwined than Weber’s traditional binary opposition. The epistemic community literature offers insight into how organizations like ICRAC use scientific knowledge to influence policy. Indeed, ICRAC members have continued to act as scientists—presenting at academic conferences, publishing in peer-reviewed journals, teaching in the academy—even as they have engaged actively in the global policymaking arena. However, examining ICRAC’s work demonstrates some of the weaknesses in the epistemic community literature’s conception of the role of scientists, showing how ICRAC academics played a constitutive, not only advisory or oppositional, role. ICRAC members essentially helped to create the killer robots debate, transforming the public conversation about hightech weapons from gee-whiz technophilia to one about humanitarianism and human rights. They also initially focused their attention not on changing national policy, but rather on the broader discursive context, persuading the news media, NGOs and other scientists that AWS represented a threat

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worth studying and countering. To borrow Epstein’s observation from the global debate over whaling, “Not only did activists constitute science as a political weapon, they actually contributed to shape the science in the making, in terms both of its methods and content” (Epstein 2005, p. 61). But in the process, ICRAC too has been transformed. Becoming part of the Campaign, it moved from promoting a “discussion” to campaigning for a specific policy: “a ban.” It became an NGO, more hierarchical and, thus, more legible to states. In this, there are similarities with other disarmament and arms control campaigns. According to Krause, the disarmament and arms control campaigns that have been the most successful are “those which are politically acceptable or fashionable” and “focus on a single and easy to communicate goal,” like a comprehensive ban (2014, pp. 231–232). This gave ICRAC public credibility but has also perhaps come at the cost of its counter-cultural vitality. Our examination of the ICRAC case study can thus assist in placing the epistemic communities literature in conversation with Science and Technology Studies and the literature on transnational advocacy networks. While the epistemic communities literature has helped the international relations subfield pay more attention to the impact of scientific knowledge on international policy, it has been limited by “a naive understanding of science” (Lidskog and Sundqvist 2015, p. 15). It shows how, contrary to conventional wisdom, the involvement of technical experts in a conversation does not necessarily result in depoliticization—indeed, through their expert knowledge, they can open to public examination what had previously been “black-boxed” (Walters 2014, p. 112). Moreover, our study offers insight into one example of the process by which epistemic communities are socially constituted as scientific and seemingly apolitical actor in the political arena. It leads us to agree with Epstein that rather than seeing politics as inherently corrupting of academia, a close look at the everyday practice of science helps us “see all practices of knowledge production as situated within a political project” (Epstein 2005, p. 64, emphasis in original). But in recognizing the inextricable interrelation between Science and Politics, we do not believe that scientific activity will necessarily be completely captured by political ideology. Instead, we assert that the example of ICRAC offers an illustration not only of the possibilities of scientific intervention in policy debates, but also of how that intervention reshapes the identity of the Scientist. This article sought to analyze our ICRAC’s involvement in the development of the policy discussion on killer robots.

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Rather than seeing the political arena as inherently corrupting to scientific thinking, many ICRAC members (including ourselves) have found the policy debate has forced them to clarify their arguments. Maintaining integrity in this setting, an ICRAC member told us, is “all about being prepared and willing to be proven wrong.” This means scholar-activists must recognize the ways in which Politics and Science influence, constitute, shape, and transform each other. Rather than boundary-policing a pristine separation, we call on academics to engage intentionally and reflexively in politics, recognizing their political role while applying the rigorous standards of criticism to their own political activities.

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CHAPTER 3

The Agency of International Humanitarian Disarmament Law: The Case of Advocacy for Positive Obligations in the Treaty on the Prohibition of Nuclear Weapons Matthew Breay Bolton and Elizabeth Minor

Tired of nuclear-armed states’ slow progress on their promised disarmament, while the elimination of these weapons of mass destruction remains a pressing need, a group of states committed to finding alternatives, along with progressive civil society advocates, seized on a seemingly banal sentence inserted into the 2010 Outcome Document of the Treaty on

M. B. Bolton (B) Department of Political Science, Pace University, New York, USA e-mail: [email protected] E. Minor Article 36, London, UK e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2020 M. B. Bolton et al. (eds.), Global Activism and Humanitarian Disarmament, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-27611-9_3

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the Non-Proliferation of Nuclear Weapons (NPT) (Treaty on the NonProliferation of Nuclear Weapons 2010). In the text of the NPT Outcome Document, governments expressed “deep concern” at nuclear weapons’ “catastrophic humanitarian consequences.” Drawing on the tradition of humanitarian disarmament, the coalition saw a way out of nuclear disarmament deadlock by convening a series of conferences in Oslo, Nayarit, and Vienna documenting the humanitarian impact of nuclear detonations, past and future. As the Vienna conference drew to a close, the Austrian foreign minister presented what became known as the “Humanitarian Pledge.” Recognizing that the “unacceptable harm that victims of nuclear weapons explosions and nuclear testing have experienced” has not been “adequately addressed,” the Pledge called on states to “stigmatise, prohibit and eliminate nuclear weapons in light of their unacceptable humanitarian consequences and associated risks” (Republic of Austria 2014). By the end of the 2015 NPT Review Conference, the Pledge had more than 100 state signatories. It established the discursive and legal legitimacy to start a process, mandated by the United Nations General Assembly (UNGA) in late 2016, to negotiate a treaty banning nuclear weapons. But as the negotiations for the Treaty on the Prohibition of Nuclear Weapons (TPNW) started in early 2017, many states—and even civil society—began walking back their humanitarian language. Many ban treaty proponents wavered on including humanitarian harm-limiting provisions in the treaty, such as victim assistance, environmental remediation and risk reduction education. Instead, they sought what diplomats called a “simple” or “parsimonious” treaty that was short and could be negotiated quickly. Other states and civil society experts focused heavily on the scope of potential verification mechanisms—traditional arms control fixations, rather than humanitarian disarmament measures. Alarmed, a small group of academics and civil society advocates who had collaborated on other humanitarian disarmament campaigns worked intensively to reintroduce “positive obligations” into the treaty negotiations (Finucane 2017; Choi and Chopra 2017). While they were associated with the International Campaign to Abolish Nuclear Weapons (ICAN), the global coalition that later won the 2017 Nobel Peace Prize for its work pressing for the TPNW, the “PosObs team” was an advocacy campaign within an advocacy campaign, seeking to persuade skeptics not only among states but within their own transnational civil society network. To do so, they drew on the tradition of humanitarian disarmament law established in the 1997 Antipersonnel Landmine Ban Treaty (MBT), echoed in

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the 2003 Explosive Remnants of War (ERW) Protocol V of the Convention on Certain Conventional Weapons (CCW) and advanced in the 2008 Convention on Cluster Munitions (CCM). The humanitarian object and purpose of these disarmament instruments had, in part, been expressed through a set of positive obligations requiring states to assist victims, clear contaminated land, provide risk reduction education, promote the norms of the treaty and engage in international cooperation and assistance. The Critical Legal Geography literature (e.g. Jeffrey 2017) has called attention to the ways that law might be said to exercise limited agency, by shaping human thoughts, affect and actions in ways that extend beyond the intentions of its drafters. In this chapter, we use this insight to explore how ICAN’s PosObs team mobilized a defense of positive obligations in the TPNW negotiations by invoking the humanitarian disarmament legal tradition. The portability of these norms offered a powerful argument, convincing many states. By the end of the negotiations, the TPNW had a clear humanitarian, human rights and environmental framing and provisions for victim assistance, environmental remediation and international cooperation and assistance, adhering closely to standards in the CCM. However, it also created challenges for the team, particularly when, at times, discursive currents in the humanitarian disarmament legal tradition—such as regarding affected state responsibility for implementation—put the PosObs team in conflict with states and other representatives of communities affected by nuclear weapons activities. Overcoming these challenges required work and the exercise of various forms of persuasive and negotiating power. As such, we argue here that humanitarian disarmament law could be said to have exercised some agency of its own in the TPNW negotiations, independent of the people who sought to use it. It both enabled and constrained the agency of the PosObs advocates. We also show that competing legal traditions—including parsimonious weapons prohibitions, law on Weapons of Mass Destruction, and UN General Assembly disarmament norms— exercised agency over the treaty’s negotiation, sometimes at odds with the PosObs team’s goals. In writing this chapter, we draw on our insider positionality. We have both been involved in ICAN’s advocacy for several years, particularly at the United Nations, and participated intensively during the March and June–July 2017 TPNW negotiations. We were both deeply involved in the formation and subsequent work of ICAN’s PosObs Team. Our insights here come from our participant observation in PosObs advocacy. We make no claims, therefore, to objectivity, instead offering emic insights derived from intimate involvement in the everyday life of a civil society campaign.

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However, we aim to be reflexive and self-critical, openly considering the problematic dimensions of our own work. We do this in the spirit of transparency, to help expand understanding of how global policymaking works in everyday life. We ourselves learned from open, honest reflections by campaigners involved in other advocacy efforts. We hope this will aid others working for humanitarianism, human rights, and peace. To supplement our ethnographic material, we conducted a thorough review of government and civil society statements on the conference floor and working papers submitted to the Chair. These we obtained from both the UN Papersmart portal and the online records maintained by Reaching Critical Will, the disarmament project of the Women’s International League for Peace and Freedom (WILPF), an ICAN International Steering Group (ISG) member. We rely here too on the daily summaries of the negotiations in WILPF’s Nuclear Ban Daily, which also published analysis and commentary by civil society advocates and academia. We also drew on our own collections of ephemera and gray literature from the TPNW negotiations, including (for background use only) internal ICAN and PosObs communications. The next section outlines a brief history of the development of positive obligations in the humanitarian disarmament legal tradition, focusing on the MBT and CCM. This is followed by a review of the international relations literature that has offered theoretical explanations for the development of humanitarian disarmament law. We argue that Liberal, Postcolonial, and Constructivist analyses of humanitarian disarmament have enabled critiques of the dominant neo-realist theories of international relations, demonstrating the agency of small and middle powers, civil society, and technical experts. However, drawing on Critical Legal Geography we wish to further expand our theoretical understandings of agency in international lawmaking to include non-human “actants” like the law itself. To illustrate this, the third section of the chapter offers a detailed case study of how the humanitarian disarmament legal tradition shaped the advocacy of ICAN’s Positive Obligations Team in the TPNW negotiations. We then expand our focus to look briefly at how legal tradition shaped the successes and failures of other proposed provisions in the TPNW process. We conclude with reflections on the nature of agency in international lawmaking and the ways that we ourselves have felt obligated by the TPNW to help implement its provisions on victim assistance, environmental remediation, norm promotion, disarmament education, and international cooperation and assistance. As such, even as we shaped the treaty’s formation, its norms now influence our lives and work.

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The Development of Positive Obligations in Humanitarian Disarmament Treaties Besides banning or regulating weapons seen as posing particular risks to humanity, Docherty identifies in humanitarian disarmament law a tendency to require states to take “remedial measures that reduce the effects of past use” as well as other positive obligations to promote and disseminate norms and engage in international cooperation and assistance (2010, p. 8). These obligations have traces and antecedents in earlier instruments. International humanitarian law begins in the nineteenth century with an obligation to the wounded, imprisoned, and shipwrecked. The Geneva Conventions mandate the International Committee of the Red Cross and the National Societies to provide relief and to raise awareness of humanitarian norms. The 1890 Brussels Acts obligated states to share information about the traffic in firearms in Africa (Article 81) and provide “refuge for women and … education for liberated children” freed from slavery (Article 88). More recently, the CCW requires states to disseminate the treaty “as widely possible” and to include it in the curriculum of their “programmes of military instruction” (Article 6). The MBT and CCM “combine and strengthen” these traces of positive obligations “to create a distinctive and uncompromising legal regime” (Docherty 2010, p. 8). While early civil society proposals for a landmine ban envisioned only a prohibition treaty, they were quickly amended to include full clearance of mined areas, given the pivotal role played by demining NGOs in raising awareness of the humanitarian impact of antipersonnel landmines and their prominence in the International Campaign to Ban Landmines (ICBL) (Rutherford 2011). There was also clear precedent in the nevertheless flawed CCW’s Protocol II on Mines and Booby Traps (Article 9). As a result, Articles 5 and 6 of the MBT require affected states to clear all minefields from their territories and encourage other states and international organizations to help them. Similar obligations were then replicated in the CCW Protocol V on ERW (Article 3) and the CCM (Article 4). The ERW Protocol (Articles 4, 5 and 8) and CCM (Articles 4, 6 and 7) also replicated MBT obligations to inform people of the dangers of mines, ERW and cluster munitions, through fencing and contaminated areas, offering warnings and “risk reduction education” (CCM, Article 4). Achieving the inclusion of assistance to landmine victims in the MBT was more challenging. It was not included in the original draft MBT drawn up by Austria. It was only added later as a result of strenuous campaign by landmine survivors themselves (represented by Landmine Survivors Network),

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along with relief groups supporting them. Besides skepticism from diplomats, these advocates faced other IBCL campaigners, who feared inclusion of victim assistance might delay progress in the negotiations and make universalization of the Treaty difficult. There was no example of a weapons ban treaty that had included assistance to the victims of that weapon. However, the unique procedures of the Ottawa Process that led to the MBT— majority vote, firm deadline, negotiation outside established channels and clear humanitarian framing—created normative pressure to strengthen and expand the Treaty’s humanitarian dimensions. As a result, a weakly-worded provision was included in the final text, requiring states “that are in the position to do so… [to] provide assistance for the care and rehabilitation, and social and economic reintegration, of mine victims,” supported by other states, international organizations and civil society (Article 6[3]) (White and Rutherford 1998). Implementation of mine victim assistance was more robust than the legal obligation implied. Meetings of States Parties to the MBT adopted Action Plans on victim assistance that filled in details that were lacking in the Treaty and committed states to a high standard of care. The impact of this norm is demonstrated by the inclusion in Article 8 of the 2003 ERW Protocol of language on victim assistance lifted from the MBT. What had been a highly contested idea even in the progressive, majority-vote forum of the Ottawa Process, had been accepted by consensus even by states typically hostile to humanitarian disarmament law, like the United States and Russia (which both ratified the Protocol). Many of the activists who were landmine and ERW survivors or working with them also contributed to the advocacy that resulted in the 2006 Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities (CRPD). This, and the more open forum of the Oslo Process on cluster munitions, offered an opportunity for further strengthening the victim assistance norm. The CCM made victim assistance a standalone article (Article 5), buttressed with language from the CRPD and other human rights law, requiring assistance to be “age- and gender-sensitive” and include “medical care, rehabilitation and psychological support, as well as provide for their social and economic inclusion.” This aimed to ground victim assistance in the framework of rights, rather than charitable assistance (Australia Aid 2016; Landmine and Cluster Munition Monitor 2013). The CCM also included strong provisions obligating states to “promote the norms it establishes,” not only by encouraging accession but also discouraging states not party “from using cluster munitions” (Article 21[1 and 2]).

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The positive obligations in the MBT, ERW Protocol and CCM have had material impact on the lives and livelihoods of people and communities affected by landmines, cluster munitions, and ERW. Billions of dollars in Official Development Assistance and private philanthropy have been channeled into mitigating and addressing the humanitarian and human rights impact of these weapons in the new aid sector of “mine action” (incorporating demining, stockpile destruction, risk reduction education, victim assistance, and advocacy) (e.g. Landmine Monitor 2004). The value of mine action programs to humanitarian disarmament campaigners is both intrinsic (motivated by the desire to help) and expedient. They have aided in the gathering of evidence about the human impact of mines, ERW and cluster munitions. They also shape the normative outlook of government officials in exposing them to the suffering of victims (Bolton 2010; ICBLCMC 2017). Positive obligations in humanitarian disarmament treaties thus contribute to political mobilization to universalize their norms. The Arms Trade Treaty (ATT) negotiations were more beholden to the security interests of arms manufacturing countries than the MBT and CCM (Kytomaki 2015, pp. 17–18). The Treaty’s preamble recognizes “the challenges faced by victims of armed conflict and their need for adequate care, rehabilitation and social and economic inclusion.” Article 1 establishes “Reducing human suffering” caused by the unchecked trade in conventional arms as one of the treaty’s purposes, obligating states to set up systems preventing weapons transfers that risk international peace and security, international human rights and humanitarian law violations, terrorism, organized crime, or gender-based violence. While including provisions for the assistance of victims of armed violence under certain circumstances saw support in the 2012 round of negotiations, it was strongly opposed by some states (Fellmeth 2012). During the 2013 conference (which operated by consensus), the small group of armed violence survivors, NGOs, and advocates (including one of this chapter’s authors) working on victim assistance ultimately failed to persuade states to insert this obligation into the treaty—or to gain support from the broader Control Arms advocacy campaign. In conversations with some civil society activists who had previous experience with the field of mine and cluster munition victim assistance, they expressed concern that the lack of inclusion in the ATT represented a step backward. The TPNW negotiations, however, provided a new opportunity to mount a defense of humanitarian disarmament law’s emerging positive obligation norms.

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Theories of International Humanitarian Disarmament Lawmaking The successful negotiation of the MBT—and the normative impact it has had on non-signatory states—created a theoretical problem for the field of international relations, challenging the dominant neo-realist paradigm. Neo-realist writing depicts states trapped in a world dominated by the “brooding shadow of violence” (Waltz 1986, p. 98) that forces them to prioritize security interests in their interaction with the international system. Disarmament is a dangerous delusion, or something that is done to a weaker country by more powerful one, such as with Germany and Japan at the end of World War II or Iraq following the Gulf War (e.g. Towe 1997). Neorealists allow that states will engage in arms control bargaining, but insist that this is led by great powers in a process fraught with mutual suspicion, focused on limiting large-scale strategic weapons systems and prone to constant cheating (for review, see Roth 2007). However, in the MBT states had voluntarily—without the threat of force—given up a class of weapons. A major international treaty and normative standard had been made by smaller states over the objections of the great powers. The treaty had been framed around humanitarian rather than security concerns. Civil society and the civilian elements of governments had managed to overpower the strenuous opposition of military institutions and the arms industry on a matter of “national security.” The success of the humanitarian disarmament movement in achieving the PoA, CCM, ATT and now the TPNW has further highlighted the poverty of neo-realist explanations of the development of arms control and disarmament norms. Certainly, one would struggle to use neo-realist theory to explain why states would place obligations to victims and the environment in a weapons treaty. Alternative arguments have emerged from liberal, post-colonial, and constructivist schools. However, we find that none of these three explanations, while offering important insight, fully explain the inclusion of the positive obligations in the TPNW. Liberal explanations suggest that neo-realist theory fails to pay attention to the security strategies of the vast majority of states that are not great powers. For example, scholars like Olav Riste (2001) have argued that middle powers respond to the anarchy of the international system differently than great powers. Lacking sufficient military forces to guarantee their own defense, they instead innovate international legal norms and institutions that manage global risks and reduce uncertainty. They often collaborate with civil society and other states to champion new norms by mobilizing

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ethical concern and moral sentiment. Rutherford et al. (2003) and Bolton (2010) have argued that it is middle powers—Norway, Canada, Austria, Ireland, Belgium, Netherlands, Sweden, Mexico, Chile, New Zealand, South Africa—that drove the diplomatic efforts for the MBT and CCM. However, this framework does not really help us understand how positive obligations got into the TPNW. Norway and Canada, sponsors of the Ottawa and Oslo processes on landmines and cluster munitions, boycotted the TPNW negotiations , as did Belgium. Sweden, and the Netherlands participated begrudgingly and with little interest in positive obligations. Several middle powers were among the original cosponsors of UN General Assembly Resolution A/RES/71/258 that mandated the negotiations (e.g. Austria, Ireland, Mexico, New Zealand, South Africa) and were considered custodians of the process. However, several were reluctant to include strong positive obligations in the Treaty. For example, Austria’s Vice-Minister of Foreign Affairs told the March 2017 negotiations, “There is a risk that we want to achieve too much,” calling on the conference to “stay together behind this one, narrow, clear objective: a legal prohibition of nuclear weapons. … Everything else can come later” (Marschik 2017, p. 5). Post-colonial examinations of humanitarian disarmament point to the colonial motivations for the development of international humanitarian law in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century. The Geneva Conventions, Brussels Acts, and Hague Conventions constructed as “Other” the kind of violence that non-Europeans were using to fight imperial occupation. It enabled European states to performatively ban marginal (dumdum bullets) or not-yet-existing weapons (asphyxiating shells) while maintaining the ships, artillery and machine guns that enabled them to establish control over much of the world’s people. International humanitarian law relied on a colonial discourse of a “Standard of Civilization,” in which states that followed the new laws of war were humane and those that did not were barbaric. Latham (2000), Mathur (2011), and Stavrianakis (2011) have argued that the end of the Cold War resulted in the collapse of the organizing “superpower competition” narrative for international politics. As a result, states had to constitute their identities through an alternative discourse. Western European states (as well as states with a history of European settler migration like Canada and New Zealand), they argue, drew on older imperial narratives of humanitarianism to justify intervention in “failed states.” The banning of landmines and cluster munitions served as a repeat performance of banning marginal weapons systems that

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defined the champion states as more humane that than those embroiled in the “new wars” of the 1990s. Similarly, the ATT preserved the interests of the major arms manufacturing countries while stigmatizing the violence of those cast as the rogue state, the terrorist, and the criminal (Stavrianakis 2016; Bromley et al. 2012). While this theoretical approach highlights the problematic dimensions of humanitarian disarmament discourse, it is less helpful for explaining both the achievement of the TPNW and its inclusion of positive obligations. The TPNW was negotiated over the objections the world’s former colonial powers (including the UK, France, USA, Belgium, Germany, Portugal, Spain, Italy, and the Netherlands). In fact, it may represent a flipping of the Standard of Civilization script, holding the very states that innovated the humanitarian law discourse to their own standards (Bolton 2016). While most of the PosObs team were from the USA, UK, and Canada, the state delegations that were the most vocal supporters of including Positive Obligations in the Treaty were largely former colonies, including CARICOM, Ecuador, Fiji, Marshall Islands, Algeria, Costa Rica, Guatemala, and Ireland. While diplomats from decolonized countries can of course still transmit colonial discourses, this would not be an adequate explanation for the activism of these states. Constructivist descriptions of the emergence of humanitarian disarmament law have become the dominant theoretical approach since the negotiation of the MBT (e.g. Thakur 2018). These have also been the narratives most embraced by the humanitarian disarmament civil society campaigns themselves. Constructivists argue that the interests and identities of states are not stable, but rather are in flux, shaped by the normative environment in which they operate. States are socialized by rules, ideas, discourses, technocratic procedures, and institutions that circulate through the international system. These global norms can be reconfigured through the actions of “norm entrepreneurs,” often in civil society networks, who propose alternatives and campaign to change international rules through advocacy and activism. Constructivists show that non-state actors have agency in the international system through the mobilization of affected people, information, moral reasoning, social connections, discursive framing, and emotional sentiment (Keck and Sikkink 1998; Finnemore and Sikkink 1998). Much of the international relations literature on humanitarian disarmament has focused on the role of the civil society campaigns and the ICRC, evaluating their capacity to provoke and shape state policies on landmines, cluster munitions, small arms and light weapons, the arms trade, and nuclear

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weapons (e.g. Maslen and Herby 1998; Rutherford et al. 2003; Garcia 2011; Carpenter 2016; Mathur 2017). While we broadly subscribe to this theoretical approach, the simpler versions of the Constructivist narrative fail to explain the success of the PosObs team. While the broad mobilization of ICAN and the long history of survivor activism (Wittner 2009) got the PosObs team into the negotiating conference, PosObs itself did not mobilize large civil society networks and was actually operating at odds with some of ICAN’s global constituency. The team included no one directly affected by the humanitarian and environmental legacies of nuclear weapons. Its strategy was a legalistic, insider approach, rather than an emotive one. There is more fine-grained Constructivist work that offers further insights. Charli Carpenter’s (2014) in-depth analysis of the Campaign to Stop Killer Robots shows that there are campaigns within global campaigns, aimed at persuading civil society actors, not just states. She also shows how certain civil society elites operate as norm brokers, rebranding issues that have been raised at the radical margins and packaging them in ways that make sense to the global news media, philanthropic donors, lawmakers, and diplomats. Moreover, the epistemic communities literature has shown how norms are shaped by transnational networks of experts who derive their power through knowledge of technocratic policies, procedures, and discourses rather than affective appeal (see Bolton and Mitchell’s chapter in this volume). These are useful insights for understanding how the PosObs team operated more like an insider, technocratic norm broker, than the broad-based, “loud” campaign that moved states to negotiate the MBT. However, the PosObs team was not the only such well-connected group of civil society elites operating in the TPNW negotiations that mobilized technocratic knowledge. As will be explored briefly in the “Reflecting on the Agency of Law in Shaping the Success of Proposed TPNW Provisions” section of this chapter, there were similar groups seeking the inclusion of provisions on whistle-blower protection, tighter verification standards, and an explicit ban on financing nuclear weapons that had comparable expert knowledge and familiarity with the global policymaking apparatus. They, too, struggled against the desire of the “champion” states to keep the TPNW focused on the narrow objective of a prohibition. Therefore, we need a better explanation of why one group of wellconnected civil society elites succeeded, while others did not. To help with this task, we have turned to the Critical Legal Studies literature—particularly Critical Legal Geography—that is not yet broadly discussed in the

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international relations field. Critical Legal Geography builds on the insights of poststructuralism, particularly Actor–Network Theory (ANT), which argues that humans are not the only agents in society. Artifacts, built environments, plants and animals, technologies, art objects, discourses, ideas, rituals, and procedures influence how we think, feel, speak, and act. They do so in ways that can be unexpected or unintended by their human creators or cultivators. Therefore, ANT theorists suggest that such “actants” have limited independent agency and form dynamic networks of power relations with other human, natural, social, and technical actants (Law 1991; Latour 2007; Law and Hassard 1999). Critical Legal Geographers apply this notion to the field of lawmaking and judicial processes (see Jeffrey 2017 for a review). They show how, for example, a trial depends on the smooth operation of an assembled network of technologies and artifacts: microphones, computers, printers, handcuffs, keys, prison cells, gavels, gowns, and uniforms. The built structure of the court facilities also functions to intimidate and awe participants, conveying the power of the state. But laws themselves, as well as doctrines of legal interpretation, also have a sort of agency of their own. For example, they enable and constrain lawmakers’ scope of action through the operation of precedent, the need for consistency and systems of legal hierarchy (such as in systems where constitutional law outranks other laws). They exert a kind of discursive power through the codes, regulations, procedures, and practices that they establish and reproduce (Cover 1983). While the news media and internal analysis by civil society actors have considered the role of technology in humanitarian disarmament campaigns (e.g. Al Jazeera 2013; Campese 2014), the agency of non-human actants in treaty-making has been under-examined in scholarly inquiry. Through this literature review, we have tried to show how understanding the processes of humanitarian disarmament lawmaking requires international relations theorists to expand the circle of who/what they believe has agency in global politics. The two decades of scholarship on humanitarian disarmament following the negotiation of the MBT has shown how great powers are not the only actors shaping global peace and security policy. Small and middle powers and newly independent states, the Red Cross and Red Crescent Movement, civil society networks and even non-human actants like social media technologies influence how humanitarian disarmament treaties are made. In the following analysis of the success of the PosObs Team during the TPNW negotiations, we show how their agency was aided by a network of technologies and practices, but most crucially, the

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humanitarian disarmament legal tradition itself. By contrast, other interest groups which were working against the grain of this tradition struggled to achieve their goals, unless they could marshal sufficiently powerful assistance from another legal precedent.

Case Study of the ICAN Positive Obligations Team During the TPNW Negotiations The TPNW arose out of an advocacy effort that explicitly sought to apply the humanitarian disarmament model of the MBT and CCM to nuclear weapons. Given that victim assistance and clearance were part of the landmine and cluster munition treaties, the possibility of including positive obligations was part of the nuclear weapons ban treaty conversation from the early proposals by civil society (e.g. Acheson et al. 2014; Article 36 2015). The final Report of the UNGA-mandated Open-ended Working Group on nuclear disarmament, which in 2016 set the stage for the TPNW negotiations, mentioned victim assistance and environmental remediation in its list of potential provisions proposed by states (OEWG 2016, p. 23). However, the inclusion of positive obligations in the TPNW was by no means guaranteed and looked increasingly tenuous in early 2017 in preparations before the negotiations. The December 2016 UNGA resolution A/RES/71/258 merely mandated the negotiation of “a legally binding instrument to prohibit nuclear weapons, leading towards their total elimination”; it did not mention victim assistance, environmental remediation, or any other positive obligations. Informal meetings with some of the resolution’s cosponsors indicated skepticism about positive obligations. They were concerned that these would make the negotiation more complicated and time-consuming, and so less likely to be completed. Many felt the negotiations needed to stay focused on the key message of stigmatizing nuclear weapons. We often heard the same line: “we want a parsimonious” or a “slim” treaty. The precedents of the Hague Declaration on Expanding Bullets, Poison Gas Protocol and CCW Protocol IV on Blinding Lasers, which are all less than a page long, were invoked. CCW Protocol I on NonDetectable Fragments is a single sentence of 26 words. Others thought it would be difficult to fund victim assistance and environmental remediation, as major donor states were opposed to the TPNW. The lack of enthusiasm for positive obligations was evident when, on February 2017, states adopted the agenda for the TPNW’s first meeting

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the following month. It had only three topics for substantive discussion; none of them necessarily included positive obligations (UNGA 2017a): Topic 1. Principles and objectives and preambular elements Topic 2. Core prohibitions: effective legal measures, legal provisions, and norms Topic 3. Institutional arrangements

Meanwhile, within ICAN, which was the main civil society presence working on the ban treaty and at the negotiations, there was ambivalence about positive obligations. Skepticism from campaigners came in two broad forms. First, there were those concerned with expediency and the feasibility of persuading states to adopt such provisions. Some considered that nuclear weapons—weapons of catastrophic mass destruction and deeply embedded in security doctrines—were ontologically distinct from the weapons that humanitarian disarmament had so far addressed, meaning negotiations would be fraught by state security interests and be uniquely resistant to the inclusion of positive obligations. The second set of objections was rooted in more fundamental philosophical differences. In her analysis of the internal politics of the nuclear disarmament movement in the 1980s, Rankin (2017) described a division between what she calls its “peace” and “human rights” wings. Many motivated primarily by nuclear weapons’ threats to peace were suspicious about human rights as a Western, neo-liberal agenda. We have perceived within ICAN a persistence of some of these divisions. Some antinuclear activists have suspicions that, as part of the broader discourse of international humanitarian law, humanitarian disarmament provides a legitimating sheen for state violence. Given nuclear weapons are such a categorical evil, attempts to address the harm they might cause—short of complete abolition and elimination—are seen as naïve and misguided. Some activists told us that including victim assistance would also unfairly raise the expectations of survivors of nuclear weapons use and testing, and imply that contaminated environments could be fully remediated when this is not the case. Others were fearful that inclusion of victim assistance in the TPNW would undermine the core and clearly evidenced argument that there could be no full or adequate humanitarian response to a nuclear detonation.

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ICAN held a campaigners meeting the weekend before the start of the March 2017 TPNW negotiations, in which activists brainstormed advocacy priorities and strategies. ICAN staff shared a new Nuclear Ban Treaty Negotiation Handbook that outlined the core advocacy messages, organized according to the three topics on the negotiation conference agenda. Positive obligations were included as the last of four key messages for the “Core Prohibitions” agenda item, including “ensuring the rights of victims and survivors of nuclear weapons activities, requiring actions to address damage to affected environments, and providing for international cooperation and assistance to meet the obligations of the instrument” (ICAN and Religions for Peace 2017, p. 14). However, over the course of the weekend, several veterans of humanitarian disarmament advocacy began to realize that ICAN might not be able to engage in strong advocacy on positive obligations. They were still somewhat controversial within the campaign, and many campaigners wanted to focus on the core, consensus objective of prohibition. At this point, a small group who saw positive obligations as crucial to the humanitarian focus of the TPNW decided to draw inspiration from the victim assistance advocacy in the MBT process, and aim to persuade both diplomats and our fellow activists of their merits. Our group started with individuals from Article 36, Mines Action Canada, Pace University’s International Disarmament Institute and Harvard Law School’s International Human Rights Clinic. One had been pivotal in getting the reference to victim’s rights in the Humanitarian Pledge. Other advocates joined our work, including the Toxic Remnants of War Project. Friedrich Ebert Stiftung’s New York Office later provided some financial and logistical support. None of us were from communities affected by nuclear weapons use or testing. Rather, we were committed to the humanitarian approach to disarmament law. We knew each other well from participation in humanitarian disarmament advocacy on landmines, cluster munitions, the arms trade, explosive weapons and killer robots. Between us and our organizations, we had political, technical and legal expertise and experience with other disarmament and arms control negotiations (particularly the MBT, CCM and ATT). The Harvard team had already been conducting legal research on victim assistance and environmental remediation provisions and Article 36 had arranged space for a side event. We felt it was necessary to establish a coordinated effort to defend the normative progress on positive obligations that had been achieved in the CCM.

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We identified the need for an evidence base of technical reports on the precedent for victim assistance, environmental remediation, norm promotion (including disarmament education) and international cooperation and assistance in disarmament treaties. We then sought to persuade our civil society colleagues of the importance of including positive obligations and to address some of the philosophical concerns. We also realized that we could overcome the expediency concerns of both states and civil society through success. If we could persuade states to advocate for positive obligations and get even weak language into the first draft of the Treaty, it would give a normative push to both campaigners and governments not to take a lower position than the draft Treaty. We would essentially seek help from states to demonstrate to other elements of civil society that what we were calling for was feasible. This would require us to conduct independent advocacy (on a point that was nevertheless part of ICAN’s agreed goals), directly with states. Our initial advocacy was improvised. While ICAN more broadly has distinguished itself for its effective social media advocacy, we instead opted for the lengthier format of the Nuclear Ban Daily, read widely by all involved in the negotiations. We placed an op-ed in the Ban Daily’s first issue (Bolton 2017a) and kept positive obligations in its pages on a consistent basis, publishing another five articles in that first week (Docherty 2017a; Bolton 2017b; Gryting and Osman, 2017; Hunt 2017a; Minor 2017a) and five during the June–July conference (Bolton 2017d, e, f; Doggett and Osman 2017; Mei 2017). Each article was planned to deepen and expand the diplomatic and civil society communities’ understanding of an aspect of positive obligations. We ensured the content coincided with what the states would be discussing that day. Feeding more directly into the negotiations, Mines Action Canada (2017a) and Article 36 (2017) both submitted formal working papers on positive obligations to the March meeting. WILPF (2017) also submitted a supportive working paper. These papers outlined the technical and legal case for the inclusion particularly of victim assistance, environmental remediation and international cooperation and assistance. These were intended not only to inform delegates and the treaty drafters, but also to convey the group’s policy expertise. Our dedicated lunchtime side event allowed for a more free-flowing conversation with states regarding their concerns. Given the speed of our mobilization, we did not have the time to do detailed empirical research on the situation faced by survivors and the state of victim assistance and environmental remediation programs

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around the world. We relied to some degree on ICAN’s earlier reports on the humanitarian impact of nuclear weapons (e.g. Fihn 2013; Maclellan 2014). But we relied mostly on a legal framing and using mine action as an analogy. Bonnie Docherty summarized this argument in the Ban Daily, saying that the TPNW should “advance humanitarian disarmament, a body of law to which it owes a significant debt… [and] should ensure that the new treaty does not represent a regression…. While much of the discussion this week has focused on the prohibitions, a failure to include positive obligations alongside those prohibitions would represent a step backward from current disarmament norms” (2017a, p. 5). None of the text and verbiage we were generating would make much difference in the Treaty’s text if we could not get states to mention positive obligations, even briefly, in their statements on the floor, however. Since there was no specific agenda item for positive obligations, we asked states’ delegations to raise it in all three of them. In the discussion on the Preamble, we asked states to call for language regarding victims, the environment and international humanitarian and human rights law, as well as recognition of the particular impact of nuclear weapons activities on women and indigenous peoples. During the Core Prohibitions debate, we encouraged states to request for the treaty to include specific provisions on victim assistance, environmental remediation, norm promotion and international cooperation and assistance. Finally, we asked states to call for systems for national implementation and international cooperation and assistance in the Institutional Arrangements debate. We started by looking at the speaker’s list posted on the back wall and approaching the states that would be speaking in the coming hours. We began to develop a spreadsheet in Google Drive listing all UN Member States, whether they had addressed positive obligations in their statement, whether one of us had spoken to them, and contact details for their diplomats. This had some success, but we also met with considerable reluctance, particularly given that positive obligations were not mentioned in the agenda. We then developed a more targeted list of states to speak to, focusing on countries affected by nuclear testing (such as Algeria, Fiji, Kazakhstan, and the Marshall Islands) and those that had benefited from positive obligations in the MBT and CCM (such as Cambodia, Laos, Lebanon, and Thailand). We tried to persuade them that they benefited from a strengthening of the norms on victim assistance and remediation, as well as international cooperation and assistance, yielding moderate dividends with statements from Algeria, Fiji, and Thailand (at this point a leading state in the TPNW process) (International Disarmament Institute 2017a, p. 3).

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However, we discovered that our most receptive audience was nonaffected countries that had a history of strong commitment to humanitarian disarmament diplomacy broadly and to positive obligations in particular, such as the 15 Caribbean Community (CARICOM) states, Costa Rica, Holy See, Liechtenstein, and Ireland (a core group state). We benefited from existing relationships with the diplomats from many of these states. They seemed to care genuinely about the welfare of people and environments affected by nuclear weapons use and testing. But some also found compelling the framing of the TPNW as an opportunity to strengthen broader norms on victim assistance, environmental remediation and norm promotion. Antigua and Barbuda’s statement on behalf of CARICOM on the Wednesday, for us, felt like the turning point: CARICOM calls for the operative part of the treaty to include positive provisions that address human and environmental harms, recognize rights and offer remedial measures to victims. These provisions should include environmental remediation, risk education, victim/survivor assistance and stockpile destruction. (Antigua and Barbuda 2017)

We knew that the conference Chair, Ambassador Elayne Whyte Gomez of Costa Rica, and her staff could not ignore the concerns of 15 CARICOM states (plus the additional 12 that called for positive obligations) (International Disarmament Institute 2017a, p. 3), as they wrote the first draft of the treaty. When Ambassador Whyte released her first draft of the Treaty on 22 May 2017, we were pleased to find provisions on victim assistance, environmental remediation and “international cooperation.” It would be difficult for states to now remove them. However, there were significant problems with the text from our point of view. The preamble mentioned international humanitarian law, but not international human rights law. There was no acknowledgement of the particular impact on Indigenous peoples. In the operative part of the draft, assisting victims was required only of states “in a position to do so” (as in the text of the MBT, though not in subsequent practice), not as a rights-based obligation (as in the CCM—though human rights law was referenced). It only acknowledged states’ “right to request and to receive assistance toward” remediation of contaminated environments, not their duty to carry it out. Other than a standard article on

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universalization, the draft included no provisions on norm promotion, risk reduction education or disarmament education. International cooperation and assistance provisions were lackluster (International Disarmament Institute 2017b). Our immediate response was to start writing detailed working papers for submission to the conference, outlining these problems, the political support for stronger provisions and potential legal solutions (International Disarmament Institute 2017a, b; Mines Action Canada 2017b; Article 36 and International Human Rights Clinic 2017a, b). While each report was authored by the individual organization, we all reviewed each other’s work. Again, given our expertise, these reports relied more on a legal framing (that the TPNW should not undermine victim assistance and remediation norms) than an empirical documentation of the situation faced by affected communities. We recognized this as a weakness, but were also reluctant make claims we did not have the expertise to defend. For example, many diplomats asked us for the number of survivors of nuclear weapons use and testing. While statistics like these would have been useful, we thought it would be irresponsible to use numbers that had not been thoroughly vetted, as accusations of exaggeration had dogged the early anti-landmine campaign and we did not want to repeat this experience (Bottigliero 2000). Once we had the research to back up our claims, we started discussions with some diplomats from key states. This enabled us to test and refine our core arguments but also to get advance notice of some of the potential obstacles. As people gathered for the June–July negotiating conference, we found ourselves in a very different position from March. In many ways the political landscape was tougher. States came to the June–July conference with firmer positions than in March, which made it more difficult to influence them. Some of the key champion countries continued to be reluctant to strengthen the positive obligations. But more challenging for us was new resistance from some affected states and others, who wanted to place the responsibility for addressing the harm caused by nuclear weapons on those states that used or tested them. This had an intuitive appeal to justice and was adopted with an increasing intensity by more strident states in the Non-Aligned Movement (NAM). However, the emerging norms in humanitarian disarmament have placed the primary responsibility for assisting victims and clearing mines, ERW, and cluster munitions with affected states. This is because, for reasons of sovereignty, the state with primary responsibility for one’s human rights and wellbeing is the state of one’s citizenship or location. When that

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state has trouble meeting its obligations it may turn to the international community for assistance. This was why it was so crucial to us to have a strong international cooperation and assistance provision in the final text of the TPNW. However, as the locus of primary responsibility, the affected state retains at least the nominal right to control how that aid is allocated. We did not want, in the name of allocating responsibility, to give the states that had used and tested nuclear weapons control over how affected people and environments were given assistance. Accepting responsibility would affirm affected states’ authority. With landmines and cluster munitions, when affected states conducted assessments and planning to meet their obligations, they found it easier to persuade donor governments and multilateral agencies to support them. In part, the disagreement was driven by misunderstandings over the multiple meanings of the word “responsibility.” Some affected states (and other unaffected states adopting this position) were using it to mean moral and ethical culpability, as well as civil liability. We were using it to refer to states’ authority and obligation to guarantee people’s rights and welfare. We found that diplomats who had experience with the MBT and CCM, particularly those from states with a strong commitment to humanitarian disarmament, understood the importance of ensuring affected state responsibility for positive obligations. However, coming into the June–July conference, they were reluctant to publically call for stronger positions if they were opposed by states most affected by the legacy of nuclear testing. Other shifts in the political landscape proved more favorable to us. When Ambassador Whyte released her timetable for the first week of the June–July conference, we were happy to find that “Cluster 4: Positive obligations” was now a standalone agenda item (UNGA 2017b). And while we were finding states more reticent, we were receiving a more welcoming reception among our civil society colleagues. The inclusion of positive obligations in the draft treaty overcame the skepticism of many leading ICAN campaigners. ICAN’s ISG, agreed to make positive obligations one of its top advocacy priorities for the June–July conference. Other top priorities were: an obligation for stockpile destruction, a prohibition on military preparations and planning, and an explicit ban on financing nuclear weapons. Our team was thus “normalized,” made into an official thematic group of the campaign. Since she represented Article 36 on the ISG, Elizabeth Minor coordinated what was named the “Positive Obligations Team” (“PosObs” for short) for ICAN. This gave PosObs access to ICAN’s resources and

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networks, vastly expanding our reach. We could print our talking points on ICAN letterhead. We were able to pivot away from direct advocacy with a broad range of states, leaving that to ICAN’s lobby team, which had dedicated advocates with regional knowledge and language abilities for each of the UN’s regional groupings. We could refocus our efforts on drafting text suggestions, shaping messaging and providing technical input to the ICAN machinery and states most sympathetic to our concerns. We also became more structured in our internal organization and procedures. We established an email listserv to facilitate communications and draw on the expertise of colleagues not in New York. Through occupancy, we established that one row of desks at the back of the negotiating room was the “PosObs area,” located intentionally next to where the ICAN lobby team was based. A division of labor emerged, with Article 36 managing the team and liaising with ICAN’s leadership, the Harvard Law School clinic developing legal arguments, Mines Action Canada focusing on victim assistance and the rights of indigenous peoples, the Toxic Remnants of War Project providing input on environmental remediation and Pace University’s International Disarmament Institute focusing on political analysis, norm promotion and disarmament education provisions. We wrote or contributed to a series of statements about our concerns read on the conference floor during the NGO segments (Welty 2017; Minor 2017b; Hunt 2017b; Umana 2017; Docherty 2017b; Bolton 2017c). As we worked together, we developed internal cohesion and a group culture and shared sense of humor. Elsewhere, we have commented on how lawmaking, often depicted as a “serious” activity, often constitutes an affective community who derive enjoyment and meaning from their engagement with a specific body of law (Bolton and Minor 2016, pp. 390–391). Our regularization and increased acceptance of the positive obligations did not end disagreement from within ICAN’s membership. Some activists confronted us, expressing concern that ICAN was being dominated by a human rights agenda that distracted from the core purpose of banning and eliminating nuclear weapons. A particular weakness of our group was our distance from affected communities. Our legal line of argumentation on affected state responsibility could appear cold, especially when the legal-technical discourse contrasted with emotive appeals that those who used nuclear weapons should pay for the cleanup. If the advocacy for positive obligations had been driven by victims calling to account their own states—as was seen in the landmine

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and cluster munitions campaigns—the positions we were advocating could have seemed more intuitive. Instead, we risked looking like outsiders telling affected states to take better care of their people. In their working paper submitted to the conference in June, International Association of Lawyers Against Nuclear Arms (IALANA), a civil society group that has been skeptical of the humanitarian approach to nuclear disarmament, expressed “concern” that in the development of the victim assistance and environmental remediation provisions, “representatives of affected groups by and large have so far not been part of the negotiations, nor have advocates, experts and policy-makers involved in the extensive existing programs in countries such as the United States, Russia, and Kazakhstan, nor have representatives of nuclear-armed states” (2017, p. 3). As a result, we began a concerted effort to reach out to representatives of affected communities and states. We asked Roland Oldham, president of Moruroa e Tatou (Moruroa and Us), an organization representing the rights of survivors of nuclear weapons testing in French Polynesia, to present on our side event panel on positive obligations on 21 June (International Disarmament Institute 2017c). By speaking about the risk reduction education work his group was doing and the concerns of survivors, several diplomats told us he helped them understand in practical and human terms what the PosObs team were calling for in our legalese. We assisted in the preparation of ICAN’s statements to the conference, delivered by and raising the concerns of people from affected regions. Sue Coleman-Haseldine (2017) and Karina Lester (2017), first- and second-generation Australian test survivors, respectively, addressed the humanitarian impact on Indigenous peoples. Vanessa Griffen (2017), a Fijian intellectual and activist, spoke on the importance of victim assistance and environmental remediation provisions in the Pacific context. Setsuko Thurlow (2017a, b), a survivor of the Hiroshima bombing who later jointly accepted ICAN’s Nobel Prize, delivered two impassioned pleas for governments to take seriously the Treaty’s humanitarian goals. And Abacca Anjain-Maddison (2017), a former Marshallese Senator, delivered the final civil society commentary to the conference following the Treaty’s adoption. Our coordination with the ICAN lobby team meant that we were able to establish better links to sympathetic states in the Pacific region, such as Samoa, Solomon Islands, Fiji (which has a population of nuclear test veterans) and Papua New Guinea (whose working paper [2017] submitted to the Chair in May had offered draft language for victim assistance and environmental remediation provisions).

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A post-colonial critique of our outreach to survivors and representatives of affected communities might suggest that we were setting up the kind of token “native informants” used by colonial or neo-colonial networks to speak for silent abject Others (Spivak 1988; Kapoor 2004). Some survivors felt constrained by the discourse that our legal framing had led us to use. We felt locked into the term “victim assistance” by the precedent: though terminology had evolved in other spheres, these words remained in humanitarian disarmament, even if practice and understanding of the concept had come to be based on concepts of rights, agency, and dignity (Australia Aid 2016; Landmine and Cluster Munition Monitor 2013). To some survivors, the word “victim” felt abject and “assistance” sounded like patronizing charity. They wanted justice, not pity. There was a contrast, for instance, between the humanitarian discourse of our statements to the conference and that of Roland Oldham’s (of Moruroa e Tatou), who described nuclear testing in the Pacific as “nuclear racism” and a “crime against humanity.” He asserted that, “as victims we are not begging for favour, we are just standing up for our rights and our dignity” and called for “nuclear armed states to compensate their victims, and to make reparation for the damage done to the environment” (2017). Moreover, there was a rhetorical slippage in the representation of victims as inherently antinuclear: “Alongside the survivors of the bombs of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, test victims have all been determined to ensure that these experiences are never felt again” (Griffen 2017). However, in our discussions with nuclear test veterans, particularly in nuclear-armed states, we have found many of them to be proud of their work in establishing their country’s nuclear “deterrent.” For example, the British Nuclear Test Veterans’ Association (BNTVA) recently announced that they would dedicate a new memorial at Kiritimati (Christmas) Island in Kiribati—site of UK nuclear tests—“to the veterans who gave so much to ensure that the UK was a Nuclear power” (2017). This also underlines the awkwardness of us, as unelected civil society representatives, in claiming to represent better the rights of victims than many states that had significant populations of survivors or environmental damage from nuclear weapons activities. For example, Japan, USA, Russia, China, UK, and Australia all boycotted the TPNW negotiations. Kiribati did not deliver any statements. Algeria and Kazakhstan’s priorities in the negotiations focused more on ensuring that “threat of use” was prohibited and that the Treaty’s preamble guaranteed the right to peaceful uses of nuclear energy.

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However, it would be inaccurate to suggest that our engagement with representatives of affected communities merely used them as tokens or mouthpieces for our agenda: that underestimates their agency and power. Conversations with people from affected communities reshaped our messaging and even our legal recommendations to states. We began to emphasize the justice framing more explicitly, arguing that survivors of nuclear weapons should not have less protection than those of landmines and cluster munitions. To allay affected states’ concerns about the costs of addressing the multi-generational harm, we pointed them to the concept of the progressive realization of economic and social rights (e.g. International Covenant of Economic, Social and Cultural Rights 1967, Article 2[1]). In calling on states to remove the “in a position to do so” clause from the victim assistance provision, we repeated the refrain “Survivors are people with rights, not objects of charity.” We found these lines of argumentation more successful in persuading skeptical diplomats than strictly legal ones. In dialogue with other states, we came to understand the importance of allaying concerns that the TPNW could undermine any other existing mechanisms of redress for victims and affected communities. The PosObs Team added new clauses to its model legal language and distributed them to states that had been advocating for user state responsibility. This new language “strongly encouraged” states parties that had used or tested nuclear weapons to provide assistance to affected states and for states parties to “strongly encourage States not party” that had used or tested nuclear weapons to do so also. We also suggested the treaty could assert that the articles would not preclude affected states from seeking redress by peaceful means from states that have used or tested nuclear weapons in their territories. Legally speaking this suggestion, which did not end up in the final text, would be more a statement of fact than law, as sovereign states are always able to seek redress through peaceful means against states that have caused damage to their territory or harmed their people. However, we found that states that had been skeptical of affected state responsibility found it an attractive formulation politically and it demonstrated that PosObs were not hostile to their concerns. After a key affected state, the Republic of the Marshall Islands, spoke in favor of affected state responsibility for victim assistance, strengthening the environmental remediation provisions, and supported an expanded international cooperation and assistance provision (Republic of the Marshall

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Islands 2017), non-affected states that had more commitment to humanitarian disarmament law—Costa Rica, CARICOM (particularly Antigua and Barbuda and Trinidad and Tobago), Guatemala, Holy See, Ireland, Liechtenstein, and Thailand—felt more comfortable pushing for stronger positive obligations. In the third week of the conference, CARICOM made positive obligations a core priority in the remainder of the negotiations. Costa Rica also became more assertive, after having been initially cautious not to overstep their role, given that Ambassador Whyte was chairing the negotiations. Meanwhile, Ireland and Holy See backed the inclusion of disarmament education provisions in the preamble. In these states, the PosObs team felt they had found reliable a set of champions. The ICRC also played a crucial role. They had submitted working papers and made statements to the June–July conference based on a thorough legal review of the draft treaty (ICRC 2017). They asserted the importance of affected state responsibility, made it clear that “in a position to do so” needed to be removed from the victim assistance provision and that the international cooperation and assistance provision needed strengthening. While their positions were more conservative than the PosObs team, they enabled supportive states to argue that the guardian of international humanitarian law backed their concerns. By the final stages of the negotiations, the PosObs activists, ICRC officials and some diplomats from supportive states shared an enthusiasm for the norms of humanitarian disarmament and positive obligations and some history of working together. The impact of this coordinated effort was illustrated when a diplomat from Ecuador, which had previously been skeptical of affected state responsibility, reformulated one of our key talking points in a compelling way on the conference floor. He said he hoped that if, as he exited the UN and crossed First Avenue at the end of the day, he was hit by a car that then sped away, his diplomatic colleagues would call an ambulance before waiting for the perpetrator to help him (in Bolton 2017f). To mount a defense of the positive obligations won in the MBT and CCM, we relied on precedent that, though powerfully appealing to states, could also seem counterintuitive (affected state responsibility) and patronizing (“victim assistance”). Trying to explain this through further legal argumentation, we set for ourselves the rhetorical trap of sounding even more disconnected from the human devastation of nuclear weapons use and testing. The delegate from Ecuador had resolved this for us by stepping outside of a legal frame to reason by analogy—persuasion by storytelling rather than appeal to precedent.

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In the final days of the conference, states moved into closed-door sessions from which civil society was barred. By now, we had established good contact with our supportive states and had channels to provide support to them if necessary. In the final compromise on the positive obligations, skeptical states supported strengthened provisions on victim assistance, environmental remediation, and international cooperation and assistance in return for two clauses conveying the responsibility of user and tester states to address the harms they caused. In the final Treaty text, Article 7 on international cooperation and assistance includes the following provision: Without prejudice to any other duty or obligation that it may have under international law, a State Party that has used or tested nuclear weapons or any other nuclear explosive devices shall have a responsibility to provide adequate assistance to affected States Parties, for the purpose of victim assistance and environmental remediation. (Article 7[6])

Moreover, to protect existing arrangements like the Marshall Islands Nuclear Claims Tribunal (Lum et al. 2005; Georgescu 2012; Johnston 2014), Article 6 on victim assistance and environmental remediation ends with a clause stating, “The obligations under paragraphs … above shall be without prejudice to the duties and obligations of any other States under international law or bilateral agreements” (Article 6[3]). As a result, the final TPNW text included almost all of the PosObs team’s top priorities. As we have outlined elsewhere (Fihn et al. 2017), the preamble declared nuclear weapons “abhorrent to the principles of humanity” and it was the first nuclear weapons agreement to frame them as contrary to international humanitarian and human rights law. The preamble recognizes the “unacceptable suffering of and harm caused to the victims” and the “grave implications for human survival, the environment, socioeconomic development, the global economy, food security and the health of current and future generations.” It also acknowledges “disproportionate impact” of nuclear weapons activities “on indigenous peoples,” as well as “on women and girls, including as a result of ionizing radiation” (see Minor 2017c). Echoing the CCM’s language, Article 6(1), obligates “age- and gendersensitive assistance” to victims of nuclear weapons use or testing “without discrimination” and “in accordance with applicable international humanitarian and human rights law.” This should include “medical care, rehabilitation and psychological support, as well as … social and economic inclusion.” The “in a position to do so” clause in the draft Treaty was deleted.

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Article 6(2), drawing on the clearance provisions in the MBT, ERW Protocol and CCM, requires states to “take necessary and appropriate measures towards the environmental remediation of” areas contaminated by nuclear weapons use and testing—rather than only having the “right to request and receive assistance” toward doing this, as per the draft treaty. Article 7 obligates states to engage in international cooperation and assistance to achieve the Treaty’s goals, including its positive obligations. It was strengthened significantly from the initial draft. Article 12 requires states parties to “encourage” states not party to join it with “the goal of universal adherence.” Other than that, there were not get strong provisions on norm promotion, disarmament education or risk reduction education in the operative part of the Treaty. However, the preamble expresses states’ commitment to “to the dissemination of the principles and norms of this Treaty.” It also highlights “the importance of peace and disarmament education in… raising awareness of the risks and consequences of nuclear weapons for current and future generations.” This is the first mention of disarmament education—previously a term used only in political declarations and UNGA resolutions—in an international treaty (Nahory 2017).

Reflecting on the Agency of Law in Shaping the Success of Proposed TPNW Provisions The precedent for positive obligations in humanitarian disarmament law shaped the PosObs team’s advocacy, both enabling it and constraining it. The preexistence of language on victim assistance, remediation, and international cooperation and assistance showed states that such provisions were plausible, even necessary, in the TPNW. However, the slimmer precedent for norm promotion and disarmament education provisions made it harder to include these in the operative part of the Treaty. Similarly, the framing of affected state responsibility, as well as the patronizing connotations of “victim assistance,” created hurdles that could only be mounted by reaching beyond humanitarian disarmament law. We had to generate new discursive frames, as well as suggesting new language on the responsibility of user and tester states, developing that in the CCM. This required additional effort to think outside the preexisting framework of the law. Besides offering discursive framing and discipline, humanitarian disarmament law also established a field of cooperation and existing networks that shaped our work. Existing relationships between the PosObs team and

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diplomatic, ICRC, and UN officials were forged mostly through involvement with other humanitarian disarmament processes. Our acumen and facility with the rituals, techniques, procedures, technologies, and skills of global political advocacy were learned primarily through our involvement in previous campaigns. Engagement with humanitarian disarmament law had taught us how to formulate talking points, draw up lobby sheets, quibble over points of law and navigate the UN building and its rules. For many of us, our work in this field was the most meaningful of our careers, and so we felt loyalty and motivation to be a part of its development. Thus, the body of humanitarian disarmament law might be said to have enrolled us in its defense and resisted our efforts to push it in new directions. While it helped give us agency to advocate for better coverage of victim’s rights and care for the environment, it also channeled us in specific pathways that sometimes put us at odds with the representatives of those most affected. However, there were also countervailing legal forces. The primary currents we identify in our analysis are those we are terming “parsimonious” prohibitions, and what we consider UNGA disarmament norms—though other currents including the broader legal and political landscape of great power nuclear arms control, non-proliferation and disarmament were also at play. The positive obligations in the TPNW are less articulated that the CCM and MBT, missing those treaties’ detailed provisions on administrative and institutional arrangements. States that wished to keep the TPNW short and simple had their own set of legal precedents from short and parsimonious prohibition treaties. The MBT and CCM had been negotiated in the forums that were specifically established outside normal diplomatic channels to be open to civil society and humanitarian concerns. Negotiating under a UNGA mandate shaped the discussion accordingly: on one hand, UNGA’s norm of majority vote made it a more flexible forum that other disarmament venues like the CCW and Conference on Disarmament that function according to consensus (effectively a veto for the “major military powers”). Moreover, the legal tradition of Nuclear Weapons Free Zones, often mandated by UNGA resolutions (and authorized by the NPT) had established strong norms against nuclear weapons in much of the UN’s membership. However, the dominance of NAM concerns (as the majority) in UNGA disarmament diplomacy—particularly in its First Committee (Disarmament and International Security)—brought into the discussion a series of subjects that made some in the humanitarian disarmament community uncomfortable,

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such as the discourse of state sovereignty, the right to peaceful uses of nuclear energy and calls for a ban on “threat of use” of nuclear weapons. These factors go some way toward explaining why, in contrast to the MBT and CCM, which were each able to advance the scope and strength of humanitarian disarmament positive obligations, in the TPNW we were only able to defend existing progress in the operative part of the treaty (while adding new human rights, environmental and disarmament education framing in the preamble, as well as a reference unprecedented in disarmament treaties to impacts on Indigenous peoples). The agency of law can be further illuminated by comparing the PosObs team’s success with the experience of other interest groups seeking to influence the operative parts of the TPNW under the enabling and constraining effects of interacting legal traditions. In Table 3.1, we list five examples of treaty provisions proposed in the OEWG report (2016, pp. 22–24), in approximate ascending order of success of inclusion in the TPNW. Though this does not represent a full analysis of all the factors involved in the relative success of these different proposals, it gives some indications as to the role different legal currents may have played. Lack of precedent in disarmament law and discourse made the call for whistle-blower protections a hard sell. Customary interpretations of the CCM covering financing of cluster munitions in its ban on assisting prohibited acts contributed to some states suggesting a similar approach to the TPNW, rather than an explicit ban. Despite its significant role in international nuclear disarmament (and, moreover, non-proliferation and arms control) discourse, those pressing for tight verification standards swam against three main legal (and political) currents we saw at the TPNW negotiations: the imperative for a short treaty (which also could not put obligations on those not in the room); the fact that humanitarian weapons prohibitions (both older and more recent) rely more on stigmatization than surveillance and coercive enforcement; and the fact that the NAM-dominated UNGA is suspicious of intrusion into state sovereignty. UNGA’s historical support for nuclear energy and condemning threats to use nuclear weapons (as well as precedent in UNGA-supported NWFZ treaties), however, meant these provisions were included, over the objections of many humanitarian disarmers and those looking for brevity. Like our in-depth case study of PosObs, these additional cases of proposed provisions show that support from states, civil society or experts was not always sufficient to achieve inclusion in the final TPNW text. Legal

In OEWG list?

Yes

Yes

Protections for the rights of whistle-blowers and witnesses, to support citizen verification

Tighter verification standards

A handful supported, e.g. Netherlands, Sweden. NAM states concerned regarding state sovereignty encroachments. Core group states wary of detailed provisions for those not in the room

No

State support at TPNW negotiations

Backed by WILPF (on ICAN ISG) and academics at Princeton University’s Program on Science and Global Security Supported by Arms Control Association and experts at Princeton’s Program on Science and Global Security & Middlebury Institute’s Center for Nonproliferation Studies. ICAN focused on establishing flexible pathways into TPNW for states that were boycotting (and to whom verification provisions would apply)

Civil society and expert support

No, relies more on normative stigmatization than intrusive surveillance and coercive measures

No

Humanitarian disarmament

No, relies on stigmatization

No

Parsimonious prohibitions

No

No

UNGA disarmament norms

Nuclear arms control agreements and Security Council non-proliferation measures

Whistle-blowers generally protected by right to free speech

Other law

Precedents in different currents in international law at play in the TPNW negotiations

Relative success of proposed TPNW provisions

Proposed provision

Table 3.1

No, though allows states to opt for stronger safeguards than they already have in place (Articles 3 and 4)

No

Included in final TPNW text?

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In OEWG list?

Yes

Yes and suggests optional protocol on energy assistance

Proposed provision

Explicit ban on financing nuclear weapons

Right to nuclear energy

Broad support among NAM states. Became a red line for some

At least fourteen states called for an explicit clause. Others supported the norm that investments should be prohibited, but not a specific clause

State support at TPNW negotiations

Proposed by PAX (on ICAN ISG); supported by extensive research. Support across ICAN’s ideological divisions; one of their top 3 priorities for June-July negotiations Most ICAN campaigners opposed, but given strength of state support prioritized other advocacy. Supported by Kazakh thinktank Center for International Security and Policy

Civil society and expert support

No

More than 30 states interpret CCM ban on assisting prohibited acts as covering financing

No

No

Parsimonious prohibitions

Stated in most NWFZ treaties (which are mandated and recognized by the UNGA)

No

UNGA disarmament norms

“Peaceful use” clauses in BWC, CWC, NPT (where it is an issue of great importance to many states and one of three ‘pillars’)

Counter terrorist and organized crime financing measures

Other law

Precedents in different currents in international law at play in the TPNW negotiations Humanitarian disarmament

(continued)

Included in preamble, no optional protocol provision

No, but many states supported the view that it is covered by Article 1(1)(e) ban on assisting prohibited acts

Included in final TPNW text?

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In OEWG list?

Yes

Proposed provision

Explicit ban on threatening to use nuclear weapons

Strong support within NAM. Caution from others given differing interpretations over what term would cover

State support at TPNW negotiations

Table 3.1 (continued)

Opinion divided. Given that many states’ legal interpretations of ‘threatening to use force’ would not include nuclear defense arrangements or ‘deterrence’ postures, some argued that seeking more specific prohibitions such as on military preparation and planning would be more effective (ICAN adopted this position), or that stronger norm promotion measures would be desirable

Civil society and expert support

No

No

Parsimonious prohibitions

UNGA resolutions have called on nuclear-armed states not to threaten to use nuclear weapons against non-nuclear armed states for decades. UN Charter prohibition generally interpreted to equate threatening force with specific plans for use (rather than general defense arrangements or possession of weapons)

UNGA disarmament norms 1996 ICJ Advisory Opinion refers to “threat or use.” Also in Central Asia NWFZ and CWC Article 10

Other law

Precedents in different currents in international law at play in the TPNW negotiations Humanitarian disarmament

Included in Article 1(1)(d)

Included in final TPNW text?

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precedents—particularly within the primary traditions and currents influencing the negotiations (humanitarian disarmament, parsimonious prohibitions and UNGA disarmament norms) served to amplify some concerns while reducing the volume of others. They directed agents along established pathways that required the exercise of various forms of power to redirect. As such, we can say that, through transmission and reproduction by other agents, they exercised some limited agency in the TPNW negotiations.

Conclusion Standard international relations theoretical explanations for the development of humanitarian disarmament law do not fully explain the way that positive obligations got into the TPNW and the shape that they eventually took. They were included over the objections of the middle powers that had been the prime movers of other humanitarian disarmament treaties. They were championed by formerly colonized countries, rather than being the result of manipulation by “Western” states. The PosObs team was not a mass transnational advocacy campaign and did not primarily rely on affective or moral arguments. There was, particularly initially, little involvement of the intended beneficiaries of the provisions. While PosObs were a wellorganized group of expert “norm-brokers” getting their way in a civil society campaign, there were other well-connected civil society insiders who did not get what they wanted. In this chapter we have argued that a potential additional factor is the agency of the law itself. Once the UNGA opted to use a humanitarian framing as the vehicle to ban nuclear weapons, it was difficult to claim that other elements of the humanitarian disarmament tradition should be excluded. The humanitarian disarmament tradition had also established a field of relationships, networks, practices, and procedures that amplified the PosObs team’s concerns. This enabled the PosObs team to get most of their top priorities in the Treaty. Drawing on ANT, if we are to move out of anthropocentric explanations of our work, we might say that the body of humanitarian disarmament law was a member of the PosObs team. However, humanitarian disarmament law also exerted a disciplining force, making it difficult to raise legitimate concerns that did not fit easily into its preexisting discourses or those of other relevant legal traditions. Additionally, our heavily reliance on our non-human team member may make implementation more challenging, since we have a weaker network of

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constituents for implementing the positive obligations than did the MBT, ERW Protocol, and CCM. As a result, following the TPNW’s adoption, the PosObs team has refocused on establishing foundations for implementation and doing necessary outreach. PosObs team members have begun doing empirical research on the humanitarian and environmental impact of nuclear weapons use and testing, as well as existing policies, programs, and institutions addressing it. This has included a global review of the relevant academic literature, policy reports, and news media (Bolton 2018) and field research in Fiji, Kiribati, and the Marshall Islands. In each of these places we have established contacts with NGOs, survivors, associations and relevant government agencies already assisting victims and dealing with environmental challenges—many of which were unaware of ICAN’s work and the TPNW. We also have added other organizations to the PosObs team. However, perhaps this is a further indicator of the normative agency exercised by humanitarian disarmament law’s positive obligations. They have reorganized our research agendas and advocacy programs and expanded our geographical imaginations. They compelled our interest in the lives of nuclear survivors and the health of ecosystems thousands of miles from our homes. They have made us learn the names of people, species, atolls, and atoms that only a year ago were entirely unknown to us. They have, perhaps, encouraged us to be more humane.

Bibliography Acheson, R., Nash, T., & Moyes, R. (2014). A Treaty Banning Nuclear Weapons: Developing a Legal Framework for the Prohibition and Elimination of Nuclear Weapons. New York: WILPF and Article 36. Retrieved from http://www.reachingcriticalwill.org/images/documents/Publications/ a-treaty-banning-nuclear-weapons.pdf. Al Jazeera. (2013). United Nations Passes World’s First #ArmsTreaty. Retrieved from http://stream.aljazeera.com/story/201304022256-0022652. Anjain-Maddison, A. (2017). Abacca Anjain-Maddison. Retrieved from https:// vimeo.com/229070343. Antigua and Barbuda. (2017). 29 March 2017 Statement on Behalf of CARICOM to the United Nations Conference to Negotiate a Legally Binding Instrument to Prohibit Nuclear Weapons, Leading Towards Their Total Elimination. Retrieved from http://www.reachingcriticalwill.org/images/documents/Disarmamentfora/nuclear-weapon-ban/statements/29March_CARICOM-T2.pdf.

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Article 36. (2015). ‘Victim Assistance’ in a Treaty Banning Nuclear Weapons. London: Article 36. Retrieved from http://www.article36.org/wp-content/ uploads/2015/01/victims-nuclear-weapons.pdf. Article 36. (2017). Positive Obligations in a Treaty Prohibiting Nuclear Weapons: Stockpile Destruction, Environmental Remediation, and Victim Assistance. A/CONF.229/2017/NGO/WP.10. New York: United Nations. Retrieved from https://www.un.org/disarmament/ptnw/pdf/A%20CONF. 229%202017%20NGO%20WP.10.pdf. Article 36 & International Human Rights Clinic, Harvard Law School. (2017a). Victim Assistance in the Nuclear Weapon Ban Treaty: A Comprehensive and Detailed Approach. A/CONF.229/2017/NGO/WP.32. New York: United Nations. Retrieved from https://s3.amazonaws.com/unoda-web/wpcontent/uploads/2017/06/A-CONF.229-2017-NGO-WP.32.pdf. Article 36 & International Human Rights Clinic, Harvard Law School. (2017b). Environmental Remediation in the Nuclear Weapon Ban Treaty: A Comprehensive and Detailed Approach. A/CONF.229/2017/NGO/WP.33. Retrieved from https://s3.amazonaws.com/unoda-web/wp-content/uploads/2017/ 06/A-CONF.229-2017-NGO-WP.33.pdf. Australia Aid. (2016). Guidance on an Integrated Approach to Victim Assistance: By States for States. Canberra: Australia Aid. Retrieved from http://www. clusterconvention.org/wp-content/uploads/2016/11/here.pdf. Bolton, M. (2010). Foreign Aid and Landmine Clearance: Governance, Politics and Security in Afghanistan, Bosnia and Sudan. London: I.B. Tauris. Bolton, M. (2016). Caliban and the Nuclear Ban: Decolonising Politics of the Bomb. First Committee Monitor, 2016(4), 5. Retrieved from http://reachingcriticalwill.org/images/documents/Disarmament-fora/ 1com/FCM16/FCM-2016-No4.pdf. Accessed 18 February 2018. Bolton, M. (2017a). Ensuring the Nuclear Ban Treaty Is a Humanitarian Treaty. Nuclear Ban Daily, 1(1), 3. Retrieved from http://www.reachingcriticalwill. org/images/documents/Disarmament-fora/nuclear-weapon-ban/reports/ NBD1.1.pdf. Bolton, M. (2017b). The Case for Positive Obligations in the Nuclear Weapon Ban Treaty. Nuclear Ban Daily, 1(4), 2–3. Retrieved from http://www. reachingcriticalwill.org/images/documents/Disarmament-fora/nuclearweapon-ban/reports/NBD1.4.pdf. Bolton, M. (2017c). Statement on Universalization, Ensuring Respect and Promoting the Treaties Norms. Retrieved from http://www.reachingcriticalwill.org/ images/documents/Disarmament-fora/nuclear-weapon-ban/statements/ 20June_InternationalDisarmamentInstitute.pdf. Bolton, M. (2017d). Why Strong Victim Assistance and Environmental Remediation Obligations Matter. Nuclear Ban Daily, 2(5), 3. Retrieved

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from http://www.reachingcriticalwill.org/images/documents/Disarmamentfora/nuclear-weapon-ban/reports/NBD2.5.pdf. Bolton, M. (2017e). Side Event: Victim Assistance and Environmental Remediation. Nuclear Ban Daily, 2(8), 2. Retrieved from http://www. reachingcriticalwill.org/images/documents/Disarmament-fora/nuclearweapon-ban/reports/NBD2.8.pdf. Bolton, M. (2017f). Ensuring Respect for the Nuclear Weapon Ban Treaty. Nuclear Ban Daily, 2(10), 3. Retrieved from http://www.reachingcriticalwill. org/images/documents/Disarmament-fora/nuclear-weapon-ban/reports/ NBD2.10.pdf. Bolton, M. (2017g). A Brief Guide to the New Nuclear Weapons Ban Treaty. Just Security. Retrieved from https://www.justsecurity.org/43004/guide-nuclearweapons-ban-treaty/. Bolton, M. (2018). Humanitarian and Environmental Action to Address Nuclear Harm: The Treaty for the Prohibition of Nuclear Weapons as a Normative Framework for Assisting Victims of Nuclear Weapons Use and Testing and Remediating Contaminated Environments. New York: International Disarmament Institute. Retrieved from http://disarmament.blogs.pace.edu/2017/10/08/ humanitarian-and-environmental-action-to-address-nuclear-harm/. Bolton, M., & Minor, E. (2016). The Discursive Turn Arrives in Turtle Bay: The International Campaign to Abolish Nuclear Weapons’ Operationalization of Critical IR Theories. Global Policy, 7 (3), 385–395. Bottigliero, I. (2000). 120 Million Landmines Deployed Worldwide: Fact or Fiction? Barnsley: Leo Cooper. British Nuclear Test Veterans’ Association (BNTVA). (2017). BNTVA 2018— Trip to Christmas Island—60th Anniversary Memorial Commemoration Ceremony. Retrieved from https://www.cobseo.org.uk/bntva-2018-trip-christmasisland-60th-anniversary-memorial-commemoration-ceremony/. Bromley, M., Cooper, N., & Holtom, P. (2012). The UN Arms Trade Treaty: Arms Export Controls, the Human Security Agenda and the Lessons of History. International Affairs, 88(2), 1029–1048. Campese, L. (2014). Social Media. ICAN Campaigners Kit, 34–44. Retrieved from http://www.icanw.org/wp-content/uploads/2012/08/CampaignersKit-Pernilla_final2.pdf. Carpenter, C. (2014). “Lost” Causes: Agenda Vetting in Global Issue Networks and the Shaping of Human Security. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Carpenter, C. (2016). Rethinking the Political/-Science-/Fiction Nexus: Global Policy Making and the Campaign to Stop Killer Robots. Perspectives on Politics, 14(1), 53–69. Choi, E. H., & Chopra, A. (2017). Law School Team Helps Nuclear Disarmament Campaign Win Nobel Prize. The Harvard Crimson. Retrieved from http:// www.thecrimson.com/article/2017/10/12/hls-clinic-nobel-prize/.

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CHAPTER 4

Religious Advocacy and Activism for the Treaty on the Prohibition of Nuclear Weapons Emily Welty with Gabrielle Chalk

We felt like we were watching history being made as we watched the vote to adopt the Treaty on the Prohibition of Nuclear Weapons (TPNW) at the United Nations in New York. Again, when the TPNW opened for signature and ratification in September 2017, as civil society activists, we said to each other that we were making history. This was, of course, what we want to believe when we see something that we have worked so hard for so long come into being. But the statement was not hyperbolic. The TPNW is unique not only in its realization of dreams of thousands of activists who engaged in decades of courageous work to ban the bomb. The treaty also features several differences from previous disarmament agreements

E. Welty (B) Pace University, New York, NY, USA e-mail: [email protected] G. Chalk Equality Now, New York, NY, USA © The Author(s) 2020 M. B. Bolton et al. (eds.), Global Activism and Humanitarian Disarmament, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-27611-9_4

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which suggest disarmament policymaking and international law is becoming slowly democratized and owned by ordinary people outside the halls of the UN. Traditional nuclear arms control diplomacy has been dominated by military officials nuclear-armed states. The TPNW, by contrast, was open to all states and included the participation of civil society. This change in the “who” of the negotiation, resulted in the TPNW’s unique recognition of disproportionate impact of nuclear weapons on indigenous people and its explicit call to support and strengthen the role of women in disarmament. Nuclear arms control and non-proliferation treaties have largely had a security framing. But the TPNW acknowledges “the ethical imperatives for nuclear disarmament and the urgency of achieving and maintaining a nuclear-weapon-free world, which is a global public good of the highest order.” However, the final preambular statement of the treaty goes a step further and names the role of religion specifically as playing a central part in the advocacy that led to the treaty: Stressing the role of public conscience in the furthering of the principles of humanity as evidenced by the call for the total elimination of nuclear weapons, and recognizing the efforts to that end undertaken by the United Nations, the International Red Cross and Red Crescent Movement, other international and regional organizations, non-governmental organizations, religious leaders [emphasis added], parliamentarians, academics and the hibakusha [survivors of Hiroshima and Nagasaki].

The TPNW continues a tradition of humanitarian disarmament treaties and conventions, as evidenced by the way many of the articles echo existing prohibition treaties such as the Antipersonnel Landmine Ban Treaty, the Chemical Weapons Convention, and the Convention on Cluster Munitions. Many parts of the TPNW (e.g. Article 6 on victim assistance and environmental remediation, as discussed by Minor and Bolton in another chapter in this volume) are drawn from language used in other treaties and conventions (e.g. the Convention on Cluster Munitions). In the process of treaty negotiation, diplomats often expressed nervousness about including new language in the treaty because of the difficulty of including new language that did not have a clear legal definition. And yet—the TPNW contains a specific reference to the role of religious leaders despite the fact that no previous treaties contain such a reference and that “religious leader” is not a term defined in international law.

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The 2017 Nobel Peace Prize made the International Campaign to Abolish Nuclear Weapons (ICAN) the most famous antinuclear organization in the world, recognizing the civil society coalition for its advocacy to achieve the TPNW. While ICAN is a secular institution, dozens of religious and faith-based organizations brought decades of antinuclear advocacy to the campaign. Indeed, when ICAN held its first press conference following the announcement of the Peace Prize, they sat in front of a banner displaying logo of the World Council of Churches (WCC). The global ecumenical body of more than 350 member churches (representing more than 500 million Christians) is an ICAN member and hosted ICAN’s office at their headquarters in Geneva.1 This chapter examines the role that religious individuals and organizations played in the advocacy both before and during the treaty negotiations in order to understand how religion garnered this specific mention in the TPNW. It argues that despite the often unseen role that religion has played in international diplomacy, the formal recognition of the role of religion in the TPNW reflects the ongoing role that faith-based actors played in nuclear disarmament efforts at a grassroots, middle and elite level and may suggest a new turn in the recognition of the value of religious efforts in the future. The next section provides a brief review of the literature on the role of religious actors in international peace and security policy, focusing on the development of disarmament norms. This is followed by a background on religious communities’ objections to nuclear weapons and an overview of key modes of religious engagement with nuclear disarmament. The chapter then proceeds to a case study, showing the impact of religious institutions in the TPNW process. Following an update on religious actors’ promotion of the TPNW since its negotiation, the conclusion argues religious actors

1 Other religious and faith-based member organizations of ICAN include: including Christian CND, Soka Gakkai International, the World Council of Churches, Pax Christi, Religious Society of Friends-Canada, Quaker Peace and Social Witness, Church of Norway Council on Ecumenical and International sRelations and World Student Christian Federation Norway. Presbyterian Church of Ghana, Africa Council of Religious Leaders, Christian Council of Nigeria, Centre Quakers International-France, Anglican Church of Canada, Canadian Quakers, Friends Committee on National Legislation, Anglican Diocese of Gippsland, Australian Catholic Social Justice Council, Baptist Union of Victoria, Catholics in Coalition of Justice and Peace, and the Uniting Church in Australia (National Assembly, Western AustraliaSocial Justice Board, Justice and International Mission Unit). This list reflects the membership in January 2018. For an updated list, see http://www.icanw.org/campaign/partnerorganizations/.

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have played—and should continue to play—a crucial role in shaping global nuclear disarmament policy. The chapter draws on participant observation in WCC’s faith-based advocacy for nuclear disarmament at the UN since 2014, including during the TPNW negotiations. It thus offers a committed insider’s look at religious advocacy and activism against nuclear weapons, rather than attempting a disinterested or objective analysis. In addition, we conducted key informant interviews and communications with seven interfaith activists and advocates involved in nuclear disarmament (mostly Christians and Buddhists)2 and reviewed documents in WCC’s archives.

The Role of Religion in International Peace and Security Policy Scholarship on global politics has generally overlooked the role of religion in global politics (Johnston and Sampson 1994; Deneulin 2009; Toft et al. 2011). Where the literature has identified the impact of religious actors, it has often focused on religious motivations for and actors’ participation in violence (Appleby 2000, 2015; Gopin 2000). However, religious leaders have often been at the forefront of post-conflict peacebuilding as well as the cessation of violence in communities across the world. They have used their moral authority to denounce cruelty, demonstrate solidarity with victims, and appeal to the best instincts of humanity to protect rather than destroy one another. Religious communities wield influence by drawing on contextual experience with grassroots communities, members’ professional knowledge of politics and the power of religious language to condemn evil and embrace good (Said et al. 2001; Coward and Smith 2004; Smock 2006; Bercovitch and Kadayifci-Orellana 2009; Cismas 2017). The power of religious leaders to intervene in conflict has been recognized in the literature on conflict transformation and peacebuilding processes (Deneulin 2009; Toft et al. 2011; Omer 2015). Faith-based organizations have played central roles in relief, development and peacebuilding work at every stage in the resolution of violent conflict. Religious leaders have the power to act as norm-builders in the realm of humanitarian law given their prominence, access to social capital and the fact that, as holders

2 Interviewees and correspondents include: Sister Carol Gilbert, Anna Ikeda, Kimiaki Kawai, Jasmin Nario-Galace, Sister Ardeth Platte, Hideaki Yanashima, and Mary Yelenik.

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and maintainers of often ancient and revered codes of conduct enshrined in sacred texts, they are already well-versed in the idea of upholding normative values. The International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC) has recognized the ability of faith leaders “to raise awareness of the importance of safeguarding” international humanitarian law (IHL), by “drawing connections to religious precepts,” mobilizing “their communities and others,” engaging in “awareness-raising events,” and working “to induce the parties’ compliance with the law” (Cismas and Heffes 2017). While this work has often occurred on the grassroots level, there has also been a growing role for religious actors in diplomacy whether in the negotiation of ceasefires or in the ongoing work of international governance at the United Nations (Lederach 1997; Johnston 2003; Mandaville and Silvestri 2015). Aside from literature recognizing the role of the Holy See at the United Nations, very little scholarship has been produced on the role of religion in diplomacy in this context. This relative gap in literature reflects the fact that the UN itself has been relatively slow in recognizing the vital importance of religious actors. Religion has long been a topic under discussion in UN forums both as a driver for conflict as well as the freedom of religion as a human right but this does not mean that the UN has welcomed partnerships with religious actors. This is beginning to change as evidenced by the inclusion of religious leaders as partners in many parts of the expansive mandate of UN work and can be seen in the recent partnership between the UN Office on Genocide Prevention and the World Council of Churches on the Plan of Action for Religious Leaders and Actors to Prevent Incitement to Violence that Could Lead to Atrocity Crimes (the Fez Process) as well as the emphasis on religious communities as key partners in the work on the Sustainable Development Goals (UNFPA 2014; UNOGPRP 2018). Religious organizations and leaders have been involved in disarmament efforts on local, regional, and national levels. The primary focus of such efforts has often been on the most pressing threat in the local context, often the proliferation of small arms or, in mine-affected countries, landmines. Groups like Jesuit Refugee Services were a central force behind the International Campaign to Ban Landmines (ICBL) and continue to serve on the organization’s governing board (JRS 2012). The influence of Buddhist leaders in Cambodia was particularly important in this campaign. Between 4000 and 7000 Buddhist monks and lay people participated in the Cambodian Dhammayietras (peace pilgrimages) to raise awareness of the need to ban landmines. Tun Channareth, one of the ICBL campaigners who

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received the 1997 Nobel Peace Prize, had a meeting with the Pope John Paul II to secure his support for the ICBL (Rutherford 2011, pp. 59–62). Similarly, Pax Christi was a co-founding member of the Cluster Munitions Coalition is a member of the Campaign to Stop Killer Robots. Religious groups played a role in UN efforts to prevent, combat, and eradicate the illicit trade in small arms and light weapons (SALW). Pax Christi was a co-founder of the International Action Network Against Small Arms and Light Weapons (IANSA). The Holy See, Pax Christi and World Council of Churches offered regular interventions and statements to the 2001 UN Conference, the 2005 Meeting of States, the 2006 PrepCom, and the 2006 Review Conference on SALW. The Arms Trade Treaty (ATT) negotiations benefited from advocacy work from Pax Christi, the World Council of Churches, Soka Gakkai, and Quaker Peace and Social Witness. In the United States, the National Council of Churches as well as many leading denominations have taken a strong advocacy position against gun violence (NCC 2010; ACSWP 2011; J. Atwood 2012, 2017). Faith-based organizations’ involvement in such campaigns offered a model for their advocacy on the TPNW, often under the auspices of ICAN. However, religious institutions also brought to ICAN a long history of principled objections to nuclear weapons, including seven decades of advocacy and activism for nuclear disarmament.

Religious Objections to Nuclear Weapons Many religious organizations and people of faith, particularly in nucleararmed states have blessed nuclear weapons as a necessary evil in the realm of international security. While some religious organizations (such as the Catholic Church until more recently) openly embraced nuclear deterrence as a strategy, others offered tacit support for nuclear weapons through their silence. Nonetheless, even in the midst of what sometimes appeared to be a consensus about the “necessary evil” of nuclear weapons, many religious and faith-based groups have raised a steady and often counter-cultural opposition to nuclear weapons since their early testing in the 1940s. This opposition has taken the form of individual acts of conscience, grassroots organizing, and international advocacy. These efforts to work for nuclear disarmament were often driven not just by secular humanitarian or security concerns. They were motivated, and often explicitly framed, in specific religious principles. The objection of faith-based communities largely reflects four different moral/ethical positions, each of which will be outlined below.

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The first two are based on categorical, deontological rejections of nuclear weapons as inherently immoral in themselves. The second two derive from more consequentialist reasoning about the impact of nuclear arsenals on the sacred worth of people and the environment. Individual people of faith and religious institutions may draw on several of these positions in their own lives and work: 1. Outright rejection of violence and/or weapons of war; 2. Nuclear weapons as inherently evil and/or idolatry; 3. Violation of an ethic of care for the neighbor/stranger and/or creation; 4. Diversion of resources.

Outright Rejection of Violence For some religious groups (particularly Buddhists and those who are part of the Historic Peace Churches), nuclear weapons are clearly a violation of the commitment to nonviolence. These religious groups have not struggled to make sense of nuclear deterrence as a possible response to any evolving security situation because they oppose all forms of militarism and consider themselves to be pacifists. Disarmament work for these groups is a natural extension of one of the central tenets of their faith—a rejection of violence. Drawing on their long-standing commitment to pacifism through active peacemaking, the Quaker position on nuclear weapons was clear from the beginning of the atomic age: nuclear weapons were morally and religiously unacceptable. Early Quaker opposition to nuclear weapons is evident in the 1955 statement to the Meeting for Sufferings (the central decision-making body): “We believe that no one has the right to use [nuclear] weapons in his defence or to ask another person to use them on his behalf. To rely on the possession of nuclear weapons as a deterrent is faithless; to use them is a sin” (Religious Society of Friends in Britain 2019, Para. 24: 41). Quakers have a long history of active protest against nuclear weapons including the voyage of four Quakers aboard the Golden Rule attempting to sail into an active Pacific nuclear testing site (Epstein 1991; Reynolds 1961). One of the Quakers, George Willoughby, offered this explanation of his faithbased protest, “What my government is doing violates God’s law of love and nonviolence. I have no choice but to obey God” (in Reynolds 1961, p. 15).

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Quaker Peace and Social Witness (QPSW), a British Quaker organization pursues nuclear disarmament as part of its broader effort to oppose militarism, including promoting conscientious objection; ending the arms trade and the use of armed drones; and supporting peace education. QPSW produced “Nuclear Weapons: frequently asked questions” which provides thorough and well-researched responses to some of the most frequent arguments supporting nuclear weapons. For the most part, this publication is framed in entirely secular terms but it does note, “The position of the Religious Society of Friends (Quakers) is that nuclear weapons are morally and ethically unacceptable and that war represents failure, no matter what weapons are used or how many people are killed” (Wallis 2017). This succinctly demonstrates the Quaker position on nuclear weapons by framing it within the larger faith-based opposition to all war and violence. Quakers have not needed to parse out a particular opposition to a specific weaponsystem because nuclear weapons demonstrate an obvious violation of the core of their religious beliefs. Categorical Christian rejection of violence is not limited to the Historic Peace Churches. Pax Christi was founded after World War Two, with the goal of beginning a reconciliation process between France and Germany, and from the start understood itself as an entity rooted in an ethic of nonviolence. Pax Christi International has worked closely on nuclear disarmament with its national organizations in the United Kingdom, the Netherlands, Flanders, Italy, France, New Zealand, and the United States. This understanding of nonviolence meant that unlike the Catholic church’s initial embrace of nuclear deterrence as a legitimate security paradigm, Pax Christi’s position of nuclear weapons was unequivocal from the start: “The very concept and existence of nuclear nations – the methodology of resolving differences using violence, and the horrific devastation nuclear weapons cause – are utterly antithetical to who we are as Pax Christi” (Authors’ interview with Mary Yelenik). Nuclear Weapons as Inherently Evil and/or Idolatry The Japanese Buddhist group Soka Gakkai International (SGI) have been robust participants in nuclear disarmament.3 Soka Gakkai has called for the

3 The authors are particularly grateful for the efforts of Kimiaki Kawai, Anna Ikeda and Hideaki Yanashima for their assistance with this section.

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abolition of nuclear weapons as early as 1957 when Josei Toda, the organization’s second president, issued a strongly worded call which described nuclear weapons as “evil incarnate” and even went so far as to call for the death penalty for anyone who used a nuclear weapon (Toda 1957). Current SGI president Daisaku Ikeda offered a more nuanced position in a statement in 2009: If we are to put the era of nuclear terror behind us, we must struggle against the real ‘enemy.’ That enemy is not nuclear weapons per se, nor is it the states that possess or develop them. The real enemy that we must confront is the ways of thinking that justify nuclear weapons; the readiness to annihilate others when they are seen as a threat or as a hindrance to the realization of our objectives. (Ikeda 2009)

In the Christian context, concern about the inherent evil of nuclear weapons has often framed them as objects of idolatry. In his book Dr. Strangegod: On the Symbolic Meaning of Nuclear Weapons, Christian theologian Ira Chernus argues that the association between nuclear weapons and ultimate power creates a world in which the omnipotence of God is heretically transferred to the nuclear weapon states: Nuclear weapons, then, are a powerful symbol of both omnipotence and omniscience, the power and wisdom and mystery at the source of creation. In both these respects, the Bomb has those attributes that have traditionally been ascribed to the God of the Western religions; these are accompanied by a third – omnipresence – which is also characteristic of nuclear weapons. Their effect is everywhere and inescapable. (1986, p. 17)

Two years after its founding in 1948, the Executive Committee of the World Council of Churches (WCC) issued a statement against the hydrogen bomb saying, “Man’s rebellion against his Creator has reached such a point that, unless stayed, it will bring self-destruction upon him. All this is a perversion; it is against the moral order by which man is bound; it is sin against God” (WCC Executive Committee 1950). The Plowshares movement, founded by Father Daniel Berrigan with his brother Phillip Berrigan, has sought nuclear disarmament through radical acts of Christian civil disobedience. The Berrigans’ activism was fueled by a belief that militarism generally and nuclear weapons specifically represent an idolatry incompatible with Christian belief. Daniel Berrigan wrote, “Our real shrines are nuclear installations and the Pentagon and the war

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research laboratories. This is where we worship, allowing ourselves to hear the obscene command that we kill and be killed. A command which, it seems to me is anti-Christ, is anti-God” (2001, p. 10). Violation of Ethic of Care Many religious groups oppose nuclear weapons because they believe that such weapons distort relationships with one’s neighbors and/or violate religious commitments to be hospitable to strangers. Nuclear weapons represent the use of a paradigm of threat or mutually assured destruction to keep the peace and this violates the injunction to love one’s neighbors and welcome the stranger. For example, during the Tenth Conference of the Comprehensive Test Ban Treaty (CTBT), the Holy See argued that “to respond adequately to the challenges of the twenty-first century, it is essential to replace a logic of fear and mistrust with an ethic of responsibility.” Nuclear weapons threaten “multilateral dialogue through consistent and responsible cooperation between all the members of the international community” (Gallagher 2017). In 2015, a team of senior religious leaders traveled to Hiroshima and Nagasaki as part of WCC’s “Pilgrimage Towards Justice and Peace,” to mark the 70th anniversary of the bombings. Bishop Heinrich BedfordStrohm (2015), chair of the Council of the Evangelical Church in Germany and pilgrimage member referenced solidarity with the hibakusha to reinforce the urgency of banning nuclear weapons: “The hibakusha’s story shows that human beings are called to a new way of living: We must live in ways that protect life instead of putting it at risk. We must not use the energy of the atom in ways that threaten and destroy life. To do so is a sinful misuse of God’s creation.” Similarly, Vice Moderator of WCC’s Central Committee Bishop Mary Ann Swenson from the United States outlined the basis for her faith-based advocacy against nuclear weapons: It is time to judge armaments and energy use by their effects on people and on God’s creation. It is time to confess that our desire for material comfort and convenience insulates us from the concern for the source and quantity of the energy we consume. It is time to abandon all support for retaining nuclear weapons. It is time to refuse to accept that the mass destruction of other people can be a legitimate form of protection of ourselves. (in WCC 2015)

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Similarly, a 2015 booklet by the African Council of Religious Leaders and Religions for Peace states that “Human life is sacred and the use or threat of use of nuclear weapons is abused by their very existence. At the same time, nuclear weapons are immoral and unethical as they portray a constant threat to humanity and the annihilation of the planet. Religious leaders have a duty to promote and advocate for human rights, justice and peace.”4 Diversion of Resources In the lead up to the 2010 Review Conference of the Treaty on the NonProliferation of Nuclear Weapons (NPT), Religions for Peace Youth gathered more than 20 million signatures for its “Arms Down!” petition, which called for both the abolition of nuclear weapons and the redirection of “10% of military expenditure to achieve the UN Millennium Development Goals (MDGs)” (Religions for Peace 2010). Many people of faith have argued that development, production, maintenance and modernization of nuclear weapons represents a sinful diversion of resources that should be used in alleviating poverty or strengthening development initiatives. Describing nuclear weapons as the “great disgrace,” Nichidatsu Fujii, a Japanese Buddhist monk and follower of Gandhi preached that nuclear weapons were the apotheosis of an unjust and uncaring political and economic system that valued military technology over people and the earth (in Bhikkhu 2009, pp. 27–29). Just a month after the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, Dorothy Day, one of the founders of the radical Catholic Worker movement, wrote an editorial bitterly comparing the “Scientists, army officers, great universities …, and captains of industry” praised for their “their work of preparing the bomb,” with the poverty and homelessness on the Bowery. When The Catholic Worker reprinted the article in 1975, it lamented that “Each year the U.S. budget provides more and more money for arms, B-1 bombers, Trident submarines” (Day 1945/1975). In his 1964 Nobel Peace Prize lecture, Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. (1964) called for nations to “harness [humanity’s] creative genius for the purpose of making peace and prosperity” instead of building “arsenals of weapons of mass destruction.” Later, at Riverside Church in New York City in 1967, he declared that “A nation that continues year after year to

4 Ephemera in possession of the authors.

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spend more money on military defense than on programs of social uplift is approaching spiritual death” (King 1967).

Modes of Religious Engagement with Nuclear Disarmament Religious people and institutions have sought to make their vision of a nuclear weapons-free world a reality by working in and through social and political systems. Religious actors have adopted varying modes of engagement, changing methods when they feel it is appropriate and often using more than one at once. They include: 1. Incorporating concerns into a devotional practice; 2. Bearing witness; 3. Engagement with nuclear diplomacy; 4. Nonviolent direct action and civil disobedience.

Incorporating Concerns into Devotional Practice In interviews with religious people engaged in nuclear disarmament, several told us that they weave consideration of nuclear weapons into their religious practice. This can include private devotion, such as prayer and meditation and a mindfulness of how they can best live their lives to bring about a nuclear weapons-free world. Kimiaki Kawai, SGI’s Director for Peace and Human Rights, described SGI’s advocacy as profoundly connected to its Buddhist identity, on an everyday basis: At the heart of the nuclear-weapons issue is the radical negation of others— of their humanity and their equal right to happiness and life. As Buddhists upholding the value and dignity of life, we believe that this can only be countered through a sustained effort to expand our individual and shared capacities for imaginative empathy. In the Buddha’s teachings we find these words: “All tremble at violence; life is dear to all. Putting oneself in the place of another, one should not kill nor cause another to kill.” There is a universal impulse to avoid suffering and harm. We all have an intuitive sense of the unique value of our individual being. To the degree that we can realize that others must feel the same way, we can sense the reality of their suffering and embrace their dignity. Such empathy makes genuine dialogue possible.

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And dialogue is the most certain path to realizing our shared quest for the authentic experience of security. (Personal communication with the authors)

Religious actors may also use religious rituals such as vigils, services, and sermons to generate public awareness, condemning nuclear weapons, and seeking to comfort and inspire those working for disarmament. Indeed, many of those we interviewed imbued their public advocacy and activism with religious meaning. UN representative for Pax Christi, Mary Yelenick explained, “Pax Christi endeavors to draw from the spirituality, scholarship, and praxis of our Catholic history and Catholic community, while maintaining the integrity and autonomy of our mission… We view our actions opposing nuclear weapons as reflecting a fidelity to our Catholic faith, as we interpret and endeavor to live it” (Personal interview with the authors). Bearing Witness In 1954, at the second WCC Assembly, the Churches Commission on International Affairs (CCIA) presented a report calling on all churches to advocate for “nations to pledge that they will refrain from the threat or the use of hydrogen, atomic, and all other weapons of mass destruction,” a pledge realized in the TPNW 63 years later. In that span of time, WCC issued numerous statements at the level of the Executive Committee, Central Committee, and Assembly gatherings, as well as CCIA position papers calling for a ban on the testing and use of nuclear weapons.5 Such public statements were for both internal and external audiences and have often been made through ecumenical and interfaith forums. Religious leaders have sought to guide their more active opposition of nuclear weapons by reminding them of their moral and ethical values. But they also aim to change the public conversation, influencing politicians, government officials, and the news media. Religious advocacy has not been limited to making theological statements. It has also involved bearing witness to the experiences of and amplifying the voices of victims of nuclear use and testing, many of whom speak from a perspective of faith. For example, Setsuko Thurlow, a survivor of the Hiroshima atomic bombing who accepted the 2017 Nobel Peace Prize on behalf of ICAN, has also been very active in church circles. Thurlow was a member of Reverend Tanimoto’s Methodist church, featured in John 5 These statements are available in WCC archives.

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Hersey’s 1946 book Hiroshima, one of the first detailed accounts of the bombing. Some of the earliest faith-based opposition came not from activists in nuclear powers but rather from people of faith living in places where nuclear weapons were being tested. The Pacific Council of Churches (PCC) has been a stalwart foundation of resistance against nuclear weapons and was critical in the formation of both Against Tests on Moruroa (ATOM) and later the Nuclear Free and Independent Pacific (NFIP) movement. In 1967, the Young Women’s Christian Association and the Student Christian Movement co-convened a meeting in Suva, Fiji on nuclear testing in French Polynesia. PCC benefited from the long-time advocacy of Anglican Father Walter Lini of Vanuatu, Methodist Reverend Setareki Tuilovoini of Fiji, and John Doom of the Maohi Protestant Church. In the 1970s and ’80s, Catholic voices of people like Ratu Sir Kamisese Mara of Fiji, Bishop Patelisio Finau of Tonga, and Jean-Marie Tjibaou of New Caledonia strongly denounced French nuclear testing in the region (Maclellan 2005, p. 365). The first conference on denuclearization of the Pacific in 1975 was sponsored by PCC and was the impetus for a much wider movement. PCC took a stand opposing nuclear testing, nuclear dumping and the passage of ships carrying nuclear weapons in Pacific waters (Firth 1987). These faith-based movements grew into a much more inclusive movement in the Pacific and culminated in the 1985 negotiation of the South Pacific Nuclear Free Zone Treaty, modeled after the Treaty of Tlatelolco, in Rarotonga. Even as the NFIP became a less active movement, PCC continued to take a consistent stand against nuclear weapons even as the prospects of a conference to negotiate a ban treaty became more of a reality. In 2013, PCC convened in the Solomon Islands to reaffirm its stance against nuclear testing and to advocate for compensation and justice for victims. The World Council of Churches supported PCC and the NFIP movement. Activist and church member Darlene Keju spoke to the 1983 WCC Assembly detailing the devastating health effects of the US nuclear testing in the Marshall Islands. In response to her testimony, the Assembly called for churches to exercise solidarity with churches in the Pacific and to disavow continued nuclear weapon tests in French Polynesia. Religious institutions have often incorporated their witness against nuclear weapons into their educational efforts and religious instruction. For example, SGI produced Testimonies of Hiroshima and Nagasaki: Women Speak Out for Peace (United Nations 2011), a DVD of short interviews

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with women hibakusha. In 2015, Christian CND published a guide to nuclear disarmament advocacy specifically for churches emphasizing both why and how Christians should oppose nuclear weapons (Christian CND 2015). Opposition to nuclear weapons is framed in terms of their immoral destructive power that violates both just war theory as well as the Christian conscience. Nuclear weapons are also described as “a harmful encumbrance” that “wastefully redirects resources when so many are in need” and “a false protection” for “Christians believe God is our help” (p. 2). The booklet collects various statements against nuclear weapons from Christian faith groups in England, Scotland, and Wales. In addition to a range of secular suggestions for activism (contacting Members of Parliament, signing petitions, writing letters to the editor, and using social media), Christian CND also highlights particularly faith-based approaches to advocacy including inserting prayers for disarmament and against nuclear weapons in the prayers of intercession, holding prayer vigils, producing prayer cards, developing materials for parish or church-based publications and including a commitment to peace as a foundational part of what it means to be Christian during confirmation classes. Engagement with Nuclear Diplomacy While the Holy See often participates in nuclear arms control, nonproliferation and disarmament negotiations, non-governmental religious institutions have also engaged directly with diplomatic processes. In 1967, during the negotiations of the NPT, the WCC Executive Committee (1967) issued a statement of support: “The prospect of agreement between the major nuclear powers on a Non-Proliferation Treaty promises a further step forward towards controlling the nuclear threat to mankind, in the direction in which the CCIA has consistently pressed.” WCC has maintained a commitment to the NPT, making supportive public statements and meeting with diplomats, encouraging them to implement the Treaty. In 1978, Rev. Dr. Phillip Potter, then WCC General Secretary, was invited to address the General Assembly’s Special Session on Disarmament. He highlighted the “growing danger of nuclear proliferation” and emphasized that “in the face of this catalogue of accelerated insecurity, the churches cannot remain spectators and inactive” (Potter 1978). However, WCC has also pushed governments to adopt not only nonproliferation measures but seek multilateral nuclear disarmament. When the first International Meeting on Nuclear Free Zones convened in 1989, the

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WCC General Secretary Emilio Castro (1989) delivered a message which reinforced the WCC’s ongoing commitment and support to a world free of nuclear weapons: “The Council makes use of this opportunity to reaffirm its opposition to nuclear war and its rejection of nuclear deterrence, bearing witness to God’s peace given in the biblical vision of all peoples and nations dwelling together in community.” In 2004, the Executive Committee began its statement on the NPT with the phrase “Affirming yet again our belief that the only ultimate protection against nuclear weapons is their total elimination” (2004). SGI has been engage in joint advocacy projects at the UN with the International Physicians for the Prevention of Nuclear War (IPPNW) since 1989 and has also partnered on projects with the UN Office for Disarmament Affairs. In August 2006, SGI President Ikeda proposed a “UN decade of action by the world’s people for nuclear abolition,” stressing the importance of civil society as catalysts to overcome the general lack of political momentum on this issue. In response to his call, SGI launched the People’s Decade for Nuclear Abolition on September 8, 2007 that coincided with the 50th anniversary of the 1957 antinuclear declaration made by second president of the Soka Gakkai Josei Toda (SGI 2019). Similarly, Pax Christi International has maintained a long history of opposition to nuclear weapons at the United Nations. Pax Christi secured ECOSOC status at UN in 1979 and participated in NPT Review Conferences, CTBT negotiations and Strategic Arms Limitation Talks (SALT), as well as serving on NGO Committee on Disarmament. Some faith-based organizations have tried to code their religious commitments to banning nuclear weapons in more secular language when they are engaged in discussions with diplomats or in other forms of disarmament lobbying. According to Yelenik, this is not the approach of Pax Christi International, which openly embraces and names the faith-based position that defines their approach to nuclear disarmament6 : We use language describing ourselves as being members of one human family on earth, and explain our efforts as attempts to be faithful to what we believe God our Creator wants of us. We do not preach, but simply describe the basis from which we approach issues. And we seek to be deeply respectful

6 However, it is important to note that this strategy is not necessarily shared by all chapters of Pax Christi. The President of Pax Christi-Pilipinas noted in her interview that she does not use faith in an explicit way when interacting with diplomats.

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and open to our counterparts’ own personal stories and motivations, as well. I have found, repeatedly, that this invocation of “religious language” – even when our dialogue partner is not a publicly-avowed member of any faith tradition – more often than not triggers a similar response in that person, who frequently proceeds to nod, smile, and describe his or her own motivation as being similarly rooted in fidelity to a spiritual tradition or core belief. I have, time and time again (not only in the nuclear ban treaty context, but in other meetings with country representatives), experienced this sharing as moving our conversations to a deeper, more comfortable, more trusting, and more meaningful level. (Personal interview with the authors)

Religious actors have also been active in national-level advocacy. For example, the Christian Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament (Christian CND), frames its antinuclear agenda within the context of faith to engage the Christian church network in the United Kingdom (Day and Robbins 1987). Christian CND has mobilized churches at the national level through vigils, active lobbying of UK diplomats and government officials and events to raise awareness both in the UK. Founded in 1959 as a section of the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament (CND), it developed into an autonomous organization in the late 1970s (Barberis et al. 2000, p. 1158). It has also actively participated in NPT Review Conferences both by sending representatives to the UN in New York as well as holding advocacy events in the UK such as embassy walks to support the NPT. Nonviolent Direct Action and Civil Disobedience In an interview with the authors, Yelenik of Pax Christi reflected that her participation in nuclear disarmament advocacy had arisen out of her participation in the 1982 antinuclear demonstration in Central Park, one of the largest ever protests in US history. This experience led her to deeper commitments to engage in active, nonviolent resistance of nuclear weapons, including civil disobedience. She explained, “I took part in various nonviolent public witness actions – including at the Nevada Desert Experience in Nevada on August 6, 2005, where I was among dozens of Pax Christi USA members who ‘crossed the line’ at the former Nevada Test Site, were arrested, and were held overnight in an open fenced area.” Brave people of faith have sought to draw attention to the lack of progress toward nuclear disarmament by established political institutions. They have offered prophetic dissent in the form of nonviolent direct action, including sometimes putting their bodies on the line in acts of civil disobedience, risking incarceration. For example, the Plowshares movement

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began after the Berrigan brothers were arrested after breaking into a nuclear missile facility in King of Prussia, Pennsylvania and hammering on nuclear warheads to render them inoperable, an action repeated over the years by many activists, including Sister Megan Rice in 2012 (Nepstad 2004, 2008; Tobey 2017). Dominican nuns Sister Ardeth Platte and Sister Carol Gilbert have become iconic representations of life-long faith-based advocacy against nuclear weapons. Platte and Gilbert were arrested in 2000 along with Sister Jackie Hudson after they broke into Peterson Air Force Base in Colorado Springs and put their own blood on a plane as a protest against nuclear weapons. In 2002, they entered the Minuteman III nuclear missile silo in Colorado and engaged in prayer as well as pouring their own blood in the shape of a cross. Platte was sentenced to 41 months in prison and Gilbert to 30 months. The two sisters are long-term members of Jonah House, an intentional community founded by Philip Berrigan that focuses on nonviolent resistance and which has served as the home for many Plowshares actions against nuclear weapons and all forms of militarism.

Case Study of the Role of Religious Actors in the TPNW Process As is described elsewhere in this volume (introductory chapter and Bolton and Minor’s chapter) the TPNW emerged from two parallel efforts. Firstly, the state-led Humanitarian Initiative on Nuclear Weapons, a series of conferences held in Oslo (2013), Nayarit (February 2014) and Vienna (December 2014), that highlighted evidence of the catastrophic humanitarian consequences of nuclear weapons. These conferences resulted in a Humanitarian Pledge, in which states committed to working for a ban on nuclear weapons rooted in international humanitarian law. Secondly, the International Campaign to Abolish Nuclear Weapons (ICAN), a civil society coalition founded in 2007 mobilized global public support for a ban treaty. Following the negotiation of the TPNW in March and June–July 2017, ICAN was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize. Religious and faith-based institutions played a role in both the Humanitarian Initiative and as member organizations within ICAN. The following case study shows specifically how religious institutions intersected with the development of the TPNW, using the modes of engagement and expressing the beliefs about nuclear disarmament outlined in the preceding sections.

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Bearing Humanitarian Witness SGI has been a member of ICAN since the formation of ICAN in 2007 and has drawn on both its connections with hibakusha in Japan as well as its religious values to advocate for a nuclear weapons ban treaty. The partnership between SGI and ICAN is rooted in a longer relationship between SGI and IPPNW and the friendship between SGI President Daisaku Ikeda and IPPNW Co-President Bernard Lown based on their common commitment to abolish nuclear weapons. SGI and has repeatedly partnered with ICAN to produce educational and advocacy materials such as the animated film Reshape History and an awareness-raising exhibition titled “Everything You Treasure—For a World Free From Nuclear Weapons” (2012), which has become a key educational tool in SGI’s global nuclear abolition efforts (H. Atwood 2017). SGI has been particularly engaged in working with youth and has actively mobilized and collaborated with youth movements in Japan, Italy, Thailand and the United States. Similarly, the emerging ICAN movement echoed many of WCC’s long-held positions on the immorality and horrific consequences of nuclear weapons and WCC became an ICAN member. Faith-based groups offered their witness against nuclear weapons at the three Humanitarian Initiative conferences in Oslo, Nayarit, and Vienna, lending their moral weight to ICAN’s message. WCC representatives emphasized the need for a nuclear ban treaty in its bilateral meetings with diplomats at the conferences. The role of religious groups was particularly prominent in Vienna when a large collection of faith-based groups presented a joint statement emphasizing, People of faith are practiced in grappling with questions of overwhelming import. Our faiths teach us not to flinch or retreat in the face of seemingly intractable realities. They kindle enduring hope and determination, propelling our efforts to eliminate needless suffering. They drive our work for a just world free from nuclear weapons, one where our talents and resources are dedicated to the cause of human happiness and security. (Faith Communities on the Humanitarian Consequences of Nuclear Weapons 2014)

Pope Francis provided a message to the Vienna Conference emphasizing that “Nuclear deterrence and the threat of mutually assured destruction cannot be the basis for an ethics of fraternity and peaceful coexistence among people and states” (Francis 2014). This was one of the significant moments that demonstrated how the Catholic Church’s position on

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nuclear deterrence had shifted over time. When asked about the apparent change in the Church’s position on November 2017, a Vatican official clarified that when the Church embraced the ethic of nuclear deterrence it was under the express understanding that the nuclear powers would continue to disarm as they had promised in the NPT. When they failed to meet this promise and as more countries acquired nuclear weapons, the Church realized that a different directive was required. Religious actors also sought to encourage the participation of states that have been traditionally marginalized from nuclear disarmament diplomacy. In his foreword to an ICAN report on the impact of nuclear weapons in the Pacific region, former PCC General Secretary Francois Pihaatae wrote that “It is necessary that our regional leaders – secular and faith-based – recognise the threats of nuclear weapons and speak forcefully for a ban…We must speak out, for if we remain silent the larger countries will be under the misconception that their testing, development and construction of nuclear weapons are acceptable” (Pihaatae 2014, p. 5). Similarly, the African Council of Religious Leaders and Religions for Peace published a booklet highlighting the relevance of nuclear weapons in Africa with reference to the atmospheric nuclear tests conducted from 1960 to 1967 in Algeria, the African Nuclear Weapon Free Zone Treaty and the remarkable voluntarily decommissioning of nuclear weapons by South Africa, the only country to end its nuclear program. It closes by highlighting the role of religion and the involvement of leading religious figures including the Pope and the Archbishop of Canterbury.7 National Pax Christi chapters have also helped broaden ICAN’s reach into local contexts. Since 2013, the Center for Peace Education (CPE) of Miriam College, which is the Secretariat of Pax Christi-Pilipinas, has partnered with ICAN. Miriam College, a Catholic institution founded by Maryknoll, draws on the wisdom of many faith traditions and indigenous traditions to ground their antinuclear advocacy. The Executive Director of CPE and President of Pax Christi-Pilipinas, Jasmin Nario-Galace, has taken a prominent leadership role in campaigning for the treaty both in Asia as well as in the UN negotiation process. Within the Philippines, the CPE, Pax Christi (PC)-Miriam College (MC) and MC students and faculty engage in advocacy efforts with the Department of Foreign Affairs and both chambers of Congress. They have written op-ed articles for print media, appeared

7 Ephemera in possession of the authors.

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as guests on television and radio shows, organized Nuclear Abolition Day activities, promoted the petition-signing in support of the Global Appeal to Ban Nuclear Weapons, and conducted Disarmament Education Workshops for teachers, students, church workers, youth, and women, among other sectors. In addition, the PC-MC mounted an annual HiroshimaNagasaki Exhibit to increase awareness on the humanitarian impact of nuclear weapons. Faith-based advocacy continued to be an important element of the gathering momentum for a ban treaty, as the diplomatic conversation moved to the UN in New York, at the 2014 Preparatory Commission and 2015 Review Conference of the NPT, as well as the 2015 and 2016 sessions of the UN General Assembly First Committee (Disarmament and International Security). Religious organizations actively participated in the 2015 NPT Review Conference, engaging both in advocacy meetings as well as presenting a statement, “Faith Communities Concerned about the Humanitarian Consequences of Nuclear Weapons” signed by more than 50 prominent religious leaders and faith-based organizations.8 This statement denounced nuclear weapons as “incompatible with the values upheld by our respective faith traditions – the right of people to live in security and dignity; the commands of conscience and justice; the duty to protect the vulnerable and to exercise stewardship that will safeguard the planet for future generations.” The religious groups maintained a unified position that only the outright ban on nuclear weapons would satisfy the moral and ethical demands of their respective faith traditions. A reduction in nuclear stockpiles would not be sufficient and they continued to call for a treaty that would lead to the complete elimination of these weapons. As is described in Bolton and Minor’s chapter in this book, 2015 First Committee session authorized an Open-Ended Working Group (OEWG) taking forward multilateral nuclear disarmament, to meet in Geneva in 2016, laying the groundwork for the TPNW. Religions for Peace, World Council of Churches and the International Fellowship of Reconciliation made statements during the February 2016 OEWG meeting. WCC described nuclear weapons as “inherently evil, a deontological threat” that threatens common standards, shared interests, mutual obligations, legitimate expectations, universal values and good faith” (WCC 2016). Speaking on behalf of Religions for Peace, Sarah Snyder emphasized:

8 For a fuller analysis of the role of faith-based advocacy during the NPT, see: Welty (2016).

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The threat and use of nuclear weapons violate basic principles common to all major religious faiths. These include the sanctity of life, the ethic of reciprocity – sometimes referred to as the Golden Rule to treat others as you would have them treat you, the requirement to protect the environment and future generations, and the principle of unity which requires the development of common security rather than security based on threatening others. (Religions for Peace 2016)

At the May 2016 OEWG meeting, SGI, WCC and Pax Christi International delivered statements. SGI emphasized the devastation of nuclear weapons beyond their obvious physical obliteration, “By threatening to obliterate the accumulated achievements of human society, erasing the individual and collective record of our lives, nuclear weapons undermine our existence as historical, cultural beings - the very heart of our humanity. They erode the meaning of human life and impede our ability to look to the future with hope” (Kawai 2016). Devotions and Protest Outside the UN As the prospect of actually negotiating a ban treaty drew closer, the same group of religious NGOs and individuals that had worked together during both the NPT and First Committee recommitted themselves to collaborate in ways that would strengthen the moral/religious/ethical imperative to ban nuclear weapons. While states negotiated a resolution mandating the TPNW negotiations, several members of the group met during the Humanitarian Disarmament Forum in New York in October 2017 to strategize about participation in the negotiating conference. Participants agreed to present a joint statement to the conference if given the opportunity. But the group also agreed to hold a morning interfaith vigil in front of the UN each morning before the negotiations began as a public witness to the united voices of faith. Each weekday morning during the TPNW negotiations a group of individuals gathered to engage in simple mindfulness meditations or prayer as a way of readying themselves for a day of advocacy. These simple vigils were open to the public, located at the Isaiah Wall (which calls on nations to “beat their swords into plowshares”) opposite the UN on First Avenue. The gatherings occasionally gained the interest of those walking past, including members of the diplomatic community. Sometimes the group held posters with particular messages about the dangers of nuclear weapons or the need

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to abolish them (a more advocacy focused action) but other times the group gathered in a circle to share silence or song. QPSW representative Timmon Wallis often brought interfaith posters that represented the rejection of nuclear weapons by all faith communities to the morning gatherings. SGI, PAX and WCC worked together to organize leadership from a different faith community each day. Organizers were careful to situate the collective activities in a way that felt authentic to their tradition but that did not require participants of other faiths to engage in religious rituals or gestures that would violate their own religious beliefs. The group’s attention turned periodically to those who could not be present (what Christians might call “the great cloud of witnesses”) but whose advocacy the group admired and whose suffering they were there to honor. Participants expressed appreciation for the vigils, which they said provided them with a sense of centeredness, purpose, and inspiration before starting their day of advocacy. Religious groups also expressed their concerns through nonviolent protest and direction outside the TPNW conference. Many representatives of faith groups joined Women’s March to Ban the Bomb, organized by ICAN member the Women’s International League for Peace and Freedom, from Bryant Park to Dag Hammarsjkold Plaza near the UN. On 19 June 2017, 19 activists from New York City Catholic Worker, New York City War Resisters League and other groups were arrested for blockading the US Mission to the UN, chanting “U.S. join the talks, ban the bomb.” Their sign displayed the passage from the Bhagavad Gita that the Manhattan Project’s Robert Oppenheimer said came to mind when he witnessed the Trinity nuclear test in 1945: “I am become death, destroyer of worlds” (The Nuclear Resister 2017). Bearing Religious Witness to the Conference Religious groups and faith-based organizations monitored and participated in advocacy during the TPNW negotiation conference. SGI representatives were active throughout the process, advocating for strong prohibitions, as well as the recognition of “peace and disarmament education” in the text (it was included in the Preamble). WCC representatives maintained an active presence in the negotiating room, meeting with both civil society and diplomats to advocate for a comprehensive treaty. Pax Christi reviewed and submitted written responses on early drafts of the treaty, lobbied diplomats from both attending and non-attending states and delivered letters to

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the Security Council urging their support. Timmon Wallis of QPSW was also responsible for distributing the joint statement of five major church bodies (Quakers in Britain, the Baptist Union of Great Britain, the Church of Scotland, the Methodist Conference and the United Reformed Church, as well as Quakers worldwide through Friends World Committee for Consultation) to the treaty conference. Wallis spoke at a side event as well as undertaking direct lobbying with both countries attending the treaty conference as well as the United Kingdom, which chose to boycott the negotiations. Christian CND also sent representatives from the UK. During the March negotiating sessions, representatives from civil society had several opportunities to address the conference directly.9 A statement entitled “Faith Communities Concerned about Nuclear Weapons” was delivered by Jasmin Nario-Galace on behalf of the Humanitarian Interfaith Disarmament Group: “Our respective faith traditions advocate for the right of people to live in security and dignity. We believe in the commands of conscience and justice; we seek to honour our duty to protect the vulnerable and to exercise the stewardship that will safeguard the planet for future generations. Nuclear weapons manifest a total disregard for all these values and commitments” (Nario-Galace2017). This statement reflected a consensus reached by a range of religious traditions with the shared vision of what they hold in common. On March 29, Soka Gakkai delivered a statement on the topic of core prohibitions to the conference. This statement was unique as it was the only statement that directly referenced a religious figure: “As Buddhists, we find valuable insight in these words of Shakyamuni: ‘Look at those who fight, ready to kill! Fear arises from taking up arms and preparing to strike.’ This bears directly on the psychology of arms, violence and security, exposing the unspoken logic of hostile confrontation” (Kawai 2017). During the June/July negotiating sessions, faith-based groups continued to offer public statements on particular sections of the emerging treaty. On June 15, the World Council of Churches offered its vigorous support for the inclusion of positive obligations in the preamble of the treaty and urging the conference to go further to “establish clear normative foundations on which to build strong positive obligations that address the humanitarian harm of nuclear weapons, recognize rights, remediate contaminated 9 In addition to the statements referenced here, Lynnet Ngayu (2017) of African Council of Religious Leaders also delivered one of the ICAN statements which was not faith-based but which reflected the partnership of faith-based organizations within ICAN.

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environments and promote the norms of the treaty” (Welty 2017). This statement included more specifically religious language than previous WCC statements as it referenced a 2014 WCC statement that “to use the energy of the atom in ways that threaten and destroy life is a sinful misuse of God’s creation.” Soka Gakkai offered additional statements with language proposals for modifications to the preamble, continuing to demonstrate the concrete contributions of faith-based communities to the drafting process. Religious groups also held side events highlighting the roles and responsibilities of faith-based individuals and organizations in nuclear disarmament. The Abolition 2000 Interfaith Working Group held a side event “Interfaith Dialogue and Actions for Nuclear Disarmament” and after a screening of the film The Nuns, the Priests and the Bomb, there was a panel discussion hosted by Pax Christi International, NGO Committee on Disarmament, Peace and Security, the Committee of Religious NGOs, the Maryknoll Office of Global Concerns and the Roundtable Association of Catholic Diocesan Social Action Directors. The Role of the Holy See Religious concerns about nuclear weapons were expressed in the TPNW negotiations more directly by the Holy See. The Holy See sought to participate in the TPNW conference as a voting member, despite the fact that the original mandate for negotiations had limited participation to UN Member States. (The Holy See is a Permanent Observer rather than a Member State.) Without objection from the body, the President of the Conference allowed for the Holy See and Palestine’s participation on an equal basis with the Member States and full voting rights for the duration of the negotiations. The full participation of the Holy See was acknowledged as valuable in the speeches of Member States including Morocco in their contribution on March 28. On the opening day of the conference, the representative from the Holy See delivered a message from Pope Francis welcoming the negotiations and emphasized the humanitarian imperative to ban nuclear weapons. The Pope’s message both reaffirmed the necessity of the NPT while also unequivocally emphasizing “the catastrophic humanitarian and environmental consequences that would follow from any use of nuclear weapons, with devastating, indiscriminate and uncontainable effects, over time and space” (Francis 2017). Pope Francis framed nuclear weapons as an unacceptable diversion of resources away from the most marginalized people

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highlighting “the waste of resources spent on nuclear issues for military purposes, which could instead be used for worthy priorities like the promotion of peace and integral human development, as well as the fight against poverty and the implementation of the 2030 Agenda for Sustainable Development.” The message underlines the movement in the Catholic position away from nuclear deterrence and toward an outright denunciation of nuclear weapons. The Pope writes: “International peace and stability cannot be based on a false sense of security, on the threat of mutual destruction or total annihilation, or on simply maintaining a balance of power.” It is important to note that this is an explicit departure from earlier Catholic positions that embraced a paradigm of nuclear deterrence in a security environment defined by precisely the balance of power that the Pope denounced in this letter. The embrace of the ban treaty in this message is unequivocal. Pope Francis’s message to the conference set the stage for productive engagement of the Holy See throughout the negotiations as they repeatedly raised concerns and made contributions that reinforced this strong opening letter. During the first week of negotiations in March, the Holy See highlighted the need for the treaty to address the resettlement needs of people affected by nuclear weapons and for all states to recognize their obligations to define the harm of nuclear weapons in terms of their humanitarian impacts. One of the consistent messages of the Holy See throughout its participation in TPNW negotiations was highlighting the way that the resources used to maintain and develop nuclear weapons demonstrate a misallocation which diverts resources from those most in need and suffering from poverty. On 30 March 2017, H. E. Bernardito Auza emphasized seven elements that the Holy See wished to see in the final treaty: human rights free from the threat of nuclear war, peace through mutual trust and dialogue instead of mutual assured destruction; nuclear elimination including stockpiles; the unequivocal condemnation of the indiscriminate harm that nuclear weapons cause; the need to care for victims and for environmental remediation; support for disarmament education; and the allocation of resources to human development instead of weapons (Auza 2017). The participation of the Holy See was particularly notable given their more subdued participation in the 2015 NPT Review Conference during which they did not make statements after their opening statement.

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Impact on the Treaty Text During the June negotiations, the Holy See often supported the inclusion of language in the preamble that read: “Determined to contribute to the realization of the purposes and principles of the Charter of the UN, in particular strengthen universal peace as built on justice, fundamental HR [human rights] and integral human development.” The first phrase of this intervention eventually became the first clause in the finalized treaty. The preamble also articulated values and principles that were consistent with the concerns expressed to the conference by religious advocates and activists. The preamble strikes a different tone from the security discourse of traditional arms control agreements, acknowledging “the ethical imperatives for nuclear disarmament.” These imperatives mirror crucial religious arguments against nuclear weapons. Nuclear weapons are described as “abhorrent to the principles of humanity and the dictates of public conscience.” The preamble expresses deep concern at the “catastrophic humanitarian consequences” of nuclear weapons, which “pose grave implications for human survival, the environment, socioeconomic development, the global economy, food security and the health of current and future generations….” Spending on nuclear weapons is characterized as a “waste of economic and human resources.” Like many religious advocacy organizations at the conference, the Holy See supported including strong provisions on victim assistance in the treaty (as further discussed in this volume by Matthew Bolton and Elizabeth Minor). In particular, they argued for dropping the qualifier that only “states in a position to do so” should engage in victim assistance. This reflects a religious sensibility that it is not only the responsibility of the perpetrator but rather of all humanity to attend to the wounds and harms of those who suffered in the testing and use of nuclear weapons. The Holy See strongly supported renaming Article 6 of the treaty “Victim Assistance and Environmental Remediation,” a suggestion that became a reality in the final treaty document. The first issue of the civil society conference newsletter Nuclear Ban Daily, distributed on the opening day of the treaty negotiations, included an article reminding delegates and advocates to maintain the humanitarian spirit of the TPNW. The author, an ICAN campaigner, wrote that “In asserting the treaty’s moral, ethical, and legal imperatives, the preamble should note the role of the United Nations, Red Cross and Red Crescent Movement, faith leaders [emphasis added], and civil society (including

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the International Campaign to Abolish Nuclear Weapons), as representative voices of the public conscience” (Bolton 2017). Speaking on the floor of the conference that same day, the Dominican Republic, called for the Preamble to include recognition of the contributions of “civil society, religious organizations [emphasis added], activists, doctors, scientists, academics, and other experts” to the TPNW process. The following day, Trinidad and Tobago reinforced that “the treaty must recognize the inviolable contributions [of] civil society in the effort to eliminate nuclear weapons” and highlighted the role played by “physicists, lawyers, women’s organizations, religious leaders [emphasis added] and disarmament NGOs, victims and parliamentarians.” These were the only two interventions to mention the necessity of including religion specifically in the treaty during the first round of negotiations. As the conference reconvened in June, concrete negotiations about the wording of each part of the treaty grew more intense and more specific. In terms of the preamble (where the reference to religion appears), several states raised the issue of including religious leaders. Iran called for the inclusion of the phrase “academics and religious leaders” in an intervention on June 19. This was reinforced by an intervention by the Holy See and supported in a speech by Austria. While some civil society activists had suggested that religious leaders be specifically acknowledged along with other voices of conscience in the Preamble, this was not a significant priority for religious advocates, who were focused more on the substantive elements of the treaty. It was thus a surprise to many religious actors to be recognized in this way. Upon adoption of the treaty, another joint interfaith statement was publicly issued to commit faith-based communities to carry the work forward: “As people of faith we accept as our special responsibility the work of raising awareness of the risks and consequences of nuclear weapons for current and future generations, awakening public conscience to build a global popular constituency in support of the Treaty in order to achieve and sustain a world free from nuclear weapons” (Faith Communities Concerned About Nuclear Weapons 2017). Immediately after the negotiating conference concluded, Sister Ardeth Platte and Sister Carol Gilbert traveled to Germany to present a copy of the treaty to the commander of the Büchel Air Base, a deployment site for 20 US nuclear-armed B61 bombs.

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The Work Continues On 20 September 2017 the treaty opened for signature and ratification. In a reflection of the active role it had played throughout the process, the Holy See was one of the three states to both sign and deposit its instrument of ratification on the first day. While inside the UN, members of civil society and diplomats gathered to mark the opening of the treaty, outside the UN, faith-based groups continued to engage in grassroots advocacy and civil disobedience. SGI’s President Ikeda has proposed a “second People’s Decade for Nuclear Abolition” in order to support efforts to realize the early entry into force and universalization of the TPNW. Members of the Catholic Worker movement held a protest decrying nuclear weapons and other expressions of militarism outside the Air Force Association’s annual “Air, Space and Cyber Conference.” Platte and Gilbert were in Colorado, visiting US military bases to present a copy of the treaty. As the result of a long campaign by Christian antinuclear activist Anthony Donovan, Amalgamated Bank announced that they were not invested in the development of production of nuclear weapons (Mante 2017). When the Nobel Peace Prize Committee announced that ICAN won the 2017 prize, Platte and Gilbert were visiting the Warren Air Force Base in Wyoming to raise awareness about the treaty and the threat of nuclear weapons. In November 2017, the new Dicastery for Promoting Integral Human Development at the Vatican convened a conference “Perspectives For a World Free From Nuclear Weapons and for Integral Disarmament” and gathered a collection of both religious people who had been involved in the ban treaty as well as Catholic ethicists, theologians, academics and students to collectively examine the connections between nuclear disarmament, development and peace. The importance of the issue of nuclear disarmament was evident in the addresses by His Excellency Monsignor Tomasi, His Eminence Cardinal Turkson and His Eminence Cardinal Parolin. As part of the final outcome summary of the conference, Dr. Stephen Colecchi (2017) reinforced one of the primary religious themes in nuclear disarmament, the diversion of resources: “National security cannot be pursued apart from collective security. Anti-poverty efforts cannot be pursued apart from disarmament efforts. The arms race, including the nuclear arms race, robs humanity of the resources it needs to reduce poverty and foster integral human development. And conflict itself, with its attendant devastation, is development in reverse.” He additionally underlined the way that nuclear weapons undermine the ability of human beings to trust one another and create a climate of fear.

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One of the actionable items to emerge from the conference was the call for a day of prayer on nuclear disarmament. This theme was referenced both by many of the faith groups present at the conference as well as by Beatrice Fihn, the executive director of ICAN, in her address to the conference. After the conference, this call was taken up by the World Council of Churches in their “A Light of Peace” advent prayer cycle as well as by Pope Francis himself as he seized the occasion of December 10, the day the Nobel Peace Prize was awarded to ICAN, to include a message about nuclear disarmament in his daily message after praying the Angelus: “the commitment towards upholding the dignity of all people, in particular the weakest and most vulnerable, means also working with determination to build a world without nuclear arms” (in Bordoni 2017). The November 2018 Parliament of the World’s Religions in Toronto included several speakers who highlighted the importance of nuclear disarmament to people of faith and the significance of the TPNW. The Parliament adopted a statement supporting the TPNW, making “a passionate plea to the leaders of all religions, all people of good will, and all leaders of nations both with and without nuclear weapons to commit to work to eliminate these horrific devices forever” (Parliament of the World’s Religions 2018).

Conclusion IR scholarship has consistently underestimated and misunderstood the role of religious actors in global politics, ignoring them or focusing on more on their capacity for violence than their witness for peace. The TPNW negotiations show that people of faith seek a role in global peace and security policy. Drawing on seven decades of religious thinking about the atomic age, faith-based organizations and religious activists communicated their opposition to nuclear weapons, portraying them as expression of forbidden violence, idolatrous and sinful, a derogation of the duty of care to the world and its people and a diversion of precious resources from sustainable development. They embodied these values in their devotions at the Isaiah Wall, bore witness to delegates of the suffering of the hibakusha and test survivors, participated directly in negotiations and engaged in nonviolent activism in the streets outside the conference. Their influence can be seen in the TPNW’s strong ethical orientation, its positive obligations to aid affected communities and a specific acknowledgment of religious leaders as voices of public conscience. We would encourage further scholarship on

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the role of religious actors in other treaty processes, on issues of peace and security, but also human rights and sustainable development. One of the core purposes of religion has been to help human beings cope with the profound fear and sadness of a world filled with violence and danger and to guide us toward more generative, hopeful responses to suffering. There is no greater threat to human survival than nuclear weapons and there is no act that better demonstrates our essential goodwill toward one another, our trust in the basic goodness of humanity than our mutual agreements to choose open-heartedness, compassion, and discernment over threat. It is little mystery as to why religious leaders were able to repeatedly come together and speak with one voice against nuclear weapons. Perhaps the stranger reality is that the work is not done and that there is still an urgent need for people of faith to continue to speak and act from their deepest convictions until the day when we see the last nuclear weapon eliminated.

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PART II

Challenges in Diffusing and Implementing Norms

CHAPTER 5

US Arms Control Dynamics in the Era of Humanitarian Disarmament: A Case Study of the Convention on Cluster Munitions Taylor Benjamin-Britton

The United States’ current official position on cluster munitions cites an explicit concern for “the humanitarian impact of the indiscriminate use of all munitions including cluster munitions” (U.S. Department of State 2018b) and maintains strict standards for the safety of weapons in the arsenal. However, the United States has less well articulated its parameters for the sales of such weapons to regimes with fewer humanitarian scruples

T. Benjamin-Britton (B) Lehigh University, Bethlehem, PA, USA e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2020 M. B. Bolton et al. (eds.), Global Activism and Humanitarian Disarmament, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-27611-9_5

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until recent years. Since 2015, humanitarian disarmament1 campaigners have drawn international attention to Saudi Arabian deployment of American cluster munitions against targets in civilian-populated areas of Yemen. The campaign garnered coverage in major United States media outlets such as the New York Times and the Washington Post, explicitly targeted US cluster munition producer Textron until it announced the cessation of munitions production, and shamed American policymakers for their oversight in allowing the indiscriminate use of American-made weapons against civilians. After a Human Rights Watch report publicized that the failure rate of munitions used in Yemen was much higher than reported by the US manufacturer, posing significant risk to Yemeni civilians (“Yemen: Cluster Munitions Wounding Civilians,” 2016), the Obama administration placed a temporary hold on cluster munition transfers to Saudi Arabia pending further investigation of the misuse (Hudson 2016). While just a month later the House failed to pass an amendment that would ban cluster munition transfers to Saudi Arabia (Emmons 2016), Textron, the main US target in the transnational humanitarian disarmament campaign and the last US producer of cluster munitions in their entirety, announced it would end its cluster munition production (Gibbons-Neff 2016). This exchange is exemplary of a complex American position on conventional disarmament, albeit one which is still evolving under the Trump Administration. The official position to date recognizes at least some latent harmfulness characteristic of particular weapons in the arsenal while maintaining the utility of US munitions (both in the arsenal and in weapons transfers) vis-à-vis potential alternative weapons (“Cluster Munitions,” 2018a). It is surprising that, while greater strides toward humanitarian disarmament have been made under the more liberal Obama Administration, that the explicit recognition of their humanitarian harm transcends electoral cycles. The position as of 2018 stated, “The United States shares in the international concern about the humanitarian impact of the indiscriminate use of all munitions, including cluster munitions” (“Cluster Munitions,” 2018a). Conventional arguments about arms control tend to focus

1 Humanitarian disarmament refers to a new class of arms control agreements that place

human rights considerations ahead of state interests in their design, as well as to activism that advocates for such agreements. There is not an agreed-upon definition for this phenomenon, although the Norwegian Ministry of Foreign Affairs provides the most in-depth description, accessible here: https://www.regjeringen.no/en/topics/foreign-affairs/humanitarianefforts/humanitarian-disarmament/id2076807/.

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on the actions of signing and ratifying new international agreements, which would miss “less significant” changes in US behavior. However, states make many small shifts toward humanitarian disarmament that are not captured by the dichotomy of ratification or not, and it would be more useful to view disarmament behavior as a continuum rather than a dichotomy in examining US disarmament behavior. In this chapter, it is argued that in spite of US reticence to bind itself to the requirements of international humanitarian disarmament agreements, transnational campaigns stigmatizing weapons such as cluster munitions has gradually shifted US policy such that de facto it tends to follow many of the prescriptions embodied by the same agreements it publicly rejects. Changing international approaches to humanitarian disarmament, over time, reinforce these micro behavioral changes. In the United States, the transnational pressures have created reputational costs for politicians as well as material costs for weapons producers, which risk losing revenue to stigmatizing media attention, investor flight, and product boycott, including by ally governments. While the shift in US behavior may not be fully attributable to transnational pressure, the closeness of match to humanitarian prescriptions is revealed as significant and may be indicative of an ongoing shift in US policy, which the current and future unsupportive Administrations will find costly to undo entirely. Notably, the Trump Administration has removed a moratorium on cluster munition deployment set to begin in 2018 (Abrahamson 2018), however, the weapons have yet to be deployed and the United States is likely to face reputational and other costs from the international community should it take steps to use them. In the following pages, this chapter will consider the existing body of scholarly work on international disarmament behavior before turning to its guiding theoretical framework. The case of US approaches to cluster munitions will then be presented as preliminary evidence of changing US behavior toward humanitarian disarmament. Finally, the chapter will conclude with a brief discussion of the applicability of the framework to other cases and comment on the implications of the incoming administration on future US disarmament practice.

Conventional Arms Control Explanations In the field of international relations, much research has been done which is applicable toward a complete explanation of the costly decision to pivot away from “still serviceable weapons” of war toward humanitarian arms

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control policy (Garcia 2006, p. 73), which variously applies both logics of consequences and logics of appropriateness. Cluster munitions, which operate as de facto landmines due to high rates of failure to detonate on impact, are still in deployment today and cost more to produce than landmines, designating cluster munitions a more profitable and higher utility weapon (Garcia 2011, p. 164). An American turn from cluster munitions, exemplified by the end of cluster munitions sales by the last US producer in 2016, challenges the realist notion that only useless weapons will be subject to bans (Petrova 2010, p. 6). However, the continued possession of cluster munitions and the sales of weapons that are similar, but definitionally not cluster munitions by the US’ standards, also renders difficult the explanation of such restraint on the basis of a prohibitionary norm on cluster munitions (Cooper 2011, p. 176). This section examines the existent research on disarmament, discussing its relative merits and shortcomings, before locating the thesis of the chapter within the context of this literature. One possible explanation for the US shift toward humanitarian disarmament is that the abandonment of certain weapons, such as cluster munitions, could be explained by declining weapon utility or the relatively increasing security value of alternative materiel options (Cooper 2011, p. 140). The loss of utility explanation for disarmament is based on the material interests of states and their leaders: weapons, inhumane, or otherwise, are abandoned when they are no longer materially useful, either for actual deployment or sale. Cooper (2011) argues that a process of “desecuritization” occurs wherein actors seek actively to diminish the perceived security provided by the weapons, making room for alternatives. In this line of thinking, states abandon cluster munitions because they bear a low cost of doing so since the weapon is already being or has been phased out. As they are phased out, the creation or purchase of new precision munitions can be legitimated vis-à-vis older, more imprecise weapons (Cooper 2011, p. 139). This explanation falls short, however, where weapons with utility and safety features, such as the popular M26 (“Cluster Munition Questions and Answers,” 2006), have been nonetheless discarded from the arsenals of most US allies and banned from US sale from 2018 (Greenwald 2015). While prohibition might present a low cost particularly for states not facing security dilemmas or a non-cost of dismantling an arsenal that was never possessed, utility loss also does not account for the regular reference by disarming states to non-realist phenomena as justification for prohibition (Price 1998, p. 614) such as the humanitarian cost of cluster munitions use (Petrova 2010, p. 2). In the US case, destruction of its stockpile, the

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largest in the world, also represents the greatest cost to any state for arsenal reduction; rather than accept the cost of disarmament, the United States has opted to maintain but not to use its arsenal. Second, state leaders constrained domestically and internationally might design and join new disarmament agreements to satisfy and relieve pressure from both sets of interests (Putnam 1988). Domestic or domestically operating transnational disarmament groups clamor for a preferred weapons prohibition, creating space for politicians to consolidate power with supportive domestic and international audiences. This domestic pressure could be satisfied through an international agreement that meets the public demand (Putnam 1988, p. 434) for humanitarian disarmament without unnecessarily constraining policymakers with high standards for behavior change. Considering the constellation of relevant interests is useful as a starting point for thinking about the variegated sources of pressure that could lead to new disarmament behavior, but also assumes that government is interested in consolidating support from disarmament groups and that domestic groups have an existing interest or aversion to the policy. Domestic groups must clamor for the new policy in order to draw the attention of lawmakers enough that they feel pressure to initiate policy proposals (Petrova 2007, p. 14). It cannot explain cases wherein most actors begin with neither information about nor interest in disarming: as observed by Erickson, domestic constituencies are typically uninterested in conventional arms transfers (Erickson 2015b, p. 31). A third possibility that could account for US disarmament behavior change is normative suasion, wherein political actors are persuaded of the appropriateness (or not) of owning and using cluster munitions on moral grounds (Checkel 2005). Under this perspective, actors can influence the security preferences and interests of state leaders through persuasive argumentation (Checkel 2005, p. 807). This suggests the presence of a norm (Finnemore 1996, p. 24) describing the appropriate approach for states to cluster munitions, as well as the potential that actors can be persuaded (non-coercively) to accept such a norm (Johnston 2001, p. 489). While US practice, which is to continue to maintain a cluster munition arsenal and make occasional claims about its utility in spite of infrequent and waning use, does not persuade, the United States has adopted components of the prescription of the cluster munition taboo, including recognizing the humanitarian harm they cause and efforts to reduce that harm. Fourth, actors applying logics of appropriateness can also, rather than persuade an actor to abandon a weapon, render the choice to keep it morally

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or politically costly. A regulatory agreement such as a ban would be costly for producers, which might not be mitigated by the moral or reputational benefit of the state joining, so broad support for a cluster bomb ban challenges arguments that states will support low- or no-cost disarmament agreements (see Von Stein 2005; Simmons 2009). Civil society organizations are particularly well poised to strategically influence the terms of disarmament through expertise in their issue area, moral authority to speak to the issue, and a claim to political legitimacy through the kinds of actions they take to foment behavior change (Price 2003, p. 587). Through the mobilization of information about the humanitarian harm caused by particular weapons, civil society has the potential to construct urgency around disarmament issues and open up space to pressure or otherwise gain leverage over government disarmament decisions (Keck and Sikkink 1998, p. 2). It is clear that the United States is moving away from cluster munitions, but this cannot be explained well by singular existing theories. The United States appears to be adopting some prescribed behaviors while at the same time clinging to arguments about weapon legitimacy and utility, which is not indicative of suasion but may reflect increasing social costs imposed by other international actors. In the following section, a theory of this process of increasing pressure will be developed.

Theoretical Framework In this chapter, the author advances the notion that disarmament behavior change is best viewed as a suite of increasingly costly steps toward disarmament that, through a combination of both reputational and material pressure, states can be guided by transnational campaigns to take. From this framework, the author advances that the efficacy of campaign pressure on state behavior depends on the salience of the issue and the potential for material leverage over the issue, through loss of revenue or reputation, which increases the cost of status quo policy and incentivizes change. The status quo here is the maintenance of the entire stockpile (or even weapon use), resistance to humanitarian framing, and/or denial of the harm caused by the weapon. While the United States has not made conventionally recognized policy changes such as treaty ratification, examination of its policies along a continuum of disarmament behavior renders a shift in US policy toward a more humanitarian disarmament policy much clearer and allows for the identification of the drivers of that change.

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Transnational humanitarian campaigns can contour policy change by increasing the coalition: the size of the network of organizations active on the issue in a state and, particularly, major international non-governmental organizations such as Amnesty International which have many more members and can bring greater resources to bear. In the absence of domestic civil society organizations or groups which may be able (or willing) to take up a disarmament issue within the state and make the issue a political one (Price 1998), domestic political interests which are likely to maintain the status quo flow of arms transfer income (Schrad 2010, p. 197). Disarmament groups influence state behavior in a number of ways. Through quickly and credibly generating politically useful information to other parts of the network (Keck and Sikkink 1998, p. 16) or through linking abandonment of cluster munitions to money, goods, prestige, or reputation (Keck and Sikkink 1998, p. 23). Material incentives in particular can motivate states to adopt new norms or prescribed behavior not in their interest to relieve high costs (Erickson 2015a, p. 4). Civil society can hold politicians accountable by highlighting harmful behaviors alongside model ones (Erickson 2014, p. 190), drawing attention to undesirable behavior, and by highlighting the stated principles and past policies of politicians, highlighting hypocrisies (Keck and Sikkink 1998, p. 16; Petrova 2008, p. 77). Particularly after domestic politicians have made some tactical concession to alleviate civil society pressure, they can become “rhetorically entrapped” by the regular highlighting of future inconsistencies with that initial recognition of harm that justified the earlier concession (Petrova 2008, pp. 89–90). Domestic elites, particularly in democracies, care about their reputation, which can be damaged by scandal around failure to practice war in a humanitarian fashion; while arms control failures rarely swing elections, civilian casualties due to particular weapons can erode political legitimacy and social prestige (Erickson 2015a, p. 19). Facing media attention on humanitarian disarmament failures, domestic elites may swing to more “responsible” policy to repair reputation, as opprobrium from attention to undesirable practice carries costs to prestige, status, or even identity (Johnston 2001, p. 504). It may be a combination of domestic campaigning, coalition building, and skillful use of opportune moments to “stir media and public attention to the harmful effects of weapons,” can increase the likelihood of behavior change (Petrova 2008, pp. 76–77). All of these tactics have been applied by the transnational disarmament campaign to ban cluster munitions, to partial success in terms of US behavior change.

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The continued existence of the US cluster munitions arsenal is in part determinable by the perception of policymakers that the weapons have utility, since the conclusion of an international ban on cluster munitions in 2008, to which the United States is not party. However, policymakers have been unwilling to use the weapons since the 2008 Cluster Munition Convention entered into force, increasingly less willing to sell them, and entirely willing to recognize their problematic nature as well as incur high costs in the areas of demining and victim assistance. For example, United States the State Department website boasts the United States spends more than any other country on cluster munition area decontamination (“Cluster Munitions,” 2017). Thus, campaigns focus on generating issue salience, or the frequency of the issue’s recurrence in national discourse, by lobbying leaders and opportunely seeking media attention to pressure those leaders. Salience is not well defined in the political science literature and often measured by proxy (For a discussion, see Wlezien 2005). Civil society groups enjoy moral authority and credibility of information (Florini 2000). As such, they are often called on as experts on the issue and can use this position to advocate for particular policies relevant to the issue, especially around relevant news events. Citizens have multiple and often competing considerations about even prominent issues, but it is the one with the highest salience that most affects responses (Zaller and Feldman 1992, p. 585). When an issue is salient, civil society groups may be able to activate sections of the public to participate in the application of leverage, or the use of political power to achieve a desired result, for instance voting or demonstrating to influence government perceptions about the viability of status quo arms policy. Civil society leverage activities range in their strength: lowstrength activities may include letter writing and petitions; high strength activities may include public anti-weapon demonstrations, voting based on support for a weapon ban, and the boycotting of national banks or other institutions which invest in the weapon. Salience and leverage interact to contour the range of acceptable state behaviors. Through the raising of issue salience, leaders are alerted to the costs of particular policy choices; through leverage, governments feel those costs in the form of pressure from their populi. For civil society pressure to be costly enough to elicit state behavior change, a target government must perceive both salience of the issue and costly pressures. Any combination of salience and leverage will have some impact on behavioral outcomes, but as governments of democratic states particularly are beholden to their

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voting populace for support, that impact will be greatest where leverage is most broadly and often applied. Under conditions of high salience and high pressure, state behavior can move along a continuum of state responses from non-response to overwhelming support for new humanitarian disarmament policy. Between these extremes is a range of humanitarianism in which states increasingly but incrementally recognize and protect new humanitarian norms. Where the state does not recognize the norm or make justifications to assuage the concerns of other states regarding the norm, it is exhibiting silence. The first detectable behavior shift is from silence to neutralizing recognition, in which the state, feeling some pressure, acknowledges others’ recognition of the norm by appealing to higher authorities such as existing law or national defense to justify the violation and offset the reputational cost of doing so (Sykes and Matza 1957). As states continue to experience pressure, they may give concessions, which include a willingness to recognize the potential for humanitarian problems resultant from the status quo behavior, and voluntarily abandon part of the arsenal. However, a part of the status quo policy is also maintained and defended, and modern safety features and the permission of existing international law, defined as the lack of international regulation on the issue, justify the remaining arsenals. When states enter into the negotiation of agreements regarding the issue, they engage in soft rulemaking, recognizing consistent harm caused by the weapon and declaring intent to develop new international law to address the issue. Soft rulemaking becomes hard rulemaking when states not only declare support for new agreements and participate in their design, but also obligate themselves to comply with official declarations to do so through signature and ratification. Compliance itself involves the fulfillment of the obligation, which in the case of humanitarian disarmament goes beyond stockpile destruction to funding programs for other states parties and condemnation of norm violators both inside and outside the agreement. Finally, states exhibit overcompliance when they instate national regulations stronger than required by the treaty and make major efforts toward universalization and assisting other states with compliance efforts. Overcompliant states not only condemn violation of the norm and the agreement which instantiates it, but they also condemn Parties that fail to recognize violations. Steps to disarmament are not necessarily taken in this order, but as each represents major additional commitments, incremental progress along the continuum is most likely (Fig. 5.1).

Neutralizing recogniƟon: jus fica on of norm viola on in appeal to exis ng IL or na onal authority; indicates earliest recogniƟon of the norm.

SoŌ Rule-making: recogni on of consistent harm; na onal moratorium on the harmful behavior or weapon; par cipa on in all IL processes aimed at addressing that harm; willingness to declare support for new IL.

Fig. 5.1 The range of humanitarian disarmament behavior

Silence: non-recogni on of the norm.

Concessions: recogni on of poten al for harm if norm violated; voluntary abandonment of older weapons or policies; jus fica on of remaining weapons or policies vis-avis technical safety fixes and self-regula on based in exis ng IL. Hard Rule-making: recogni on of consistent harm; participa on in all IL processes aimed at banning the source of harm; willingness to declare future intent to comply.

Compliance: recogni on of consistent harm; par cipa on in all IL processes aimed at banning the source of harm; signature and ra fica on of a ban; condemna on of norm viola on; compliance if coupled with regular watchdogging; efforts toward universaliza on.

Over-compliance recogni on of consistent harm; par cipa on in all IL processes aimed at banning the source of harm; full compliance with ban; stronger naƟonal regulaƟons than required by ban; condemna on of norm violators and Par es that fail to condemn; major effort on universaliza on.

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In order to uncover causal factors and rule out some alternative explanations, this chapter employs process tracing. Process tracing alleviates concerns about the role of competing explanations and the independence of the cases from one another (see George and Bennett 2005). It is expected that a particular sequence of events fomented by civil society campaigning will result in at least some behavioral change along the humanitarian disarmament spectrum in the case of the United States. In brief, the process of behavior change is the result of a call and response between civil society and government. Transnational civil society initiates a call for change, to which governments respond or do not respond, identifying their position on the issue. At the domestic level, campaigns then target government with strength in the form of large allocations of campaign resources and leverage in the form of public political pressure. Under pressure, governments become increasingly likely to make incremental behavioral changes to relieve this pressure, moving along the disarmament spectrum. Behavioral changes are cemented with ongoing monitoring, alerting the public to evidence of violation and rendering it therefore costly. A strong campaign leading to public leverage over government is most likely to affect disarmament outcomes, although low leverage is revealed in this case through tracing of the sequence of events, explaining in part the weak US response to the cluster munition regime. In the following section, the case of the United States will be considered with a view to the relative salience and leverage applied by the transnational campaign, and its response to that campaign will be measured along the continuum of humanitarian disarmament.

American Cluster Bombs Background At the onset of the Oslo Process, the United States was the world’s leading user, producer, and exporter of cluster munitions, with hundreds of millions of dollars in sales attributable to the weapons just since 2008 (Landmine & Cluster Munition Monitor 2018). No actor has used cluster munitions against the United States in combat, however the United States has deployed them in Cambodia, the Lao PDR, and Vietnam in the 1960s and 1970s; Grenada and Lebanon in 1983; Libya in 1986; Iran in 1988; Iraq, Kuwait, and Saudi Arabia in 1991; Bosnia and Herzegovina in 1995; Serbia, Montenegro, and Kosovo in 1999; Afghanistan in 2001 and 2002;

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Iraq in 2003 (Landmine & Cluster Munition Monitor 2010, p. 256); and Yemen in 2009 (Feinstein and Leahy 2013). Due to this historical legacy, the United States has engaged with certain aspects of humanitarian disarmament, specifically remedial measures to correct (in part) for past practice. In particular, this has included the Humanitarian Mine Action Program and $1.3 billion USD in contributions toward clearance since 1993 (U.S. Department of State 2018b). Half of this funding is attributable to efforts with particularly strong US obligations—Afghanistan, Iraq, and Lao PDR (Landmine & Cluster Munition Monitor 2018). These and efforts toward victim assistance have drawn the United States toward other aspects of the humanitarian disarmament regime, which will be discussed below. While American forces have not used cluster munitions since 2009 (Feinstein and Leahy 2013), Washington continues to sell the weapons, insist that they have military utility, and imply that their use is more humane than singular heavy weapons: Cluster munitions have demonstrated military utility. Their elimination from U.S. stockpiles would put the lives of its soldiers and those of its coalition partners at risk. Moreover, cluster munitions can often result in much less collateral damage (emphasis in original) than unitary weapons, such as a larger bomb or larger artillery shell would cause, if used for the same mission. (U.S. Department of State)

US official policy continues on to state that indiscriminate use of any munitions is cause for humanitarian concerns, and highlights that the US government spends more than any other on the elimination of explosive remnants of war, including cluster submunitions (U.S. Department of State). The American stockpile, the full extent of which is not publicly available, although reported in 2011 to be at around five million cluster munitions (Statement of the United States 2009), represents the highest cost to any government for giving up the weapons, with a reported stockpile destruction price tag of $2.2 billion (Landmine & Cluster Munition Monitor 2018). The United States has still not acceded to the 2008 Convention on Cluster Munitions, nor did it participate even as an observer in the Oslo Process (Landmine & Cluster Munition Monitor 2018). Rather, it has been one of the Convention’s strongest opponents: it led efforts to weaken the agreement from outside the negotiations and pushed for weaker alternative treaty that would regulate the future use of rather than ban cluster munitions. The United States unsuccessfully pushed for regulation and

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weakening of cluster munitions within the 1985 Convention on Conventional Weapons before, during, and after the Oslo Process. It currently has no moratorium on the use of cluster munitions (Abrahamson 2018). On the other hand, the United States has all but ceased the use of cluster munitions, with only a single 2009 airstrike in Yemen after the major deployment in Iraq in 2003. It last budgeted funds to produce them in 2007 (Landmine & Cluster Munition Monitor 2018). While seeking weaker standards of regulations than preferred by the majority of states, US diplomats did try to include cluster munitions new Protocol to the 1980 Convention on Conventional Weapons (CCW), a forum which if it could produce consensus among state participants had the potential to include all of the major cluster munitions users and producers. Since the failed bid to regulate its weapons through the CCW in 2011, the United States also been remarkably quiet about its stance on cluster munitions and temporary ceased sales to Saudi Arabia due to its conduct in Yemen in 2016. The US position on cluster munitions has not been easily explained by existing theoretical work on weapon utility or weapon taboos. At times, Washington has framed cluster munitions as legitimate and as having military utility (Feickert and Kerr 2017), but Department of Defense policy also referred to “potential unintended harm” and “unintended harm” in its 2008 and 2017 policies, respectively. The United States has adopted variegated argumentative frameworks into its justifications over the course of the past decade and a half, often partially incorporating civil society’s frames into hybrid arguments, such as the need to strike a balance between military and humanitarian interests (U.S. Department of State 2008). In the following sections, the author will examine the process through which US rhetoric and behavior around cluster munitions have evolved, from number one user and producer to partial adoption of the language of the ban campaign and quiet offloading of its weapons stock in the shadow of the 2008 Convention on Cluster Munitions. This section endeavors to explain why the United States clearly began to pivot away from a previously favored weapon and ceased altogether to engage in justifications of use or sales of cluster munitions. The strongest indicator for US behavior is still the utility it claims to vest in cluster munitions, as exemplified in past and current policy. In addition to declining utility, this section will also be attentive to the alternative explanations of convergent domestic interests and normative suasion of a prohibitive norm around cluster munitions.

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Legitimate Weapons with Clear Military Utility Given the US’ prolific history of cluster munitions use and sales, it is perhaps surprising that it was an early adopter of national standards for mitigating the humanitarian harm caused by cluster munitions. In 2001, the Department of Defense directed US cluster munitions producers to meet a minimum failure or dud rate of 1% for all munitions produced from 2005 (Human Rights Watch & Landmine Action 2009); while the standard had the potential to reduce harm, its justification was grounded in improved reliability (Human Rights Watch & Landmine Action 2009) and would have the effect of shoring up the perceived utility of US cluster munitions rather than reducing their use. Importantly, this policy did not prevent the United States from using and selling older munitions that did not meet the 1% standard, either. The United States 1% dud rate policy is rendered all the more interesting in that neither cluster munitions nor the opaque meetings of States Parties were of salience to the US public at the time, providing little domestic incentive to cleave to growing international pressure on explosive remnants of war. The dud rate policy may have also had the effect of providing cover for the broader American stance on cluster munitions, which was to maintain cluster munitions as a feature of the US arsenal in the face of changing international acceptance of the weapons. Any new international rules or regulations were seen as problematic to US interest, although it was willing to discuss cluster bombs in the context of addressing unexploded ordnance. While cluster munitions were increasingly an issue in the context of negotiations on explosive remnants of war in the Convention on Conventional Weapons, the United States would argue from 2001 to 2004 that cluster munitions could be best regulated by existing international humanitarian law (Human Rights Watch & Landmine Action 2009) in conjunction of its preferred practice of technical improvements to the weapons themselves, in order to mitigate what it saw as the primary problem of the dud rate (see Borrie 2009). The CCW also provided the United States with the added benefit of its privileging of states over other actors, rendering it easy for states to limit civil society access and thereby alleviate social pressures within the negotiating forum. During the first talks on regulation of cluster munitions, in the context of the negotiations on unexploded ordnance, the United States opposed calls for a moratorium, both bilaterally and with the group (U.S. Embassy Geneva 2006). It attempted to pressure others

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to accept its position that discussion of new rules of international humanitarian law was unnecessary and that existing laws (the CCW) should be applied “rigorously” (Landmine & Cluster Munition Monitor 2018). At the same time, certain states such as Norway as well as UNMAS and the ICRC maintained the salience of the correlation between cluster munition failure rates and civilian casualties in the CCW agenda, rendering total inaction difficult. In response to increasing concerns, the United States reiterated its willingness to focus on improving dud rates, recognizing that enhancing cluster munition reliability is “an important goal from a military as well as a humanitarian point of view” (Landmine & Cluster Munition Monitor 2018). This adoption of the humanitarian frame into US arguments reflects at least a measure of recognition of the import that some actors vested in reducing humanitarian harm from cluster munitions, however the hybrid nature of the argument and the focus on military considerations reveal that cluster munitions maintained their utility for the US. The US government was also clearly averse to international regulation on grounds of military utility, as exemplified by the argument that prohibiting cluster munitions in populated areas would incentivize “the unlawful tactic of positioning lawful military targets among civilians” and “potentially increase harm to civilians, rather than further reduce humanitarian risk” (Landmine & Cluster Munition Monitor 2018). In other words, for the United States it was not the case that using cluster munitions caused harm, but rather, not using them caused harm. Prohibition Causes Humanitarian Harm Salient international events and growing international pressure would render maintaining a pro-cluster munition position more costly for the United States over time. After ally Israel’s massive use of cluster munitions in south Lebanon in 2006, international pressure to address cluster munitions increased and a number of States Parties to the CCW began calling for the negotiation of a new international legally binding instrument on cluster munitions (Human Rights Watch & Landmine Action 2009, p. 252), most notably Norway. This was compounded by the fact that Israel had deployed large numbers of American-produced munitions, which two UN inquiries found to be in violation of the international humanitarian principles of distinction in targeting and proportionality of force (Human Rights Watch 2008). The State Department inquiry found that Israel potentially violated classified agreements about how US-supplied munitions could be

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used. The contents of the agreement are not available, but the US response implies that either the use of weapons in populated areas or the large scale of use in the final three days of conflict were problematic for the United States, or both (Cloud 2005). Within a month of the Israeli cluster bombing, amid a flurry of media coverage of civilian casualties, US Senators Dianne Feinstein (D-CA) and Patrick Leahy (D-VT) proposed the first US legislative action on cluster munitions (Human Rights Watch & Landmine Action 2009, p. 252). Their proposed amendment would specifically ban the use of cluster munitions by US armed forces in or near any concentrated population of civilians and would have banned their sale to any state that did not explicitly agree to follow the same guideline (U.S. Senate 2006). While the amendment was defeated 30-70, Feinstein and Leahy have submitted draft legislation regarding cluster munitions regularly since 2006 (U.S. Senate 2006), the first of which then-Senator Barack Obama also voted to support. This movement within the US legislature was not indicative of a changing US position at the CCW, however. At the 2006 CCW Third Review Conference, the United States continued to argue that it was unnecessary to talk about new international humanitarian rules but rather that efforts would be better focused on the rigorous application of existing international law, specifically Protocol V on explosive remnants of war (Bettauer 2007). US delegates favored the British-proposed mandate to implement existing humanitarian law to address cluster munitions; but rejected a proposed mandate to negotiate a binding agreement on cluster munitions (U.S. Embassy Geneva 2006) as well as a joint declaration calling the prohibition of cluster bomb use in populated areas (Declaration on Cluster Munitions 2006). American reticence succeeded in preventing any meaningful regulation of cluster munitions in the CCW. However, in the wake of failed negotiations to meaningfully address the humanitarian harm caused by cluster munitions, Norway announced it would be introducing a new outside (to the CCW) legal process to negotiate an explicit agreement on cluster munitions, later to be called the Oslo Process. The United States responded to Norway with “disappointment”: While recognizing that this is an important humanitarian issue, the process to deal with cluster munitions, we feel, should be one that is inside … the framework of the CCW. The effort to go outside, we think, is not healthy for the CCW, is not healthy for the development of widely adhered to rules

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of international humanitarian law … (Human Rights Watch & Landmine Action 2009)

Accordingly, the United States was not invited to the Oslo Process talks; American officials did not seek to gain entry to the process, either. However, the United States did attempt to influence other states and particularly its allies, with the aim of changing the treaty outcome, from the periphery of negotiations (Human Rights Watch & Landmine Action 2009, pp. 251–260), frequently reaching out to allies over aspects of the draft text. A State Department official stated that he or she had communicated US views on the process and draft convention to more than 100 nations, with special concern for the impact of a prohibition on cooperation with its allies (Goose 2008). US negotiators sought from the beginning of the Oslo Process to revive the forum of the Convention on Conventional Weapons, in which it argued the major users and producers would participate; and they sought to ensure that the new convention did not inhibit the ability to employ cluster munitions through NATO and other coalition military operations, warning allies that signing such a ban would hinder cooperation with the United States in the future (U.S. Department of State 2008). Through 2007, the American focus remained on securing its national security interests in the face of growing support for a ban of cluster munitions. Recognizing the US stance on cluster munitions, Norway challenged their position outright: a US official complained in a May 2007 cable, “Basically they are responding to our repeated claims that cluster munitions have military utility by asking U.S. to please prove it” (U.S. Embassy Oslo 2007). Tellingly, the cable went on to state, “it appears that our claims on military utility and the impact on alliance operations need some factual backing and a good public diplomacy campaign to sway those countries leaning towards approving the Norwegians’ initiative” (U.S. Embassy Oslo 2007). Rigorous Application of Existing IHL? In spite of vehement opposition to new international regulation of cluster munitions, the United States relatively quickly changed tune, announcing in June 2007 at the next CCW meeting that it was willing to talk about cluster munitions so long as talks remained within the context of the CCW (Bettauer 2007), in clear opposition to the planned Oslo Process. The sincerity of this commitment addressing harm from cluster munitions was

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called into question when the United States continued to make the argument that cluster munitions were more humane than alternatives and that they were “legitimate weapons when employed properly and in accordance with existing international humanitarian law” (Bettauer 2007). At the same CCW meeting, the US delegation also made a presentation on the military utility of cluster munitions and cited “common misconceptions” that cluster munitions are “outdated weapons” and “indiscriminate and inaccurate” (Human Rights Watch & Landmine Action 2009, p. 253). In Congress, Senators Feinstein and Leahy had introduced legislation to require 99% reliability for cluster munitions and prohibit their use in civilian areas, but the bill was never brought to vote. The 2007 Consolidated Appropriations Act did include a moratorium on transfers of the weapons with reliability lower than 99% and restrictions on their use in civilian areas, but only for one year (H.R. 2768 2007). The new US behavior was viewed thus, with little indication that its views on utility and legitimacy had changed, as attributable to an attempt to mitigate the inconvenience of the Oslo Process than an attempt to address cluster munitions (Goose 2008). Ultimately, the United States pursued a parallel to the Oslo Process in the forum of the CCW, which, it hoped, would eventually include the world’s major users and producers of cluster munitions. In fact, a number of US allies participated in both fora, particularly those with major stockpiles like the United Kingdom. However, by the end of 2007, as the Oslo Process was advancing toward new international law, the CCW States Parties still had not arrived at agreement on a mandate to negotiate a legally binding instrument on cluster munitions, only a proposal. The United States also continued to assert that, in spite of this shortcoming, the CCW was still the most appropriate international legal framework in which to address cluster munitions, as the forum “most likely to achieve a result that balances humanitarian concerns with military utility and is, therefore, likely to have a more substantial impact than a result that fails to garner the support of many military powers” (Mathias 2008). The United States continued this behavior into 2008, opposing any sort of ban on cluster munitions and suggested that identifying good military practices relating to the use of cluster munitions such as safeguards could be beneficial, but only in the form of best practice measures, not legally binding treaty provisions (Human Rights Watch & Landmine Action 2009, p. 253). Even technical improvements to cluster munitions, which it had proposed a few years prior, were viewed as a “long-term” solution to addressing humanitarian concerns (Human Rights Watch & Landmine Action 2009, p. 253).

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While refusing to participate in the Oslo Process negotiations (although Senator Leahy did attend and express support for the treaty) the United States did work to influence their outcome. One State Department official reported that the United States had communicated its views on the Process and draft convention to more than 100 states, most regularly citing the concern that its allies who became Party to an eventual cluster munitions treaty would end up with competing obligations to the treaty and to American interests (Human Rights Watch & Landmine Action 2009, p. 254). This pressure was countered in part by a civil society that was much more active in the Oslo Process than the CCW one, given far greater access to states and the negotiations in the former. During negotiations, pro-ban campaigners protested American efforts to undermine the convention. Victims of cluster munitions used by the United States in Afghanistan, Cambodia, and Iraq joined campaigners outside the US embassy in Dublin in May 2008 to protest what they called the “elephant not in the room” (Landmine & Cluster Munition Monitor 2018) and levy greater pressure on the absent US government. Nonetheless, the United States was able to influence the Oslo treaty document’s final form: concerns about joint operations were addressed by the insistence of many US-allied delegations on Article 21— dubbed the “American clause”—that allowed States Parties to “engage in military cooperation and operations” with a government that “engages in activities prohibited” by the treaty (U.S. Opts Out of Landmark Cluster Bomb Treaty 2008). Some viewed this as weakening of the agreement, but necessary to achieving support from key NATO allies such as the UK. Civil society pressure had converged on the United States, particularly in October 2008, when the US Campaign to Ban Landmines and Cluster Bombs organized a speaking tour by cluster munition survivors from Afghanistan, Lebanon, and the United States through 11 US cities to build awareness and support for joining the ban. While 24 US NGOs have joined the Cluster Munition Coalition to date, notably Human Rights Watch and the Mennonite Central Committee US, many of the other organizations were small, focused on multiple disparate issues, and had fewer campaign resources to offer than civil society movements in other states. During the major period of activity around the Oslo Process meetings, there were no highly visible demonstrations or large petitions in the United States, offering little opportunity for public opinion to consolidate around the issue. After the Convention on Cluster Munitions’ adoption in May 2008, the United States stated that the reason for its lack of participation was that it did not support “a sweeping ban” on cluster munitions and did not view the

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new agreement as establishing a prohibitionary norm on cluster munitions (Human Rights Watch & Landmine Action 2009). This position, while it appears to recognize, if in a neutralizing way, the nascent cluster bomb taboo, does not take steps to recognize the humanitarian harm caused by cluster munitions and clarifies that US concerns remained with security interests rather than humanitarian ones. However, many close American allies had just initiated a process of ratifying binding international law prohibiting the use, sale, transfer, and stockpiling of cluster munitions, which would make utility-based arguments all the more difficult going forward. Rhetorical Adjustment In July 2008, well before the Convention on Cluster Munitions would enter into force, the United States announced its own, personally tailored cluster munitions regulations. The new Department of Defense policy stated that, effective immediately, the United States would no longer use or transfer cluster munitions with a failure rate of higher than 1% without approval from Combat Commander, which to date has not been granted, with a ten-year transition period to adapt and adopt new technologies. The Department of Defense framed the new official policy as “intended to reduce the collateral effects resulting from the use of cluster munitions in pursuit of legitimate military objectives” (Gates 2008). But it was also viewed as “a viable alternative to a complete ban proposal generated by the Oslo Process in Dublin, Ireland” and the basis for the US position in negotiations, which continued, in the CCW (Human Rights Watch & Landmine Action 2009, p. 255). At this point, the United States became the most ardent supporter for a new Protocol on cluster munitions, but it struggled, however, with stripping support from the Convention on Cluster Munitions in favor of its own process. The CCW failed to reach an agreement in late 2008, prompting the United States to express disappointment and accuse states, especially those associated with the Oslo Process, of leaving “significant humanitarian benefits on the table” and “risking the credibility of the CCW” (Human Rights Watch & Landmines Action 2009). In fact, the United States continued to push for a protocol, unsuccessfully, until 2011 before accepting that the approach was unlikely to lead to a new legal instrument. The United States has, to date, never participated in a meeting of the Convention on Cluster Munitions even as an observer, and has no designs

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of acceding to the treaty. Since its defeat in the CCW, the American government has been relatively quiet about its cluster munitions policy. Privately, it has acknowledged the “important contributions” made by the Convention on Cluster Munitions, but US government officials rarely comment publicly on US accession to the Convention (Landmine & Cluster Munition Monitor 2018). However, when asked, after abstaining from a November 2015 UN General Assembly vote for a non-binding resolution on the Convention on Cluster Munitions, US disarmament representative Robert Wood gave a telling response: The United States is not a party to the Convention and as such is not bound by its provisions. We consider the draft resolution … applicable only to those States parties to the Convention. It strongly remains the United States’ view that, when used properly in accordance with international humanitarian law, cluster munitions with a low unexploded ordnance rate provide key advantages against certain types of legitimate military targets and can produce less collateral damage than high explosive unitary weapons. Although cluster munitions remain an integral part of United States force capabilities, the United States is committed to reducing the potential for unintended harm to civilians and civilian infrastructure caused by either the misuse of cluster munitions or the use of cluster munitions that generate a large amount of unexploded ordnance. (Landmine & Cluster Munition Monitor 2018)

This extremely carefully worded answer demonstrates the strain the US position is under in the face of international pressure, speaking in probabilistic rather than absolute terms about whether precision cluster munitions actually mitigate harm and carefully defining the conditions under which the United States believes the combat use and therefore the sale of cluster munitions to maintain some legitimacy. With this statement, the United States implies that it does not engage in the kind of conduct or use cluster munitions in the kind of context that creates conditions for humanitarian harm by cluster munitions, regardless of whether this is possible. Field reporting on dud rates for US cluster munitions have historically differed from US munition test results (Ismay 2017). Delimiting the scope of “acceptable” use allows the United States to legitimate its own actions while delegitimizing the ways in which other states—such as Russia, Syria, or Saudi Arabia—have recently used cluster munitions. The official policy remains that cluster munitions are necessary to the US arsenal, using the language of “effective and necessary” and “legitimate weapons with clear military utility” (Ismay 2017).

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At the same time, with the exception of a single strike in 2009, the United States has not used its cluster munition arsenal in fifteen years. The United States also appears to have made progress in removing cluster munitions that do not meet a 99% reliability rate from its active stockpile and destroying them, although detailed information from the Department of Defense on this process is not widely available (Landmine & Cluster Munition Monitor 2018). However, even the most advanced US munition, the BLU-108 Sensor Fuzed Weapon, based on recent evidence collected from the Saudi deployment of the weapons in Yemen in 2016. Outcry over the apparent mischaracterization of the weapons’ safety led to regular protests at the headquarters of its producer, Textron, including a graphic Human Rights Watch report and accompanying media attention, which shortly afterward announced it would cease production of Sensor Fuzed Weapons (Ismay 2017). In spite of relatively low support for the notion of a cluster bomb taboo or the authority of the Convention on Cluster Munitions, the United States has recently begun engaging in the behaviors required by the treaty. In spite of maintaining utility and legitimacy for its own cluster munitions, the United States has engaged in the shaming of countries it perceives as misusing the weapons or using them in civilian contexts. In particular, it has highlighted Syrian behavior: voting in favor of six UN Human Rights Council resolutions condemning Syria’s use of cluster munitions between 2014 and 2016 and four UN General Assembly resolutions condemning the use of cluster munitions by Syria and Russia between 2013 and 2015 (Landmine & Cluster Munition Monitor 2018). The US House of Representatives passed a resolution in March 2016 condemning Syrian conduct including the use of cluster munitions and echoing Secretary of State Kerry’s expression of concern about cluster munitions killing innocent people in Syria the previous month (Landmine & Cluster Munition Monitor 2018). In October 2015, an Operation Inherent Resolve spokesperson criticized apparent Russian use of cluster munitions in Syria: “attacks using these imprecise weapons only continue to cause unnecessary suffering” (U.S. Department of Defense 2015). Colonel Steve Warren called Russia’s use of cluster munitions in Syria “irresponsible … these munitions have a high dud rate, they can…hurt civilians, and they’re just … not good” (U.S. Department of Defense 2015). Implied in these statements is the notion that using these weapons in these ways is no longer acceptable. The change in tone has been coupled with limited policy action in the US legislature, including several iterations of the bill backed by Senators

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Feinstein and Leahy to legalize the Defense Department’s 99% reliability directive and limit US forces from using any cluster munitions in populated areas, and several attempts to limit or cease sales to actors perceived as misusing the weapons. In particular, Saudi Arabian use of United States and UK munitions in civilian-populated areas prompted a temporary freeze on sales in 2016. Since May 2015, State Department officials have repeated that the United States is looking at reports that the coalition has used US cluster munitions and said “we share the concerns regarding unintended harm to civilians caused by the use of cluster munitions” (Landmine & Cluster Munition Monitor 2018). Senator Leahy has in the meantime established additional funding through the Patrick Leahy War Victims Fund within the Bureau for Democracy, Conflict and Humanitarian Assistance at USAID (Landmine & Cluster Munition Monitor 2018). However, considering the US stance in terms of a suite of policy responses to an ongoing pressure source, it becomes clearer that a shift has occurred. The official State Department position has recognized the latent potential of cluster munitions to cause harm to civilians. US policymakers have tried to correct that harm by narrowing the arsenal to weapons that meet strict safety standards and the destruction of weapons that do not. US diplomats have participated in the design of a regulatory regime for cluster munitions, in opposing the Convention on Cluster Munitions. And finally, the United States has to date ceased to use the weapons. In spite of the removal of the cluster munition deployment moratorium under the Trump Administration, the United States still finds itself constrained in its ability to actually deploy the weapons by the newly established normative and legal structure regulating cluster munitions. This shows a gradual shift in US behavior, particularly evolving under the Obama Administration, from silence on the disarmament spectrum to neutralizing recognition of the harm caused by the weapons to some concessions and soft rulemaking. Given this, the potential for a future shift to even stronger humanitarian standards for American disarmament becomes a much stronger possibility.

Conclusion The United States has been no friend to the disarmament community, regularly disrupting or slowing down international arms control processes through both institutional channels and through behind-the-scenes pressure on its allies. Yet, by understanding disarmament behavior as a series of steps rather than a dichotomous choice of whether to disarm, small shifts

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in US behavior are revealed. Over a few short years, the United States has become less antagonistic and disruptive on the issue of disarming cluster munitions, and adopted such restrictive standards on the deployment of cluster munitions as to effectively preclude them from use. Recently, pressure to cease sales of the weapons to Saudi Arabia has been, if only temporarily, successful. As US disarmament behavior change has been slow and incremental, across Administrations, future iterations of this project should apply the same framework to other cases of disarmament, such as landmines and chemical weapons, to reveal whether the United States has followed a similar pattern and might be expected to do so in the future. So far, US behavior points to a shift in US arms control behavior that has begun to resemble in some ways the international standard for non-use and non-sale of cluster munitions. It remains costly for the United States to use the weapons, in spite of US resistance to the cluster munitions taboo and international regime.

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Goose, S. (2008, January/February). Cluster Munitions: Ban Them. Arms Control Today, pp. 8–9. Greenwald, G. (2015, September 3). The NYT Claims US Abides by Cluster Bomb Treaty. The Intercept. Retrieved from https://theintercept.com/2015/09/03/ nyt-claims-u-s-abides-cluster-bomb-ban-exact-opposite-reality/. Hudson, J. (2016, May 27). Exclusive: White House Blocks Transfer of Cluster Bombs to Saudi Arabia. Foreign Policy. Retrieved from http://foreignpolicy. com/2016/05/27/exclusive-white-house-blocks-transfer-of-cluster-bombsto-saudi-arabia/. Human Rights Watch. (2006, August 18). Cluster Munition Questions and Answers: The M26 Rocket. Retrieved from https://www.hrw.org/news/ 2006/08/18/cluster-munition-questions-and-answers-m26-rocket. Human Rights Watch. (2008, February 16). Flooding South Lebanon: Israel’s Use of Cluster Munitions in Lebanon in July and August 2006. Retrieved from https://www.hrw.org/report/2008/02/16/flooding-south-lebanon/ israels-use-cluster-munitions-lebanon-july-and-august-2006. Human Rights Watch. (2016, February 14). Yemen: Cluster Munitions Wounding Civilians. Retrieved from https://www.hrw.org/news/2016/02/14/yemencluster-munitions-wounding-civilians. Human Rights Watch & Landmine Action. (2009, May). Banning Cluster Munitions: Government Policy and Practice. Ottawa: Mines Action Canada. Ismay, J. (2017, December 1). U.S. Will Keep Older Cluster Munitions. New York Times. Retrieved from https://www.nytimes.com/2017/12/01/us/clustermunitions-pentagon-south-korea.html. Johnston, A. J. (2001). Treating International Institutions as Social Environments. International Studies Quarterly, 45(4), 487–515. Keck, M., & Sikkink, K. (1998). Activists Beyond Borders: Advocacy Networks in International Politics. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Landmine & Cluster Munition Monitor. (2010, October). Cluster Munition Monitor 2010. Retrieved from http://www.the-monitor.org/en-gb/reports/2010/ cluster-munition-monitor-2010.aspx. Landmine & Cluster Munition Monitor. (2018, August). Country Profile: United States. Retrieved from http://www.the-monitor.org/index.php/cp/display/ region_profiles/theme/3142. Mathias, S. (2008, January 14). U.S. Delegation Statement to the Group of Governmental Experts. First 2008 Session of the CCW Group of Governmental Experts on Cluster Munitions. Geneva, Switzerland. Retrieved from https:// geneva.usmission.gov/2008/01/14/gge-statement-jan14-2008/. Petrova, M. H. (2007). Small States and New Norms of Warfare (MPW Working Paper No. 2007/28). Retrieved from http://cadmus.eui.eu/handle/1814/ 7644.

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Petrova, M. H. (2008). Curbing the Use of Indiscriminate Weapons: NGO Advocacy in Militant Democracies. In M. Evangelista, H. Müller, & N. Schörnig (Eds.), Democracy and Security: Preferences, Norms and Policy-Making (pp. 72–101). New York: Routledge. Petrova, M. H. (2010). Banning Obsolete Weapons or Reshaping Perceptions of Military Utility: Discursive Dynamics in Weapons Prohibitions (IBEI Working Paper No. 2010/31). Retrieved from https://www.ibei.org/en/banning-obsoleteweapons-or-reshaping-perceptions-of-military-utility-discursive-dynamics-inweapons-prohibitions_20637. Price, R. M. (1998). Reversing the Gun Sights: Transnational Civil Society Targets Landmines. International Organization, 52(3), 613–644. Price, R. M. (2003). Transnational Civil Society and Advocacy in World Politics. World Politics, 55(4), 579–606. Putnam, R. D. (1988). Diplomacy and Domestic Politics: The Logic of Two-Level Games. International Organization, 42(3), 427–460. Schrad, M. (2010). The Political Power of Bad Ideas. New York: Oxford University Press. Simmons, B. A. (2009). Mobilizing for Human Rights: International Law in Domestic Politics. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. S-MINER Act, H.R. 2768, 110th Congress. (2007). Retrieved from https://www. congress.gov/bill/110th-congress/house-bill/2768. Statement of the United States. (2009, November 9). Third Conference of the High Contracting Parties to CCW Protocol V. Geneva, Switzerland. Retrieved from https://unoda-web.s3-accelerate.amazonaws.com/wp-content/uploads/ assets/media/C13A721A7EE2D967C1257995003692C1/file/CCW_P.V_ CONF_2009.pdf. Sykes, G., & Matza, D. (1957). Techniques of Neutralization: A Theory of Delinquency. American Sociological Review, 22, 664–670. U.S. Department of Defense. (2015, October 21). Transcript of Department of Defense Press Briefing by Colonel Warren via Teleconference from Baghdad, Iraq. Retrieved from https://dod.defense.gov/News/Transcripts/TranscriptView/Article/625158/department-of-defense-press-briefing-by-col-warrenvia-teleconference-from-bagh/. U.S. Department of Defense. (2017, November 30). DoD Policy on Cluster Munitions. Retrieved from https://dod.defense.gov/Portals/1/Documents/pubs/ DOD-POLICY-ON-CLUSTER-MUNITIONS-OSD071415-17.pdf. U.S. Department of State. (2008, November 28). Guidance on Convention on Cluster Munitions. Wikileaks Cable 08STATE125608. Retrieved from https:// wikileaks.org/plusd/cables/08STATE125608_a.html. U.S. Department of State. (2008, December 1). Demarche to NATO and Coalition Partners on Convention on Cluster Munitions. Wikileaks

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Cable 08STATE127398. Retrieved from https://wikileaks.org/plusd/cables/ 08STATE126440_a.html. U.S. Department of State. (2017). Cluster Munitions. Retrieved from https:// www.state.gov/t/pm/wra/c76077.htm. U.S. Department of State. (2018a). Cluster Munitions. Retrieved from https:// 2009-2017.state.gov/t/pm/wra/c25930.htm. U.S. Department of State. (2018b). U.S. Humanitarian Mine Action Budget. Retrieved from https://www.state.gov/t/pm/wra/c12023.htm. U.S. Embassy Geneva. (2006, September 8). Convention on Conventional Weapons: Report on Aug 28–Sept 6 Meeting of Governmental Experts. Wikileaks Cable 06GENEVA2180. Retrieved from https://wikileaks.org/plusd/cables/ 06GENEVA2180_a.html. U.S. Embassy Oslo. (2007, May 18). Cluster Munitions: Norway Asks U.S. to Prove Utility. Wikileaks Cable 07OSLO525. Retrieved from https://wikileaks.org/ plusd/cables/07OSLO525_a.html. U.S. Opts Out of Landmark Cluster Bomb Treaty. (2008, May 30). NBC News. Retrieved from http://www.nbcnews.com/id/24889155/ns/us_newssecurity/t/us-opts-out-landmark-cluster-bomb-treaty/#.W_v0Z3pKi5w. U.S. Senate. (2006, September 6). Roll Call Vote 232: Senate Amendment 4882 to the FY2007 Defense Appropriations Bill (H.R. 5631). Retrieved from https://www.senate.gov/legislative/LIS/roll_call_lists/roll_ call_vote_cfm.cfm?congress=109&session=2&vote=00232. Von Stein, J. (2005). Do Treaties Constrain or Screen? Selection Bias and Treaty Compliance. The American Political Science Review, 99(4), 611–622. Wlezien, C. (2005). The Public as Thermostat: Dynamics of Preferences for Spending. American Journal of Political Science, 39(4), 981–1000. Zaller, J., & Stanley Feldman, S. (1992). A Simple Theory of the Survey Response. American Journal of Political Science, 36(3), 579–616.

CHAPTER 6

The Politics of Non-recognition: Re-evaluating the Apolitical Presentation of the UN Humanitarian Mine Action Programs in Somaliland Sarah Njeri

The challenge is that there is no actual distinction between Somalia and Somaliland. Most of the programmes/projects are designed in Nairobi and predominantly in the minds of humanitarian issues in South Central.1 1 A quote by one of the interviewees working for an international NGO.

Paper is based on my PhD research and therefore reflects the context and management of the Mine Action Sector by the UN at the time of the research period 2010–2015. The paper was first presented as part of a panel at the 2017 International Studies Association annual conference entitled ‘Assessing the Humanitarian Disarmament Movement: The Changing Global Politics of Efforts to Mitigate, Control and Eliminate the Human Impact of Weapons’. S. Njeri (B) Africa Leadership Centre, King’s College London, London, UK © The Author(s) 2020 M. B. Bolton et al. (eds.), Global Activism and Humanitarian Disarmament, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-27611-9_6

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The Mine Action Sector refers collectively to the various organizations that engage in integrated approaches seeking to reduce the disastrous impact of mines and other explosive remnants of war on affected communities. The collective term for these activities is mine action, which includes advocacy, mine risk education; humanitarian demining or clearance, victim assistance, and the destruction of stockpiles. The Sector emerged from the 1997 mine ban process, in which a broad coalition of states, international organizations and non-governmental organizations supported a total treaty-based ban on antipersonnel mines as well as increased resources for mine clearance and victim assistance.2 The key actors that emerged to lead the new sector were international agencies from the United Nations, the International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC) and other humanitarian organizations. Drawing on tradition embedded in many of these organizations, mine action is therefore undergirded by the humanitarian principles of neutrality, impartiality, and universalism. These values, as well as the humanitarian imperative to save lives, provide the normative framework guiding the governance of the sector (Horwood 2003; Bolton 2010). Previously, the UN through the “Agenda for Peace” had explicitly called for landmines to be addressed within a peacebuilding agenda (BoutrosGhali 1992; Boutros-Ghali 1994; Cahill 1995). Therefore, landmines were reframed as a humanitarian, rather than a military/security issue related to peacebuilding reform. As a result, the mine ban process, the actors that had emerged as leaders and the actions of the UN contributed to the “humanitarianization” of the Sector, resulting in their activities being seen as “apolitical” in nature. In practice, mine action thus became an integral part of contemporary peacebuilding activities that collectively came to be referred to as liberal peacebuilding, a concept and practice of peacebuilding that is primarily influenced by the theoretical-political framework that is liberal peace theory3 (Richmond 2005, 2011; Chandler 2010; Pugh et al. 2008; Paris 2004). This considers humanitarian intervention as a means to achieving the Weberian state (Ottaway 2002). As an approach, it is built on the assumption that external actors are neutral peacemakers, and therefore

2 This is distinguished from the broader and less formalized movement from the civil society based International Campaign to Ban Landmines (ICBL). 3 This is based on the idea that certain kinds of (liberally constituted) societies will tend to be more peaceful, both in their domestic affairs and in their international relations, than illiberal states are.

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the principles of neutrality and impartiality form the basis of the interventions; the activities also imply the provision of technical assistance and favor a standardized approach which uses a “one size fits all approach” template (Mac Ginty 2008; Call and Cousens 2007; Tschirgi 2004). Malito argues that at the operational level the UN has adopted the criteria of impartiality within the practice of liberal peacebuilding, where the core meaning of neutrality is anchored as a non-political action (2005); this has been described as a myth of liberal peacebuilding interventions, rather than a description of tangible reality (Lederach 1997). Similarly, within mine action, the UN’s dominant role further embeds this notion of neutrality, contradicting its own liberal ideals—for example, while the UN was instrumental in conceptualizing mine action from within the traditional security premise, in its programming, mine action has continually been placed as an activity within Demobilization, Disarmament and Reintegration (DDR) programs. Like many other UN-led peacebuilding programs, its implementation is based on a standardized, “one size fits all,” approach that is premised on several broad assumptions, notably the existence of an internationally recognized state. However, the notion that mine action could be a “neutral humanitarian activity” or a simple tool in a technocratic toolbox is a naïve one, as this chapter’s case study of Somaliland will demonstrate. Somaliland is a politically non-recognized state and therefore implementing an “apolitical” program is not only challenging but is further complicated when attempting to maintain principles of impartiality. This chapter will show that a DDR program is a political tool in a top-down political process. Similarly, the primary aim of DDR is to support ex-combatants in (post-) conflict situations in order to sustain peace and order (Idris 2016). This means that the guiding principles of UN mine action of impartiality and neutrality are in conflict with the desired aims and outcome of the program, such as creating local ownership and building local capacity. Decisions taken in the implementation of the program undermine claims of an apolitical approach toward Somaliland. This chapter therefore offers a critical analysis of the UN’s role in mine action, drawing mainly from the literature on critical liberal peacebuilding. The chapter is based on empirical observations and interview data undertaken as part of my PhD project between 2010 and 2012 in Somaliland. Historical data on the initial establishment of landmine clearance in Somaliland was provided by one of the first UN staff members (then referred to as UN Monitor) in the program. From his home office archives, I obtained

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many reports and records on the program; these reports were corroborated through interviews with both serving and retired mine action sector workers both in Hargeisa and in Nairobi. I carried out 50 interviews with people who represented a cross-section of backgrounds: former deminers; government officials; UN staff, local mine clearance employees, members of local NGOs involved in peacebuilding work and members of research institutions in Hargeisa. Thus, the research covers the inception of mine action in Somaliland until 2015, when this study concluded.

Contextualizing Somaliland British Somaliland (occupying the north-western part of Somalia), a former British protectorate gained its independence on the 25th of July 1960 and became the State of Somaliland. Somaliland was subsequently recognized by 35 states and was registered independent by the UN (ICG 2006). Five days later, on 1 July 1960, Somaliland joined the Italian Trusteeship Territory of Somalia to form the Republic of Somalia (Ahmed and Green 1999). In the following decade, Somalia enjoyed a decade of democracy and prosperity. Measures were adopted aimed at reinforcing rapid integration. However, this served to alienate the former British protectorate, which remained underdeveloped, with numerous problems that had been inherited from the colonial administration (Ahmed and Green 1999). As Somalia became an increasing authoritarian and centralized state, its elite adopted a predatory character. This led to an armed bloodless coup in 1969, led by General Mohamed Siyyad Barre. Initially, the regime’s military had enjoyed international support. However, he introduced and imposed policies that favored certain clans and sub clans; these were deeply resented, with protests harshly suppressed. This repression instigated the mobilization of resistance, leading to the outbreak of the conflict in 1988 (WSP International 2005). During the civil war that followed, the northern clans were bombarded with artillery and aircraft, reducing towns to rubble and leaving a significant unexploded ordnance problem; dwellings were systematically destroyed, settlements and water points were also extensively mined (ICG 2003). This also caused the displacement of roughly half a million refugees across the border into Ethiopia. In 1991, the Barre regime fell and the ongoing conflict resulted in the total collapse of the state (Rotberg 2003). This led to several external interventions that attempted to revive a central government in Somalia without any success. In the meantime, the northern

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clans began an internally driven process toward reconciliation as a means to state building. It was largely based on the indigenous system of conflict resolution and started from grassroots level. In the midst of the North— South violence, the North West emerged as a de facto state, the Republic of Somaliland. Today Somaliland enjoys relative peace and stability following what has been referred to as “a gamble by President Egal’s government” to invest heavily in creating a secure environment through the investment of over 50–70% of the total national expenditure (Bradbury 2008; SCPD, in Jhazbhay 2008). Immediate postwar programs included the successful absorption of militiamen into the Somaliland army without any external assistance for the demobilization or security sector reform programs. The result was “better levels of public order and security in northern Somalia (read Somaliland) than almost anywhere in the Horn of Africa” (Menkhaus 2004, p. 160). Somaliland’s level of security has remained relatively high thanks to the robust application of customary law and blood compensation, administered by clan elders. History of Explosive Remnants of War Contamination and Impact The impact of the civil war and the various phases of armed conflict in Somaliland left the country with a legacy of landmines and unexploded ordnance (UXO). Both the Somali Civil War (peak activity 1988–1991) and the earlier Ogaden conflict with Ethiopia (1977–1978) saw landmines laid for the protection of refugee camps; along strategic roads and tracks and defensively, predominantly along the Ethiopian border to hinder infiltration by groups such as Somali National Movement (SNM), whose operation bases were in Ethiopia (Omaar et al. 1993). With intensification of conflicts, counter-insurgency mines were used. Mines were not only used to defend strategic towns, but also used to defend infrastructure. They blocked access routes, preventing populations from reaching important resources such as water or agricultural fields. Omaar et al. (1993) listed 32 important roads that had been blocked such as the Boroma Zeyla road, a key trade route and the only road that linked Hargeisa and Djibouti. Additional minefields were laid during clan skirmishes in 1992–1994, and it is also believed that some additional minefields were laid during conflict over border disputes between Somaliland and Puntland between 1994

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and 1996 (Landmine Monitor 1999). Upon cessation of conflict Somaliland had vast quantities of ammunition which were abandoned as armies and rebels retreated, contributing significantly to abandoned explosive ordnance (AXO)/UXO contamination (Landmine Action 2003). AXOs such as missiles were abandoned by withdrawing Soviet forces in 1977, and have presented a particular danger with explosive remnants of war being found in former military camps as well as in battlefield areas (Eric 2003). After the war, transportation of relief and humanitarian goods along mined roads was a challenge, delaying relief agencies’ access to vulnerable populations. By 2001, one in every 652 returnees had become a mine victim while 5000 mine casualties (3500 fatalities and 1500 amputations) had been recorded for the period between 1991 and 2001 (UNDP 2001). Thus, mines constituted a real and tangible threat to the lives and livelihoods of individuals and communities and created serious obstacles to attempts at postwar peacebuilding. Background on Mine Clearance Efforts Given the levels of contamination, mine clearance was identified as one of the main programs which Somaliland’s elders unanimously agreed was a prerequisite of the peacebuilding process (WSP International 2005). The first coordinated mine clearance was performed by a group of 60 former Somaliland National Movement (SNM) volunteers, many whom had served as combat engineers (probably laying mines) during the war. They formed the Somaliland Humanitarian Pioneer Corps (SHPC); an indigenous mine clearance body formally working under the Somaliland Ministry of Defence on a voluntary basis with basic equipment salvaged from the national army. Mine clearance was part of a broader home-grown disarmament, demobilization, and reintegration (DDR) processes that facilitated improvements in Somaliland’s security (Bulhan 2004; Bryden and Brickhill 2010). However, given the extent of contamination and humanitarian impact SHPC’s work was inadequate compared to the need and 40% of the initial group lost their lives or were injured (Omaar et al. 1993). Concerned about the injury of aid workers, the European Economic Community (EEC) delegation in Nairobi requested RIMFIRE International Limited, a commercial organization that claimed speciality in humanitarian mine clearance

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and post conflict population resettlement requirements,4 to conduct a survey of mines and munitions remaining in Somaliland. RIMFIRE’s report was to be submitted through Medicins Sans Frontiers (MSF) Holland.5 This saw the extension of the work of the Pioneers supported by RIMFIRE. It is important to note that it was typical of this period that serving or exmilitary personnel carried out most of the mine clearance work (Horwood 2000). RIMFIRE’s work was supported directly by donors until the mandate was transferred to UNOSOM’s 3-D program (Demobilization, Disarmament, and Demining). This marked the beginning of the UN’s role in mine clearance in Somaliland. Given the absence of a comprehensive solution to the conflict at the time, there was continued use of landmines and the issue of addressing mine clearance became highly politicized. Political tensions between parties often led to halts in the operations during the initiation period. Mines were of major political significance, both in terms of use, and in their clearance; the practice of hiring deminers exacerbated interclan conflict; priorities for demining were driven by clans, rather than by areas that truly needed it. The destruction of mines was also done selectively with stocks from other clans being prioritized. Local communities associated the presence of demining with opportunities for employment and procurement of contracts, which were seen as more important than the removal of landmines. Menkhaus notes that “in some instances the lucrative business that demining contracts resulted in Somali communities actually planting new landmines in order to create new demining opportunities” (Menkhaus 2006). RIMFIRE’s work was strongly criticized by human rights groups (see Omar et al.) and media reports in the UK. However, the Mine Action Sector was still in its infancy as an organized humanitarian sector. Prior to 1991, there were no mine clearance standards nor were there many humanitarian mine clearance organizations. The expertise for carrying out humanitarian demining in complex emergencies did not exist. Further, the

4 Omaar’s report indicates that RIMFIRE was a private security firm initially and that Somaliland was its first venture into mine clearance. However, a RIMFIRE report seen by the Researcher indicates that they were a commercial company specialised in humanitarian mine clearance. 5 The report indicates that the request was as a result of injuries sustained from a landmine explosion by a German nurse.

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Somaliland mine clearance program operated in the context of a longer history politicization of aid, as well as unsuccessful US and UN interventions in Somalia. Following RIMFIRE’s withdrawal, there were no new programs initiated, and, according to Landmine Monitor, this period saw the laying of new mines in the central city of Burao. There was little activity until 1998/1999 when UNDP’s Demobilisation Disarmament and Rehabilitation (DDR) program funded a three-month demining project with Mine Tech of Zimbabwe, and Greenfields consultants. Mine Tech was founded in 1992 and employed demobilized Zimbabwean soldiers for mine clearance (Landmine Monitor 1999). These Zimbabwean soldiers also acted as demilitarization advisors in Somaliland. Thus even the UN drew on excombatants to staff its demining program.

The Role of the UN in Mine Action The successful negotiation of the 1997 Antipersonnel Landmine Ban Treaty contributed to an increasing professionalization of the Mine Action Sector. Political, media, and humanitarian attention to the landmine issue, spurred by the ICBL, made mine action politically attractive, drawing increasing numbers of diverse actors into the Sector. This process is best understood within the context of “new policy agenda,” in which NGOs emerged as active players in efforts to mitigate and end conflicts through engaging in relief, development and human rights advocacy. It has been argued that the UN at the time failed to take a greater role and authority in mine action operations. However, following some institutional changes and structural developments in 1997, the focal point for all minerelated activities in the UN became its Mine Action Service (UNMAS), located in the Department of Peacekeeping Operations (DPKO) (Horwood 2000). According to its mandate, the UN mine action approach focuses on “effective coordination,” providing “assistance,” “foster[ing] the establishment of mine clearance capacities,” “develop[ing] a comprehensive mine action strategy” and, establishing UNMAS as the designated “focal point” for UN mine action. UNMAS coordinates all aspects of mine action for the 14 other UN departments, agencies, programs and funds involved in the sector and that operate within the framework of an interagency mine action policy formulated in 1998. Much of the actual work of demining and mine risk education, is carried out by NGOs and commercial contractors. The exception is under UN peacekeeping operations when

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specific mine clearance operations may be directly implemented, or in emergency situations when there is an absence of local government (Horwood 2000). According to Kjellman (2008), the task of mine action policy in theory is one that should foster local ownership under whatever circumstances that prevail in any given country, rooted in a sound assessment of social and political realities. As such, local capacity building is a central goal, aiming to hand responsibility for mine action to legitimate national authorities as soon as possible. To enhance national ownership and capacity, the UN supports the development of national mine action structures at three levels; (1) through a mine action regulatory and policy institution, called a National Mine Action Authority (NMAA); (2) A coordination body that supervises the various mine action operations in consultation with key stakeholders, called a Mine Action Coordination Centre (MACC); and (3) Operating organizations, whether NGOs, companies, or public, civil defense, police, or military institutions (Mansfield 2002; Mansfield 2005). The NMAA is conceived of as an over-arching, inter-ministerial body that oversees all mine action activities such as defining the national mine action and to set national priorities. It is also required to state the national strategy, and formulate long-term plans for clearance, including the financial structure necessary to carry them out. The MACC, as the NMAA’s operating partner, carries out day-to-day control of all mine action. It ensures that all mine action is within national priorities and allocates clearance and MRE tasks to NGOs and commercial companies. It is also responsible for Quality Assurance on the cleared sites, and subsequent acceptance of the cleared land on behalf of the NMAA. In practice, these organizations rarely start with the necessary skills to undertake their work and so are assisted through a process referred to as institutional capacity building (ibid.). Context and UN operational principles both influence the ways the UN implements, operationalizes and coordinates mine action. Regarding context; the UN envisages three different operational scenarios for mine action implementation. The first is a humanitarian intervention when national authorities are unable or unwilling to address the problem and a mission is established by a Security Council resolution. In such a scenario, UNMAS

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and its parent institution, DPKO, directly leads mine action in consultation with other entities.6 The second scenario envisions the presence of an effective national government. When UNDP or UNICEF is present, it is within their mandate to assist the national authorities within that country to address the immediate as well as the longer-term needs resulting from mine contamination. UNDP or UNICEF then coordinates the sector through country-level management with a small headquarters team. In the third scenario, where there is an emergency need for rapid and short-term intervention, UNMAS usually takes the lead. Similarly, UN-led mine action programs are conceptualized and organized along linear timelines: conflict, post-conflict, peace, development (see Fig. 6.1). Where a country falls on the “emergency – development continuum” determines the structure of the UN’s response. The UN’s teleological framework assumes conflicts move straightforwardly from war into peace and normality. For example, Zeeuw and Kumar (2006) define post-conflict societies as those where cessation of conflict is followed by the international community’s recognition of the government as legitimate. The “relief-development continuum” prevents rooting the program in the reality of affected communities. The continuum of interventions is based on idealized phases, based on the “natural disaster” relief models of the 1980s, where the role of relief assistance was to sustain people through short periods of stress until the crisis was over. This would then be followed by rehabilitation into normality or the process of development and reconstruction (Macrae 1995; Bradbury et al. 1996). The UN follows the principle that the ultimate responsibility for addressing the problem of landmines and explosive remnants of war rests with the state under whose jurisdiction the contamination exists. Therefore, support to mine-affected states is directed toward fulfilling the state’s responsibilities and reinforcing national ownership, based on demanddriven approaches, and by identifying, mobilizing, and providing specific expertise. As a result, most UN mine action projects are focused on the development of a government’s capacity to manage a national program. That said, the UN usually emphasizes the creation of indigenous mine action NGOs rather than adapting or enhancing an existing related capacity 6 In 2004, UNMAS’ participation in the preparations for the United Nations Mission in Sudan (UNMIS) led to the first ever humanitarian mine action mandate designed to serve the general population. Prior to this mandate, mine action in peacekeeping missions had been limited to the protection of mission personnel.

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Fig. 6.1 Stages/Evolution of Mine Action Programme (Taken from [GICHD 2014] Guide to Mine Action http://www.gichd.org/fileadmin/GICHDresources/info-documents/guide-to-mine-action-2014/GICHD-guide-to-mineaction-2014-chapter-2-Life-cycle-of-mine-action-programmes.pdf, p. 37)

within host nation military organizations. This is because the mine action governing structures (IASG) are guided by the principle that “military and civil defence assets of belligerent forces or of units that find themselves actively engaged in combat shall not be used to support humanitarian activities” (A/53/496, Annex II, para. 10, dated 14 October 1998). Creating indigenous capacities therefore is seen as desisting from aiding former belligerents, including armed forces and Ministry of Defence of the host nations, and the opposing former insurgent armed combatants. The mine action sector is guided by the application of a standardized set of protocols. The success of the landmine ban treaty resulted in the entrance of a multiplicity of disparate actors into the Sector, coordination. As donors and UN agencies responded to the urgency of a seemingly insurmountable humanitarian problem, they spurred the development of tools and standards which have become a formal bureaucracy governing the Sector. This is consistent with broader UN practice, which develops standardized

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“operating procedures” for a wide range of humanitarian and development activities. The implementation approach is formulaic, based on templates that dictate and define the way the Sector in general must engage on the ground. Such an approach is complicated when implementing programs in contexts like Somaliland that fit uneasily in standardized models of conflict timeframes or statehood.

Implications of Non-recognition Somaliland, as a non-recognized State endures the blanket references of “state failure,” applied to Somalia, while being acknowledged as a region of Somalia that is an “Oasis of peace” (Fisher 1999), “oasis of security, reconciliation, and cooperation” (Ahmad 2011) or “pocket of stability” (Forti 2011). Somaliland has made notable progress achieving and building peace, security and constitutional democracy. Indeed, Somaliland is a de facto independent state. However, it is still regarded by all other governments as part of Somalia. Thus most international engagement with Somaliland is hampered by the fact that all actors, including the UN, key donors, and potential bilateral partners bind their relationships with Somaliland to the framework of their engagement with the radically different context prevailing in south/central Somalia (Albin-Lackey 2009). However, for operations and donor programming purposes, there are still three government counterparts in Somalia: Puntland, Somaliland, and South Central (Bendaña 2012). Unfortunately, this classification of Somaliland influences the way the international community engages with it. Somaliland’s non-recognition challenges such engagements due to the lack of clarity surrounding its political status. This ambiguity complicates the UN’s framing of the context within the idealized linear path and underlying assumptions about statehood. In programmatic terms, the political and teleological framing of Somaliland is not just an issue of semantics. Whether a context is defined as a humanitarian crisis or a post-conflict, peacebuilding and/or development directly impacts the posture that agencies assume vis-a-vis the host society. The same is true for the assumptions, patent or latent, that are made about how the security situation might evolve, influencing programme delivery. Envisaging this process anticipates how mine action priorities and the allocation of resources will evolve (GICHD 2008). Harpviken et al. (2001) have argued that defining the context in this way may mask the intentions of

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operations that are established. For example, when situations are defined as an emergency, they argue that this serves as an excuse for launching shortsighted operations, even though consideration of the broader and more long-term implications of an intervention is no less important in an emergency. For such an approach to be successful, operationalizing programmes would require a comprehensive analysis of context-related risks, vulnerabilities, and capacities. However, applying such an approach to Somaliland as a non-recognized state is difficult for the impartial, neutral, UN system. Operationally, UN mine action for Somaliland came under the umbrella of the UN Somalia Mine Action Programme (UNSOMA). This is because UN mine action is subjected to the de jure constraints requiring the UN to treat Somaliland as part of Somalia. However, the three different jurisdictions (Somaliland, Puntland, and South-Central Somalia) have different mine/UXO contamination patterns, as well as operating environments. By conflating the three different contexts, the “perceived” or real danger associated with engaging programs in South-Central Somalia was read onto Somaliland. The UN thus used practices of “bunkerisation”7 or “conflict proofing” that prevented direct relations with local populations (Duffield 2012a; Goodhand 2006). Perceiving Somaliland as “dangerous space” resulted in rotating staffing and limited investment, resulting in further reliance on standardization and the use of templates to provide consistency. Coordination Somaliland does not fit into the three primary models of coordination for mine action. As an unrecognized state, there was no “national government” with which the UN could establish a national capacity building relationship. Neither was there a UN peacekeeping mission with a mandate for establishing a mine action program. Nor was Somaliland classified as a humanitarian context under the authority of a Humanitarian Coordinator, or as part of a development program under a UN Resident Coordinator (Paterson and Filippino 2006). The departure of RIMFIRE from Somaliland was followed by a period where no mine clearance took place. Through a resolution by Somaliland’s 7 The term “bunkerisation” was used by Mark Duffield when giving a lecture in 2011 http://www.bristol.ac.uk/global-insecurities/news/2011/7.html that built upon the key concepts of Duffield, M., Development, Security and Unending War, Polity Press, 2007.

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House of Representatives, a UNDP supported Somaliland Mine Action Centre was established in 1999. It is unclear what the logic was behind the decision as to which UN body was to take the lead. Such a decision was in itself a political decision. During the lifetime of the program, there were several assessments which saw continued changes to the lead UN agency. At the time of collection of data, it became quite evident that even those who were working directly with the UN were not clear which UN agency was the lead. In an off-the-cuff discussion with one mine action senior manager, there was reference to the fact they never quite knew which UN agency they were dealing with and business cards from the UN Mine Action did not reveal whether they were UNMAS, UNDP, or the service provider UNOPS. The result was not only confusion in Mine Action management and coordination, but also in the sector’s and the communities’ understanding of the various roles of each UN organization. The decision to establish SMAC was also problematic, at least in the eyes of the government at the time. Upon Somaliland’s declaration of independence, the then government had formed the National Demining Agency (NDA) as the body to address the issue of landmines. The government saw demining as a way to reintegrate ex-combatants back into society. The NDA was formed under the Ministry of Resettlement, Rehabilitation and Reconstruction (MRR&R) in 1996 (Landmine Monitor 1999 citing the government paper) and nominally coordinated mine clearance (Landmine Monitor 2003). When the UN established the Somaliland Mine Action Centre (SMAC), the government felt that this disregarded the existence of the NDA. The government and other stakeholders saw the establishment of SMAC as a deliberate act of disrespect for existing institutions and structures. However, the UN perceived a need to distance mine action from any organization that had any military links, given its commitment to humanitarian neutrality. A senior UN official interpreted this as “a political thing, more than anything else.” He spoke of the UN’s need to disassociate from NDA due to its political history and to avoid the impression that it was providing assistance to belligerents, even though the UN had previously contracted demobilized Zimbabwean soldiers in mine clearance. Maintaining humanitarian neutrality was thus in conflict with the UN’s stated aim of cooperating with and building the capacity of national institutions. As a result of disagreements between UNDP and the Somaliland government, mine action coordination suffered, leading to both institutions being ineffective, lacking clear division of responsibilities, and clear

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mandate. The impasse caused intermittent funding, little political will, and the lack of a legal basis for either SMAC and NDA. The capacity of SMAC remained weak, with budgetary allocations largely under the mandate of the UNDP and not under their direct management. At the time of 2012 field research, the NDA lacked financial support and this was openly attributed to the UN’s policy of neutrality preventing funding to mine action agencies under the authority of a Ministry of Defence (Landmine Monitor 2008). SMAC’s coordinating role remained limited and largely on paper, preventing the UN from achieving its main objective of establishing and maintaining a sustainable National Mine Action capacity in Somaliland by September 2003. According to other mine action actors, such as the Danish Demining Group’s MRE Advisor, no coordination took place at all, “as far as being on the ground, organisations such as HALO Trust and DDG do our own things ” (Interview in Hargeisa). This was acknowledged by the UN, which readily admitted that SMAC played a limited role in coordination: I don’t think we do coordination at the moment. I think this is probably a key concern in that the technique is not in place and is not as robust as it needs to be. I think a lot of the agencies, HALO, DDG and Handicap International, look at what is required where they are working, and SMAC knows that these are the priorities that have been given and therefore they decide that these are going to be our working priorities. So, it is probably in reverse, wrong, so to speak. You would want to think that in the near term, SMAC will be able to implement a work scheme based on priorities for each region and then give it back to the organisations in terms of a priority list clearance for each handling each year. (Senior UNDP Official; interviewed in Nairobi, and Hargeisa, October 2010)

Another reason that can help explain the challenges encountered by the program was the conceptualization of mine action within UNDP’s overall programme in Somaliland. Mine action was part of the Disarmament, Demobilisation and Reintegration (DDR) component of UNDP’s Rule of Law and Security Programme (UNDP/RoLS). Other components included Judiciary, Law Enforcement (strengthening police services), Small Arms Control, Gender, and Human Rights. Placing mine action within the DDR framework suggested that UNDP primarily conceptualized mine action narrowly as part of a disarmament or arms management program. The program did not take an integrated approach to address post-conflict challenges, even when UNDP identified mine action as one of the entry points through which they could engage in DDR programs through the

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provision of technical assistance, capacity development and training of former combatants in mine clearance (UNDP, n.d.). It is also important to note that DDR in Somaliland was very much a pilot program to the extent that an evaluation report suggested that “the term DDR should be dropped to reflect reality” (Molloy 2008, p. 6). The program failed to capitalize on clear synergies that existed between mine action and other security components, for example, engaging the demobilized soldiers in demining could have provided the much-needed employment and therefore reintegration into society of ex-combatants. Doing so would have meant engaging with institutions like the NDA that were out of bounds under the UN’s interpretation of impartiality and neutrality. Similarly, Patterson et al. (2008), citing an evaluation report on UNDP, argued that managing the mine action component under the RoLS program suggested that it was not considered a priority: “there was persistent failure to allocate mine action specific budgets in proposals.” Mine action also constantly fell outside the remit of any program evaluations; an indication that as a component, it was not considered important. Falling outside the Strategic Partnership mine action was not evaluated during an evaluation of the UNDP Strategic Partnership for Somalia (ASI 2009); neither was it evaluated during the UNDP RoLS—DDR/SAC Program, Somalia (Molloy 2008). This suggests that opportunities to capitalize on any positive synergies or even correct any anomalies to capitalize on mine action’s potential were consistently missed. Bunkerization and Implications for Programme Management Locating Somaliland conceptually in Somalia encouraged the UN to adopt practices of bunkerization. But bunkerization must also be understood in the broader global context of heightened perceptions of a hostile operational environment for aid agencies. Attacks targeting aid workers increased from approximately 30 a year in the mid-1990s to more than 150 in 2008. This may in part result from humanitarian organizations being seen as more complicit with state militaries and a western liberal intervention agenda. Increasing interventionism and integration of UN missions has resulted in humanitarian and development activities becoming more closely aligned with peacekeeping in many places. This makes it more difficult for the UN to portray its humanitarian assistance as neutral and impartial (Donini 2009). In response to these challenges a dominant aid response became

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either remote management of programs or “bunkerization” as a way of strengthening protection and more readily adopting deterrence measures together with adaptation of generic industry-standard training templates on security for field workers (Van Brabant 2000; Duffield 2012b).8 The rhetoric became the need to manage the threat environment with constant vigilance and risk-minimization (Duffield 2012a). Separation and fortification alienated aid workers from those in need, representing both a symptom and a cause of crisis in the humanitarian system (Fast 2014). While the level of security in Somaliland remained relatively high— thanks to the robust application of customary law and blood compensation, administered by clan elders—the 2003 UN bombing in Iraq9 prompted changes in security policies, including tightening of security procedures designated by the United Nations in each country that they considered high-risk environment. The Minimum Operating Security Standards for Somalia (MOSS) were applied to all Somali regions, including Somaliland (Gundel 2006). This fed into enhancing a perception of general “insecurity” especially within the UN. In 2008 these arrangements were further consolidated by the twin suicide bombings that occurred in Hargeisa and the Puntland port of Bossaso on 29 October 2008. In Hargeisa, the UNDP office, the presidential palace, and the Ethiopian consulate were targeted; at least 30 people died, including two UN workers. At the time Somalia was considered one of the most dangerous places in the world for aid workers, and so many UN staff were stationed in the more stable area of Somaliland. Following the attacks, Somaliland’s security classification was increased by the UN from “Phase 3” to the same heightened level of “Phase 4” across

8 It has been noted that the aid sector in general (of which mine action is part) has opened up a fast-expanding market for security advice and training that many from the security services and private security companies have been quick to exploit see Guerra, C., Howes, R., Patil, A., Gething, P., Van Boeckel, T., Temperley, W., Kabaria, C., Tatem, A., Manh, B., Elyazar, I., Baird, J., Snow, R., & Hay, S. 2010. The international limits and population at risk of Plasmodium vivax transmission in 2009. PLoS Neglected Tropical Diseases, 4, p. 19. One of the key people interviewed for this research is now the managing director of one security-based company that has branches in Stabilization & Development, Mine Action, Construction & Camp Services, Medical Services, Specialist Training & Capacity Management, Risk Management, Conflict Mitigation and Information Operations—all offered to high-risk contexts and emerging markets. 9 This incident killed 22 people including the UN’s special representative Sergio Vieira de Mello.

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all of Somalia,10 feeding the perception of insecurity and resulting in tightened security procedures. A 2010 UNDP evaluation report questioned the appropriateness of a single classification for Somalia by comparing it to Afghanistan. The whole of Afghanistan including Kabul, was classified as a Phase 3 situation, with the only exception being Kandahar, where Phase 4 had been applied (UNDP 2010). The UN is often perceived as reacting slowly to field security realities, hindering access and swift responses to programmes’ needs. This phenomenon produced what Menkhaus (2003) refers to as an acute “field versus headquarters” tension in almost every aid agency working in Somalia (p. 44). Despite security improvements and absence of any terror attacks in Somaliland, by the time of this research in 2010 the security categorization was still at Phase 3 in Hargeisa while the rest of the country was Phase 4. The partial withdrawal of expatriate staff meant UN programs were “remotely managed” or “virtually managed” by proxy from Nairobi (UNDP 2010). This included the management of mine action at a very significant time in the life cycle of the program and meant that staff had only limited opportunities to make short field site visits. SMAC’s management from Nairobi meant that the UN’s role in building SMAC’s capacity was limited. Although previous UNDP personnel arranged training, equipment, facilities, and funding for SMAC personnel, and advice on policy matters, Landmine Monitor (2009) acknowledged that this was not followed up with ongoing support to help in the application of training. Even when Senior Technical Advisors were employed, their responsibilities extended to the whole of Somalia, meaning that they were unable to spend any significant time in Somaliland (Interview with Senior SMAC Official). The remote management arrangement saw the number of International UN staff reduced from 75 to 32, with UNDP only having 18 in Somaliland. 10 Somaliland was raised from Security Phase 3 to Phase 4 after the bombing. This is the same level with Afghanistan.

• Security Phase 5 is a total suspension of operations, • Security Phase 4 places immediate restrictions on access; activates the slot system allowing only emergency humanitarian and crisis actions. Armed vehicles must be used, • Security Phase 3 implements family relocation—single person posting, • Security Phase 2 requires heightened alert, • Security Phase 1 requires precautionary measures, • Security Phase 0 allows total freedom of movement.

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Of these, seven are permanent while the others were rotating. Somaliland had 35 slots in total. Individual agencies were then allocated a number of authorized personnel (‘slots’), which were revised, regularly by the UNCT. UNDP was allocated 4 rotating slots for RoLS with 1 additional rotating slot at a time for Somaliland and the same for Puntland. Slots were time-based and availability was dependent upon demand. This particularly affected those employed under UNDP contracts who were often unable to perform their functions when out of country. Specifically, for mine action, coordination was not prioritized as it was only a small component of the broader DDR programme within RoLS as mentioned earlier.

Conclusion Somaliland is a complex context for mine action implementation, not only challenging due to the highly politicized context that the early programme encountered, but also because the landmine problem itself was politicized. Further dilemmas emerged from how the UN conceptualized its response. The UN attempted to maintain impartiality and neutrality while bundling mine action as a part of DDR, a deeply political process. As a result, there was a failure to capitalize on any gains from engaging the National Demining Authority as way of reintegration of former combatants. Given UNDP’s crowded mandate at the time, mine action was not prioritized. I argue that the UN’s dilemmas emerged from a flawed interpretation of its own guiding principles, circumventing the core objective of its own liberal peacebuilding agenda. This is indicative of a weak contextual analysis, a well-recognized critique leveled against liberal peacebuilders in conflict-affected countries. Postconflict communities often produce survival and coping mechanisms as demonstrated by the role of the Pioneers in mine clearance. However, the UN underappreciated this resilience and availability of local resources. Skåra has argued that “local capacities [for mine action] are too often disregarded and overlooked” (Skåra 2003). An in-depth knowledge of local histories, cultures, traditions, and attitudes would enable actors to adapt standardized ideas to the context-specific conditions during program design (Mac Ginty 2008). The Somaliland case demonstrates also some of the challenges of UN mine action coordination. Jennings et al. (2008) argue that coordination is often relegated in mine action, given the perception that it is costly. It is subsumed within various levels of mine action and demining is generally the

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greatest focus of resource mobilization (op cit p. 16). In Somaliland, the UN relegated coordination, to its detriment and with far-reaching implications. International interventions are often criticized for not building local ownership and that the application of standardized or universal modes of interventions generate conflictual relationships between interveners and local stakeholders. The UN’s standoff with the government of Somaliland hampered not only the sustainability of mine action institutions, but also the effective peacebuilding agenda to which the UN aspires (Richmond 2007; Chandler 2013; Paris and Sisk 2009; Suhrke 2002). The organizations that spearheaded the mine ban process emerged as part of the so-called “new humanitarianism.” Aiming to be “human rightsbased” and politically sensitive, the new humanitarianism broke from the traditional principles of neutrality and impartiality that guided assistance. They rejected what they saw as the political naivety of the past, claiming to be able to assess the long-term political impact of relief and use aid as a tool to achieve human rights and political goals (Fox 2001). However, when such endeavors are led by the UN, contradictions arise from the embeddedness traditional humanitarian principles of neutrality and impartiality in UN institutions, even if other mine action actors may vary considerably in terms of operational approach and methodology (Maslen 2004; Anderson 1999). The UN has attempted to focus mine action on addressing concrete problems (such as demining, marking minefields, helping survivors) rather than addressing the politics of the conflict directly; thus, essentially “depoliticizing” the politics of peacebuilding. Barnett and Weiss (2008), among others, have argued that “it is impossible for humanitarian agencies to be apolitical: their actions have political consequences and they are viewed by those on the ground as political” (p. 4). Insisting that mine action (as a humanitarian activity) is an entirely separate domain from politics creates a false dualism. It is clear that humanitarian actions must incorporate broader notions of human development and avoiding harm (Anderson 1999; Duffield 2001). The mine action sector (mainly the NGOs) recognized this in 1999 when developing the Guidelines for Mine Action Programmes from a Development-Oriented Point of View, also known as the Bad Honnef Framework.11 The guidelines recognized that working toward the rehabilitation of postwar societies was not only complex but also required a comprehensive approach ensuring that the 11 Named after the venue of the conference – Bad Honnef, Germany – where the guidelines were drafted.

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conditions which had led to war in the first place were not recreated. The Bad Honnef framework recognized that a few technical “inputs” were not sufficient, suggesting concrete ways in which mine action might support peacebuilding. Mine action could promote reconciliation (through the participation of diverse social groups), secure transparency (by involving civil institutions in all aspects) and help to bring about awareness of collectively suffered injustice (through ban campaigns) (Harpviken and Skaešra 2003). Harpviken and Skaešra (2003) highlight dilemmas that emerge from using mine action to achieve broader social goals. It was the very depoliticization of the landmine problem that gave mine action its potential. An explicit peacebuilding mandate may increase the risk that mine action personnel and organizations are seen as political actors. For example, some attacks against mine action personnel in Afghanistan may be linked to the perception that mine action organizations worked closely with the US-led coalition forces in Afghanistan. This is an issue raised by several observers (Olson 2006; Stoddard et al. 2009; Shannon 2009), especially in the context of the “War on Terror.” Nevertheless, Harpviken and Skaešra (2003) acknowledged that neglecting the political impact of mine action interventions would be dangerous: to the locals, to mine action personnel and to the larger peacebuilding process of which mine action should ideally form an integral part. In conclusion then, this chapter helps to illuminate how the presentation of mine action (perhaps even humanitarian disarmament as a whole) as devoid of politics becomes challenged by the very politics from which it seeks distance. This chapter has demonstrated that the Somaliland context, like other post-conflict contexts, is complex and that each element of implementing mine action has a political connotation and therefore presents its own challenges. Somaliland’s political non-recognition status presents the Sector with a challenge when implementing programs using standard apolitical approaches. The Somaliland case study illustrates how state-centric constructions of the international system struggle to cope with political realities like the arbitrary statelessness of territories such as Somalia (Duffield 2002; Ottaway 2002). This has implications for practices of intervention, especially when they favor “standardized templates” that fail to take into consideration the prevailing local context (Sending 2009). In Somaliland, the UN failed to account for contextual factors that inevitably challenged such standardized approaches, sacrificing locally specific approaches to universal templates. The challenges encountered in Somaliland highlight the need for knowledge and awareness of how

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implementation of humanitarian disarmament norms, activities, actors, and methods impact on, and are perceived in, the immediate local and national environment. For mine action to continue to be relevant, there is need for a nuanced approach, particularly if it is to contribute beyond the removal of mines from the ground. There is therefore need for a re-evaluation of mine action’s modus operandi if it is to remain relevant in a dynamic and continually changing political world.

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Paris, R. (2004). At War’s End: Building Peace After Civil Conflict. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Paris, R., & Sisk, T. D. (2009). The Dilemmas of Statebuilding: Confronting the Contradictions of Postwar Peace Operations. London: Taylor & Francis. Paterson, T., Bohle, V., Barnes, L., Ahmed, M., & Rebelo, P. (2008). Evaluation of EC-Funded Mine Action Programmes in Africa Geneva. Geneva International Centre for Humanitarian Demining. Paterson, T., & Filippino, E. M. (2006). The Road to Mine Action and Development: The Life-Cycle Perspective of Mine Action. Journal of Mine Action, 9. Pugh, M. C., Cooper, N., & Turner, M. (2008). Whose peace? Critical Perspectives on the Political Economy of Peacebuilding. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Richmond, O. P. (2005). The Transformation of Peace. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Richmond, O. P. (2007). Emancipatory Forms of Human Security and Liberal Peacebuilding. International Journal, 62, 459–477. Richmond, O. P. (2011). A Post-Liberal Peace. London: Routledge. Rotberg, R. I. (2003). Failed States, Collapsed States, Weak States: Causes and Indicators. In R. I. Rotberg (Ed.), State Failure and State Weakness in a Time of Terror. New York: Brookings Institution Press. Sending, O. J. (2009). Why Peacebuilders Fail to Secure Ownership and Be Sensitive to Context. Security in Practice 1. Shannon, R. (2009). Playing with Principles in an Era of Securitized Aid Negotiating Humanitarian Space in Post-9/11 Afghanistan. Progress in Development Studies, 9, 15–36. Skåra, B. A. (2003). Risky Business or Constructive Assistance? Community Engagement in Humanitarian Mine Action. Third World Quarterly, 24, 839–853. Stoddard, A., Harmer, A. & Didomenico, V. (2009). Providing Aid in Insecure Environments: 2009 Update Trends in Violence Against Aid Workers and the Operational Response (HPG Policy Brief 34). Retrieved from http://www.odi. org.uk/resources/download/3250.pdf. Suhrke, A. (2002). Peacebuilding: Lessons for Afghanistan. Bergen, Norway: Chr. Michelsen Institute. Tschirgi, N. (2004). Post-Conflict Peacebuilding Revisited: Achievements, Limitations, Challenges. International Peace Academy Nova Iorque. UNDP. (2001). Human Development Report Somalia. Nairobi: United Nations Development Programme. UNDP. (2010). Assessment of Development Results Evaluation of UNDP Contribution to Somalia. USA: United Nations Development Programme. UNDP. (n.d.). Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration of Ex-combatants (Practise Note). Geneva: United Nations Development Programme.

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Van Brabant, K. (2000). Operational Security Management in Violent Environments: A Field Manual for Aid Agencies. London: Humanitarian Practice Network, Overseas Development Institute. WSP International. (2005). Rebuilding Somaliland: Issues and Possibilities. Lawrenceville, NJ and Red Sea (London: Turnaround, Distributor). Zeeuw, J. D., & Kumar, K. (2006). Promoting Democracy in Post Conflict Societies. Boulder: Lynne Rienner.

PART III

The Wider Context

CHAPTER 7

The Relationship Between Humanitarian Disarmament and General and Complete Disarmament Dan Plesch and Kevin Miletic

Secretary-General of the United Nations Antonio Guterres’ new agenda for disarmament has greatly broadened the scope of humanitarian disarmament and in so doing has returned it to its roots in the last century by reinventing GCD for the twenty-first century (Guterres 2018). Coincidentally his recommendation to rethink GCD at the end of his introduction echoes word for word the title of UNODA Occasional Paper No. 28

Dan Plesch and Kevin Miletic lead the Strategic Concept for the Removal of Arms and Proliferation developed by the Centre for International Studies & Diplomacy at SOAS University of London www.scrapweapons.com, www.cisd.soas.ac.uk. D. Plesch (B) · K. Miletic Centre for International Studies and Diplomacy, SOAS University of London, London, UK e-mail: [email protected] K. Miletic e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2020 M. B. Bolton et al. (eds.), Global Activism and Humanitarian Disarmament, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-27611-9_7

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which was designed and co-produced by the authors of this chapter. Until the initiative by Antonio Guterres humanitarian disarmament in the early twenty-first century was concerned with certain types of weapons that are indiscriminate in their effects or cause unacceptable harm such as nuclear weapons, landmines, blinding laser weapons and cluster munitions. However, this chapter contends that the notion of humanitarian disarmament has not always been understood in such restrictive manner. It will do so by analyzing humanitarian popular movements from the late nineteenth until the late twentieth century which were concerned by the humanitarian impact on combatants of what we now call major conventional weapons namely tanks, artillery, helicopters warplanes and warships. The chapter will reflect on the popular disarmament campaigns to stop the horrors of WWI and then prevent its recurrence in the interwar period as nationalism resurfaced and states re-armed and the return to these issues in the new UN Organisation after 1945 with the new incentive of nuclear weapons. The addition of experts’ and high-profile individual’s voices to traditional grass-root disarmament movements and their contribution to both nuclear and conventional disarmament in reaction to the specter of a global nuclear war. Then after the end of the Cold War civil society advocacy for disarmament broke down into myriads of single weapons categories. This chapter will then conclude by a reflection on the complementarity of general and complete disarmament (GCD) and humanitarian disarmament. The chapter shows that since the late nineteenth century, civil society— be it individuals, full-fledged NGOs or more flexible advocacy networks— have pushed for comprehensive disarmament on humanitarian grounds and at times with success by directly or indirectly getting states to integrate humanitarian concerns in their disarmament policy. Acknowledging that some forms of weapons control efforts are solely or predominantly driven by reasons of strategic stability without concern for humanitarian issues. It is clearly the case that the strategic studies discipline/discourse and the governmental debate characterizes itself in this way. Nevertheless, national leaders have often over the decades spoken of the humanitarian and existential drivers of disarmament. The Non-Aligned Movement’s and the Kennedy administration’s efforts as well as the Helsinki process are cases in point. In this chapter, attention will be paid to the concept of GCD a term for comprehensive disarmament in the UN lingua franca. In keeping with the definition of the Final Document of the First United Nations General Assembly (UNGA) Special Session devoted to disarmament, GCD is

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understood as follows “general and complete disarmament under strict and effective international control shall permit States to have at their disposal only those non-nuclear forces, armaments, facilities and establishments as are agreed to be necessary to maintain internal order and protect the personal security of citizens and in order that States shall support and provide agreed manpower for a United Nations peace force”.1 GCD means elimination of all WMDs and reduction and control of conventional weapons to the minimum level for national law enforcement purposes and UN peace force. It is important to note that GCD is not oblivious to the wider international security context and provides measures to strengthen institutions for maintaining peace and the settlement of international disputes by peaceful means.

Pre-WWI Context Humanitarian concerns about the impact of industrialized warfare began in Europe with the events that led to the founding of the Red Cross in the second half of the nineteenth century. At the end of the nineteenth century, the Hague Conferences had as their convening intent a disarmament priority. At this time neither Weapons of Mass Destruction (WMD) nor air forces had been created, and naval forces produced far smaller human impact than land forces. Public political attention was therefore focused primarily on artillery and infantry weapons of armies while elite concerns also addressed naval armaments. The convening statement from the Czar of Russia, spoke of the crushing economic burden of arms expenditure and the fearful thought of the “horror” that “inevitable” war would bring. The Hague conferences emphasized the humanitarian and strategic imperatives for disarmament. Public pressure in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries included socialist and communist movements in Europe’s imperial states— whether absolutist or liberal—was a significant social driver seeking to combat nationalist and militarist social forces that interacted and drew leadership from the elites. Russia faced a reality of strategic military weakness with respect to the German and Austro-Hungarian Empires and this in itself provides a traditional realist motive for seeking weapons control. Across 1 United Nations. (1978, 23 May–30 June). Resolutions and Decisions Adopted by the General Assembly During Its Tenth Special Session. Retrieved from https://s3.amazonaws.com/ unoda-web/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/A-S10-4.pdf.

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Europe though the rise of an educated working class in the face of serious economic dislocation in industrializing Europe gave rise to a critique of imperialism epitomized by Hobson (2005). Traditional state rivalries and interests prevented the realization of the disarmament goal at The Hague. Nevertheless humanitarian conventions were concluded and sought to provide limitations on what was acceptable in land warfare, and even outlawed one form of weapon. The weapon outlawed in 1899 was the so-called dumdum or explosive bullet that was thought to produce an unnecessarily large wound on impact with the human body. This was largely adhered to by all sides through the subsequent two world wars. The Hague initiatives certainly did not prevent the 1914–1918 war, nevertheless some tangible and enduring achievements were made at the Hague conferences that provide the foundations of international law of armed conflict, for the purposes of this argument it is most notable that there were a range of interrelated initiatives achieved in parallel and that the overall objective of general disarmament provided overarching political framework and momentum. The Great War itself had been long predicted by a range of commentators and civil society actors who at least theoretically anticipated the subsequent devastation. Most liberal and social democratic movements became subsumed in their respective nationalist fervors in the early years of the war, though the British, for example, did not exhibit the rapture seen in Berlin at the prospect of a short jolly war. As the war stagnated and the slaughter intensified; various governmental and civil society political initiatives were made to try to bring the war to a halt. Some 1500 women from 12 countries gathered in the Netherlands in May 1915 to try to bring the war to an end. This meeting created the—the Women’s International League for Peace and Freedom (WILPF), awarded the Nobel Prize in 1931 and 1946.

Interwar Period The impact of the 1914–1918 war on disarmament and the humanitarian and social impact of war is hard to envisage after a century. The AustroHungarian, Russian, and Turkish Empires had existed for centuries as had Germany in its Prussian pre-history. They were all gone in a year. Today’s comparators might be the simultaneous collapse of the United States, the EU, and China.

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While some parts of European society saw their futures in a revived and militarized nationalism, far more prevalent were liberal, socialist and communist ideologies opposed to militarism and channeling political hope for a less military and even pacifist future. The latter’s argument that the war was a self-serving conspiracy of capitalists was exemplified by postwar revelations that the British business Vickers paid royalties to their German counterparts Krupp for the use of patented artillery technology during the war and after (Neylan 1926). The political science literature of the early twentieth century, which is not usually referenced in contemporary analysis, shows that disarmament was understood as a humanitarian concern. Thomas J. Walsh quite explicitly urges Congress to take the lead on disarmament to prevent the horrors of another world war which he predicts would bring more chaos, suffering and destruction than the Great War of 1914–1918. In his words, “[T]he world’s troubles would dissipate like the mist before the morning sun if it could only get rid of armies and navies maintained for international war, the expense of which appreciates constantly and alarmingly with the development of science. The horrors which characterized the last great war but feebly foreshadow those which will attend the next if in the Providence of God and the wilfulness of man there should be another world war. conquer the world, every military nation accepts them as certain to be features of the next war. They are all building submarines to prey upon unarmed commercial vessels; they are all perfecting their so-called chemical warfare service; and they are all developing, with fiendish ingenuity, aerial torpedoes and other like devices that, loosening their load of explosives and deadly gases, will annihilate the civilian population of unfortified cities ” (Walsh 1921). Taft warns against the risk of being taken hostage by endless technical military details when negotiating disarmament agreements and letting them overshadow the necessity to reach agreement in order to achieve our end goal of ensuring peace. He contends that “[W]e fall into the habit of weighing in a fine balance, considerations of security; we permit our technicians to make close mathematical calculations concerning a balance of warlike power. (…) Wise statesmanship takes account of and gives due weight to such things as these, but knows better than the technicians the extent to which they are to be considered in making international arrangements for the preservation of the peace of the world” (Taft 1928). When considering the rise in tensions between France and Germany in the 30s and the risks it poses to peace in Europe. Allen W. Dulles notes that “[W]e are faced with a practical situation of the utmost seriousness for the

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peaceful development of Europe (…) There seems only one solution, and that is through a general disarmament treaty under which France and Germany both agree upon the scale of their armaments ” (Dulles 1932). The slow progress on disarmament in the 30s prompted Vittorio Scialoja to revisit the reasons why disarmament was included in the Covenant of the League of Nations and why disarmament treaties where made. He argues that “[I]n the eyes of those who framed the Covenant, disarmament was to consist first in an immediate return of all countries from a war footing to a peace footing; and then in a reduction of armies, navies and air forces to a minimum consistent with the maintenance of domestic order and security from attack. Those gentlemen never thought of that minimum as the minimum necessary for fighting an eventual war. War was regarded as out of the question, as some thing if not impossible at least very improbable, in view of the declarations which had been made in the various treaties and which in some instances had been fortified by legal sanctions (Scialoja 1932).” He goes on and says that “[I]In the treaties in question disarmament was considered as a duty to civilization, as a solid foundation for peace, and as a means of removing causes of international discord. It was to be the means of devoting the huge sums spent on armies, navies, air fleets and fortifications to the promotion of human progress. This was the intelligence and the good sense of the matter (ibid.).” Echoing those humanitarian concerns of part of the Euro-Atlantic intelligentsia, several ambitious international initiatives motivated by the imperative to avoid the occurrence of a second global war took form during the interwar period. At the end of World War I, the victors were quick at identifying categories of weapons which had so much destructive power that it was deemed best to eliminate them or limit them. It was feared that their unchecked presence in national arsenals could tip the balance of power and precipitate the world down the path of yet another arms race resulting in a catastrophic scenario where the abundance of those weapons could inflict major material and human damage upon both victors and vanquished alike. The Washington Naval Treaty signed in 1922 limiting the construction of battleships, battle cruisers, and aircraft carriers and limiting tonnage of cruisers, destroyers, and submarines; and the Protocol for the Prohibition of the Use in War of Asphyxiating, Poisonous or Other Gases, and of Bacteriological Methods of Warfare signed in 1925 are prime examples. Other initiatives not only focused on the elimination or control of the means to wage war but on outlawing war itself as a tool of foreign policy. The Kellogg–Briand Pact of 1928 is usually derided as a pipe dream that

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failed to prevent WWII. Although it may not have ended all war, a Yale study shows that it was highly effective in ending the main reason countries had gone to war: conquest.2 When it outlawed war, the Kellogg–Briand Pact changed nearly every rule that states had followed for centuries. Most important, countries could no longer establish right, justice, or title by brute strength. Because war was now illegal, except in cases of self-defense, states lost the right of conquest. Yes, an aggressor could still take a city by force, but doing so would no longer mean that as a matter of law, it became the aggressor’s city.3 Despite their ill-fated results, those initiatives established important humanitarian precepts for disarmament and the renunciation of war that influenced future states behavior. The Prohibition of the Use of Gases and Bacteriological Methods in Warfare introduced a taboo on WMD and served as a basis for the 1972 Convention on the Prohibition of the Development, Production, and Stockpiling of Bacteriological (Biological) Weapons and Toxin Weapons and on their Destruction, and the 1993 Convention on the prohibition of the development, production, stockpiling, and use of chemical weapons and on their destruction. Similarly, the effect of the Washington and London Naval Treaties upon the development of the disarmament work can hardly be overemphasized. According to traditional realism there should have been a naval arms race between the United States and the UK. The leading naval power should not have agreed to curb its naval supremacy to quell a potential arms race with the second naval power. The assurance of naval dominance as a matter of national security should have been a sufficient reason to engage in an arms race and possibly war. Yet, we have an example where the two naval superpowers of the time decided not to seek naval dominance but accepted to be on par. These achievements may seem relatively simple in retrospect; in fact, they were revolutionary. The Treaty of Versailles had imposed restrictions 2 Oona A. Hathaway and Scott J. Shapiro are professors of law at Yale and the authors of the forthcoming book The Internationalists: How a Radical Plan to Outlaw War Remade the World. Retrieved from https://mobile.nytimes.com/2017/09/02/opinion/sunday/outlawing-war-kelloggbriand.html?smid=fb-share&referer=http://m.facebook.com. 3 Oona A. Hathaway and Scott J. Shapiro are professors of law at Yale and the authors of the forthcoming book The Internationalists: How a Radical Plan to Outlaw War Remade the World. Retrieved from https://mobile.nytimes.com/2017/09/02/opinion/sunday/outlawing-war-kelloggbriand.html?smid=fb-share&referer=http://m.facebook.com.

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on a vanquished foe. Despite the arguable sincerity of Japan to respect the provisions of the Treaty, The Washington Treaty was a voluntary renunciation by the leading naval Powers of existing armaments and of their right to increase their naval force beyond prescribed limits. It showed that the limitation of armaments by international agreement was feasible; and the London Conference, by carrying the Washington principles still further, indicated that once an agreement is concluded, mutual reductions become easier (Dulles 1932). This rationale behind the Washington Naval Treaty has underpinned most major bilateral arms control agreements between the Soviet Union and the United States during the Cold War including the Strategic Arms Limitation Treaty (SALT), the Intermediate-Range Nuclear Forces Treaty (INF) and the Strategic Arms Reduction Treaty (START). Despite the failure of the Western liberal democracies to use these early humanitarian-led initiatives to curtail the dictators (By for example full sanctions against Italy for the invasion of Ethiopia, Japan for Manchuria and Germany for the re-occupation of the Rhineland), it had a number of successes in conflict prevention in the interwar period and established lasting innovations in creating international organizations and norms (Clavin 2013). The civil society organizations engaged both in a moral humanitarian stand against war and also engaged with the technical issues of disarmament and brought forward various initiatives designed to break the deadlock. Peace movements helped to initiate and legitimize, “realist” openings such as the Washington Naval Conference and the Locarno treaties to advance their normative agendas. The League of Nations Union (LNU) is a prime example of how British Peace Groups managed to influence their government into engaging seriously with disarmament through publicizing and campaigning. The LNU’s journal, Headway, insisted that “Washington is not a rival, but a complement to Geneva.” According to the US Embassy in London, public approval correlated with a change in the government’s attitude: “The public… is strongly in favour of disarmament, as being the obvious way in which to attain peace and economy. Lately, too, the attitude of the Government has changed from being lukewarm to being as enthusiastic as any British government can be expected to be regarding another government’s project (i.e. Washington Naval Conference).” The 1924 Geneva Protocol which calls for a disarmament conference in 1925 was also an object of British peace groups’ campaigns. The LNU urged its branches to educate public opinion to support the Protocol and urged the British government to take the lead in promoting it. The National Peace

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Council (NPC) devoted the first three months of 1925 to a campaign in favor of the Protocol. Campaigns were so effective that Chamberlain even agreed to receive a delegation from the LNU to press its case for the Protocol. Chamberlain did however, impose conditions on the deputation to inhibit any propaganda value it may have wished to obtain; it was to be confidential, no reporters were to be allowed, only six LNU members could be present, and they could give no more than two speeches outlining the LNU position (Lynch 1999). Perhaps, The League of Nations, which became the focus of internationalist and much socialist political organization, best illustrates this point. The League of Nations had war prevention as its objective. From its foundation, the League had a mechanism for the development of disarmament as envisaged in the Versailles Treaty. The League became a focus for unprecedented political activity from parties and a wide range of civil society. The international public protest for peace and the engagement of elites produced enough pressure that in 1932 the League convened a World Disarmament Conference (WDC) that opened in Geneva in 1932.4 Both US Presidents Herbert Hoover and Franklin Roosevelt made proposals to the conference (Wilson 1963). Hoover proposed both one-third cuts in budgets in the strained times of the Great Depression and a focus on reducing offensive armaments. The public civil society pressure included a global petition of eight million signatures. Until the digital age, the collection of signatures by activists going door to door or at tables on the street was a mainstay of political activism going back at least to the British Great Reform Act. Such literal nominal support may or may not have led signatories to further engagement, a context that critics of twenty-first century clicktivism might find reassuring as evidence of continuity of activism levels rather than their degradation. WILPF exemplified the efforts of social movements. Its own description of activities at the conference has a very modern feel and illustrates tensions

4 “We Want Disarmament All Round.” London, Pelican Press, 1931. “Programme of the

national demonstration held on July 11th, 1931, (…) to promote the success of the World Disarmament Conference.” LON, Private Papers: Politis, P231-159. “Disarm or Rearm!”, Viscount Cecil of Chelwood. New York Herald Tribune, Sunday 16 August 1931. LON, Private Papers, Politis, P231-159. Retrieved from http://libraryresources.unog.ch/c.php? g=462667&p=3162632.

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familiar today (Adams, Undated). WILPF was aware of what was at stake and feared that a deadlock could have disastrous consequences. In their own words, “[W]omen watch with horrors and fear the increasing of armaments, fully convinced that they cannot but lead to war” (ibid.). To avoid this catastrophic scenario, WILPF mustered public support to put pressure on government delegates. WILPF alongside other pacifist groups, such as No More War Movement, created a transnational collaborative body called the International Consultative Group for Peace and Disarmament (ICG), in order to propound a unified line of policy. Under the ICG banner rallied “all the forces of peace, the communists, socialists, churches and pacifists against the militarists, governments and profiteers.” The WILPF disarmament campaign was a combination of public advocacy and substantial involvement in solving technical disarmament issues. Indeed, it staged mass demonstration and presented 8 million signatures to Arthur Henderson, but it also ran technical workshops on the obstacles to disarmament in Geneva in a desperate push to revive the Conference. In the late summer of 1933, national branches of WILPF were told to press their respective governments and to support a six-point resolution advocating no rearmament, qualitative disarmament, budgetary limitation, strict supervision, and a permanent supervisory organization. Despite the pacifist movement’s best efforts, on 14 October 1933 negotiations collapsed. The German foreign minister announced that he felt “compelled to leave.” The World Disarmament Conference limped on until June the following year, but WILPF recognized all hopes for a peaceful political settlement in Europe were thwarted. Without German participation, the conference was meaningless (Adams, Undated). The collapse of the World Disarmament Conference was an unparalleled blow for WILPF and the peace movement. WILPF blamed negligent governments and a conference was convened to educate “public opinion…to understand the nature of the protest Germany had made.” A significant weight of expectation had been placed upon the conference and the growing climate of war had made organization difficult, memberships drop, and placed a significant economic burden upon WILPF. The failure of the 1932 WDC did not end WILPF’s efforts to rein in the arms trade and end war. External pressures forced WILPF to re-evaluate and refocus its efforts, ushering in a new forward-thinking generation. The diversity of members included men and women, who at one point even considered dropping “Women’s” from their title. WILPF became increasingly less dependent on the older suffrage personalities and networks

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to forward the group. However, Jane Addams still promised “to defend those at the bottom of society who, irrespective of the victory or defeat of any army, are ever oppressed and overburdened” (Adams, Undated).

Post-WWII and Cold War Disarmament survived the rise of the dictators and the collapse of the League. Freedom from fear (i.e. war) was a key part of Franklin D. Roosevelt’s (FDR) Four Freedoms speech of 1941. Disarmament continued to represent a part of the values brought together to motivate the war against fascism. It featured in the Atlantic Charter and had enough international momentum that it featured in the new United Nations Organisations (UNO). Article 8 of the Atlantic Charter issued by the US President Franklin D. Roosevelt and the British Prime Minister, Winston S. Churchill from the warships on which they were meeting off Newfoundland in August 1941—before the United States was in the war—stated, “They believe that all of the nations of the world, for realistic as well as spiritual reasons, must come to the abandonment of the use of force. Since no future peace can be maintained if land, sea or air armaments continue to be employed by nations which threaten, or may threaten, aggression outside of their frontiers, they believe, pending the establishment of a wider and permanent system of general security, that the disarmament of such nations is essential. They will likewise aid and encourage all other practicable measures which will lighten for peace-loving peoples the crushing burden of armaments (Adams, Undated).” Such language is in some ways akin to that of the Versailles Treaty, disarmament of the enemy now, for the victors later. Nevertheless at such a desperate moment, with Hitler expected to conquer Moscow any day, and the Western Allies reeling from Egypt to the Pacific, it is remarkable that FDR felt any need to mention an end to armed violence. And here again it is evoked with the combined motives of realism and spiritualism (by which was meant morality and religion not seances). The motive was partly to rally people to the fight by offering a better future. And for sure, Hitler and Mussolini saw no need to espouse such sentiments to rally their followers. This foundational document formed part of the 1942 Declaration by the United Nations. Indeed, all the states that were invited to the April 1945 UN Conference on International Organisation at San Francisco to create the charter that turned the wartime alliance of United Nations into the UN Organisation, had to agree to this document.

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The UN Charter of 1945 puts disarmament on the agenda of the General Assembly in Article 11 and of the Security Council in Article 26.5 With the war over, and the 1932 WDC a sad note in the overture to World War realism, we might expect that there would have been no more talk of disarmament. However, the lesson appears to have been the opposite; a highly qualified acceptance of military power. From the preamble onwards, there is continued weaving of realist national interest in disarmament and peace and the humanitarian moral imperative to do so.

1945–1990 The insights epitomized by FDR’s wartime leadership to create the UNO soon ran foul of traditional realist and ideological competition known to history as the Cold War. The horrors of what soon came to be called “conventional war” became overshadowed by something more terrible. The specter of a resurgence of global conflict involving nuclear weapons, which could cause suffering on a scale not seen in human history, provided impetus for GCD at the UN in the 50s and 60s. A series of UNGA resolutions6 called for the reduction and limitation of armaments, and later for GCD, on the grounds that it was a necessity to prevent the dangers of a new and disastrous war. GCD as historically understood by the UN is rooted in deep humanitarian motives that seek not just to reduce the harm caused by certain types of weapons and limit the risk or frequency of wars, but rather that seek to make such uses and occurrences impossible. This goal is fully consistent with the primary aim of the UN Charter to “save succeeding generations from the scourge of war”. Those early post-WW2 humanitarian-inspired GCD efforts culminated in the 1961 joint US–Soviet McCloy and Zorin proposal calling for GCD and setting out guiding principles for future multilateral negotiations. The Soviet Union and the United States followed up on this agreement and submitted separate proposals at the UNGA. The US proposal titled “Freedom from War: The United States Program for General and Complete Disarmament in a Peaceful World” draws on humanitarian considerations similar to those expressed in the UN Charter. While it is possible to doubt the 5 United Nations Charter. (1945). Retrieved from http://www.un.org/en/charterunited-nations/. 6 United Nations General Assembly Resolutions: UNGA 496 (V); UNGA 502 (VI); UNGA 1378 (XIV).

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sincerity of these initiatives and see them as mere propaganda, it is important to note that at this point the humanitarian discourse was embedded in the concept of GCD, and there was a public acknowledgment that GCD was, for humanitarian reasons, a sensible strategy to avoid disaster. Especially considering the fact that these initiatives were tabled shortly after the start of the construction of the Berlin Wall which considerably increased tensions between the two blocs. Perhaps what best illustrates this point is the address of President John F. Kennedy to the UNGA in 1961. Kennedy emphasized the destructiveness that would result from a Third World War. In his words, “[f]or fifteen years this organization [UN] has sought the reduction and destruction of arms. Now that goal is no longer a dream – it is a practical matter of life or death. The risks inherent in disarmament pale in comparison to the risks inherent in an unlimited arms race. It is in this spirit that the recent Belgrade Conference – recognizing that this is no longer a Soviet problem or an American problem, but a human problem [emphasis added] – endorsed a program of ‘general, complete and strictly an internationally controlled disarmament’. It is in this same spirit that we in the United States have labored this year, with a new urgency, and with a new, now statutory agency fully endorsed by Congress, to find an approach to disarmament which would be so far-reaching, yet realistic, so mutually balanced and beneficial, that it could be accepted by every nation. And it is in this spirit that we have presented with the agreement of the Soviet Union – under the label both nations now accept of ‘general and complete disarmament’ – a new statement of newly-agreed principles for negotiation.”7 These early UN proposals and joint Soviet–US initiatives were both previewed and echoed by the emerging Non-Aligned Movement (NAM) at Bandung. Whatever their political inclinations, all countries present at the 1955 Bandung Conference were adamant about the importance of disarmament and the United Nations for the preservation of world peace and international security. In the final communiqué, states parties declared: “[T]hat universal disarmament is an absolute necessity for the preservation of peace and requested the United Nations to continue its efforts and appealed to all concerned speedily to bring about the regulation, limitation, control and reduction of all armed forces and armaments, including the prohibition of the production, experimentation and use of all weapons of mass destruction, and

7 John F. Kennedy, Address at UN General Assembly (New York: 1961). Retrieved from https://www.jfklibrary.org/Asset-Viewer/DOPIN64xJUGRKgdHJ9NfgQ.aspx.

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to control to this end.”8 Following the gathering in Bandung, the NAM was formally established in 1961 at a conference where 28 countries from the global South agreed a meaningful final communiqué. The summit stressed the paramount importance of disarmament and put it at the forefront of the group‘s agenda. Indeed, the first NAM declaration frames disarmament as an imperative and the most urgent task of humankind. This declaration identifies several issues deemed of vital interest. Of particular interest are the adoption of a comprehensive understanding of disarmament whereby GCD meant the elimination of armed forces, armaments, foreign bases, manufacture of arms as well as elimination of institutions, and installations for military training, except for purposes of internal security; and the total prohibition of the production, possession and utilization of nuclear and thermo-nuclear arms, bacteriological and chemical weapons as well as the elimination of equipment and installations for the delivery and placement and operational use of WMD on national territories; and the call for the great powers to sign without further delay a treaty for GCD in order to save humankind from the scourge of war and to release energy and resources now being spent on armaments to be used for the peaceful economic and social development of all. This early awareness of the importance of disarmament lies in the repressive colonial history of the global South. As Europe was enjoying an unprecedented period of relative peace and prosperity (1815–1914) and expanded its colonial territory to engulf some 85% of the world, colonies and even independent countries located in the global South experienced the violent military might of European colonial designs (Prashad 2007). From the 1856 bombardment of Canton by the UK to the 1931 Spanish aerial bombardment of Morocco, the South experienced the damage and suffering caused by heavy weaponry (ibid.). Hence, the Global South saw first-hand the necessity to eliminate the lethal tools developed and used by the North to impose its will and inflict harm and destruction upon weaker societies (Westad 2014). Noteworthy also is the reference to the United Nations as the preferred institutional framework for tackling disarmament. Since the Western and Eastern blocs had just begun the Cold War and their conception of security was synonymous of modernizing and building up military capabilities, the global South sought to bring the North to the disarmament table; and they insisted that they be part of a joint UN effort 8 Final Communique of the Bandung Conference. (1955). Retrieved from http://franke. uchicago.edu/Final_Communique_Bandung_1955.pdf.

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to regulate, limit, control and reduce all armed forces and armaments. Newly liberated countries understandably prioritized state sovereignty and national defense even more than some major powers. They wanted to make sure that the right to self-defense would be included in UN-sponsored disarmament negotiations. And that disarmament should not represent a threat to national security, and in their case a fear of recolonization. In parallel to efforts by countries to make progress in disarmament, high profile groups and individuals also adopted the same approach to disarmament. The 1955 Russell–Einstein Manifesto, the founding document of the Pugwash movement, clearly establishes disarmament as a human imperative. They present themselves “not as members of this or that nation, continent, or creed, but as human beings, members of the species Man, whose continued existence is in doubt.” They ask a simple question: “shall we put an end to the human race, or shall mankind renounce war?” Their final advice is to “Remember your humanity, and forget the rest.” Echoing their call for nuclear war never to be fought for the sake of our survival, Philip Noel Baker in his 1959 Nobel Peace Prize acceptance speech observes that “science and engineering had destroyed the barriers of time and space; that the Arms Race by creating distrust and fear, must obscure the peoples’ understanding of where their true interests lay; that War, if it should come, might imperil, or indeed destroy, the great achievements, in literature, in medicine, in science, which our Western civilization had begun to show.”9 The rationale for these initiatives came from the understanding that the applicability of traditional Realism vanished with the bomb, and that states needs should thus temper their actions in a Kantian manner out of Realist necessity, a replication of the logic that drove multilateral cooperation in the wartime years and the establishment of the United Nations (Plesch and Weiss 2015). In other words, old conventional thinking could not be applied to nuclear weapons, and all countries, in particular nuclear powers, for the sake of their own survival and the survival of mankind, needed to embark on a program of disarmament. The popular term for the new threat was a direct humanitarian reference to the worst aspects of the Nazis—a Nuclear Holocaust. The hundreds of atmospheric nuclear test explosions conducted by the superpowers as well as the British and French made the threat a daily reality as did the introduction 9 Philippe-Noel Baker, Nobel Peace Prize Acceptance Speech (Oslo: 1959). Retrieved from https://www.nobelprize.org/nobel_prizes/peace/laureates/1959/noel-baker-acceptance. html.

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of the Hydrogen Bomb. Mass protests ensued. As nuclear particles began to be detected in cows milk fed to babies the humanitarian pressure on elites became intense. After the 1962 Cuban Missile Crisis (CMC) which brought the World close to nuclear Armageddon, the comprehensive disarmament agenda shifted in favor of partial measures. GCD was not at the front and center of disarmament initiatives anymore but remained the objective and served as the overarching principle guiding a multitude of partial measures. As stipulated in the final document of the 1978 UNGA’s first special session devoted to disarmament: “[T]he ultimate objective of the efforts of States in the disarmament process is general and complete disarmament under effective international control. The principal goals of disarmament are to ensure the survival of mankind [emphasis added] and to eliminate the danger of war, in particular nuclear war, to ensure that war is no longer an instrument for settling international disputes and that the use and the threat of force are eliminated from international life, as provided for in the Charter of the United Nations.”10 This connection between GCD and humanitarian considerations form the cornerstone of almost all major disarmament agreements negotiated from the 60s through to the mid-90s including the Bangkok Treaty; the Biological Weapons Convention (BWC); the Chemical Weapons Convention (CWC); the Comprehensive Nuclear Test Ban Treaty (CNTBT); the Non-Proliferation Treaty (NPT); the Pelindaba Treaty; the Sea Bed Treaty; the Treaty of Tlatelolco; the Treaty on Nuclear Weapon Free Zone in Central Asia. This pairing up of humanitarian considerations and disarmament was also a pillar of a formidable effort to reduce tensions in Europe between the United States and the Soviet Union that took shape in the early 70s with the Conference for Security and Co-operation in Europe (CSCE) in 1972 which eventually turned into a full-fledged organization: The Organisation for Security and Cooperation in Europe (OSCE). The first paragraph of the Preamble of 1975 Final Act of the 1st CSCE Summit of Heads of State or Government affirms the objective of “ensuring conditions in which people

10 United Nations (1978, 23 May–30 June). Resolutions and Decisions Adopted by the General Assembly During Its Tenth Special Session. Retrieved from https://s3.amazonaws.com/ unoda-web/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/A-S10-4.pdf.

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can live in true and lasting peace free from any threat to or attempt against their security.”11 The human dimension became a central feature of the Helsinki process. The CSCE, from the signing of the Final Act in August 1975 until the Paris Summit of November 1990, was characterized by discussions and negotiations on human rights and issues in the humanitarian field, which collectively came to be known in the CSCE by the mid-80s as the “human dimension.” The gradual preeminence of the human dimension, from 1977 onwards, was an unexpected development. It amounted to a shift from the original state-centric approach aimed at promoting detente to an inclusion of a human dimension in the European security matrix (Heraclides 1993). The human dimension went beyond the freedom from war, it also included individual human rights such as the freedom of thought, conscience, religion, or belief. These human rights issues were considered in parallel with confidence-building measures, arms control, and disarmament issues. The Istanbul Charter for European Security illustrates this point. The first paragraph sets out a vision for “a free, democratic and more integrated OSCE area where participating States are at peace with each other, and individuals and communities live in freedom, prosperity and security [emphasis added]. (…) The Charter will contribute to the formation of a common and indivisible security space. It will advance the creation of an OSCE area free of dividing lines and zones with different levels of security” (OSCE 1999). This vision for common and indivisible security space rests upon three pillars: The Human Dimension, the Politico-Military Dimension, and the Economic and Environmental Dimension. Interestingly, disarmament, arms control and confidence and security building measures are heavily emphasized under the Politico-Military Dimension: “Disarmament, arms control and confidence- and security-building measures (CSBMs) are important parts of the overall effort to enhance security by fostering stability, transparency and predictability in the military field. Full implementation, timely adaptation and, when required, further development of arms control agreements and CSBMs are key contributions to our political and military stability.” Despite the breaking down of the comprehensive GCD agenda into partial measures during the period 60s until 90s, the examples of the multilateral disarmament agreements and the Helsinki process show that the “disarmament for humanitarian imperative” rationale was still an important 11 Conference on Security and Co-operation in Europe. (1975). Final Act. Retrieved from https://www.osce.org/helsinki-final-act?download=true.

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driver of progress. This rationale is perhaps best expressed in the words of two Nobel Peace Prize Laureates: Sean MacBride and Alfonso Garcia Robbles. In his acceptance speech of 1974 titled “The Imperatives of Survival,” Sean MacBride issues a stark reminder of “the threat that hangs over all humanity at the moment. War destroys all human values and is the greatest danger to everything which human beings desire and cherish. Peace then has to be the DESPERATE IMPERATIVE of humanity.”12 His number one suggestion to achieve peace is GCD. In a preemptive response to critics, he adds that he “can already hear many say Utopia. Impossible of achievement. Of course, it will be difficult but what is the alternative? The nearly certain destruction of the human race.” Similarly, Alfonso Garcia Robbles, in his 1982 acceptance speech, makes a plea for when the Nobel Peace Prize is awarded, “the highest priority be given to the contribution which the candidates, be they individuals or non-governmental organisations, have made to disarmament.”13 He justifies this suggestion by profusely citing the text of the 1978 Final Document of the UNGA First Special Session devoted to disarmament that places disarmament at the center of the UN mechanism for the maintenance of peace and security. He notes that “as the General Assembly of the United Nations rightfully proclaimed - and it did so by consensus - if it continues to be true that security is ‘an inseparable element of peace’, at present ‘the increase in weapons, especially nuclear weapons , far from helping to strengthen international security, on the contrary weakens it’, inasmuch as ‘the accumulation of weapons, particularly nuclear weapons, today constitutes much more a threat than a protection for the future of mankind’. Thus, it is evident that the time has come to seek security in disarmament.” From 1972–1989, the two-armed blocs attempted to negotiate reductions on conventional forces, as comments from British negotiators highlighted by the UK National Archives, the talks were a site for actions of a highly technical nature took place only because of various political pressures concerned with Alliance cohesion, financial pressures and an underlying fear of the failure of deterrence and human destruction.14 12 Sean MacBride, Nobel Lecture (1974). Retrieved from https://www.nobelprize.org/

nobel_prizes/peace/laureates/1974/macbride-lecture.html. 13 Alfonso G. Robles, Nobel Peace Prize Acceptance Speech (1982). Retrieved from https:// www.nobelprize.org/nobel_prizes/peace/laureates/1982/robles-acceptance.html. 14 Archives Retrieved from http://webarchive.nationalarchives.gov.uk/ 20080314211946/http://www.fco.gov.uk/servlet/Front?pagename=Open Market/Xcelerate/ShowPage&c=Page&cid=1007029395645.

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The Mutual and Balanced Force Reductions (MBFR) was replaced by the Conventional Armed Forces in Europe negotiations “CFE” rather than “CAFE” for short to avoid the derision of an image of a “Vienna Cafe” talking shop. These, within 18 months, had produced a Treaty that verified the destruction of tens of thousands of tanks, artillery, combat aircraft, and helicopters.15 These agreements came together in the Charter of Paris of 1990 which formally ended the Cold War confrontation in Europe.

Post-Cold War Context The disarmament achievements and agenda of the early twenty-first century have shrunk compared to that of the decades of the 1990s and 1980s. Western “victors” in the Cold War paid little attention to the contribution of disarmament and arms control in reducing and helping end the conflict. Russia’s continued reference to the US unilateral abrogation of the AntiBallistic Missile Treaty in 2002 as destroying the end of the Cold War rapprochement finds little echo among Western states and NGOs. This is not the space to discuss why this has occurred though we may speculate that rather than the obduracy to agreeing the supposed “nextsteps” on a new and Western defined narrow path to disarmament by a few minor powers the “imperial hubris” in Washington may play a larger part. Certainly, also in the aftermath of the collapse of communism there was a brief moment where the idea of major conventional war was regarded widely as a matter of the past—despite the war over the invasion of Kuwait and the dominance on the battlefield of major conventional weapons in the wars of the Western Balkans. In the West an attachment to NATO and muscular liberal intervention in the world’s banlieu legitimated Western military power. Western governments, Foundations, and NGOs largely ceased to be concerned with major conventional weapons possession and deployment by their own states. Despite the decade long Iran–Iraq war and Western and Soviet support for Iraq including its WMD programs and the subsequent Iraqi annexation of Kuwait and its expulsion under a UN Chapter VII mandate. Non-proliferation eclipsed disarmament and became the top priority in weapons control for Western governments and NGOs.

15 OSCE Documents on Confidence and Security- Building Measures. Retrieved from https://fas.org/nuke/control/osce/text/militar2.htm.

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Concern also shifted to the trade in weapons following the public outrage at the supply of weapons to Saddam Hussein by the P5 members of the United Nations Security Council (UNSC). Concern was managed through the introduction of the UN Arms Register of CFE TLE transfers which controlled nothing. Some NGOs in the United States and the EU began a process that would culminate in the Arms Trade Treaty (ATT) a decade and half later. In this context weapons holdings by the P5 themselves and their allies ceased to be an issue save in the gradual weakening of the Vienna document—still for a time referred to officially as a foundation of European Security. Events in the Balkans took center stage and US and NATO military force and power projection—as in the liberation of Kuwait—were widely regarded as a force for good among Western political and NGO circles. Transfer cascades of surplus weapons from Europe to Greece and Turkey and even in the case of the GDR navy—to Indonesia attracted little notice. Nevertheless—a mini CFE—formed part of the Dayton agreement that ended fighting in the Western Balkans. NGO attention became focused on weapons that were doing the killing—especially anti-personnel landmines. This succeeded in the norm of prohibition among a coalition of the willing. The achievements of landmines and cluster munitions norms have had clear and concrete results. Manufacturers have found that the market for these weapons has collapsed and militaries who argued they could not exist without them, no longer do so. This is particularly noteworthy because in the US military, improvised landmines were tagged as IEDs—Improvised Explosive Devices. The United States and its allies have been partly defeated at a tactical if not at the strategic level by these weapons in Iraq and Afghanistan although this occurrence has not entered the Landmine ban debate or produced new demand for landmines among NATO powers.

Considering the Utility of GCD in the Twenty-First Century In conflicts around the world major conventional armaments—artillery, tanks, and warplanes continue to make a decisive impact on the conduct of war and all too often on the combatants and civilian population alike. The broken bodies and minds in the devastated cities of Libya, Syria, and Iraq have resulted in large part from the impact of these types of weapons.

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At present no treaties or negotiations outside the Organisation for Security and Cooperation in Europe provide for the control of tanks, artillery, warplanes, warships, and missiles or provide military Confidence and Security Building Measures. But these conventional weapons are killing people daily around the world, and enable major powers to threaten and invade others with dire humanitarian consequences as is the case in Syria. The European security treaties from around 1990 enabled a “peace dividend” for European taxpayers over the last decades but neither states nor NGOs have sought to export or extend these models. With respect to nuclear and related “WMD,” the necessity for prevention of humanitarian catastrophe is clear. The Strategic Concept for the Removal of Arms and Proliferation (SCRAP) developed by the Centre for International Studies & Diplomacy at SOAS University of London takes the world’s most effective, proven, and comprehensive mechanism for WMD disarmament, the UN authorized regime imposed on Iraq, and suggests that the International Community impose it on itself. Notwithstanding the highly politically controversial nature of the inspection regime and the war, the inspection system itself worked and this can be used as a foundation for global application. Similarly, while there is and should be no linkage between conventional and WMD control and elimination strategies there is much to be gained by developing them in a mutually reinforcing manner. There are now latent and converging interests in addressing major conventional weapons holdings and proliferation as well as WMD. Globally, the core constituency actively pursuing nuclear and WMD non-proliferation and disarmament can usefully combine with the broader coalitions interested in controls on conventional armaments. Writing off GCD as anachronistic misses the point. There is still a humanitarian imperative for GCD. The UNSG’s agenda on disarmament reminds us that “GCD remains the ultimate objective of the UN and it is now critical for the international community to reconceptualize this fundamental goal” (Guterres 2018). Securing Our Common Future issued by Antonio Guterres the UN Secretary-General is an inspiring visionary document produced after extensive consultations with governments and civil society. For those with no prior knowledge but now seeking less-military solutions to global and regional problems the Guterres agenda is at one and the same time an introduction and a handbook: A “Rough Guide” to world peace. In clear terms, Guterres surveys potential for world disarmament, from “Hand grenades to Hydrogen Bombs.” He brings disarmament back

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in the diplomatic frame by establishing it as a cornerstone for the prevention of war, the promotion of the sustainable development goals and the advancement of humanitarian principles. Compared to the succinct five points of his predecessor, his 70 + pages agenda provides a comprehensive vision of the role of disarmament and principles for its implementation. Never has the UN Secretariat produced such a substantive document on disarmament. In terms of strategic thinking it can be compared to Defence White Papers, except this document is about preventing wars, not fighting them. While critics point to the lack of detailed action points on technical issues and may find themselves a bit uneasy at grappling with the comprehensiveness of the agenda, it should be understood more as a rallying point that can foster momentum for disarmament efforts of all sorts and can create synergies among different constituencies which are not usually working together. Such a renaissance should be based partly on the new wisdom of weapons control developed over the last decades but should have at its core a development of the tremendous existing achievements and continuing practices of disarmament. In particular, the period 1987–1996 represents a golden decade where numerous effective and verifiable treaties were made to reduce and remove armaments of many kinds. The daily humanitarian devastation caused by major conventional weapons and small arms and the unanticipated return to conventional warfare in the conflicts in the Middle East should focus the international community’s attention to produce an integrated strategy of general disarmament using the realistic and proven mechanisms already created. Such an approach is the necessary positive response to the laundry list of problems: the breakdown in US–Russian relations and associated arms agreements, the continuation of civil wars in some of the poorest parts of the world and the continued militarization— including nuclear weapons developments—among both strong and weak states and terrorist organizations. A reappraisal of the disarmament agenda which places it firmly in its humanitarian context will provide a stimulus to stakeholders (both governmental and non-). The international challenge is to ensure that this is not a false dawn similar to the rejection of nuclear weapons by General Butler and others in the mid-1990s. Again, what is needed here is the integration and reconciliation of currently fragmented approaches, especially with a view to filling dangerous gaps. The humanitarian and development imperatives that have brought so much of international civil society to support work to control the trade in conventional arms, address small arms proliferation and mobilize resources

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for landmine-UXO removal should also be applied to the reduction in holdings of major conventional armaments and to help shape the institutional reforms to secure safer uses and sustainable disarmament. But the reworking of conceptual and policy frames needs to go deeper. It may be useful to compare and contrast the interwar effort for disarmament culminating in the failed 1932 conference with the situation today. We may consider technical issues, institutional and expert contributions, organized political forces and wider social interest and movements. Then and now governments and civil society engaged with technical issues. Many states made detailed proposals concerning what are now called “conventional” weapons, and these were engaged with by the global civil society movement. However, at this time, with rare exceptions, there were no effective technical agreements in place governing weapons systems. Nowadays, there are detailed technical arrangements and supporting institutional capabilities concerning a wide range of weaponry. Civil society and political engagement by major powers and alliances is at a low level. WILPF cannot now bring 1500 delegates together despite both increased ease of travel and new warnings of a nuclear Holocaust. The coalition for the nuclear ban treaty was not able to match the 6 million signatures of 1932 nor were there major street demonstrations as occurred in the 1960s and 1980s. Few governments maintain disarmament departments and gone are the days when such departments were led by senior officials of cabinet rank. Nevertheless, there are encouraging signs amidst the international gloom of 2018. The award of the Nobel Peace Prize to a civil society organization continues to have a positively disruptive impact on the atrophied world of disarmament diplomacy. The confrontations between the US and Iran, and North Korea produce only rare and promptly denounced calls for preemptive (nuclear) war. The United Nations Secretary-General (UNSG) Antonio Guterres has announced new initiatives on disarmament. His outline of a combination of disarmament, human rights, and development offers the potential for a three front effort combining a large part of international society. The long awaited Fourth Special Session of the UN General Assembly on Disarmament might consider globalizing the provisions of the Charter of Paris of 1990; including the Open Skies Treaty envisioned by US President Eisenhower and agreements on missiles and

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WMD materials.16 Such measures can, as in prior eras, proceed in parallel without linkages offering progress on a broad front with mutually reinforcing synergies.

Bibliography Adams, J. Undated. Women Take on The World Disarmament Conference. The Women’s International League for Peace and Freedom. Retrieved from http://armingallsides.on-the-record.org.uk/case_studies/feminists-take-onthe-world/. Clavin, P. 2013. Securing the World Economy. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Dulles, A. W. 1932. Progress Toward Disarmament. Foreign Affairs, 11, 54–65. Guterres, A. (2018). Securing Our Common Future. New York: United Nations. Retrieved from https://www.un.org/disarmament/sg-agenda/. Heraclides, A. 1993. Security and Cooperation in Europe: The Human Dimension 1972–1992. London: Franck Cass. Hobson, J. A. 2005. Imperialism: A Study. New York: Cosimo Classics. Lynch, C. 1999. Beyond Appeasement. New York: Cornell University Press. Neylan, D. 1926. Memo on Settlement of Krupp Claim for Royalties on Fuzes. MUN 4/6309. The National Archives of the UK. Plesch, D., & Weiss, T. 2015. Wartime Origins and the Future United Nations. New York: Routledge. Prashad, V. 2007. The Darker Nations. New York: The New Press. Scialoja, V. 1932. Obstacles to Disarmament. Foreign Affairs, 10, 212–219. Taft, H. (1928). Disarmament. The Annals of the American Academy of Political and Social Science, 138, 154–156. Retrieved from http://www.jstor.org/stable/ 1016934. Walsh, T. J. 1921. The Urge for Disarmament. The Annals of the American Academy of Political and Social Science 96, 45–48. Westad, A. 2014. The Global Cold War. New York: Cambridge University Press. Wilson, H. R. 1963. Disarmament and the Cold War in the Thirties. New York: Vantage.

16 SCRAP Text for BASIC Elements of a Treaty on General and Complete Disarmament. Retrieved from http://www.scrapweapons.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/12/ BasicElementsGCD-draft-resolution.pdf.

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Websites United Nations. (1978, 23 May–30 June). Resolutions and Decisions Adopted by the General Assembly During Its Tenth Special Session. Retrieved from https://s3. amazonaws.com/unoda-web/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/A-S10-4.pdf. “We Want Disarmament All Round.” London, Pelican Press, 1931. “Programme of the national demonstration held on July 11, 1931, (…) to promote the success of the World Disarmament Conference.” LON, Private Papers: Politis, P231–159. “Disarm or Rearm!”, Viscount Cecil of Chelwood. New York Herald Tribune, Sunday 16 August 1931. LON, Private Papers, Politis, P231–159. RetriEved from http://libraryresources.unog.ch/c.php?g=462667&p=3162632. Adams, Joshua. Women Take on the World Disarmament Conference. The Women’s International League for Peace and Freedom. Retrieved from http:// armingallsides.on-the-record.org.uk/case_studies/feminists-take-on-theworld/. United Nations Charter. (1945). Retrieved from http://www.un.org/en/charterunited-nations/. Kennedy, J. F. (1961). Address at UN General Assembly. New York. Retrieved from https://www.jfklibrary.org/Asset-Viewer/DOPIN64xJUGRKgdHJ9NfgQ. aspx. Final Communique of the Bandung Conference. (1955). Retrieved from http:// franke.uchicago.edu/Final_Communique_Bandung_1955.pdf. Baker, P.-N. (1959). Nobel Peace Prize Acceptance Speech. Oslo. Retrieved from https://www.nobelprize.org/nobel_prizes/peace/laureates/1959/noelbaker-acceptance.html. Conference on Security and Co-operation in Europe. (1975). Final Act. Retrieved from https://www.osce.org/helsinki-final-act?download=true. OSCE. (1999). Istanbul Document. Istanbul. Retrieved from https://www.osce. org/mc/39569?download=true. MacBride, S. (1974). Nobel Lecture. Retrieved from https://www.nobelprize.org/ nobel_prizes/peace/laureates/1974/macbride-lecture.html. Robles, A. G. (1982). Nobel Peace Prize Acceptance Speech. Retrieved from https:// www.nobelprize.org/nobel_prizes/peace/laureates/1982/robles-acceptance. html. Archives. Retrieved from http://webarchive.nationalarchives.gov.uk/ 20080314211946/http://www.fco.gov.uk/servlet/Front?pagename=Open Market/Xcelerate/ShowPage&c=Page&cid=1007029395645. OSCE Documents on Confidence and Security–Building Measures. Retrieved from https://fas.org/nuke/control/osce/text/militar2.htm. SCRAP Text for BASIC Elements of a Treaty on General and Complete Disarmament. Retrieved from http://www.scrapweapons.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/ 12/BasicElementsGCD-draft-resolution.pdf.

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Others Neylan, D. (1926). Memo on Settlement of Krupp Claim for Royalties on Fuzes. The National Archives of the UK: MUN 4/6309. United Nations General Assembly Resolutions: UNGA 496 (V); UNGA 502 (VI); UNGA 1378 (XIV). Guterres, A. (2018). Securing Our Common Future. New York: United Nations. Retrieved from https://www.un.org/disarmament/sg-agenda/.

CHAPTER 8

Addressing the Political Impact of Inclusion and Exclusion in Multilateral Disarmament Forums Elizabeth Minor

On 7 July 2017, the Treaty on the Prohibition of Nuclear Weapons (TPNW) was adopted by a vote in which 124 states participated, concluding a four-week negotiating conference at the United Nations in New York. Aside from its prohibitions, much was included in the TPNW that was unprecedented for an international nuclear weapons agreement: in its preamble the treaty recognizes the victims of nuclear weapons use and testing, as well as the disproportionate impact on indigenous peoples, who have never been referred to before in a disarmament treaty. The treaty’s obligations to respond to the rights and needs of affected individuals, and to remediate contaminated environments, are also a novel step forward in the nuclear weapons sphere. These provisions aimed to reflect and maintain standards adopted and developed under other humanitarian disarmament

E. Minor (B) Article 36, London, UK e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2020 M. B. Bolton et al. (eds.), Global Activism and Humanitarian Disarmament, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-27611-9_8

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treaty frameworks—the Anti-Personnel Mine Ban Treaty and the Convention on Cluster Munitions (see Chapter 6 in this volume for more discussion). Furthermore, the profile of the states that turned up to negotiate and vote on the TPNW was remarkable, in the context of the patterns of state participation in international forums and frameworks addressing disarmament and weapons issues. Data collected from the meetings of 13 forums and treaties during 2010–2014 show that the lower a country’s income group, the less likely its representatives are to attend any given meeting, to give a statement, or to contribute in other ways. Attendance at the TPNW negotiations on the other hand featured high proportions of low and middle-income countries, and low numbers of high-income countries. Some of the causes and consequences of these differential patterns are explored here. This chapter looks at who is represented in multilateral processes of change addressing disarmament and weapons issues. It presents the findings of a study of five years of participation data in international meetings conducted by the author at Article 36, a UK-based non-governmental organization focused on humanitarian disarmament and the protection of civilians, during 2015–2016 (see Minor 2016; Article 36 2015a, b). Primarily an elaboration of quantitative data, the chapter relies on the experiences of the author as a participant in these processes for the perspective it sets out. Addressing patterns of underrepresentation in international disarmament forums—and other international forums—represents one important piece in a much broader puzzle of developing a more equitable international system, as well as more inclusive and productive processes that respond to issues of importance to all. Disarmament and weapons issues are of global concern. A diverse range of interests must therefore be fully represented for any attempt to construct an equitable, legitimate international legal order that reflects the concerns of populations worldwide. After discussing this study’s methodology, this chapter examines what the numbers show about the relative marginalization of developing countries and certain regions in international processes focused on weapons issues, and describes how these patterns vary between processes. It then goes on to present the data on the underrepresentation of women in these forums. The chapter makes suggestions regarding the reasons behind patterns of underrepresentation, looking at how these patterns might be understood in order to be addressed from a policy perspective, toward more

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equitable processes in this sphere in the future. Using the humanitarian initiative on nuclear weapons and the process that led to the negotiation of the TPNW as an example, a final section also explores how participation data can help to illuminate the politics of who is considered able and entitled to speak on disarmament issues. Given both the greater negative impact of many weapons on developing countries, and the numerous ways in which different aspects of disarmament and the control of weapons can contribute to or remove barriers to development, the need to address developing country underrepresentation within multilateral processes addressing disarmament and weapons issues should be clear. Beyond the representation of women, integrating gendered perspectives into these processes is also both important to addressing the impacts of different patterns of violence adequately, and contributes to political progress. This chapter aims to quantify certain patterns of underrepresentation on which further research into causes and dynamics, and policy action, can be taken.

Methodology This author’s study on patterns of underrepresentation in international disarmament forums (Minor 2016) sought to establish the basic facts about who was participating in these frameworks, and who was not, focusing on the parameters of country income, region, whether a country could be considered conflict-affected, and the gender of participants. It was beyond the scope of the project to analyse the content of most discussions. Publicly available data was collected on: countries’ membership of treaties; their fulfillment of the reporting obligations for different processes; and basic information on which countries attended, which spoke and which took on formal roles at international meetings. The size and gender composition of attending delegations were recorded. Information was also collected on whom from civil society attended and spoke at these meetings. Civil society includes academic institutions, non-governmental organizations (NGOs) and other organizations such as religious groups. The list of countries used for this project comprised all UN member states and observers. Countries were divided into the categories of “low income countries,” “lower middle-income countries,” “upper middle-income countries,” and “high income counties.” This division is based on OECD-DAC categorizations for 2012–2013 (OECD 2013), grouping OECD-DAC “Least Developed Countries” and “Other Low

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Income Countries” into “low-income countries.” To obtain a list of “conflict-affected” countries, the author applied a definition developed by researchers at the Peace Research Institute Oslo (PRIO), which considers current and recent violence in a country and uses data from the Uppsala Conflict Data Program (UCDP) (Strand and Dahl 2011). This approach was then applied to UCDP data up to 2014 (UCDP, n.d.), to derive a list of conflict-affected countries. Data on which countries can be considered affected by landmines and cluster munitions was derived from the Landmine and Cluster Munition Monitor (2015). The treaties and forums examined were selected to include processes on specific weapons of mass destruction and conventional weapons, as well as forums with mandates covering multiple issues. The study aimed to include all the main multilateral weapons-focused processes ongoing at the time. The thirteen treaties and forums examined were: the Arms Trade Treaty (ATT), the Biological and Toxin Weapons Convention (BWC), the Convention on Cluster Munitions (CCM), the Convention on Certain Conventional Weapons (CCW), the Conference on Disarmament (CD), meetings on the Comprehensive Test Ban Treaty (CTBT), the Chemical Weapons Convention (CWC), international conferences on the Humanitarian Impact of Nuclear Weapons (HINW), the Anti-Personnel Mine Ban Convention (MBT), the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty (NPT), the UN Programme of Action on Small Arms and Light Weapons (PoA), the UN Disarmament Commission (UNDC), and the UN General Assembly’s First Committee. All publicly available information on state and civil society delegations and statement making were collected for the international meetings of these treaties and forums, between 2010 and 2014 inclusive (a total of 116 meetings). This data was gathered from public sources, including the UN documents archive, archives collated by Reaching Critical Will (the disarmament programme of the Women’s International League for Peace and Freedom), and websites created for particular meetings by the organizers, or associated organizations. This data has a number of limitations. Participant registration lists, which were used for the attendance data presented in this analysis, are imperfect as a data source and will not necessarily reflect actual attendance at meetings. For example, some registered delegates will not attend meetings, and some individuals will be added to delegations subsequent to the production of official lists. These lists also cannot show how individual sessions within a conference were attended. On statement data, there is no guarantee that the

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archives accessed contain a comprehensive collection of all the statements given at any meeting. Regarding gender data, the author acknowledges gender diversity beyond the binary categorization of “men” and “women.” These are used in this chapter as the categorizations available in the source data. The number of women on delegations was recorded by counting the number of delegates with a female title (Mrs, Mme, etc.). Where titles were not given on participant lists, gender data was not collected for those meetings. The head of delegation was assumed to be the first name on the delegation list. A speaker’s gender was recorded based on her/his title. Where no title was given, the name was referenced against the participants’ list. Where gender could not be determined, “unknown” was recorded. Participant lists with gender-specific titles were available for the majority of meetings for state delegations, though not for all—in particular, some expert and inter-sessional meetings of treaties did not have this data. For civil society, participant lists with delegate titles were not available at all for 6 out of the 13 forums, and not available for every meeting of the remaining 7. Information on the gender of speakers was inconsistently available, and for states’ statements was unusable for analysis for 6 forums, due to the high number of speakers whose gender was unknown. For civil society, speaker gender data was useable for 11 out of 13 forums, but did not cover all meetings. For the analysis of women’s participation, the author therefore worked with averages across the still considerable amount of data that was available, as an approach to this information deficit. One recommendation of the Article 36 study was that better and more consistent recording of participation data and including gender should take place. This would facilitate monitoring, including of women’s representation. Since the study’s publication in 2016, Reaching Critical Will adopted a policy of consistently recording the gender-specific title of speakers at meetings, in support of this goal. However, states and the UN bodies that provide support to their meetings must also take greater responsibility for recording this information and making it available to researchers. Additionally to the quantitative data collected, the study involved semistructured interviews with twenty individuals working for governments, civil society organizations or coalitions, and international organizations involved in these forums. Respondents were sought from a diversity of regions and country income groups. Given the small sample, the information gathered can only be taken to represent insights from the considerable knowledge and participation in the forums studied of the interviewees,

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rather than giving a more comprehensive or representative picture of experiences. For more discussion on the study’s data collection methods and limitations, see “Appendix: Note on Methodology and Terms” in Minor (2016, p. 26).

What the Data Showed: The Marginalization of Lower Income Countries and of Particular Regions In the 2010–2014 data collected, lower income countries were less likely to attend, speak at, or hold formal roles in multilateral meetings on disarmament and weapons issues. On average, 43% of low-income countries attended meetings and 14% gave statements on behalf of their individual country to general debates, compared to 78 and 34% of high-income countries, respectively. Where lower-income countries did attend meetings, they fielded smaller delegations than richer countries with an equal right to participate: across all meetings, the average size of a low-income country’s delegation was 2.8 people, compared to 4.5 for high-income countries. In the available data only 7% of officeholders at meetings were from low-income countries, compared to 51% from high-income countries. However, the proportion of low-income and high-income countries in the data is almost exactly the same (around 28% each). Lower-income countries were less likely to be members of the treaties or forums on weapons and disarmament studied where these did not have universal membership. Low-income countries also ratified treaties at a slower rate on average than high-income countries in the dataset (with the exception of the MBT, whose rate of ratification for low income countries has been higher than for high income countries since 2003). Additionally, the lower a country’s income group, the less likely they were to meet reporting obligations where these existed (annual reports are required from states party to the CCM, MBT and CCW. States are meant to submit biennial reports under the PoA). Figure 8.1 illustrates some of these major patterns in the data. Regional disparities in participation by these indicators were also observed. Using UN General Assembly regional groups (Department for General Assembly and Conference Management, n.d.), Western European and Others Group (WEOG) states were the most likely to be members of

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Fig. 8.1 Participation of countries in 13 disarmament/weapons forums: averages within income groups for all processes and meetings

any given non-universal treaty or process. These states were also overrepresented in those taking formal roles at meetings. Though WEOG states represent 15% of countries, almost a third of officeholders were from this group. On average, WEOG states were also more likely to give a statement than states in any other regional grouping. WEOG countries also sent the largest delegations to meetings on average. Their average delegation size was 4.8 people. This compared with 3.5 people for Asia-Pacific and Eastern European group countries, and 3.2 for African and Latin American/Caribbean group countries. Data on the participation of civil society revealed somewhat similar patterns of representation. Across all forums, of the 541 civil society organizations and coalitions recorded in the data as attending or giving statements at the meetings covered, 379 were headquartered in high-income countries, and 351 in WEOG countries. Where participant lists were available, 90% of registered civil society organizations were from high-income countries at any given meeting, on average, and 86% were from WEOG countries. Almost 95% of civil society statements or presentations recorded in the data were delivered by an organization or coalition based in a high-income country, and 92% by those based in WEOG countries. These figures will underestimate the involvement of organizations from lower income countries participating under the umbrella of a coalition

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headquartered in a high-income country (for example the International Campaign to Ban Landmines/Cluster Munition Coalition, which represent the majority of civil society participation at the MBT and CCM). Disaggregated data on this was however unavailable. Factors Influencing Variations in States’ Participation Within the broad patterns of state participation, some processes and forums appeared more inclusive of developing countries than others. The standard deviation from the mean percentage of countries attending any given meeting can be used as a measure of equality in attendance between different income groups. This measure describes the size of the difference between the percentage of countries attending in each income category and the average percentage of countries attending across all categories—a higher standard deviation therefore indicates a greater inequality in levels of attendance between country income categories. The forums with the lowest variation in attendance between country income categories by this measure were the First Committee, the PoA, the ATT, the MBT, the CCM and the HINW conferences (Fig. 8.2). Financial support programs help to explain this picture to some extent. The available data showed the MBT’s delegate sponsorship program benefiting around 24 states on average at any given meeting between 2010 and 2014 for example, and the CCM over 50 during

Fig. 8.2 Average variation in attendance of states between income categories (standard deviation from the mean)

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2012–2013. The ATT, HINW and PoA also had sponsorship programs for which data was unavailable (though the UN General Assembly does not). The BWC and CCW, two of the least equally attended forums, run sponsorship programs, but these benefit far fewer states—around 2 and 8, respectively, on average per meeting between 2010 and 2014 according to the data collected. Given the data did not indicate that sponsorship covered whole delegations for any given country, financial support did not simply produce a country’s attendance through covering all its costs. Rather, it might, for example, enable a country to send a delegation adequate to cover a meeting, where the state might not otherwise have wished to participate at all if their relevant experts could not attend (Minor 2016). Interviews and data suggested relatively large sponsorship programs will make a difference to attendance—but also that they will not be the only factor influencing states’ participation, which will also depend on issues of prioritization, interest, and influence as well as resources. For example, the UN General Assembly has a reputation as a forum where smaller and less powerful states are more able to promote issues reflecting their interests, generally in the form of non-binding resolutions (see, for example, Mazower 2013). Reflecting this, First Committee was the only forum in the dataset at which a greater proportion of lower and upper middle-income countries spoke than high-income countries on average. Aside from the HINW, which is discussed in more detail below, the other forums that were more equally attended cover policy areas (such as landmines or small arms) that were considered by interviewees in the study to be generally of a greater priority to developing countries, because of their more immediate development or security implications. In a similar way, the data showed that conflict-affected countries were more likely on average than other countries to attend the meetings of any of the processes analyzed. This was also the case within country income groups (that is, conflict-affected low-income countries attended meetings more on average than other low-income countries). This analysis may have its limitations: breaking down the data on affected countries by income group leaves a small number of states in each grouping. Nevertheless, this could suggest that the relevance of disarmament and weapons forums was more immediate or evident to conflict-affected countries, and so attendance may have been prioritized to a greater degree. Likewise, a greater proportion of landmine-affected countries have now ratified the MBT than the CCW and its protocols: others have noted that the inability of the CCW to address the

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humanitarian problems presented by landmines and cluster munitions, in a sufficiently timely and progressive way for those states most concerned with these issues, led to the negotiation of the MBT and CCM in stand-alone processes (see, for example, Bolton and James 2014). Differences in levels of participation were also seen within different types of treaty meetings within the dataset. On average across the 2010–2014 period, more states in each income group attended treaty review conferences than annual meetings of states parties. In turn, more attended annual meetings of states parties compared to expert or inter-sessional meetings. The treaty meeting with the highest overall attendance was the second negotiating conference of the Arms Trade Treaty (one meeting of First Committee had a greater number of states on the list of participants). The proportional difference in participation across these different types of meetings was sharper for low-income than high-income countries (Fig. 8.3). In a calculus of strategic policy prioritization and resource constraints (which was a key factor in countries’ participation found in the study), developing countries may choose to participate more strongly in negotiations in order to influence the obligations created, but are then less able to be present during subsequent treaty meetings and activities (Hugo and Egeland 2014). The role and influence of groupings and alliances on participation can be examined to some degree through the data collected. Across the data, over

Fig. 8.3 State participation in different types of treaty meetings

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one hundred formal or informal groupings of states, or organizations of state members, made statements to meetings. The European Union made statements most frequently across the meetings covered, intervening at all but one of the forums covered, and making 129 statements in total. The Non-Aligned Movement (NAM) intervened second most frequently, with 78 statements across seven forums, followed by the Arab Group of states at the UN (41), the Caribbean Community (CARICOM) (28) and the African Group of states at the UN (25). Some interviewees noted obligations and the need for collective planning in alliances as one reason they prioritized attendance at meetings. Others reported that group statements enabled them to not attend or make an individual intervention at a meeting, while still having their position represented. Given the regional profile of the group statements above, the prominence of developing country perspectives would be unlikely to be raised in proportion to their numbers through countries taking this approach.

Gender and Marginalization: Data on the Underrepresentation of Women1 The need to address women’s representation at international forums has been consistently recognized—including in UN Security Council Resolution 1325 on women, peace, and security (UNSC 2000); resolutions of the UN General Assembly on women and disarmament under which states have reported their progress (e.g. UNGA 2010, 2013); the 2014 outcome document of the PoA (UNGA 2014); UN Security Council resolutions on small arms and light weapons (e.g. UNSC 2013, 2015); and now the Sustainable Development Goals (UN 2015) and the TPNW. Nevertheless, the data showed women were significantly underrepresented in multilateral disarmament forums for both states and civil society between 2010 and 2014. Other studies using similar data over longer periods of time suggest that over recent decades there has been an upward trend in general in women’s representation on country delegations. For example, a 2016 study by UNIDIR and the International Law and Policy Institute recorded an increase of more than 20% since 1980 in women’s representation on state delegations to international forums dealing with

1 Findings presented in this section were also reported in Article 36 (2015b) and Minor (2017).

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security issues (ILPI and UNIDIR 2016. See also Shadung 2015; Danskin and Perkins 2014). However, based on the patterns seen today, the pace of progress will need to increase significantly in order for gender parity in representation to be achieved before several more decades have passed. On average in the available data on disarmament forums for 2010–2014, women made up less than a quarter of country delegates, lead less than a fifth of country delegations at meetings, and gave only 14% of statements on average. Almost half of all country delegations at any given meeting were likely to be composed entirely of men. Women’s representation within civil society’s participation was greater according to the data collected—but women were still significantly marginalized. On average, less than half of civil society delegates to meetings were women, a third of civil society delegations were all male, and 16% of delegations were all female. Women headed roughly twice the proportion of civil society delegations as state delegations, and female speakers gave more than twice the proportion of interventions for civil society as states, on average overall. Figure 8.4 illustrates these findings. Analyzing gender balance within-country delegations also illustrates the overrepresentation of men in disarmament and weapons forums and processes. Only 10 out of the 195 countries for which this project gathered

Fig. 8.4 Participation of women in multilateral disarmament meetings on behalf of states and civil society: average rates across 13 forums, 2010–2014

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participation data had equal numbers of men and women on their delegations on average (to 2 significant figures). Overall, 160 countries’ delegations had on average more men than women. Five countries did not include women on any delegations recorded over five years of the meetings of thirteen forums. Regarding civil society, for the 143 organizations for which information was available about the representation of men and women on delegations, on average 17 had equal numbers of men and women on their delegations. 42 had more women than men on their delegations, including 29 whose delegations were always all female. 54 civil society organizations sent only men to the meetings they attended. With respect to state representation, the data showed that female-led delegations had higher proportions of women among their other delegates than male-led delegations. 34% of delegates on female-led delegations were women, compared to 26% on male-led delegations (excluding the delegation leaders themselves). These quite striking statistics suggest that female leadership could increase women’s inclusion in delegations, though they cannot reveal by what mechanism—nor if any broader impact toward more equal representation may result. Given that on average only 15% of country delegations at any given meeting across the period studied were likely to be led by a woman, increasing women’s leadership of country delegations could have a significant impact on more gender-equal representation within disarmament forums overall. Patterns in the marginalization of women and lower income countries were observed to intersect in the data. Looking at average patterns of participation, the lower a country’s income group, the fewer women delegates and delegation heads they had, the fewer of their statements were given by women, and the larger the proportion of all-male delegations fielded (Fig. 8.5). Variation was also seen by region. African and Asia-Pacific countries had the lowest average proportions of women delegates and delegation heads. Latin American and Caribbean countries on the other hand had the highest proportions of women delegates and delegation heads. While further research is required to explain them, these combined patterns of the underrepresentation of lower-income countries and women, as well as regional variations, suggest the usefulness of considering how different forms of marginalization may interact, as well as the potential utility of investigating dynamics by region and other factors. As the most recent international agreement at the time of writing, an important way in which the TPNW represented progress in the general

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Fig. 8.5 Participation of women in multilateral disarmament forums on behalf of states: average rates across 13 forums by income group, 2010–2014

landscape of disarmament was through the recognition in its preamble that “the equal, full and effective participation of both women and men is an essential factor for the promotion and attainment of sustainable peace and security,” and the commitment expressed to “supporting and strengthening the effective participation of women in nuclear disarmament” (UN 2017a, preamble paragraph 22). The underrepresentation of women was seen at the negotiations of the TPNW itself, where 31% of registered state delegates were women, and women gave 29% of the publicly available statements by states (based on available data from UNGA [2017a] and Reaching Critical Will [2017]. Data on speaking in closed negotiating sessions are unavailable). Women led 15% of state delegations at the TPNW negotiations, where 31% of the delegations were composed entirely of men, and 3% of delegations were all female. Of the 125 registered country delegations, 65 had more men than women (including 39 all-male delegations); 15 had equal numbers of men and women, and 45 contained more women than men. These patterns are slightly above the averages seen across 2010–2014 in Fig. 8.4. Year by year across the dataset there was not a clear indication of a significant upward trend by the indicators of women’s participation collected. Nevertheless, if the TPNW figures represent part of an observed

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upward trend over a greater number of years, it is clear that there is still quite some way to go to fulfill the principles expressed in the treaty’s preamble. Reducing inequalities in representation between women and men at international disarmament meetings would not necessarily lead to any greater integration of gender perspectives in disarmament discussions, nor improved consideration of and attitudes toward gender equality. Both women and men can buy into and reproduce discourses and policies that perpetuate gender inequality and violence. Integrating diverse perspectives will be of greater significance than numerical equality if international disarmament forums are to produce measures that can effectively address the impacts on both women and men of technologies and practices in the use of force. Both the dynamics produced by unequal representation and a lack of gender perspectives should be further examined and addressed in policy responses to the underrepresentation of women in disarmament, which is starkly revealed by the data collected for this study.

Understanding and Addressing Patterns of Underrepresentation from a Policy Perspective Though all countries have specific policy orientations and positions, and it should not be assumed that developing countries are naturally supportive of disarmament, lower-income countries are less likely to be major arms producers, and their populations more likely to be negatively affected by the trade and use of the weapons discussed at the international discussed in this chapter. Over a quarter of low and lower middle income countries could be considered conflict-affected in 2014, compared to less than a tenth of upper middle income and high-income countries. Low-income countries are also affected in the highest proportions by landmine and cluster munition contamination (Landmine and Cluster Munition Monitor 2015). Regarding interests in arms production for the period covered by this study, according to SIPRI’s 2014 data on the top twenty arms exporting and importing countries (excluding importers that are also on the exporters list), the average GDP per capita for the top arms exporting countries in 2014 was $38,700, against $12,954 in the importing countries (Nash 2015). The economic and development impacts of certain weapons are also well documented. For example, the denial of livelihood caused by landmine and cluster munition contamination rendering areas of agricultural land unsafe and preventing other economic activities means that the long-lasting impacts of the use of these weapons is recognized as a development issue

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(e.g. by states at the UN General Assembly each year—see UNGA 2017b). Evidence of the effects on development of patterns of practice in the use of other weapons is emerging, such as the threat posed by the widespread use of explosive weapons in populated areas in current conflicts to the achievement of the Sustainable Development Goals (e.g. UNIDIR 2016). The ways in which disarmament could positively impact economic development (and development or global inequality more broadly) has also been a subject of international discussion for a number of decades; It has been the subject of resolutions (including a resolution on the relationship between disarmament and development introduced every year on behalf of the Non Aligned Movement), reports and occasional more intensive consideration at the international level by states, within the framework of discussions at the UN and with the support of its Secretariat and agencies. This is an agenda that originated in concern at the negative impact of the global arms race (particularly with respect to nuclear weapons) on social and economic development, and the harmful effects of military investment on economies, especially those of developing countries (for a fuller discussion, see Minor 2016). The value of addressing developing countries’ underrepresentation in multilateral disarmament forums should be clear. Furthermore, a number of interviewees in this study from states spoke about how limited participation at international meetings inevitably leads to an underdevelopment of national policy and expertise, creating a negative cycle. This has serious implications for the question of equal ownership over international processes (which several interviewees cited as vital), and the implementation of any obligations agreed. This study mainly concentrated on examining patterns in attendance and speaking. However, these do not necessarily equate to meaningful participation, nor do they necessarily indicate substantial engagement to influence the direction that different issues are taking. Equal representation between countries, and of men and women within countries’ participation, would not automatically ensure that all voices would be heard equally— even within the limited confines of these forums, which represent one type of space in which specific types of change can happen—or that progressive initiatives or outcomes would be more likely to result. Nevertheless, increasing and diversifying representation in international processes is an important step to pursue in principle, as well as for its known potential to change dynamics and increase the effectiveness of multilateral discussions. Borrie and Thornton draw a distinction between functional or

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perspective diversity (the differences in how different individuals’ thinking is informed, or their “cognitive toolboxes”) and identity diversity—it is the former that is important to generating more productive discussion, though functional and identity diversity can overlap (Borrie and Thornton 2008). The meaningful and gender-diverse inclusion of civil society is similarly important, and may assist in bringing the concerns of communities inadequately represented by their governments to discussions—though it would be unlikely to fully address this and other aspects of marginalization in multilateral processes. Furthermore, NGOs can also risk objectifying certain groups and silencing other voices when presenting concerns (see Bolton and Minor 2016, p. 6). Many different forms of marginalization operate in international forums, of which only a few are touched on by the data discussed above. Civil society involvement can also bring various other benefits to processes, from expertise and information sharing (noted as crucial in interviews for this study), to the strengthening of law through contributing to a phenomenon of “negotiating upwards” (see, for example, Nystuen and Casey-Maslen 2010). There is therefore a case to be made that any forum working to make progress on disarmament and weapons issues should adopt more permissive rules for the involvement of civil society as observers. The need to address marginalization is recognized within many of the forums studied themselves: by the existence of sponsorship programmes for delegates—which can have an impact of mobilizing attendance beyond those sponsored (Minor 2016, pp. 21–23); by efforts to hold certain meetings outside of Europe and North America; and through other initiatives to such as capacity building programs (under the CWC these may have increased participation from Africa states, having benefited African participants in the greatest numbers [OPCW, n.d.]). Such measures were recognized as essential by many of those interviewed for the study on participation discussed in this chapter, but also as fundamentally and inevitably insufficient to address the wider issues of global resource and capacity differentials that they seek to overcome. The information collected by this study suggests that lower income countries face the triple resource disadvantages of being less financially able to bring specialists to meetings (particularly longer and more complex ones

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such as NPT Review Conferences2 ); having fewer human resources in their ministries to draw upon when needed; and their specialists in international locations such as New York and Geneva having less time for involvement and participation on different issue areas (with delegates from small missions in Geneva for example reporting covering all international forums based there, which include those on human rights and trade as well as disarmament). State interviewees cited meetings occurring over several weeks as a challenge to attendance or a reason not to prioritize participation. Smaller delegations were cited as having various disadvantages. Where meetings ran parallel sessions, such as at NPT review conferences, small delegations are less likely to be able to cover formal business. The data on speaking at sessions other than NPT general debates indicates this: the proportion of low-income NPT parties making a statement to the main committees, clusters and specific issues was only 1% on average across all meetings between 2010 and 2014 in the available data (Article 36 2015a). Furthermore, taking part in informal sessions and bilateral meetings, where decision-making and agenda-setting often takes place, is likely to similarly be a challenge. There are clear indications here for policy recommendations on practical steps that can be taken to reduce barriers to participation, from specific financial support programs to the way that conferences and forums are structured to enhance participation. Approaching disarmament in ways that can address a broader range of interests may also be beneficial, as the humanitarian initiative on nuclear weapons arguably shows.

The Dynamics of Participation and Policy: Developing Countries, the Humanitarian Initiative and the TPNW At the time of writing in 2018, 69 states have signed and 19 have ratified the TPNW. The treaty ratification data collected for this study suggests that the pace of progress toward entry into force of the treaty is currently comparable to that of other recent treaties. However, critics of the TPNW have cited the rate of ratifications as evidence of its poor quality (see, for

2 Information obtained for Minor (2016) suggests these can be substantial, with the UK’s delegation to the 2015 review conference over four weeks costing £86,197, or £4310 per delegate on average. See p. 22.

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example, Highsmith and Stewart 2018, whose authors may be considered aligned with US nuclear policy, and Roberts 2018) or lack of real commitment of countries to the instrument. The author has encountered several versions of these ideas in conferences and discussions, including the notion that negotiating diplomats had overstepped their mandates in their overenthusiasm to conclude the treaty—and therefore adopted a sloppy text, leaving countries with a treaty that did not pass their domestic standards. There do not appear to be any factual basis for these assumptions. These critiques can, however, be situated within a broader politics of who is considered to have the ability and right to speak on nuclear weapons issues, which marginalizes the concerns, and questions the expertise and contribution, of developing countries (see, for example, Mathur 2018). Within this, a technocratic discourse in nuclear policymaking has sought to exclude humanitarian concerns, and broader engagement beyond an elite group of those considered experts (see, famously for example, Cohn 1987, who examines the deeply gendered aspects of this). The nuclear-armed states and their allies have also sought to place concepts of their own security above concerns the rest of the world may have about the dangers of their nuclear weapons, thus positioning themselves as holding a veto over steps toward disarmament. These states have, for example, consistently emphasized that the “security dimensions of nuclear weapons” were missing from other countries’ critiques of nuclear weapons, and needed to be included for progress to be made (Minor 2015, and see, for example, United States 2018; United Kingdom 2018). These discriminatory dynamics have played out in, and been challenged by, the humanitarian initiative on nuclear weapons, which developed into the process to achieve the TPNW (e.g. Bolton 2018; Minor 2015). This process has proposed that the majority of the world’s countries do indeed have a right to speak on nuclear weapons and to enact change toward their elimination. Some aspects of this politics of whose opinions and expertise are allowed to count on nuclear disarmament can be examined with reference to the participation data for different aspects of this process. This is what this section of this chapter sets out to do. Along with other factors (not least broader global power dynamics), the underrepresentation of lower-income countries in international forums could contribute to a skewing of international discussions in favour of dominant discourses or policy frames that do not reflect the interests of the majority of states, or that attribute a value to certain weapons that is not recognized by most countries. Underrepresentation, in turn, could be

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produced in part through the dominance of such frames discouraging participation (if countries do not feel their views will be taken into account, for example). Illustrating this with respect to nuclear weapons, a high proportion of lower-income countries (and the majority of the world’s states) have for some time been part of Nuclear Weapons Free Zones, including regional treaties concluded for this purpose. By contrast, a high proportion of highincome countries are part of an alliance containing an arrangement for nuclear weapons to be used on their behalf (as illustrated in Fig. 8.6). The 2010–2014 participation data for international forums dealing with nuclear disarmament showed that lower-income countries were underrepresented in most of these forums (Article 36 2015a). This is consistent with overall patterns of most of the forums studied (as described earlier in this chapter). Structural factors such as the high-income and WEOGskewed composition of the Conference on Disarmament also play a role in this result. Consensus rules in many of these forums have also offered a small number of countries an effective veto, and lent less potential power to initiatives by developing countries with their force of numbers (though, evidently, developing countries are not all uniformly in favor of nuclear or other types of disarmament). These patterns of underrepresentation and the structures of nuclear disarmament forums may well have contributed to perspectives critical of the role of nuclear weapons in some states’ policies

Fig. 8.6 States’ participation in nuclear weapons free zones and nuclear alliances

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having been marginalized in the international debate (read alongside states’ interests in Nuclear Weapons Free Zones or nuclear alliances). In turn, this could have shifted some countries’ resources/priority calculus away from attending these meetings, based on interviewee comments given to this study. The humanitarian initiative on nuclear weapons was a state-led process starting around 2009 to reframe the issue of nuclear disarmament around humanitarian rather than state security-based concerns. Civil society including the International Campaign to Abolish Nuclear Weapons (which was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 2017 for its efforts to secure the TPNW), and international organizations such as the ICRC, were also pivotal in this process. The humanitarian initiative bucked the general pattern of the underrepresentation of lower-income countries in nuclear disarmament processes. The three HINW meetings in 2013–2014, taken as a forum, were the most equally attended across country income categories within the dataset discussed in this chapter. That the HINW meetings were short expert meetings designed to invigorate discussion, while other processes covered by the data contained a wider range of meetings of different types, lengths and decision-making required, likely inform this fact. However, it is clear from how the process toward the TPNW developed that the humanitarian initiative had considerable success in making the issue of nuclear weapons a matter of urgency for many developing countries, and in elevating their existing perspectives in the international nuclear weapons discourse, with the result of the treaty. Costa Rica suggested in a statement to the NPT in 2015 that the humanitarian initiative had brought a measure of democracy to nuclear disarmament, by recognizing the priorities and agency of the overwhelming majority of the world’s states that are not nuclear-armed, and creating a process where real progress on disarmament appeared possible (Costa Rica 2015). The concept of concluding a treaty prohibiting nuclear weapons with or without the initial participation of the nuclear-armed states (see Article 36 2013), which was adopted by this process, relies on this claim to agency. It has also been challenged by critics in various terms along the way, from nuclear-armed and alliance countries emphasizing that they were already “fully” aware of the humanitarian impacts of nuclear weapons (and so do not need to be told by other countries—Minor 2015, p. 718), to Australia suggesting during 2016’s Open Ended Working Group on nuclear disarmament that undertaking treaty negotiations could be a burden for

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developing countries with fewer resources (Australia 2016). This statement was sharply challenged by the delegation of Palau, with reference to the far greater burden of the legacy of nuclear testing in the Pacific. The “Humanitarian Pledge” to fill the legal gap with respect to the prohibition and elimination of nuclear weapons, which the government of Austria launched at the third HINW conference (Austrian Foreign Ministry 2014), was endorsed by over 70% of low income, lower middle-income, and upper middle-income states. Less than a third of high-income countries, by comparison, endorsed the Pledge (data from ICAN 2015). Following the Pledge, a UN General Assembly resolution in 2015 that established an Open Ended Working Group (OEWG) to discuss ways for nuclear disarmament at the UN in Geneva during 2016. In August 2016, states there voted to recommend that negotiations take place on a new treaty to comprehensively prohibit nuclear weapons, leading to their elimination. The basis for the treaty would be these weapons’ unacceptable humanitarian consequences. States in nuclear weapon defense arrangements voted against this recommendation, with nuclear-armed states boycotting the discussions altogether. Nevertheless, negotiations were mandated by the General Assembly that October and a majority of the world’s states concluded the TPNW in July 2017. 77% of low-income countries, 66% of lower-middleincome countries, 75% of upper-middle-income countries and only 39% of high-income countries participated in the final vote to adopt the treaty, with 122 in favor, 1 against and 1 abstaining (UN 2017b). During the OEWG (which had three sessions, in February, May, and August 2016), data showed that countries in nuclear weapon defense arrangements gave 29% of individual country statements to the OEWG over February and May, despite making up only 14% of all countries. By contrast, countries that had endorsed the Humanitarian Pledge, representing 64% of states, made 59% of statements. These proportions remained similar during OEWG sessions in February and May. By the end of the May session, 54% of nuclear dependent states had spoken, but only 29% of states endorsing the Pledge (Article 36 2016). In the draft report of the OEWG considered in August, the perspectives of these two groupings appeared to have been given more or less equal weight, despite states in nuclear weapons arrangements representing a (vocal) minority view. Though giving adequate consideration to minority views is crucial to equitable processes, the dynamic appeared rather that the perspective of a powerful group had to be given due consideration, to the reported exclusion in behind the scenes processes of smaller states. This is

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not a criticism of the facilitation of the process, but rather demonstrates the tenacity of what and who are considered legitimate or important in the nuclear weapons debate, which the HINW and TPNW processes have sought to start challenging and shifting. At the 2018 preparatory committee for the 2020 NPT review conference, a similar dynamic was seen. A majority of countries welcomed the TPNW as a positive contribution toward nuclear disarmament and a minority expressed opposition to it. However, in the draft chair’s summary these positions were given equal importance, reflecting the status ascribed to those expressing particular positions, rather than the balance of the conference’s discourse (NPT 2018). Numerical majorities and participation are only one aspect that can influence change-making in international forums.

Conclusion A range of interlinked factors inform the underrepresentation of developing countries and others at the international meetings of disarmament forums, including costs and the format of meetings; human resources, expertise and national institutional strength on these issues; and issues of prioritization, relevance, policy framing and the perceived productiveness of different forums. Practical measures can continue to be taken to increase participation and the ability to participate in meetings. As recent initiatives such as the TPNW show, tackling problems in disarmament in ways that addresses a wider range of interests is also crucial to greater participation in multilateral processes—as well as to seeking processes of change. Such activity can take place both within and outside of the existing formal spaces of multilateral meetings, which are not necessarily always the focus of activity for change. Based on experience, informal engagement allowing for more dynamic or active contributions, in groups that can act as a multiplier against exclusion in formal spaces, can be valuable. Different ways of working to support diverse engagement, where global resource differentials cannot be directly effectively addressed, can be highly useful. Finally, it is important that the visibility is raised of issues of marginalization in international forums. Developing countries are marginalized from agenda-setting through their structural underrepresentation in international forums, which will leave many policy problems and possibilities unaddressed. The marginalization of both women and gender perspectives will have a similar impact. Though the patterns presented in this chapter

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speak to much broader issues of global inequality, measures to critically examine them within the sphere of disarmament will be crucial to this sector’s future.

Bibliography Article 36. (2013). Banning Nuclear Weapons Without the Nuclear Armed States. Retrieved from http://www.article36.org/wp-content/uploads/2013/ 10/Banning-without.pdf. Article 36. (2015a). The Underrepresentation of Low-Income Countries in Nuclear Disarmament Forums. Retrieved from http://www.article36.org/wp-content/ uploads/2015/05/Underrepresentation-nuclear-forums.pdf. Article 36. (2015b). Women and Multilateral Disarmament Forums: Patterns of Underrepresentation. Retrieved from http://www.article36.org/wp-content/ uploads/2015/10/Underrepresentation-women-FINAL1.pdf. Article 36. (2016). State Participation at the UN Nuclear Talks—Who Is Represented? Retrieved from http://www.article36.org/nuclear-weapons/oewgstats-2/. Australia. (2016). Opening Statement by Australia on 5 August Session of OEWG: Ian McConville, Charge, Australian Mission to the Conference on Disarmament. Retrieved from http://www.reachingcriticalwill.org/images/documents/ Disarmament-fora/OEWG/2016/Statements/05August_Australia.pdf. Austrian Foreign Ministry. (2014). Humanitarian Pledge. Retrieved from http://www.bmeia.gv.at/fileadmin/user_upload/Zentrale/Aussenpolitik/ Abruestung/HINW14/HINW14_Austrian_Pledge.pdf. Bolton, M. (2018). The ‘-Pacific’ Part of ‘Asia-Pacific’: Oceanic Diplomacy in the 2017 Treaty for the Prohibition of Nuclear Weapons. Asian Journal of Political Science, 26(3), 371–389. Bolton, M., & James, K. E. (2014). Nascent Spirit of New York or Ghost of Arms Control Past? The Normative Implications of the Arms Trade Treaty for Global Policymaking. Global Policy, 5(4), 439–452. Bolton, M., & Minor, E. (2016). The Discursive Turn Arrives in Turtle Bay: The International Campaign to Abolish Nuclear Weapons’ Operationalization of Critical IR Theories. Global Policy, 7 (3), 385–395. Borrie, J., & Thornton, A. (2008). The Value of Diversity in Multilateral Disarmament Work. United Nations Institute for Disarmament Research (UNIDIR). Retrieved from http://unidir.org/files/publications/pdfs/the-valueof-diversity-in-multilateral-disarmament-work-344.pdf. Cohn, C. (1987). Sex and Death in the Rational World of Defense Intellectuals. Signs, 12(4), 687–718.

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Costa Rica. (2015). Statement at the 2015 Review Conference of the Nonproliferation Treaty, General Debate. Retrieved from http://www.un.org/en/ conf/npt/2015/statements/pdf/CR_en.pdf. Danskin, K., & Perkins, D. (2014). Women as Agents of Positive Change in Biosecurity. Science and Diplomacy, 3(2). Retrieved from http://www. sciencediploma-cy.org/perspective/2014/women-agents-positive-change-inbiosecurity. Department for General Assembly and Conference Management. (n.d.). United Nations Regional Groups of Member States. Retrieved from http://www.un.org/ depts/DGACM/RegionalGroups.shtml. Highsmith, N., & Stewart, M. (2018). The Nuclear Ban Treaty: A Legal Analysis. Survival, 60(1), 129–152. Hugo, T. G., & Egeland, K. (2014). Jumping the Hurdles: Obstacles and Opportunities for Inclusive Multilateral Disarmament (Background Paper No. 13/2014). International Law and Policy Institute (ILPI). Retrieved from http://nwp.ilpi.org/wp-content/uploads/2014/12/BP13_ 2014-Obstacles-to-South-Participation1.pdf. International Campaign to Abolish Nuclear Weapons (ICAN). (2015). Humanitarian Pledge. Retrieved from http://www.icanw.org/pledge/. ILPI and UNIDIR. (2016). Gender, Development and Nuclear Weapons: Shared Goals, Shared Concerns. Retrieved from http://nwp.ilpi.org/wp-content/ uploads/2016/10/ILPI-UNIDIR-gender-and-nuclear-weapons.pdf. Landmine and Cluster Munition Monitor. (2015). Retrieved from http://themonitor.org. Mathur, R. (2018). Techno-Racial Dynamics of Denial & Difference in Weapons Control. Asian Journal of Political Science, 26(3), 297–313. Mazower, M. (2013). Governing the World: The History of an Idea, 1815 to the Present. New York, NY: Penguin. Minor, E. (2015). Changing the Discourse on Nuclear Weapons: The Humanitarian Initiative. International Review of the Red Cross, 97 (899), 711–730. Minor, E. (2016). Disarmament, Development and Patterns of Marginalisation in International Forums. Article 36. Retrieved from http://www.article36.org/ wp-content/uploads/2016/04/A36-Disarm-Dev-Marginalisation.pdf. Minor, E. (2017, December). Missing Voices: The Continuing Underrepresentation of Women in Multilateral Forums on Weapons and Disarmament. Arms Control Today. Nash, T. (2015, December). The Technologies of Violence and Global Inequality. Sur International Journal on Human Rights, 22. Retrieved from http://sur. conectas.org/en/issue-22/technologies-violence-global-inequality/. NPT. (2018). Preparatory Committee for the 2020 Review Conference of the Parties to the Treaty on the Non-proliferation of Nuclear Weapons: Draft Chair’s Factual Summary (p. 7). Retrieved from http://www.reachingcriticalwill.org/images/

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documents/Disarmament-fora/npt/prepcom18/documents/draft-factualsummary.pdf. Nystuen, G., & Casey-Maslen, S. (Eds.). (2010). The Convention on Cluster Munitions: A Commentary. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Organisation for Economic Cooperation and Development (OECD). (2013). DAC List of ODA Recipients Effective for Reporting on 2012 and 2013 Flows. Retrieved from http://www.oecd.org/dac/stats/documentupload/ DAC%20List%20used%20for%202012%20and%202013%20flows.pdf. Organisation for the Prohibition of Chemical Weapons (OPCW). (n.d.). Programme to Strengthen Cooperation with Africa. Retrieved from https:// www.opcw.org/our-work/international-cooperation/capacity-buildingprogrammes/programme-to-strengthen-cooperation-with-africa/. OPCW. (n.d.). Capacity Building Programmes. Retrieved from https://www.opcw. org/our-work/international-cooperation/capacity-building-programmes/. Reaching Critical Will. (2017). Statements from the Nuclear Weapon Ban Treaty Negotiations. Retrieved from http://www.reachingcriticalwill.org/ disarmament-fora/nuclear-weapon-ban/statements. Roberts, B. (2018). Ban the Bomb? Or Bomb the Ban? Next Steps on the Ban Treaty. Global Policy Security Brief. Retrieved from https://www. europeanleadershipnetwork.org/wp-content/uploads/2018/03/180322Brad-Roberts-Ban-Treaty.pdf. Shadung, M. (2015). In the Debate Towards Nuclear Disarmament, Where Are All the Women? ISS Africa. Retrieved from https://www.issafrica.org/iss-today/ in-the-debate-to-wards-nuclear-disarmament-where-are-all-the-women. Strand, H., & Dahl, M. (2011). Defining Conflict Affected Countries (Background Paper Commissioned by UNESCO). Retrieved from http://unesdoc.unesco. org/images/0019/001907/190711e.pdf. Uppsala Conflict Data Program (UCDP). (n.d.). UCDP Conflict Encyclopedia. Uppsala University. Retrieved from www.ucdp.uu.se/database. United Kingdom. (2018). 2018 Preparatory Committee for the 2020 Review Conference of the Treaty on Non-proliferation of Nuclear Weapons, Geneva, 23 April–4 May 2017, General Statement by the United Kingdom. Retrieved from http://reachingcriticalwill.org/images/documents/Disarmament-fora/ npt/prepcom18/statements/24April_UK.pdf. United Nations (UN). (2015). Sustainable Development Goals. Retrieved from http://www.un.org/sustainabledevelopment/sustainable-development-goals. UN. (2017a). Treaty on the Prohibition of Nuclear Weapons. Retrieved from https://treaties.un.org/doc/Treaties/2017/07/20170707%2003-42% 20PM/Ch_XXVI_9.pdf. UN. (2017b). United Nations Conference to Negotiate a Legally-Binding Instrument to Prohibit Nuclear Weapons: Second Session. Retrieved from http://

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reachingcriticalwill.org/images/documents/Disarmament-fora/nuclearweapon-ban/documents/voting-record.pdf. UN Institute for Disarmament Research (UNIDIR). (2016). The Implications of the Reverberating Effects of Explosive Weapons Use in Populated Areas for Implementing the Sustainable Development Goals. Retrieved from http://bit.ly/UNIDIRSDG. UNGA. (2010) Resolution 65/69: Women, Disarmament, Non-proliferation and Arms Control (A/RES/65/69). Retrieved from http://www.un.org/ disarmament/gender/. UNGA. (2013). Women, Disarmament, Non-proliferation and Arms Control: Report of the Secretary-General (A/68/166). Retrieved from http://www.un. org/disarmament/gender/. UNGA. (2014). Report of the Fifth Biennial Meeting of States to Consider the Implementation of the Programme of Action to Prevent, Combat and Eradicate the Illicit Trade in Small Arms and Light Weapons in All Its Aspects ( A/CONF.192/ BMS/2014/2). Retrieved from http://www.un.org/ga/ search/view_doc.asp?symbol=A/CONF.192/BMS/2014/2. UNGA. (2017a). United Nations Conference to Negotiate a Legally-Binding Instrument to Prohibit Nuclear Weapons, Leading Towards Their Total Elimination: List of Participants (A/CONF.229/2017/INF/4/Rev.1). Retrieved from https://www.un.org/disarmament/ptnw/participants.html. UNGA. (2017b). Implementation of the Convention on the Prohibition of the Use, Stockpiling, Production and Transfer of Anti-personnel Mines and on Their Destruction (A/C.1/72/L.40). Retrieved from http://reachingcriticalwill. org/images/documents/Disarmament-fora/1com/1com17/resolutions/ L40.pdf. United Nations Security Council (UNSC). (2000). Resolution 1325 (S/RES/1325). UNSC. (2013). Resolution 2117 (S/RES/2117). Retrieved from http://www.un. org/en/ga/search/view_doc.asp?symbol=S/RES/2117(2013). UNSC. (2015). Resolution 2200 (S/RES/2200). Retrieved from http://www.un. org/en/ga/search/view_doc.asp?symbol=S/RES/2200%20(2015). United States. (2018). Opening Statement by the United States of America: Second Session of the Preparatory Committee for the 2020 Review Conference of the Parties to the Treaty on the Non-proliferation of Nuclear Weapons. Retrieved from http://reachingcriticalwill.org/images/documents/Disarmament-fora/ npt/prepcom18/statements/23April_US.pdf.

Epilogue: Whither Humanitarian Disarmament? Sarah Njeri, Matthew Breay Bolton and Taylor Benjamin-Britton

It is a well-worn party trick of the cynic to point out how those who serve as voices of public conscience are in fact political creatures. But the selfinterestedness, parochial worldviews, or power plays of those who remind us of our moral obligations do not necessarily tarnish the clarity of their vision or the scope of their accomplishments. As was pointed out by Jody Williams in her Foreword to this book, humanitarian disarmament advocacy has successfully resulted in three new weapons prohibition treaties— banning landmines, cluster munitions, and nuclear weapons—as well as the Arms Trade Treaty. Humanitarian disarmament campaigns have received two Nobel Peace Prizes. Their work has mobilized and continues to mobilize billions of dollars for clearance of minefields and other explosive hazards, destruction of stockpiles, assistance for victims, and risk reduction education. In this book, we have sought to redress the lack of recognition for humanitarian disarmament in the academic literature, which has left their achievements under-examined or expressed skepticism about their moral contributions. While we acknowledge this achievement we also employ a self-critical lens where possible and highlight the limitation of these achievements. The contributing authors have illustrated that humanitarian disarmament’s success has come about not so much because the community is pristinely separate from politics, but rather because of its ability to find agency in the rather hostile spaces of international diplomacy. Relying on international humanitarian law to legitimate their military forces, states have found it hard to dismiss concerns about weapons when they are © The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s) 2020 M. B. Bolton et al. (eds.), Global Activism and Humanitarian Disarmament, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-27611-9

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framed discursively as inhumane and thus mala in se (evil in themselves). As Taylor’s chapter showed, humanitarian disarmament treaties can have normative impacts even on states that remain not party. The humanitarian disarmament community is seeking to repeat this success with the effort to achieve a ban on autonomous weapons systems (“killer robots”). In the spirit of sympathetic and appreciative critique, in the following section we consider the potential directions and prospects for the humanitarian disarmament community, followed by a review of directions for further academic research on global activism and humanitarian disarmament. We close with more general reflections on what can be learned from the humanitarian disarmament community for the broader struggle for a more just, peaceful, and sustainable world.

New Directions for the Humanitarian Disarmament Community The humanitarian disarmament community works at the interstices of the broader peace movement and the more professionalized world of humanitarianism and human rights advocacy. For some, like Plesch and Miletic in this volume, the narrow focus on inhumane weapons has limited the impact of the humanitarian disarmament community. While banning and remediating the effects of particularly awful weapons is an important contribution, the majority of violence is carried out using supposedly “normal” means of killing, like guns, explosive munitions, and air-dropped bombs. At the more local level, Njeri’s chapter highlighted the difficulties in clearing minefields where broader political issues such as sovereignty status is neglected or ignored, due to the complexity of adhering to humanitarian ideals. Humanitarian disarmament has found it more difficult to maintain the clarity of its moral voice and to generate public mobilization on methods and means of warfare that are considered unacceptable in certain circumstances but not in others. For example, the mine ban campaigners were lauded for their ability to reframe the debate on antipersonnel mines. However, the treaty that was negotiated fell short of banning all landmines, including claymore-type mines and certain anti-tank mines which can function as person-activated weapons. These are as dangerous if not more lethal than antipersonnel landmines. This difficulty is attributed to politics reflecting differences in attitudes toward militarism and even the nature of political change. While the number of factory-made antipersonnel

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mines that are currently in use by state actors has been reduced, the share of casualties resulting from the use of improvised explosive devices (IEDs) and anti-vehicles mines by non-state actors has dramatically increased. The question arises whether a ban on one type of weapon may lead some actors to circumvent norms by using other, similar weapons. Similarly, transnational global activists have struggled with how best to address guns. Early mobilization leading to the establishment of the International Action Network on Small Arms (IANSA) sought a global ban on civilian ownership of firearms. However, this proved an elusive and politically intractable goal, given the force of US opposition. Instead of a singular, legally binding treaty, advocates have sought to restrict and constrain the movement of firearms through a complex of norms and regulations, regional instruments, the UN Programme of Action on Small Arms and Light Weapons (SALW) and inclusion of SALW and ammunition in the Arms Trade Treaty. These emerging norms have, however, have continued to allow individuals, armed groups and governments to own and bear arms. Likewise, while humanitarian disarmament activists have coalesced around seeking a ban on killer robots, they—and the international community more broadly—have been divided on how best to address the challenges posed by armed drones. There is a lack of agreement on whether drones themselves, or just how they are used, are the source of the problems they cause. Nevertheless, the humanitarian disarmament community’s now tightknit network often has detailed technical knowledge of the issues, relevant policy and law, which gives it an ability to maneuver deftly through diplomatic processes (see Bolton and Minor’s chapter). In conversations with advocates and activists, they tell us that their focus on inhumane violence should not be read as a legitimation or neglect of “normal violence.” Rather they aim to show that standards of humanity apply even in the most extreme situations. They see themselves building on and contributing to broader norms of disarmament, humanitarian, human rights, and environmentalism. Perhaps humanitarian disarmament’s strength comes from this creative tension, as a small community that draws on and contributes to broader progressive social movements. The Campaign to Stop Killer Robots has benefited from feminist critiques of security policymaking. ICAN has sought to contribute to the struggle for the rights of indigenous and colonized peoples. Working in partnership with other advocacy efforts comes

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with challenges. Pitfalls include disagreement over goals and priorities and accusations of instrumentalizing someone else’s cause. However, there are compelling reasons to collaborate that could help address some of humanitarian disarmament’s weaknesses. As per Minor’s chapter, humanitarian disarmament policymaking has often been at its most successful when it has insisted on open and inclusive forums for decisionmaking, and meaningful participation of survivors. In internal conversations, we have heard humanitarian disarmament activists acknowledge that they could improve their engagement with affected communities, the disability rights movement, and campaigns against colonialism, racism, sexism, and homophobia. Efforts like ICAN’s participation in LGBTQA Pride Prides (as IQAN—“International Queers against Nukes”) have opened up avenues for humanitarian disarmament activists to be more aware of how their work intersects with other movements. Humanitarian disarmament also has the expertise to contribute other efforts. The community’s expertise in positive obligations could help in “retrofitting” the chemical weapons and biological weapons bans, by persuading meetings of states parties to adopt plans of action to assist victims and remediate contaminated environments. More broadly, progressive advocacy campaigns can learn from humanitarian disarmament’s ability to find agency to address issues many have written off as intractable.

Further Study of Global Activism and Humanitarian Disarmament We have found our study of humanitarian disarmament has expanded our understanding of agency in global politics. Realist paradigms of international relations (IR) clearly fall short in their attempts to explain humanitarian disarmament’s effects on global peace and security policy, if they even bother to try. The chapters in this book show how IR scholars must take seriously the role of a much wider panoply of actors, including civil society, unrecognized states, women, survivors, religious leaders, people from the Global South, even non-human actants like the law itself. Beyond illuminating humanitarian disarmament activism itself, we hope this book encourages other academics who have a hunch that the world is a more complex place than suggested by state-centric models. We urge further research into the scope and limits of agency by actors often ignored by analysis of global politics.

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This book’s authors show that comprehending this complexity requires a fine-grained look at the everyday life of campaigning, demining, and diplomacy. Understand how a single phrase naming “religious leaders” found its ways into the TPNW preamble requires understanding the decades-long history of faith-based activism on nuclear weapons (see Welty and Chalk’s chapter). Benjamin-Britton shows that analysis of a treaty’s impact requires detailed process-tracing of policymaking and practice. We hope that the methodological tools we have used here will encourage others to engage in “thick description” of the everyday life of global activism. In particular, several chapters highlighted the internal politics of civil society campaigns, often elided in analyses that pit transnational advocacy networks against states. Humanitarian disarmament advocacy is the work of complexes of actors, including sympathetic governmental institutions and officials, who may be enrolled as allies to persuade other elements of civil society. This volume has generally told the story of humanitarian disarmament from the perspective of its civil society actors. This in part results from the social location of the authors, some of whom are actively engaged in humanitarian disarmament campaigns. Civil society organizations are also often more open to close study than government institutions. However, this leaves a lacuna that should be filled by a more detailed examination of diplomatic and governmental decision-making and action on humanitarian disarmament issues. With many of the authors in this volume actively engaged in humanitarian disarmament campaigns, there is a risk that this can be seen as self-referential in approach, thus, this volume seeks to invite others in different academic disciplines to engage in an analysis of the humanitarian disarmament issue so that new insights can be gleaned. Similarly, while this volume seeks to address the limited attention given to humanitarian disarmament by IR scholars an inadvertent omission in this volume and generally in IR is the lack of analysis of the role of the Global South in setting the humanitarian disarmament agenda. This includes the role in shaping UN-backed policy responses to humanitarian disarmament issues. We hope that the chapters in this book point toward the need for much more detailed examination of the elements of normative development, both regarding disarmament and other issues. The chapters by Bolton and Mitchell, Bolton and Minor, and Welty and Chalk also highlight the need to consider the politics of how moral and ethical concerns enter into the policy conversation. How do people and ideas once considered marginal find their way into mainstream forums? What might be “gentrified” or

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compromised in the process? How do activists compete with each other to while simultaneously trying to influence governments? How do “brokers” of policy ideas repackage and burnish the credentials of those on the outside? How do existing structures of decision-making and law amplify and constrain the agency of those seeking normative change? Similarly, Njeri and Benjamin-Britton’s chapters call our attention to the seam between international law and the national contexts in which it becomes enacted and/or resisted. What are the gaps between the rhetoric of UN missions in New York and governmental action at the capital and local levels? How do local actors—whether advocacy organizations, public institutions, or non-state armed groups—seek to enroll global norms to advance their own agendas? What do international legal instruments look like from the perspective of their supposed beneficiaries? How do military commanders and even individual soldiers take into account international humanitarian law in military planning and the moments of tactical combat? Finally, Plesch and Miletic and Minor’s chapters both challenge us to think about how humanitarian disarmament intersects with broader political struggles. Their work points us toward the need to better understand the landscape of marginalization in global policymaking. Whose bodies are welcome in decision-making forums? What issues are dismissed as ‘unrealistic’ by policymakers? Does a focus on particular problems such as specific weapons systems distract advocates from broader peace and social justices issues? How might the literatures developing in social science’s “discursive turn”—poststructuralist, feminist and post-colonial thought—illuminate the politics of global activism generally and in humanitarian disarmament specifically?

Conclusion In studying humanitarian disarmament, we have learned to pay attention to people, places, contexts, ideas, and processes that we have been told do not matter. States that do not feature on the map come into focus as sites of contestation. Religious institutions considered outmoded by the supposed secularization of politics appear in the preamble of a treaty. Treaties that a government has not ratified nonetheless shape officials’ actions. The invisible harm of radiation is rendered visible by the voices of survivors. At its best, global humanitarian disarmamentactivism makes policymakers pay attention to that which they have strenuously tried to ignore. Too often

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intellectuals have been complicit in this elision, of the non-state, the feminine, the maimed, the indigenous, and the radical voices. In this volume, we have made an all-too-inadequate effort to see those unseen by both Ministries of Foreign Affairs and the academy. We hope you, the reader, will pick up where we have left off and pick at what we have failed to address. We hope to both highlight and encourage unexpected agency, even in the midst of the most hostile, combative places.

Index

A Abandoned explosive ordnance (AXO), 174 Acceptable loss, 4, 9 Actants, 62, 70, 256 Activism, 17, 20, 42, 68, 69, 106, 108, 111, 115, 117, 132, 142, 207, 254, 256–258 Actor–Network Theory (ANT), 70, 91 Addams, Jane, 10, 209 Advocacy, 1, 2, 9, 16, 17, 29, 32, 36, 39, 40, 42, 43, 45, 47, 48, 50, 60–62, 64, 65, 68, 71, 73, 74, 78, 79, 85, 86, 89, 91, 92, 104–106, 108, 112, 114–125, 129, 131, 170, 176, 200, 208, 253–258 Affected state responsibility, 61, 78, 79, 82, 83, 85 Afghanistan, 36, 151, 152, 159, 186, 189, 218 African Council of Religious Leaders, 113, 122, 126 African Nuclear Weapon Free Zone Treaty, 122

Against Tests on Moruroa (ATOM), 116 Agency, 4, 31, 37, 61, 62, 68, 70, 81, 82, 86, 87, 91, 92, 182, 186, 211, 245, 253, 256, 258, 259 Agenda for Peace, 170 2030 Agenda for Sustainable Development. See Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs) Algeria, 68, 75, 81, 122 Altmann, Juergen, 28, 36, 37, 39, 44 Amalgamated Bank, 131 Anjain-Maddison, Abacca, 80 Anti-Ballistic Missile Treaty, 32, 217 Antigua and Barbuda, 76, 83 Antipersonnel landmines, 63, 254 Antipersonnel Mine Ban Treaty (MBT), 14, 15, 18, 60, 62–71, 73, 75, 76, 78, 83, 85–87, 92, 226, 228, 230, 232–234 Anti-vehicles mines, 255 Arkin, Ronald, 28, 37 Armed violence, 65, 209 Arms control, 2, 3, 5, 7, 8, 15, 18, 32, 33, 37, 45, 46, 50, 60, 66, 73, 86,

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87, 104, 117, 129, 142, 144, 147, 163, 164, 215, 217 Arms Control Association, 88 Arms race, 12, 131, 204, 205, 240 Arms trade, 20, 32, 68, 73, 110, 208 Arms Trade Treaty (ATT), 2, 7, 15, 65, 66, 68, 73, 108, 218, 228, 232–234, 253, 255 Article 36, 36, 43, 71, 73, 74, 77–79, 226, 229, 235, 242, 244–246 Artillery, 67, 152, 172, 200, 201, 203, 217–219 Asaro, Peter, 28, 36–38, 44 Asphyxiating gases, 7, 9 Atlantic Charter, 209 Australia, 64, 81, 105, 245, 246 Austria, 60, 63, 67, 130, 246 Autonomous weapons systems (AWS). See Killer robots Auza, Bernardito, 128

B Bad Honnef Framework, 188, 189 Baker, Philip Noel, 213 Barre, Mohamed Siyyad, 172 Battle of Solferino, 8 Bedford-Strohm, Heinrich, 112 Belgium, 67, 68 Berrigan, Daniel, 111 Berrigan, Phillip, 111, 120 Biological and Toxin Weapons Convention (BTWC), 3, 228 Biological weapons, 10, 12, 214, 256 Blinding laser weapons, 13, 200 Booby traps, 13, 63 Bosnia and Herzegovina, 151 British Nuclear Test Veterans’ Association (BNTVA), 81 Brussels Acts, 6, 63, 67 Buddhism, 106, 107, 109, 113, 114, 126

Bunkerisation, 181, 184, 185 C Cambodia, 75, 107, 151, 159 Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament (CND), 12, 105, 117, 119, 126 Campaign to Stop Killer Robots, 28, 30, 35, 37, 41, 48, 69, 108, 255 Canada, 67, 68, 105 Caribbean Community (CARICOM), 68, 76, 83, 235 Carpenter, Charli, 5, 33, 35, 36, 39, 40, 42, 43, 45, 46, 69 Castro, Emilio, 118 Casualties, 4, 9, 147, 155, 156, 255 Catholic church, 108, 110. See also Day, Dorothy; Holy See; John Paul II, Pope Catholic Worker, 113, 125. See also Catholic church; Day, Dorothy Center for International Security and Policy, 89 Central Asia Nuclear Weapons Free Zone, 214 Chamberlain, Neville, 207 Channareth, Tun, 107 Charity, 81, 82 Charter of Paris, 217, 221 Chemical weapons, 12, 164, 205, 212, 256 Chernus, Ira, 111 Chile, 67 China, 28, 41, 81, 202 Christian CND, 105, 117, 119, 126 Christianity, 105, 106, 110, 111, 117, 119, 125, 131 Christmas Island. See Kiritimati Churchill, Winston S., 209 Civil disobedience, 111, 114, 119, 131 Civil society, 3–5, 7, 9–17, 20, 29, 31, 35, 40, 41, 44, 46, 59–66, 68–72, 74, 78, 80, 81, 84, 86, 87, 91,

INDEX

103–105, 118, 120, 125, 126, 129–131, 146–148, 151, 153, 154, 159, 170, 200, 202, 206, 207, 219–221, 227–229, 231, 232, 235–237, 241, 245, 256, 257 transnational, 3, 4, 20, 60, 151 Civil War, Somalia, 173 Civil War, US, 8, 172 Clicktivism, 207 Cluster bomb ban. See Convention on Cluster Munitions (CCM) Cluster Munition Coalition, 108, 159, 232 Cluster munitions, 2–4, 6, 17, 18, 32, 36, 45, 63–65, 67, 68, 73, 77, 78, 80, 82, 87, 104, 141–148, 151–164, 200, 218, 228, 234, 253 Codepink, 47 Cold War, 3, 8, 12–14, 67, 200, 206, 210, 212, 217 Colecchi, Stephen, 131 Coleman-Haseldine, Sue, 80 Collective security, 131 Colonialism, 256. See also Decolonization; Post-colonialism Compliance, 18, 45, 46, 107, 149 Comprehensive Test Ban Treaty (CTBT), 112, 118, 228 Concessions, 147, 163 Conference for Security and Cooperation in Europe (CSCE), 214, 215 Conference on Disarmament (CD), 86, 228, 244 Conscientious objection, 110 Constructivism, 16, 31, 62, 66, 68, 69 Contractors, 176 Control Arms, 65 Conventional Armed Forces in Europe Treaty (CFE), 217, 218

263

Conventional weapons, 3, 7, 13, 19, 20, 153, 154, 157, 200, 201, 217, 219, 220, 228 Convention on Certain Conventional Weapons (CCW), 7, 13–16, 29, 41–43, 45, 46, 48, 49, 61, 63, 71, 86, 153–161, 228, 230, 233 Protocol V, 61, 63, 156 Convention on Cluster Munitions (CCM), 6, 15, 61–67, 71, 73, 75, 76, 78, 83–87, 92, 104, 152, 153, 159–163, 226, 228, 230, 232, 234 Article 21, 64, 159 Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities (CRPD), 64 Costa Rica, 68, 76, 83, 245 Counter-culture, 35, 42, 50, 108 Crimes against humanity, 81 Critical legal geography, 61, 62, 69, 70 Cuban Missile Crisis (CMC), 214 D Danish Demining Group, 183 Day, Dorothy, 113. See also Catholic church; Catholic Worker Decolonization, 68. See also Colonialism; Post-colonialism Demining. See Mine action Democracy, 163, 172, 180, 245 Department of Defense, US (DoD), 153, 154, 160, 162 Department of State, US, 141, 152, 153, 157 Depoliticization, 50 Desecuritization, 144 Deterrence, 90, 108–110, 118, 121, 122, 128, 185, 216 Dhammayietra movement, 107 Diplomacy, 76, 86, 104, 105, 107, 114, 122, 157, 199, 219, 221, 253, 257

264

INDEX

Disarmament, 1–8, 10–20, 28, 30, 32, 33, 35, 40, 41, 44, 45, 48, 50, 60–68, 70–81, 83, 85–87, 91, 92, 104–111, 114, 115, 117–120, 122, 123, 125–128, 130–132, 142–147, 149, 151, 152, 161, 163, 164, 175, 176, 183, 189, 190, 199–217, 219–221, 225–228, 230, 233, 235–248, 253–258 frameworks, 5, 8, 13, 18, 19, 85, 143, 146, 164, 183, 212 general and complete, 2, 5, 12–14, 19, 200, 201, 210–212, 216, 219 Disarmament, Demobilization, and Reintegration (DDR), 18, 171, 174, 176, 183, 184, 187 Disarmament education, 85. See also Peace education Discourse, 1, 3, 7, 8, 14, 17, 67, 68, 72, 79, 81, 87, 129, 148, 200, 211, 243, 245, 247 Docherty, Bonnie, 6, 7, 15, 63, 74, 75, 79 Dominican Republic, 130 Donovan, Anthony, 131 Doom, John, 116 Drones, 20, 36, 37, 40, 47, 110, 255 Dud rate policy, 154 Dulles, Allen W., 203, 206 Dumdum bullets, 9 Dunant, Henry, 8, 9 E Ecuador, 68, 83 Egal, Mohamed Haji Ibrahim, 173 Egypt, 209 Eisenhower, Dwight, 221 Environment, 13, 15, 66, 68, 75, 84, 86, 109, 124, 128, 129, 173, 184, 185, 190

Environmental remediation, 60–62, 71, 73–76, 79, 80, 82, 84, 85, 104, 128 Epistemic communities, 30–35, 42, 45, 50, 69 Ethics, 1, 45, 109, 110, 112, 121, 124. See also Morality Ethiopia, 172, 173, 206 European Economic Community (EEC), 174 European Union (EU), 202, 218, 235 Explosive remnants of war (ERW), 2, 7, 13, 61, 63–65, 77, 85, 92, 152, 154, 156, 170, 174, 178 Export moratoria, vi

F Failed states, 67 Feinstein, Dianne, 152, 156, 158, 163 Feminism, 255, 258. See also Gender; Sexism Fihn, Beatrice, 75, 84, 132 Fiji, 68, 75, 80, 92, 116 Financing, 69, 78, 87, 89 Finau, Patelisio, 116 Fragmentation weapons, 7 France, 68, 110, 203 Francis, Pope, 121, 127, 128, 132 French Polynesia/Maohi Nui, 80, 116 Friedrich Ebert Stiftung, 73 Fujii, Nichidatsu, 113 Future of Life Institute, 28, 48

G Gender, 44, 227, 229, 236, 239, 247. See also Feminism; Sexism Geneva Conventions, 3, 8, 9, 11, 12, 63 Geneva Protocol, 7, 8, 10, 206 Gentrification, 16, 35, 44

INDEX

Germany, 10, 66, 68, 110, 112, 130, 188, 202, 203, 206, 208 Gilbert, Carol, 106, 120, 130, 131 Global South, 212, 256, 257 Golden Rule, The (ship), 109, 124 Goose, Steve, 40, 157, 158 Grassroots, 105–108, 131, 173 Greenfields, 176 Grenada, 151 Griffen, Vanessa, 80, 81 Guatemala, 68, 83 Gulf War, 36, 66 Guns, 2, 67, 108, 254, 255 Guterres, Antonio, 200, 219, 221

H Haas, Peter, 31–35, 40, 42, 43 Hague Conventions, 2, 7, 8, 10, 12, 67 HALO Trust , 183 Handicap International, 183 Harvard Law School, 40, 73, 79 Hawking, Stephen, 28 Hersey, John, 116 Heyns, Christof, 28, 41 Hibakusha, 104, 112, 117, 121. See also Victims; Survivors Hiroshima, 80, 81, 104, 112, 113, 115, 116, 123 Historic Peace Churches, 109. See also Pacifism Holy See, 76, 83, 107, 108, 112, 117, 127–130. See also Catholic church; John Paul II, Pope Hoover, Herbert, 207 Hudson, Jackie, 120, 142 Humanitarian, 1–20, 27, 28, 30, 32, 35, 39–41, 43–45, 48, 60–65 frame, 14, 15, 46, 84, 155, 220 Framing harm, 146 Humanitarian disarmament

265

agreements, 5, 8 Approach Legal instruments, 5, 6, 258 movement, 2, 66, 169 norms, 3–5, 7–9, 14–17, 19, 61–63, 65, 66, 68, 75–77, 83, 85, 86, 91, 144, 149, 190, 255 policy, 2, 17, 18, 70, 74, 143, 145–147, 149, 255–257 Humanitarian initiative on nuclear weapons, 120, 227, 242, 243, 245 Humanitarianism, 1, 13, 46, 49, 62, 67, 149, 188, 254 Humanitarian Pledge, 60, 73, 120, 246 Human rights, 15, 19, 27, 28, 39–41, 45, 49, 61, 62, 64, 65, 72, 75–77, 79, 84, 87, 113, 114, 128, 129, 133, 142, 155, 162, 175, 176, 188, 215, 221, 242, 254. See also International human rights law Human Rights Watch (HRW), 40, 41, 154–160 Human security, 6, 11 I Idolatry, 109–111 Ikeda, Daisaku, 111, 118, 121, 131 Impartiality, 170, 171, 181, 184, 187, 188 Improvised Explosive Devices (IEDs), 218, 255 Indigenous peoples, 75, 76, 79, 80, 84, 87, 104, 225 Indiscriminate effects, 13, 19, 200 suffering, 12, 13, 128 use, 12, 141, 142, 152 Intermediate-Range Nuclear Forces Treaty (INF), 206 International Action Network Against Small Arms and Light Weapons (IANSA), 108, 255

266

INDEX

International Association of Lawyers Against Nuclear Arms (IALANA), 80 International Campaign to Abolish Nuclear Weapons (ICAN), 16, 17, 60–62, 69, 72–75, 78–80, 92, 105, 108, 115, 120–122, 125, 126, 129–132, 245, 246, 255, 256 International Campaign to Ban Landmines (ICBL), 14, 15, 40, 63, 107, 170, 176, 232 International Committee for Robot Arms Control (ICRAC), 16, 28–30, 35–51 International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC), 8, 11, 14, 40, 43, 44, 63, 68, 83, 86, 107, 155, 170. See also International Red Cross and Red Crescent Movement International cooperation and assistance, 17, 61–63, 73–75, 77, 78, 82–85 International Court of Justice (ICJ), 90 International disarmament law, 17, 66 International Fellowship of Reconciliation, 123 International human rights law, 76 International Covenant of Economic, Social and Cultural Rights, 82 International humanitarian law (IHL), 6, 14, 45, 63, 67, 72, 76, 83, 107, 120, 154, 155, 157, 158, 161, 253, 258 International Physicians for the Prevention of Nuclear War (IPPNW), 118, 121 International Queers against Nukes (IQAN), 256 International Red Cross and Red Crescent Movement, 104. See also

International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC) International relations (IR), 1, 2, 20, 31–33, 50, 62, 66, 68, 70, 91, 105, 132, 143, 170, 256, 257 Iraq, 36, 66, 151–153, 159, 185, 217–219 Ireland, 67, 68, 76, 83 Israel, 155 Istanbul Charter for European Security, 215 Italy, 68, 110, 121, 206

J Japan, 66, 81, 121, 206 Jesuit Refugee Services, 107 John Paul II, Pope, 108. See also Catholic church; Holy See Jonah House, 120

K Kawai, Kimiaki, 106, 110, 114, 124, 126 Kazakhstan, 75, 80, 81 Keju, Darlene, 116 Kellogg–Briand Pact, 204 Kennedy, John F., 200, 211 Killer robots, 2, 16, 20, 27, 28, 30, 36, 40, 41, 45, 47, 49, 50, 73, 254, 255 King, Martin Luther, Jr., 113, 114 Kiribati, 81, 92 Kiritimati, 81 Korea, Democratic People’s Republic of, 221 Kosovo, 151 Krupp, 203 Kuwait, 151, 217, 218

INDEX

L Landmine and Cluster Munition Monitor, 64, 81, 228, 239 Landmines. See Antipersonnel landmines Landmine Survivors Network, 63 Laos, 75 League of Nations, 204, 207 League of Nations Union (LNU), 206, 207 Leahy, Patrick, 152, 156, 158, 159, 163 Lebanon, 75, 151, 155, 159 Lester, Karina, 80 Lethal autonomous weapons systems (LAWS). See Killer robots Leverage, 146, 148, 149, 151 LGBTQA people, 256 Liberalism, 18, 62, 66, 142, 170, 171, 184, 187, 201–203, 206, 217 Libya, 151, 218 Lieber Code, 8 Liechtenstein, 76, 83 Lini, Walter, 116 London Naval Treaty, 205 Lown, Bernard, 121

M MacBride, Sean, 216 Maohi Protestant Church, 116 Mara, Ratu Sir Kamisese, 116 Marshall Islands Nuclear Claims Tribunal, 84 Marshall Islands, Republic of the, 82, 83 Maryknoll Office of Global Concerns, 127. See also Catholic church Medicins Sans Frontiers (MSF), 175 Mennonite Central Committee, 159 Mexico, 67 Middlebury Institute, 88

267

Middle powers, 62, 66, 67, 70, 91 Militarism, 109–111, 120, 131, 203, 254 Military utility, 152, 153, 155, 157, 158, 161 Mine action, 18, 65, 75, 170–172, 175–190 Mine Action Coordination Centre (MACC), 177 Mine Ban Treaty. See Antipersonnel Mine Ban Treaty (MBT) Mine risk education (MRE), 170, 176, 183. See also Risk education Mines Action Canada, 73, 74, 77, 79 Miriam College (MC), 122 Montenegro, 151 Morality, 209. See also Ethics; Religion Morocco, 127, 212 Moruroa e Tatou, 80, 81 Moyes, Richard, 36 Multilateralism, 16, 17, 19, 28, 78, 112, 117, 123, 210, 213, 215, 226–228, 230, 235, 240, 241, 247 Musk, Elon, 28, 48 N Nagasaki, 81, 104, 112, 113, 116, 123 Nario-Galace, Jasmin, 106, 122, 126 National capacity, 181 National Council of Churches, 108 Nationalism, 200, 203 National Mine Action Authority (NMAA), 177 National Peace Council (NPC), 207 National security, 66, 131, 157, 205, 213 Native informants, 81 NATO, 157, 159, 217, 218 Neo-liberalism, 72. See also Liberalism Neo-realism. See Realism Netherlands, 67, 68, 110, 202

268

INDEX

Neutrality, 170, 171, 182–184, 187, 188 Neutralizing recognition, 149, 163 New Caledonia/Kanaky, 116 New Zealand/Aotearoa, 67, 110 Nobel Peace Prize, 40, 60, 105, 108, 113, 115, 120, 131, 132, 213, 216, 221, 245, 253 Nobel Women’s Initiative, vii Non-Aligned Movement (NAM), 77, 86, 87, 200, 211, 212, 235 Non-governmental organizations (NGOs), 28, 32, 35, 38, 40–47, 49, 65, 92, 104, 124, 127, 130, 147, 159, 172, 176–178, 188, 200, 217–219, 227, 241 Non-proliferation, 60, 86, 87, 104, 117, 217, 219 Non-state actors, 31, 32, 68, 255 Nonviolence, 109, 110 Norway, 67, 105, 155–157 Nuclear ban treaty. See Treaty on the Prohibition of Nuclear Weapons (TPNW) Nuclear energy, 81, 87, 89 Nuclear Free and Independent Pacific (NFIP) movement, 116 Nuclear Non-proliferation Treaty (NPT), 6, 60, 86, 113, 117–119, 122–124, 127, 128, 214, 228, 242, 245, 247 Nuclear power. See Nuclear energy Nuclear testing, 60, 75, 78, 81, 109, 116, 246 Nuclear weapons, 2, 12, 42, 45, 60, 61, 69, 71–73, 75–80, 82–85, 87, 91, 92, 104, 105, 108–133, 200, 210, 213, 216, 220, 243, 244, 246, 247, 253 Nuclear Weapons Free Zones (NWFZ), 86, 244, 245

O Obama, Barack, 142, 156, 163 Occupy Wall Street, 42 Oldham, Roland, 80, 81 Skies Treaty, 221 Oppenheimer, Robert, 125 Organisation for Security and Cooperation in Europe (OSCE), 214, 215, 217, 219 Organized crime, 65 Oslo Process. See Convention on Cluster Munitions (CCM) Ottawa Process. See Antipersonnel Mine Ban Treaty (MBT) Over-compliance, 149 P Pace University, 73, 79 Pacific Conference of Churches (PCC), 116, 122 Pacifism, 109. See also Historic Peace Churches Pakistan, 36 Palestine, 127 Papua New Guinea, 80 Parliamentarians, 104, 130 Parliament of the World’s Religions, 132 Parolin, Pietro, 131 PAX, 89, 125 Pax Christi (PC), 40, 105, 108, 110, 115, 118, 119, 122, 124, 125, 127 Peacebuilding, 18, 19, 106, 170–172, 174, 180, 187–189 Peace education, 110 Peacekeeping, 176, 178, 181, 184 Peace movement, 42, 45, 206, 208, 254 Pentagon. See Department of Defense, US (DoD) Philanthropy, 65

INDEX

Philippines, 122 Pihaatae, Francois, 122 Platte, Ardeth, 106, 120, 130, 131 Plowshares movement, 111, 119 Poison, 7, 10 Portugal, 68 Positive obligations, 17, 61, 63, 65, 67, 71–80, 83–86, 91, 126, 132. See also Environmental remediation; International cooperation and assistance; Mine action; Positive Obligations Team (PosObs); Risk education; Stockpile destruction; Victim assistance Positive Obligations Team (PosObs), ICAN, 16, 61, 62, 68–70, 78, 80, 82–85, 87, 91, 92. See also Positive obligations Post-colonialism, 6, 66, 67, 81, 258. See also Colonialism; Decolonization Poststructuralism, 70, 258 Potter, Phillip, 117 Poverty, 66, 113, 128, 131 Princeton University, 88 Programme of Action on Small Arms and Light Weapons (PoA), 7, 66, 228, 230, 232, 233, 235, 255 Proliferation, 15, 27, 45, 107, 219 Proxy wars, 148, 186 Psychological support, 64, 84 Puntland, 173, 180, 181, 185, 187 Q Quaker Peace and Social Witness (QPSW), 105, 108, 110, 125, 126 Quakers, 105, 109, 110, 126 Quality Assurance, 177 R Racism, 256 Radiation, 84, 258

269

Ratification, 18, 103, 131, 143, 146, 149, 230, 242 Reaching Critical Will. See Women’s International League for Peace and Freedom (WILPF) Realism, 205, 209, 210, 213 Relief, 8, 63, 64, 106, 174, 176, 178, 188 Religion, 17, 104–107, 122, 130, 133, 209, 215 Religions for Peace, 73, 113, 122–124 Religious leaders, 17, 104, 106, 107, 112, 113, 115, 123, 130, 132, 133, 256, 257 Reputation, 40, 146, 147, 233 Rhetorical entrapment, 9 RIMFIRE International, 174 Risk education, 76. See also Mine risk education (MRE) Risk reduction education. See Risk education Robbles, Alfonso Garcia, 216 Robotics, 16, 36–39, 43, 47 Roosevelt, Franklin, 207, 209 Russia, 28, 64, 80, 81, 161, 162, 201, 217 S Safeguards, 123, 126 Saint Petersburg Declaration, 9 Salience, 17, 31, 146, 148, 149, 151, 154, 155 Samoa, 80 Saudi Arabia, 142, 151, 153, 161, 164 School of Oriental and African Studies (SOAS), 199, 219 Science and Technology Studies (STS), 33, 50 Sea Bed Treaty, 214 Securing Our Common Future, 219 Serbia, 151 Sexism, 256. See also Feminism; Gender

270

INDEX

Sharkey, Noel, 28, 36–40, 42, 44, 46 Small arms and light weapons (SALW). See Guns Socialism, 201, 203, 207 Social justice, 105, 258 Soka Gakkai International (SGI), 105, 108, 110, 111, 114, 116, 118, 121, 124–127 Solidarity, 106, 112, 116 Solomon Islands, 80, 116 Somalia, 36, 172, 173, 176, 180, 181, 184–186, 189 Somaliland, 18, 19, 171–176, 180–189 Mine Action Centre, 182 National Demining Agency (NDA), 182, 183 Somaliland National Movement (SNM), 173, 174 South Africa, 67, 122 South Pacific Nuclear Free Zone Treaty, 116 Sovereignty, 9, 12, 19, 46, 77, 87, 88, 213, 254 Soviet Union, 206, 210, 211, 214 Spain, 68 Sparrow, Robert, 28, 36, 37 Standard of Civilization, 6, 67, 68 Stigmatization, 46, 87, 88 Stockpile destruction, 2, 65, 76, 78, 149, 152 Strategic Arms Limitation Talks (SALT), 118, 206 Strategic Arms Reduction Treaty (START), 206 Strategic Concept for the Removal of Arms and Proliferation (SCRAP), 199, 219 Student Christian Movement, 116 Suasion, 145, 146, 153 Superpowers, 3, 6, 12, 205, 213 Surveillance, 46, 87, 88

Survivors, 7, 15, 63–65, 69, 72–74, 77, 80–82, 92, 104, 115, 159, 188, 256. See also Hibakusha; Victims Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs), 107, 235, 240 Sweden, 67, 88 Swenson, Mary Ann, 112 Syria, 161, 162, 218, 219 T Tanimoto, Kiyoshi, 115 Technocracy, 68, 69, 171, 243 Technophilia, 49 Teleology, 178, 180 Terrorism, 65 Textron, 142, 162 Thailand, 75, 83, 121 Thurlow, Setsuko, 80, 115 Tjibaou, Jean-Marie, 116 Toda, Josei, 111, 118 Tomasi, Silvano Maria, 131 Tonga, 116 Toxic Remnants of War Project, 73, 79 Treaty of Bangkok, 214 Treaty of Pelindaba. See African Nuclear Weapon Free Zone Treaty Treaty of Rarotonga. See South Pacific Nuclear Free Zone Treaty Treaty of Tlatelolco, 116, 214 Treaty of Versailles, 10, 205 Treaty on the Prohibition of Nuclear Weapons (TPNW), 2, 6, 15–17, 60–62, 65–73, 75–78, 81, 82, 84–88, 91, 92, 103–106, 108, 115, 120, 123–125, 127–132, 225–227, 237, 238, 242, 243, 245–247, 257 Trinidad and Tobago, 83, 130 Trump, Donald, 142, 143, 163 Tuilovoini, Setareki, 116 Turkey, 218 Turkson, Peter, 131

INDEX

Twitter, 46

U Unacceptable harm, 19, 60, 200 Unexploded ordnance (UXO), 3, 154, 161, 172–174, 181. See also Explosive remnants of war (ERW) Unintended harm, 153, 161, 163 United Kingdom (UK), 12, 81, 110, 119, 126, 158, 159, 163, 175, 205, 212, 216, 242, 243 United Nations (UN) Charter, 13, 129, 210 Department of Peacekeeping Operations (DPKO), 176, 178 Disarmament Commission, 228 General Assembly (UNGA), 13, 20, 29, 60, 61, 67, 123, 161, 162, 200, 201, 210, 214, 221, 228, 230, 233, 235, 240, 246 Human Rights Council, 162 Mine Action Service (UNMAS), 176, 178, 182 Office for Disarmament Affairs (UNODA), 118 Secretary-General, 2, 199, 219, 221 Security Council, 6, 210, 218, 235 Somalia Mine Action Programme (UNSOMA), 18, 181 UN Development Programme (UNDP), 176, 178, 182, 183, 185–187 UNICEF, 178 UNIDIR, 235, 240 UNOPS, 182 UNOSOM, 175 United States of America (USA), 47, 64, 68, 81, 119 Universalization, 64, 77, 131, 149 Unmanned aerial vehicles (UAVs). See Drones

271

Unnecessary suffering, 8, 9, 13, 14, 162 User state responsibility, 82

V Vanuatu, 116 Verification, 45, 46, 60, 69, 87, 88 Vickers, 203 Victim assistance, 60–62, 64, 65, 71–77, 79–85, 104, 129, 148, 152, 170 Victims, 3, 8, 9, 17, 60, 61, 63–66, 73, 75–77, 79, 81, 82, 84, 92, 106, 115, 116, 128, 130, 159, 163, 225, 253. See also Hibakusha; Survivors Vietnam, 151 Vietnam War, 4 Violence, 6, 65, 67, 68, 72, 106, 108–110, 114, 126, 132, 133, 173, 227, 228, 239, 254, 255

W Wallis, Timmon, 110, 125, 126 Wareham, Mary, 41 War on Terror, 189 Washington Naval Treaty, 204, 206 Weapons of mass destruction (WMD), 6, 7, 11, 12, 20, 59, 61, 113, 115, 201, 205, 211, 212, 217, 219, 222. See also Biological weapons; Chemical weapons; Nuclear Weapons Weapon utility, 144, 153 loss of, 144 Weber, Max, 27, 30, 49 Whistle-blowers, 69, 87, 88 Whyte, Elayne, 76, 78, 83 Williams, Jody, 40 Willoughby, George, 109

272

INDEX

Women, 20, 44, 63, 75, 84, 104, 123, 125, 130, 202, 208, 226, 227, 229, 235–240, 247. See also Gender Women’s International League for Peace and Freedom (WILPF), 10–12, 62, 74, 125, 202, 207, 208, 221, 228 Wood, Robert, 161 World Council of Churches (WCC), 105–108, 111, 112, 115–118, 121, 123–127, 132 World Disarmament Conference (WDC), 207, 208, 210

World War I, 10, 204 World War II, 3, 4, 10, 66 Wozniak, Steve, 28

Y Yelenik, Mary, 106, 110, 118, 119 Yemen, 36, 142, 152, 153, 162 Young Women’s Christian Association, 116

Z Zimbabwe, 176